martianren
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He filled his slushie cup up to the very top, carefully pulling it out from the machine not wanting to lose any of the valuable gas station drink. Dream watched as George popped the cover onto the icy drink, eyes getting lost in the simplest of things: the slope of George’s wrist which gracefully curved into delicate and thin fingers, the pale skin on his neck which remained untanned by the sun, and even the absent upturn at the corner of his mouth. Dream knew he was fucked.
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or, Dream and George escape the chaos and summer heat with red and blue slushies, in the car, by the beach.
Bookmarked by martianren
02 Jul 2021