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“It’s green.”
Craig blinked, eyes sparkling with the smile on his face. He dragged the suitcase along behind him, constant drone of chatter and excitement filling the massive airport.
The sign with Craig’s name on it was forgotten, hanging from Tyler’s hand, and the brit released his bag to throw his arms around his tall friend. “I’m glad you know your colours.” The words were mumbled into his shoulder and Tyler blinked down, accepting the face full of fluffy green hair.
He instinctively curled his free arm around his friend and a smile lifted his lips. Inhale. Green hair that smelt of vanilla.
Then Craig was pulling back, grabbing his suitcase and tugging at Tyler’s shirt in a silent, “Move along.”
“When did you dye it?” he asked curiously, falling into step beside him. It wasn’t much of a surprise that the other had redyed his hair; he was known for having had crazy hair colours in the past. Infamously pink, blue for the charity of a near-fatal incident, silver just because; he was the most colourful of their group.
But green? That was new.
He scoffed. “Thanks Tyler, my flight was great. Some kid cried for three hours straight.” He tilted his head side-to-side as he spoke, grinning as he nudged him. He adopted a bounce in his step as he walked, unaffected by anything else.
The joy of getting off a long flight couldn’t be ruined and Tyler fought back his fond smile as they wound their way through crowds and escaped the airport’s mass.
“Yesterday.” He followed Tyler in the direction of his car as the American raised a brow curiously. Craig shrugged at the unasked question. “Felt like it,” his smile showed his honesty. “Haven’t gone green before, why not?”
Car unlocked, bags in the boot, both in the front. Tyler gave an inquisitive look to the clover-green hair, only the top dyed while the sides and back remained his natural soft brown.
“You like it?”
Keys in the ignition and the comfortable rev of the engine. He hummed. “You still look like a fuckboy.”
He was happy to hear the giggly laugh that put a fond smile on his lips. “Fuck you!”
-
The first time Tyler got the chance to touch Craig’s freshly dyed hair was when they’d finished putting all of his belongings in the spare bedroom. He was planning to spend the two weeks there with Tyler, easier access to the upcoming music festival they both were quite excited for.
They’d chosen to stay at Tyler’s when they heard of the event and for no particular reason Craig asked if he could stay for an extra week to chill out. Tyler couldn’t see why not. He didn’t often get to spend time with his friend without a computer screen and half a country between them.
As they retreated downstairs to the large living room, Craig flopped lazily on the couch and Tyler crossed behind him with the kitchen in focus, his tummy rumbling eagerly.
Thoughtlessly, he dropped his hand over the back of the couch, fingers landing atop Craig’s head. He buried them in the green and faltered in his step, mid-ruffle, as he realised just how soft it was under his touch. It took him a second to snatch his hand away in his surprise and continue to the kitchen, ignoring the confused pink that spread across his cheeks.
Craig didn’t bat an eye and Tyler frowned to himself. How was his hair that soft?
Since then he seemed to find every excuse possible to touch the shorter man’s hair and Craig was one hundred percent fine with it.
When it was messy in the morning, Tyler would thoughtlessly push it back as he walked past.
When it was particularly neat, he couldn’t help but take a spare moment to mess it up until the Brit complained.
When Craig yawned or collapsed with tire after a busy day of excited recording or exploring town, he’d pat his hair in a soft and weirdly intimate way. (Although Tyler refused to let the word ‘intimate’ enter his head at all while describing his actions, especially his actions towards Craig Thompson.)
When they got drunk after a lazy day, splayed out half on top of each other, half off the couch one night, chatting and giggling about memories neither could quite remember, memories that still made them smile. Or was it being with each other that tugged sweetly at their lips? Their minds were too fuzzy to care. But the feeling of Tyler’s fingers rubbing aimless patterns into Craig’s scalp was torturously enjoyable and having his fingers in that perfect hair left Tyler more content than ever as he dropped his empty beer bottle.
And the next morning Craig convinced himself and Tyler that his hangover had brought a headache along with it, just so he had a reason to sit between the man’s legs while they ate cereal and watched kid’s cartoons, fingers drawing focused circles across his scalp. Determined to chase away a headache that didn’t exist, they only encouraged the weightless feeling in Craig’s chest as he closed his eyes and almost fell asleep under the touch. Tyler loved that he was allowed to mess the flurry of green up only to comb it back with his fingers after.
