ONE EYED BOY [C. Grimes][Rarl]

sleepingbag

[nsfw]

Ron made a habit of trying not to think about boys, though it was a difficult task to manage when he was unconscious, and a bit of a dream-filled sleeper.

Usually, the boys of his dreams were faceless nobodies with features conjured from his imagination, and even more often, their faces lacked definition at all, and took on the expressionless anonymity of clouds; noses, lips and eyes blurred by the mental block that the Anderson boy tried oh-so hard to maintain.

They would kiss him, usually, simply make out with the curious boy until he awoke, burning with sweat and embarrassment. It was a regular occurrence, but Ron found ways to disguise and hide his strange fantasies.

He never fell asleep while spending the night at Mikey's, he always showered in the morning, and he never, NEVER, mentioned his nightly mental-excursions to anyone. Not even when his fantasy lovers grew faces. Familiar faces.

One particular face, in fact; one with sharp blue eyes, wispy traces of facial hair below his sideburns, and a freckled nose that always seemed to bump the blonde's.

The dreamy Carl seemed oh-so more graceful than the real thing. He was so confident in making Ron feel excited, but when he'd awake, the long-haired brunette would be back to being shy and quiet around everyone.

Particularly, he was almost silent around even his 'friends'. Mikey'd voiced his theory that Carl indeed desired friends, but was unsure of himself in almost every sense of the word. He would seldom speak, preferring to watch and listen to conversations.

For all Ron knew, they had little to no common interests, save for a nostalgic love for video games and chocolate milk.

One thing Ron knew for sure, though, was that Rick's son had dreams about as often as he did, but they were much more horrific and complex than simply waking up with jizzed boxers.

The dreams left the boy writhing, wailing and crying, unable to contain his whimpers and shouts as he took on horror after horror. Ron couldn't imagine what the younger boy had gone through to have such a troublesome mind. Well, he could, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

In fact, he tried not to think about it at all, and pretended denying Mikey his precious sleepovers was completely normal thing to do, because asking WHY was completely hypocritical.

Only, Carl had just changed up the unspoken agreement, and agreed to one of Mikey's bat shit ideas.

"I like camping," Carl said, offering an explanation to Ron's bewildered gaze, shrugging half heartedly.

Mikey positively glowed when, to avoid suspicion, Ron begrudgingly agreed to join them, secretly hoping it would rain.

...

It didn't. The summer night sky was completely clear that night when the three boys dragged their moth-eaten sleeping bags down to the pond's bank. They lined the makeshift beds up, feet to the water, and sat eating snacks they'd gathered from each household. A baggie of Carol's cookies, some cucumber chips from the small town garden, and--

"Where did you get that?" Mikey gawked as Carl pulled a candy bar from his pocket, the package a bit smushed, but otherwise in good shape.

"I found it," Carl said, opening the wrapping, splitting the sweet into thirds before passing it out. The chocolate melted on Ron's tongue, and he giggled childishly with the others. Candy was hard to come by, and they savored every second that the food was on their tongues.

Only when tucking into bed did the fears swoop down upon Ron again, and he laid stiff as a board, gazing up at the twinkle of stars in a now smog-free sky.