More or less than friends

Chapter 44- break

TWs- mentions drunkenness, suggests depression

George's POV
Clay was home, and shaking as usual. I had greeted him of course, with the soft words and gentle hands. There was no use being angry with him when he was drunk, and I didn't want to be either. I had forgiven him, obviously. I mean I hadn't really been angry in the first place, just very overwhelmed. And after having time to think about it I knew that it was just me not being enough, instead of him being unwell. I made him this way.

He sat down on the sofa with my help, but didn't do as much chatting as he normally did. Instead he was quiet, humming slightly every now and then with his head laid back on the sofa, turned a little so he could look at me. I filled a glass of water, sitting beside him and stroking some hair from his face carefully. His mouth turned upwards in a smile, the usual dimple appearing in his left cheek as he stared at me. Whats with him? I looked back at the freckled boy, staring confusedly into his bright eyes. His pupils, as usual, were dilating while looking at me- but I couldn't help but think it was slightly different from usual.
I'm just being weird. He's drunk.
After a couple of attempts I got him to drink the water, holding my hand behind his head so he wouldn't choke on it. This action was learnt the hard way- there had been a few times that Clay started coughing, spitting out everything I had gotten into his mouth without getting anything to soothe his throat. But this time it was fine (because I now knew what to do), and he got an entire mouthful down before he suddenly leaned forward, catching me off guard and knocking the water- all over me. The cold liquid went through the fabric of my jumper, making me shiver and swear to myself, standing up quickly. Clay looked slightly confused, but just laughed and then went back to being quiet.

I didn't wanna stay in this jumper, but I had to prioritise him first, so pushed down the urge to throw the material across the room and tugged it off, now only wearing a grey t-shirt. Clay was still sat on the sofa, and I failed to notice the way his face dropped when he saw my thin body under the hoodie, failed to notice the way he blinked hard to avoid the tears behind his eyes, failed to notice the way he kept looking me up and down, taking in how genuinely fucked up I looked. Instead I was getting a cloth, then sat down to help him cool off. His face was hot but not as sweaty as usual, so I just placed it on his forehead and told him to hold his face looking at the ceiling. But he stayed like that only for a second before saying,
"Boring ceiling. Want you."

I was taken aback by the words, hesitating before removing the material from his face. Green (well, yellow) eyes looked into mine, and ever so slightly- barely even noticeably- Clay's head tipped to the side, as if asking something. Sudden memories flushed through my mind, of him doing that when I asked a weird question, of him smiling and tilting his head, of him holding my hands and reminding me of a puppy, of him loving and cherishing me, caring about me, listening to me, not just watching me cry and shout without a care in the world. Of times before the alcohol, of hugs after a breakdown, of gentle kisses on the cheek- of real, happy love. Something healthy, something beautiful, and something I hadn't felt since that one night where I had forced him away.

And then tears were in my eyes, and rolling down my face, and he was doing nothing other than just staring at me, head tilted. "I miss you so much," I found myself whispering, a quiet sob escaping my lips. "I just want my boyfriend back. I can't do it without you, Clay, I-" there was a moment of quiet, the thoughts in my head spinning. "I can't do anything without you."

More tears, more sobs, and still I had no reaction from him. He still didn't move. And I realised that like this, he didn't understand what was wrong. I needed to get him to bed before letting myself completely let go. So I stood, holding out my hands. "Come on, honey." I whispered, in the same gentle voice I always used for him. He looked at me for a moment, seeming to be calculating before letting me lift him from the sofa and walk him slowly to his room. The whole time he was looking at me, and didn't let go of me once. Even when I got him to lay down on his bed, his hands stayed holding mine. "Clay, I need to go to bed." He didn't move, just kept staring at me. I couldn't get my hand out of his, his fingers were locked around mine. My chest was tightening again, the tears trying to come back. I couldn't let them. "Clay, ple-ease," my voice broke as I said it, and I still had no response from him. I was getting desperate, the lump in my throat trying to force itself out. It was all so much, all so sudden. I couldn't do it. And then, he whispered. "Stay." And I collapsed.

My body was shaking with sobs, tears still streaming down my face. This was so wrong. I was meant to be helping him. It was my fault we were here in the first place. But I couldn't stop, curling up against his still body and letting the emotion out. There was too much. I had gone through too much. I couldn't keep doing it like this, I couldn't keep trying, I couldn't keep taking care of someone when I myself was losing all hope. It was too much.

____

Clay's POV
I knew where he was now.
I knew what he was going through.
I knew what I had done.
I knew how I had done it.
I knew how to fix it, as well. But it was a lot. And I didn't know how to deal with things anymore. I didn't know how to feel something or help other feel it. I didn't know how to look after George. All I knew was that I wanted, and needed, to escape.

(1098 words)
Just made myself cry, feeling eh. Go read my other ongoing dnf fanfiction, its a bit more cheery. 'muffled words'. so queeky.

Thoughts?

If ur reading this ily<3