5sos Blurb Book #5

★ 2. cashton

these were the moments that calum cherished.

he didn't get to see them often, to witness them, to imbibe them into his brain and heart that started to pound when he realized how beautiful and enigmatic they actually were.
because theses glimpses - these memories - were closer to a rarity than they were a common moment, and harder to soak up and easier to forget when he succumbed back to sleep.

but dreams of sleep and pure fantasy could not compare to what was in front of him--

a form of utter beauty that his heart had come to love over so many years.

and as much as he sometimes dreaded these moments (where he actually demonstrates he is awake) - where the warmth leaves the sheets and whines leave his throat and small giggles leave ashton's lips - even though his eyes are still closed in drowsiness, he can still see the allure that ashton was.

if his eyes are closed, if is voice is silenced, if he could never smell or touch or taste, no matter what sense of himself he could possibly ever lose--

he always knows what ashton means to him.

he is just what he bathes in, an early yellow sunrise.

a sunrise shyly peeking through vast white drapery, a golden hue and gentle rustles of breezes against the window pane.

peaceful, serene, breathtaking.

and calum, well – was always a morning person.

always one to look forward to gleaming orange and raspy voices and gentle, warm, brushes of textures and emotions merging together. he loved the morning and calum loved ashton as much as the sun, with gold in his hair and flames in his eyes and warmth in his touch- he thrived on the dawn that was ashton's smile.

calum loved the morning and ashton was that morning.

he was messy and unpredictable and burned and set fire to his skin; he was dewdrops on flowers and gentle breezes and god calum hates how his thinking is something out of the sound of music but--

ashton was strong and early coffee before anyone woke, timid and sentimental – small cafes and corner tables and worn out books that fingertips grazed over, texture on texture, swirled fingerprints on worded prints.
two contrasting prints and patterns overlapping and threading and binding together.

him and morning were one.

and calum loved dawn.

he liked the way that sunrises were brighter and longer lasting than sunsets, and were the beginning of something rather than the end- hopeful.

he liked to think of hope.

ashton was his hope.

because it doesn't matter how many times he feels cold because ashton leaves the warmth of bed, it mattered that he'd always know ashton would come back when the sun set and the moon rose and bathed him in a different light.

he licked his lips with half lidded eyes that swept the room with the upmost delicacy, allowing them to lay on ashton's figure by their mirror.