ship; dnf
warnings; angst, slight smut
sorta kinda based off of my interpretation of Space Song by Beach House (:
-btw, i didn't proof read this, my apologies if there's tons of errors
*also—i just want to clarify when i use dream's name, clay, the oneshot is referring that they knew each other irl and never had a following, the same goes for all my other oneshots where i refer to dream as clay. alright, enjoy!
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George remembers everything.
How could he forget?
How could he forget such a special time in his life? How could he just forget the way he was made to feel? He was made to feel important, special, like he was the only boy—the only person Clay had ever laid eyes on. That was far from the truth, though.
And maybe it always had been.
George didn't know. Nor did he want to know. Or maybe he did. Sometimes he thought he deserved clarity. Yet, George didn't want to reopen every wound he had gotten from Clay.
Every mental wound.
Clay would never lay a hand on him. He never did. And when the two were together, he had no plans of doing it either. Hurting—hitting George would be like hitting a puppy. You've got no reason to. They're innocent. They're gentle.
For some reason though, George wished Clay had laid his hands on him. He could have had an excuse to end their relationship, because after all, he hated never having the last word.
Clay always let George hang up first. He always let him say 'goodnight' last. He knew George liked having the last word.
But, Clay had decided that nearly a year ago, it was his time to have the last word.
And God, that might have upset George more than the fact that Clay had completely torn him apart from head to toe, thrown his feelings to the side, and left him to his own defenses.
George remembers the way Clay made him feel on the night of July seventh.
How could he forget?
It was the night of their first date. Well, to some it wasn't a date, but to them it was. George always knew there was something different about Clay, of course he'd want to go driving around late at night. He was a sucker for cliches.
"It was late at night,
You held on tight."
"Clay! Slow the fucking car down—I swear if you don't we're gonna' get pulled over!" George shrieked as he held onto the center console, his eyes darting from the road ahead of them to Clay, whose eyes squinted as he laughed.
"We're fine! I wouldn't be driving this fast if I knew we'd get in trouble! Do you seriously think I'd ever do anything to hurt you?" Clay asked as he glanced over at George, who felt sick at the way the blond looked at him.
"Who knows! I mean, I-I don't know!" George stumbled over his words as the car accelerated and Clay took a turn far too fast.
"You just need to trust me!" Clay said excitedly as he locked his arms, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
George did trust Clay.
With everything in his body, with every nerve and atom—his whole heart and brain, he trusted Clay. And, if Clay were to call George and offer to take them driving again, George would trust him to keep him safe in the passenger seat.
