UNION J: Don't Ever Say You're Lonely
Author: lovelylethargy
Fandom: Union J
Story Title: "Don't Ever Say You're Lonely"
Summary: Josh likes trees; they don't mind the quiet. And he thinks they like him. He visits The Lonely Tree sometimes. Sometimes George comes with him.
Character/Relationships: Josh Cuthbert, George Shelley, The Lonely Tree, Josh Cuthbert/George Shelley
Rating: G.
Warnings: Lots of physical contact, I guess (but let's be real - there's lots of physical contact anywhere George is involved)?
Story Wordcount: 2,318.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from X-Factor, Crown Management, RCA, Sony, ITV, or AlphaDog Management. No libel intended.
Notes: Inspired by Josh's Instagram on April 25. Thanks to aimmyarrowshigh (for always being lovely and) for being interested in this fic. Please share any questions or comments.
»»»
His mum comes looking for him in the same place, every time. He never was a particularly unpredictable child.
“One of these days, you’re going to turn into a tree,” she laughs, smiling down at him leaned up against one of the smaller trees. Trees grow up to be a lot bigger than people do, and they live a longer, so he thinks that the one he’s picked today must be about his age in tree years, even if it is still quite big.
“So?” he asks, confused. He doesn’t see anything wrong with being a tree. He quite likes trees. Besides, he thinks that they like him, too; they definitely like him better than the kids at school. Trees are nicer. He thinks that they certainly understand him better. They don’t mind a little quiet.
“So,” his mum says, drawing out the word as she sits down next to him and the tree. “I like you just the way you are.” She gives him that twinkly eyed smile and combs her fingers through his hair the way he likes.
He likes himself the way he is, too, most of the time. The trees help with that.
»»»
When his mum sees the new hairstyle, she laughs, pulling him into a hug.
“I like the new leaves.” His hair. As soon as he had stepped into the hair salon, Jaime had cringed and steered him toward an empty chair.
“I’m sure you’re lovely, Josh,” he had said, “But your hair is not.” George, who was still darting around, all nervous energy and jittery movements, had barked a laugh at that before he was shooed away by an impatient Jaime.
“Don’t worry,” he added, “We’ll get this sorted.”
And they had. Josh ended up with three extra inches of height and an entirely different cut.
“Thanks, mum,” he says, squeezing a bit. He likes them, too.
»»»
He should be expecting it, really - with how busy they’ve been and how much excitement is in the air and how he can’t managed to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time - when he stumbles upon a tree, standing alone in the middle of the city.
They’ve always been a comfort to him, but trees are scarce in London. He’s realized, recently, that he previously took their presence for granted. He loves the city and he loves being with the lads, but sometimes he just really misses the trees.
The fact that he’s stumbled upon a single, lonely tree at such a desirable moment resembles something akin to fate for Josh. It’s like running into a long lost friend - one with a more limited area of circumstance than his human acquaintances, of course.
He’s simultaneously elated and disappointed. He’s so happy to have found a familiar being in such an unlikely place, but it’s also a bit sad. Trees - they’re like people; they’re not meant to be all alone.
Still, he can’t help but be pleased by the meeting. It seems like one always does pop up when he needs it most - when he’s getting particularly home sick, or when he’s nearing the wrong side of worn down. The familiarity of it is grounding, and he’s grateful to have such a universal bond.
»»»
“So this is the tree!” George chirps excitedly, flitting down the street ahead of Josh who follows, carrying both of their frappuccinos in hand. George is too prone to sudden and unexpected movements to hold his own beverage for an extended period of time, apparently.
“You’re right,” he adds, stopped across from the tree in question. “It does look quite lonely.” George takes a seat on the curb, the street being relatively quiet for London.
“I think it could use some company,” Josh agrees, sitting beside him and passing his drink. He’d been in desperate need of air - and caffeine - and on his way out when George had catapulted himself onto his back, clinging at his shoulders, confident in his band mate’s ability to catch him. The entire band has been subjected to the surprise attacks long enough that it’s become second nature to catch him, whatever it is he happens to be doing.
