anastasia.

Angel searched through George's cupboards for ingredients, hoping that she could make something for the two of them for dinner.

George was the type of person to buy pre-made, packaged foods, whereas Angel was more of an ingredients person. Almost everything she ate was handmade by herself.

"Do you like shortbread?" she glanced over her shoulder at the boy sprawled out on the couch, holding up a paper bag of flour, "You have no other ingredients,"

She had also wanted to make up for the disaster that was their gingerbread house, since it didn't exactly go to plan a couple weeks back.

"There's a lasagna in the freezer," he spoke, placing his phone down to address all his attention towards Angel, "We can go to the store if need be,"

Microwavable lasagna, a quick and easy meal but lacks proper nutrients, "George that lasagna is 10% meat,"

Cat gnawed away at fishy kibble nearby, scarfing down mouthfuls before scurrying away into George's bedroom.

George shrugged before walking up to the kitchen counter, resting his elbows onto the cool marble, cupping his jaw in his hands, "Tastes delicious,"

Angel shook her head, shutting the fridge door on the microwavable meals which they'd probably end up eating later.

"Shortbread it is then," she smiled, sliding the bag of flour across to George, "Do you know anything about baking?"

He picked up the bag, accidentally inhaling a cloud of wheat with his sharp movements. If Angel hadn't had stopped him the kitchen would be coated in flour.

"Absolutely not," George excitedly jogged around the kitchen island to Angel's side, he always loved helping his mother bake, "But I'll help,"

Angel grabbed half-empty bags of ingredients from George's cupboards, some of which George had forgotten he even owned.

"Where are the measuring scales?" she questioned, seeming to not be able to find any equipment in his drawers, none of them were organised, "Do you even have scales?"

He had all the ingredients, only he lacked the equipment required to make the cookies. Which surprisingly was an important aspect of baking.

"I think so," he hummed unknowingly, rummaging through the cupboards Angel had already searched. In his head he tried to imagine the box to try figure out where he last saw it.

When Angel pulled her head from the cupboard George had disappeared into his bedroom, returning with a prideful smile, "Here,"

"Why was it-," Angel tried to suppress the laugh that croaked up her throat, though once George handed her the scales she couldn't withhold them any longer, "You know what, never mind,"

"There's a box of kitchen supplies in there, I just haven't used them before," he had only unpacked certain boxes when he moved house, only the boxes with things he regularly used inside.

She dismissed George's laziness by pouring in the measured flour and caster sugar into the metal bowl, stirring the two powders together

"Can you measure out 100g of butter for me?" Angel read from her phone, scrolling down on the recipe she had loaded up.

He nodded, pressing various buttons and scooping spoonfuls of butter into a bowl until he had the correct amount of butter. Nearly the right amount at least.

When George spun around, Anastasia stood in Angel's space, stirring the flour into the sugar. She smiled softly at him, though her brows soon furrowed in confusion.

"George?" he blinked and Anastasia was gone, Angel stood with the metal bowl in her hands as she looked at her boyfriend with a confused yet concerned look, "Are you alright?"

However much George had begged to see Anastasia once more, this wasn't the way he wanted to see her.

Angel took the bowl of butter from his trembling hands before he dropped the ceramic bowl onto the kitchen tiles.

He was shaking.

His whole body shaking as he stared at Angel in horror.

She carefully wrapped her arms around his body, observant of his body language as he slowly became less and less tense within Angel's embrace.

"What happened?" she mumbled into his shoulder, drawing small hearts on his back as she held onto him tightly.

"Nothing," he spoke over the tremor in his voice, pressing his lips to the top of Angel's head, "I just thought I saw something,"

They swayed together in the kitchen for a moment before George pulled away, dropping the butter from earlier into the bowl to distract himself.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Angel smiled in amusement, watching him stir the butter and dry ingredients hesitantly.

He shook his head, tilting the poorly mixed bowl towards Angel with a grin, "I think it's pretty good,"

After a long two hours, the cookies were rolled, cut out and pushed into the oven. None of them looked remotely similar, since George had no cookie cutters in his house. They'd taste delicious either way.

"Anastasia? Where did you put the sugar?" George spoke without much thought, continuing to search through the cupboards for the caster sugar Angel had put away already.

Then his mistake dawned on him.

Panic flushed through his veins at high speeds, messy sugar sticking his shaking palms to one another.

He called Angel, Anastasia.

"I mean- Angel-," he corrected himself in a poor attempt at fixing his mistake, wincing as her smile slowly faded from her lips.

Anyone would have lashed out on him immediately, wondering why he was thinking of another girl whilst with her.

But Angel didn't lash out.

She understood that nothing could erase the feelings he felt for her, not even Anastasia's death could erase them. However hard that was for Angel to accept.

"Bottom cupboard," Angel spoke more sharply than she had intended, sitting up on the couch with an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

She questioned if George really loved her.

George grabbed the box of sugar with trembling hands, placing it down onto the counter with a cloud of sugary dust, "Angel- I'm sorry I didn't-,"

No matter how many times he apologised, nothing would change, it was meaningless. He still called his girlfriend his dead ex-girlfriends name.

He had stolen Angel's candy heart only to eventually crush it beneath the tough soles of combat boots. Though, it wasn't his fault. He was grieving.

With a gentle tone, Angel spoke again, "It's okay, George," she slowly pulled herself up from the couch, walking towards her shoes placed neatly at the door.

No. No. No.

The candy rolled along the hard-oak table, rolling, rolling, rolling. He couldn't let the candy roll off the table. He couldn't let her walk away.

"Angel-," George quickly rushed to her side, hesitant to reach out and graze her arm as an attempt at comforting her.

She shook her head, curling one of her legs up to her chest to tie her boots whilst still standing up.

"Actually- I'm going to go home," Angel nodded, keeping her head low as to not meet George's eyes. She knew she'd start crying if she met his eyes, "I feel a little sick, sorry,"

All George did was stand there in disbelief, watching as Angel's face continued to flicker between Anastasia's face and her own.

He felt insane. He was insane.

Anastasia is dead.

This was all his fault.

If only he had fucking looked at the road. Anastasia wouldn't have died and left him here a mess. Angel wouldn't be biting back tears on George's door step as she hoped that George still loved her.

If only George didn't fuck up all the time.

He wouldn't have met Angel. He wouldn't have ruined her life as well as ended Anastasia's.

All he could do was beg, pray that she would stay a little longer until he was back to normal. Just a little longer, "Please Angel-,"

"Save it, George," Angel twisted the door handle, her fingertips turning white as she clutched the strap of her bag with a mess of emotions, "I knew I could never replace her,"

She didn't know what to feel.

The door clicked shut and Angel was out of his reach. She walked home with trembling cherry lips, wondering why she wasn't enough for George.

But she understood. Anastasia was unforgettable.

George loved a dead girl and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Even once Angel had left, Anastasia still sat cross-legged on George's couch beside Cat, an innocent smile which couldn't belong to a figment of his imagination.

He hoped that if she gave him the chance, he could explain. Though, there's only so much words can do.

Their love was hot sugar, boiling until it bubbles over the edge, running onto the stovetop with hisses of burning sugar.

An accident which would be hard to clean up.

i Think this is good ^__^ the Match into the fire Giggles