Under the Weather - Dreamnotfound Oneshots

Perfect III

~final part of the highschool au~ 

Warnings: angst in the beginning, it isn't bad but please be careful <3 

Enjoy! 

Clay's heart shattered.

Millions of pieces clattered to the ground, many of which he may never be able to pick back up again. The sight of George, so small, so vulnerable, was absolutely heart-wrenching.

Clay's stomach twisted as he stepped closer and George looked up. The brunet's bloodshot, teary, glossed over eyes went wide and he quickly scrambled backward, closer to the icy rain he had been in for who knows how long.

The boy snatched up his phone quickly. His arms were bare and ridden with goosebumps, and he could barely grip the small object he was shivering so uncontrollably hard. Clay had no idea if the shaking was from the cold or from fear.

George pressed himself against the edge of the swing, as far from Clay as possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, just soft, raspy whimpers. He clutched the phone to his chest, droplets of cold rain mixing with hot, salty tears that poured from his eyes and collected at his chin, to fall onto his shirt.

Clay reached out one hand. "George... Oh my god, George." He breathed.

George shuddered, staring at Clay's hand in fear. "Don't..." He choked out. "Go.. Away."

Clay was not having it. He refused to let his friend sit here, in the rain, freezing cold and crying.

He knew exactly how that felt, and he also knew how it felt when no one was there to help. And he would not become the person who didn't care enough to even say a word.

Slowly, Clay scooted forward a bit. He moved smoothly and carefully, until he had gently sat down on the opposite end of the swing. George flinched, but let him. Clay slowly began to rock the swing ever so slightly, and as the atmosphere seemed to calm a little, the rain sounded less like hammering and more like pattering. Clay gazed in front of him.

He didn't say anything, just waited.

George shifted in his spot. "Clay...?" He whispered. His voice was like a breath in the wind, but the blonde still caught it.

There was a pause. Clay waited to make sure George was okay. Then he answered:

"Yes?"

Another pause, this one a bit longer. George pulled his knees closer to his chest. His voice was muffled when he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry..."

Clay blinked. That, he wasn't expecting. "For... For what?" He asked slowly.

The brunet hesitantly scooted a few inches closer.

"I... I didn't mean to... Be seen like this. I don't want you t-to feel like you have to help..." He mumbled. "So... Sorry."

Clay tilted his head. "Do you want help?" He didn't look over at the other, not yet.

George bit his lip. He shrugged softly. "I... I don't know."

Clay moved over until there was only a foot of space between the two. He gazed at George, who wouldn't look at him. "George. Tell me what's wrong. Please. I want to help you."

Suddenly, George's breath hitched. He struggled not to cry again. Clay waited.

Waited, waited.

"I had... not so great friends in Britain. They were mean, not only to the people that stood up to them, but also to the innocent others. To me, even, the person they called their friend. I was used to it, though, even if it was wrong. S-so when I met you, and Nick, and Zak, and Darryl, I was scared. So deathly afraid. But you were different. So I told them about you. They told me... Disgusting things. About me, about you and I-I didn't know what to do." His voice shook and grew softer and softer.