🏆Featured on TeenFiction | Head Over Heels
To Leroy 'Lee' Hiew, home's never felt like home. He has a huge mansion, a big car, and more money than he could ever spend. And yet, the idea of home always seems to elude him.
Armed with his dog, Socks...
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On the good days, mornings taste like sparkling water and springtime, fizzing on Jack's tongue. The world explodes into colour as the sun peels his eyelids back to a supernova of creamy white and glittering gold, light rays dancing over his crumpled sheets in rainbow hues. They wrap his bare feet---as unnaturally cold as they always are when Lee sleeps over---in their warm embrace, a bear hug to his nerves. All the illusions of night fall apart like melted sugar in his hands, leaving behind nothing but the sweet solidity of reality.
Jack's gaze snaps over to the alarm clock on his nightstand.
Oh, fuck. I'm late.
(Reality, indeed.)
He bolts upright in bed, only to feel something thin and warm shift next to him beneath a small mound of blanket, and Jack suddenly realises exactly why he's always so cold every time Lee stays the night.
This fucker. He's been stealing the entire blanket.
"Oi," he says, giving the lump next to him a quick shake. "Get up. We're going to be late."
A head appears from the top of the blanket, peeking at Jack through one lazy eye before closing it again. "I'm tired," Lee whines, rolling over languidly.
Lee is...devastatingly beautiful in the morning. His hair covers most of his face in tangled drifts of pale blue-grey, curling over his neck, the ends already touching the pillow. The sun dapples tiny golden spots over smooth expanses of tanned skin, revealing the unmarked curves of his collarbones and hips. His dark eyes are softer, smaller, bleary with sleep, almost seductive in their lowered cluelessness. Normally, his smile is wider, more infectious---but in times like this, when it's just Jack and him, the little half-grin that teases his thin lips is the prettiest thing Jack's ever seen.
Jack could stare at him forever, but he knows they've both got a life to get back to.
"Up, up, up," he chants, tugging the blankets off Lee and making him curl into a tight ball. He looks so small, so thin, so fragile---even though Jack knows he really isn't. The imprint of the burn sprawled over his bony elbow is proof of that, and so is the scar spilling over the back of his knuckles, pink and bumpy and almost harsh. And Jack knows Lee isn't really small, just---smaller, but in Jack's bed, he looks tiny. Even though the mattress really isn't big enough for two.
