Freedom

Frank kind of loves the way that the sunset stains the pavement from grey to yellow to vibrant orange and then eventually, red – a mirror image, a reflection of the sky. He likes the gentle swirl of clouds that move lazily across the sky like gentle puffs of smoke in a slight breeze. They look close enough to touch, to hold in your hands; he would watch as they danced and frolicked on his fingertips.

Gerard wishes the sky was putty in his hands, malleable and shapeable and just theirs.

Frank’s fingers make swirling patterns near Gerard’s left hand, his palm upturned and open, a lean wrist on show. The skin is tinted light orange in the sleepy suns glow; his veins look warped and discoloured but beautiful nonetheless.

Frank pulls his head up from where it rests against Gerard’s shoulder, casting his gaze up at his partners sun kissed features. His eyes look golden and liquid against the setting sun, and Frank follows his gaze to find his sight locked onto a small flock of birds darting and dashing and dappling across the paint-pallet sky.

“Do you think we’ll ever be as free and at ease as them?” quietly; Frank’s voice is merely a whisper battling against the faint breaths of wind that find themselves passing the couple.

Gerard looks skeptical for a split second, his face crinkling ever so slightly as he thinks. Suddenly, Gerard looks down at his companion, catching his dancing fingers with his own. His eyes look both hard with determination and fluid gold with affection as they meet Frank’s.

“Of course.” he says. “One day, we’re gonna touch every last inch of the whole damn sky. And we’ll do it together.”