INCANDESCENCE - (Scyde)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 07 - IRIDESCENT

IRIDESCENT

adj. - showing colours that change at different angles

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Clyde drags his bike through a puddle - it's so big it may as well be a lake - sighing. He cycled over a rock or something and it had punctured his tyre, which means Clyde's gonna be late for school. Again. The teachers probably think he's doing it on purpose at this point.

His phone loudly starts blaring his ringtone, the chorus to The Cure's Lovecats. Clyde fumbles to take his phone out of his pocket and pulls off his glove with his teeth to answer: a muffled, "Hello!"

"Wh-where are you, Clyde?" comes Jimmy's voice from the other end.

Clyde pulls his mitten from his teeth and holds it behind his phone before speaking, "My bike's got a flat tyre. Can you tell the teacher I'll be late?" Clyde asks.

"Sure I can. But you're probably going to get into t-t-trouble."

"I know, I know." he sighs, "It's not my fault, though!"

Jimmy chuckles, "You should look where you're go-g-go... cycling. It's a dangerous world out there, pal."

Clyde rolls his eyes, "Hey! Don't make fun of me! I'm not trying to pop my tyre."

"Sure you aren't. Don't be too late!" Jimmy pauses, "A-actually, Clyde. I need to talk to you."

"What is it?" Clyde suddenly gets splashed with some water from a passing car. He flips off the driver and brushes off his jacket before trudging on. Craig would be proud.

"...And you c-can bring Scott, if you want." Jimmy finishes.

Clyde sighs, "Can you say all that again? Some asshole just drove through a puddle."

"I asked if you were c-coming to my p-p-party?"

Clyde smiles, "Sure I will!"

"Great! We can t-talk about it more when you get here."

"Okay. See you later, Jimmy, I should probably hurry up."

"See you." Jimmy hangs up the phone and Clyde shoves it into his pocket. He puts his mitten back on and continues hauling his bike to school.

Jimmy's party, huh? Could be fun. Clyde doesn't know if Scott would really want to come though, since he doesn't know the rest of them that well. He thinks he might be able to convince him. Hopefully.

Clyde steps in a puddle. He mutters, "Fuck." and shakes his foot. It does nothing to stop the water sloshing around inside the rest of the way to school. He makes a mental note to empty them out once he gets there, hopefully not too late.

–

His shoes squeak obnoxiously on the laminate floors as Clyde wanders toward his class. It's eerily quiet and the corridor is unusually vacant. It's strange to not see anyone skipping lessons at this time.

He tugs his mittens off and shoves them into his jacket pocket, before stopping beside his locker. The door swings open and bangs into the one beside it. The metal clash echoes through the empty corridor. Wincing, Clyde shoves his jacket away and takes out a book. He slams it closed again and continues walking down the corridor.

When Clyde opens the door to his class, he's greeted with stares from his class and an angry glare from his teacher.

"Nice of you to join us." he remarks, tone snarky. He gestures at the rest of the students, "Any reason you couldn't be here at the same time as everyone else?"

Clyde looks at the ground, "Flat tire on my bike." he mumbles.

Rolling his eyes, his teacher nods, "Okay. Take a seat."

Clyde scans the room for an empty spot. Someone's waving catches his eye.

Lo and behold, Scott Malkinson. They share a grin and Clyde scurries over to the chair beside him.

"Flat tire? Seriously?" Scott pulls a pen from his pocket and rolls it along the desk.

Clyde raises his eyebrows. He takes the pen and observes its pristine condition, "It's true. Some asshole left a pointy rock on the ground." Clyde holds the pen toward Scott. He nods, and Clyde takes that as his way of saying 'Keep it'.

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd have one. Since you gave Bebe yours." Clyde smiles. He's surprised Scott would remember that. He supposes he's just nice like that.

"Thanks, dude. I forgot I didn't have one." Clyde watches Scott grin, clearly proud of himself for remembering. He glitters, and it's so cute Clyde feels fluttery in his stomach.

Scott looks to the front of the classroom, listening to the teacher drone on, "No problem."

Tuning out, Clyde rests his cheek on his palm and stares at Scott. His eyelids feel heavy and he wonders if he could get away with sleeping through this class. Clyde's gaze lazily follows the freckles decorating Scott's cheek, tracing maps of stars, drawing his own constellations.

"You mentioned painting last week, right Scott?" he says, voice drowsy and quiet.

Scott turns to face him, and Clyde loses track of his constellations, eyes drawn to emerald ones, glowing like moons.

"I try. I've been painting the night sky, remember?" Scott replies, whispering. It whistles in Clyde's ear like a song, a nighttime breeze.

"I bet your painting's great. The night sky is always beautiful."

His eyes crinkle into crescents with his smile, "It really is! When I finish you can see my painting, promise."

"You seem pretty secretive about it."

"I don't like showing my paintings to people I don't really know. Or anyone, really." Scott's face falls, freckle constellations shifting downwards, crescents into full moons, "I don't want them to judge me for my shitty work or anything. I dunno."

Clyde feels fuzzy inside. Scott's paintings are something so precious to him. And he's willing to share it with Clyde, and only Clyde. Well, probably not only, but still. It's strangely intimate and Clyde wants nothing less.

"I'm sure they're great, Scott."

Scott closes his eyes, and turns back to the front of class, "Thanks." a gentle smile tugs at his lips, pulling freckles up and back into constellations, unreadable maps only Clyde thinks he can navigate. Even with his glowing moon eyes closed, Scott glows.

Clyde lifts his other hand, not really putting much thought into his actions. He's a heartbeat away from Scott's star-spattered cheek before he stops himself.

He immediately draws back his hand, scrunching his fist on the desk in front of him. Clyde tears his eyes from stars and instead stares, unfocused, toward the teacher. He furrows his brows and frowns.

Clyde wonders if there will ever come a day where he can trace his constellations with his finger, drawing maps and webs and interlacing patterns of lattices and nets. Swirling spirals and crawling waves. He longs to stare freely at the shining stars, and to gaze into the glittering crescent moons of Scott's emerald eyes.

It's awful and gooey and romantic, Clyde knows. But fuck, it's kinda true.

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