ACID RAIN // DNF AU

Chapter Fifteen (George)

George emerged from the dressing room, scowling. "These fit." He shoved the skirts into Clay's chest, hanging the other ones on a rack and accidentally hitting his hand on it in his annoyance. The pen marks on his wrist were fading, thank God.

Clay grinned, his smile brighter than the sun, and ran a hand through his newly-dyed hair, making the blue streaks in the front of it more visible. "Should I buy them all for you?"

"I'm only ever putting one on, but feel free to waste your money." He was still trying to think of ways to escape wearing the skirt. He had tried claiming he didn't remember agreeing to the bet, but Clay had just laughed and brushed him off, saying he hadn't touched any alcohol until well after the wager.

"Time to make our purchase, then." He glanced over his shoulder at George, who walked to the front of the store. At least he wouldn't have to see these people again.

Clay drove to George's hotel when they were done and forced him to take the stairs up to his room. They reached the top panting, and he was bent over from the exertion. "Why- did we have to go up the stairs?"

"No reason," Clay answered happily. George glared at him, slipping in the room and shutting the door in his face. "Let me in! You don't need two sets of locked doors between us to change."

"I can see you," he giggled, standing on his tiptoes to peer through the lens in the center of the door and bracing one hand against it.

"That's great. So can other people in this hallway, so let me in." George obliged, heaving the heavy door open. It was unfair how good that ridiculous color looked in his hair. "Now put your skirt on."

"It's not my skirt," he protested, entering the bathroom and locking the door.

When he emerged, Clay's eyes flicked up and down, traveling the length of his body in a way that turned his face pink. He squeezed his eyes shut, gathering himself. "Satisfied?"

"That shirt is not it, sister," he said mockingly in a voice with the perfect inflections, taking his hoodie and tossing it to George. The act dragged a laugh out of him. "Put this on."

He pressed his lips together to maintain an annoyed expression. "Fine." It went over his head, slipping down his sides, and almost covered the hem of the too-short, too-tight plaid skirt that flared out around him. The sleeves almost swallowed his hands.

"Better," Clay told him calmly, taking a picture. "Wait, tuck it in. Yeah, like that. Now pose."

"Stop," he groaned, adjusting the sweatshirt and tugging at the edges of the skirt. "What is wrong with you? You're way too into this."

Clay laughed, sounding awkward. "I think we both got hotter because of these forfeits."

George blinked as Clay took another photo, the flash blinding him. He looked away from the camera. "You don't get more than one picture."

"That was not one of the terms," he teased. "Pose differently, idiot."

He raised a middle finger, smiling exaggeratedly. "How's this for a pose?"

"Excellent," Clay commented sarcastically. "Now bend over."

His face flamed brightly and he looked away immediately, but he saw the light as Clay snapped a picture. He raised a hand to block his face from the camera. "Are you done yet?"

"Nice job changing the subject." He put his phone in his pocket, though, and George took that as his cue to disappear into the bathroom as quickly as possible.

When he exited, holding the offending article of clothing loosely in one hand, he halted abruptly. Clay was utterly beautiful, silhouetted by the gorgeous sunset and the sticky, warm humidity in his Florida hotel room. His lips were parted gently, and his eyes were on George. Clay hesitated, then gave him his cocky grin, tainted by what was unmistakably a twinge of sadness.

He couldn't fathom how he'd thought earlier he would be able to fall out of love, to stop this constant longing for him.

He went to suffer next to Clay on the balcony—too close and too far. George stared at the landscape.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" Clay asked politely. He had become distant in the minute since George had left him.

"I have no idea. What even is there to do here?"

"Disney World," he suggested. "The mall, roller skating, museums, gardens, water parks, the zoo, zip lining..."

"Okay, I get it," he said, cutting Clay off. "Out of roller skating, gardens, water parks, the zoo, and zip lining, which would you pick?" He didn't want to go to the mall with him again—he remembered the last time they'd gone. He had revealed too much.

"Maybe we go to the gardens quickly, then a water park since you haven't been swimming yet. Sound okay?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, betraying a little emotion when he spoke. "It'll be nice to go around places with you some more before I leave."

"I should go home now," Clay muttered. His tone hardened, changing to something unrecognizable. George could barely believe that it was the very same voice that brought Floridian heat through the phone on the coldest nights at home, that this chilling voice had melted him and made him feel safe and warm.

"Okay," he whispered, not daring to look over at him. "See you tomorrow."

He didn't move until he heard the door click shut behind him, sinking to the floor. George wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.