Chapter Text
Clay lurched up to a sitting position, feeling the uncomfortable sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead and his black tank top stick to his body. He kicked the blankets off of him, curling in on himself as he attempted to get his breathing back under control.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
After a few minutes, he felt himself finally beginning to calm down. He dared not close his eyes for too long to avoid falling back into the nightmare that had been terrorizing him for months.
He needed to distract himself.
He looked around his bedroom that he maintained as tidy as possible majority of the time. It was dark out, the stars were out but not entirely visible, and the moon's light coming in through his large window created weird shadows around the room.
He heard someone stir in another room, followed by the creak of a bed and a soft pattering of footsteps getting closer to his room, one step noticeably louder than the other. A rather tall girl for her age appeared at his doorway, seeing Clay sitting up in bed, clearly awake.
She had shoulder length dirty blonde hair and bangs, as well as Clay's same green eyes and freckled face. She tugged on the baggy shirt she was sleeping in as she neared Clay's bed.
"Clay," she whispered softly. Clay looked at her with a soft gaze before patting the empty spot beside him. The girl didn't hesitate to climb in bed with him, struggling a bit at first before sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him.
"Why're you up, Drista?" Clay whispered after a moment of silence, looking down at his little sister, knowing the answer already. She scrunched up her nose and flicked his cheek.
"When are you going to stop calling me that," she hissed back, making Clay crack a smile.
"Never."
"You already know why I'm up."
"You need to sleep."
"But you had the nightmare again. I can't leave."
Clay looked down at his sister who was staring up at him with calculating eyes. Eyes that were so much like his own it freaked him out sometimes.
He ruffled Drista's hair, who let out a huff in protest but didn't move his hand away.
"Get some sleep. I'm fine now," he insisted, before lightly shoving her towards the corner of the bed. She finally gave up protesting and climbed off, heading back to walk out of Clay's bedroom. She peered back at him, the shadows and lighting of the room making her face look a little funny.
"It wasn't your fault, you know," Drista whispered. Clay felt his heart sink and his throat close up.
"Good night, Drista," he barely managed to choke out, his voice wavering. Thankfully, Drista didn't call attention to it.
"...night, Clay."
Clay watched Drista walk back towards her room, his eyes falling to the prosthetic replacing the place where her left leg used to be.
Clay didn't get much sleep that night.
ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ
"Hey Tubbo, why can't dinosaurs clap with their hands?"
"Ooh, I know this one!" Tubbo said gleefully, skipping circles around Tommy. "Because their hands are too-"
"No."
"Wait, I haven't finished answeri-"
"Cause they're all dead, Tubbo."
Tubbo came to a dead stop beside Tommy, his face dropping and his posture sagging. "Oh."
George watched as Wilbur lightly smacked Tommy upside the head as the group continued walking towards the bleachers next to the football field where they would spend their lunch period again.
"That was actually really sad," Niki remarked quietly, referring to the joke Tommy had made.
"It truly, truly is," Tubbo agreed solemnly.
As they neared the bleachers, George noticed there were people on the field this time. They were wearing jerseys over what appeared to be some sort of shoulder pads, and helmets over their heads.
"Who the fuck sat on that ball," Tommy blurted out, making everyone direct their gaze to the ball soaring through the air. Wilbur burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as he bent over slightly from the force of the laughter rolling out of him.
"It looks like some sort of large, brown egg. Do you think it could fit in my mouth," Tubbo added. Wilbur's laughter only got worse and Niki started giggling as well.
"Let's go sit down," George reminded them despite the amused grin on his face. They all sat on the bleachers, watching the players run around the field.
"Why do they have practice during lunch," Tommy questioned, earning a shrug from Tubbo.
"They kick the ball once and then never kick it again, I think. I don't understand why now they're just throwing it and running around with it, it's like the opposite of actual football," Tubbo waved his arms around at the field, as if asking the universe what the hell was this.
"Americans, man. They don't make sense. They got everything backwards and shit," Tommy concluded before pulling out a ziplock bag from his backpack. "Time to eat a healthy meal."
