I wake up to the slight snoring of the younger boy in my arms, who has basically managed to steal my heart. Congrats Dan. As he emits a series of small whimpers and cries, I realize he is having a nightmare.
"Hey it's okay, love." I whisper to him softly, knowing he probably can't hear me.
Typically, he likes to keep brave face, and act like he's okay, but at this weakest state, he can't even act okay. The slight twitching of his body, and the quick movements tell me enough about what's going on. He sits up quickly, his raspy breathing, and trembling hands giving himself away, even though I already know.
"Hey Dan, you're okay, everything is okay."
He doesn't speak, as he covers his face and starts to cry. A pang of guilt hits me, as I don't know what to do.
"Hey, come here." I murmur as I sit up, taking the younger boy into my arms.
He continues to sob, as I pull him onto my lap, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. As the pastel curls up in my lap, I smile. Thinking of how I was, and still kinda am. I'm slightly protective of the younger boy, and by slightly I mean a lot. As his whimpers die down, and he begins to fall asleep. Our heartbeats syncing as I begin to fall asleep into my own dreamland.
"Phil what the hell, I'm running late, so I suggest you walk and talk." He yells frantically at me, applying makeup as we walk out the door.
"Dan, I want to take you on an actual date, like to dinner sometime."
"Why?" Dan laughs, as we walk to the bar.
"Because I like you, Dan, and you haven't been on a date in forever."
"Okay fair enough." He sighs, as he reaches the bar, the clicking of his heels against the asphalt.
"Good I'll text you the details." I smile, glad I finally managed to convince him.
"Please don't follow me, go home Phil." He sighs, walking through the back entrance.
For once I actually listen to him, and head back to my own apartment, literally passing out on the couch from exhaustion.
*time skip AGAIN can you tell I have writers block?*
I wake up, hearing quiet footsteps in my apartment. Shit shit shit!
"Phil?" I hear a quiet voice mumble. Dan.
"Hey Dan." I mumble, attempting to find my glasses.
"Your glasses are right here." He passes them to me, and as I put them on I can actually SEE.
"It's about 12pm, and I was wondering.." he trails off, blushing, "if you would be interested in going for a walk with me?"
"Sure, can I get dressed?"
"Obviously." He snorts, plopping down on the couch.
I get up, and go to my room, grabbing some black skinny jeans and a t-shirt, obviously black. Except I do one thing, I change out my lip ring to a pale-pink lip ring, instead of my usual black ring. Shoving on my combat boots, and I'm ready to start the day. Walking out, I actually catch a glimpse of Dan who sits on the couch nervously. His pale-pink, oversized sweater, which he makes sweater paws with, and his tight white jeans, that fit in all the right places. Not even counting the pink high tops, which might I say look adorable.
"You look cute." I smile at him, earning a blush from the pastel.
"Thanks punk." He smiles back, before standing up.
"Wait where are we going to walk at?"
"Park probably." Dan shrugs, as we both walk out the door.
"You know it's really hot outside are you really going to wear a sweater?" I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I forgot about the scars.
He looks down and sighs, holding the door open, his happy manner gone.
"I'm sorry, Dan, I forgot about the sc-"
"No it's really okay." He smiles, his manner forced.
"No it's not okay, I'm sorry I completely forgot about your scars."
As we walk down the steps, in a very silent manner, it finally occurs to me why Dan is ashamed of his scars. I feel as though he feels like it represents how people see him. Which isn't true, well at least for me, considering I worked in the sex industry from ages 18 to 24. My reason for leaving? I wanted a normal life, and have free nights.
I take his hand, intertwining our fingers as we walk the 10 minute walk to the park.
"Hey Dan, can I be honest for a second?"
He looks up at me with wide eyes, but gestures for me to go ahead.
"I want to see you in short sleeves, I mean you don't even wear short sleeves when you strip anymore. You must be dying of heat stroke at this point, I mean really."
"I'll wear them when I'm comfortable, hell, even with myself."