Chapter Text
As George made sure Quackity was actually asleep, he let his mind wonder.
He and Quackity had never slept together on the same bed, as George had requested his own room when they looked for an apartment. This closeness felt different in comparison when they had sex.
Because of George's struggles with insomnia, he made a habit of dodging Quackity at night, mainly to avoid fielding endless inquiries about his sleep patterns.
Neither of them could afford to replenish his medication, so George kept around the same empty bottle from the one time they managed to buy it, all the while deceiving his boyfriend. Pretending to take his meds, he'd stay awake until dawn, insisting he preferred to have them with breakfast, knowing Quackity would be furious if he discovered the truth.
Unlike the usual chaos, Quackity was now quiet, not screaming or complaining. His serene demeanor was endearing, casting a sense of calmness that rarely surfaced while he was awake. It was a moment of unexpected tranquility, with Quackity close by, the distance of an arm's length.
He had to admit it was kinda nice, to get this approach without any sexual interaction involved.
But Geroge also knew that this couldn’t last. And his suspicion was confirmed as a sudden sense of foreboding swept over him. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Sapnap, perched ominously on the fence railing through the bell tower.
Of course, he was not alone. "Wait, Sapnap? How did you?—"
"There’s no place that you can go where I wouldn’t find you," The intruder replied, his expression unreadable as he gazed back at George. Danger emanating from him, a palpable sense of menace that made George's skin prickle with unease.
Sapnap's struggles to get through the fence were evident. He dropped his weight over it, breaths coming in ragged gasps, the sound harsh and labored against the backdrop of the night.
Finally, with a frustrated grunt, Sapnap let himself fall back onto the ground, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud.
As he struggled to sit up, Sapnap cast a wary glance towards George, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. George felt a cold sweat break out, bracing himself for whatever might come next.
He took in Sapnap's disfigured jaw, the sight of dried blood marring it, "Who did this to you?" he asked, fear coursing through his veins like wildfire.
"That little sh*t of a prince," Sapnap growled. "He slipped up from my fingers at the very last moment because Dream was there with him. He is his f*cking knight."
He scrutinized him, and George knew that wasn't all. It made him tense involuntarily.
"Judging from your face, I guess you already knew." Sapnap's voice cut through the tense silence, and George's world came crashing down around him
"Listen, I-I was going to tell you, but it was so sudden and then—"
But before he could finish, Sapnap's voice became a deafening scream, causing George to whimper in fear. "So you screwed up again, huh?" His words settling like a heavy stone,
"I should have known better, you never do anything right." Meanwhile, Quackity stirred from his sleep, his eyes snapping open with alarm as he registered the commotion.
Panic flashed across his features "sh*t! what the hell, why are you here?"
He struggled against the fog of grogginess, making a feeble attempt to push himself upwards, but his limbs felt like lead, and he only succeeded in rolling over, disoriented.
As Sapnap watched this, his lip curled in disdain, annoyance evident in his expression. "Oh great, him again," he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with irritation.
"Shut up asshole, we were great until you decided to show up out of nowhere," Quackity, attempted to sound intimidating as he spat out, but it didn't seemed to work as much as he wanted to.
"Listen, I’m not here to fight. I just came here to get George, that’s all," Sapnap stated.
Quackity, however, wasn't about to let Sapnap have his way. "Well, forget it. He’s not going with you,"
Sapnap rolled his eyes, clearly growing impatient with Quackity's interruptions. "Would you shut up already? I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to him,"
Quackity bristled at the dismissive tone, "George doesn’t need to hear anything coming from your mouth. You've made him suffer just enough,"
Despite his attempt at confidence, George seemed to lament that response, understanding that it was for his sake, but knowing it will help him in absolutely nothing.
Cause it was clear to him that Sapnap wasn't in the mood for Quackity's barbs.
"You are wasting my time," Sapnap said, his impatience boiling over as he stood up "Come here, George. We're leaving," he addressed George, tugging at his arm.
But he remained rooted to the spot, motionless despite Sapnap pulling him harder.
"George? Didn’t you f*cking hear what I just said?" Sapnap's voice grew more insistent.
Unable to bring himself to say anything, George pressed his lips together, biting down hard in a grimace. He could sense the oppresion lurking just beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the power Sapnap held over him.
"God, you’re so useless. Why do you have to make me yell?" George's eyes darted nervously between Sapnap and Quackity.
