Last Christmas- DNF

~9~

22nd December 1921

Waking up the next day for George was similar to that of a fever dream, his brain fogged with memories of last night filled with joy and connecting to another feeling he didn't want to place. Light glaring in from outside his windows and the old clock ticking away on the splintered bedside table reading off at 10am, meaning he'd slept in a lot later than yesterday.

There was a glimmer of excitement in his stomach as legs swung over the side of the bed, red fluffy socks he'd stolen from Clays spare cupboard warming his feet and protecting them from the cold of the wooden floor. Walking towards the door and twisting the handle, he can't help but wonder what Clay has planned today because even through his fear of the world around him, last night was magical and he'd do anything to experience something like that again.

As he touched the handle he could practically feel Clays hand against his again, a feeling he shouldn't posses yet can't seem to push down. A deep breath is what he needs, one to clear his thoughts before he steps out into the rickety house for another strange yet oddly familiar day.

Drawing in a breath, he holds it for a moment before exhaling, stepping out into the hallway and walking towards the kitchen. Upon turning into the colder room with tiled floors, his vision is met with Clay, once again reading the paper but this time bringing some cornflakes up to his lips as he does so; no bacon this time.

"Good morning", the blonde catches the brunettes eyes for a moment before going back to his cereal, "Help yourself", he gestures to the bowl opposite him, box of cornflakes sat atop the centre of the table.

His voice is significantly less gentle than it was last night, and George can't tell whether it's the gruffness of his morning voice or there's something wrong. Perhaps something happened in the paper, though he's not too sure what could've gotten Clay worked up from a simple news article.

Nevertheless, he shrugs it off and hastily pours cornflakes into his bowl, eyes locked on how different the box looks to the one he knows. It's slightly more faded, the picture is different too, in fact, it's a nicer cover, less commercialised.

That's the beauty of what he's seen of this world so far, everything is less commercial, it's all just there for the taking if you want to.

As he's shovelling cornflakes into his mouth, Clay speaks up and gives George the reason as to why his voice was so gruff.

"I hope you slept well", it's more gentle than earlier, "Sorry about sounding like a sour apple just then, didn't sleep too well 's all", he rubs his eyes before continuing with a grin, "I've got something planned for today though, I'm sure you ought to like it."

The crinkle of the blondes eyes was sweet, like a small glimpse as to what happiness could be like. George wasn't sure how much spiritual stuff Clay liked, seeing as it's the twentieth century, but if he did like the idea of that then George would tell him it was definitely his first life. Everything seemed to excite the blonde, it was as though he was seeing each little thing for the first time. Or perhaps it just seems that way because this is the first and only time someone from the twenty first century has showed up on his doorstep.

"Oh yeah", he comments, "What is it?", his voice is curious, why wouldn't it be.

"I s'pose you shall have to see once you've eaten and gotten yourself dressed", he raises his eyebrows with a grin, "it's a surprise."

George feels himself roll his eyes but it's accompanied with a playful smirk, showing the blonde he truly is excited for today. That's evident in the way he starts to shovel in his cornflakes as Clay gets up to leave, brushing his arm against George's as he walks past, an action the brunette can't tell if it's intentional or not.