blue (book one) - h.s. ✔️ watty's 2019

chapter 89

It doesn't take long before we make it to Darby. Despite it being less than a half an hour drive, I haven't visited the home responsible for my formative years in a while: since Gem left and my mum had been admitted. I don't know why I feel compelled to bring him here. The only good memories I have of this place are almost all gone now. As a matter of fact, simply driving down the old, broken path to the even more worn out wooden house is. . . sad. But I know that if any of this is going to work he has to be as far away from potential triggers as possible. Since we've hit the archaically styled city, the roads have been rather unpleasant to say the least. If it weren't for my massive truck, then we surely would have had trouble navigating the windy roads. Thankfully, I was able to take several short cuts.

Once my old home comes into vision, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. Gem and I were never able to sell it, despite our elongated absences from the white house. Without proper care, the building has worn down greatly. It is so much less than the humble abode I vaguely remember. The white paint I remember coating the house with alongside my da-, Desmond, is chipping in several places. The rooster displaying all four cardinal directions is slightly tilted on top of the weathered roof. The grass around the house has grown wildly, though, surprisingly, still not outreageously unkept.

"Welcome home," I utter under my breath slightly embarrassed at the fading shape of the house. My embarrassment is stupidly present. As I've seen many times throughout our relationship, the boy doesn't care much about a lot of the things I tend to grow bitter about. I know he doesn't care about the appearance of my house. I'm sure he's more intersted in my history here and shit like that. He has a strange obsession with wanting to know everything about me. I'm not a hypocrite. His life is far more interesting than mine. He doesn't say anything as he looks up at me with soft eyes, lightly squeezing my hand in the process. He's so gentle. Leaning down, and slightly pushing my body over the armrest between us, I place a delicate kiss against his forehead. He always has the most pleasant scent; there's no way that it's a product of his wash care, though he does do a lot. I inhale sharply, my lips ghosting his soft skin before pulling back breathless. It's still so strange for me to be so winded from something that doesn't involve a lot of. . . testosterone. If it wasn't for how perfectly our bodies shape together in the primal act, I would without a doubt be perfectly content with simply existing with this blue-eyed, sweet creature.

We sit in silence just staring at the house as soon as I shut off the engine. It's comfortable. I don't feel the need to do anything, really. To be frank, I'm nervous to enter my old home. I don't know why. One of the last good memories I have of this place lives in my last day under the roof. It's terrifying to infringe on the memory with newer, unpredictable ones.

"Hey," he says softly, turning his body to face mine.

"Everything will be okay. Just breathe."

He always seems to know when I'm without ease. Certainly, he's able to read me better than I can read him. Through him, I'm now learning how to be more compassionate and sympathetic of others. I follow his instruction, close my eyes, and begin to inhale and exhale slowly whilst counting down from ten. When I open my eyes, his blue ones are staring intently into mine, his smile radiant. For a second time, I lean down to kiss him, instead this time, on his lips. As always, his intentions are gentle and not rushed at all. I take my hand, bringing it up to cup his face softly. My large hand covers most of his head undoubtedly. He lightly moans at the contact, sending all of my blood rushing south. I pull back from the simple kiss slightly hard.

"Fuck, I need you," I start lowly, causing his eyes to widen slightly. He gulps loudly as his face colors a deep red and he turns away from me. With one hand, I take his face in my rough hand, forcing him to look into my eyes.

"Now."

He actually shivers against my touch making me laugh loudly in response. I never knew that one human could flush so many times in a lifetime. If you think about it, it's funny how even our involuntary actions polar one another. When all of the blood in my body travels southward, his travels up north. Nevertheless, we are always perfectly in sync with each other.

Thankfully, we stopped by several stores for necessities along the way. There is absolutely no way he could return home or anywhere near that place right now. I'll deal with that problem when the time comes. As always, Parker did most of the shopping. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, towels, food. I've never really quite tried to force the traditonal values valued in a hetero relationship. It just kind of ended up working out this way. Park and I are so incredibly opposite of one another that, a lot of times, it almost feels as if we are man and woman. He's unrealitstically feminine in every way: the structure of his body, his mind, the way he thinks. And at the same time, he's not without masculinity. It's really hard to describe, but it works for us. Everything is so much easier between us. Being with Park, is exactly like falling in love with someone who understands you better than you understand yourself; like dating your best friend.

I grab most of the grocery items only allowing him to carry the smaller things. He's still not entirely healed, and I don't want him placing unnecessary straing on his recovering body - there are other necessary strains he could indulge in.

"Hey, baby, could you grab the housekey from my front pocket?" I struggle, walking up the few steps to the entrance of the house.

"Sure," he starts, placing the little he has onto the wooden porch before reaching into my pocket without warning.

I groan lowly, but loudly making him jump at the sudden noise. His eyes look at me bewildered and cautious before he slips his hand out of my pants.

"Careful, baby. I'm carrying precious cargo here," I joke, smirking as he blushes quickly. He mutters a small 'sorry' before reaching for the key, this time without hurting me in the process, and unlocks the loud door. Instantaneously, my mind floods with rememberance as I take in the fresh scent of my mum's special floor cleaner. The house is just as I remember it to be. Nothing has been changed. My mum always had a nack for old-timey things. Our grandfather clock is pristine as the large hand sways from within the cased structure. The disgusting, cream-colored wallpaper with chickens adorning it still holds all of our family pictures dust-free. The large, bulky television I used to run home to everyday after school is in it's enclosed cabinet position. Everything is undoubtedly the same, but that's not what surprises me in the least bit. What surprises me is that everything is incredib-

"Harry?" a familiar, high-pitched voice rings, making me drop all of the items in my hand.

Clean.