"Don't you speak to him like that," In that moment, George felt a sinking sensation. Nothing would go right from here on out.
"Oh, so we’re doing this again. You defending George. This is getting really old." Sapnap's tone turned even more caustic as he berated Quackity.
"Don’t you get it? George doesn’t want anything to do with you and neither do I," Sapnap's smirk twisted into, and George trembled. He knew that look.
"Poor little Quakity," Sapnap's voice crackled, full of didain, "I pity you. I really do." He said, tone dripping with mockery
"You think you know George better than me?" He scoffed, his laughter echoing through the air, "What a joke."
Despite the looming bomb that was incoming, Quackity wasn't known to be someone who could actually stay quiet when needed, provoked or not "If you want him, you’ll gonna have to go through me."
Sapnap scoffed at Quackity's bravado, "Is that supposed to be a threat?" he sneered. The weight of him gaze bore down on Quackity, heavy and suffocating, as if daring him to deny it.
But he didn't Quackity squared his shoulders and Sapnap licked his lips with intention while the standoff developed. And even before he said it, George knew it would be the wrong thing.
"Take it any way you want."
Sapnap moved like a striking snake, his hand snaking around Quackity's neck with a vice-like grip, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
George watched in horror at the sudden violence unfolding before him. "You guys are so annoying. Why do you have to make a deal out of everything?" He retorted with venom.
Quackity's face was turning a sickly shade of red, veins bulging in his neck as he let out choked gasps and rasping wheezes. "Let... me... go"
It made Sapnap's face twisted into a sad*stic grin, his eyes alight with a sickening delight as he tightened his grip. "Why should I listen to you? You're nothing but a weakling.
Every gasp for air from Quackity seemed to fuel Sapnap's enjoyment, his satisfaction evident in the cruel curve of his lips and the gleam in his eyes.
It was as if he relished the power he held over Quackity, reveling in the control he exerted with each crushing squeeze.
Quackity's legs flailed wildly, kicking and thrashing in a desperate attempt to break free and George felt a surge of panic flow though him.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Such brutality was almost too much to bear, but George refused to look away.
From his vantage point, Quackity's movements were a chaotic blur of motion. George's palms grew clammy, his breaths shallow as he struggled to comprehend the unfolding events.
The scene was a nightmare unfolding before his eyes.
As his consciousness flickered back into focus as he met Quackity's desperate gaze, his limbs lashing out with a frenzied energy.
"Geor...ge..." With every ounce of willpower he could muster, George managed to push past the invisible barrier that had held him captive.
It made him realize that he could still move, he could speak – he was free from Sapnap's influence, if only for a fleeting moment. He was alive and well. There were no more excuses, no more reasons to hesitate.
"Sapnap, stop this! Let him go!"
For a moment, Sapnap seemed surprised, but it didn't last long "If you think you can't stop me, you're even stupider than I thought" his words were laced with scorn.
George was about to reply but Sapnap cut him off with a simple glare.
"What? You think this is the time for you to start acting like a real boyfriend to him?" His tone was biting and George felt a surge of adrenaline, his body tensing as he prepared for the worst.
"I-I'll do anything, just please... don't hurt him." George said, his eyes welled with tears as he watched Quackity's struggle intensify.
"Oh, I know you will," Sapnap's response was dismissive, "You'll do whatever I ask anyway, George. You always do and this time is no different,"
Despite George's attempts to negotiate, Sapnap remained unmoved. It was as if George was nothing more than a mere afterthought in his grand scheme. And maybe he was.
"There's nothing you can offer me. You're just like the rest of them, always bending to my will." Sapnap's attention remained fixated elsewhere as he says that, making George feel smaller and more insignificant with each passing moment.
But even as doubt clouded his mind, he couldn't afford to give in to self-doubt now, not when Quackity's life hung in the balance.
So he insisted "Please, I can help you. Just give me a chance."
"A chance? What makes you think you deserve one?" Sapnap asked with rejection, "You have nothing I want"
George wasn't sure where it came from, but in that moment, he found the courage to stand up for himself, to push back against Sapnap's tyranny.
"You're wrong," George reached into the inside of his boot. Sapnap spared him a minimal as the other retrieved his pocket knife and pressed it against his own neck.
The sharp blade grazing his skin. He couln't allow himself to be distracted by Quackity's reaction, tunning it out.
"Pathetic," Sapnap let out, "Threatening to off yourself? Real brave, George. Real brave." His voice shook with suppressed emotion.
