Fluff!
No Warnings
George's POV:
Clay had offered to drive me home in his matte black Maserati; damn he's hot, sweet, and rich. It had gotten extremely dark by now and so obviously I had missed the bus. I had stayed to watch his game and I must say it was definitely worth it.
~~~
"Hey," I mumbled against his chest.
I pulled away from his embrace reluctantly, gazing up into his moonlit emerald eyes.
"I should probably start heading home now, it's getting pretty late," I spoke softly, with a small sigh afterwards.
"No, no, no. I'm not letting you walk home at this time. It's pitch black! You could get kidnapped!" He explained, worryingly.
"Sounds kinda fun," I joked, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly.
"Yeahhhh... no. I'll drive you home."
"Are you sure? I mean I can always just-"
"Of course I'm sure!"
I looked at him apprehensively as he began to walk off, presumably heading towards his car.
He turned himself back around, stopping in his steps, noticing the absence of my presence next to him.
"Are you coming?"
"Erm..."
"Oh, come on pretty boy!"
"Pretty boy?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow at the sudden nickname. Not gonna lie, my heart may or may not have lurched when I heard him call me pretty.
Does he think I'm pretty? Well then...
"Yes, pretty boy. You're pretty and you're a boy... I think," he spoke.
"Yes, I'm a boy", I chuckled.
"Well, come on then!"
"Okay, okay. Hold your horses!"
"WHAT?!" Clay burst laughing, his obnoxious chuckles escalating to the squeal of an old tea pot.
"What?..." i asked, confused as to why he was currently dying in a fit of wheezes.
"H-hold you hor-" he wheezed again.
"Hold your horses?"
"STOP!" He shouted, again letting out another wheeze.
He started to cough and his face turned bright red at the lack of oxygen. Tears began leaking from his eyes as he continued laughing and coughing.
"Are you okay?" I mentally face palmed myself.
That was a dumb question.
"Clay, chill." (DaDdY cHilL)
I'm starting to become mildly concerned.
He had both hands resting on his knees, as he bent over taking shaky deep breaths.
I walked over and placed my hand on his shoulder, "Are you okay now?"
"Yeah" he breathed, still letting out the occasional cough.
"Sorry, you just reminded me of something." He muttered still bent over, recovering from his laughing-fit. I raised an eyebrow in question.
He stood up abruptly, raking his hand through his slightly-curled, caramel-coloured locks. "Okay, leh-go!" He said, my hand sliding off as he began to walk towards his car again, me following this time.
I slid into his car, shivering briefly at the coldness of the leather seats. He joined me after tossing both of our bags onto the back seats, also shivering at the slight chill.
"Sorry, the seat-covers are getting deep-cleaned. I took home a few mates last week after a practice game and then my whole car reeked of sweaty teenage boys."
I made a face of disgust at that.
"Yeahhh, definitely not the best smell in the world."
"Definitely not," I agreed.
There was a brief moment of silence as Clay fumbled around looking for something.
"Lost something?" I asked.
"Ah, yeah... did you see where i put my phone?" He turns to look at me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other placed on the armrest as he spun around again looking in the back of his car.
"Erm, no. But I don't think it's gonna be back there," i chuckled a bit.
"Hmm..."
He continued to search the back seats, using his right hand (American cars' drivers seats are on the left ~ acknowledgments from a brit) to lift up different garments of clothing that he'd obviously tossed there at some point.
All I could do was observe silently and patiently.
Damn those neck veins...
And those shoulder muscles...
And that jawline...
"Found it!" The greek god suddenly exclaimed holding his phone up and wiggling it in front of my face, as if he was proudly showing off a trophy.
"Well done," i chuckled, my face still burning beet-red at my previous entrancement of the model sitting next to me.
He offered me a cheeky smile, almost like a child that's been caught eating some sweets they weren't supposed to.
"I must've thrown it back there with my bag," he facepalmed.
"Anyhow," he started, pressing his car power button twice to start up the engine.
The steady purr of the engine as the car came to life brought a sort've calming aura over the both of us. I was expecting a
"Where do you live?" He asked in a mock-sinister tone and a smirk.
"Wouldn't you like to know," I muttered and smirked back.
