Last Christmas- DNF

~4~

20th December 1921.

George's leg was bouncing nervously against the sofa, his body still being in the same place he'd been since he arrived. Time had passed, yes, but his mind was still stuck in a loop, a loop of confusion and fear. The walls were seemingly closing in around him, their peeling beige wallpaper making its way towards him, as if it was going to trap him in this time period forever.

Clay had been nothing but nice to him, making him a cup of tea by bringing water to the boil on the stove and then pouring it into a mug, different to how George would've made it. Though there were no kettles in the 1920s, so he would supposedly have had to make it the way the blonde had done. Soft tan hands had handed him the mug, warning him of its heat before he took it gratefully.

As of now he was sipping on his tea, well aware of the time passing as the blonde sat across from him on a small armchair, reading a book from his large collection. There was a slowly ticking clock in the corner that he'd noticed earlier, it being a grandfather clock so rather large. It's small hand was gaining on the seventh hour, meaning he'd been stuck here for almost ten hours and that wasn't even counting during the night.

"Hey George", the soft voice that's made him feel so welcome spoke from across him, "Are you going to get changed to go see the choir, because I don't want to sound like a pushover but I highly doubt the church is going to let you in with that strange shirt that looks a little like a dress and underwear, even if you're wearing your coat in addition."

The brunettes eyes glanced downwards at himself, cheeks glinting a slight pink hue at the realisation he was yet to get changed. He had quite literally been sat in front of this stranger with his boxers on and an oversized night shirt that had just been compared to a dress.

"Oh", he mumbled, his voice wavering, "I don't have anything else", mocha eyes downcast, the light that had risen at the reminder of going to the choir dissipating.

"In the spare room, next door down on the left, I've got myself a wardrobe full of clothes I don't fit anymore, grew out of them in my late teens but s'pose I kept them for some form of sentimental value", Clay gestured towards a solid wooden door with a handle seemingly made out of brass just a little ways away from him, "Of course you can always just wear the coat, though I fear your legs might get cold. Might I say your skin is ever so pale, it makes me look tanned."

"Thanks", George mumbled, "For the clothing offer, I think I'll take you up on that one, it is going to be quite chilly outside, was this morning anyway", then his cheeks dusted over against he thought back to what Clay had said after he'd offered the clothes, "And my legs aren't that pale."

Clay laughed at this, a hearty laugh you would usually hear from grandparents or people who had no control over their sheer volume. Though, this was a man who was perfectly young and clearly had good volume control, given he had the ability to soft talk George earlier on. Whether it was the laugh that gave off a warmth, or he was finally feeling comfortable around Clay, something changed inside him, a shift in his stomach.

"They're rather pale", the blonde spoke after laughing for what seemed like forever, "Though, it enunciates your eyes, if we come across any women in our time spent together I'm sure they'll be just of appreciative of it as I am."

A dry laugh left George's lips, cutting the moment short as he stood up off of the sofa, bones creaking beneath him at the lack of use over the past hours. The awkward situation was one of many that had occurred in their time together, Clay saying things that either George simply didn't understand, or they were just plain wrong. Though he supposed Clay wasn't aware of most things that he was, wouldn't automatically know not to assume someones sexuality, in fact he wouldn't full stop.

Things are different in this time, something that George has to keep reminding himself of. As much as he wants to get the full experience of Christmas, he fears he may not be able to do it in such a different time. He doesn't know whether things will be better or worse that he's built it up to be, though something in his head tells him that Clay is the right person to spend it with, that he's someone special.

Those two words fill him with warmth, someone special. Even though this man is a total stranger, George can feel the connection he desires whether it be a friendly connection or something more or even just gratefulness for being taken in when he's so vulnerable. Either way, Clay has been nothing but sweet to him, and that sweetness has resulted in George's trust, something he doesn't give out often in fear of it being broken.

So here he stands, in front of Clays wardrobe that has been pulled open to reveal an array of outfits, none of which are anything like his style. He figured it can't hurt to wear something out of his comfort zone, gliding his hands across various fabrics until he finds something that sparks his interest.

His hands stop and hover over a beige knitted sweater vest, if he were to pair it with one of Clays many white shirts it wouldn't look to bad. Resuming his search, he eventually discovered a pair of black trousers, they were rather formal but if he were to cuff the ends he could easily make them look more casual.

Grabbing a belt, he quickly changed into his chosen attire, looking himself up and down in the mirror a few times before deciding he looked alright. His style was a little more unique than what he'd seen Clay wear and what he'd seen in photos of people from the 1920s, though he assumed it couldn't hurt to add a touch of modernity.

Approaching the door, he pushed down the handle, stepping back out into the hallway where he was met by Clay who was shuffling on his feet, attempting to wrap a scarf around his neck whilst already having gloves on.

"You put the scarf on first", the brunette lightly joked, grabbing his own and throwing it around his neck.

"Be quiet you ass", Clay scoffed under his breath whilst taking off his gloves and redoing his scarf eliciting a quite giggle from George, causing the blonde to roll his eyes, "Ready?", he questioned after finally tying his scarf and pulling on his gloves.

"Mhm",  George spoke, pulling on his own brown gloves, nerves that he'd felt about spending Christmas with a stranger disappearing little by little.

Perhaps Clay could be the one to give him the experience he'd always craved, the one he'd forever wanted but never been given. Here with Clay he could be handed it on a silver platter, could even experience it in a way he would've never dreamed about.

There was something about the blonde, something about the way he was willing to do this, go see a choir, just for George's sake that made him different to anyone else he'd met. There was something there that he just could not put his finger on, no matter how hard he tried.

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Thank you for all the support so far, quick reminder I love comments so please comment as much as you want and a vote would also be awesome

Not sure if there will be an upload tomorrow as a I need to write more but only time will tell <3