STRIPTEASE - DNF

CHAPTER ONE

Russet eyes lit with curious intent, darting to and from each dandelion that blew past in the soft spring breeze. Light freckles evenly spread across the bridge of a softly defined nose. Rose petal lips softly curl into the type of smile you'd only see in dreams, the perfect smile, beaming with genuine, content euphoria.

Taking it all in was like swallowing shards of glass that had been doused in honey. Sweet, yet excruciatingly painful. Oh how cruel, to fall in love with someone who isn't, and will never be, yours.

"Clay?" The soft accent spoke.

"Sorry, George." Pastoral-green eyes lost in the golden warmth of the russet eyes before them,  "I'm just lost in,"

Your eyes.

"thought I guess."

"Oh," there was a pause, something about the silence was rather comforting, "are you... alright?"

"I'm fine."

The two had been close friends since pre-k, spending every waking moment with one another. As they got older, nothing really changed. That was until George started dating Olivia, sophomore year of high school. George never really 'had time' for Clay anymore, he was too busy with Olivia. There were times when George would offer for Clay to tag along, but George was never himself around that leach. Clay had been patiently waiting for the day the two 'tragically' broke one another's hearts.

It was Junior year, and it still hadn't happened.

"Did you want me to walk you home?" George asked, holding out his palm as he stood up.

Clay rolled his eyes, grabbing onto George's hand as he pulled himself up from the ground. There had always been a significant difference in their height, more so after the two had hit puberty. Clay had a significant growth spurt, and George grew, maybe half a foot, if you're being generous.

"What are you, my personal escort or something?"

"Of course!" George's head tilted slightly upward so he was able to smile at the taller boy.

"Are you seeing Olivia after you drop me home?" The words tasted bitter.

"No, not today."

What a relief.

The dirty blonde mop of lazy curls bounced lightly as Clay nodded in response, his eyes fixated on the faded red converse on his feet as they aimlessly wander through the grass. "My mom wanted me to ask when she'll see you next, apparently she misses having the 'posh brit' around."

George nudged Clay as hard as his thin arms could manage, "I am not posh!"

It didn't take long for the two to start up, laughing with one another over something that realistically, wasn't funny. The sound of George's squeaky laugh, mixing with Clay's iconic wheezing was like music to his ears.