ACID RAIN // DNF AU

Chapter Twelve (Clay)

Clay rubbed small circles on George's back, breathing in his sweet vanilla scent. All in the span of one night, they had gone from arguing playfully to him flirting to George being legitimately angry to clinging to each other like they were drowning and they were each other's life rafts. George couldn't have been drunk yet, but somehow he was.

George's arms tightened around him, nails digging into his back a little. He gasped lightly and loosened his grip, getting his phone. He led George out of the house, not risking trying to give him his jacket again. "Come here." Every time he spoke, he had to try not to add a pet name in. Tonight was different than usual.

"Who's getting your car?" His voice sounded muffled, and Clay saw that he had his sleeve across his face. He put an arm across his shoulders, partially supporting his weight.

"I'm calling Alice," he told George, cursing himself for being so soft. He scolded through his contacts for her number. She picked up on the first ring. "Hey, Alice. Are you free right now?"

"Yeah, I'm basically just watching Netflix. What's up?"

"I'm at a party and I drove my car here, but I had a drink because I'm stupid. I don't think I'm at the legal limit for adults, but I am for underage drivers. Can you maybe pick me up?"

He heard her stand up from her couch. "Sure. How are you getting your car?"

"I don't know," he said, glancing at the boy next to him. "Should I call someone else? Can you pick them up?"

"Call anyone," she said. "Not Tasha, though, obviously."

"I'm with George, by the way." He thought that would make a difference to Alice. Her advice was often very specific.

He was right. "Call Jacob, then."

He smiled ruefully, giving her the address. "You're sure?"

"Well, he knows. You both need help getting fully over each other," Alice remarked, not unkindly.

"Okay, bye. Thanks so much. I don't know what I'd do without you guys." He hung up, texting her the address just to make sure she had it.

They reached the car and he lowered George to the curb. Clay wasn't sure why George was acting so tipsy, because he'd barely had enough time for anything to take effect. "Okay, I'm calling Jacob now," he told him. "One of them will drive us, and the other will take the car. If he doesn't pick up, we're gonna take the bus back and Alice will take the bus here."

"Mmkay," he sighed contentedly. Clay wrapped his arm around the smaller boy, who sat as close to Clay as he could without being on his lap. He wished they could be this close when they were sober.

"Hey, Jacob. Are you busy?"

After only a few minutes, they were getting into the backseat of Alice's car with Jacob behind the wheel. "Thanks so much," he said again.

"Thank you," George murmured, practically asleep. He buckled George's seat belt before he dozed off, his head landing softly against the window.

"What happened?" Jacob asked when he was safely on the street and George was safely asleep, meeting Clay's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I don't know. He had two drinks in the ten minutes we were at the party," he told him worriedly.

There were a few seconds of silence. They went over a slight bump in the road, and George twitched in his sleep.

Distracted, he didn't watch the road on the way there, instead turning his eyes to George. Finally, they pulled up outside George's hotel. "Do you think I should wake him up now?"

Jacob said, "It should be fine. If someone comes up to you, just wake him."

He took George's keycard from his wallet and pulled him from the car, cradling him against his chest. "Be right back," he told Jacob.

The automatic doors slid open, and he headed to the elevator. They got strange looks when he crossed the lobby, but no one stopped him.

A woman slid into the elevator with them, pressing the button for the third floor. She asked, smiling uneasily, "What's going on there?"

He made a face and opened his mouth to respond, but George shifted in his arms. He looked down, adjusting his grip on him. "Oh, hi," he said drowsily to Clay.

"Um..." He had a powerful urge to tell the woman that George was his boyfriend, feeling possessive of the human masterpiece in his arms, but remembered his reaction from earlier with a pang. "Go back to sleep, you're fine," he reassured instead, ignoring the lady. "Don't worry. Hey, what's the room number again?" He had completely forgotten to press the button when getting in the elevator after the other passenger had joined them.

"Four-thirty-seven," he slurred, closing his eyes as the elevator dinged, doors parting slowly. The woman got off, and they slid shut, Clay pressing the button to go up one more floor. He brought George down the hall, fumbled with the keycard, and carried George to his bed, carefully setting him down. His gaze was immediately drawn to his parted lips, the way he looked so vulnerable between the pale sheets.

He started to turn away but hesitated, then kissed George's cheek, lips brushing against smooth skin that gave way to light, rough stubble. He whispered in his ear, "I...I hate you. Fuck you for doing this to me, George. You make me so weak." His body trembled when he pulled away. It was nearly impossible to force himself away from the sleeping boy, but anything more than that would have felt wrong.

"You know, you need to trust him," Jacob advised when he got back in the car, sitting in the passenger seat this time and shutting the door behind him numbly. "He'll never know how you feel if you don't tell him." There was no bitterness behind Jacob's words. Clay didn't understand how forgiving Jacob could be after all that had gone down between them.

"I tried to kiss him when I was drunk that first night and he didn't let me, so I pretended I forgot. He didn't say anything, but he's acting weird and he won't even go near me when he's sober." It was all spilling out of him now. "He was so mad when I tried to give him my jacket and flirted with him, right before we drank. I got distracted and I forgot I had to drive."

Jacob glanced at him. "You'll never know how he feels, either. I'm telling you, you guys need to talk."

"So do we." Clay paused. "I'm sorry for everything."

He sighed. "You don't need to be sorry. Nothing was your fault. I did love you, I still do, but...not meant to be, you know?"

Hearing again that Jacob loved him didn't really have the impact he thought it would. It didn't feel wrong, just natural. He was a great guy, the first person Clay had loved like that. "I know."

When he got home, he sat down roughly at his desk, pulling out a notebook and beginning to write, scrawling words on the open page. Dark ink bled into the lined paper. He couldn't sleep tonight, thoughts overcrowded by the pale, perfect boy who'd stolen his beating heart right out of his rib cage.