“Good we’re here, then, yeah?” George asks with a grin, before leaning his head on Josh’s shoulder. Josh slings an arm around him, both of them leaning into the contact. George has started to remind him of the trees, in a way - accepting, companionable, understanding - but it’s a bit more than that, too.
He feels as though this moment should concern him more than it does, for a number of reasons - mainly because he’s never shared the trees with anyone but his mother before (and perhaps also because of that fluttery feeling in his chest that is becoming more and more common). And then there’s the fact that he’d normally be desperate to escape for a bit, in need of solitude, but he hasn’t tried to - hasn’t wanted to - escape George in quite some time.
“Yeah, good thing,” he replies simply, leaning his head on George’s (and maybe this is what he should really be most concerned with - his complete disregard for the state of his hair in George’s presence; it should really be alarming by now).
»»»
“I used to talk to the trees, when I was little. The trees and my mum.” They’re visiting the lonely tree, again - he’s taken to referring to it as their tree in his mind. He’s never really tried to explain his relationship with the trees to anyone. There was never anyone he felt the need to share the entire history of it with, for one thing.
There was also the trouble of even having to explain in the first place. It had never been anything but natural to share a bond with the trees. Having to explain made it seem out of the ordinary, and for Josh, it really wasn’t. George just hums a response, turning to look at him with curious eyes.
“I was kind of an awkward kid and I didn’t really get on well with anyone,” he continues, determined to look at George while he’s talking. Sometimes (all of the time) it’s difficult to not get distracted by, well, George, but he supposes he can manage.
He hadn’t made a conscious decision to tell him, but it seems right. If the trees were always a source of comfort for Josh, then George has proven to be the epitome of indulgence; he keeps him grounded and aware and the fluttering has yet to dissipate (though he’s begun to suspect it won’t). With everything that George means to him, it seems unfair to keep such details to himself.
“No one was mean, I was just really quiet,” Josh adds, feeling a twinge of guilt when he hears a snort. He has a general knowledge that his childhood appears idyllic next to George’s; no one ever bullied him, he was awkward but not ostracized, he was happy. He wants to apologize, but he’s cut off, a warm hand on his thigh.
“You were quiet? What happened?” George giggles beside him, body shaking. Josh scowls at him, but his responding attempts to mask the reaction are weak at best, grin still plastered plainly on his beautiful face.
“Shut it, you!” Josh glares at the giggling menace, swatting his arm with force. It doesn’t serve to subdue George, but then he didn’t expect it to. He pretends to pout, pulling away and curling into himself, but George just grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him back.
“Nooo,” he whines, curling into Josh’s side. “I’m sorry, that was mean. I’ll be good, I promise.” George looks up with puppy eyes and pouted lips, and that face is not fair in the slightest, but Josh can excuse that for the moment. He wraps an arm around George’s waist, leaning into him.
They still slightly, pressed against one another, as Josh tries to find the words to describe the relationship accurately. A lot about him has changed, not just the fact that he used to be quiet; he was never much for physical contact, either - though that may just be an exception he makes for George. He considers how to best explain the trees, struggling to put the situation into words.
“Trees don’t judge, you know?” Josh settles on finally. He doubts there is a way to convey his exact feelings, but that seems as close to verbalizing it as he can manage.
“Yeah,” George sighs back, melting against him. “Like, they’re there for you even if no one else is.” Josh breathes deeply against George’s hair, pleased that explaining this to him doesn’t even feel like giving an explanation. He doesn’t have to justify himself, he’s not being judged, and he’s grateful. This is just another addition to the pieces of himself he’s already shared. And as much as this is natural to him, it’s nice to not have any scrutiny, especially from George.
“Exactly,” he replies, pressing lips to the top of his head. He’s not just grateful that he gets it. He’s grateful that he has him.
“That’s nice,” George says sincerely, thoughtfully, fingers tracing patterns against Josh’s thigh.
“So is this.”
»»»
Somehow, it’s suddenly July. Their lives have become such a whirlwind - interviews and premieres and recording and work - that it helps, even for a few minutes, to escape. They visit their tree whenever they get a small opening in their schedule. It’s nice; Josh used to seek out solitude when visiting the tree, but having George beside him is reassuring. He thinks it’s grounding for the both of them.
They have a joint-birthday party, and Josh can’t remember ever having a better celebration. He teases George about being the littlest and pretends to be offended when he calls him an old man in return, even if they’re actually the same age for a day.
They follow their guests out as they leave, walking into the night, headed toward the quiet area of the city. They’re both tired, but still running on the excitement of the party, and it only seems right to head for the tree. They walk close, hips bumping and shoulders touching, and it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest.
At some point their hands meet between them, fingers lacing reflexively. Josh squeezes and George smiles at him and that fluttering that’s been almost constant for months now surges at the sight. They sit, like they usually do, George curled into his side and Josh sighs, relaxing into the moment. They stay that way for a while - breathing the calm night air, looking at the tree, hearts beating in time - before George pulls back slightly, looking up at him.
“I got you something,” he says, disentangling his hand in order to shove IT in his pocket, fishing something out.
“I thought we weren’t getting gifts,” Josh says, disapproving.
“I know. I did anyway.” George says sheepishly, fingers curled into a fist to hide whatever he’s had in his pocket.
“Good,” he says with a smirk. “Cause I did, too. You’ll get yours later,” he adds, grinning. As if either of them actually thought that policy would deter any sort of gift giving.
George smiles at that before flattening his hand to reveal a silver chain that he slides into Josh’s open palm. He holds the necklace up, letting it hang heavy, weighted by a charm - a tiny silver tree - at the bottom. Josh just stares, trying to process that beautiful person beside him who thought to give him such a thing. The fluttering is reaching dangerous levels, he thinks - he can feel his heart behind his ribs, beating hard at the emotions swirling through him. He coughs in an attempt to dislodge the tightness in his throat, not trusting himself to speak through it, but that just sends George fidgeting and worrying.
“I didn’t know what you would want, and I found this that one time Parisa took me shopping, and I thought that you could, like, always have a tree with you this way, but if you don’t like it, it’s okay, I -”
“You’re not getting a present anymore,” Josh interrupts, place a hand on George’s tiny thigh to stop its shaking.
“What?” he asks, caught off guard.
“You don’t get yours. It’s a disgrace,” he clarifies, smiling as the realization dawns on George’s face.
“You like it?” he asks, sounding small - smaller than he is - and guarded and hopeful.
“I love it,” Josh amends, sliding the chain around his neck, letting the tree fall comfortably against his ribcage, against the fluttering that has everything to do with George and nothing to do with the tree.
“Thank you,” Josh adds, reaching out to envelope his hand, pulling him near.
»»»
“What’s this?” George asks curiously, looping a finger through the necklace in order to inspect it. The tree charm hasn’t left its spot against Josh’s ribs save a handful of occasions since he first put it on. He catches the charms, the tree now accompanied by another, examining the pair.
“Is that a monkey?” Realization seems to dawn on him as he looks curiously up at Josh from beneath long lashes. Under different circumstances, the sight would make Josh want to tear at his hair, but his voice has adopted that hesitant tone, like he’s afraid he’s put himself out too far.
“Yeah,” Josh replies, watching his face, bowed slightly, not quite looking at him now. “Having the tree with me all of the time made me realize that I need my monkey, too.” George giggles, grinning widely as he buries his face in Josh’s neck, arms coiling tightly around his waist.
“Your monkey?” George asks, lips brushing against skin as Josh envelopes slight shoulders, drawing him nearer.
“Yeah. My monkey.” he sighs, nestling his own face against George’s hair, the fluttering constant beneath his ribs.
