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It’s hard to find a greater sense of peace than the kind that sinks into George’s heart when he gazes at the ripples of the ocean under the glistening moonlight.
He’s always been a fan of the Florida beaches, being one of the only things he loves about America more than his little London town he’d spent his adolescence in. Tonight, though, the moon casts a sadder tone, melancholy glitter reflecting across the gentle waves from her waning crescent. George doesn’t have much time to dwell on the moods of the lunar being before Clay bounds up behind him, his arms wrapped around himself as he shivers.
“It’s too cold for this, George,” Clay whines, pulling down the sleeves of his Florida Gators sweatshirt so that they extend past his fingertips.
“It’s, like, sixty-five degrees,” George retorts, kicking off his strapped sandals and watching as sand coats the leather in-betweens. The damp sand joins the remnants of months of adventures immortalized by the earthly grains that he never can quite shake out of the things he takes to the beach.
“Might as well be negative ten,” Clay mumbles, dropping his sandals next to George’s. Unlike George, who is always muttering about splinters and broken glass, Clay prefers to walk barefoot all the way down to the beach, the remnants of sunny warmth that are stored in the asphalt hitting the soles of his feet and offering bits of warmth to soothe his complaints. Clay lowers himself down, leaning back into the sand as broken seashells poke at his legs through his basketball shorts. “Come lay with me, George.”
“I came here to swim, not to nap,” George grumbles, but he obliges, laying next to Clay and turning his head to gaze at him. Clay seems focused on the stars, so George takes the moment to trace his side profile with his eyes, admiring his best friend who looks as if he was handcrafted by the most visionary of angels, molding him into a walking sliver of heaven.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” George snaps out of his daze, immediately turning his head towards the sky as his cheeks turn a deep red. Clay giggles, the sound of his laughter mingling with the sound of the waves crashing against the coast, grounding George with the earth as he digs his fingernails into the sand. Ever so gently, Clay reaches his hand down to interlock his fingers with George’s, connecting the two of them with the gentle press of palms to signify love that he can never figure out how to express. What they have is a little more than friendship, and George pretends to be okay with the lack of definition as long as it keeps Clay close to him.
“It’s too quiet,” George comments, squinting at the sky. He’s not exactly sure what Clay is so enthralled with. The glowing skyline of the cities that line the Florida coast pollute the sky, leaving the stars to take cover behind the ebony sheet of midnight and leave their twinkling duties to the moon. “We should talk about something.”
“Okay. Tell me your deepest, darkest secret.” George lets out a loud laugh, caught off guard by Clay’s question. He shakes his head, offering up nothing besides the silence he’d been dissatisfied with moments before. He flicks his eyes between three stars that form a sort of lopsided triangle, analyzing their dim luminosity and wondering why even the weakest of stars seem stronger than his delicate heart, long-weakened by fear and shelled by a misguided acceptance of the disappointing truth.
“I can’t tell you,” he finally responds, the truth fluttering in the back of his throat and the bitter fiber of lies dripping from his tongue.
“Aw, c’mon, George. How bad can it be?”
You have no idea, George thinks, knowing that his love-coated secret would shatter the antique bonds of their friendship, turning every flirtatiously-tinged interaction into an awkward avoidance. It doesn’t seem fitting, he decides, that a delicate secret he’s spent years repressing should tumble out onto the sand and mix with the chaos of the deadly waves. He’s a bit afraid that the ocean will swallow him whole as he speaks, the nauseating strength of the saltwater drowning out everything he’s ever wanted to say with the terrible taste of heartbreak.
“George,” Clay nags, dragging out the last syllable of his name and letting it rattle around in his mouth.
“Maybe I’ll tell you if you swim with me,” George suggests, feeling the regret of his tentative promise seep through his skin and into his veins, the dread mixing with his blood and sending a painfully metallic taste through his mouth as he bites his lip. Clay jumps up, immediately pulling off his sweatshirt and tossing it into the sand. George can’t help but gaze at his torso for a moment before removing his own shirt and strolling into the water.
“Jesus fuck, it’s cold,” Clay exclaims, the hairs on his arms beginning to stand up from the water temperature. “Can I go put my sweater back on?”
“No. That violates the terms of our agreement.”
“Why?” Clay whines, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to warm them.
“Because I like seeing you shirtless,” George teases, the tiniest bit of honesty twisting in between the folds of his sarcasm. Clay laughs, although he can’t deny the redness that flushes his face. He’s glad that the moonlight is too dim to show much more than a dark outline of features or he’s sure that George would make a pointed comment about his blushing.
