A/N: Title is the title of a song by We Are Scientists, just because it seemed to fit. I'm excited that I finally finished this, as the first few lines have been sitting around as an unfinished fic since I watched 'The Other Side of This Life'. Enjoy!
In the shower that evening, he has the water on as hot as it will go, ignoring the burn as he scrubs and scrubs until his skin is nearly raw. The steam fills the room, creating a moist haze, and he doesn't care because all he wants is to make sure she can't tell.
He has this irrational fear that somehow, some way, she'll know. She'll know he kissed Izzie Stevens in the elevator by the look in his eyes or the tone of his voice or smell of her clinging to him or the glow he feels is emanating off of his skin.
And he can't let her know. Because he loves her.
He's just not sure if he's in love with her.
At one time he thought he was, of course. But after this, after the butterflies and the warmth in his chest and the I'm home feeling… he doesn't know what being in love is anymore. He's not even sure he ever knew.
This is a feeling that is completely new, unfamiliar, terrifying, and completely addicting. A feeling he knows he has to ignore and avoid. A feeling he knows that he can't ignore or avoid.
It draws him in, like a moth to a flame, and he has to get as far away as he possibly can before he's incinerated. The look in her eyes, the light in her hair, the smell of her perfume, the smoothness of her skin… it all is far too much for him to resist.
No more elevators, he vows. No more alcohol in her vicinity. No more linen closets.
Just locker rooms where they're surrounded by people forcing them into normalcy. Just crowded hallways and operating rooms. Just hospital rooms with surgical patients and worried families.
He knows these new rules he's set for himself will only hold him for so long. He knows he's going to crack eventually, that a decision needs to be made before he loses everyone and everything that's ever meant anything to him.
But every night, lying in bed next to a woman he's not sure he should be married to, the words are in his brain but not in his mouth. They come out as Goodnight, Callie or I love you, too or I'll take care of breakfast in the morning, don't worry about it.
And when he wakes up in the morning, he can't tell if its relief or surprise or happiness or disappointment he's feeling as the hair he presses a kiss into is black and not blonde.
He wonders how much longer he can wait until it finally becomes far too unfair. He wonders when he'll finally come to some sort of realization, something like you're not what she deserves or you don't belong here, George.
It hasn't come, though. Not yet.
But it will. He's at least somewhat sure of that.
And until it does, he'll continue to take showers that are too hot and sleep next to a woman he's not quite sure he loves.
Because the longer he puts it all off, the longer nobody gets hurt.
End
