Flame and Spade (A DreamNotFound Story)

Chapter 6 *

Chapter 6 *

Despite himself, Clay's heart raced. Shoving away from the table, he left to his room and sat on the bed. George was a stuck up prick, and he wanted nothing to do with him. So why did Clay's heart beat the slightest bit faster whenever George was near?

He couldn't help thinking to when he had caught George on his arriving night - how warm and light George was, how his body seemed to slot against Clay's perfectly, like jigsaw pieces. "No", Clay thought, waving the intrusive thoughts from his head.

"I barely know George - I've only been in the Nether for a week after all."

He got up from his bed and crossed over to the window, on the way stooping to where he had thrown the crumpled note upon entering his room. As he re read it, his heart fluttered yet again but Clay dismissed it as the caffeine still coursing through his system.

He had better get ready - though he was mad at George, he still wanted to at least appear nice. Hopping in the shower, he scrubbed himself with soap he had brought that smelled of dark pine and rushing brooks, reminding him fondly of his small cottage.

Tousling his hair dry with a red towel, he glanced at the time and continued to get ready. Clay pulled on a pair of loose pants that slitted halfway up his leg to allow a cooling breeze to swirl them from the floor, and a matching linen shirt.

Finally scraping his hair into a bun, for the curly locks got in his face, Clay slipped out the door and up the tower to George's rooms. Right on time he knocked, and with bated breath waited for the door to open.

. . .

George whirled from the dining room, sprinting up the steps and slamming the door to his bedroom. He barely made it to the bathroom before promptly throwing up his breakfast, retching into the toilet. George pressed his head against the cool porcelain, tears streaming down his face and puddling in his lap.

He had seen how much the cheap insults had hurt Clay, had seen the twisted look of pride on his father's face and it disgusted him. How could he have been so stupid - George had probably lost the only friend he'd ever had. Though George knew it was for the best, that if he was seen too close with someone his father would see it as a weakness and exploit it as much as he could, it still hurt.

Letting loose another sob, George curled into a ball on his chilly bathroom floor. He could only hope Clay would get his note, and come despite himself. Dragging himself from the floor, George splashed himself with warm water and crossed to his closet. He dressed quickly in an oversized sweatshirt, a pair of shorts and his slippers - though it was midmorning, all he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and wither away.

George shivered, sitting cross legged on his bed, worrying the edge of his duvet and gnawing at his lip. A sharp knock at the door sounded, shaking him from his thoughts. George, heart in his throat, flew to the door and flung it open - only for King Alodar to push his way into the room.

"F-father? What are you doing here?"

King Alodar turned on his heel in the middle of the room to fixate George with a menacing stare.

"I've come to talk to you, boy. Do I need permission to talk to my own son? I don't fucking think so. Now listen to me," He barked, advancing on George.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from that dirty Overworld peasant. I don't want you to talk more to him than you have to. Your debut is in a week and you will NOT embarrass me."

George cowered away from him, looking at the ground and backing away. King Alodar's eyes flashed, and he took George by the throat to slam him against the wall.