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Description
I can’t sleep. I have too much on my mind, too much happened today. Plus, the pillow is wet, and that’s gross. Trying not to wake him up, I kick the blankets off and sit up straight to look at Clancy. He’s sound asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, hair flopping over his face. He looks so different, but he’s still Clancy.

We walked for a few hours, just going to places we went back when we were in school. I don’t think he’s ever looked happier, and it’s sort of embarrassing. He’s liked me – really liked me - and I never noticed, not after all these years, not even after he kissed me. He kissed me. He’s done it a couple more times, and the part where it gets embarrassing is that I’ve let him. I kissed him back, even, and I don’t know why I don’t have a problem with it.

There’s moonlight coming in from the curtains, so I guess I actually did sleep a bit. When we got home it was still light out, and I pretended I fell asleep when he went to have a shower. I was just feeling so fucking awkward, I didn’t want to talk to him. I feel sort of bad about that. His hair is still wet, and it’s not all spiked up anymore, more like the Clancy I used to know. I never thought about this before, why would I have? I don’t even know why he likes me, I’m sort of a dick to him.

He really grew up, even if he still looks all goofy splayed out on the bed like that. He’s not all scrawny anymore, that’s for sure. I’ve been wearing his clothes this past week – I don’t know why he hasn’t just gone and got my old stuff yet – and it’s all about 2 sizes too big for me. I look like I’m wearing a dress or something in this big red shirt. I guess he looks pretty handsome, too. ...no, he really does. He makes a quiet little noise and I feel my face go red. Shit, he better not catch me staring at him. I whip my head around and stare out the tiny gap in the window until he stops moving around I’m sure he’s still asleep.

This apartment is so tiny. It’s like, two rooms and a bathroom. Three rooms, if you count the kitchen and this room as two. There’s only a little railing separating them though. The whole place smells like... spices. Like cinnamon. It’s weird. The clock on the VCR blinks 1:14, and I don’t know if blinking means it’s wrong or what. It’s late, I know that much. I sigh and rub my eyes, and I still get freaked out when I can’t see anything on my left side. It’s nice to not have to wear glasses though. Everything is so clear and bright – at least everything I can actually see.

I finally look back over at him. He swung his arm around so it’s on his chest, on top of the blanket I tossed at him. I can’t believe he’s all covered in tattoos and piercings. It doesn’t look bad or anything, it’s just the last thing I ever would have expected him to do. I wonder if he’s still all about peace and compassion and that fruity shit. Where he gets that from, I’ll never know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get mad, not even once. He came close when I told him I was leaving, and thinking about it now, I can’t believe I didn’t catch on. He’s always looked out for me.

Curiosity hits me, and since I just can’t resist, I shuffle across the bed and lift up the blankets by his feet. Man, they’re big. I pull the quilt up until I can see his calves, and like I thought, there are three big marks down his one leg. That’s from the time we were in the woods at the edge of town and I insisted on climbing up some ledge. I was sort of an idiot when I was a kid, I’d do fucking anything. I just liked being out of the house. No matter what I was doing, he wouldn’t let me go alone in case I got hurt. Even so, he’s the one who ended up falling off and demolishing his leg.

Pain doesn’t bother him, I guess, or he wouldn’t have ink all up his arm. I touch his wrist, just barely, right where there’s a band of black. There’s no difference, not that I can tell. His hands are covered in little hair-thin scars, barely noticeable, but I was there when he got all of them. All from crawling around in bushes and wheat and over rocks and everywhere I ever went. I don’t have any scars anymore, except one. I don’t like looking at it. I had more, but I guess they cleared up or something, just like my vision.

This whole thing is messed up. Not just this terrifying Clancy situation, the fact that I’m alive. I shouldn’t be alive. I died, and I was gone, and there was just nothing. I move back up the bed to where I was sitting before and pull my legs up to my chest. My wings flap without me thinking about it and I feel my back twitch. I wince because it’s just so unfamiliar. Clancy said he likes them, but he’s probably just being a kiss-ass. They’re bulky, and they glow in this obnoxious way that makes me feel like I’m a big stupid nightlight.

Whatever’s making them shine, it reflects off Clancy’s face and he looks so peaceful. He looked kind of concerned all week, but now that his big honkin’ secret is out there he seems a whole lot calmer. He sleeps with his mouth open a bit, not quite snoring, but breathing heavily enough that I can hear him. I kissed that mouth, I keep thinking, and I want to do it again. I mean, I really want to. There’s nothing stopping me either, nothing except the fact that I don’t know why the hell I would want to do that.

