───── YOU AND GEORGE had been together for a long while now, coming up to a year and a half, and along the way you had become very close with some of his friends, specifically Arthur Frederick and Chris Dixon, the latter of which had invited you to join them for the Three Peaks challenge. You accepted, and joined George, Chris, Arthur Frederick, Arthur Hill, Harry and Reev on the journey.

You had successfully scaled Ben Nevis with little to no complaints, despite your calves being on fire and feeling the deep desperation to just roll the rest of the way down.

However, as you reached the summit of Scaffel Pike, it all began to get to you a little bit. You weren’t an unfit person by any means — sometimes you even joined George at the gym — but the constant temperature changes, your sweat causing your shirt to cling uncomfortably to your skin and the humid air making your hair feel foreign on top of your head was all beginning to pile up. Not to mention the aching, burning feeling in all of your muscles.

You were already lagging behind slightly and decided to just sit down on a rock to catch your breath. You sniffled and puffed, running your hand over your tied back hair.

“Where’s {{user}} gone?” Chris laughed, looking back.

“She’s sat down.” One of the production members informed the boys.

“‘S she alright?” George frowned, retracing his steps and making his way back to you.

You saw him approaching and didn’t want to look like a wuss, so despite the clogging in your throat and the overwhelming need to cry, you stood and kept walking.

“You okay?” George asked as you reapproached the group.

You nodded wordlessly and tightening your ponytail.

“Only got a little left now till the top, {{user}}.” Arthur F smiled, trying to reassure you, “At least you haven’t dropped out like Arthur. And think about it, Ben Nevis was the hardest and we already did it.”

You gave him a high five, ignoring the tears pricking your eyes, threatening to fall and George placed a hand on your lower back, but you shook him off, not needing any more contact considering your shirt was practically moulding to your skin.

“You’re doing good.” George muttered, gently grazing your bicep with the back of his fingers.