ocean boulevard | 5sos | michael clifford

vii.

chapter seven.

After being cooped up in a liferaft for days, swallowed up by orange and black detailing, I can tell that seeing the world around us is a breath of fresh air for Michael, both literally and metaphorically. His lips pull apart from each other when I unzip the flaps and fold them over to the sides, and I can’t say I blame him for his reaction.

“It’s gorgeous, I know,” I say, but he doesn’t hear me. His eyes are larger than they normally are, which should alarm me because they now resemble oddly designed saucers, but in truth I’m too busy congratulating myself for managing to get him to wake up from his state of hibernation from our reality.

The split between the sky and the ocean separates the two bodies, marking two infinities that disappear into the horizon. The sky above is clear, and bright, and bluer than blue, and I stay peering up at it for a while, dazed and happy without a cause. The sky is dimpled by the sun, but of course I can’t actually see it, just its beams of golden transparency. The rays reflect and refract against the ocean water, paving a perfect incorporeal glimmering path along its surface. The light is warped and twisted by the glass waves as they tremble in fluid motion. I am amazed by its opulence in beauty and wonder, but too consumed by childish fascination to give it any further thought. The ocean is a temptress and an impediment altogether, and it's a lethal combination I can’t quite process.

“The view from the cruise deck is nothing compared to this,” Michael remarks as he draws everything in. Then he halts and looks at me instead. “Don’t you dare say it, or I swear you are going to be shark bait.”

“Okay, technically, sharks don’t even like the taste of human meat. But what am I not supposed to say, exactly?”

“You know what.”

“Lord Voldemort? I mean, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? He’s not real, you know.”

“Not that,” Michael rolls his eyes and I almost poke him in his damn saucers. “I told you so.”

“Told me what?”

“Payton, I swear you deliberately try to annoy the shit out of me.”

“Well, no,” I smile in a way I know he’ll find obnoxious. “I would just wait a couple more days if I really wanted to get feces out of you.”

“OH MY GOD, PAYTON.”

“I’m just Payton, not a deity.”

“Christ,” he pulls a hand through his hair in frustration but I can see the amusement on his face, plain as daylight.

I laugh. “I’m not the kind of person who tells someone I told you so, anyway.” The waves are brushing against the liferaft, ushered by the wind and the momentum of the tide, and I keep myself occupied by watching them for a bit, as they heave and retreat. “It’s pretty, huh?”

“Understatement.” He catches my eye and I look away, wondering if there is a double meaning to that.

I don’t know if I’m imagining things, but as I crawl back towards the other end of the liferaft, leaving Michael to zip the flaps back together when he’s done, I almost swear I hear the ghost of a sigh. But I can’t be certain, so I push it to the back of my mind and don’t think twice about it.

---

At least half an hour goes by before Michael zips the flaps back together and crawls towards me, though I have no way of checking to confirm the time. He settles himself next to me, on my left, dangerously close, and I give him a strange look that either goes unnoticed or ignored. I leave him be anyway, getting used to Michael’s habit of physical intimacy.