"I mean you're more than welcome to spend the night with me if you're that reluctant to tell me your address," his smirk widened.
I flushed.
"243 Rosemary Park Street, to the right of the Amira station".
"So I take it you don't want to spend the night with me?" He questioned jokingly.
I just blushed and looked out of the window, watching the millions of stars twinkle in the distance as the car began to move.
~~~
Clay had been driving for about 5 minutes now. We'd settled into a silence; not comfortable, but not uncomfortable, just a silence.
"Wanna listen to some music?"
"Sure."
He tossed me his phone.
"2-5-2-9-0-0, go on Spotify and pick a playlist or search for a song or something."
"Oh, okay," i was a little taken aback by Clay just giving me his phone password.
"Erm... Where's Spotify?" I questioned, snorting at my cluelessness.
"Second page."
"Ah, okay, found it."
I scrolled through his many playlists, smiling at the names: For Da Boys, Vibin, Proper Bops, King Shit, UwU, Weeb Tunes, British Cutie...
British Cutie? The fuck?
I pause momentarily. O-kay... Vibin it is.
~~~
"So, why come to Berry Wood High if you live so much closer to Hilltop High?" He suddenly queried, turning the song down until it was just a rhythm of hazy background noise.
"Uh..."
"I mean obviously I'm not complaining, I'm so glad you came to Berry Wood; I probably wouldn't have met a certain adorable and incredibly intelligent, British cutie otherwise".
I chuckled. So that playlist was named after me?... He really is obsessed with me.
"Damn, he sounds like a great guy! And that would be a great name for a Spotify playlist, don't you think?"
"What?"
"British cutie?..."
Clay smiled sheepishly, his face flushing crimson.
"Well, I bet he's glad he met you too."
"Hopefully," he smiled, "But seriously though, why did you?"
"Parents," I muttered.
"Ah, so you didn't have a choice?"
"Not really."
"Oh. Do you think you would've still come here if you had a choice?"
"If I had a choice, I would still be in England."
"Oh," he gave me a saddened look.
"Yeah... It's funnily quite pathetic."
"What is, moving to America?"
"No, my parents. They moved us over here as there are "more options and better courses", then shoved me in 'Berry Wood High', which I guess is a great school, but only because they saw the student pass rate and know it's very academic here. The funnily pathetic part is, they couldn't give two shits about my grades."
"Oh?" He sounded quite shocked, whether it was from my revelation or sudden use of swearing I didn't know.
"Yeah."
"But, you're like so so smart and have straight A's, right?"
"Yup, and so do you."
"Shush."
We both let out a little giggle.
"I just don't get why they'd put you in a good school but not care."
"No, they do."
"Huh?"
"Basically, as long as I get good grades, which I do, they don't bother with me. They work a lot, and when they don't, they're either too busy berating my sister over her 'not-so-good grades', or fawning over each other. Obviously I'm happy my parents have a good relationship with each other and I don't mind them spending time together, i just wish they'd at least ask me how my day was. All they do is punish me for misbehaving or disappointing them, but they never reward me or even praise me. For anything. I'm not jealous of her or anything, but if my sister improves just a tiny bit, they act as if she just magically cured some kind of disease. My parents can be very over the top at times, which can be a redeeming feature of theirs but not when they're punishing me for slipping down from an A to a B in one test. It's just not fair. I love them, they're my parents. I just wish they'd at least say they're proud of me once in a while."
"Damn."
"Sorry I just kinda ranted, i-"
"Hey, no. I'm sorry they don't see how amazing you are." He offered me a warm smile.
I smiled back; a sad sort've smile.
"Did you say they punish you?"
"Yeah, I don't really wanna talk about that though."
"That's okay. Just know, I'm proud of you, okay?" He took his right hand off of the steering wheel for a brief moment and placed it on my forearm reassuringly.
"Thank you, Clay."
It went quiet again, only a faint sweet tune of another song could be heard and the apprehensive atmosphere was making me anxious.
"OOO, I LOVE THIS SONG!" Clay suddenly shouted, bouncing in his seat slightly, as he reached out to turn the volume up to max.
I chuckled at his sudden outburst of energy, to which he gave me a feigned look of offense.
