Comfort (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

Confrontation

"Your brother. Your..." Clay narrowed his eyes. "Your brother Stephen?"

She crossed her arms, as if she was challenging him. To what, he wasn't exactly sure, but he felt unknown emotions rising to his chest, tightening it.

"And all those nights he went clubbing alone, Clay. Do you know whose name he moaned with all of the men he got with?" She gave him a lopsided smirk. "Yours!"

Gears were turning in his head. The alcohol made it difficult to think clearly, clouding his judgement.

"How do you know that?"

"My brother owns that club, Clay! So, George's little visits didn't really go unnoticed." He stood unmoving, trying to gather up enough brainpower to process what words were coming out of Rose's mouth. "Too bad you had to intervene before he could take him home."

Clay's emotions might have been a confusing mess before, but pure, unfiltered rage started to settle in, crawling up his body.

"That was him?" He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, trying to contain himself, but to no avail. "That was your fucking brother?!"

Rose seemed to know Clay wouldn't physically lash out, so she leaned against a wall as she nonchalantly smiled. "Problem?"

Two pairs of footsteps neared closer, stopping behind Clay. He instantly turned around, coming to face with George. And Stephen, standing there with a smug grin plastered all over his face.

He had a ton of questions regarding George already swarming his brain, so he decided he'd deal with that later. He turned around, seething, to face Stephen.

"You fucking piece of shit. That was you at the club that night with George?"

Stephen seemed a little taken aback, but promptly regained his composure. George, on the other hand, seemed to crumble alongside with what little resolve he had left.

Clay watched George struggle with words with that helpless gaze for the second time that night. If his fists had been itching to knock that look off of Stephen's face before, all he wanted to do now was hold George in his arms.

Rose spoke behind him. "Clay this, Clay that! You were a decent guy, not gonna lie, but I was getting pretty sick of you."

Her expression might not have faltered, but Clay was instantly able to recognize the obvious lie. It was a last ditch effort to stand above him in a power play, to come out on top as the victor instead of the defeated.

It was a tactic he'd never experienced firsthand. It seemed as if a malicious scheme had been hiding behind the affectionate façade she'd maintained during their short-lived relationship, as some sort of backup plan.

A quiet, almost inaudible voice sounded to his right. "Clay, let's go."

The bewilderment and the sudden revelations had really gotten to Clay. He just wanted to mess Stephen's face up a little to teach him a lesson, even if he had never been a confrontational person in his life.

A soft touch on his arm. "Please."

He looked down at George, pleading, looking as weak as the day he'd found him, then at the two standing around him with self satisfied smirks. They looked as if they relished in the emotional turmoil they had caused, taking a delight in the effect they'd had on George.

A tug on his arm to remind him of something. He felt his anger seep away as he turned around and walked straight back the way they'd come, across the road, with George.

He heard a relieved sigh as soon as he closed the apartment door behind them and a shuffling as George slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor.