(George POV)
I'm buried alive underneath a heated blanket.
Like being wrapped in a swaddle, his arms engulf my thin frame. Our bodies fit together like a puzzle piece, my back pressed into his chest; if i stay still enough, i can feel it rising, very slightly, every few seconds.
The morning sun arose on the unforgiving land of Florida, shooting bullets of colour throughout the baltic winter sky. If I could see them, I'm sure the colours would mix and fade into one another, but all I can see is ,what I'm guessing is, a mix of: blues, yellows, and greys.
God I hate being colourblind.
Inhaling smoothly, i try and rub the sleep out of my tired eyes — they fight back, wanting a few more minutes of darkness beyond the strobes of colour that shoot through the room.
A thousand thoughts of yesterday at once but only one of them lingers in my mind, and i regret every bit of it.
We forgot to close the curtains, again!
(Dream POV)
I untangle myself from the arms of late night dreams, round and round like a horse on a carousel i repeat the events that occurred yesterday. Popping up like a puppet as soon as i part ways from the deep sleep i found myself in, they spin around at the front of my mind like a kid on a sugar rush.
Like a bundled a nest of fresh chocolates; loose, brown curls tickle at my chin, I inhale his scent and as if I landed on the sun: the room around us enlightens, drowning me in a sickly, deadly potion called, love.
Buzzing bees and beautiful butterfly's rest at the pit of my stomach as my arms droop around his waist, a smile crawling onto my thirsty, dry lips.
He stayed.
A deep inhale indicates that he has woken up, i take my chances and speak into the sorority filled room around us.
"Morning Georgie,"
(Tw!!)
Raspy, thick, sharp: My voice cuts through the crisp morning air like a blade on fresh skin. It rips through the looming silence and bounces off the lily white walls. In my grasp, his body turns — washes of pacific greys and oak wood browns crash together like overlapping waves on the beaches of the south. Our eyes meet in the middle.
(Tw over!!)
Vermillion red fills the creases in his face, the natural blush deepening as he repeats my words in his head like a movie stuck on replay.
"Morning."
So bland, so boring, yet his words claw at me. They reach in and pull the butterfly's out of their sealed cocoons, allowing them to fly around my stomach, brushing at my bones every chance they get. I'm spiralled in his words, how he says every syllable, every pronoun, every verb. It sends me into paralysis, I'm a prisoner in my own bones.
We stay there, trapped in, hypnotised by the others gaze. I close the padlock and throw away the key, I want to stay here forever — I want life to be on an endless loop so I never have to leave his presence. My eyes read his face like a book, I stare at every freckle, scar and line on his face. I'm mesmerised.
YOU ARE READING
Racer 404 || (dnf)
Fan FiktionMaybe sometimes Cupid runs out of arrows and only shoots one of us. Maybe the grief that perches by my neck is like loves souvenir. Maybe grief, the hollow being as it lives, is the receipt we carry as the weight on our shoulders to prove that we ha...
