Chasing Snowflakes

12

Clay did not move past the block.

In fact, he took staggering steps back.

As soon as George left to go inside that night, Clay came down from the adrenaline rush and dry heaved into the bushes and spit at the ground violently. But don't get him wrong, it was everything he imagined kissing his best friend would be. But it's like his mind rejected the kiss and he suddenly felt horribly ill, the sour swirl back and punching him in the gut, threatening to throw up the feelings physically.

He knew that George didn't mean it and it was in the heat of the moment, Clay also knew that it didn't mean anything that second time they kissed. Both kisses were bogus. It was all emotions running high and neither of them were good with dealing with situations like that, so Clay silently forgave George and prayed that he felt the same way about them also.

Clay coughs and takes in a deep breath, braced against the swingset wood with splinters biting down into his hand but he couldn't focus. His chest felt tight and he wanted to vomit whatever emotions stirred deep inside him that caused the swirl to flip and stab at him. His heart was racing fast, hands shaking still from what happened but he managed to stand straight up and walk towards the house. He felt like a rotting corpse.

They couldn't do that again- it was clear Clay wasn't ready for whatever George made him feel, and even though it was a really good kiss, Clay didn't want to put himself through that again.

So now imagine how George must've felt the next day, his friend walking into his room and shutting the door behind him, and saying:

"We can't do that again."

If you imagined him being confused and a tiny bit nervous, you are absolutely correct.

"Do what?" George laughs, turning around in his desk chair to face his friend. Clay raises an eyebrow at him.

"George, seriously?" Is all he has to say before it clicked in his mind, face dropping in realization.

"Look, I get it's hard for you and all, but I thought I made it-"

"No, like we can't ever do it again. I don't want to be with you like that, you know?" Clay explains, not moving from the door. "This is going too far and they didn't mean anything, I thought if we...you know... I would get an answer or at least feel better."

"Instead you feel worse," George mutters, wincing at the harsh reality. Clay doesn't want to confirm it, he can already see the pain from the words in his friend's face, so he just continues to stand and stare dumbly.

"I'm sorry I took-"

"Okay, Clay. I get it, you said what you had to say. Can you please leave?" George sighs over him. He turned his back on Clay, hunched down over papers, and hid his face. Clay waits for a moment, seeing if George was going to add something or fight back, but when his friend doesn't turn around- Clay leaves.

He stood out in the hallway, the swirl lightening but that warm feeling in his chest for his friend turned into a fire. His chest burned with guilt and sadness that he hurt George again, but he needed to move on. It was stupid on George's part to think he broke through to him anyways.

George listened as Clay's footsteps walked away, pencil clenched tightly in his fist and a stinging tear slid down his cheek. George wiped it away quickly because he didn't cry, he never cried. Not even when his dad didn't talk to him for days after George came out. So was he really about to cry over Clay? Hell no.

Yet, another tear slid out and George angrily wiped it away with a loud groan and threw his pencil down in frustration. He was angry at himself and he felt so dumb for having the confidence in Clay to wake the fuck up, but he really just made a lovesick fool out of himself to his best friend and created a huge and awkward rift between them.