1 am || dreamnotfound

fourty - two

what do i do? what do i do? what do i do? what do i do? god--FUCK.

he fucked up. he fucked everything up. he fucked everything up.

that's all that rang in his head the whole ride home.

what do i do? do i go over and apologize? do i wait it out until tomorrow so w--he could take a breather? do i go later in the morning?

when he arrived at his street, he saw wilbur and techno on their front yard through his blurred eyes. they heard him as soon as he came into ears-reach. and, somehow, they could notice that something was wrong, even though he tried his best to muffle his sobs and dry out his eyes.

they walked over in his direction, concern clear in their eyes--even though they've only seen each other once.

as clay slowed down in front of them, stumbling off his skateboard and not bothering to see where it flew off to, wilbur frowned. "clay? are you okay?"

he sucked in a breath. since when was it this easy to start crying again?

"goddamnit," he breathed, defeated. "no, goddamnit no. i fucked everything up. i fucked up."

his voice cracked and shuddered.

don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"what... happened?" techno asked. quietly, cautiously, gently.

a breathless sob. "i fucked everything up. my boyfriend went to the gas station and i got worried. i find him over there, cornered by my ex and i lash out, screamed, whatever, he deserved it. but, when he left, i told my boyfriend to change his outfit because it was a skirt or whatever, but i told him because of what my ex said an--and--um, he told me it was pretty much just wrong time, wrong place, and fuck, i snapped.

"i said things i know i shouldn't have, i just wanted him to be safe and he ran off afterwards. it's--it's my fault, everything's my damn fault, i fu--fucked up," clay said. tears were once again streaming down his face, but why should he be crying? he wasn't the one screamed at, george was, and clay fucked up.

wilbur whispered something that never got to his ear while techno's face softened and he opened his arms slightly. clay fell right in, immediately soaking his turtleneck with tears.

wilbur talked quietly to techno, but in the boy's embrace, clay didn't pay attention, he sobbed and it took so long for his sobs to subdue into hiccups.

and it was quiet, until there was shouting.

clay lifted his head, followed by the brothers, and he saw karl and alex riding towards them, shouting and jumping off their skateboards.

"what the hell did you do to george? what did you say to him, huh? why was he sobbing as he came back home? why did he sob about you as he spoke to us, huh? what the fuck happened?" karl demanded.

clay stepped away from techno. "i--"

"don't you fucking dare try to make an excuse," alex spat. "did you cheat? fuck someone? 'cause if so, i'm gonna beat the shit out of you."

clay flinched at the second question. "let me--"

more shouting, and this time, wilbur and techno intervened.

shouting, screaming, arguing. no, no, no.

"okay, calm the hell down, please,'' wilbur said. "let him talk, listen to him?"

and once again, clay told the story.

alex and karl was furious, obviously, how could they not? but there was also worry in there gaze, worry for clay.

"just, let me call him," clay said quietly.

he pulled out his phone, clicking on george's icon and begging as it rung.

george picked up, and it surprised clay. his boy was supposedly hating him at the moment.

"babe, fuck. i hate you right now but i don't know what to do," george said.

clay frowned, heart missing steps along its endless path. "hun... what's wrong?"

"i--i'm in my bathroom... with the door lock--" a voice cut him off.

"george davidson, get out of the stupid skirt and get your ass back down here!"

clay's eyes widened. "who was that?"

"my dad. he couldn't care less about my sexuality but he hates these outfits," george whimpered. "i'm scared."

"hun, i'll come over, i'll get over there right now," clay said.

"don't even try, babe. i'll get my own way out," george said.

something rattled. multiple small things rattled, as if dropped and shaken.

and it clicked in clay's mind. "george? what's with you?"

no answer, but his boy was still on the call.

"george? george, fucking answer me. what's with you in the bathroom?" clay asked again.

a pause.

silence.

then an answer.

"pills."

"george, put those down. put those fucking pills down. i'll be over right now," clay said harshly.

he heard a gasp from one of the boys surrounding him.

"it's my way out, babe," george whispered. "i'll be free from my parents--when they're home that is."

"george stop," clay said.

"i love you," george said.

clay was already sprinting, not caring who followed him and not bothering to take the time to get on his skateboard.

george.

george.

george.

george.

he looked down at his phone, george had hung up.

"fuck," he breathed.

he tried speeding up his pace.

he had to get to george.