Chapter Text
"And this is the planetarium, that's what we call this big dome with all of the stars in the sky." Clay smiled wide, gesturing broadly at the twinkling room behind him. "Obviously, they aren't the real stars," he laughed, "but they're replicas of what we see down here on Earth!"
He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, taking in the expanse of stars above him. Clay never thought that the planetarium could top the real stars in the sky, but when he looked back at the gathering of fourth graders in front of him, the glow of wonder he saw in all those sets of eyes might've been good enough to dethrone his favorite night.
Unsurprisingly, their chaperone and teacher—a man far too pretty for Clay's personal image of a fifth grade teacher—looked to be in just as much awe. But he wasn't even looking at the replica stars behind Clay, he was looking down at all the kids enjoying their field trip, a bright smile on his pink lips with enough ferocity to light up the whole room.
Clay realized he'd gotten distracted. He cleared his throat, shifting his arms where they hung uselessly at his sides.
"There's tons of interactive stuff around here, so with permission from your teacher," he met eyes with the man in question for a brief moment, "you can run around for a bit."
His hands slipped into his pockets as he sidled up next to the young teacher, the kids scattering off to the electronic stars. Rocking back on his heels, Clay leaned towards the shorter man and cleared his throat quietly.
"Kids always love this part, I've noticed."
The man laughed quietly, the side of his hand touching against his lips. His eyes seemed to follow the movement of his excited students, still just as bright and beautiful as before.
"Yeah, they were all really excited about the planetarium," he admitted, hand shifting slightly in a gesture around he room he spoke of. "This and the dinosaurs."
Turning to look at Clay, his big brown eyes twinkled under the planetarium's synthetic light. Clay wondered how much of it was the false stars above them and how much of it was just him.
"I'm George, by the way. But to the kids," he waved a hand around the room full of students, "I'm Mr. McCaughrean."
Their silence wasn't long enough for Clay to make claims about thinking. Perhaps he was known for being loud-mouthed and unfiltered, perhaps that was what made him so great with people. But it would be a shame if his stupid big mouth was going to scare off George, a man who seemed perfectly nice and sweet; probably better off without all of Clay's idiocy.
"Hm, that last name's kind of long," Clay said with relative ease, "you should try mine on."
Even if his voice mad it sound like he'd done this a thousand times before, Clay was unable to take himself seriously. He wheezed out a high pitched laugh, watching as George flushed a burning scarlet. Clay doubled over in his laughter, bending at the waist as he gasped (rather pathetically) for his next breath. He recovered rather quickly, though, straightening up with a smile cast towards the beautiful—had he mentioned George was lovely?—man at his side.
"Sorry, sorry, a habit when I meet someone pretty," Clay said smoothly, but the idiotic grin on his diminished that credibility. "I'm Clay."
A shoulder bumped against his arm in what he could only assume was a small measure of his well-deserved payback. He did just use a (terrible) pickup line on a guy he'd just met in a room full of nine-year-olds. It's not like the nudge hurt, but the slight stumble of his body was plenty deserved. At the very least, George was smiling through his feigned displeasure.
"Well, Clay, if it's too hard for you," George started with a teasing lilt, "admittedly, most of my students call me Mr. M." He averted his eyes from the blond, the grin on his face tipping into something a touch more mischievous. "I guess I figured a man as put-together and eloquent as yourself could figure it out."
The taunt in his voice and curled lips stretched all the way up to his eyes, glints of mirth caught in a mess of darkened umber. It sparked something akin to childlike joy in Clay, and he found himself standing slightly closer to George than he already was. He hadn't even processed the movement of his own feet until their elbows were already touching.
"I can," he said quietly. "I promise."
A beat of comfortable silence passed between them despite the roaring laughter from all sides. It was all high-pitched and giggly, and even through the admiration in George's dark eyes, Clay couldn't help but wonder if the rancor ever grew annoying. Surely, he wouldn't have become a fourth grade teacher if he couldn't handle the noise; just as Clay wouldn't have gone for a job at the museum if he couldn't handle the occasional stuck-up prick.
When he realized that staring at still-strangers in a planetarium was weird, Clay forced himself to tear his eyes away. And his newly lost gaze landed on those artificial stars covering the ceiling, invisible lines tracing through them in a scientific game of connect-the-dots.
He thought briefly about looking back at George—wondered if the light freckles he'd noticed on his cheeks would match anything on the ceiling—but he kept his eyes to the expanse of stars above their heads. For a moment, the room felt quiet; like maybe, in another universe beneath a similar, feigned sky, they were all alone.
"What's your favorite constellation?" Clay asked, the dip in his voice something a tad brighter than friendly wonder.
He could feel George's eyes on him. With only a lick of hesitation, Clay shifted his gaze to meet the spread of bronze, a kind smile left still on George's lips. He decided right then that he wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of his life, even if the man it belonged to was still nothing more than a stranger.
"Why do you ask?" George prompted cautiously, sparing a firmer glance up into Clay's eyes.
And he could only shrug, hands clenched gently in his pockets. "Call it curiosity."
George huffed out a laugh, breathy and amused by seemingly nothing. His hand danced gently around his mouth again as if he had something to hide, and Clay felt his eyebrows furrow before he even processed the movement.