Does it really matter? It’s not like you need a reason for everything you do, right? It just seems like it should be a bigger deal. He’s been thinking about this for eight years. Not just eight years, even longer than that, we’ve known each other since we were seven. I didn’t even think about it at all. I never even had a girlfriend or anything, and all of a sudden I have a boyfriend and he loves me. Still not thinking, I reach out and touch my fingers to his lips. My hands look awfully tiny compared to his, and I’m not even that small. My fingers are cold. I can never get warm enough anymore. He inhales sharply and his mouth closes, murmuring something I can’t understand.

“What was that?” I ask him, teasing. “You gotta speak up, you never make sense.” He reaches up, eyes still closed, and pats at my face, almost poking me in my blind eye. Real graceful, like always. When his eyes eventually open, I can’t help but smile. They’re so blue, and I never knew. They always just seemed this muddy brown from behind my sunglasses. His other hand comes up and pulls my hand away from his lips so he can talk.

“I said ‘your hands are like ice,’” he informs me, squeezing my fingers between his and warming them up instantly. My face warms up too. “You okay? What’re you doing awake?” Never mind that he has to work tomorrow and that I just woke him up in the middle of the night, and that the first thing I did was be a stupid jerk for no reason. He’s worried about me. He always has been, and he probably always will be, even though he doesn’t have to anymore.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just perfect. Absolutely perfect.” And it’s true. I don’t want to hesitate anymore, because there’s just no reason to. I slip my hand out of his to brush the damp hair off his forehead and prop myself up as I lean over him. He goes a little red, he knows what’s coming, but he’s nowhere near as flushed as I must be right now. I bend down and brush my lips against his, and he tilts his head up eagerly, squishing my nose against his. I readjust myself and he puts his big clumsy hands on the sides of my face and pulls me closer, and oh, it’s nice.

His tongue seeks out mine and I suddenly realize he has that pierced too, because something metal clicks against my top teeth. It sort of hurts but I don’t even care right now, nothing matters except being close to him. He tastes like mint because he just brushed his teeth. I’ve never liked mint more. I kind of need to breathe though. Pulling away, I flop down beside him, head on his shoulder, arm across his chest. I can hear his heart going a mile a minute.

“So...” I say, barely even a whisper. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” He’s silent for a second, and I almost think he just fell right back asleep. Figures, I try to say something nice and he passes out. He fiddles with my hair after a minute though, so he must have just been thinking.

“You promise?” He wraps his arms around my shoulders and it’s just so warm. My wings flutter without my say-so and brush against his hands. He smells like cinnamon. I don’t ever want to leave. He can just protect me from nothing forever.

“Yeah, promise.”

Description
I can’t sleep. I have too much on my mind, too much happened today. Plus, the pillow is wet, and that’s gross. Trying not to wake him up, I kick the blankets off and sit up straight to look at Clancy. He’s sound asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, hair flopping over his face. He looks so different, but he’s still Clancy.

We walked for a few hours, just going to places we went back when we were in school. I don’t think he’s ever looked happier, and it’s sort of embarrassing. He’s liked me – really liked me - and I never noticed, not after all these years, not even after he kissed me. He kissed me. He’s done it a couple more times, and the part where it gets embarrassing is that I’ve let him. I kissed him back, even, and I don’t know why I don’t have a problem with it.

There’s moonlight coming in from the curtains, so I guess I actually did sleep a bit. When we got home it was still light out, and I pretended I fell asleep when he went to have a shower. I was just feeling so fucking awkward, I didn’t want to talk to him. I feel sort of bad about that. His hair is still wet, and it’s not all spiked up anymore, more like the Clancy I used to know. I never thought about this before, why would I have? I don’t even know why he likes me, I’m sort of a dick to him.

He really grew up, even if he still looks all goofy splayed out on the bed like that. He’s not all scrawny anymore, that’s for sure. I’ve been wearing his clothes this past week – I don’t know why he hasn’t just gone and got my old stuff yet – and it’s all about 2 sizes too big for me. I look like I’m wearing a dress or something in this big red shirt. I guess he looks pretty handsome, too. ...no, he really does. He makes a quiet little noise and I feel my face go red. Shit, he better not catch me staring at him. I whip my head around and stare out the tiny gap in the window until he stops moving around I’m sure he’s still asleep.

This apartment is so tiny. It’s like, two rooms and a bathroom. Three rooms, if you count the kitchen and this room as two. There’s only a little railing separating them though. The whole place smells like... spices. Like cinnamon. It’s weird. The clock on the VCR blinks 1:14, and I don’t know if blinking means it’s wrong or what. It’s late, I know that much. I sigh and rub my eyes, and I still get freaked out when I can’t see anything on my left side. It’s nice to not have to wear glasses though. Everything is so clear and bright – at least everything I can actually see.

I finally look back over at him. He swung his arm around so it’s on his chest, on top of the blanket I tossed at him. I can’t believe he’s all covered in tattoos and piercings. It doesn’t look bad or anything, it’s just the last thing I ever would have expected him to do. I wonder if he’s still all about peace and compassion and that fruity shit. Where he gets that from, I’ll never know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get mad, not even once. He came close when I told him I was leaving, and thinking about it now, I can’t believe I didn’t catch on. He’s always looked out for me.