"I'm not bluffing. If you don't let Quackity go, I'll do it. I'll end it all right here, right now." Sapnap attempted to maintain his facade of indifference, but George saw through him.
He knew that Sapnap cared more than he let on, that beneath the tough exterior lay a glimmer of humanity.
"If I die, you lose more than just a pawn," He reminded him. "You lose a part of your past, a part of your family, and a part of yourself. No one knows you better than I do, Sapnap. You need me."
Upon seeing George's gambit, Sapnap's smirk faltered, "You wouldn't dare."
George initiated a silent challenge with his stance, a defiance that belied the fear churning in his gut. "Try me."
There was a flicker of something in Sapnap's eyes, a moment of hesitation as he contemplated.
For a moment, it seemed as though Sapnap might relent, his grip loosening ever so slightly as he pondered George's offer. In that fleeting moment of uncertainty, George held his breath to stop hismelf from trembling.
He drew a thin line into his skin, a bead of blood forming. And Sapnap let go, allowing Quackity to collapse to the ground in a heap. "I always knew you were a coward, George, but I didn't think you'd sink this low."
Relief washed over George in a flood. No matter how much he wanted to rush to Quackity's side and ensure he was alright, he had to held his ground, rooted in place.
On the other side of the room, Geogre waited for Sapnap's attention to shift to him and it did.
"If you want to know where Dream is, then I can’t help you," George's gaze dropped to the ground as he resigned himself to the inevitable.
The weight of Sapnap gaze bore down on George, heavy and suffocating, "You think I will just comply with that?"
George's voice wavered slightly as he stated, "It doesn't matter, I’m not going with you either way," retrieving his knife back from where it came from.
"What the hell did you just say to me?" George directed a look at the fallen form of Quackity, crumpled and vulnerable as Sapnap stood over him.
"I’m staying right here, with Quackity," he declared, a newfound and stray sense in his tone.
"I told you to come here for a reason," Sapnap's voice rose with each word, "Is keeping your ass here and doing nothing the best you can do?" His threats escalating to new levels.
"Answer me right now you f*cking piece of sh*t!" he bellowed and drew closer to Quackity's prone form, his movements predatory and menacing.
"Or I swear I'll f*cking end him in your place," his voice echoed off the walls of the bell tower as he unleashed a devastating kick that sent Quackity spiraling into the ground, headfirst.
And in that moment, George knew he had to act. He couldn't allow Sapnap to harm Quackity, not again.
He can do whatever he wants to George, but not Quackity. If he was ever going to stand up for himself, it had to be now, for someone else's sake. Quackity deserved as much.
With a newfound sense of purpose, George launched himself at Sapnap, his body colliding with him with bone-jarring force.
Both of them staggered backward, crashing against the fence from which Sapnap had climbed.
The metallic clang reverberated in the stillness of the night. It reverberated in the stillness of the night as George pushed against Sapnap. With a final shove, he sent Sapnap tumbling over the fence, their forms disappearing into the darkness below.
They landed on another structure below, a shed's roof with George hitting the surface first.
As expected, his body ricocheted, spiraling to the side until he slid down, coming to a stop at the edge.
Desperately, he clung to the border, his entire frame hanging precariously over the edge. Looking down, a wave of nausea swept over him as he realized the sheer drop below, too high to survive it if he let go.
The air felt merciless, and his grip began to slip. In that moment of weightlessness, a hand shot out and seized him. While he was pulled upwards, he knew whose hand it was.
George had no choice but to comply, no matter how much it terrified him to do so.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Clay’s hand rested under his chin as he looked directly outside the window. He was currently wearing a scottish ghillie kilt shirt with long sleeves and pants that resembled the same color. While Tommy was under a pleated Victorian white shirt and capri pants ankle banded.
Both gifts from the kind lady she herself provided.
The sky was as dark as the coal itself, hours had passed by and Tommy was still in the same position.
His hands kept repeating the same pattern, stitching over a little piece of white cloth with all his focus directed at it. The design was simple, a path of red flowers following a straight line around the edges.
He knows Tommy well enough to sense that this isn't just about keeping his hands busy—it's a deliberate attempt to shut out the world and avoid confronting the situation they're in.
As he watches Tommy stitch, his frustration grows. He hadn't retrieved the knitting tools so Tommy could escape into his own world; they were meant to provide a brief distraction and soothing moment, not a means of avoidance.
