But We're Not Normal

Stupid

Clark had dragged Clay into the nearest rollercoaster queue, not letting him look at what he was about to ride, immediately after getting confirmation. They had quickly fallen silent, the only noises Clay could listen to in order to distract himself from his imminent doom were the excited chatter of those around them and the faint sounds of Clark hopping foot to foot as he practically vibrated with anticipation.

Clark looked a lot like him, Clay realised slowly. Sandy blonde hair, though Clark's was slightly brassier than his own. The same wonderfully tanned skin, though Clark's only had the occasional mole rather than his generous splatters of dark freckles hidden by thick foundation. Even their eyes were similar, though Clark's green was mixed with an amber-brown ring around his pupils.

Clark was shorter than him and less muscular too, Clay reminded himself as though the knowledge would comfort him. And then he wondered whether George preferred that and the knowledge no longer comforted him. Clark must have been around five eleven and, where he wasn't muscular, he was lean. And he wore his bloody floral shirt unbuttoned to his belly button, so there was no doubt he knew he looked fine.

One thing that was very different between Clay and Clark was the fact that Clark so very obviously didn't care about anything others thought of him. He was so effortlessly relaxed, more than happy to ride wherever the world took him. He didn't care when he laughed too loud at a bad joke, he didn't care when he wore a really ugly outfit, he didn't care when people side eyed him for holding hands with his friends and, most of all, he didn't care when people didn't like him for no discernible reason. He simply didn't care at all.

Clay rather admired him in that respect. He exuded a self confidence that Clay could only ever wish to acquire. He wondered whether George had seen and liked that about him too.

"So, uh... you and George, huh?" Clay asked, by means of starting awkward conversation. He was tired of the lingering silence between them and really didn't want to spiral further into all the ways George may prefer Clark over himself. He really could have said literally anything else, though.

Clark froze from where he'd just been trying to climb the railing made to encase the queuing patrons and turned to look at Clay. He stared at Clay in utter bafflement before breaking into hysterical laughter, having to hop down onto solid ground. Clay watched, confused, and felt his cheeks burn pink beneath his foundation with embarrassment.

"Oh you poor, clueless baby." Clark finally breathed, wiping at his eyes. "George is a cutie pie, don't get me wrong," Clay ignored the pang in his heart from that "but I'm much too gone for Jethro for that. Not to mention I'm too much of a bottom." He stated nonchalantly, patting Clay's shoulder.

"Wait, you're actually into Jethro?" Clay asked, eager to disregard the bottom comment. Clark didn't bother holding back his laugh at that, moving along in the queue with Clay following.

"Dude, I flirt with him literally every second I'm around him, are you unobservant or just plain stupid?" Clark chuckled out and Clay felt himself begin to smile, relief taking hold where jealousy once was.

"I just thought you did it to piss him off." Clay admitted with a shrug and Clark grinned, nodding.

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. But I piss him off because it's hot." Clark shrugged. "He's not a big hugger because he's tragically repressed so I get his arms around me by making him want to tackle me instead." Clay shook his head with a soft laugh.