Whether he had a reason or not, he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of Craig’s soft hair between his fingers.
He only really questioned it eight days into the trip, the night before the music festival. When Craig sat down on the couch beside him, leaning back in comfort, and his immediate reaction was to raise a hand to settle in the Brit’s hair.
The realisation had a jolt of surprise running through him. But with the pretty hair already tickling his fingertips he didn’t have the courage to drop his arm away and make the action any more weirdly obvious than normal.
Craig never noticed. He never complained. His eyes only closed with bliss like they always would and Tyler tried to fight off unwanted thoughts as he dragged his short nails back and forth through the brunette roots of the brit.
That night he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t think of a single other thing as he tossed and turned in his mess of blankets. He craved the softness, he craved the scent of vanilla. Excitement filled his thoughts at knowing he would get the chance to give his temporary housemate a head massage the next day, or maybe just ruffle his hair whenever the opportunity arose.
He drifted off to sleep with dreams too inappropriate to think about the morning after, without rosy cheeks and a cold shower.
Time to think about it was scarce though as Craig ushered him into the car with their day’s belongings, the excitement jumping between them as they headed off to the festival.
And it had been better than they’d hoped. The artists were perfect, the constant resonation of the beat through them, bouncing around within their ribcages. Tyler could barely lift his smiling eyes away from his companion.
Green hair. Pale eyes. Wide smile. He looked young and fresh and pretty, dare he say.
His realisation seemed to be forgotten behind him, analysing thought no longer important for those moments as they laughed and sung and danced. A moment of breath, a pause in the craziness.
The two were panting and sweating, smiles refusing to go anywhere, and Craig’s hair was ruffled and crazy in his excitement.
Tyler reached up, ran his fingers through it and pushed it back out of his face, and Craig’s smile dropped, eyes wide. He acknowledged the casual tone of what Tyler had done, the casual tone of what he had been doing for days on end. He watched Tyler’s hand fall away, watched Tyler’s smile falter, licked his lips and blinked as he mulled something over.
After a second, the shortest moment of eye contact possible, he leaned in close and Tyler’s heart dropped at the very deliberate amount of space put between them.
“Going to the toilet. Find you later?”
Dry throat. He nodded, managing a smile that lacked any sort of enthusiasm. Craig walked away looking troubled and Tyler couldn’t enjoy the next song that rang through his bones.
But the volume of the event didn’t leave room for conversation. When Craig found him a while later, they put a thin wall between them and pretended nothing changed, pretended nothing had ever changed. Tyler practiced his fake smile as concern rose, as fear hovered in his chest. Had he pushed boundaries? Had he gone too far? Crossed the line between casual touches and intimacy?
Craig was practically asleep late evening, buzzing with the small amount of alcohol in their systems. He fell into the front seat, passing out almost instantly, and Tyler was left along with his thoughts for the twenty-minute drive.
“Mini,” he whispered, unbuckling his friend who remained in his peaceful sleep in the front seat of his car. Tyler pulled on his arm. “You gotta get inside and then you can get back to sleep, alright buddy?” Voice gentle, too gentle, too affectionate. “Come on, Craig.” Intimate.
A soft groan, a mumble that no one would be able to understand. Tyler moved carefully, pulling the Brit’s legs around until they hung out of the car instead.
“Mini,” he cooed, smiling at the sleepy face.
A groan of more enthusiasm. “Carry me.” The second time his mumble was actually coherent and Tyler scoffed.
“You wish. You’ve got legs, come on,” he urged, pulling the boy’s arm, hoping he would listen.
He just grunted. “No.” Bottom lip puckered in his childish sleepiness.
A huff and a roll of crystal blue eyes. “Fine, you lazy sack of shit.” A grumble lacking hostility. His voice and touch carried a tablespoon of care he didn’t think he was able to harbour for anyone else. Only Craig. Only ever Craig. “C’mere,” he murmured, leaning into the car to get his arm around Craig’s back, other one looping beneath his legs.
With a heave, he pulled him out of the car and up into his arms, Craig almost instantly burying his face in Tyler’s chest. The night respectfully hid the rosiness of the American’s cheeks.
Getting inside, getting upstairs; he laid Craig down on the bed and pulled the sheets out from beneath him. Feeling more like a mother than ever before, he pulled off his friend’s shoes, once again thinking of that look in such gentle eyes. That look of surprise, of confusion, of realisation. Tyler found the will to touch that green hair again but refused it, helping the other shimmy down beneath the covers.
