Chasing Snowflakes

11

"I see you found the swing set," George called to Clay from the back porch. It was fairly late at night and a few days after their conversation in the car. George had tried to reach into Clay again but with no luck.

"It's a nice set," Clay calls back and tapped his hand against the rickety wooden pole. The whole thing looked like it was ready to collapse at any second, in George's eyes, but he assumed Americans like the worn-down cheap stuff. For the 'memories' or 'aesthetic' or whatever.

"Please don't break it, the twins won't be happy."

"Did you just call me fat?"

"What? No, how did you even get that from that sentence, Clay?" George asks, with a roll of his eyes. His friend couldn't see him though, just a short silhouette against a warm glow from inside. George noticed that his friend was missing from the bed that night because he wasn't kicking anyone. At first, he wasn't really concerned and turned over into Clay's spot, just really grateful to have the bed to himself but then he grew worried. That's why he went on a hunt around the house for his friend, thinking he was kidnapped or killed in the backroads. Did you think he was kidding with the stories?

But nope. Just on the swingset. Thank God.

"Why are you up, George?" Clay says. He pushes himself off the ground, snowing stirring up in the air and the chains groaning.

George shrugs. "I missed kicking you, so sleeping isn't fun right now."

"Aw, you miss me? You want me to come back?" His friend teases. George didn't even blink at the comment, wrapping his exposed arms around his chest, and he scoffs.

"I was considering locking the door behind you, actually." he shudders as the wind blew. "But seriously, come back inside it's way too cold out here."

"I think I'll stay, it's quiet out here."

It was pretty quiet, the snow sucking any sound around them and muffling it but left the gentle howl of the wind that pinched at George's fingers and cheeks. The sky was black and the skinny branches of trees scraped the sky and obscured the view of the bright moon.

"Alright suit yourself, but I'm heading back to bed. Have fun! I'm definitely leaving you out here." George said with a heavy sigh, turning and super ready to head back into the warmth.

"You're not going to join me?" Clay asks, the chains falling silent as he digs his toes into the hard ground to stop. George looks at him over his shoulder, a suspicious look casting a shadow on his features.

"Why, what are you planning?"

"Nothing!" Clay wheezes, crossing his heart. He brushes off the snow from the swing next to him. "Swear."

George considers the empty swing for a few seconds and holds up a finger. Clay watches his friend go into the house and come out with a winter coat and hat pressing his brown hair against his forehead.

"So what are you doing exactly?" George asks, rocking on the swing slightly. Clay looks up at the night sky.

"Just enjoying one of the few real winters I'm experiencing. What are you doing?" He asks, taking a deep breath. The air was so cold and sweet in Clay's lungs, he felt at peace with himself and it was a little weird. He acted the same and he felt the same, but he also felt like he reset himself. Did that even make sense?

"Falling asleep, to be honest." His friend grunts, leaning his face against the chain, his eyes closed.

"If you're going to be salty you can leave."

"No, it's fine. Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally get taken."

"Well if I get taken, then it wouldn't be an accident right?"