LoveJoy went to their meeting earlier today. The flat felt eerily quiet once the guys were gone, so I decided to head over to George's earlier than I had planned.

I use my key to walk in. I don't see him anywhere around even though the guys said they talked to him this morning.

I swear if he's taking a nap. I walk over to his room and knock on the door a couple times. When I get no response, I open the door slowly.

I roll my eyes at him being all cuddled up asleep in his bed. This guy sleeps more than an actual baby does.

"George," I whisper as I make my way over to the side of the bed he's half-hanging off of. "Wake up, Georgie."

He mumbles something incoherent before flipping onto his other side.

"George," I say a little louder, "Wake up."

"Why?" he asks, his voice muffled from the pillow in his face.

"Because the guys are going to be back soon."

He sits up slowly. "I hate waking up."

I laugh. "Trust me, I know."

The blanket falls off his shoulders, and he shivers. "Gross. It's cold."

"Gross?" I mock him.

"Shut up and get under a blanket before you get frostbite." George shoves one of his many blankets in my direction.

I drape it across myself before sitting on the bed with him. This isn't something we do often, but I know from the past that George likes to gossip when wrapped in blankets.

"What?" I ask, expecting there to be something he wants to say.

"You seemed to avoid Wilbur yesterday," George inquires. "What's up with all that?"

I shrug. "Just friends. It's just going to take some adjusting, you know?"

George nods. "But what if you aren't friends?"

I laugh a little. "I would be down to try being more, but there's two people here, George. I can't say how Wilbur feels about me because I don't know."

George smiles a little bit before opening his mouth. He shuts it promptly after, deciding against telling me.

"What?" I urge. I know that look anywhere, and I know it means George is hiding information. "What do you know?"

"Oh, nothing," George says casually before standing from the bed. "I think I'll get something to eat before the boys get back."

I follow him to the kitchen. "What are you hiding from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything." George shrugs.

"Are you purposely not telling me certain information?" I ask pointedly.

George blushes a bit. "I don't want to change the undeniable future."

He turns around and ends up heading towards the toilet room, forgetting about his snack.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I call out as he's closing the door. "This isn't the time to become some sort of riddler, George!"

I'm sitting on the barstool to his counter when George comes back from the toilet.

"What do you know?" I ask him as he heads back towards the fridge.

"I know," he begins, "that we are going to be drinking tonight no matter what."

He grabs a juice box from the fridge. It's a strange thing about George. He could have completely empty cupboards with absolutely no food in the house, but I can bet my entire life there will be juice boxes in that fridge. It's an addiction.

"You see," George continues, "if the meeting is good; we drink in celebration. If the meeting is bad; we drink in sadness."

"The point is..?"

George hands me a juicebox. "Either way, I'm getting drunk tonight."

This makes me smile. George never really drinks, especially in big groups. We've drank together a handful of times, but almost every single one was just us in one of our flats.

"Wow, really stepping out of that comfort zone." I take the juice from him. "And I really hope you washed your hands."

He gives me a look. "Always."

I sigh and take my straw out of the wrapper. I wonder what George is keeping from me. Something happened, and he's trying his best to surprise me with it. I'm just not sure I want to be surprised.

A loud group laughs as they walk down the road. We can hear them from inside the house, and it sounds like they're getting closer.

"You don't think?" George asks before they open the door.

The four grown men of LoveJoy stumble their way into George's flat all at once.

"It was a success!" Mark announces as they enter.

"We got ourselves a partial deal!" Joe continues.

"A deal... is in the... the works," Wilbur tries to explain, "Paperwork."

George nods like that makes perfect sense. I just go along with it.

"And now," Ash walks through the living room holding a wine bottle they must've been sharing. "We call for a celebration."

Wilbur walks into the kitchen. "George."

"Yes?"

"Do you.." Wilbur searches for something. "Do you have any wine?"

"I actually do." George nods before walking into the kitchen where Wilbur is. He grabs the wine bottle I brought yesterday and looks at it with a frown.

He turns the bottle towards me. "Did you really buy a wine bottle for only seven pounds?"

Wilbur reads over his shoulder and laughs loudly. "Actually only 6.90"

"It was cheap," I explain, "I didn't think you were so picky, George."

"It's not that he's picky," Wilbur attempts to help George, "It's just that he wants our celebration to be special."

I nod as if that makes sense. These boys are almost to the point where they won't notice the difference between good wine and bad wine. They'll just want wine.

"It'll do," George says before going to grab the wine.

"I know what we should do." Wilbur hits his hand on the table, wincing a little after. "Maia and I will get you more wine!"

The other three guys cheer from the living room.

I roll my eyes, not really expecting to actually go, but Wilbur and I are whisked out the door before we know it.

Halfway to the shop, Wilbur starts leaning on my shoulder for support more and more as he gets more tired. It's not a far walk though, so I'm not too worried for him.

"Here we are!" Wilbur announces excitedly as we enter the shop. "I know just what I want."

I nod, doubting that's true at all.

I follow him blindly into the shop, helping him not to knock down every bottle of alcohol here.

We're standing in the corner of the store; a shelf of alcohol in front of us, and a wall of strange posters taped up to our left.

Wilbur stands dangerously close to the bottles. I lightly tap his arm to get his attention. He turns with a glazed and confused look in his eyes.

