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“Hey.” Ray’s voice breaks the heavy silence. He waits until Sand makes eye contact before continuing. “Don’t listen to what Ton said. If there’s something you want to know, you ask me. Okay?” Sand doesn’t seem to react, but his glossy eyes tell Ray all he needs to know.
Sand wants to believe in him. He really wants to. He knows deep in his heart he probably already does. But there’s also no way he can believe in Ray without rejecting the idea for the sake of his own crippling sanity.
“Sand,” Ray attempts to affirm once more, but the latter simply turns away to face the ceiling.
“In all honesty, even if any of what Boston said was true, I wouldn’t care. Your past is your past. And if there was something going on now…” He pauses for a moment to look at Ray again.
Would I even have the right to feel hurt? Much less anything about it? Would I?
As more doubts begin to form in his head, he notices how for once, like saving grace, all of Ray’s attention is on him. Not his phone, not a glass in his hand, or Sand’s body. Just him.
“What am I to you, Ray?”
The words leave his mouth before he can really think about it. Maybe it was because of the cookie. Or the copious amount he’d drank that day. Or maybe, he was finally sick of the sincere look in Ray’s eyes that filled his stomach with golden heat by clawing out a cavity in his heart. Ray seems to waver for a moment, as if searching for the answer behind Sand’s eyes. Sand knows what he wants to hear, but he’s just as sure what Ray’s going to say instead. After all, he did agree on it himself. He’s a fool for thinking he could separate love from lust this time. At least this time he doesn’t have to worry about anyone stealing Ray, because he was never really his to begin with.
“You’re my friend,” Ray answers, to no surprise. Sand can faintly feel his ribs shatter like glass, exposing all of his vital organs. “But I also call Mew, Cheum, and Boston my friends. If I call you that, well then it just wouldn’t be right.”
“What the hell are you trying to say?” Sand tiredly asks, not sure anymore whether he wants to cry or laugh.
“You’re special to me, Sand.”
The confession just confuses him more. He supposes it’s nice that he’s special, but does it really mean anything?
“You’re a friend, a special friend, a real friend who I am more than willing to honestly say and do anything without worrying about judgement.”
“So am I only a friend to you?”
“Labels were never my strong suit. To say we’re only friends wouldn’t even be remotely close to the truth. You’ve already stepped into my life… I hope you don’t plan on walking away.”
“Is there even space for me in your 24 hours?” Sand doesn’t bother hiding the bruise in his tone.
“I spent my 24 hours with you today, didn’t I?”
“Would you add a 25th?”
“What?”
“If you could add a 25th hour to your day, would you spend it with me?” The question itself feels a little… dumb, to be honest. Putting meaning to a measly, not to mention nonexistent, hour is trivial to say the least. Sand feels desperate and pitiful at this point, like a child grasping for a glass on the top shelf. So close, yet so far out of reach, and too fragile to risk approaching.
“Just one extra hour?” Ray questions. “I would gladly spend all 25. Even…” he inches closer, “26,” closer, “27,” closer, until nothing but a thread could measure their distance.
“You can ask me again when I’m sober. I know my answer will be the same—I would use any and all of my time to be with you.” With that he presses his lips to Sand’s, ever so gently. A tear bleeds into the pillow below his head, and Ray silently wishes he’ll never be a reason for him to cry from now on. “If I were an hourglass, you’d be the Sand inside me.” He leans over his ear to whisper, “figuratively and literally.”
“Asshole,” Sand breathily laughs, playfully pushing him away.
“Happy birthday, my Sand.”
The 25th hour may be a fantasy, but it’s one that Sand can now safely share with Ray.
At least temporarily.
•━❪❃❫━•
The morning strikes Sand like a wave—quite literally. The aftermath of yesterday’s consumptions take dissonant turns in pounding on his skull, the heat is unreasonably hotter than normal, his sheer blinds are doing nothing to block out the light, and there’s an unbelievably heavy weight on his side-
Oh.
Right before him is the very reason for all his current troubling ailments. Ray. Fast asleep, soft, flushed, pliable, and still a little bit buzzed. All he can think of is how out of place Ray looks against the whole setting; yet tucked into Sand’s sheets, arm draped over Sand’s body, he seems to belong. When Sand awakens to that, he questions whether he’s still dreaming or not. Memories of last night begin to flood his brain, only cut short when Ray graciously begins to stir.
It’s a miracle he even moves at this hour.
And of course the first thing he does is smile his meek little smile.
“Are you going to collect your glass slipper and run away?” Ray babbles, eyes barely able to open past a squint. He loosely places a hand on Sand’s chest, the motion so natural as if it belongs there.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You’re the one in my sheets, prince charming.”
“Well I’m not going anywhere.” Ray blearily affirms, sluggishly kissing Sand’s chin (he definitely meant the lips but missed terribly). He snuggles into his place in Sand’s neck and it all feels so warm, and soothing, and surreal, that for a split second or less, it almost feels wrong.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Sand asks just for the sake of overpowering the irresolute voices in his head.
“Are you on the menu?” Ray gleams at Sand with those pretty, sparkling eyes of his. On any normal day he’d liken them to puppy dog eyes, though right now they look more cheeky and sly like a cat. It still amazes Sand how he can be so flirty this early, this hungover. But why fight it?
“Need another hangover cure?”
With no hesitation Ray promptly makes the first move, like he always seems to do. Except this time, his body invites Sand with open arms, easily allowing the taller to take control. By now, Sand knows Ray’s pleasures more than his own. The way Ray likes to be held securely with Sand’s hands cradling his face, and loves it when he moves a hand to the back of his head for more leverage. The way the skin just above his collarbone, connecting his neck to his shoulder, is just a little bit more sensitive than the skin right beneath his jaw. The way he simply can’t stay still once Sand’s lips travel a messy path down his torso, uncontrollably throwing his head back in bliss when he gives his utmost attention to the supple skin where his tattoo rests. The way he revels in the fact that Sand treats the tattoo like an X on a map, hidden in plain sight, marking his very own precious treasure.
However, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can't help but feel the way his mind indecisively teeter-totters between security and doubt.
He pulls away, all momentum coming to a jarring halt. Ray would’ve whined at the loss if Sand hadn’t spoke right away.
“About last night…” Sand starts, out of breath. “Can you…” The request falls dramatically short from his tongue as Ray looks up at him, listening intently.
And in that miniscule moment, it feels like Sand’s the only being that matters in Ray’s world. Like he’s actually important. Like he’s worth the dirt, the smoke, and the grime.
“Did you really mean it?”
Softening his gaze, Ray assures, “I meant what I said last night, 100 percent. I still mean it now, and I know I will later, tomorrow, even during that extra hour if it magically comes true.”
“I feel like it already has.”