[a/n: hhrk I'm running out of inspiration juice so let's wrap this up, yeah? 1-3 chapters left]
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Not many words were spoken. It was hard to find the proper ones, anyway. George stuck to Clay like superglue for the whole day, at which the American didn't bat an eye. The dark, overcast night matched their moods as they lay sideways across the cold bed. George picked up his phone every couple minutes, impulsively checking the time. Clay lay beside him, shoulder to shoulder, drowning under the weight of their predicament.
"I'm going to miss you," Clay whispered. Soft pattering came from outside as delicate rain hit the window.
George gave no verbal response, instead dropping his phone and slipping his hand into Clay's.
They lay still for what felt like centuries, when in reality, barely five minutes passed. Clay wondered if there was something they could have been doing that would have made better use of their time, but realized that his nerves would have made it impossible for him to focus on anything anyway. All he had was an hour or so before he and George would begrudgingly start making their way to the car. Everything felt so surreal.
And Clay meant everything. From catching feelings for his best friend to having those feelings returned, to kissing George on a random Sunday morning, to having him ripped out of his arms so soon, to feeling painfully alone in his own apartment before George even left-
"Take my phone away," George said, passing his cell over his and Clay's chest, "I can't stop checking it."
Clay silently took it and placed it on the other side of the mattress, but not before checking the time for himself. It was 1:17AM; two hours before George's plane was scheduled to board. Clay's throat burned suddenly, and he tightened his grip on George's hand.
"Hey," George turned to face him, "it's okay. I won't be gone forever."
"But you'll still be gone."
Patches hopped up on the bed, pressing her soft paws into the boys' chests as she passed over their bodies. Clay chuckled as his view of the ceiling got suddenly replaced by that of round eyes and tingly whiskers. He used his free hand to scratch Patches' ears, watching as she yawned and shook.
"I'll miss you the most," George said, joining in on the petting.
"I'll miss you, too," Clay repeated.
"I meant Patches."
"Ouch," Clay wheezed.
As the cat sank down on her owner's chest, Clay dropped his hand and returned his gaze to the ceiling. George's hand was still intertwined with his, stroking his knuckles with a butterfly's touch.
There were so many things to love about that boy, it would take years for Clay to list them all. What a waste it felt like, to only realize them now.
No, Clay thought, it isn't a waste.
"I didn't say what I wanted to when you were talking about your mom," he brought up.
"Hmm?"
"You were saying how you were thankful that you had me as a friend. I just wanted to say that I'm thankful for you, too. You were my best friend, George. You still are. I'm really glad we had that connection before I fell head over heels for you."
"Aww, that's what you were going to say?"
"Yeah," Clay giggled.
"But instead you decided to be a dick and give me a heart attack," George huffed, "'i'M sOrRy If I gAvE yOu ThE wRoNg IdEa!'"
Clay wheezed, startling Patches slightly.
"I said I was sorry!" he laughed.
"You're insane," George grin could be heard in his voice.
When Clay's laughter died down, he craned his neck to look at George, who's face was still pointed towards Patches. Their eyes met, and Clay took in every feature of the man in front of him. He sure was beautiful.
Clay lifted his hand, still holding George's, and brought it up towards his face, placing a kiss on the Brit's wrist. He scanned his eyes over it, remembering their conversation from months ago about the stupid scars they both had. He chuckled as he located the bite mark on George's arm, imagining the young boy messing around with a goose and getting his ass kicked.
Of course, right below that lay the scatter of tiny slivers, peppering George's pale arms like blades of grass in a field. Clay's smile disappeared slowly, replaced by a scowl of anger at the universe. How he wished to go back in time and be there for him.
Nothing could be done now, and George didn't want anything to be done. He just wanted to live his life, find happiness, and be loved; all of which he already was.
Clay closed his eyes, bringing George's arm up to his lips and peppering the spot with kisses. George giggled silently, cringing at the tickly sensation.
"I love you so much," Clay whispered onto the boy's skin.
