8. Dandelions

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Tommy's POV

"What in hell were you thinking, Tommy?" the tall man in front of me yells as I wrap my arm up in bandages. "You're lucky I found you first, T would serve your ass to you on a platter if he knew you were out and about again without permission."

I stare at my knees.

"How many times do I need to tell you to stop hanging around Toby's place, for fuck's sake! You chose this, now stick to your decisions and act like a goddamn adult, before you get yourself killed."

"He wasn't even close to killing me," I mumble back.

"The fuck did you say?"

"I said he wasn't even close to killing me, Wilbur! I could have had them, I could have killed that Dream son of a bitch and his boyfriend, he could barely even stand! I had him trembling in his shoes, how was I supposed to know he had it in him to plunge a knife at me? He was crying one second and stabbing shit the next, I couldn't have known!"

...

"Dream and who?"

".. his boyfriend?"

"Tell me exactly what happened, leave out no single detail. Understand?"

---

George's POV

The days after the attack have all been the same. Clay's mood changed drastically over night. We were still laughing the night after the attack, but when he woke up the next day, it was all different. He got a lot more worried. He doesn't want me to go outside until my throat is healed. Every day, he's been pacing back and forth around the bunker, and I know something is on his mind.

Every evening we fall asleep together, and every night I wake up to find him sitting at the entrance of the hallway, legs crossed, sword steady in his hands. Like he's the night guard at a museum, making sure the precious diamond under the glass case doesn't get stolen. 'Go back to bed' is what he tells me when I ask him what he's doing, never once removing the entrance to the bunker from his sight. And when the arms of the clock finally tell him it's six, he collapses on the ground. I lay his sword away and drape a blanket over him, and I wait until he's awake again.

I look up from the book in my hands as I hear Clay get up from the ground. The bags under his eyes get darker by the day.

"This has to stop eventually," I tell him casually as I flip the page.

"No," he grunts, finding the glass of water I had set beside him. I don't get much conversation out of him these days either. He's exhausted. I wonder how long he's planning to keep this up.

"No Hyena is going to break into the bunker while we sleep, Clay."

"Stop."

I demonstratively put the book down and stare at him.

"I'm not going to die the second you let down your guard," I try instead.

"Won't take the risk."

His voice is raspy and his answer are short.

"Then I'll just go out by myself once you fall asleep." I decide I have to try a different approach than what he's used from me. And it works. Finally his startled eyes grant me a look.

"You wouldn't," he tries to say with confidence, but I hear the hesitation.

"Watch me," I say back, trying to challenge him. "You can't stay awake forever."

"I'm only trying to protect you, will you just let me? I can't lose anyone else," he mumbles as he looks at his hands, fidgeting with his own fingers. A feeling of pity strikes my gut.

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