Comfort (Dream X GeorgeNotFound)

Memories

"Don't you think you've done enough? Get out of my sight!"

The boiling anger from the previous words was replaced by icy strictness, gliding over his skin with a sharp edge, threatening to dip and cut into the skin.

An image of a little boy hunched over an ornate vase on the floor, smashed to pieces. A surge of panic as he tried to gather up the pieces to make it whole again. Footsteps down the corridor. Difficulty to breathe. Shouting. Crying, apologizing.
That's all he'd ever done. Be pathetic, break things, apologize. The reactions he got from owning up to the things he did wrong only pushed him towards brushing his wrongdoings off.

A knock on the door.

Silence as George lay face down, unmoving. He was completely cut off from the outside world, enveloped in pitch black.

Another knock, then another. Persistent, hurried requests to be let in.

The sound didn't go away.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Each tap chipped away at George's skull. Slowly, slowly.

The same little boy was under a bed, cowering in fear as he held his tattered doll. Rapid raps on the wood of his door. A hand over his own mouth so he wouldn't breathe too loud. A creak as it slowly opened, the light from the hallway casting an elongated silhouette of a man on the floor in front of the bed.

Distorted, quivering words. Disciplining him, shaming him, blaming him for all he had done, all he had ruined - their lives, dreams, marriage. Hot tears running down his cheeks, down his neck, down, down, down, creating a puddle below him that rose into a sea, crawling up his neck and into his mouth, nose and ears, drowning him.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The words that he heard this time weren't distorted. They were steady and warm, enveloping him in a glowing haze.

"George, please, please open up." A sound of fingers sliding down the door. "Please."

George rolled over, his legs moving on their own. He turned the lock, pulling down the knob above it.

He realized he'd been crying only when a warm hand reached up to wipe the tears away.

"George..." Clay stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "Hey, George... It's okay."

He felt even more tears roll down his cheeks. Even if he'd been able to make out the face of the man standing in front of him, he couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye.

"I thought... I thought i-it'd be better now." He abruptly stopped, choking back a sob.

The hands on his face couldn't keep up with the flood of tears, so they just gave up, comfortingly holding him instead.

"George, whatever it is... I'm here." Clay wrapped his arms around George's shoulders, fully enveloping him in his hold. "You can talk to me."

"It hurts, Clay. I thought I was over it." He shakily breathed in, wiping at his eyes with the palm of his hands. "The m-memories, they're too much. I-"

He was led to the bed. The comforting softness was too welcoming to pass on, so he sat back on it, the arms of his friend lovingly draping a blanket over him.

"George, I have no idea what memories you're talking about..." The mattress shifted as Clay sat down next to him, hugging George to himself. "It's okay to hurt from things you thought you were over. It happens."

He was wrapped in his friend's arms for what felt like ages. All the while, Clay had been patiently waiting for his breathing to get back to normal.

When it felt like he wasn't being suffocated by his tears anymore, he clutched the arm draped over him.

"Clay... I feel so stupid." All he got as a response was quiet shushing as he was pulled closer. "No, really. I was just thinking of... stuff from when I was a kid. Not a good time, y'know?"

He bitterly chuckled to himself. Understatement of the year. But he didn't want to burden anyone by dishing out all the details of his troubled childhood.

"George. You don't have to downplay it. Just tell me."

He wondered what Clay's face looked like right now. Cute as always, of course, but what would his expression be? Pity? He hated that. Nothing at all? He wasn't sure if he preferred that over the former. He tilted his head back to see a completely different emotion depicted on the face he loved so much - worry.
His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, eyes darting in between George's, as if they'd give away the answer.

He felt the tears drying on his cheek. He swiped at them with his hand, looking back down to escape the concerned gaze of his friend.

"Well, I didn't just think I was over it, I should have been over it. It's just a bunch of silly memories." His head was spinning from having cried recently, his wet cheeks cold from the air hitting it. "It's stupid. You know, a lot of people have it worse. I shouldn't even-"

"The fact that others have it worse doesn't make your experiences invalid." He felt a weight on his head as Clay placed his cheek above it, holding him against himself. "If you wanna talk about it, I'm h-"

"I really don't, Clay."

"I'm here either way." The bed shifted next to George as his friend adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable. "We can just sit in silence. I don't wanna leave you alone right now."

George leaned back into the warm body of his friend. "You smell nice." Fresh aromas of fruit and vegetables were drifting off him. "Were you cooking?"

"I was making food for you." He slid his fingers through George's soft hair. "But then I came to the door and I... I heard you crying. So I just rushed in."

George wrapped his arms around the hand holding him. He could feel himself dozing off, everything turning into a blur.

"Hey, George?" Clay softly asked, peering down at the heavy lidded man in his hold. "I'm gonna let you sleep now."

He stood up, unwrapping himself from his friend, but the grasp on his arm stayed firm.

"Please stay."

Clay got into bed as George laid back into the layer of cushions he'd been crying in before. He turned over, pulling George against his chest again.

George finally felt at peace. Whatever was going to come tomorrow, he'd deal with it. One step at a time, he reminded himself, and snuggled closer to his friend.