It's Better If You Do

George quietly made his way up the stairs, being mindful of the ones that produced loud creaks or the way his shoes would slide against the stairs. He wasn’t sure how deep a sleeper Bellamy was and he didn’t want to inadvertently wake her up and ruin his chance of being “nice” to her. It may be the only chance he got, and Fred deserved a fair chance with Rose. He slowly stepped into the room, his eyes setting on the girl that, probably unknowingly, fell asleep on his bed. A wily grin crept onto his lips as he neared the bed, leaning over to find that she was indeed sleeping.

He stood there for a moment with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted to the side, looking slowly over the sleeping girl. She was the prettiest thing, by far, that had made their way into his bed, or on his bed as she was. She looked the most peaceful he had seen her, all hint of ferocity or discontent gone from her feminine features. Her beloved red shoes were at the foot of the bed, carelessly tossed onto the floor and her wavy ponytail was messy. Her bangs had fallen over her eyes, creating a makeshift shield from the light in the room. She lay on her side with her hands folded under her head and her legs curled up, her bare, dainty feet exposed. She was obviously dreaming, and dreaming of something pleasant, because the smallest, genuine smile tugged up the corners of her lips. George thought it was a more befitting expression for such a lovely, yet tumultuous girl.

Curiosity over took George as his eyes fell to the powder blue interior of her open trunk. He bit his bottom lip, attempting to stem the wide smirk that curled up the corner of his lips. Taking a few quiet steps over to it, he crouched down and looked over the amount of shoes he had. He shook his head, never having seen a collection as big as hers. A small pocket on the back of the trunk caught his attention and, knowing he shouldn’t, he stretched out his hand and reached into it. He pulled out a few sheets of paper and turned them over and the one on top was a picture of a much younger Bellamy and Rose, grinning up at the camera, pressing their cheeks together as their arms were wrapped around the other shoulders tightly, then laughing heartily. They were wearing Beauxbaton’s powder blue, silk dresses and George could see a nicely sized house in the distance behind them. George smiled despite himself, happy with seeing the sister’s so happy, particularly Bellamy. It was nice to see that she had the emotional range enough to look so happy.

He flipped to the next picture and saw a close up portrait of Bellamy, at the age she appeared to be now, and a very handsome boy. They appeared to both be sharing a pillow as her dark hair was pooled behind her head on a silken-looking pillow. The boy beside her looked French, but George knew that there was a possibility he wasn’t. The boy had light blonde hair, nearly the color of his skin, and striking blue eyes. Honestly, George couldn’t see Bellamy falling for someone like that. Then again, he didn’t really know Bellamy. Their eyes were gleaming with happiness as Bellamy let out a giggle, the boy turning from the camera and stealing a kiss on the corner of her lips before Bellamy reached up and snatched at the camera. The picture then faded to black for a few moments before the picture returned to the couple smiling. George glanced over to the sleeping girl. He wondered if they were dating now or if their relationship had ended.

He placed the pictures to the side and unfolded a worn looking piece of parchment. To his dismay, the rough-looking writing was in French, the only words he could pick out were ‘Bellamy’, ‘and’, ‘but’, and ‘love’. The name signed at the bottom was Julian and he couldn’t tell if the writer of the letter was a girl or a boy. There were tearstains on the page and tiny rips littered the soft edges. George pondered the contents of the letter for a moment, his curiosity wishing that he had taken the time to learn more French. He perused the foreign words of the letter for a few moments, when Bellamy let out a heavy sigh and turned over. He jumped a bit and looked up wildly, relieved when he saw that she was still sleeping. Hastily, he returned the pictures and letter to their original order and slid them carefully back into her trunk.

“Right, George,” he said under his breath as he stood, “back to the task at hand.” He was curious as to what the letter said, who Julian was, and the identity of the boy in the picture, but his questions would have to wait. And even then, he wouldn’t ask Bellamy, he’d ask Rose. Bellamy undoubtedly would grow even angrier with him should she find out he was rummaging around in her things.

Gently, he sat down beside her on the bed and listened as she murmured French under her breath before smacking her lips together once. He subdued a small chuckle at her actions before gently gripping her arm.

“Bellamy,” he said softly, shaking her a bit, “it’s time for you to wake up, darling.” He immediately winced at his words, hoping Bellamy didn’t hear him. Mentally scorning himself, he reminded to be ‘treat-her-like-my-mum’ nice. She didn’t stir and George shook her a bit harder. In a flash, one of her hands clamped down on the hand shaking her and George’s eyes went wide. Her eyes didn’t open and she seemed not to wake. Instead, she gripped his hand for a moment before pulling it from her arm, folding her hands around it, and placing it under her head with her own. He stifled a laugh again, knowing that her vice-like grip on his hand was going to render it useless in his attempt at waking her. He lifted his other hand to shake her awake once more and quickly noticed that his fingertips were painted with bright pastel colors.

There was a blue color, a pink color, and an orange color splotched onto his fingers as ink would, some of the colors overlapping and creating other colors. Quickly, he tried to wipe it off on his pants, but the color wouldn’t budge. Frantically, he tried harder to get it off, which in turn only caused his fingers to go raw and the color to remain, becoming brighter if possible. He let out a large sigh and looked up from his fingers to Bellamy. Surely she would know he was in her things now. However, he couldn’t help but to wonder how she had managed the color that now stained his fingers and he was quite interested in it.

“Bellamy,” he said a bit louder, hoping that she would wake easily and pay no mind to the color on his hands, “you’ve got to wake up. Rose is going to make lunch for us.” Her brow furrowed sharply and she drew in a deep breath of air. Her red lips pouted out dramatically as he eyes squeezed shut.

“Nooon,” she groaned, pressing her head harder against their folded hands, “je ne vous aime pas. Laissez-moi.*” George let out a small laugh and shook his head a bit.

“As lovely as that sounded, I can’t help but to think you just said something very nasty to me,” he commented softly as Bellamy stirred a bit, shaking her head as much as she could.

“Pas mechante. Juste…laissez-me dormir ou je vais devenir mauvais,**” she said softly, still not opening her eyes. George stared at her for a moment and let out a heavy sigh.

“Please, Bellamy. I’d like to have lunch now and if I have to stay up here trying to get you up and awake, I’ll miss my chance to eat,” George said, staring intently at the girl. Bellamy pouted in her groggy, half-awake state.

“Vous pouvez mourir de faim pour tout ce m’importante, vous inconsideree peu la merde. Fous le camp pour de moi,***” she growled and George stared at her, wide-eyed and his eyebrows raised high. He had been able to pick out a few words in there and none of them had been pleasant.

“Okay then. I could understand a few of those words. I’ll have you know that I’m not inconsiderate and I’m not a little shit either,” he said sternly, half-heartedly. Bellamy’s eyes slowly opened and she glared up at him. She sat up and went to throw his hand away from her but her eyes caught sight of the colors on his fingers. Gripping his hand in hers, her groggy eyes darted from the color then up to George. She looked a bit surprised, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted.

“Why?” was all she asked in a quiet voice, staring hard at George. He suddenly felt very guilty; an emotion he hadn’t felt in the longest time and he didn’t like the way it unsettled his stomach.

“Curiosity,” he replied simply. Her gaze suddenly hardened and she threw her hand away from him with great force. Hurriedly, she slipped on her shoes as she deftly redid her ponytail, not looking at George, who was stammering over the apology he wanted to get out. Bellamy then left the room without a glance back, her small fists clenched at her sides. George let out a hiss of a curse, falling back onto his bed and covering his face with his hands. He had just dug himself even deeper and now he knew it would be a while if Bellamy were to forgive him, if she even decided to.