Chapter Text
George never understood why there was a need for assigned seats in study hall. It’s not like anyone actually abided by the seating chart, hell, it’s not like there was any studying going on in study hall. The only person who actually sat where they were supposed to was, well, George. George and Clay.
While he likes to think that he sat where he was supposed to because he was that good of a kid, the honest truth was that he was in the best spot to look at Clay. Even under the fluorescent lights of their school's library, Clay looked like a dream. With his fair hair and enticing eyes, and holy fuck, his arms. George has to have spent half of his time in study hall looking at his arms. They were so defined, so strong, so… everything George wasn’t. George was tiny. Even though he’s an athlete, he was the tiniest in the grade maybe. It usually worked out for him, seeing as he was a flyer on the cheer team, but next to Clay, it almost made him feel insecure.
“...George? Hey George, are you even listening?” George finally snapped out of his thoughts and locked eyes with Clay.
“Huh? Um…. yeah, yeah, I’m listening!” George insisted. Clay chuckled.
“Alright, so you can answer my question?” The taller asked.
“Uh, I mean, yeah, you’re just gonna have to.. Repeat it..”
“Whose jersey are you wearing tomorrow?”
“Jersey…?”
“Yeah, for the homecoming game? Y’know, the like.. A thousand year tradition,” Clay babbled on. George blushed.
“Oh, uh, I don’t really wear the jerseys,”
“What?! Why not?” Clay’s eyes widened. “You’re literally the team captain, dude,” Truth be told, George always wanted to wear one of the football players jerseys just like the rest of the cheerleaders. It was an age-old tradition, the day before the homecoming game the cheerleaders wore one of the football players' jerseys for ‘good luck.’ However, not many football players were willing to give George their jersey for the day, as most people thought that would be a little, well, homo.
“Well, yeah, but… what dude on the football team is gonna want to give me his jersey?” Clay rolled his eyes.
“You can wear mine,” Clay started, “But only if you want, y’know,” Now it was time for George’s turn to get wide eyed.
“R-Really? You know what people are going to think, right?” George turned a deeper shade of red, his pale skin not hiding anything. Clay shot him a small smile.
“Oh, who cares what other people think, I think it makes perfect sense. Captain of the cheer team wears the captain of the football teams jersey,” Clay explained.
“Well, when you put it that way… Yeah, I’ll wear your jersey,” Clay grinned.
“Alright, cool. I’ll give you it after practice!” Clay exclaimed. George scrunched up his nose.
“Won’t it be all sweaty?”
Clay rolled his eyes. “We can work that out when we get there!” The pair talked about the upcoming game for a while longer, until the bell rang.
“Well, I’ll see you after practice! Bye Georgie!” Clay exclaimed as he started to pack up his belongings. George could feel every part of his body go aflame.
“Bye Clay…” George mumbled.
Since when does Clay call him Georgie? And since when does being called that give George butterflies in his stomach. He tried to shake the feeling off, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even concentrate in class without thinking about it. This whole jersey ordeal was going to be no good.
-
George walked out of the school, feeling refreshed. It’s not often the cheer squad gets a night off from hard training, but seeing as tomorrow was the big game it wasn’t wise of them to do anything to risk injury. George had almost made it to his car before he felt a piece of fabric hit his face. He quickly tore it off, ready to berate whoever threw it at him, and was met with Clay’s shit eating grin.
“C’mon George,” Clay chided, tsking at him. “What would your coach think? Star cheerleader about to leave school without the jersey,”
George rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off, this smells like shit,” George lied. In all honesty, the sweat was gross, but Clay’s natural musk overrode it.
“Well, I just practiced in it. You’re gonna have to wash it. Hope you have good laundry detergent, can’t have it throwing me off tomorrow,” Clay teased.
“If you don’t stop talking I’ll make it my personal mission to make sure you never play another football game again,” George barked. Clay giggled and playfully punched George’s arm.
“Oh Georgie, I know you could never stay mad at me,” Clay commented, drawing out the ‘me.’ George quickly unlocked his car and hopped in, hoping that Clay didn’t notice how flustered that nickname could get him.
George waved goodbye, and Clay followed in suit. As George started to back out, he could hear Clay yell something along the lines of “Nice car!” He rushed home, embarrassed by his lack of composure around the fair haired man.
-
George washed the jersey, as Clay instructed. He took it out of his dryer and smelled it, to make sure that the sweat was gone. He was met with the scent of his laundry detergent mixing with Clay’s natural scent. George didn’t think his aroma would ever leave this jersey.
It smelled of citrus, specifically lime. It smelled like a summer's day, a day you’d spend with your closest friends at the beach, without a care in the world. The scent was sweet. The scent was Clay. George sighed and reluctantly put it on.
It was massive on him. It reached his mid thighs, the sleeves on it going all the way down to his elbows. George looked in the mirror and grinned. He was never quite satisfied with how he looked, it was hard to be when you were as scrawny and small as George. His pale skin was accentuated by the vibrant teal of the jersey, and his dark hair stood out more. And despite all that, George still found himself happy with how it looked. It looked normal. Natural even. Like he was a real cheerleader. He opened his phone and looked at the time. 10:46. He yawned as he walked over to his bed.
“There’s no point in changing out of the jersey,” He thought. “I’m gonna wake up and put it on, might as well sleep in it.”
As he drifted off to sleep, he could only think of one thing. One person.
George was falling for the captain of the football team. And he was falling hard.