Harvey is a good man.
We spend the first night with him and his boyfriend. The next day, Mark is still nowhere to be found. I try to look for a hotel, but he shuts it down, quick, with 'it's no problem', 'stay here', 'wouldn't you rather have two bodyguards'. And honestly... yeah. I would. It feels safer. Plus, the line of communication and entertainment is nice. I purposefully left my phone and laptop turned off at my apartment.
We end up staying with him all the way through the weekend. Sunday, Mark finally shows up, at his own home, still drunk, apparently coming off of a bender. The call is relieving. It... should be relieving. Ellie and I decide it's okay to go back home. I should want that. But there's... hesitancy, nerves— something burning a hole in my chest.
I try to delay.
"Can I make you that cake before I go?" I ask.
Harvey shrugs. "I mean. Yeah. Sounds delicious."
So, I do, wasting time distracting myself by baking. When I have a goal I don't have to spend time thinking. Hm.
I'm avoiding it, aren't I?
I let out a massive sigh, staring down at a pan filled with batter as I realize. Now that the immediate threat is settled... I have to think about what else is going on in my life. Which is something I've desperately been pushing away. I let out a massive sigh.
"Woah— big ole sigh." Harvey says, striding in to drop a cup in his sink.
I glance up at him, briefly feeling embarrassed. "Sorry. Got a lot on the noggin." I mumble.
He immediately hops up and sits on the counter, staring at me. "Do tell, do tell. I love to consume the tumultuous details of the lives of anyone that isn't me." He says, tone teasing.
I sneer back, but quickly let myself go soft. "Can I have some confidentiality? If I spill?" I ask, chewing my lip.
His brows lift. "Of course. I'm no snitch."
I huff a laugh for that, then frown down at the pan. "So you remember how I have a boyfriend that I pissed off?" I ask.
"Yep. I sure do remember Daddy D." He says back.
I briefly glare. "So his name is Clay— the contact name is a joke."
He raises his hands. "Clay it is, ma'am."
"Okay so like... he's famous within a niche, but likes to hold himself kind of— anonymously. And I kinda fucked it up by—"
"Oh, he's Dream, right?" Harvey asks, and I immediately freeze, fish mouthing at him.
"Y-yeah." I say, quick. "He's Dream." I say, eyeing him.
"Damn. Yeah. I saw everything that's popping off on Twitter. Rough stuff." He says.
I keep eyeing him.
"Oh— I'm— I'm into the Minecraft Youtube scene. Had a hunch because of his contact name and uh— you're literally in the pictures." He continues.
I duck my head. "Oh. I mean, I'm gonna be completely honest, I have no idea exactly what's going on. Haven't looked at any of it."
"I mean. Nothing wrong with hiding from social media for a bit until things blow over. It's you guy's relationship, so you can keep that discussion private."
I curl in on myself. "Haven't talked to him either. I uh— I turned my phone off and left it in my apartment."
Harvey nods. "Ah— I was wondering. Haven't seen you check anything. Thought you might just be phone shy."
I shake my head. "Nope just... a coward."
He lifts a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, the tweet is gone, and a good majority of the people who saw it are like 'hey that's not even Dream don't spread that' so..."
I nod, swallowing tears. "I mean it... yeah. I guess a little. But I just feel like such a fucking dick. Like, what am I supposed to say to him? I'm sorry you got exposed because I'm stupid? I'm sorry I'm stupid? So I'm... avoiding it so I can sort the words, I think."
Harvey hums, brows lifting. "You want to know what I think?" He asks.
I nod.
"Okay..." He starts. "If I were in his shoes... I wouldn't care about anything else other than the fact that my partner hasn't contacted me in like four days. I'd be... very concerned about that. Nothing else. It's just a face, anyways. What's the last thing you said to him?"
I briefly think. "Something about finding a safe place to— oh shit." I realize exactly how bad it might seem.
I need to text Clay asap. "I think I need to leave and go clarify some things and be an adult." I say, shrugging the apron I borrowed off. "Put the cake in for 55 minutes once the oven beeps." I command, then make my way out of the kitchen, packing my stuff up.
