After Fire - Dreamnotfound

Eight|the king of the leaves

Clay replied with a soft smile. "That's funny but nice. He sounds pretty cool."

"He is." He stared at Clay, debating whether to continue or not. Though, he didn't know how he would without oversharing. His stare lingered, only breaking when the other boy glanced back. "Uh, yeah. I'd consider him my first friend as well as my best friend."

"Your first friend? I don't know UK school systems that well, but shouldn't you have found friends before secondary school?"

"I knew kids before then, but they weren't very friendly. Wilbur was nice to me, even if he drives me up the wall sometimes." As he colored in the corners, he could feel Clay's stare. "Eyes on the road, Clay."

"Sorry," He mumbled.

"You know, I think aside from your lack of spatial awareness and your inability to keep your eyes on the road, you're a decent driver," George said, looking up to see Clay's eyes not on the road and rather gazing with wide eyes at him.

"Really? I'm a good driver?" His eyes lit up. He had the look of someone who didn't hear compliments often.

"Don't let it get to your head," George said, and Clay smiled and gazed back out to the long road ahead of them.

"Thank you, George. You're a... I'd still be a garbage driver if you weren't helping me."

The older boy snickered at the poor attempt at a compliment. "Believe me, I know."

They fell quiet again, and George listened to the music playing between them. Soft melodic phrases and an impactful voice. He was tempted to ask for the name of the song, but quickly stopped himself and continued to draw his pirate stick figures instead. Occasionally, he'd glance up at Clay. He finally found the capability of keeping his eyes on the road. His grip on the steering wheel was slacker than the day before, and he switched lanes smoothly. He was a natural driver, even if their start was rocky and nearly got them killed. George found it a shame he didn't begin driving earlier. He could have gotten his license long ago had he zipped through his hours.

"So Wilbur—"

"Do you want his number or something?" George didn't mean to snap, and Clay looked taken aback. "I'm sorry," He quickly apologized. "What about Wilbur?"

"Frankly, I don't really care that much about Wilbur," Clay said.

"Then why do you keep asking about him?"

"I don't know," He replied, tousling up his messy blond hair. "You never talk about yourself. And I feel like you know all these things about me while I don't even know your favorite color. It's unbalanced."

"My favorite color is blue," George said.

"Why?"

"It's a pretty color," George replied, not understanding why he'd ask. "And I'm colorblind so it's really the only pretty color I know."

"You're colorblind?" Clay snickered. "What kind?"

"I'm not telling you now."

"Well, Karl's colorblind, too. You're not alone, Shorty."

"I didn't think I was," George said.

"Now back to Wilbur. He's your best friend, right? What is the most stupid thing you've done together?"

"I almost drove us off a bridge before because I had the hiccups and he and our other friend tried to scare me to cure it."

Clay laughed. "They sound like fun."

"They are. And they make me participate in all their stupid ideas. The moment I was legally allowed to drive, they made me take them joyriding. Last summer before I left, we attempted graffiti on this run-down store. My friend Tommy spraypainted a dick."