Fandom: Union J
Story Title: "Don't Ever Say You're Lonely"
Summary: Josh likes trees; they don't mind the quiet. And he thinks they like him. He visits The Lonely Tree sometimes. Sometimes George comes with him.
Character/Relationships: Josh Cuthbert, George Shelley, The Lonely Tree, Josh Cuthbert/George Shelley
Rating: G.
Warnings: Lots of physical contact, I guess (but let's be real - there's lots of physical contact anywhere George is involved)?
Story Wordcount: 2,318.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from X-Factor, Crown Management, RCA, Sony, ITV, or AlphaDog Management. No libel intended.
Notes: Inspired by Josh's Instagram on April 25. Thanks to aimmyarrowshigh (for always being lovely and) for being interested in this fic. Please share any questions or comments.
»»»
His mum comes looking for him in the same place, every time. He never was a particularly unpredictable child.
“One of these days, you’re going to turn into a tree,” she laughs, smiling down at him leaned up against one of the smaller trees. Trees grow up to be a lot bigger than people do, and they live a longer, so he thinks that the one he’s picked today must be about his age in tree years, even if it is still quite big.
“So?” he asks, confused. He doesn’t see anything wrong with being a tree. He quite likes trees. Besides, he thinks that they like him, too; they definitely like him better than the kids at school. Trees are nicer. He thinks that they certainly understand him better. They don’t mind a little quiet.
“So,” his mum says, drawing out the word as she sits down next to him and the tree. “I like you just the way you are.” She gives him that twinkly eyed smile and combs her fingers through his hair the way he likes.
He likes himself the way he is, too, most of the time. The trees help with that.
»»»
When his mum sees the new hairstyle, she laughs, pulling him into a hug.
“I like the new leaves.” His hair. As soon as he had stepped into the hair salon, Jaime had cringed and steered him toward an empty chair.
“I’m sure you’re lovely, Josh,” he had said, “But your hair is not.” George, who was still darting around, all nervous energy and jittery movements, had barked a laugh at that before he was shooed away by an impatient Jaime.
“Don’t worry,” he added, “We’ll get this sorted.”
And they had. Josh ended up with three extra inches of height and an entirely different cut.
“Thanks, mum,” he says, squeezing a bit. He likes them, too.
»»»
He should be expecting it, really - with how busy they’ve been and how much excitement is in the air and how he can’t managed to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time - when he stumbles upon a tree, standing alone in the middle of the city.
They’ve always been a comfort to him, but trees are scarce in London. He’s realized, recently, that he previously took their presence for granted. He loves the city and he loves being with the lads, but sometimes he just really misses the trees.
The fact that he’s stumbled upon a single, lonely tree at such a desirable moment resembles something akin to fate for Josh. It’s like running into a long lost friend - one with a more limited area of circumstance than his human acquaintances, of course.
He’s simultaneously elated and disappointed. He’s so happy to have found a familiar being in such an unlikely place, but it’s also a bit sad. Trees - they’re like people; they’re not meant to be all alone.
Still, he can’t help but be pleased by the meeting. It seems like one always does pop up when he needs it most - when he’s getting particularly home sick, or when he’s nearing the wrong side of worn down. The familiarity of it is grounding, and he’s grateful to have such a universal bond.
»»»
“So this is the tree!” George chirps excitedly, flitting down the street ahead of Josh who follows, carrying both of their frappuccinos in hand. George is too prone to sudden and unexpected movements to hold his own beverage for an extended period of time, apparently.
“You’re right,” he adds, stopped across from the tree in question. “It does look quite lonely.” George takes a seat on the curb, the street being relatively quiet for London.
“I think it could use some company,” Josh agrees, sitting beside him and passing his drink. He’d been in desperate need of air - and caffeine - and on his way out when George had catapulted himself onto his back, clinging at his shoulders, confident in his band mate’s ability to catch him. The entire band has been subjected to the surprise attacks long enough that it’s become second nature to catch him, whatever it is he happens to be doing.
