19,000 Prompts, 500 Words, One Week Challenge prompt: Wild goose chase.

AN: Reviews are always lovely.

Waking up was always the hardest part.

At night, in the dark, under the covers… it was easier to deal with, then, when they were drunk on alcohol and freedom and each other.

In the morning, when she woke up, she tried to pretend it wasn't real. She kept her eyes closed against the light, trying to block out the memories of the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. And the night before that.

How did she always end up here? How did she manage to keep waking up in his bed, his arms wrapped around her, holding her? How? And why? Why did she do things like this?

But you don't, a small voice whispered. At least, not with anyone but him.

She wondered if she would be able to slip away again, without him noticing. She had managed it the last few times, but somehow, it was getting harder and harder each time, because deep down she didn't want to leave.

But she had to.

She had to.

"I know you're awake," he said.

Startled, she broke free from his arms and rolled over to face him. "How did you know?"

"You get all tense when you wake up," he said. "When you're asleep, you're relaxed. Peaceful."

She avoided looking into his eyes, his blue eyes on his freckled face, framed by that vivid hair that she loved so much. "I should go."

"Don't go," he said, and somehow, he caught her hand in his. "Please don't go."

She tried to pull away from him. "This is wrong."

"No," he said gently, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her on her fingertips. "This is right."

"George," she said, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that spread through her.

"Angelina," he said, mimicking her.

She sighed, closing her eyes. "We have to stop doing this. This isn't right. This isn't how it should be."

"Maybe," said George, his voice taking on a tone she had never heard before. "Maybe this isn't how it should be. Maybe a lot of things aren't how they should be. But this is how it is. Maybe we're not romantic and poetic. So what?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"We are who we are, Angelina. There are a lot of things between us, a lot of things that have to be said and done. But we can survive those things."

Angelina half-smiled. "You make it sound like some kind of noble quest. But it's not. It's more like a— a wild goose chase, running one direction and then another, never getting where you're going."

"So what if it is?" said George. "So what? So we're not noble. So our love is a wild goose chase instead of a noble quest. So we have baggage, and lots of it. That's who we are. You and I— we're wild. We're crazy. We're messed up, problematic, issue-ridden freaks, and I don't care, because we're worth it. Our love is worth it."

"Love?" whispered Angelina.

"Yes," said George. "Love. I love you, Angelina Johnson, and there's nothing you can do about. There! It's been said. I don't care. I don't care if I'm insane or even if you don't love me back, because—

She leaned in and kissed him, stopping his words. His arms wrapped around her, and for a long moment, they lay there, kissing. Then they broke apart. The room was suddenly quiet in the absence of George's ranting.

Then Angelina spoke.

"I love you, too, crazy one."

And maybe they wouldn't live happily ever after, she thought, but maybe they didn't need to.

They would live happily-enough ever after.

And that was good enough for her.