Because Pretty Boys Are My Favorite

Here's a little thing I wrote because I'm lonely and in love with boys in different countries that'll never know I exist.

My bed is small and we are pressed close. We lie on our sides and face each other. His blue-grey eyes smile at me which is a thing I didn't know eyes could do before I met him. But his always seem to be grinning. I smile at him but a yawn interrupts.
"Tired?" he says and, once again, I think that I'll never stop loving that accent. I shake my head. "No?" He laughs.
"Maybe a little bit. But I want to look at you some more." He laughs heartily then. I put my palm against his cheek and run my thumb down the bridge of his nose. "Have I ever told you I love your nose?"
"It's nice to hear," he says.
"Will you sing to me?" I ask and kiss him on the nose.
He grins. "What shall I sing?"
"Something lovely," I say, yawning again. We shift so he's laying on this back and I'm resting on his chest, his arms pulling me into him. He begins to sing a song in French that he knows I love and I can hear it vibrating in his chest which does something strange to my stomach. I close my eyes and listen to his heart, feel his chest rise and fall as he sings softly. Slowly I drift off as his voice twines around me and weaves itself into my dreams.

I know it's not really...anything, but I wrote it so there you go.