“Good we’re here, then, yeah?” George asks with a grin, before leaning his head on Josh’s shoulder. Josh slings an arm around him, both of them leaning into the contact. George has started to remind him of the trees, in a way - accepting, companionable, understanding - but it’s a bit more than that, too.
He feels as though this moment should concern him more than it does, for a number of reasons - mainly because he’s never shared the trees with anyone but his mother before (and perhaps also because of that fluttery feeling in his chest that is becoming more and more common). And then there’s the fact that he’d normally be desperate to escape for a bit, in need of solitude, but he hasn’t tried to - hasn’t wanted to - escape George in quite some time.
“Yeah, good thing,” he replies simply, leaning his head on George’s (and maybe this is what he should really be most concerned with - his complete disregard for the state of his hair in George’s presence; it should really be alarming by now).
»»»
“I used to talk to the trees, when I was little. The trees and my mum.” They’re visiting the lonely tree, again - he’s taken to referring to it as their tree in his mind. He’s never really tried to explain his relationship with the trees to anyone. There was never anyone he felt the need to share the entire history of it with, for one thing.
There was also the trouble of even having to explain in the first place. It had never been anything but natural to share a bond with the trees. Having to explain made it seem out of the ordinary, and for Josh, it really wasn’t. George just hums a response, turning to look at him with curious eyes.
“I was kind of an awkward kid and I didn’t really get on well with anyone,” he continues, determined to look at George while he’s talking. Sometimes (all of the time) it’s difficult to not get distracted by, well, George, but he supposes he can manage.
He hadn’t made a conscious decision to tell him, but it seems right. If the trees were always a source of comfort for Josh, then George has proven to be the epitome of indulgence; he keeps him grounded and aware and the fluttering has yet to dissipate (though he’s begun to suspect it won’t). With everything that George means to him, it seems unfair to keep such details to himself.
“No one was mean, I was just really quiet,” Josh adds, feeling a twinge of guilt when he hears a snort. He has a general knowledge that his childhood appears idyllic next to George’s; no one ever bullied him, he was awkward but not ostracized, he was happy. He wants to apologize, but he’s cut off, a warm hand on his thigh.
“You were quiet? What happened?” George giggles beside him, body shaking. Josh scowls at him, but his responding attempts to mask the reaction are weak at best, grin still plastered plainly on his beautiful face.
“Shut it, you!” Josh glares at the giggling menace, swatting his arm with force. It doesn’t serve to subdue George, but then he didn’t expect it to. He pretends to pout, pulling away and curling into himself, but George just grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him back.
“Nooo,” he whines, curling into Josh’s side. “I’m sorry, that was mean. I’ll be good, I promise.” George looks up with puppy eyes and pouted lips, and that face is not fair in the slightest, but Josh can excuse that for the moment. He wraps an arm around George’s waist, leaning into him.
They still slightly, pressed against one another, as Josh tries to find the words to describe the relationship accurately. A lot about him has changed, not just the fact that he used to be quiet; he was never much for physical contact, either - though that may just be an exception he makes for George. He considers how to best explain the trees, struggling to put the situation into words.
“Trees don’t judge, you know?” Josh settles on finally. He doubts there is a way to convey his exact feelings, but that seems as close to verbalizing it as he can manage.
“Yeah,” George sighs back, melting against him. “Like, they’re there for you even if no one else is.” Josh breathes deeply against George’s hair, pleased that explaining this to him doesn’t even feel like giving an explanation. He doesn’t have to justify himself, he’s not being judged, and he’s grateful. This is just another addition to the pieces of himself he’s already shared. And as much as this is natural to him, it’s nice to not have any scrutiny, especially from George.
“Exactly,” he replies, pressing lips to the top of his head. He’s not just grateful that he gets it. He’s grateful that he has him.
“That’s nice,” George says sincerely, thoughtfully, fingers tracing patterns against Josh’s thigh.
