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It was loud.
He supposed that was to be expected, seeing as he'd entered an enclosed space in the hopes of hearing some music. It was meant to be loud, really. That was the point. So people could hear. Obviously.
George didn't really like it, though. It wasn't that he was easily overstimulated, but he felt naked coming out here to this public place without his disguise. He was so used to wearing it at all times, and especially when going to see a friend.
Because, well, that was what he was doing in this London club on a Wednesday evening. Seeing a friend. His closest friend, really, and one of his only. Sure, technically he had Will, and sometimes he had Cam, but James—the one he was going to see right then—James was definitely his closest (and don't tell anyone, but he was probably his favorite as well).
Just as George approached the stage, James walked on with his guitar slung over his shoulder and his band in tow. It was his favorite guitar, the chartreuse one with the smooth chords and efficient cable. He approached the mic stand and beamed—absolutely beamed—out at the crowd in front of him.
"Hello London how are we doing tonight?" he exclaimed, giving his guitar a good strum along with the words. The crowd cheered, and George cheered along with it. He kept quiet, though—he knew James would recognize him just from the sound of his voice.
"We're going to start off with my newest song, Burn Down The Disco," James explained, which got another good cheer out of the people gathered. George was also very excited, honestly. He'd of course heard the song before, but so what? It was infinitely better to hear it from James's mouth in real time, watching him from the crowded floor, staring into those chocolate eyes through the flashing lights and fog.
Then James turned to him.
George froze instantly, his eyes going wide. Why the fuck was James looking at him? He couldn't possibly know it was, well, him, could he? George had never shown his face to anyone, not even James. He always wore his usual disguise with his bandana and sunglasses. He even wore a hat to cover his hair. James had never seen any of it.
So why was he looking at him?
"Know that I chose you," James was singing. He'd gotten to the quieter part now, which was right before the third and final chorus. He walked toward the edge of the stage, maintaining eye contact with George all the time.
"You're part of the plan. No one can hurt you baby, not even close. Not like I can."
George's mouth went dry. He blinked, and James smiled into his microphone. What was even happening?
"No one deserves you, the touch of your hand." James ran his own hand from his hipbone up to his neck, trailing his fingers along his jaw. It was quite an erotic movement, which went hand in hand with James's usual dances. The only difference was that when he opened his eyes, they went straight back to George, sparkling in the light around them.
"No one can hurt you, baby." George felt his entire world narrow down to just one spot, just one man. "Not even close, not like I can."
And then it was over, and the crowd was cheering, and James was screaming again, hopping backward toward the middle of the stage and clutching his mic to himself like it was his most prized possession. George was absolutely stunned. That was a spiritual experience—he swore he just saw God.
The show continued. The rest of the songs James performed were his sadder but still upbeat songs, the ones about breakups and toxic relationships. He refused to look at George even one more time, but he didn't make eye contact with anyone else in the crowd either.
When it was over, George got the feeling he needed to get out of there as fast as possible. He wasn't sure exactly why, but somehow he knew that James would be wandering around, and George just couldn't risk having an interaction with him. Surely, James would know right away. Like, they'd been friends for years, right? James could probably recognize him by the sound of his breathing, but George hoped he couldn't.
He rushed toward the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him halfway there. Turning, he saw it was James, towering over him politely with that crooked grin and a nervous look in his dark eyes.
"Hey, um," James began, and George instantly knew that this was something he did not want to have to deal with right now. "I'm sorry if, you know, looking at you during the song made you uncomfortable. You just, er, looked a bit unnerved by it, is all. I wanted to make sure you're okay with all that."
George opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. He couldn't speak. James would know his voice, 100%. There was no doubt about it; their phone calls made up probably most of George's day-to-day life at this point.
So instead, George just shrugged and nodded. James slowly removed his hand from his shoulder.
"This might sound weird," James added, "but you kind of remind me of my friend George—"
George couldn't help it, he barked out a laugh. Surprise and confusion flickered across James's face and he began to say something, but George had already turned to leave. He felt James's warm hands grab for his sleeve, but he dodged it. The next performance had started, and George used everyone's excitement as a distraction to help him weave inconspicuously through the crowd. He briefly thought he heard James calling out, going "George? Is that you?" but pushed it to the back of his mind.
Not George's problem, he was already long gone.
It was much later, after George had already gotten home and taken a shower, when his phone buzzed. Picking it up, he saw that it was a text from James.
James: You weren't just at my London show, were you??
George inhaled sharply. Okay. This was... less than ideal. He replied quickly, because if he hesitated it would be suspicious. As far as James knew, he had nothing else to be doing and had been lazing around for the past few hours—or, hopefully that was all he knew, at least.
George: Nah mate I've been at home recording a video
George: r/AITA, the people love it
George: Sorry I couldn't make it there tho
James: Right....
James: Dw about it
Okay, he was taking the mick now. George scowled to himself and typed out a (hopefully) convincing response.