"Are those gummy bears wrapped in a fruit roll up," Wilbur cringed, watching as Tommy took a bite out of the sugary monstrosity.
"Indeed."
"I pity your dentist," George commented, eyeing the candy burrito warily.
"I don't have one."
Tubbo let out a loud laugh at that, falling backwards in the bleachers and getting stuck in the dip where the legs of the person above you are supposed to be placed. Tommy began cackling himself at the sight.
George continued watching the players run about the field, not exactly understanding how the sport worked but unable to look away nonetheless. They all ate their lunch while watching the football team practice, engaging in random conversation or criticizing the American sport.
He watched as one player ran into the one holding the ball by digging his knee and leg into the other player's left leg, making them both fall forward and for the person holding the ball to accidentally release it.
Someone yelled fumble as a third player dived for the ball and secured it. The two that were on the floor got up before the one that had been tackled shoved the guy that had tackled him.
"What the fuck was that, Vincent," the guy yelled, loud enough that even George was able to hear all the way over at the bleachers. The other guy seemed at a loss, lifting his hands in surrender and probably trying to talk him down. He seemed to have a heavy, French accent from the little he managed to hear.
"What's going on here," an older man, most probably the coach, approached the two.
"That was an illegal tackle, that's what's going on. Vincent here used his legs like a fucking moron!"
"Clay, you need to calm down, son," the coach ordered. George perked up at the name, as did Wilbur, who was now watching intently as well.
"I'm absolutely fucking peachy!" Clay yelled, yanking the helmet off of his head before throwing it to the ground, making it bounce beside his leg before he began storming away.
"Clay!" the coach and several people called after him. George bit his lip in worry as he watched two players go after him. He turned towards Wilbur, who was watching Clay's retreating figure as well.
"What was that about?" George asked.
"I don't know. He was up pretty late last night, I heard him talking with one of his sisters," Wilbur shrugged, crossing his arms. "I'm a really light sleeper and the walls between his room and the one I'm staying in are practically paper thin. He was having trouble sleeping."
Wilbur looked like he was going to say more before he stopped himself, looking back towards the way Clay had gone. It was clear he heard something more, but wouldn't say. George decided not to pry and instead worried his lip between his teeth.
"That was the person hosting you, correct?" Tubbo asked. Wilbur nodded before moving to stand.
"I'm going to go check up on him. Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you don't know as much in comparison to someone you've know for years, so maybe I can help somehow..." he trailed off, not sounding certain in his own words but descended down the bleachers after Clay all the same. "Don't wait for me, I'll see you guys later."
"Poor Clay, I hope he's okay," Niki said, watching Wilbur begin to trot in that direction. George looked down at his hands, feeling useless.
He wished there was something he could do.
A silence fell amongst the four remaining.
"I made tea," Tubbo said suddenly. Everyone turned towards him, confused.
"Where did you get tea from?" Tommy asked.
"Oh no, I don't actually have tea, this is just a conversation starter."
"Then why did you say you made tea?" George asked now, still not understanding where this was going.
"It's a conversation starter."
"Well it's a horrible conversation starter," Tommy stated matter of factly, resting his chin on his palm. Tubbo crossed his arms, raising a defiant eyebrow at him.
"Oh, is it?"
"It is."
"But we're conversing."
"Tubbo I swear to prime."
"I think we should start heading back," Niki interjected. George agreed and the four of them got up and left the football field, walking back towards the campus.
Clay yelling and storming off would play on loop in George's head for the rest of the day.
ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ
Clay pocketed his phone, ignoring the texts and missed calls from Sapnap, Vincent, and others boys on the football team.
He had felt drained all day, and he wasn't even able to properly enjoy the sport he always loved playing. He had messed up in yelling at Vincent and getting heated over a small mistake, he knew that, but it had been building up the whole day and that moment was when he finally exploded.
He had stormed off of the field and towards his car, not caring he still had classes after his lunch period finished. He heard running behind him but he didn't look back, not even when Sapnap and someone else caught up to him and grabbed onto his shoulder, making him stop.
