Golden light drifted in through the blinds, slates of honey running along the floor. The sun rose over the spires of the city, and somewhere in New Jersey's concrete jungle, a bird sang a gentle melody, one of longing and hope.
Brandon awoke slowly, sleepy eyelids sticking together as he blinked slowly. He moved to roll over but found his left arm pinned down by something, or rather, someone. A head of sandy hair was pressed against his shoulder, locks drifting over his dark shirt, the owner of the hair snoring softly.
It was Charlie.
His left cheek was smushed against Brandon's arm, and his hands were wound lazily around his torso, pulling the teen subtly closer to him.
It was strange, seeing Charlie like this. Charlie, who was all sharp edges and scathing remarks, murmuring about kitchens in his sleep.
Brandon, slowly, lay his head back down onto the pillow, heart beating erratically. He chalked it up to the fear of having Charlie so close to his throat. One false move on Brandon's part and he'd be going for his jugular. Hopefully Julian would be willing to fix him up, because death by Charlie would be a terrible way to go.
The teen in question shifted slightly, his eyebrows creasing, then relaxing. Brandon wondered what he was dreaming about. He hoped it was a good dream.
It was at this moment, Charlie woke up. Violently. His eyes flew open and he inhaled sharply, rubbing his eyes with his left hand.
He stopped, hand resting on his eyelid, carefully feeling Brandon's arm.
"What the fuck!?!" He shrieked, leaping up. He slammed his head into the mattress above him, dust raining down on the pair.
"Bro, shut the fuck up!" Someone called from the floor. Brandon suspected it was Frankie.
"Sorry!" Brandon apologized for Charlie, who was rubbing his head, white flecks of dust clinging to his hair like snowflakes in winter. He stood, half crouched above the mattress, clouded eyes focused just beyond Brandon's head.
