Dreamnotfound oneshot book

Its snowing

"You have those stupid glow sticks, don't you?"

His hands- pale, under the light of the moon- raise. He waves around the lime green glow stick and Clay watches it shake to life in the brunettes hands.

"Yeah." Came his simple response. Clay pauses on the sidewalk, watching his friend adjust his scarf. ice crunches below his feet.

"You always buy these." Clay smiles from underneath his thick scarf. George reaches a hand out to Clay, offering him a dimly lit blue glow stick. "I didn't shake that one yet," he says.

The green glow stick George holds illuminates his face. Clay watches him shift with baited breath and a not yet vibrant blue glow stick. He watches the colors of the glow toy bounce off George, he looks at his cherry red nose from the biting cold.

"Okay," he murmurs, looking down at his glow stick. He began to shake it aggressively, hearing little cracks and pops from the childish item and watches as it slowly burned into a vibrant blue.

Their walks home were always like this. It was the highlight of Clays day, to see George bundled up in sweaters and coats after school and walking home with him with the stars over their heads.

They walk down the path. It's quiet for a while. Clay watches lights flick off in houses and sees trash tumble down bare roads. And, on rare occasions as to not get caught, he looks at George.

"Are there any constellations out tonight?"

He says to interrupt the silence. George looks up, and Clay follows his gaze. They stop along the path, and Clay has to stop himself from looking at George who stares up at the stars intently. Do the constellations reflect off his eyes? Do they trace his skin like George tells him his own freckles do, and George would compare them to the sky while Clay tries not to reveal his obsession with everything George is.

"You see that one star right there?" George points to the sky, and Clay squints. All he sees is a cluster of stars with no meaning, but he knows George must see more than that. "Yeah," comes his easy (lie filled) response.

"It connects to the one to the left. Then it goes up," he cuts himself off,  "it's kinda shaped like a W." He begins using his index finger to trace a shape into the sky. "Cassiopeia."

"Cassiopeia, She was, um, some queen. She claimed she was more beautiful and Devine than the nereids, blah blah. Anyways, she like, sacrificed her daughter or something. I don't really know."

Clay listened to his ramblings, and pretends he understands.

They're standing close together. Clay feels George shift, still looking up at the sky to try and find more constellations. His hand, the one without the green glow stick clamped in it, brushes against Clays in a tender motion. He feels himself go stiff.

What if he takes the risk? He could brush his pinky against George's, feel smooth skin against smooth skin. He wonders if George would pull away. I guess there's only one way to find out.

A single, feather light brush with his pinky against George's. He feels the shorter tense, and Clay thinks he's messed up. His brain wracks through all the terrible things that could happen, but instead of any of those possibilities, he feels George place a timid pinky against his own.