"Let go," Clay said with venom in his voice. He realized the person holding his shoulder was Dave, otherwise known by everyone as Technoblade. Techno's hair was plastering a bit to his forehead thanks to the sweat now that it had grown out more, and in the sunlight the blond of it almost looked like it had a tint of pink. He let go of his shoulder finally, but leveled Clay's glare with one of his own.
"Clay, you have to calm yourself," he stated firmly. Sapnap walked up beside him, looking at Clay with a more open and worried expression.
"Whatever," Clay replied lowly as he shoved past the two and continuing his march toward his car. Techno moved back in front of Clay, blocking his path with a cross of his arms.
"Anger doesn't solve anything, Clay. It builds nothing, but it can destroy everything."
"I don't need your smartass quotes right now, Techno," Clay glared at him, daring Techno to block his path again. Techno stared back at him for a few seconds before sighing and stepping aside. Clay turned towards Sapnap next, leveling a glare at him as well.
"Clay, you know it was an accident. Vincent hadn't meant to, so you can't get mad at him for-"
Clay snapped.
"Shut the hell up, Nick! You have no right to tell me to act like the bigger person, not when we all know what you're really like!" Clay practically yelled at his face. Hurt flashed on Sapnap's face as he took a step back in surprise.
"Clay, that was years ago-"
"Yeah? Well, I doubt people can really change that much. So quit acting like such a good guy now and own up to your shit instead of acting like a hypocrite."
"Wha- Clay-" he heard Sapnap start as Clay stormed away, Techno cutting in saying, "Leave him, he needs to cool off right now" before they were both completely out of earshot.
He had reached his car and sat at the wheel, fully intending on starting the car and just go home when he heard a light tap on the window. He turned expecting to see Techno, Sapnap, or another player on the team, but was surprised to instead see Wilbur peering in.
Instead of getting annoyed like he thought he would, he unlocked the passenger door and watched out of the corner of his eye as Wilbur sat down beside him. The two remained in a tense silence, staring out the front window of the car, before Wilbur spoke up.
"We can go back to your house right now, if you want. It's up to you."
Clay felt himself deflate, as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders. Wilbur wasn't going to ask about his outburst, which was obvious he had seen, and instead had given him the opportunity to go home.
For some reason, this reaction was what made him decide to stay.
"Let's get to class," Clay had said finally. He could see Wilbur smile out of the corner of his eye.
"You're the boss."
After that, the rest of the day went by in a blur. He payed less attention in class than usual, and avoided every one of his teammates as much as possible.
It was hard, but he managed to make it through the day without a confrontation.
That didn't stop them from blowing up his phone, though.
It was now after school hours and he was walking down the mostly empty halls to his homeroom class because he had been so out of it he left the textbook he needed in his desk. Wilbur had been nice enough to wait for him in his car.
Wilbur was a good guy.
He reached the classroom to find it was open and someone was inside. The person looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and Clay realized it was George.
"Georgenotfound," Clay said, trying to put on a smile and hoping it didn't look too forced. George eyed him, picking up the books he had probably been looking for.
"Hey."
The two stared at each other, the silence weighing heavy between them. Clay cleared his throat a bit and tried to let out a small laugh.
"I left my textbook in the classroom. I have been really out of it today," he explained in what he hoped came out as a lighthearted tone, making his way towards his desk.
"Karl left his textbooks, too, so I came by to pick them up for him."
"What are you, Karl's errand boy?" Clay joked. George shrugged.
"I offered. I needed to clear my head anyway."
"Oh."
A silence stretched between them, making George shift uncomfortably.
"Clay, are you..." George started, trailing off and biting his lip a bit. Clay cocked his head in question, urging George to continue. "Are you...okay?" Clay blinked at him before putting on a fake smile.
"What do you mean, of course I'm okay," Clay laughed awkwardly, grabbing the textbook he needed. George's eyebrows furrowed, seeming unconvinced.
