The Most Formidable Thing

What If?

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The following morning, George was allowed to leave the hospital.

Clay drove him back in his black work sedan, peering over at him every few minutes throughout the journey to make sure he was okay. Mostly though, George just leaned his head against the window and observed the city scenery in silence. He did this for two reasons: 1) He was still feeling a little weak from having stayed in a hospital bed for 48 hours, and 2) Clay looked really damn good when he drove — George was afraid that if he looked over again, he wouldn't be able to stop looking.

When they reached campus, the blond walked him to his dorm, as per usual. At the door, however, he hesitated.

"You're...you're sure that you're gonna be okay?"

George smiled nervously.

"Yeah."

Clay didn't look all that reassured, but he nodded nonetheless.

"...alright."

George fiddled with the key to his room, sticking it into the lock and turning it slowly, trying to stall for time. Truth was, he was afraid to go back into his dorm room alone. Not that he thought that that was going to happen again, just that...he didn't really want to be alone, after what had happened.

The door swung open, and reluctantly, George stepped in. He turned around to look at Clay one last time. They wouldn't see each other all week, most likely, since George had gotten a medical note to be excused from classes for the next little while. The thought made his heart sink in his chest.

"Well...I'll see you...later, I guess." He stared down at the ground.

"Yeah...see you later."

Heart in his throat, George gently closed the door. He closed his eyes for a second, leaning his weight onto the door frame, sighing deeply. He waited, listening to the sound of Clay's footsteps fade as he walked away. It took every ounce of his self-restraint to stop himself from ripping open the door and chasing him down in the hallway, screaming "Don't go!".

Eventually, however, he turned and faced the eerie familiarity of his residence. Everything was the same as they'd left it: his bed unmade, his laptop on his desk, textbooks strewn across the surface, the bathroom...

George's stomach dropped.

Fuck.

The bathroom.

Already filled with a deep sense of dread at the thought of having to clean up the shards of glass and blood stains left from his accident, he made his way to the doorway. George took a deep breath and yanked the handle open, ripping it off like a band-aid: he stepped into the room and winced in preparation for the mess.

His face went through several visible states of shock, however, as he found the room spotlessly clean. Not a speck of glass, not an ounce of blood...

How?

He realized the only possible explanation had to be Clay. Clay was the only other person who had access to his dorm.

He...he cleaned everything?

And suddenly George felt more lonely than ever. The thought of Clay caring about him, about what had happened to him, to the point where he made an effort to clean up after him made him want to sob.

Fuck this.

George couldn't stop himself anymore.

He ran.