His arm was snatched up before he could say goodnight and pretty eyes cracked open, glazed with exhaustion.
“Sleep with me?” A soft murmur, a whisper in the night that held its breath. A whisper that meant far more than it was aware of.
“What? Craig don’t be stupid, go to-“
A hard tug on his shirt, a more definite pout. “Stay here and sleep with me.” He couldn’t say ‘no’ a second time.
So he asked instead. “Why?” He couldn’t help himself, knowing the lack of thought Craig put into his words when he was tipsy. It didn’t mean anything, yet he had to know if it did. He wanted to prove himself wrong.
“I like you near me.” A simple enough answer that held so much more. “I missed you being near me. I want you near me now,” he rephrased and there were no words that allowed Tyler to refuse.
He just stared, Craig tugging gently on his arm and sleeve as he dozed.
“Please.” Almost asleep. Doused in exhaustion.
Tyler sighed. “Are you sure?” he whispered, fearful of who could hear them speak but at another tug he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jacket. A sleepy nod. “Budge over then. If you hog the blankets I’ll kick you out.”
Craig didn’t argue, shuffling aside. Tyler imagined the happy smile on his lips as he pulled up the blankets and slid beneath them. He jumped in alarm as the Brit rolled back towards him and pressed right up against him, one leg resting between his and his head falling to rest in the crook of his neck.
“C-Craig…” He didn’t know what to say or how to ask if this was okay. He didn’t know how Craig would react in the morning, sober and awake. He knew he didn’t have the strength to push him away and leave.
“Morning,” was all he was allowed and the finality of the childish tone seemed to finish their conversation. Craig snuggled up against him, quite content to be up close and personal. Tyler couldn’t deny how comfortable it was and he allowed his hand to fall to rest in the middle of Craig’s back.
Comfortable. Close. Intimate.
Sleep had a hold of him too, and the last thing he remembered was Craig taking his hand and lifting it to the back of his head. Not needing any more encouragement, Tyler’s fingers sunk into the tangle of fluffy green hair, very lazily and slowly drawing little swirls and circles against his head.
He slept with a smile on his lips.
-
He awoke to movement, a body on top of him wriggling and shifting. One of his arms was curled around it, holding whoever it was tightly, and his other hand was buried in soft hair. He’d never felt just so content
“Tyler.” A sleepy mumble. “Tyler, let go of me, you heavy fuck.”
Like the asshole he lived up to be, he curled his arm tighter around his personal morning heater and turned his head to hide his face in that pretty, vanilla-scented hair.
“No.” The stubborn refute was accompanied by the soft press of a kiss he let fall to Craig’s head. “Too early.”
Annoyed groan. “It’s already nine, you prick, let me go.”
Careless grunt.
“I will piss right here, right now.”
Irritated grunt.
But the threat did its job as Tyler unwound his arms and turned away, allowing the Brit to make his escape. He felt cold in the absence, fingers tingling as they wished to bury within hair once again and the second Craig returned Tyler was reaching out to drag him back to his chest.
The Brit didn’t fight it too much, but also didn’t relax. “Tyler, let me go,” he said, smile on his lips as he slapped at the man’s chest. He continued hitting him lightly, wriggling and not allowing him to get comfortable so much that the older let him sit up with a pout on his lips.
“What do you want, Craig, can’t we just sleep until two? I’m fuckin’ tired.”
Tyler watched him roll his eyes, hands resting on his shoulders, and he froze as the Brit leaned down and pressed his lips against his, angled to fit them together.
He was not expecting that but didn’t even get the chance to think about it before both his hand was seeking out the fuzz at the back of Craig’s neck. The arm around his back pulled him down and he eased the shorter man’s mouth open, dipping his tongue into exciting territory. Craig’s fingers bunched up his shirt and he let out the whisper of a sigh before he pushed himself upright and broke the kiss.
Tyler followed, pushing himself forward and chasing the proximity. “No. More,” was all he managed, catching his jaw between his fingers and drawing him back in.
Craig’s smile felt gentle against his lips and they silently agreed that they’d need to talk about what it all meant later. But laying back with Craig above him, kissing him, loving him; he didn’t need anything else than those gentle lips and that soft green hair.