Curiosity hits me, and since I just can’t resist, I shuffle across the bed and lift up the blankets by his feet. Man, they’re big. I pull the quilt up until I can see his calves, and like I thought, there are three big marks down his one leg. That’s from the time we were in the woods at the edge of town and I insisted on climbing up some ledge. I was sort of an idiot when I was a kid, I’d do fucking anything. I just liked being out of the house. No matter what I was doing, he wouldn’t let me go alone in case I got hurt. Even so, he’s the one who ended up falling off and demolishing his leg.

Pain doesn’t bother him, I guess, or he wouldn’t have ink all up his arm. I touch his wrist, just barely, right where there’s a band of black. There’s no difference, not that I can tell. His hands are covered in little hair-thin scars, barely noticeable, but I was there when he got all of them. All from crawling around in bushes and wheat and over rocks and everywhere I ever went. I don’t have any scars anymore, except one. I don’t like looking at it. I had more, but I guess they cleared up or something, just like my vision.

This whole thing is messed up. Not just this terrifying Clancy situation, the fact that I’m alive. I shouldn’t be alive. I died, and I was gone, and there was just nothing. I move back up the bed to where I was sitting before and pull my legs up to my chest. My wings flap without me thinking about it and I feel my back twitch. I wince because it’s just so unfamiliar. Clancy said he likes them, but he’s probably just being a kiss-ass. They’re bulky, and they glow in this obnoxious way that makes me feel like I’m a big stupid nightlight.

Whatever’s making them shine, it reflects off Clancy’s face and he looks so peaceful. He looked kind of concerned all week, but now that his big honkin’ secret is out there he seems a whole lot calmer. He sleeps with his mouth open a bit, not quite snoring, but breathing heavily enough that I can hear him. I kissed that mouth, I keep thinking, and I want to do it again. I mean, I really want to. There’s nothing stopping me either, nothing except the fact that I don’t know why the hell I would want to do that.

Does it really matter? It’s not like you need a reason for everything you do, right? It just seems like it should be a bigger deal. He’s been thinking about this for eight years. Not just eight years, even longer than that, we’ve known each other since we were seven. I didn’t even think about it at all. I never even had a girlfriend or anything, and all of a sudden I have a boyfriend and he loves me. Still not thinking, I reach out and touch my fingers to his lips. My hands look awfully tiny compared to his, and I’m not even that small. My fingers are cold. I can never get warm enough anymore. He inhales sharply and his mouth closes, murmuring something I can’t understand.

“What was that?” I ask him, teasing. “You gotta speak up, you never make sense.” He reaches up, eyes still closed, and pats at my face, almost poking me in my blind eye. Real graceful, like always. When his eyes eventually open, I can’t help but smile. They’re so blue, and I never knew. They always just seemed this muddy brown from behind my sunglasses. His other hand comes up and pulls my hand away from his lips so he can talk.

“I said ‘your hands are like ice,’” he informs me, squeezing my fingers between his and warming them up instantly. My face warms up too. “You okay? What’re you doing awake?” Never mind that he has to work tomorrow and that I just woke him up in the middle of the night, and that the first thing I did was be a stupid jerk for no reason. He’s worried about me. He always has been, and he probably always will be, even though he doesn’t have to anymore.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just perfect. Absolutely perfect.” And it’s true. I don’t want to hesitate anymore, because there’s just no reason to. I slip my hand out of his to brush the damp hair off his forehead and prop myself up as I lean over him. He goes a little red, he knows what’s coming, but he’s nowhere near as flushed as I must be right now. I bend down and brush my lips against his, and he tilts his head up eagerly, squishing my nose against his. I readjust myself and he puts his big clumsy hands on the sides of my face and pulls me closer, and oh, it’s nice.

His tongue seeks out mine and I suddenly realize he has that pierced too, because something metal clicks against my top teeth. It sort of hurts but I don’t even care right now, nothing matters except being close to him. He tastes like mint because he just brushed his teeth. I’ve never liked mint more. I kind of need to breathe though. Pulling away, I flop down beside him, head on his shoulder, arm across his chest. I can hear his heart going a mile a minute.

“So...” I say, barely even a whisper. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” He’s silent for a second, and I almost think he just fell right back asleep. Figures, I try to say something nice and he passes out. He fiddles with my hair after a minute though, so he must have just been thinking.

“You promise?” He wraps his arms around my shoulders and it’s just so warm. My wings flutter without my say-so and brush against his hands. He smells like cinnamon. I don’t ever want to leave. He can just protect me from nothing forever.

“Yeah, promise.”