Clay shot out of his seat and rushed towards the pianist, knocking the chair to the floor with a loud clatter in his panic. His movements were quick, but not quick enough to catch the poor boy. With a loud, painful thud, the pianist hit the ground face first, and the sound made Clay wince. Even the baker had rushed from the counter, abandoning his sweets in the oven, and ignoring the smears of icing on his hands and face.
"George, are you okay?!"
His voice was shrill and frantic as he rushed towards the steps where Clay and the pianist, who was supposedly named George, were.
George let out a loud groan, as Clay and the baker examined him. He slowly pushed his body up, and sat criss cross on the floor, holding his head. He quickly did a small charade, and the baker immediately ran into the back door behind the counter. He emerged out with a wet towel a few moments later. George slapped it on his forehead with a mumble of thanks and grateful sigh as his swimming vision began to clear.
George's plump red lips were trembling, and his dark brown eyes were squinched from the pain. His mouth was slightly agape, as he breathed in shaky breaths, and his eyes were fixed on the floor, his dark and intense gaze fixed upon a shattered pair of glasses.
Clay finally noticed that he had been staring for far too long. His gaze shifted away from George as he looked at something else.
Anything else.
His eyes caught sight of the shattered glasses, the ones George wore a few moments earlier. If he couldn't see, then he probably needed a hand. His eyes tore back up to George, who was looking right back at Clay.
"Need a hand? That was quite a fall..."
He mentally slapped himself.
"No, no, it's fine. I'm quite alright."
Clay didn't buy it.
"No, I insist. You could hurt yourself again if you try to get up alone."
George began to protest, looking at the baker to try to get a supporter for his case. But the baker tutted and shook his head. George looked betrayed.
Clay put out a hand, and George reluctantly took hold of it. Clay slowly pulled him up, and George quickly latched an arm around Clay's waist. George was warm on Clay's body, and it made his heart skip a beat.
This feeling was entirely new.
He brushed it off, and slowly brought George to a chair, and helped him sit.
"Thank you."
George said it quietly, barely even a whisper. Clay allowed himself a small smile and curt nod, before sobering.
"What's your name, anyway?"
There was a stretch of awkward silence.
"Clay Bryce."
Silence again, but the time, the silence was awed silence instead of awkward silence.
"Wait a second-"
The baker started, but George cut in.
"Clay Bryce? As in, THE Clay Bryce?"
Clay let out a low chuckle.
"Yeah, that's me."
Clay waved it off nonchalantly, but George and the baker began to lose their minds.
"George, he's-"
"Darryl, I-"
They both spoke at the same time, stuttering over each other's sentences. Clay's chuckle erupted into full-blown laughter. When he sobered, both men were staring at him.
"Hey, it's not that serious. I'm just a guy-"
"An extremely popular one! You're literally all I hear about during gossip hour! I never thought that you'd visit my shop, of all places-"
He coughed.
"It's an honour, Mister Bryce."
Clay winced.
"Oh, please, call me Clay. I hear that way too much at home."
"Then... You can call me Darryl. It's.... It's what my friends call me."
He said that final part almost bashfully, giving a small, lopsided smile as he spoke it out.
"And you can call me George. It's, well, it's what everyone calls me, really."
George clicked his tongue, and stuck out a hand. Clay took it and shook heartily.
He once again had to push down that feeling.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both."
Clay said with a small smile.
Darryl's grin could touch a devil's heart, and George's eyes sparkled like the night sky. It brought a warmth to Clay's icy heart to see the two so cheerful.
Just like a Crème Brûlée, George had cracked open his shell, and left himself open to Clay.
And just like a Crème Brûlée, Darryl and George had cracked the cover around Clay's broken heart, bringing him one step closer to the closure he so desperately wants.
YOU ARE READING
Shimmering Crystals
Romance|| It's the 19th century. Wealth was power. Power was happiness. Happiness was a lie. At least, it was for Clay "Dream" Bryce, a wealthy aristocrat who tended to keep to himself. Hell, nobody had ever seen his face before. But when a young, enthusia...
