Comfort (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

Talk

Clay looked at Rose, then back at the building. After not noticing even a shift in her expression, he glanced over at Stephen.

He found him staring right back with a smile spread wide over his face. It didn't reach his eyes, though, making Clay feel unsettled.

Stephen wrapped an arm around George's shoulder and cooed to him in mock concern. "Aww, what's wrong? You look like you could use a drink."

George seemed to be in a different place, a thousand emotions dancing around on his face. First it was mixed and unreadable, then it gradually shifted to anger.

It wasn't obvious, but Clay could tell by the way George bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hide it. He stepped to the side to try to shrug Stephen's arm off, but it didn't budge, as if it was firmly glued to his hoodie.

Clay decided to intervene, walking over to stand in between them. "Come on, man, let's head inside."

George seemed a lot less uncomfortable once he felt a familiar presence next to him. He solemnly nodded, shuffling in after them.

The blaring music and the obnoxious neon lights instantly overwhelmed Clay. Stephen attempted to drag George to the dance floor, but once he spotted Clay watching him like a hawk, he resigned and left by himself.

Rose was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't make out her voice over the noises no matter how much she raised it. Finally, she took her arm and pulled him over to the bar.

Clay decided it wouldn't hurt to have some free alcohol before dumping someone, so he gave in and ordered the most bizzarre looking drinks.

He slowly sipped his cocktail while keeping an eye on George. He was standing in the middle of the club, looking lost and confused, like a deer in the headlights, when he got approached by a tall man.

It seemed as if they knew each other, exchanging small talk. Both of them were unusually good at reading lips in loud music, it appeared. As the conversation went on, however, George deflected him and joined Clay and Rose at the bar.

He could tell how pale George was even as colorful spotlights danced across his face. His lips were set into a slight frown, making Clay want to get him out of this place and hold him for as long as it took to make it better.

On second thought, he doubted a club blasting deafeningly loud music was a suitable place for having a mature conversation about him and Rose going their separate ways. He would've asked her to follow him to a more secluded spot to chat, but he didn't want to abandon George.

There was also the topic of why they'd come here - was it a pure coincidence, a genuine request to hang out, or was it a spiteful plan to throw them off?

He doubted Rose had played a part in the whole ordeal - she wasn't the sort of ill-natured person to pull a stunt like this. Despite that, a speck of doubt still lingered in the back of his mind.

After a while, he decided enough was enough. He was about to stand up and ask Rose to follow him outside when they got approached by another man, with similar features - tall, white, dirty blonde. 

George sat, flustered, doing his best to keep a neutral expression on his face. He was obviously trying to cut the conversation short, occasionally sneaking glances at Clay when he thought he wouldn't see.

The man left as well, and Clay finally managed to get them all to go outside. George seemed hesitant about butting in their business, so he tracked them from a small distance.

Just as they were out of the doorway, they were interrupted again. This time by a hulking figure with extremely refined features. He also had light hair and a considerable amount of height, making Clay draw a parallel between the three. It wasn't enough to make a conclusion, though, the connection still fuzzy.

He nodded at George, signaling to him that he was about to have 'the talk'. He saw him nod back, sitting down on the curb and pulling out his phone. It seemed as if he wanted something to distract him from all the commotion behind him.

Clay led Rose far enough away so that they were able to talk over the music. He started to look for something to fidget with while he looked for words, suddenly nervous.

"So, uh, Rose." He looked up to see her watching with an expectant gaze. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Blunt. Straight to the point. He hoped there was enough alcohol in her system to soften the blow, but he was proven wrong by the fall of her expression.

She blinked once, then twice. Neither of them said a word. After a moment of silence, she opened her mouth, only to close it again.

"Look, Rose, I'm sorry, but-"

She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. "This is about George, isn't it?"

Clay stared at her dumbfounded. The sudden change in tone had been odd, but not unexpected. He felt as she'd kept her knowledge as a little secret, veiled under all that sickly sweet talk.

"Clay... I'm not stupid." She narrowed her eyes, flashing him what loosely resembled a smile. The same uncanny expression as he'd seen on Stephen's face back at the club. "Stephen told me everything. You want to know what George really did on his first two months in town?"

It was Clay's turn to wordlessly stare now as Rose spoke. She radiated such confidence and determination that he couldn't help but listen.

"Well, I'll tell you, Clay." She held up her manicured hand, pushing her index finger down. "One. He slept with Stephen-"

"Why is that a bad thing?" Deep down Clay knew he had interrupted to stall for time. Whatever Rose knew, it would indefinitely warp his perception of his best friend.

"Let me finish. And do you know what name he moaned out?" She kept her steely gaze trained on Clay, making him shift in his spot. "Yours. What a little freak, am I right?"

Clay stood with his brows furrowed. There was no way to know what Rose was saying was the truth, and out of the two of them, he trusted George's word over hers.

"I don't believe you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Hah! Really? And whose word do you trust more, Clay..."

She threw him a contemptuous look. He wondered what other dirty secret she had up her sleeve. Whatever it was, she wouldn't hesitate to air it out.

"Your mentally unstable friend..." She continued before Clay could lash out to defend George. "Or my brother Stephen?"