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George couldn’t help but marvel at him as the drive went on, hands moving on the steering wheel with gentle tedium, gliding around the smooth leather as the road winded around them. The sun was setting, in a heart-wrenchingly nostalgic way as this feeling trickled into his stomach like a small stream to a reservoir.
The sun shone it’s fading rays into Clay’s eyes, the usual murky green teased with golden light. George felt this inexplicable warmth fill him like a generous helping of dessert and he adopts a tired smile as he bites his lip and oh no.
George is in love it seems.
Not a new realisation and not an unwanted one, no, not at all. He couldn’t really pinpoint the exact moment he fell or even the reasons but as Clay purses his lips and hums a breezy tune George muses to himself, it’s the little things that made him fall.
‘They’re the reasons I love you’ the words sit at the end of his tongue and he wants to say them but he feels it’s not the time, he wants to say that every minuscule thing Clay does fills the pool in George’s stomach that he splashes in gleefully like a child on a summers day.
It was the coy expression when a joke landed; it was the messy way he would do his hair, it was the way he sang loud and offkey in the shower, the way he’d poke out his tongue when he concentrated, the way he smelt, the way he laughed and oh god, the way he smiled.
It was the gum that he left in his car, sitting in the glovebox, often forgotten as it went stale. But it was the moments when Clay would glance over briefly whilst driving and ask George to hand him a piece because he was feeling tired. George would place a piece in his open palm and feel something just absent of fulfillment. It was pure though, untainted and so fucking pure.
“Take a piece.” Clay would say, smiling at George with his eyes shining. And as if there was no other foreseeable option, George would grab one. It would snap and be hard to chew, but it would soften with time, matching his lovesick heart as he sinks into the firm leather seats of Clay’s car.
The atmosphere is tense with something not unfamiliar to the two men as silence hung in the air, it wasn’t an awkward one by any means. The music was whispering its gentle melodic tunes through their ears, but it was a faint sound, dull in comparison to the loud thumping of their hearts.
George felt like he was flying too close to the sun, Icarus inspiring the endless wonder as he grew fonder by the minute. Clay was just so bright, like a beacon gleaming down a dark alley, or a booklight held by a giggling child as they turned page after page in a dark room.
Yet, no matter how bright, Clay was here, here with George, by his side. He’d managed to tame the sun it seems; he’s scared he’ll frighten it away if he clings too tight.
Although George can’t help but fixate on the way Clay’s lips move as he mumbles the words to the song playing on the radio, singing along with a sweet sincerity that would rot George’s teeth if he weren’t smiling so bright, (it helps the sugar escape before the thick molasses encases his teeth.)
As they hit the halfway point of their drive George mellows himself by reveling in Clay’s presence. As if all the negativity that would waft off him in waves just dissolved by Clay’s company.
George can never feel upset when he’s next to him.
He ignores the stinging of sharp spearmint on the tip of his tongue and instead focuses on the warmth creeping down from the shells of his ears.
His eyes, curious as they roam Clay’s face, George leans sleepily against the cool glass window, it feels nice, slightly satiating the burning heat of his cheeks.
Clay glances over at George, furrowing his eyebrows a little before looking back at the road, “Are you too warm George? I can turn on the AC if you’d like.”
George's heartaches in a solemn way, not bad, but it hurts a bit.
He tries to take it with a grain of salt, Clay is so full of compassion that small gestures shouldn’t send these shockwaves through him. But they do and George is sure that if he weren’t already six feet under, he’d fall for Clay just a little more until even the gods above would roll their eyes at his antics.
“I’m okay, maybe a bit sunburnt from today is all.” George can barely recognise his own voice, it’s so soft and his tone is dripping in that thing he’s trying to hide.
Clay hums quietly, thoughts whirring as a repose configures in his mind, “there’s a gas station up ahead in about five miles if you want a cold drink or something, I could go for a late-night snack and maybe a bathroom break.”
George smiles, shifting in his seat a bit so he’s sitting up, “Yeah that sounds nice actually, I could kill for some ice-cold apple juice right now.” Clay laughs that familiar beat skipping thing and shakes his head a little.
With a quiet huff, George turns to look out the window, just missing the piercing adoration in Clay’s eyes as he spares a fleeting glance to the man beside him, a tender smile clutching his lips.
“The sky looks pretty tonight, with the sun setting and all.” George thinks out loud and Clay ignores how tempting the words ‘You’re prettier’ seem at that moment and chooses to dwell in how magnificent just George’s company feels, so he murmurs out a humble, “yeah, it is.”
He wants to reach out and clasp George’s smaller hand in his own, trace his thumb over the knuckles, and all the sweet things that haunt his daydreams. He feels as though his heart may just burst into complete combustion if he even thinks about asking for more.
Not that it matters right now anyway, his hands are too busy on the steering wheel and he was never good at multitasking.
-
Surely less than a few minutes had passed. The sun had tucked itself behind the horizon as it left the sky stained a glorious shade of royal blue with the stars beginning to scatter the sky with bright visibility. The moon outshone them though, glowing through the dim parking lot with authority that ought to shame the cheap lights outside of the gas station.
As George clicks off his seat belt and steps out of the car he leans against the door, waiting as Clay busies himself locking it before pocketing his keys, phone, and wallet. He takes this time to look up at the moon, it’s friendly face beaming at them.
“Hey Clay, do you reckon it will be a full moon tonight?” he has this exciting spirit oozing onto his words like an ice-cream on a hot day, it’s sweet and sticky and it clings to Clay’s heart as it drips off the strings.