"Is that what I should call it, or is that what it is?" George teased, cut brow lifting to hide beneath his bangs. "Are you trying to steal my identity, Clay?" and oh, did his name sound good on those pink lips, "or maybe stalk me to steal my skin?"
The teasing lilt in his voice sent Clay's heart soaring, head swimming in the stars above their heads. Even if they were false echoes of the ones hidden beneath a daylight outside too-large windows, Clay swore he could still feel the way they burned.
"Is it such a crime to try and get to know the gorgeous man standing under the stars with me?" He winked playfully, forever chasing the deepened blush on George's pale cheeks.
The brunet shook his head, eyes falling to the floor for a moment. He gave the scattered kids a once over, found a parental chaperone dealing with a particularly rowdy pair; even through his practiced concern, George found it in him to entertain the kind museum worker.
"It's Delphinus," he answered without eye contact, gaze lifting to the ceiling hung above them. "When I was younger, I always loved seeing the dolphins jump above the waves in the ocean, and now, as an adult, I can look up and find them swimming in the stars." He laughed again, only this time it felt more nervous than amused. "Maybe it's silly, but I like the sky dolphin."
Clay smiled at him, eyes flicking over George's flushed face in a hope to catch his vision again. He felt a thousand different answers resting at the tip of his tongue, each one feeling just a little more stupid than the last—but he felt giddy, learning something new about the man who'd piqued his curiosity so deftly.
Delphinus. Clay would be the first to say it wasn't a constellation that everyone knew, not like Orion or Cassiopeia or the Big Dipper. Not even one of the twelve signs, not even his sign; something that would remain a mystery to him for what be longer than Clay wanted it to be.
It was Delphinus. Or the sky dolphin, as George had so cutely put it. Not that he was wrong, but it almost felt childlike—perhaps Clay shouldn't have expected anything more from someone who worked with children every day.
"Delphinus," Clay echoed both George's words and his own racing thoughts, "I like that one, too."
George practically beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that Clay could only describe as perfect. He finally looked in the blond's direction again, arms folding carefully behind his back.
"Yeah?" George asked hopefully, gaze flicking out to the false stars again. "Which's your favorite?"
Clay scoffed quietly, sounding more like an exhale than an expression of playful frustration. And he tugged his hands out of his pockets, rubbing harshly at the back of his neck where he could feel his own hair stick between his fingers; with eyes falling to the floor, he wondered if he'd ever have an answer to a question he'd been asked a thousand times.
"I could never pick just one," he said finally, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
In response, George raised an eyebrow. The feeling of his watchful gaze on Clay's face finally dragged his eyes up from the floor, but he still felt strangely sheepish; like he was supposed to have a favorite constellation, like somehow, he'd managed to answer an opinion question incorrectly.
"Really?" George questioned, mere curiosity laced through that half-accusatory tone.
Clay blinked at him for a moment, pulling the hand away from his neck. And he shrugged again, almost surprised by how easily his next words came to his parted lips.
"Well, of course not." He smiled through the words, a tone of obvious hidden deep within the meaning. "I'm a star guy, it'd be like asking you to pick a favorite student."
George tilted his head to the side briefly, gaze flicking out to take in the room still full of children. Not just any children, his students; the ones that Clay had compared to the stars above them. (Which was such a brilliant thing that George was surprised he hadn't thought of it himself).
"I've had hundreds of students," he whispered, eyes bouncing between all the kids he could see. "I couldn't pick just one favorite."
"See?" Clay laughed, following George's flighty gaze where it ran away from stability. "Now you understand."
George laughed in return, not quite anything more than an amused exhale pushed through loosely gritted teeth. “Maybe I do.”
Silence befell them, loose and weightless in the air between them. Clay let their elbows knock together again, the contact barely-there where their skin was covered by the sleeves of their shirts. George spared him another glance, the awe in his eyes spreading—perhaps to include the man beside him, someone still barely more than a stranger.
But Clay would take that more. Even if it was only barely, even if it was nothing more than first-name basis or reckless flirting, there was something inexplicable about the man beside him; someone he was dying to get to know. But in their momentary silence, the shrill screams of surrounding children sought to bring them back to reality, and Clay was reminded of exactly where they were.
Right. They had responsibilities.
"We should probably get back to that tour," Clay said despite himself, sighing quietly and without restraint. “I think those kids ought to be learning something.”
George laughed, shoulder bumping into Clay’s arm without the same mischief as before. It felt affectionate, perhaps; intentional at worst. Clay smiled, searching for the pink behind George’s freckles and the stars reflecting in his widened pupils.
“Instead of what?” he teased. “Watching their teacher flirt with the guy giving their tour?”
Clay rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face spoke far louder than anything else. He knocked George’s arm back in return, the smaller man stumbling slightly where he was unstable on his feet.
"Shut up," Clay huffed. "I have to get back to work."
George sighed, regaining his balance without much trouble. "Me too."
Clay gave him another look, filled with just as much lilt as all the others had been. And he spun on his heel so his back faced all the rowdy kids, pointing an accusatory finger toward the center of George’s chest.
"Don't leave without my number," he insisted with a grin, "got it?"
And George laughed again, high and airy with all things glimmering and musical. Clay wondered just how many things he could do to pull that same sound through those lips, wondered if he would lose count on the times it had filled his ears magnificently before the end of his time.
"Sure thing, Clay."