Duologue - Memeulous x ImAllexx (unfinished - go to the rewrite)

12

"All pretty girls are a trap, a pretty trap, and men expect them to be."― Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

🂡🂢

The night air was cold and refreshing, teasing goosebumps on his neck whilst George chucked the fragments of glass in the bins around the side of Will's house. It was much quieter there than in the back garden, a sort of windowless alley between the two houses. George, savouring this moment of isolation, neglected to head straight back inside. Here he could rest his back against the cool brickwork and think about things

Well, specifically, Alex.

Fished in his pockets and found his lighter and a pack, having actually cashed out for straights for once. In the back of his mind he heard the irony of smoking straights whilst feeling the exact opposite, but he didn't let himself think about that because he'd hated English at GCSE and he wasn't about to analyse his current situation like a fucking poem. George finally lit the fag after fumbling with his lighter for a while, his fingers growing numb and clumsy in the cold. Once lit he took a long, tired drag and let his mind wonder. It wondered, as it now too often did, towards the grey eyed boy. He found it hard to process, remembering how he had felt so light, so... perfect in George's lap, even when Emma had leant down to kiss him.

George couldn't close his eyes without thinking about the boy, couldn't part his lips without feeling the other's on his own. Somehow his mind let him sigh the other boy's name into the night sky, following the curls of smoke up towards the stars.

It was like the bastard had heard him because the back door slid open and shut. The noise from the party becoming clear, then muffled again, like tuning a radio. A soft voice called into the night. "George?" Alex wasn't timid, per say, but definitely apprehensive.

George huffed, ignoring the twist in his navel, he couldn't get a break, not that he'd really wanted one. He called back, "Round the corner," and vaguely wondered if he should stub out the cig. Maybe Alex didn't really like smokers. He felt like every new aspect of himself being revealed to Alex made him more vulnerable to rejection. Logic dismissed it as stress. Alex knew he smoked, probably, and George shouldn't think about rejection as such a fucking big deal. Still, something gnawed in his mind. Just because Alex had kissed him in the rehearsal room didn't mean he was going to kiss him here, an entire world away.

Alex turned the corner to the side of the house and was framed by the garden lights for a second. George had suspected he was some sort of angel from weeks of watching him. Weeks of delicate limbs, round grey eyes, a voice that rang out like bells. The glow framing his body seemed to just reinforce some sort of celestial image.

As George watched Alex watch him in the dark, he marvelled at how he could change the way he viewed things without even speaking. They were two slightly spotty teenagers standing next to some recycling bins, cheap alcohol on their breath and - this was at least the case for George - absolutely filthy things on their minds. Yet George could have been anywhere and felt the rush of endorphins when Alex stepped into view.

Alex paused there, on the line where the shadows fell, and George thought he wouldn't come closer for a second. He teetered on the edge, as though stepping into the shadows with George marked some sort of shift, a change. As though Alex hadn't already followed him out here already of his own volition.

George felt like he was tempting Alex with sin, beckoning him over to some sort of dark side. Jesus he must be tipsier than he thought.

The image was there and gone in moments, Alex took easy steps forward and plucked the cig out of George's fingers. George enjoyed watching his lips expertly close around the butt even more than he liked the brush of fingers as they exchanged the fag.