Last Christmas- DNF

~8~

21st December 1921

As the door opens to let in the cool night air, George shivers and reaches up to pull the woollen hat Clay gave him mere seconds ago down further onto his head. The blonde beside him is slowly pulling on some large winter boots, suitable for walking through thick snow with and ones that'll definitely keep him warm.

Upon taking a glance at what Clay is wearing, he can't help but won't if he's dressed appropriately for whatever they're going to be doing. Though, he feels a warm coat, woollen gloves and a hat will be enough, there's not exactly much they could be doing; or at least he thinks there's not much they could be doing, after all, he's never been in the 1920s.

He can't tell if it's the thought of being in 1920 or just a gust of wind that makes him shiver next, body shaking gently as he stands by the door.

"Alright", the blonde speaks heartily, "Gosh these boots are going to be a pain to take off in about ten minutes, nevertheless", he claps his hands together, "Lets get going shall we?"

George can't help the smile that tugs on his lips whenever the man speaks, his voice is too endearing and it makes him feel special. Despite this, he pushes down the thought and feels himself begin to worry about where they could possibly be going in the pitch black.

"Sure", its a simple reply, commonly used in day to day life, nothing so special about it. But in reality, such a simple word can have so much meaning, like in this instance where George gives his consent to Clay, entrusting a stranger with his safety and well-being.

"C'mon, it ought to be fun", Clay steps past George and out of the door, letting the cold air nip at his cheeks until they've blushed a light pink, contrasting his blonde hair.

With a deep breath in, George lets himself follow Clay, conversation light between them as they weave in and out of London streets, old cars with dim headlights driving by every now and then along with the occasional carriage. Street lights glare above them, oil lights casting rays down onto the icing sugar coated floor, crisp white glinting under the glow.

It's a beautiful sight if there's ever been one, though nothing compares to the beauty of the lake, the one Clay comes to a halt at.

It's got a sheen of ice over the top, pretty little figures skating over it: families, couples, children and even those without others. Oil lamps are dotted around the side to light it up, though the moon casting down upon it would be enough on its own. The sheer size of the lake is overwhelming, making every single person skating on it look like a tiny dot.

George is starstruck to say the least, eyes and mouth both open wide, irises glistening with joy as they cast over to where the band is playing soft Christmas music on the side of the lake. It's a perfect moment, one he wished he had his phone on him for, so that he could pull it out and snap a quick image. Though even then he's certain it wouldn't capture the true Beaty that is the lake scene.

Amidst his admiration for the lake, he hadn't noticed the blonde stepping away towards a small hut close to where they were standing. Only when he arrived back with two pairs of ice skates in hand did George realise he was even gone in the first place.

"I should've asked you your shoe size first, but I assumed an 8/9 would be good enough, besides your feet are quite small", Clay speaks as he pushes the ice skates into George's milky arms, pale skin being lit up a little too much by the casting light around them.

"You got the right size", George replies, "But my feet are not small in the slightest, they're average", he begins to walk over to a ledge where he can pull on the pretty white skates.