"I was at the bleachers, next to the football field. During lunch," George added. This made Clay freeze, feeling his heart stop. "I saw when you...you know."
Clay's stomach twisted uncomfortably.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Clay felt his heartbeat drumming in his ears and his breathing begin to quicken, and he was about to blurt out that he had to go, Wilbur was waiting for him, when George dropped the books back onto the table, took the steps needed to close the distance between them, and reached up to wrap his arms around the back of Clay's neck.
It took a second for Clay's mind to catch up with his body, and he realized George was hugging him.
"George-" Clay blurted out, surprised at the sudden contact.
"Shut up, Clay."
Clay stood in shock for a few more seconds before hesitantly lifting his arms and wrapping them around George's middle. He squeezed George tighter, bending down a bit to burrow his head into the other boy's shoulder.
He hadn't even noticed he had started shaking, or when hot tears had started running down his face. He sobbed into George's shoulder, the other rubbing comforting circles into his back.
The thoughts he had been trying to keep at bay all day long began flooding in.
He thought of his outburst during lunch. How he hadn't been able to sleep because of the nightmare he could not stop having.
He thought of his sister.
And how despite what she insisted, he knew it had been his fault.
But instead of these thoughts weighing down on him like usual, he felt a small sense of relief now that he had finally allowed himself to think about them at all.
And that was enough for now.
He didn't know how much time went by, but he eventually calmed down and loosened his hold on George, who released him from the hug. The two broke apart, Clay looking down to meet hazel brown eyes gazing up into his own.
Clay snorted, then fell into a fit of giggles, growing into full blown laughter upon seeing George's confused expression.
"George, were you standing on your tippy toes?" he wheezed out between rounds of laughter, and began wheezing harder as George's face flushed in embarrassment.
"Shut. Up," George huffed, punching his shoulder lightly as Clay continued to wheeze like a tea kettle.
"You're so cu-" he cut himself off with more laughter, a pouting George not making it easier for him to stop.
"You're so annoying. And your face is all wet and gross," George said as he reached up and used the sleeve of his blue sweater to wipe away the tears still on his cheeks. Clay froze, finally sobering up from the laugh attack, and George's eyes widened as he realized his own actions. He pulled his hand away as if burned.
"Er, sorry. That was weird wasn't it."
Clay grinned down at him, using his own hands to wipe the rest of the wetness off his cheeks. "It's okay, this whole situation is a little weird. But it's not a bad weird."
"I guess," George agreed, taking a step away from Clay.
"So, what was that about, georgenotfound?"
"What was what about."
"The hug?"
"Oh." George reached up to scratch the back of his neck, his other shoulder shrugging a bit. "You just looked like you needed one."
"Do you hug everyone that looks like they need one?" Clay teased. George pouted a bit, looking away.
"Not exactly. I don't know."
Clay looked at George in silence for a few seconds, before a small smile made it's way onto his lips. "I think I did need one. Thanks, George."
George considered him for a few seconds and, after realizing that his response was genuine, responded with, "Sure. It's no big deal." Clay smiled.
"But next time, don't make a move so fast. At least take me out to dinner first, like come on," Clay smirked, before dissolving into another fit of laughter when George groaned and began walking away from him, collecting Karl's books and walking to the classroom door.
"Goodbye, Clay," George glanced back from the doorway, throwing the smallest of smiles his way. Clay's own smile broadened as he mimicked George's wave from the day before, except more exaggerated, making George stick his tongue out at him again before turning back around to walk away.
"Goodbye, georgenotfound!" he yelled after him between laughter, wheezing harder when he heard a distant "It's George!"
ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ
Dream < [email protected] >
to me
Hey georgenotfound,
How was your day?
Feeling sleepy,
Dream
Reply Forward
George < [email protected] >
to [email protected]
it could've been better, but the day really looked up at the end
go to sleep!
Reply Forward
Dream < [email protected] >
to me
Georgenotfound,
I'm happy to hear that at least the end of your day went well. I had a very pleasant end of day myself.
Going mimis now,
Dream
Reply Forward