"Step back a bit," I ask him. As the sober one, I feel like this is my responsibility to make sure nothing goes wrong.

He stumbles back a step before leaning on me again. Only this time I wasn't expecting it and fell into the wall on my left, lucky there were no bottles there.

Now I'm leaning on the wall for support, while Wilbur lazily puts both his hands on either side of my head for his own support.

He smells like his usual cologne and an earthy wine from his earlier bottle. His aroma engulfs me entirely in the space between us.

His face is merely inches away from me, and I struggle to catch my breath. I'm torn between wanting the gap closed and wanting to push him away. He brings himself just a little closer until our nose brush.

He blinks once and pulls away from me; his eyes now stone cold.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he grabs a wine bottle. "That was an accident."

I just nod once and stand back as he goes to the register to pay. I stay in the little corner, trying to recover.

"It was an accident."

That's what he said. He said our moment was an accident, which is true, but it made me wonder.

Does he consider the night in the flower field an accident? Does he think it was, just like what just happened moments before, was stumbled upon in a drunken accident?

I shake my head. No, I can't think like that. I refuse to believe that was a situation he casually fell into.

And maybe that's because I want it to mean something. Maybe it's because I refuse for feelings be accidental. I don't want someone falling in love with me by accident. I want someone to love me on purpose.

"Ready, Mai?" Wilbur asks, using my nickname on a rare occurrence.

I nod once and follow him into the street. He starts to drunk-babble about some random things. I believe he's going on about what he thought a mural meant. I hate to tell him it was graffiti of a dog licking a penis, so I just let him go on.

"We're home!" Wilbur cries out once we reach George's flat.

Loud cheers of celebration surround us as we walk into the door, even George. He's giggling on the barstool as the other guys seem to make a ruckus.

I sigh, knowing that I was most likely going to get very drunk tonight.

"No, no, no," Wilbur argues, "That's not how it went at all."

The boys have been talking about an encounter with a big group of people for the past hour. I'm pretty sure this happened a very long time ago, or it could be completely made up. I'm not so sure.

I feel a hazy feeling surrounding me. I feel warm and tingly inside; I don't think I've stopped giggling for the past hour from the argument.

I turn to George who's sitting next to me. He glances up at me with a mischievous smile. His lips have been stained a slight shade of purple from the cheap wine I bought. He's drank almost half the bottle for himself, even as the lightweight he usually is.

His smile falters and he turns a little pale. "I think I might be sick."

"Oh gosh, let's get you fixed up a bit." I grab George's hand and lead him into his bathroom.

I sit him in front of the toilet, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to clean up his throw up from the bathroom rug.

"You stay here," I instruct, "I'll go get you some food."

The band hadn't even notice our absence when I walk back into the living room. I walk past unnoticed towards the kitchen. The guys continue their argument.

Joe shakes his head, agreeing with Mark's original point. "Those girls laughed at you, Wilbur. I'm sorry to break it to you."

Wilbur sighs, hanging his head low as he admits defeat.

Ash smiles, slapping a hand on Wilbur's back. "It's okay, we'll get you someone eventually."

I open the cupboard for some snacks, genuinely surprised at the amount of food George actually has in his house right now. Probably only because of his guests, but still impressive for George.

"What about..." Joe tries to think really hard. "What about that one... the one girl?"

I find myself tuning into their conversation, intrigued on this one girl.

"Ohh yeah." Mark perks up in remembrance. "What.. what was her name again?"

"Taylor!" Ash announces to the entire house, probably the whole building heard actually.

"No, idiot. It didn't start with a 't'," Mark rolls his eyes dramatically which I find to be one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

I grab a roll of crackers and slowly begin to walk back to the bathroom.

"I remember!" Joe says. "It was.. It was like.. Lilly."

"Lilly!"

My entire body pauses. I don't know if Wilbur is aware that I heard that entire conversation, so I move into the bathroom to be out of sight.

I take a deep breath once I'm with George.

Wilbur told them about Lilly, but didn't say that I was Lilly.

I open the packaging and try getting George to eat the crackers. He moves his head away immediately.

"Just one." I hand him a single cracker to munch on from now. One step at a time.

I'm not sure if this even changes things or not. It just proves that Wilbur considers Lilly and Maia as two different people. Isn't that bad? Doesn't that mean he doesn't even look at me romantically?

George takes a nibble out of his cracker and then giggles.

"What?" I can't help but smile at his little drunken state.

"I know something," George whispers to me.

I follow his lead and whisper too, "What do you know, George?"

"I've heard the song."

My heart skips a beat before listening even more intently than before. George could be talking about any song in the world, but something in my gut says it's the song Wilbur wrote. The one that could be about me. Well, one of my personalities.

"It's about you," George continues.

I risk the question that's been looming my mind for a week; one I've been dying to know the answer to.

"Which one of me?"

The answer to this simple question could change a lot of things. It could show how Wilbur thinks of me as Maia his friend and Lilly his lover.

If it's about Lilly, then he really doesn't think of me that way. But if it's about Maia, then it could mean there's a possibility for more.

George all the sudden doesn't want to spill the beans.

"Just know that he's all yours." George puts his hand as if he's reassuring me. "He's, like, in it for the long haul."

I open my mouth to ask him what that's supposed to mean, but he turns to the toilet and throws up.

And once again I'm left in utter confusion of this entire situation.