blueberry eyes // dnf

Strawberry Skies

//Clay POV

With light barely shining through the curtains, Clay blinks himself awake. It takes him a moment to open his eyes. He tries to stretch instinctively, but he's stopped by a weight on his arm. He looks down to realize.

George. In my arms.

His heart soars, beating so fast and hard that George can probably feel it. He freezes in place, not wanting George to wake up yet, not wanting to leave this moment.

The slightly opened curtain is just in Clay's line of sight. He looks outside to get a sense of what time it is. He assumes early morning as he takes in the strawberry-colored sky. It's a little light blue, as well.

Hold on a fucking minute.

Strawberry skies, blueberry eyes...

His heart skips a beat. Warmth rises up against his face and neck, and his stomach swirls, but it's a good feeling. He feels tingly all over, excited with the fact that he has this now. Though not for long, at least he can say he's experienced it.

He tries to stay still, to focus on the small, fragile George in his arms. He's curled into Clay, his head buried in his chest. It fills Clay with joy, being able to hold him here like this. The small hole in his heart opens again, though, when he realizes that when he wakes up, this will all he over. Just a mistake between best friends. Nothing else. Yet he can't help but smile to himself, happy knowing that George is here with him, in the moment.

George has his arms folded up against himself, his hands below his chin. Clay realizes that he's draped an arm around George, without even noticing. He leaves it there, unashamed for the time being. George feels so small, all curled up like this. But Clay likes it nonetheless.

George stirs, and Clay's stomach starts to hurt, the small hole opening in his chest again.

George is waking up. It hits Clay like a punch.

He stretches himself out, not fully awake, but breaking out of Clay's grasp. He leaves his arm hanging over George. Please don't hate me, George. He opens his eyes slowly.

"Dream?" he asks in his sleepy voice. It pulls Clay under immediately.

"Good morning," Clay responds shakily, quietly.

"Hi," he says. He melts at this for no specific reason. It was just cute out of his mouth. Clay wants nothing more than for them both to just fall back asleep, holding each other again.

"Hi," Clay says back, quietly, still unmoving.

George turns onto his back, Clays arm now wrapped around his waist. He closes his eyes again, laying there, and Clay feels a rush of relief.

"You're not mad?" Clay asks softly.

"Can we go back to sleep, please?"

It catches Clay by surprise. The low tone of affection in his voice, the pleading. He wants this? Where is this coming from? He doesn't speak for a moment, shocked with thrill.

George tilts his head into Clay's chest again. He snuggles closer. Clay intakes a sharp breath.

"Dream? Pleasee?"

Oh my holy fucking god oh my shit—

"Of course, George," he responds, giving in, relaxing on top of George again. He makes sure his voice is lined with softness, lined with affection. He wants George to feel the same way about his voice that he does with George's. Notice the motive.

George actually wraps his arm around Clay's, the one on his waist. He holds it closer, and Clay's stomach flutters. Holy mother of—

He tells his mind to shut up, to just be in the moment. He never wants to move again.