Comfort (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

Trust Issues

George was sitting in his bedroom, replaying the memories of their fight over and over in his head like a broken record. He could still feel the phantom touch of Clay's lips gliding across his forehead. He absentmindedly ran his fingers along it.

The sky was gray and dull, just like the first day he'd moved here. At least, back then, there'd been rain, a sign of life over the blank canvas of endlessness.

He didn't feel any better than he did just after the fight. Instead, dread had settled in, nesting deep inside as a heavy pit in his stomach, weighing down on him. He spun around in his chair, mind running loops around the same question it had been plagued by for a while now.

Why had Clay been leading him into a wild goose chase if he'd had feelings for him for some time now? He wasn't the type of person to get off on this, and neither was George. It was frankly distressing.

First, Clay had torn down the walls George had worked so hard to build up. Then, he unknowingly tormented him by actively avoiding to act on the reciprocated feelings. Or maybe he knew. Maybe Clay was the type to get off on this. Had he known all along and kept George in the dark, getting a kick out of every time he saw his friend squirm from a simple touch? He had nothing but blind trust to contradict that.

He could hear the hustle and bustle from the kitchen. Clay had gone back to normal since the fight, acting like they'd made up and everything was fine. Well, they had made up, but things were the farthest thing from fine to George - the sudden confession had blown in like a gust of wind and stirred up the weightless flakes of denial he'd worked so hard to lay down.

He probably wouldn't have believed it if he knew how disappointed he'd feel after Clay confessed his feelings for him. Past George would probably be dancing with joy upon hearing those words come out of his friend's mouth.

But the present George... He had to make sure he wasn't just making it up in his head - Clay had reverted back to normal, right? He stood up and headed towards the kitchen with determined strides.

"Hey Clay." He greeted his friend who was chopping something up on the counter.

"Hey, George." Dry, emotionless. None of the passion he'd expect him to have in his voice after having confessed to his crush.

But what if Clay didn't have feelings? What if, after seeing what a pathetic mess George was, he was pitiful and decided to give him hope? A tiny speck of light to keep him going at his worst, when he was about to give up traversing the dark tunnel. An even bigger pit settled in, gnawing at him from inside, threatening to swallow him whole.

He had to know. If he didn't, they'd keep going back and forth forever, never getting closure. He'd probably implode from the anticipation of the next little touch, the next accidental brush of hands while passing each other something.

"Clay, we need to talk." Clay was taking his sweet time to put everything down and turn around. "Right now."

The sudden change of tone wiped the aloof expression from his friend's face. He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter behind him. The pose reminded him of the day of the blind date, and he hoped this one would end better.

"What's wrong, George?" Same dry tone. No emotions whatsoever.

"What's wrong is that you're acting like our talk never happened." George hoisted himself up on the nearest counter. "You've confessed. I've confessed. I don't know what's in the way."

Clay sighed, looking down. "I already told you, George. I don't think you're i-"

"In the right headspace, blah blah." George rolled his eyes mockingly. "But you have to actually explain."

"Fine. What I meant by that is..." He paused for a long moment, seemingly unsure if he should continue. "You're... not thinking straight right now. And I don't want you to end up doing something that-"

He cut himself off before he could continue. He refused to meet George's eyes, keeping them drawn downwards.

George beckoned him to continue, curiosity gnawing at him despite the potential disappointment that would follow those words.

"You know I got out of a pretty serious relationship because of... cheating issues. I guess I just lost trust after that." Clay fidgeted with the fabric of his hoodie. "And I... I don't want you to do the same thing as she did."

A sharp pang of emotions prodding at every inch of his body. Little needles of familiar anger, hurt, disappointment poking every crevice. Clay may as well have grabbed the kitchen knife laying next to him and driven it straight into George's chest, and it wouldn't have hurt any more. He could've ripped his heart out and punted it across the room, and he wouldn't have felt the same pain.

"So, you didn't actually care about what I'd feel. You were looking out for yourself all along. And for what?" He spat the venomous words right at Clay. "For what? The fear that I'd... go and fuck someone else?"

A small, defeated sigh followed by a weak nod. George, on the other hand, felt enraged. All this time, lost, for nothing. All the pain and mind games he'd put himself through, for a stupid reason that didn't even have a right to exist.

"Look, George, putting it into words..." Clay was biting the inside of his cheek. So George wasn't the only one with nervous habits, after all. "It sounds so stupid. But it sounded so... scary in my head. I couldn't even think about that risk."

"So what, you never attempted anything at all?" He clenched his hands, knuckle turning white. "You just sat there, with no regard for anyone else but yourself?"

"It's not like that, George. Please, listen-"

"No, you listen to me! All this time, you had me believing you were the good guy. All high and mighty." He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. "But you had your own best interests in mind all along, didn't you?"

Clay suddenly stood up straight, glowering. "You're not the only one with issues, George!" He turned his back, facing towards the kitchen exit. "And you have no right to downplay mine."

With that, he headed towards the front door, grabbing his suitcase on the way. He unlocked it before darting out. George flinched while he waited for the door to slam, but it never came. It was shut with a soft click, instead. Somehow that made him feel even worse.

A new ingredient had been added to the boiling, swirling mess of emotions - guilt. George wanted to just shrivel up and die from the amount of pure joy he felt. He slid off the counter and down onto the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Clay was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. He'd opened up about his trust issues, and George did nothing but disregard it and bring his own problems into the mix, shining the spotlight on them instead. He contemplated going after him, but his legs felt like jelly and he doubted he could run down the stairs even if he tried.

Where was Clay even going? He didn't have a hotel booked since he'd been staying at George's place. He didn't have any close friends in this city either to stay with them instead-

Rose.

He'd never officially ended things with her, just brushed it off to standby. If Clay was actually with Rose, they were going to have a whole new thing to fight about.

He waited until he could collect himself, pushed himself up and glanced around the kitchen. Two bowls had been laid out in front of a cutting board with fresh veggies on it. There was a packet of rice sitting next to the bubbling pot of water on the stove, with different spices gathered around it.

More guilt. Clay had been cooking for the two of them. He turned off the stove and headed into the bedroom.
He'd focus on finding Clay and apologizing tomorrow, but he had to rest at the moment. Confrontation drained him like no other activity, and he'd just had a hell of a fight with his favorite person.

He made a mental note to himself to somehow find Rose's address and check her place, then try to make up with Clay. That was going to be a difficult task, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. Or rather, burn that bridge and everything on it.
He hoped it would be the former.