“So is this.”
»»»
Somehow, it’s suddenly July. Their lives have become such a whirlwind - interviews and premieres and recording and work - that it helps, even for a few minutes, to escape. They visit their tree whenever they get a small opening in their schedule. It’s nice; Josh used to seek out solitude when visiting the tree, but having George beside him is reassuring. He thinks it’s grounding for the both of them.
They have a joint-birthday party, and Josh can’t remember ever having a better celebration. He teases George about being the littlest and pretends to be offended when he calls him an old man in return, even if they’re actually the same age for a day.
They follow their guests out as they leave, walking into the night, headed toward the quiet area of the city. They’re both tired, but still running on the excitement of the party, and it only seems right to head for the tree. They walk close, hips bumping and shoulders touching, and it’s not uncomfortable in the slightest.
At some point their hands meet between them, fingers lacing reflexively. Josh squeezes and George smiles at him and that fluttering that’s been almost constant for months now surges at the sight. They sit, like they usually do, George curled into his side and Josh sighs, relaxing into the moment. They stay that way for a while - breathing the calm night air, looking at the tree, hearts beating in time - before George pulls back slightly, looking up at him.
“I got you something,” he says, disentangling his hand in order to shove IT in his pocket, fishing something out.
“I thought we weren’t getting gifts,” Josh says, disapproving.
“I know. I did anyway.” George says sheepishly, fingers curled into a fist to hide whatever he’s had in his pocket.
“Good,” he says with a smirk. “Cause I did, too. You’ll get yours later,” he adds, grinning. As if either of them actually thought that policy would deter any sort of gift giving.
George smiles at that before flattening his hand to reveal a silver chain that he slides into Josh’s open palm. He holds the necklace up, letting it hang heavy, weighted by a charm - a tiny silver tree - at the bottom. Josh just stares, trying to process that beautiful person beside him who thought to give him such a thing. The fluttering is reaching dangerous levels, he thinks - he can feel his heart behind his ribs, beating hard at the emotions swirling through him. He coughs in an attempt to dislodge the tightness in his throat, not trusting himself to speak through it, but that just sends George fidgeting and worrying.
“I didn’t know what you would want, and I found this that one time Parisa took me shopping, and I thought that you could, like, always have a tree with you this way, but if you don’t like it, it’s okay, I -”
“You’re not getting a present anymore,” Josh interrupts, place a hand on George’s tiny thigh to stop its shaking.
“What?” he asks, caught off guard.
“You don’t get yours. It’s a disgrace,” he clarifies, smiling as the realization dawns on George’s face.
“You like it?” he asks, sounding small - smaller than he is - and guarded and hopeful.
“I love it,” Josh amends, sliding the chain around his neck, letting the tree fall comfortably against his ribcage, against the fluttering that has everything to do with George and nothing to do with the tree.
“Thank you,” Josh adds, reaching out to envelope his hand, pulling him near.
»»»
“What’s this?” George asks curiously, looping a finger through the necklace in order to inspect it. The tree charm hasn’t left its spot against Josh’s ribs save a handful of occasions since he first put it on. He catches the charms, the tree now accompanied by another, examining the pair.
“Is that a monkey?” Realization seems to dawn on him as he looks curiously up at Josh from beneath long lashes. Under different circumstances, the sight would make Josh want to tear at his hair, but his voice has adopted that hesitant tone, like he’s afraid he’s put himself out too far.
“Yeah,” Josh replies, watching his face, bowed slightly, not quite looking at him now. “Having the tree with me all of the time made me realize that I need my monkey, too.” George giggles, grinning widely as he buries his face in Josh’s neck, arms coiling tightly around his waist.
“Your monkey?” George asks, lips brushing against skin as Josh envelopes slight shoulders, drawing him nearer.
“Yeah. My monkey.” he sighs, nestling his own face against George’s hair, the fluttering constant beneath his ribs.