George: Why, did you see someone with my disguise there lol
James: I was just curious ig
George: Alr
George waited patiently for another response, one that would probably be just as suspicious as the first few, but none came. So, instead of waiting around for a stupid man who was really just wasting his time with his ridiculous conspiracies, George shut off his phone and tossed it onto the sofa cushion beside him.
Silly man, thinking he could get George to confess like that. He really had learned nothing from their years together, huh?
A few days later, George found himself lying upside-down in his bed, wired earbuds hanging from his ears and filling his brain with James's voice. Burn Down The Disco had just come on, and all George could think about was the show. The eye contact. The passion in James's voice and gaze. The feeling he'd felt while it happened.
James hadn't known it was George. Maybe he had a suspicion now, but prior to hearing his laugh, James clearly had no idea whatsoever. So why had he chosen him to sing at? Out of everyone in the crowd, why him? George? The most average-looking guy in the history of everything?
Surely, that meant James found him at least a little bit attractive, right?
Surely that meant something.
Or maybe George was just going insane. Throwing hands on the dance floor type shit.
He rolled over, his eyes sliding shut. Maybe he should face reveal. If James—James, the most gorgeous man on the planet, objectively speaking—thought he was handsome, then surely he couldn't be that bad. The issue at hand was the fact that George hiding his face wasn't all about self-consciousness; a big part of it was just the fear of getting recognized in public, the idea that he couldn't go anywhere without being safe from prying eyes.
Maybe he'd just face reveal to James, then. They'd been friends for ages, James deserved to know.
Except—Ugh, you idiot!—George had denied it when James realized it was him, and so if he decided to tell him now then James would be upset with him for lying earlier.
George covered his face with his hands. Why must things be so difficult always?
Buzz.
George sat up, pausing his music and unlocking his phone. It wasn't a text from James, but rather their mutual friend Will.
Will: George mate, James says you went to his show the other night but won't admit it. It's genuinely driving him crazy
George: Tell him he deserves to be crazy because he's wrong
Will: I actually just don't believe you
Will: Showing up to a friend's show and interacting with said friend and then refusing it's actually you just to gaslight them is the most George thing ever
George: You can't prove anything, Will
Will: That's exactly what a guilty person would say
George: No.
Before Will could reply, George shut off his phone and exclaimed loudly: "UGHHH," making sure that the universe knew how pissed off he was. This wasn't fair. He never should've shown up to James's show anyway—he wasn't even sure why he had! Just impulsively? If so then he needed to get better at controlling his impulse-buying, because that ticket was expensive even if the money went to James and George had no issue with that whatsoever.
The next day, George was recording his actual r/AITA video when he got interrupted by a phone call. He saw it was James and picked up.
"Yeah?" he greeted informally, leaning back in his desk chair.
"Are you recording?" James asked through the speaker.
"Oh, er, yeah but I don't mind cutting this part out," George replied. "What's up?"
"I know it was you." Instantly, George's blood went cold. "At my gig the other night."
George opened his mouth, ready to instinctively say James is wrong and stupid and must've seen wrong because George was nowhere near central London that day, but his tongue felt too heavy. He stayed guiltily quiet, unable to lie to the man on the other end of the phone.
James continued. "You're very handsome, by the way."
George wanted to say "Thanks" but stayed quiet anyway.
"Surely," James went on, "you knew I'd be able to recognize you from the sound of your voice, George."
"I wasn't exactly expecting for you to talk to me," George spoke up, "and I definitely wasn't planning on laughing. You caught me off guard."
George could hear the smug smile in his voice for half a millisecond as James asked, "You weren't expecting me to talk to you? Why not? Did you not want to?"
"I just.... I wanted to see you. In person. I didn't want it to become a whole thing. I just thought it could be cool."
"It doesn't have to be a whole thing!" James insisted. "I'm just confused why you'd lie to me about that, George."
George shrugged, despite James not being able to see it. He supposed part of what he was saying was meant for himself as well as James. "I thought it would be awkward, I guess. I don't like my face very much."
"That's dumb, I love your face," James protested, and again George was quiet.
"It could be nice," James continued, "if I could see your face again. This time with you meaning it."
George let out a shaky exhale. He pretended to hesitate, but he was already won over. "...Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Sure."
"When?"
George paused before mumbling out, "I have to stop by ASDA later today. At 5:00 this evening, maybe."
James said, "Okay."
"You know which one," George continued. "It's the one you used to go to when you lived over here."
James said, "Okay."
"...I should go now," George breathed.
"Alright." There was some momentary shifting on the other end of the line, like James was changing positions or fixing his posture. "See you later, then?"
"Yep," George agreed. He hung up the phone with shaky hands and collapsed back down onto his bed. He couldn't believe he'd just done that. There was an actual plan now, plans for James to see George in real life, knowing who he was and what he looked like. Oh god, George didn't know if he was ready for this. Surely it was going to be an incredibly stressful—
—James thinks I have a nice face.
Genuinely. He wasn't lying. He doesn't lie about stuff like that.