Clay knew he couldn’t leave it like this, he had to say something, anything. Even if he knew Tommy would not like to hear it. If he did nothing, the teen was assured to keep going until the sun rises, and he couldn't have that.
Tommy— The teen cringed at the mention of his name, hands twitching a little
"Yes?” His voice quivered and he kept his eyes fixed on the cloth at hand. But his focus was no longer on it, but on Clay himself. And Clay knew him too well enough to realize that.
“It's getting late. Why don’t you go and try to get some sleep?” Clay suggested from his seat, a very antique red wooden sofa.
From over the bed, Tommy continued to move the needle with skill, not sparing one look to Clay’s direction
I’m not tired. If anything I think you should be the one catching up on some rest.” Tommy replied making a disregarding signal with one of his hands
That won’t do. I won’t be able to rest properly until you are safe and sound.” Clay said seriously, taking notice of the way Tommy’s grip on the needle wavered a little, inclining himself forward, blocking the light from the bureau with his body.
"Come on, Clay. You can't cut off a man in the middle of his sewing.” The younger joked, but his face showed no smile, still undistracted from the task he had appointed to himself.Clay sighed, standing up and rounding the bed.
"Tommy, I’m serious you have gone on it for hours. If you don’t get a breather you are going to make a mistake” Tommy flinched at how stern Clay's voice sounded directed at him.
But the teen recovered quickly, agitating his head a little and puffing out his chest as he shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know me, I don’t make mistakes, but when I do they are made on purpose,” Tommy replied without even making eye contact as he tries to block out Clay's words.
"Now, we both know that’s not true” Clay’s response was almost automatic and it made Tommy's grip on the needles tightened, before glancing up.
Judging from his expression he was surprised, lip trembling a little before dropping his eyes again with a sad smile. Still, he kept his voice steady as he responded.
"Yeah, you're right. I guess I just like to pretend otherwise,” A dry response followed, his eyes tired, but filled with emotion, clouded by pain and avoidance.
Clay's heart aches at the raw honesty in Tommy's words, the pain etched into every syllable. He reaches out, aching to offer comfort.
“Tommy…” But the prince shakes his head, his gaze distant as he retreats further into himself, his walls rising higher with each passing moment.
“Don’t” Clay recoils slightly, but the prince takes a slow, steadying breath, trying to rein in his frustration. “Just, forget what I said, that sh*t doesn’t even matter”
Clay's brow furrows, his concern deepening as he registers the strain in Tommy's voice.
“It does matter, Tommy.” He takes a step closer, his eyes pleading for understanding. “Your well-being matters to me, so don’t you try to downplay what you're going through.”
But as he speaks, Tommy's focus slips. Despite his efforts to ignore Clay, his hands betray him, and the needle pierces his finger with a sharp, painful sting.
"Ow, sh*t!" Clay’s s eyes widen in alarm at the sight of Tommy's injury as he rushes to Tommy's side, concern etched into every line of his face as he takes Tommy's injured hand in his own.
“Show me your finger.” Clay says, his voice urgent and serious. Tommy pulls his hand back and shakes his head adamantly, his pride wounded almost as much as his finger.
“It's fine. Just stings a little,” With a resigned sigh, Clay's insistence leaves him with little choice but to reluctantly comply.
“Show me.” Clay insists and Tommy's shoulders slump as he reluctantly extends his injured hand towards Clay, revealing the small but bloody puncture wound.
“See? I told you. Doesn’t even hurt that much,” Clay's frustration peaks as Tommy continues to resist, but says nothing as he assesses the damage.
Suddenly, Clay takes a surprising and intimate action. Tommy's stubbornness sparks a daring impulse, but Clay unexpectedly brings Tommy's fingers to his lips before the prince can utter anything else.
Tommy's eyes widen in shock as he feels the warmth of Clay's mouth enveloping it entirely. Clay's lips wrapped around his finger, and Tommy’s eyes widened in shock at the warm glow emanating from inside the other’s mouth.
A gasp escaped him, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty as he felt Clay's wet tongue press against the wound.
When Clay withdraws Tommy's finger from his mouth with a pop, a string of saliva connects them. His finger shimmers, but is missing the red spot it had previously.
“Better?” Clay asks and Tommy is silent at first, retreating his hand and pressing it to his chest after Clay wipes the saliva off him with a cloth.
