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They sit in Craig’s basement, watching some movie they have seen a thousand times on Netflix. The lights are off, but light from the basement window pours inside. His best friend is wearing the NASA shirt he has been wearing for the last three years, resulting in a sliver of tanned skin to appear at his waistline everytime he stretches. Clyde has noticed too many times — it’s like every time he feels the couch shift, his eyes automatically shift to that sliver of skin.
His best friend has become more and more expressive with the clothing he wears — occasionally wearing crop tops in the summer months. It’s winter now, and he has finally put them away, but then he had to go and pull out a t-shirt he wore when he was a foot shorter.
He doesn’t think Craig knows what he is doing to him — or maybe he does . He is a sadistic fuck. He hopes that Craig does not know, at least. That would be pretty messed up.
Sexuality is confusing, and maybe Craig came out of the womb, knowing what he preferred, but Clyde is unfortunately not so lucky.
No, instead, he has been struggling to decide whether or not he is attracted to boys — Craig, especially. He blames his growth spurt — between freshman and sophomore year, Craig had shot up at least six inches.
He honestly doesn’t even care that much about being attracted to boys — his frustration more so derives from his attraction to Craig.
He throws his head back against the couch in frustration. Just as he does so, rustling comes from beside him — the weight of the couch shifting. His eyes roam over thoughtlessly, catching the small of Craig’s back as he grabs a water bottle off the side table.
His eyes travel upward, watching as Craig guzzles down some of the water. He supposes he must be into skinny dudes — twinks as Kenny says. He thinks he could maybe ignore this attraction if his face wasn’t so fucking perfect as well.
When Craig pulls the water bottle down, twisting the cap back on, he asks, “what?”
Clyde’s eyes flick down to his friend’s lips — silent curiousity creeping into brain. Would a boy’s — Craig’s — lips taste different than a girls? He has asked Kenny before — about the comparison between a boy and girl. He said it was the same , yet his curiosity gets the best of him anyway.
And maybe some desire too.
He lunges forward, smacking their lips together in an awkward and messy kiss — their noses bumping together and Craig’s lips hardly moving. Or what he thinks of as lips hardly moving — as he pulls back in slight mortification — he realizes he only got the corner of his mouth.
In a state of frenzied panic, Clyde rushes out, “um… I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You didn’t mean to kiss me?”
Clyde rolls his stare to corner of his eyes, and then back on Craig. He hesitates — his heart pounding wildly as he says, “...no.”
Craig stares in his typical, boring but somehow absolutey exihilirating, way before breaking out into a chuckle. “So… what? You lost your balance, or something?” He raises an eyebrow, amused smirk across his lips.
“Uh…. yes? Is that believable enough?”
He knows Craig is not stupid. He is actually pretty observant, as much as he likes to pretend to not care about others. This is doomed. He should just collect his things and move to Canada.
“Not in the slightest,”
“Okay,” Clyde nods, turning away — ready to get the fuck out of this basement. But as he puts weight on his feet to get up, Craig grabs a hold of his wrist. Clyde’s eyes dart over to meet hazel.
“Clyde. It’s okay.”
Clyde analyses his features, realizing just how stiff his shoulders are. He releases a breath, rolling his shoulders back as he says, “I think I might be Bi.”
“No shit,” Craig nods, lips pursed — hand still around his wrist.
“You aren’t surprised?”
“Not really. No straight guy has some ripped body builder as their screen saver.”
“I did that for inspiration!”
“Yeah, whatever you say dude,” Craig shrugs, “I’m more so surprised you are … into me?”
Clyde blinks rapidly. Sure, he has just planted a kiss on his lips in the middle of no where, but to hear Craig acknowledge his inner thoughts… it is just way worse.
“Uh — yeah, I mean — I’m,” he laughs nervously, feeling his hands beginning to sweat. Suddenly, Craig shifts from Craig — his best friend — to someone he is very attracted to. He is no longer his best friend, but just a really, really fucking hot dude that he wished he at kissed correctly.
“I just thought you would be into blondes, like Tweek or Kenny, or something.”
“Guess my type changes with gender,” he nervously laughs again, acutely aware that Craig’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist. He glances at it — surely Craig knows he is still holding onto him. When he looks back up, Craig’s eyes are dead set on him.
“You wanna try again?”
“What?”
Craig rolls his eyes, but a small smile rests on his lips. “Do you want to try kissing me again?” He asks. Clyde’s mind stops working — malfunctioning and failing to restart. All he can do is stare blankly. Craig smirks, “or are you still pretending that you didn’t mean to kiss me?”
Clyde swallows the lump in his throat, slowly shaking his head as he regains his ability of motor function. “Uh, yeah,” he sucks in a breath, his heart sputtering wildly inside his chest. “I definitely want to try again… and I promise I won’t miss your mouth this time…”
Craig chuckles, “I sure hope not.”
Clyde swallows, smiling at his best friend as he does so — Craig offering a small smile of encouragement in return. With that, he carasses his cheek, licks his lips, and plunges forward again — this time successfully meeting his lips.
He has always wondered if Craig was a good kisser, and as their lips brush, slow but electric back and forth movements between them, he finally gets his answer.
Yes, he is. Very, very much is.