George smiled, watching the mop of dirty blond hair swish from beyond his outstretched arm. Clay's eyelashes brushed his wrist, sending shivers through his veins.
"I love you too," he replied. Clay replaced his fingers between George's, returning their hands to the mattress between them.
"You don't say that enough," Clay smirked, wishing he could hear that phrase every day for the rest of his life.
"I know," George sighed, "but I will, starting now."
Clay chewed his lip as he reached for George's phone. It was 1:42AM. Time to start the drive to the airport. Clay showed the phone to George, who took it and slipped it into his pocket.
"Are you ready to go?" Clay asked quietly.
"No," George mumbled, but sat up anyway.
-
"Did you get everything?" Clay asked for the sixth time as he popped the trunk.
"Oh my God, yes," George laughed, "stop making me panic."
"I don't know, I kinda hope you forgot something at my place."
"Why's that? So I have an excuse to fly out here again?"
"You read my mind," Clay winked.
George rolled his eyes, grabbing his suitcase and duffel bag. The rain had stopped by the time they reached Jacksonville International, but puddles still coated the roads, reflecting billboards and neon signs.
The airport was practically deserted upon first glance. There was no usual hum of baggage or footsteps, which made the flight announcements echo eerily throughout the outer terminal. The two made their way to self check-in where George scanned his documents. They dropped the suitcase off at the kiosk, listening as the attendant gave pickup instructions. George made sure to pay attention, but Clay turned around to scan the interior of the airport.
He hadn't been in the building in a long time, having found himself travelling less and less as the years went on. The airport used to be exciting, promising him epic vacations and new sights. Now, it stared at him desolately, greyer and darker than he remembered it being.
"Dream," George nudged him, signalling that the drop-off was done. They walked away from the kiosks and to a large LED screen, looking for the gate number. Upon finding it, George realized that the final step was going through security. The duffel bag suddenly felt tonnes heavier on his shoulder, and his hands shook as he brought them up to its strap. There wasn't much time to spare before his flight would begin boarding, so as soon as the customs room came into view, George stopped in the middle of the hall.
He grasped Clay's hoodie sleeve, prompting the man to pause and look back at him. George swiftly pulled them over to a support pillar, slipping his bag onto the tile and wrapping Clay in a deep hug. The ceiling lights barely reached around the pillar, allowing the two to have some space to themselves out of view. Not that there was anyone around to see them, but it felt nice regardless.
"You're not social distancing," Clay joked as he leaned into him.
"Shush."
Clay squeezed George gently, kissing the top of his head. His warmth radiated through both of their hoodies, exploding butterflies from Clay's stomach to his heart.
"I thought this would be easier," George choked out into Clay's neck.
"I wish it was," Clay replied into the boy's brown hair.
George drew in a shaky breath before pushing away and setting his hands on Clay's forearms.
"Okay, I have to get going," he muttered.
"Wait, I'm not ready yet," Clay looked down at him, pursing his lips.
"Neither am I, but I can't stall anymore," George bit down on his lip, hard. The pain helped keep the tears at bay. "I'll be in and out, you won't even notice I'm gone."
"We both know it's more complicated than that," Clay whispered, knowing that speaking at regular volume would surely make his voice break.
George lifted his hands from Clay's forearms to his face, pulling him down and pressing their lips together. After two nights, it still felt the same; an explosion of colour that George couldn't see but could feel. Clay laced his hands on George's back, pushing him against the cold pillar. He prayed for any kind of miracle, big or small.
Cancel his flight, he thought to a higher power, delay his flight. Let me go with him.
He pulled away to breathe and plastic-tasting air filled his lungs. His lips burned from the contact, begging for just one more kiss.
"Next time," Clay placed his forehead against George's, "I'm coming to you."
"Please," George whispered.
"You're blushing again," Clay smirked, spying the red tint on George's pale cheeks and the tips of his ears.
"Shut up," he stuttered, "so are you."
After a moment of silence, Clay took George's hands off his cheeks and held them close between their bodies, lacing their fingers together.
"Bye, George," he took one last look.
"Bye, Clay."