A simple response is all he offers instead of an answer. “You didn't have to do that.”
The volume of Tommy's words was lower than usual, almost muttering them out, but Clay heard him perfectly.
“I wanted to.” He responded gently and Tommy couldn't bring himself to force even a strained smile. This time, Clay's concern for him was too much to bear.
As Clay watches his lack of reaction, his mind races
“What's wrong?” He asks and Tommy’s expression falters, a pang of guilt washing over him as he realizes the depth of Clay's worry.
“N-nothing! I'm fine, just let me be” He let out the words quickly, almost ramming them out of his mouth.
“Tommy, I know you better than that. Something's clearly bothering you, and I want to know what it is.” The teen's unrelenting behavior is countered by Clay's measured response, but the teen shows no signs of relenting.
If anything it actually kicks something up inside him, something Clay instantly notices as annoyance
“Clay, I stand by what I said and I don't need you to tell me otherwise.” With harsh and hurried movements, he begins stuffing away his knitting supplies.
In uncertainty, Clay prepares himself to speak, he wonders whether he should broach the subject or not. He understands that it might be a sensitive topic for Tommy, still raw from recent events.
But he is als aware that it's a conversation they can't avoid indefinitely, He needs to know what happened in his absence, what went wrong and how if he wants to help Tommy at all.
Of course, it's a delicate balance, navigating the fine line between giving Tommy the space he needs and providing him with the information he deserves. From experience, Clay knows that the teen won't be able to move forward until they've confronted the truth together.
“Is it... about what he did to you?” Clay treads carefully, voice tentative, as he gingerly brings up probably the one thing that weighs heavily on both their minds.
Tommy's breath catches in his throat, the question piercing through his defenses and laying bare the turmoil within him.
As Tommy stands there, grappling with the overwhelming torrent of emotions, a sudden memory claws its way to the surface of his mind. It's vivid, too visceral—a flashback that grips him with a vice-like intensity, transporting him back to a moment he'd long tried to forget.
Hands clawing at him, restraining him with an iron grip. The sharp pang of pain as fingers tighten around his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs. His heartbeat thundering in his ears as he struggles for breath, his chest constricting with suffocating dread.
A foot presses down on his hand, crushing his fingers beneath its weight, sending shards of agony shooting up his arm. He cries out, a sound muffled by the hand around his throat, his vision swimming with tears of terror.
Then, those eyes—eyes filled with nothing but hatred and malice, boring into him with a chilling intensity that freezes him to the core. They're the eyes of his tormentor, the face of his nightmare, looming over him like a specter of inescapable terror.
In that moment, Tommy is paralyzed, trapped in the grip of his own memories. But even as the memory threatens to consume him whole, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers at him.
“Tommy? Are you okay?” The sound of Clay's voice grounds him, pulling him back from the brink of his nightmares. With a shuddering breath, Tommy forces himself to focus, avoiding the other’s eyes upon him for the time being.
“Are you—"
“Just... give me a f*cking minute, okay?” He yells out with residual fear, so Clay waits, standing by Tommy's side, ready to offer whatever comfort and solace he can.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Tommy's tension slowly begins easing.
“I can’t bear this anymore” Tommy's voice crackles with frustration, his hand pressing firmly against his temple “Clay, why are you always like this?” His voice rises, a mixture of exhaustion and confusion.
“I don’t— what do you mean?”
“You! … it 's just... I don't get why you are being so...nice to me” His voice trails off, a sense of longing evident in his words
“I...I can't explain it, Clay. For me, everything just feels wrong,” There is a rawness to his admission as he struggles to express the turmoil that he is experiencing.
“Tommy, I care about you. That's all there is to it,” Despite its simplicity, Clay’s words are sincere, as if he knows what he's saying.
“No, it’s not that simple. I know it's not,” He says, his inner conflict threatening to overtake him. “You should be angry with me, not acting like this. It's... it's confusing,” Clay's expression softens at that.
“I don't understand. Tommy, I don't want to be angry with you,” The way Clay speaks, in a paused way. He made it very clear that he's confused, trying to make sense of what's happening...
“Well you should,” Tommy snaps “Maybe if you were, all of this would be easier,” He admits firmly as he smashes his fist over the mattress at his side.
“That way at least I'd know that I deserved it. That maybe I really am as bad as I think I am.” Clay's brow furrows in confusion, a pang of hurt flashing across his features before he regains his composure.“Tommy you are not a bad person, you're just going through a tough time..” As he talks in a subdued tone, the sadness and honesty in his words evident.
