Chapter Text
George smiled at Nicole’s laughter. She was right, he indeed favored Hattie, but he would never confess it in front of the other two. Yet, he still found his way to the parking lot to Oscar’s car to get her ridiculous request for the sweatshirt.
There was a warm breeze in the night air, London’s weather was still kind to them on the last day of August. Everything was pleasant these days, he had not been this happy in a very long time. George felt as if his fate had forgiven him finally, now that he could breathe again.
The surprise visit from the Piastri family had been a highlight for him. Oscar, ever patient and sweet, was only more precious with his beloved sisters around, and George enjoyed his kind brown eyes, gentle voice to the most. But they were soon to leave, so tonight they celebrated. George’s and Oscar’s families together, everything seemed to fit and click without a hiccup.
His quest for the sweatshirt had proven barren, as the Brit couldn’t find any trace of said object in the car. Odd, he thought, slowly making his way back, still shooting glances at the silent car.
“George?” His mom’s voice directed his attention to the gate of the restaurant’s garden. She looked worried, uneasy.
“Mom? What is wrong?”
“Darling,” she approached him hesitantly, grabbed his arm. “Has Oscar told you anything?”
She was acting strange. George furrowed his brows in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I,” she glanced back to the area they were occupying, “baby, I just want you to be happy. You have been through so much. I…Wherever or with whomever you are, I want to see you happy.”
“Mom, you are scaring me. What is wrong?” Now the worry was twisting his stomach.
“Nothing,” She got into her tippy toes and kissed his cheek. “You have all the time in the world. Please, know this.”
Just like that, the woman turned around and left, leaving a very confused and worried George behind.
What the hell, was all George could think. But he needed to go back, he didn’t want to make his boyfriend’s family think that he was gossiping with his mom outside. Maybe he was just overthinking or over-worrying, his ancient ways.
The Brit ran a hand through his hair to tame it as he approached his family again. Except that the overhead lights were switched off, and only visible lighting was the small fairy lights among the wine-grapes and flowers that surrounded their area. His brows shot up in confusion, his eyes struggling to pick up the people around. Then he caught it.
There in the corner were Oscar’s three sisters, each holding a champagne bottle, beaming at him, Nicole’s tender smile still in place. His breath hitched, his eyes frantically looked for his own, only to be more terrified. Lando had not moved from where he left him, a worrying grave look on his face as well, his sister silent and standing behind her chair. He couldn’t find his mom, brother, in-laws, or his dad. They all seemed to be braced for an impact.
But what cut the entire blood flow to his limbs was the silhouette in the middle. George’s heart threatened to leave its cage, run far, far away, if only he could.
His feet, each weighing at least a ton at the moment, barely carried him to his boyfriend, even though his knees were beyond use. His boyfriend, who was kneeling in front of him, was holding a small box in his palm, and his sweet Oscar was smiling at him, the nerves getting the better of him. Still, the kind soul he had met two years ago, the man who carried a picture of George in his wallet. His patient, bright boy, whom George admired each time he got to see him, as the day-care teacher, the little ones admired him as much, if not more. He always thought Oscar would be a great father, but it only dawned on George now that he never once thought of Oscar as the father of his children.
“George,” tears were glistening in the Aussie’s brown eyes, his voice already a wreck.
Yet, George could not utter a word, return a smile.
“You know,” he was trembling, “I love you so much, George, you know that.” He forced a wet sob-laughter thing, “I actually made a whole speech, but I forgot.” He smiled abashedly, his chin seemed to be out of his control.
But George was feeling like he was underwater, not in a kind way. Like his entire skull was going to explode, because he hadn’t managed to get a sip of oxygen in minutes, the pressure on his chest was crushing, and he wanted to fall to the floor and curl up on himself. Everything reminded him of the time when he had almost drowned in the cold British waters. It made him unable to connect to the sea for so long, till he got to see the southern warm waters.
Had he ever told Oscar about it?
No, he had only told him.
Why would George think of him now?
Had he not tortured him enough? Must he get the last laugh, even at the worst moment of George’s life?
He was never going to be free from Max.
The Brit had also failed to register whatever Oscar said. He couldn’t even swallow the lump in his throat.
But he heard the final blow all very clear.
“I want us to be one, love. Would you,” his voice broke momentarily, there were sweet tears sliding down his cheeks. Oh, he looked beyond lovely, George bitterly thought to himself. “Would you marry me?”
George painfully inhaled, and a dreadful chill ran through his body.
The outer world ceased to exist to him, he wished, in fact, he used to pray, manifest, talk to himself, do whatever his therapist told him to do, to make sure one day he could exist in a bubble, not just himself, but include another person too. To be able to include someone like Oscar one day. However, at the moment, it was clear as an icy stream that it was him and his misery only. His misery was that whatever had remained from the rotten corpse of his heart, whatever Max had deemed too worthless to rip apart.
How can they ever be something when George had nothing beautiful left to offer? All of his roses were dead, and he was back at the graveyard he thought he had left behind. He had been lying to himself, to everyone around him. He was still the non-stop sobbing mess of a thing he had been in his bed then, struggling to let go of an abandoned sweater.
And Oscar, his sweet boy, was still staring at him. That pure look of love had given way to fear. He doesn’t deserve this, George thought. I have never deserved him.
The awaited applause was absent, so was the hug, the kiss, the confessions, and the promises of forever.
How could they blame him? George also learned that he had not known the answer, none of these things, till Oscar dropped to his knees.
“George?” A broken, fragile voice now.
What difference was left between George and him now? Had he not just slaughtered an innocent lamb, too?
A beat of silence.
George turned around and marched out.