"What?!... This song is a bop..." he said pouting his bottom lip out a little.
I grinned at him.
~~~
Clay slowly rolled up to my street, almost stopping at each house to read the number on the postbox. The numbers were pretty hard to see under the dimly lit lighting of the street, so I figured it would be best if I just told him where my house was instead of stopping at each one for the next half-an-hour.
"It's around the corner, by the way, the third house on the right"
"Heh, thanks" he smiled, slightly embarrassed.
"I think my neighbours were starting to get a bit sus," I said, eliciting a little giggle from the blond.
He slowly advanced to my drive, rolling to a smooth stop.
"I guess I'll err... see you tomorrow?" I spoke.
"Of course!"
"Great! So um... bye," George said, letting out an awkward giggle.
"Yeah, bye."
George gently slammed the passenger door shut and fast-walked to his front door. He paused for a moment, remembering he needed his keys... which were in his bag... which was in Clay's car.
He physically face-palmed, realising he'd been so focussed on not tripping or "walking funny" in front of Clay, that he'd forgotten to even get his bag.
He awkwardly turned around to see Clay standing at the edge of his drive holding his bag, a smug look plastered to his face.
Begrudgingly walking towards him, he kept his eyes trained to his brick drive; trying to hide his fuchsia-flushed cheeks.
"Forgot something?" The taller of the two asked.
George could practically hear the smugness dripping from his question.
He hesitantly looked up, biting his bottom lip slightly with heavy embarrassment.
"Yeah... sorry" he smiled awkwardly.
Clay chuckled, "at least I know where to pick you up from now, right?"
"Huh?"
"I was meaning to ask, are you free this Saturday?"
"Oh!" The brunette was pleasantly shocked, "y-yeah! I think I am, why?"
"How about a date?" Clay asked, his stance exuding confidence, but secretly he was shitting himself.
"A date?"
"Yeah, you know what a date is, right?"
"Yes! I know what a date is," George laughed, licking his lips briefly and quickly running his finger through his hair.
"So, you're asking me on a date?"
"Yeah."
"Then, yes."
They both beamed at each other, simultaneously at a loss for words.
"Where we going on this date?" The shorter questioned.
"Hmm, it'll be a surprise. I'll text you the details, don't worry," he finished with a wink.
"Slight problem..."
"What?"
"You don't have my number."
A loud, almost patronising chuckle escaped him.
"Yes, I do."
"Wut..."
Clay just winked, handing the bag to the other boy and hopping back into his car.
"See you tomorrow, cutie!" he shouted, as he sped off presumably heading home.
George failed to move; utterly dumbfounded.
~~~
The rest of the week went by in a flash.
Each day at school the subtle flirting between the boys grew and both started to gain knowing looks from their classmates and friends alike.
Saturday morning was here, and so was George's wardrobe crisis.
"AHHHH?! HELP ME MILA!!!!"
"George, you're so dramatic oh my god!" his sister mocked, grinning at the frenzied look on his face.
"I am not dramatic!" he protested.
"No, you're right... just very very gay."
"Haha very funny, I thought you were the one that said 'the gay stereotype doesn't even mean anything anymore'."
"For you it does."
"Haha whatever, NOW HELP ME!"
"Okay, okay chill!"
"HOW CAN I CHILL?!"
Mila's forefinger and thumb came up the pinch the bridge of her nose. She loved her brother, dearly. And she loved that he had a more "feminine side".
But sometimes, just sometimes, he really does piss her off. She often likes to compare him to a girl who's started her period in the middle of class and hasn't brought any sanitary products with her.
Yes, he can be that dramatic.
Obviously, a situation like that for the girl in theory, would warrant an extremely dramatic reaction, but for George having a single hair on his head out of place of its "messy-masterpiece", as he liked to call it, and having an equally melodramatic episode?
Someone, please say equal rights, cause this boy has nailed it.
"George, just breathe."
"I CAN'T BREATHE!!"
"What does the text say?"
"He just said 'wear something cute... but by your standards anything you wear is cute ;)'"
"Damn, you got yourself a charmer"
"Umhm... NOW HELP ME!"
"OKAY, FINE!"
—
WC: 2396