“Let me finish” Clay stays still, a sense of resignation settling over. Tommy takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing.
“If you were angry with me, it would just confirm everything I already believe about myself.” His tone is heavy, betraying the fatigue gnawing at him.
“But you being so kind, it's like... it's like you're seeing something in me that I can't see in myself. And that scares me.” Clay listens intently and reaches out, gently squeezing Tommy's hand in a gesture of comfort and solidarity.
“I understand it might feel that way, Tommy.” His words are filled with warmth and understanding but Tommy denies with his head, sorrow in his expression.
“No, you don't understand.” His voice cracks with emotion. “But I need to... I need you to understand. It's like…” He trails off, his voice trembling.
“Tommy, breathe. It’s okay, you’re okay.” But Tommy's doubts continue to gnaw at him, his body tensing at the contact as he brushes his hand away.
“This is definitely not okay, Clay. I feel like I'm falling apart, and I don't know how to stop it.” Tommy's desperation spills out in a plea.
“Please, Clay... Just be angry with me. Scream at me, tell me I'm wrong. I need it…” Tommy's frustration bubbles beneath the surface. It's as if Clay's compassion only serves to amplify Tommy's own sense of unworthiness, a bitter reminder of the gulf that separates them.
As Clay continues to offer his support with a gentle tenderness that Tommy can't fathom, a wave of guilt washed over him. He should be the one apologizing, the one begging for forgiveness for his sharp words and defensive demeanor.
But instead, Clay stands before him, a pillar of patience and understanding, offering nothing but love and acceptance.
How can Clay be so calm and collected, so forgiving, when Tommy himself feels like he's drowning in a sea of self-loathing?
That simple thought is chipping away at his already fragile sense of self-worth. He doesn't deserve Clay's kindness, not now, not when he's pushed him away time and time again. And yet, there Clay stands, his eyes filled with nothing but concern and compassion.
It hurts, more than Tommy cares to admit, to be on the receiving end of such unwavering love when he feels so undeserving of it. Every soft word, every tender gesture only serves to deepen the ache in his chest, a painful reminder of his own shortcomings.
And even then, Clay's heart aches for Tommy, his own frustration mounting as he struggles to find the right words to ease his pain.
“I’m sorry Tommy, but even if I wanted to, I could never be angry with you.” He lets out, his own inner turmoil mirroring Tommy's “I won't hurt you like that.”
Clay’s voice is filled with unwavering compassion, a steadfast refusal to add to Tommy's pain. The prince just presses his eyelids shut in anguish. “You could, and maybe it would be better if you did” Clay shakes his head and Tommy's shoulders sag
“No, Tommy. It wouldn't be. Because even in your darkest moments, you're still the person I love.” Tommy opens his eyes, now glistened with unshed tears and his frustration continues mounting.
It's a rejection that cuts deeper than any physical wound, leaving Tommy feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“It's hard to believe that sometimes. Especially when I'm the one standing in my own way.” His admission is tinged with a sense of defeat, and Clay's heart breaks for him.
“Tommy, you shouldn't feel this way about yourself. It’s not healthy,” His voice is gentle, but Tommy recoils, his body tensing up.
Clay watches helplessly, as the weight of his emotions threatens to drag him under, pulling him into the depths of despair.
“Please…don't tell me how I am supposed to feel” Tommy says, his words tinged with resentment, choked with emotion as he turns away, unable to face Clay.
Clay's brow furrows in concern, hurt flashing in his eyes before he composes himself.
“I'm just trying to help you see the truth. You're worth so much more than you realize.” He counters.
“You're stronger and more capable than you give yourself credit for.” Tommy's throat tightens.
“Well it f*cking doesn’t look like it now, does it?” His voice is strained, his trauma pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
“Maybe not, but I still want you to see yourself the way I see you.” Tommy huffs and lets his head drop forward, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“But what if I can’t huh?” Clay's heart aches at the pain etched into Tommy's features, his palms clammy against each other.
“Tommy, I promise you, this will pass. Everything will be okay. You'll be okay.”
“Stop saying that! This isn't just a phase I can snap out of, so don’t pretend it is!” Clay freezes, as Tommy avoids his eyes with resistance.
“You always act like everything's okay, like you have all the answers. But the truth is you don't.” He spats at Clay, words strained in a way that belies his usual spirited demeanor.