“Whatever. You’re so annoying.” George giggles. “I just want to know why you can’t tell me this secret. Like, why did I have to get into the ocean just to hear you say it? It can’t be that bad.”
George stays silent for a moment, staring at his feet as he composes his reasoning to the best of his anxious abilities. Clay starts to feel awkwardness mix with the ocean air as he suppresses a grimace, waiting for George’s response. Finally, he opens his mouth to speak. “I don’t want you to hate me,” he confesses, his tone of voice dripping with the pain of embarrassing honesty. Clay blinks.
“Hate you? That’s crazy. I could never hate you,” he responds, placing a hand on the side of George’s face and turning it to make eye contact with him. “George. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
George takes in a breath. “Okay, maybe not hate me. But I don’t want you to feel awkward around me. You know? I… I like what we have right now, whatever that is. And losing it…no. Losing you is the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”
Clay feels his heart begin to crumble, a lump forming in the back of his throat as George’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “George. I need you to realize something.”
“What?”
“You, George Davidson, could never lose me. You understand?” George nods, but Clay is still unconvinced. “I mean it. You have no idea how important you are to me. I’d fall apart if it weren’t for you, George. Your honesty is never going to break me or break us. Your secrets, your faults, your truths, they’re all just you, George. Pieces of you that fit together to make my best friend, and nothing you ever say could make me let go of that.” Tears he didn’t know he was holding back are beginning to drip down his face, and George is biting back his own sadness in favor of the mending words that tumble from Clay’s mouth.
“You promise?” George asks, his voice small.
“I promise. Now tell me, George, what’s your deepest, darkest secret?”
George takes in a breath, clenching his hands into fists to try and hide the shaking. His heart’s ferocious avarice has carried him here, and somehow, in the midst of it all, the warmth in Clay’s eyes still brings him peace. His voice trembles with the gentleness of a timid butterfly, and it breaks as he speaks, but there’s nothing that can stop him now.
“I love you.”
He’s not exactly sure how he’d imagined this moment going, but he certainly didn’t imagine to hear the sound of Clay’s laughter ringing through his ears, sending stupidity-fueled embarrassment in tingles across his body.
“You’re such an idiot,” Clay giggles, and George furrows his brows in a mix of confusion and displeasure.
“What the hell, Clay, I-“
His protests are interrupted by Clay pressing their lips together, sending shock-filled butterflies fluttering through the depths of his abdomen. He feels the fearful shell around his guarded heart begin to crumble, savoring the satisfaction as it mixes with the sand beneath his feet. Flashes of sparkling color swirl through his vision, reminding him that love, in all its glory, is the piece that puts the broken world back together. The beauty of everything he’s ever wanted tugs at his heartstrings, pulling him upwards, and for a fleeting moment, he feels as if he, too, has joined the starry sky, dazzling the constellations with his striking glimmer.
He’s sure he’d rise up and float away if it weren’t for the gentle laps of waves against his shins keeping him grounded, reminding him that he is real, that he is here, that this shining moment is not just the unspoken wishes of his younger self.
When Clay pulls away, George feels his heart return to earth, his hands shaking as he presses them against Clay’s face.
“Bet that went better than you thought it would, huh?” Clay teases, and George laughs. He laughs at the fear, the nervous avoidance, the weeks and months and years of dropping hints around Clay, waiting for the day that it would all come to fruition. He laughs at everything he’s ever felt with Clay and everything he ever will feel, knowing the future holds more than the past ever could.
He laughs at how much he loves him, and Clay laughs too.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” George whispers, dragging his thumb across Clay’s lips, admiring the shadows cast by the features on his face.
“Shut up and kiss me,” Clay responds, and who is George to argue?
He pulls Clay into another kiss, this one a bit gentler, but he can still feel the reparations stitching away at his heart. The breathy mumblings of love that they exchange between their lips are simultaneously fragile and earth-shattering, opening doors in the depths of his mind that had previously been untouchable, locked away for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend. He knows that the home he’s been searching for, the love he’s been yearning for, have been directly in front of him since the moment he first locked eyes with Clay.
Unnoticeable to the both of them, a shooting star fizzles overhead, mingling between the scarce constellations hidden by the city lights. George can’t see it, but he can feel it as he kisses Clay again and again and again, knowing that nothing can ever be better than this, and nothing ever will be.
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