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Johnny clutches the back of Dallas's shirt as they lay together on the too-small couch in Dallas's living room; the only movement either one has made in twenty minutes. His head lays against Dallas's beating heartbeat, rhythmic and calming.
Dallas's hold on Johnny's waist tightens just a smidgen as he continues to run his fingers on the boy's jet-black hair. His touch is firm yet gentle, never bruising, afraid to add any more damage to the skin of this boy yet at the same time needing to apply pressure to reassure him, almost like Johnny's his last lifeline on Earth.
Sometimes, he is.
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BEING REWRITTEN.
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Bookmark Notes:
why is jally so perfect
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