“So, for once be honest with me instead of giving me false hope.” Tommy's admission weighs heavily in the air and Clay winces at the barb stinging with a mix of resentment, a thinly veiled jab at Clay's attempts to offer support.
“That’s not- I didn't mean to... ” he rails off, uncertainty creeping into his words.
The silence between them stretches on, thick with unspoken emotions and unresolved tension. Clay searches for the right words, but they elude him, lost in the complexity of Tommy's pain.
With a heavy heart, he speaks, tone laced with genuine remorse.
“I’m sorry” Tommy's eyes soften, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at Clay's unexpected apology. But he still remains defiant and sighs heavily, a weary expression crossing his features as he watches Clay's struggle.
“You know what, Clay? Forget it.” Tommy finally says, carrying the weight of their own shared struggle “This isn’t going anywhere, so let's just… move on” His tone is weary, a hint of defeat creeping into his voice as he gestures for Clay to drop the subject.
“Move on?” The repetition is accompanied by unbelief on Clay's part, “Tommy you’re hurting. I can't just pretend everything's fine and neither can you” His voice rises in a cacophony of disagreement, his own sense of helplessness mirroring Tommy's.“We can't leave it at that." When he said that, Tommy's shoulders sagged a little, but he wasn't about to allow himself get pushed around just yet.
“I was the one that brought it up so I think I can change the subject if I damn want to” Tommy’s tone matches Clay's intensity.
“Not this time. I won’t stand by and watch you struggle alone.” Clay responds, wanting nothing else but to grab him and pull Tommy into his arms and shield him from everything that was damaging him.
“I’m worried about you, and ignoring what's bothering you won't make it disappear.”
Tommy's eyes flashes with anger at that, he turns towards Clay with a ferocity that takes even Clay aback.
“Don’t do that,” He lets out, eyes fixed upon him. “You don’t get to lecture me right now. That’s the last thing I need from you” Clay freezes, as Tommy shows resistance.
“I told you I’m fine already, so take my word for it and drop it” The weight of Tommy's words hit him like a punch to the gut, his mind remaining turbulent.
“But-”
“Enough, Just... enough!” Clay recoils slightly as he watches Tommy's outburst unfold. “I can't deal with this sh*t right now, what part of the stop did you not understand?”
“Tommy, I'm just trying to...” But before he can finish, Tommy's voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.
“Trying to what exactly? Make everything better with your words and advice you've never bothered to apply to yourself?” His voice reverberates off the walls, echoing with anger and resentment as he unleashes his pent-up frustrations.
“Newsflash, it doesn't work like that.” Clay's heart sinks, his own frustration mingling with a deep sense of hurt.
“I’m trying to help” He finishes, looking at Tommy's eyes clouded with pain and avoidance.
“Well, you can't!” Tommy explodes, his fists clenched at his sides as he stares down “You can’t, so just leave me alone”
Clay chest tightens as he struggles to find the right words. His determination is clear and gaze unwavering as he meets Tommy's defiance head-on. Instead of moving back, he steps closer.Tommy's shoulders tense as he approaches him, darting away.
“I said leave me alone, Clay!” Tommy lets out “I don't need you suffocating me with your damn concern so save it for someone else!” His words hang in the air like a heavyweight, filling the room with their intensity.
And as Tommy's furious gaze drops meets his, filled with a mixture of anger and anguish, Clay can see through the facade, the strain evident in Tommy's clenched fists and furrowed brow. It makes his own worry fuel his determination to help even more.
Knowing he cannot back down now, he clenched his hands at his sides and stood straighter.
“No” Tommy's facade cracks for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his features
His shock is evident, eyes widening in disbelief as he struggles to process Clay's unexpected refusal.
“What did you just say?” Clay's heart aches at the pain etched into Tommy's face, but doesn’t allow himself to let it show
“I said no, “ Clay says assuredly, “You need me even if you can’t see it.”
“Clay, get the hell out! That 's an order.” But Clay's expression remains resolute, unmoved by Tommy's attempt to assert his authority.
“I’m sorry, but I can't do that” Clay steels himself to respond despite the hurt prickling at his heart.
Tommy's frustration mounts, his voice tinged with disbelief and frustration as he tries to assert his authority.
”What do you mean, you can't? I want to be alone, you have to listen to me!” Clay's gaze softens with understanding, his voice carrying a rare edge of compassion.
