Colors (bxb) [DISCONTINUED]

be alright

"'Cause every little thing is gonna be alright."

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

"Wake up, boys! We've got a busy, busy day today!"

I groan, wincing at the light that suddenly floods Justin's room. Curling deeper into the warm covers, I shake my head in protest. My brain immediately registers that I'm sleeping in Justin's bed and that Justin's mom is the one waking us up, but my body refuses to cooperate. Typical, even on the weekend.

Sleeping beside me, a few inches away, I feel Justin turn away from his mother. He mumbles something incoherent, causing her to sigh.

"Seriously? See, this is why I don't like you staying up so late, Justin." Mrs. Reynolds' green voice sparks in the darkness of my closed eyes, slightly irritating my brain. I try to cover my ears to keep her words out of my mind, but that brings no real effect. "I told you last night that we're taking Kristopher out with us today. You need to get up, or else we're going to miss breakfast."

This time, Justin manages to say something comprehensible. "I don't wanna . . ."

If Mrs. Reynolds was my mom, she'd have grabbed Justin by his hair and tossed him out the window. Unlike my mother, however, she just sighs once again.

"Okay. Five more minutes. I'll give you two five more minutes," she relents, stressing the five. "But you two need to be up when I come back. Seriously, Justin. I don't want to embarrass you in front of Kristopher."

Shortly after, she turns off the light and shuts the door. I snort a little at her last remark, before flat-out giggling at the words. I can't imagine Mrs. Reynolds being anything but sweet and submissive towards her son - which isn't so bad, considering Justin isn't a deviant in the slightest.

If she actually came back into the room with a bucket of water and poured it all over his head, though, I'd probably die of laughter. That's definitely something my mom would do . . . which is another reason why I didn't and don't want Justin anywhere near my house.

"Stop laughing," Justin mumbles, softly kicking me in the leg.

His foot rests there for a little, rubbing slightly against my calf. I nudge him with my elbow, trying to push him away, but he simply grabs my arm. I then use my other hand to push him, but he manages to grab my wrist with his other hand. Sooner-or-later, we're wrestling with each other, doing everything in our power to one-up the other. He's stronger than me - which isn't surprising at all - but I do manage to surprise the other boy by continually jabbing him in the stomach.

Eventually, we become a tangled mess of limbs; his legs are wrapped around mine and my arms are wrapped around his neck. Silence enters the room as we realize the stalemate we've forced ourselves in.

I stare at him, mentally caressing his soft features in the hands of my mind. His messy bed-hair, his tired brown eyes, his dry lips that somehow still make me want to kiss him . . .

But, I don't kiss him - for a variety of different reasons. I don't exactly know what we are. Boyfriends? Lovers? Partners? Friends-with-Benefits? There's a part of me that even thinks last night was a dream, that none of the kissing and grinding and moaning actually happened.

I'm officially in foreign territory now. This is Act Two, and that's notoriously the part where shit hits the fan.

"So," he mumbles, staring deeply at me. "Did something crazy happen last night, or were we just under the influence of drugs?"

"I think something did happen," I respond, albeit a bit timidly. I'm not used to this at all. The talk afterwards, especially. "I don't do drugs."

"What? You don't do drugs?" Justin feigns disgust, his mouth agape. "I don't think this relationship is going to work out . . ."