So you think you're bold huh?

Clay

A/N: Thank you again for all the kind words it means the fucking world to me ToT I love all of you, take care of yourself my dear<3

George's POV:

I ran out of the locker room with the rest of the team and ran onto the field. The crowd stood up and cheered for us- that familiar and invigorating roar and the way it sounds from the middle of the intimidating football field. The team we were against ran in on the other end, their eyes singling all of us out and stripping us straight to our vulnerability. I shuddered with nerves before slapping my thigh a few times and clenching my jaw. "Let's do this!" Trevor shouted, thinning his glare as soon as his eyes met mine. I did the same and turned towards the other end of the field. "Game on," I mumbled to myself and joined the huddle with the coach. "Alright, guys! Remember your plays, listen to your bodies, and BEAT SOME BITCHES!" We all cheered and ran to get into position while the other team still involved themselves in what seemed like a very serious discussion with their team. Wilbur and I exchanged glances from across the field.

Dad

I shot my head towards the crowd, desperately searching for my dad- who isn't an easily missed guy. A 6-foot guy with grey hair, a too formal wardrobe half of the time, and a phone glued to his ear. I couldn't see him anywhere amongst the hot dog-eating men in cargo shorts, waving flags and holding up phones to record. I anxiously tapped my foot and flared towards the opening in the bleachers where you walk in and out. He didn't show.

He didn't show

he didn't show...

I clenched my eyes shut and realized the coach was yelling at me to get myself together. What seemed like too quick, the game started and I was sent shooting into a rhythm of muscle memory. I've memorized all of these plays I could probably do them with my eyes closed.

A drop of sweat already threatened to fall down my eyebrow while I threw the ball as far as I could near an open and capable teammate. It was a sloppy throw and everyone on the field could tell. Trevor glared at me again and bolted to the side of the field that the ball was on to ease the load for the ball carrier. "George! What the hell was that!?" Philza shouted from the side of the field. I shook my face and sprinted as far as I could to the opposite side of the field, swerving out of the way of as many guys as I could. Except I collided face first with a guy twice my size and came crashing down to the ground.

"Damn it, George!" Trevor yelled and motioned for me to get up. Things were getting blurry and I was scared I would go into autopilot and blow the whole game.

This is all on me.

I thought to myself over and over again before pulling myself off the grass running to where I was supposed to be. "George!" Wilbur yelled and threw the ball towards me. It was a perfect throw, spinning in the air as it spiraled straight for me. There's no way I drop this.

Which, with my luck, is exactly what I did. A player on the other team grabbed the ball from the floor in front of me and threw it to a guy on the other side of the field. A perfect throw. Especially since it was executed too fast and suddenly. If I wasn't careful I really could cost us the game.

The rest of the first half of the game was a shit mess. We were losing badly, and if we didn't start getting points they would easily win this thing. I was a mess too, Coach was threatening to bench me but he knew that would be worse than having me in the game. So, I was stuck to one side of the field for now, mostly out of fear of letting the team down. If I didn't go for anything I could fail right? It would work and even if we do lose, it won't be nearly as bad as it could be. I took a long swig of my water bottle and ran back onto the field with the team.

"You good, George?" Wilbur asked quickly and ran away just as quickly after noting my fast and subtle nod in response. Even if I wasn't good at all. I've never done this shitty at a game. We're like the best high school football team in the state, if we lose to this school, it'd be fucking embarrassing. "Okay! KEEP YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME GUYS!" I nodded and shut my eyes tightly, evidently out of sorts. I wondered for a quick second if this struggle had anything to do with my pretty much untreated concussion, but I haven't had symptoms to that in like two weeks, and that'd just be a shitty and unjustifiable excuse for my slump.

I knew what was bugging me, no ones here for me. I mean, obviously, I have hundreds of kids cheering for me on the bleachers, I have my teammates, Wilbur, especially. My dad didn't come, and I'm a fool for expecting anything from him besides the usual. I'd convince myself that 'It isn't his fault.' Then do this all over again at our next game. I couldn't quite figure out why today was any different than the other three years before this.

Everything seemed to be crashing down and it all started with the blazing heat emitting from the field I've been on thousands of times.

Holy shit I can't do this.

I can't do this!

I dug my fingernails into my palms, leaving dents in my skin, even though my nails were short and clipped down.

"DAMN IT GEORGE WIN THIS! WIN THIS GEORGIE!!" I heard screaming from the outside of the field and immediately recognized his voice.

Dream.

His chants sent the entire crowd on a cheering frenzy, chanting out the words, 'win this Georgie,' as if they even knew me. The only person in that wasted crowd that mattered right now was Dream.

Was clay.

A/N: Ah yes the gay realization has hit our dear Gogy.