He thinks I'm handsome. He said it out loud to me. It's not even just an implication.
George bit down on his bottom lip. That wasn't the point. Stupid subconscious.
-
✧
-
He had to admit that maybe he was rushing slightly. He was walking so quickly that his footsteps were audible from the other end of the aisle, and he grabbed things off the shelves as soon as he saw them, not bothering to read the containers.
George was so nervous. He'd never felt like this before, it was such a mix of complex emotions.
He was excited to see James, sure, but he was not excited for James to see him. He was stressing.
George entered the line to the checkout. He still hadn't been approached by James, and he was thinking maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe he was late. Maybe he was across the store and George had time to pay and leave before he got back up to the front. Maybe he would be able to oh wait no, just kidding, James was right there. Shit.
Despite having arranged the meetup just to see his face, James clearly was still not yet sure exactly what George looked like. He hovered nearby, making direct eye contact, but his smile was wavering and he looked deep in thought. George blinked in his direction, briefly considering if he should deny that it was him yet again, ask James why he was staring and act like a stranger—but he didn't. He wouldn't.
He cleared his throat.
"Hi, James," he said in a small voice.
James's expression brightened instantly. "Hi George."
George smiled just barely, then quickly glanced away to hide his face. He wasn't used to James—or anyone really, for that matter—being able to see his emotions so clearly on his face, wasn't used to the way his eyebrows lowered and his gaze softened in response to noticing the upward curve of George's lips.
"It's great to see you," James said, and it took George a moment to realize that he was teasing him. James had just gotten George to agree to meet him in public and expose the most sensitive part of himself, and here he was smirking and making light.
Honestly, George didn't expect anything more. He rolled his eyes gently and James laughed.
George's smile grew a little.
"It would be nice," James continued, his tone shifting to something more sincere, "to spend some time with you for real. Not for a video, not in a game or over Discord, but out in real life, no bandana. Just us."
"Sure," George agreed breathlessly. "Sure, that sounds fine."
James beamed, his eyes twinkling. George caught glimpses of gold and green shining through the deep chocolate lakes they were drifting around within.
"I wasn't lying," James added in a lower voice, "when I said I liked your face, by the way. It's very handsome. Honestly, all of you is attractive, really."
George blushed. He couldn't be sure if James was teasing or not, and if not then whether he meant it in a friendly or a romantic way. All the compliments were messing with his head, honestly, making George question if this was actually real. But it was, because here he stood across from James in a London ASDA, a shopping card between them, and they were staring into each other's eyes with nothing but the air acting as a barrier.
"Thanks," George murmured. "I, um... appreciate that."
"This is the part where you compliment me back," James joked through his bright smile.
"Shut up, mate," George laughed in reply.
The cashier cleared their throat from behind them. George turned and saw that him and James were holding up the line severely.
"You two gonna move up in the line or what?" the cashier asked, sounding irritated (and rightfully so).
"Oh, yeah, sorry." George moved up quickly and James followed him. He paid and bagged his things and then James helped him carry all the items back home, which George found very sweet of him.
It was a short walk back to George's house. When they got there James stopped outside the doorway, handing George's bags back to him.
"Do you want to come in?" George asked, nodding toward his interior. He had no plans for the night whatsoever and wanted to spend more time with James, to get to know him in a way you only could in person.
"I do." James shifted back and forth. "But I have vocals."
"Oh." George blinked. "Oh, okay."
"Sorry," James added, smiling anxiously. "I should've told you beforehand, but I didn't want to make you feel rushed."
"It's fine!" George replied, genuinely. He set his grocery bags down and nudged them further inside before stepping out and meeting James on the steps. "You have shit to do, I understand. But, um... do you want to hang out tomorrow, maybe?"
James instantly lit up. "I'd love that!"
George smiled. He hesitated slightly before leaning forward to give James a hug. James reciprocated it instantly, his arms wrapping around George's smaller frame and holding him securely against him. George melted into it, leaning against James's chest, before the two of them reluctantly pulled away.
"Text me when you're free," George said, keeping his hands on James's shoulders for as long as he was allowed. "Or just whenever, really."
"You got it," James agreed easily.
"And, um...." George hesitated, thinking he sounded cringe, before murmuring, "thanks. Really. I know I was a little bitch along the way but this really helped me, I think."
James placed a hand on George's chin, tilted it upward, and then leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It wasn't a strange gesture—it was a fairly common display of casual affection where they're from—but nobody had ever done it with George before, especially not James.
"You're welcome," James mumbled sincerely once he'd stood up straight. "It was my pleasure, really."
He turned and began to leave, but before he did so gave George a small wave. George waved back, smiling, watching James turn away and walk down the street toward the train station. Once he was gone, George's hand drifted up to his cheek where the other man's lips had just been.
His smile widened.
What a surprisingly fortunate turn of events. Minor setbacks, momentary heart attacks, but in the end he got a kiss. It was a small one, sure, but a better result than he ever could've hoped.
And god, he could kill for just one more.