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I immediately thought of the four possible scenarios that could be happening. One, George was standing in the doorframe. Two, this was a dream. Three, I was in desperate need of glasses. Or four, it was none of those options, and my brain was having a medical emergency.

"Hello," he said, giving me his infamous lips-pressed-in-a-line smile. I hoped I was mentally stable and that my mind wasn't generating hyperrealistic animations of him.

Standing just a few feet away from him, I was petrified. After waking up from that dream, I couldn't trust anything. I couldn't trust my eyes, though they saw a stable image without that familiar tunnel feel of a dream. Couldn't trust my ears, though they even picked up the slight accent in his "hello" and weren't ringing like they usually do in a dream.

"What are you.. aren't you.. isn't..." I didn't even have my phone on me to check the date and the time in case I was misremembering something, "the flight?"

I was surprised he even understood what I meant. But he did.

"I didn't go."

A deer caught in the headlights. I tried pinching the side of my thigh where my hand was resting and all I felt was pain. Realistic pain, nothing else.

"You what?" My eyes widened as I stared at him, searching for anything out of the ordinary. No glitches or swimming lines in sight. This was surely not a dream.

"Can I come in? Before this melts?" It was only then, as he pointed it out, that I noticed he was holding ice cream from my favorite place, a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a cup of lychee lemonade. My favorites.

Now that I believed that he's real, his hands looked busy.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, of course." I stuttered, hesitantly walking towards him to help with the stuff he was holding.

Instead, I closed the door behind him and pushed aside the clothes I'd piled on the table in the chaos of trying to find my phone, making space for him to place the food down. He did just that, handing me my salted caramel ice cream that was starting to melt at the bottom.

"Thought you could use something to lighten up after yesterday," he said softly, patting the spot next to him for me to sit. "I know it was a rough night. I'm sorry I was the cause of it."

I'd be lying if I said I understood what was going on. He appeared out of no where, handed me ice-cream, made me sit next to him and now was apologizing. I should've started asking all my questions right away, but I didn't even know where to begin.

"Why are you here?" I couldn't phrase my question properly, and my tone, in my state of shock, wasn't doing me any favors. I almost sounded aggressive.

"I can leave if you-"

"No!" My free hand, the one that wasn't occupied with an ice cream cone, quickly reached out to grab his wrist, trying to stop him. The attempt wasn't necessary as he didn't show any signs of wanting to move. Instead, he gently grabbed my hand and brushed his thumb over my knuckles. It calmed me down a bit.

"I mean you were supposed to leave, but you're here," I clarified, "I'm so confused."

He nodded, his thumb still tracing the outlines of the bones in my hands as if he was desperate for any and every possible contact he could get.

"I had to go for my friends- with my friends. Cause I didn't want to hold them back or bother them with my personal life. But they found out how.. how badly I wanted to stay for you and with you, so..." he took a deep breath, "they ripped the tickets in half the moment I got home."

"What?" I raised my brows, eyes widening with confusion, "They found out?"

"Yeah. Thin walls."

I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment, wishing the couch we were sitting on would just swallow us up like quicksand. I shouldn't have screamed yesterday.

"That's embarrassing," I muttered, my voice almost a whisper. "So embarrassing."

George smiled, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "Yeah, I guess a little bit. But hey, we're in this together, if that makes you feel any better."

A small smile finally softened my face, and his shoulders relaxed in relief. I glanced down at our intertwined hands, noticing how  desperate he seemed to try to memorize the feel of my skin. Suddenly, my smile faded again.

"How long are you staying for?" I asked, already blaming myself for getting my hopes up too quickly.

"However long it takes to figure things between us. A day, a month, a year-" he paused, "all I'm asking for is a chance."

"A chance?" I furrowed my brows.

"To start things over. I haven't been honest with you and that's unfair. And now that everything's out of the way, I want you to get to know me better. It's very hard for me to open up or even show emotions, but I want to try."

At first, I didn't understand the significance of his words. I already knew you were famous, even though you kept it a secret. But then I recalled how closed off and secretive he had been about everything. Not just his career, but his everything else too.

"What happens after we figure things out? You leave?" There was bitterness in my voice.

"Well if you realize that I'm an unlikable prick and you actually despise me, then yes." He answered lightheartedly.

"What if I don't?" I wanted to discuss the more possible option, "What if it's the opposite?"

"Then I promise not to break your heart."

Maybe trusting him this much was a mistake, but his promise sounded like an oath to me. Though I didn't hear a definitive answer, I heard enough to nod. It was a nod of agreement on giving him a chance, and it was a nod that made him release a shaky sigh of relief. His thumb finally ceased tracing my hand. And I realized that he was probably only doing it in case my answer would be no, and it would be the last time he'd have the chance to feel my hand in his.

I finally smiled. And he smiled at me like a dork. So I smiled wider.

"You have ice-cream all over your hand," he laughed softly, and I realized that half of the cone was gone, dripping down my wrist.

"Oh..." snapping out of it, I finally gazed down. A mess, "It was my favorite flavor too."

"Oh yeah, about that," he started hesitantly, "Since my goal is to be honest. I know I said vanilla is better, but I've been really enjoying salted caramel since the day you said it's your favourite and life's been much more colourful ever since. Well, I can't really see colours but still..." he trailed off, then continued, "Oh yeah, and I know I said I hate strawberries, and I did, but in reality, I can't hate them now because you love them. So, I keep giving them a try. They still taste bland to me, but I don't hate them."

The ice-cream was still melting down my hand, but I was in a trance, listening to him.

"Also, I know what I did was dumb, and I'm really ashamed to say it, but when you first saw me smoking, I was still in the stage of trying cigarettes out because I was a bit stressed and wanted to see if they actually help you relax and sleep. What you saw was probably the fifth cigarette I'd ever lit," he confessed, looking down at our hands. "I'd lie if I said I liked them or they helped, but I saw them as a reason to go to the balcony and get to see you, so I kept doing it until I really became dependent," he admitted, meeting my gaze again. "But I know I don't need them, they're not good for me, and after you asked me to quit yesterday I threw away what I had left, so I feel much better now and wanted to let you know."

I was speechless.

"And remember that space program? I hated that space program or whatever the shit it was. I never liked it, I was never interested in it, it bored the fuck out of me. I just pretended I was interested because you'd cuddle with me when it was on because you had nothing better to do. And I also wanted to seem smart, so yeah. But the moment it'd put you to sleep, I'd start watching you instead. It's weird now that I say it out loud, but you're so insanely pretty that looking at you is addictive."

I never knew it was possible to get butterflies so strong that visible goosebumps rise on your skin. I almost shivered, because no one had ever come close to complimenting me like that. Even a simple "you're pretty" wasn’t something I was used to hearing, yet there he was, taking it to levels no one else would ever reach.

"What else was there... oh, yeah, I also stole a hair tie from you and keep it on my desk, I hope you don't mind," he shrugged with a small laugh. "Oh, and that ice cream has melted so much it's dripping onto my hand now."

Oh fuck the ice-cream. It's more solid than I am after all of this.