I really have nothing to say here, but to enjoy this chapter...

...and this gif of George ;)

P.S. I took this chapter down because I had to edit it, but now it's just the way I want it to be :)

**

"Thank you, London!!! You have been amazing once again!" Matty screamed into microphone, turning around to take a selfie with the roaring crowd that was cramped up in the front. He grinned at his front camera and snapped a picture. "Thank you!" He screamed once again, grabbing his button shirt from the ground and running after Adam, Ross and George backstage.

When they walked in the backstage room, George jumped on the small couch, putting his legs on the table and crossing them. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and grinned at Ross who joined him on the couch and George threw his arms around him jokingly. "Bugger," Ross laughed as he wiggled out of George's embrace, flipping him off and throwing his sweaty shirt at Adam.

"Are we going out later?" Adam asked, putting Ross' shirt on the ground, sitting on the fold out chair and stifling a yawn. He didn't care that was sweaty and that his skin clung to the back of the chair. He was sleepy and exhausted.

George shrugged, getting up and throwing a towel around his neck as he grabbed a can of beer from the mini fridge. "I don't think so." Adam yawned once again, refusing the beer from George as he folded his arms on his chest and crossed his legs. "I had enough of it last week."

Somewhat later after they shared a spliff and Matty finished his bottle of wine, they walked out in the cold to greet their fans. After giving countless hugs and signing stuff – from vinyl to breasts – they were ushered in the van as their driver Randy drove them back to Matty's house. Adam fell asleep the moment the van started rolling down the street as the rest of guys kept busy by looking either in their phone or through the window.

Matty had his head hung down as he wrote some new lyrics in his notebook he always carried with him while Ross talked hushed with Randy about new Coldplay song that was apparently the musical sensation of the century. George was just silent, feeling uncomfortable in his seat because he had no space for his legs.

"George," Matty whispered and straightened in his seat, closing the notebook and putting it away in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Yea?"

"Who's Nellie?" Matty asked and George tensed, his heart skipping a beat.

"What do you mean?" George whispered back, looking through the window, pretending that flashes of London streets were something admirable.

But Matty didn't let go. "Is it some chick?" He nudged George in the ribs. "Come on, tell me because you won't be able to hide her from me for too long," Matty sang.

"Sod off," George replied and leaned to the front, asking Randy to turn up some music, ignoring his best friend before looking back at him. "There is no Nellie," he muttered after Randy settled for some seventies tunes. Not really George's favourite but it was better than nothing. Matty sat back into his seat, not asking further but not too convinced in George's words.

George wished he believed in that himself.

**

George stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned in the wire chair on the balcony. It was surprisingly very sunny day for London and George found comfort in the shade of Matty's huge plants. Maybe buying them wasn't one of Matty's idiotic moves. George was wearing a thin, white t-shirt, a pair of boxer shorts and his growing hair was tied up in a bun on top of his head.

He reached down to where a cup of coffee was on the floor, between his feet as he slid his phone unlocked. He browsed his Instagram, chuckling at some comments that fans made and snapped another picture of the morning sky before posting it. Putting the phone on the small night stand that they used as a table, George walked inside the house. He retrieved the laptop from his room and walked back on the balcony in the fresh air. He opened the Facebook page and clicked on the bookmark he saved all those weeks ago.

It has been few days since Matty reminded him on her. Before that night he managed to control himself – going out and drinking heavily helped but now, when he was sober and his head clear, she was always present.

He tried to be disciplined and control his thoughts, but she visited his mind far too often. The nights were the worst because when he'd finally get a decent amount of sleep, she would be there. The dream was always the same—the night of when they met replaying in his mind.

George's leg started moving nervously as he waited for the Facebook page of Tina Marie Richards to load. For the past weeks, George stopped himself of going through that Facebook profile. He was afraid of what he might find out or not find out once he starts looking for signs on the beautiful freckled girl that made his head crazy. He knew that they had no future, but he wanted to know more about her – something about her was making his curiosity go wild.

Tina's profile was a typical one – something you would expect from a teen girl. Her profile picture was the one he'd seen before – her smiling in the camera with Ross and Adam after their concert in Seattle. Fighting the weird feeling when stalking her, he browsed more of her pictures but all he had seen were selfies in questioning poses so he exited the album. All the other pictures on he profile were either uploaded from Tumblr or pictures of his band.

He almost exited her page, disappointed for not finding anything that would lead him to Nellie. But then one picture in particular caught his eye that was posted not too long ago. It was a group photograph, taken by a professional and George didn't hesitate to click on it. A big group of people, dressed in fancy clothes, stood in the garden, smiling. George got closer to the screen, searching for the familiar face, hoping she'd be there.

And there she was.

George grinned when he spotted her. She was the only person in the group that didn't smile, standing on the side in a polka dot patterned dress. George's heart quickened its pace and his leg started to shake nervously. He reached for a cigarette as he slid a cursor over her face, hoping she was tagged in the picture.

"Anelliese Richards." He frowned.

He lit the cigarette and clicked on her profile but it didn't tell him much. It looked very out-dated, with no info or pictures. George sighed as he rubbed side of his head, before taking another drag. After few minutes of just staring at her empty profile, George closed down his laptop and walked inside the house. He didn't care that she didn't tell him her real name, the thing that mattered was the fact that he found her.

Anelliese.

Anelliese.

Anelliese.

George couldn't stop thinking about her as he ate breakfast, finished his second coffee, when Matty walked in dancing like Michael Jackson or when he sat behind his drum-kit to practice the new tune they made up few days ago. He had a plan for the later when he gets back home and it could either turn good or bad.

**

George paced up and down his room that night, holding his phone in one hand, the paper with a landline number in other. After finding out about her real name he couldn't stop at that and after looking up her name countless times, he finally had something that seemed to be her phone number.

He checked twice the time difference, not wanting to wake her up or anything. Excitement was bubbling up inside of him and it felt just like when he first time played drums in front of a crowd. It almost felt like the moment before his first kiss or his first time.

What if she doesn't want to talk to you? – He frowned at his own thoughts but didn't let his head play with him anymore.

"Now or never," he whispered, punching in the numbers and pressing the phone to his ear.

It took a while for the phone to pick up the overseas number and George almost gave up because the silence and waiting was killing him but soon enough there was a ring. The all familiar sound was short at first but then turned into full ringing. George felt his breath hitch and his heart stop for a second. He stopped pacing and sat down on the foot of the bed and waited until he heard a small click.

"Yes!" a man's voice snapped in full American accent. The tone was angry, irritated and George's throat went dry out of sudden. He could hear a harsh movement and doors slamming in the background. "Hello," the voice called out again, "who is there?"

George closed his eyes, confused.

"Sorry, wrong number," he answered. His tongue was faster than his brain and he quickly as possible finished the call. With a groan, he threw his phone on his bed, running his hands over his face.

It wasn't what he had hoped for.