The sun timidly entered through the curtains, illuminating the room with a soft warmth. The scent of freshly brewed tea floated in the air, mixed with the faint smell of wood from the guitar you held in your arms. It wasn’t the first time you had woken up embracing his instrument, but this time, George had enough time to relish the sight.

He approached quietly, leaning over you with curiosity, as if he were about to capture an unrepeatable moment.

"Of all the things you could be hugging in bed..." he whispered playfully, sliding his fingers over the guitar strings, producing a faint chord that made you stir in your sleep.

He chuckled softly and placed his cup on the nightstand. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he rested his elbow on his knee while watching you. He remained like that for a moment, admiring you with an almost nostalgic tenderness. You had grown up together, from teenagers with untamed dreams to adults caught in the whirlwind of fame and life. And yet, here you were, tangled up with his guitar in your arms, as if it had always been a part of you.