International Relation(ship)s

Chapter 7

With one last loving look at the tabby, Clay gave Twix a final scratch between her ears as the staff began herding the cats up and the group started to leave. Zak, Darryl and Technoblade left first, along with the employees who were not currently wrangling squirming kittens into travel carriers, Clay and George reluctantly leaving shortly after. The pair ambled along the hallway in a tense silence, both attempting to contrive the conflicting feelings that they held towards the other. A commotion of sorts was heard up ahead, however, and they turned to each other in confusion; there were shouts, and a pop of sorts in the distance. It sounded rather alarmingly like a gunshot.

"You two. In here. Stay down" Techno commanded as he jogged down the corridor towards them, his flat voice not betraying any information as to what the hell was going on.

"Techno what-?" Clay was cut off as the pair were shoved into some sort of closet, the door slamming quickly behind them. He tripped over some kind of cleaning equipment, tumbling to the floor, and, due to the proximity, he brought George down with him. The Prince let out a gentle grunt as his back met the floor and Clay fell on top of him. He initially managed to partially support his weight on his hands, but his right arm quickly buckled under the tendrils of pain shooting up from his injured hand

" Fuck " He winced, trying his very best to hold himself up on one arm, but he was practically smothering George, every part of him larger to the extent that if someone opened the door to the rather compromising scene, it would probably take them a second to realise that there were, indeed, two people there. He felt every movement from the rapid rising and falling of George's chest, each shallow breath fanning across Clay's cheeks, each metronomic pump of his heart under the skin of his chest.

" Oh my god ." George muttered under his breath. It felt like time froze. Their faces were mere centimetres away, noses just about grazing each other if one of them left. Every point of contact sent hot sparks fizzing through his body, making him feel... something. Clay didn't want to think about it.

"That fucking hurt . My hand was pretty badly cut up the last time we ended up like this." Clay laughed drily, still keeping his voice a whisper. George looked nothing short of stunned . His eyes were wide, staring directly into Clay's and for a second, his mind went completely blank. The emptiness was short lived, however, and was quickly filled with panicked thoughts: I'm currently locked in a closet with the fucking Prince of England, the guy who I hate but I can confirm is actually human, whilst someone probably tried to shoot us or something and he is lying right below me what the fuck- "Why does this keep on happening to us ?" Clay let out an unemotional chuckle again, his whispers slightly more hostile. The unbearable tension was choking him, something needed to be said for him to even draw in a shaky breath.

"Do you- do you mind ?" George stuttered, the same shocked expression remaining.

"Don't say it like that, this is your fault Your Royal Highness ." Clay mocked sarcastically, his voice starting to rise as the adrenaline set in from the current predicament, in all senses.

"What do you mean this is my fault?" George hissed under his breath, acutely aware of their situation and somewhat attempting to remind Clay of how quiet they were meant to be.

"No-one ever tries to kill me when I'm doing presidential stuff but the moment I go out with the Prince someone tries to shoot me - you don't even have guns over here - that makes it so much worse Jesus-"

"Will you shut up before you get us both killed?"

"Techno is standing in front of the door, we're not going to be killed-"