“Not like this I don’t ” Tommy's mind races as his voice trembles with a mixture of confusion.
“You... you can't just say no.” He says, hesitating “You're my... my…” His words falter as he struggles to articulate the depth of his shock and disbelief.
“I’m your boyfriend” Clay's response is unequivocal, his tone carrying a rare edge of sternness as he stands firm in his decision, “And as your boyfriend I choose to stay”
Tommy's shock quickly turns to frustration, his fists clenching at his sides as he tries to regain control of the situation.
“I don't care! I don’t want you here right now!” Tommy screams, his tired eyes flashing with defiance. Clay reaches out to Tommy with unwavering compassion.
“You’re hurting and I won’t leave you alone, even if it means saying no to you.” Clay stands his ground and approaches him slowly, his footsteps soft against the floorboards as he kneels beside Tommy's trembling form.
Tommy's anger ignites like a wildfire, letting his emotions spill out unchecked as Clay braces himself for the onslaught.
“You stubborn dickhe*d,” Tommy's patience wears thin as he tries to physically force Clay away.
“I'm not leaving you, Tommy. Not now, not ever.” His words are a silent promise, a vow to stand by Tommy's side through the storm, no matter how fierce it may be.
Tommy's attempts to physically force Clay away become more frantic, his voice hoarse with rage as he continues to push against Clay's unwavering presence.
Clay doesn’t even bulge and wraps his arms around Tommy in a tight embrace, refusing to let go despite Tommy's struggles.
“Let go! f*ck, let me go!”
But Clay holds on, his grip unyielding even as Tommy's blows rain down upon him. Tommy’s curses and insults turn into desperate pleas as he struggles to break free.
“Get off me, Clay!” Tommy fights against Clay's hold, his screams of frustration echoing through the room as he lashes out with his fists and feet.
His curses and insults turn into desperate pleas as he struggles to break free.
“I'm not going anywhere, Tommy. I've got you. You're not alone.” Tommy's tirade continues as he unleashes the full force of his pent-up emotions.
And as the echoes of his screams fade into the night, a sense of catharsis washes over him, filling the room with a palpable tension that hangs heavy in the air.
“I can't... I can't… do this”
Clay holds him tighter, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears as he whispers words of comfort and reassurance. In that moment, their embrace becomes a sanctuary, a refuge from the storm raging within Tommy's tormented mind.
His boyrfriend's chest heaves with the force of his emotions, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Clay, please!” The knight’s heart lurches at the sound, his own anguish mirrored in his eyes as he watches Tommy's agony unfold before him
With each passing moment, Tommy's resistance begins to wane, his sobs replacing screams as he finally surrenders to the overwhelming weight of his emotions.
The minutes tick by, each passing moment marked by the ebb and flow of Tommy's cries.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Tommy's response is laden with anguish, "Sad and miserable” He can’t escape the feeling of heaviness weighting in his chest, dragging him down."
"My throat burns, and I'm f*cking jumpy. I'm so tired of feeling this way."
Then, his tone grows even darker, "And and the worse part of it is —”
Clay waits, listening to the soft hiccups escaping from Tommy
“I can still see him” He began
“Every time I close my eyes... He's there, staring at me with that look of hate and disgust. I can't shake this fear, and it's eating me alive." he confessed, his voice wavering with the weight of his terror.
"It—it scares me." Clay nodded understandingly
With gentle hands, Clay embraced him, pulling Tommy close as if trying to shield him from the world's cruelty.
“You're not alone, Tommy" he whispered, his voice a vow of solidarity. "And no matter what happens, you never will be. So you don’t have to suffer all by yourself”
Tommy hugs him together, burying his face against the side of his neck
“I believe in us, we'll get through this together.” A muffled sigh escaped Tommy's lips, his breath hitching with emotion as Clay continued to held onto Tommy.
“Trust in me, in your friends and most importantly” Clay pulls back slightly, “Trust in yourself”
His hand cups Tommy's cheek, drawing his face closer to his until their lips meet into a kiss. Their hearts find a fleeting sense of peace, a reassurance, a silent promise to stand by each other’s side no matter what challenges lie ahead. "I love you,"
There's a profound sense of love and protectiveness that swells within Clay, driving him to hold Tommy closer, to savor every moment they have together. "I love you too,"
So they clung to each other as if their lives depended on it, finding solace in the simple act of being together.