Clay smiles, looking up at the night sky with gentle appreciation, he tilts his head slightly, “Maybe, now c’mon, let’s go inside.”
George wanders to Clay’s side and smiles at him.
The gas station is quiet, there aren’t many people in there, a few late-night truck drivers, tired shift workers, and a handful of all sorts. As they walk to the LED lit up fridge nearing the back of the store, Clay absentmindedly draws George close, linking their arms as he scrunches up his nose at the choices.
“I’m really not sure what I want Georgie, pick something for me.” George has already reached forward to grab the bigger bottle of apple juice and raises an eyebrow, ignoring the spike in his blood pressure as Clay whines.
“Pick something yourself you idiot, I don’t know.” Clay tugs George back a bit, headbutting him gently, “C’mon George, grab me something and I’ll shout.”
George rolls his eyes, grabbing a random soft drink and passing it to Clay, “Okay, but your fault if you don’t like it.” He tuts and Clay just smiles.
“Do you want anything to eat? I think I saw chocolate raisins back there, I kind of want an ice cream if I’m honest.” George shrugs, “I could go for an ice-cream too I guess.”
-
He picks lemonade icy pole and Clay gets a plain vanilla bar.
-
The night air feels a bit different once they step outside, crisp as it tickles their noses, but oh so comforting as the cool air drifts over their sun flushed skin.
With their bodies together in a casual intimacy, George is almost certain Clay knows, and if he didn’t put distance between them George could almost allow himself to hope.
But Clay pauses, slacking his arm as it slips away from George. His heart falters away from the jovial arrhythmia it had been playing on repeat. The look in his eyes must have been obvious, confusion, maybe even disappointment.
Clay just smiles. “Don’t miss me too much, but I forgot I needed the toilet, I’ll be back Georgie, don’t worry.” handing George the keys and the small bag with their ice-creams and drinks before going back inside.
George takes this as ample opportunity to meander over to a nearby bin, using his free hand he opens the bin, spitting the gum that’s flavourless and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth before slamming it shut.
Maybe a moment was all he needed, to gather his thoughts and feelings neatly in a bag, maybe when Clay returned to his side, his heart wouldn’t mock him with a nervous lullaby, a symphony that’s a tribute to the clusterfuck he feels.
He turns back to face the door, waiting for Clay with jittering nerves and sweaty palms.
God, he wants to hold his hand, he wipes his hand on his pants pre-emptively and cranes his neck back so he can get a better look at the sky.
It’s calming, only having to deal with the quiet hum of cars on the road, the soft buzz of bugs to a street-light, and the other atmospheric noises that dance around him.
Then he hears it, the quiet creak of the door and the footsteps coming closer to him, he grins, the prying glee splashing around in that pool in his stomach.
“I’m back.”
George looks at him, he almost looks shy under the blue glow of the moon, coy expression, and tentative eyes. George reaches his hand out and offers it to Clay.
He tries to limit his smiles to a comforting one but he knows it breaches into excitement as Clay laces their fingers together.
George ignores the way his knees knock into Clay’s as they walk, arms still joined because neither acknowledged the closeness they were sharing so casually. It felt easy, with Clay, everything came so naturally as if emotional retribution had come in the form of sickeningly domestic moments like this.
“Should we sit outside to eat? Or did you want to keep driving?” Clay turns to face George and nods, “Yeah, sounds good, we’ll sit on the bonnet.”
There’s an untouchable ambience that accompanies them that night, as Clay lets the engine run with a gentle rumble so that the radio plays, as he leaves the door cracked open to let the warm light flood out behind them, not that they really need the extra light with the moon right in front of them, it’s just assurance perhaps.
George tries not to shiver as the cold metal chills his thighs and he unconsciously slides closer to Clay, pulling his legs in to cross them underneath himself.
He opens his icy pole and scrunches up the wrapper, he ponders for a moment before shoving it down the collar of Clay’s shirt, laughing as he squirms, “Hey! What the hell George, how could you do that to me?” His tone is teasing as he holds the wrapper in his hand.
George can’t find the words to describe the way Clay is looking at him, but it’s making him nervous, so he turns to look at the sky, biting with his molars into the icy treat as his sensitive teeth practically beg to inflict their nerve striking pain.
Clay does the same with his, wondering what he was thinking when he looked at George like that, he feels as though his brain were a thick and endless fog, that all he could see was George in front of him, holding a lantern.
They eat in comfortable silence, looking at each other when they thought the other wasn’t paying attention, small affirmations that set the concrete notions in their minds.
They both know.
So when they’re left with the faint sweetness in their mouths and hands unmeasurably close together, they can’t allow themselves the disservice of being surprised when the tension grows thicker than weeds in an unkempt garden, dense and wily as the thorns threaten to sprout.
Their heartbeats grow turbulent as they beat in tandem, an anxious pace as they turn to each other with that look on their faces.
Were they about to kiss? George hadn’t the foresight to conclude such a thing, but with Clay’s hazy eyes locked onto his, he felt a lump in his throat, harsh and foreboding as it threatened to steal the air he needed to breathe.
“Clay-” he whispers but interrupts himself with a quiet gasp, as air refused to suck into his lungs, “yeah Georgie?”
He’s not too sure what to say here, he really hates confessions, they steal the spark with their awkward uncertainty, he opts for four words that feel right.
“Are we in love?”
Clay smiles, and nods as he leans closer, candied breath teasing George’s lips as he gulps, “I think so.”
When they kiss its sweeter than any apple juice or ice-cream, it stings better than the peppermint and it lingers longer than the sugar on his teeth.
Because everything is alright when they’re together.