Chasing Snowflakes

6

Clay was a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them- that was George's job to be the idiot for the both of them. So Clay could definitely tell something was off with George and that when they talked to one another, there was a subtle shift in the undertone of their dialogue but Clay could not figure out what it was. No matter how long he would stare at the blue wall at night and think about the shift, he just can't put a finger on it.

Speaking of fingers, George was a big hand holder. This wasn't a huge surprise to Clay since his friend had the annoying habit to gravitate towards people, sometimes full-on walking in front of them because he wants to be close. And don't even get Clay started on his terrible leaning-in habit, seriously. Anyways, he wasn't shocked at the fact his friend continued to hold his hand as they finished the walk throughout the house and held on even when the two sat on the couch to listen to the family's travels.

It was a bit uncomfortable to Clay though, sitting there with George's sweaty hand on top of his knee with their shoulders just brushing, and listening to strangers talk about the town that he had no idea about. But George's family just rolled with it, blabbing along with the laughter and smiles about the townsfolk and would sneak glances at the boys, the light in their eyes never leaving.

It was weird.

This was weird.

Clay was also lost as fuck in the story, who was Ms. Dean? Where was Acorn Road? What the hell is a bloke? Why isn't George's family making backhanded remarks to them and wrinkling their noses at their presence? Why isn't George letting go still? It's been ten minutes and Clay needed to leave and go collect himself.

But thankfully, Erin blessed them with the gift of heading off to bed. Clay didn't bother to listen to the story that followed and ignored the small whoop from Aunt Lilly, he was busy practically throwing George's hand down and bolting out of the room. It wasn't even nine at night but Clay still got ready and was hiding from George under the covers when he walked in.

He closes his eyes and steadies his breathing, mind reeling back to the way George's family all stared at him when he was introduced. The way the aunt and uncle's eyes widened in... what was it? Shock? Weirdness? Awe? Disgust? Clay didn't know but the swirl was on full blast in his gut and made him want to vomit. He wanted to tell them that it was all fake and he wasn't actually dating George, that he was like them and normal.

Normal.

Clay winced at his word choice, knowing it was a low blow to a whole community that included his best friend. He felt shame sprinkle into the swirl and that word gripped his heart like a vice. What even was normal? Everyone was "normal", no matter who they were and who they liked, but why didn't Clay feel normal?

He feels the bed shift next to him. "You up?"

Just keep sleeping, he can't talk to you if you sleep. You won't read between the lines of the words and you won't feel bad after. Just breathe- in and out, in and out- wait that's too fast. He knows you're awake now.

"Guess not," George mumbles and the lamp clicks off, flooding the room in darkness. The room was still for a while and George's breathing slowed, but Clay could feel George turn his head to him. Nonono, face the ceiling not me, please.

He felt George's fingers slowly creep over to Clay's, which were laying numbly at his side with his neck turned sharply to the wall. He feels George's warm hand cover his and slot between, the heat burning into Clay's hand.

Pull away. Clay orders himself, but his body felt like lead. His arm wasn't listening to him and neither were his lungs, which seemed to stop working. PULL AWAY! He screams to himself but George's hand was still clasped with his, Clay's skin sizzling and warmth crawling up his arm. He didn't want to. He did not want to let go.