Never in a proper relationship.

On-and-off is how it would be described if your relationship was ever labelled, but it never was.

Within the five years you'd known him, you'd both had other relationships. Official ones. Neither of you cheated, but none of your relationships ever lasted very long.

You always found your way back to each other. It could've been a week since you'd last seen each-other, or a year. It didn't matter. Your paths always crossed again, no matter how much you tried to stay away.

You had met George Daniel through your ex boyfriend. He was a friend of the band George drummed in, his friendship meant backstage passes and spending a lot of time with the boys. You had formed a solid friendship with Matty, Ross and Adam. George was different though. You had a connection that was more than platonic, you felt connected to him from the moment you met him.

You were snooping backstage, alone. Your boyfriend was busy watching sound check but you felt like having a look at the behind the scenes. You found yourself in their dressing room, looking at the bits and pieces that decorated it.

'Found what you're looking for?' A deep voice came from behind you.

You jumped and turned to face him, his tall body leaning in the doorframe, sweating from soundcheck.

You shrugged.

'Just curious, sorry if I was intruding.' You said.

'It's no problem.' He replied as he subtly closed the door, you standing a couple of meters away from him as he approached you.

You had felt his glare on your body, his tall frame towering over you, intimidating you in a way that made you want to just jump on him.

So, you did.

It was savage. It was disrespectful to the boyfriend who was waiting for you a couple of rooms away, but oh my god was it worth it. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and he seemed to know exactly what you liked. You had never felt such a sense of euphoria when you were intimate with your boyfriend, but with George's large body pressed against yours as you lied on the sofa, you had never felt so strongly that this was the right thing to do.

Since that day you had never been able to stay away from George. He could tour the world, you could move to another city, go on work placements, meet boys, do whatever. It didn't matter. You were always under the grasp of George Daniel and you couldn't escape. Or, you didn't want to.

He was exactly the same. He had girlfriends. Some he was public with, some not. He had flings, went to parties, had one night stands. Spent time just being single. Despite every relationship, however, he knew he belonged to only you, and you felt he was with these girls to prevent anything serious ever happening between the pair of you.

You wouldn't even call it friends with benefits. It felt like you were soul mates, no matter how cliche that sounded. You never held each other accountable for your other sexual antics, you couldn't be mad at each other, you weren't together. Neither of you wanted to have that conversation, so you never did. Hell, you'd even shagged Matty at a party a year ago, you were so drunk and didn't feel like being sensible so you did it. George never seemed to care. Not to your face, anyway.

It was the middle of winter. Fucking freezing outside, yet George still tortured himself by leaving every twenty minutes for a cigarette. You were with a group of friends, it was evening time. The house was warm but received a rush of cold every time George had to leave to fuel his dirty habit.

You were sandwiched between your best friend and Ross, who had his arm casually resting behind your head on top of the sofa. Everyone around you were engaged in small conversations, you were just happy to observe.

You felt Ross' breath against your ear as you suddenly noticed his face close to you.

'You know, Y/N.' He began. 'You might want to go talk to George.'

Confused, you raise your eyebrows at him.

'He said something to us this morning, something about you. We both know him well enough to know he doesn't ever express his feelings often, and this morning he did. I think you should go and see what he's thinking.' Ross nudges you as he explains.

You get up off the sofa, grab a coat and head outside the back door, not realising how truly cold it was.

'Alright.' George nods at you as you take a seat opposite him.

'You have a problem.' You reply. 'How can you not smoke for at least an hour, it's bloody freezing out here, I think I've already got frostbite.'

He laughs.

'It clears my mind.' He mumbles.

'What's on your mind that desperately needs clearing so often?' You joke.

He pauses, flicks the cigarette onto the floor and blows the last puff of smoke out of his mouth.

'You.'

'Me?'

'You, Y/N. I've realised something about you. You're like a cigarette.'

What?

'What do you mean?' You question.

'You're bad for me, you're addictive. I know I shouldn't feel a particular way about you, but I do. Y/N, you're like my cigarette, bad for me, but I fucking love you.'

'Love me? Is this some kind of joke, George? What the fuck do you mean?' You reply, stuttering.

'I mean, Y/N, I am in love with you. I have been in denial for so long, but why do you think we keep coming back to each other? When I'm in a relationship all I do is compare them to you. Sex is never satisfying unless you're with me, girls end up boring me and I keep finding myself back at your feet. You are exactly the same. I think you're scared, you don't even know yourself.'

You feel your jaw hit the floor as George rambles on.

'How am I exactly the same?' You reply, not knowing what else to say.

'You always come back to me. We get on better than any two people ever have before, I catch you looking at me across rooms and staring at me when we're in bed. Either you know it and you haven't said anything, or you haven't realised it yourself yet. You love me.'

You laugh and shake your head.

'No.'

'Come on, Y/N. Look me in the eye right now and tell me you're not in love with me.' He pleads.

For the first time since he's started speaking, your eyes meet his. He stands up, as do you, and you practice the line in your head.

However, when he's so close to you, his hands on your waist, his eyes staring deep into yours, you can't get the words out. You can't say it because you know in yourself he's right.

His cold lips are soon pressed against yours, your hands find their way up to your hair.

He smiles into the kiss as you fail to say the sentence.

He pulls away.

'Got anything to say to me?' He asks, pretending to be innocent.

'I love you, George.'

He pulls your body into his and wraps his arms around your torso, leaning his chin on the top of your head before pulling away and stroking his thumb over your lips, his other hand on your cheek, his face smiling down at you.

'I love you too, Y/N.'