I need to just... brace myself and see what Clay has to say, or at least tell him I'm alright, especially after how cryptic my last message could be seen as. Oh my God that last message was bad—
I rush getting my stuff together and getting out the door, leaving Ellie behind for now. She's taking a nap, anyways. It's a good thing it's literally a walk across the parking lot. I shuffle over to my apartment, key myself in, and go straight for my room. It's weird that it feels almost foreign to be here, in a way. We've really been locked down at Harvey's for four straight days. But, now we know where Mark is at, and nothing came of the situation.
That's how life is sometimes. Better safe than sorry.
I turn my phone on, impatiently drumming my fingers. What the fuck do I even say? Hey I'm sorry, also I'm sorry, by the way I'm sorry. Oh, and I'm not dead! Teehee!
I lift a thumb, gnawing the nail, lost in my head. I'm startled from the thought when I hear my front door open. I duck back into my room. What the fuck. Who the fuck— am I stupid?
I take in a ragged breath, entire body held tense. It's broken as I hear a voice. It's— Clay? And he's calling my name. His tone is shaky, ungrounded, almost raspy. I blink for a moment, letting my heart come back from outer space, and slowly rise to standing.
"Clay? I'm in my room." I call out, sounding just as ungrounded.
I can hear the uptick in his movement, focused as he barrels into my room looking around wildly. There's a moment where his eyes meet mine and he completely freezes, then he shudders into an exhale.
"Oh thank Christ." He breathes out, then he's charging me.
Clay lands his hands on me, gripping hard, like it's the last time he'll ever hold me, then we sink straight to the ground. I falter with my hands, still somewhat in shock as he props his back up against my closet door and buries his face in my neck.
I manage to land my hands on his shoulders, holding as he drags in an extended inhale. Something about it is choked, wet, and I slowly realize he's crying into my neck. I'm... surprised to say the least.
"Hey. I'm fine. Sorry about the... cryptid ass message." I mumble, soothing with my hands.
He nods into my neck, but only holds tighter, like he needs to feel everything of me on everything of him. Which... in his shoes... I might act the same.
"Fuck. I was so fucking— fuck." He bites out, voice still uneven.
I dig into Clay's shoulders with my fingers, holding as tight as I physically can. "I'm fine big man. I'm okay. It's okay." I continue.
He shivers in my hold. It's weird to feel him like this, vulnerable, scared, small. It makes the ache in my stomach go tight, almost unbearable. It's hard to know... I did this. I push forward until our cheeks are pressed, then rub mine to his face, briefly flinching from the scratch of his stubble.
"You're breaking my heart, right now." I mumble.
Clay pushes into the contact with a wet breath. "I'm breaking your heart, right now?"
"Yeah. You are." I say, resolute.
It gets the smallest of laughs out of him, before he's burying himself back in my neck. Though, his hands seem a little less tight.
"I just—" Clay starts, "I didn't know with the message— and you disappeared, and then everything going on—" His voice lowers to something quiet and soft, "I— I can't lose you. You're necessary to me."
I let my hands go tight again, heart and brain simultaneously processing the statement.
"I'm—" I start, then immediately stutter to a stop, searching for the words. "Yeah. You too." Is what I come up with, too overwhelmed by emotions otherwise.
Why is that... terrifying to me? That— someone has that kind of grasp over the way I feel. That... at some point this became necessary, inevitable.
We're silent for just a moment, breathing, before I come back in. "I'm so sorry about the pictures— I think it was one of Ellie's friends. I don't—"
"It's okay." He says back, before I can finish.
I shake my head. "It's not okay. None of it is okay. It's my fucking fault and I fucked up and—"
"It's fine. Baby, it's just my fucking face. I don't care." Clay interrupts again.
My lips part in surprise, tears welling in my throat. "No. Why is it 'fine?' I accidentally took the choice of anonymity from you for a few jokes, and now, I don't know, thousands of people are arguing over your appearance and whether it's you and I know it can't all be positive and—"
"True. But, you're forgetting something. It's me. It's my face. It's not your responsibility to walk on eggshells. Yeah, you posted a couple jokes. Some creep screenshotted them and created speculation. But that's on them and me. I don't— I don't care."
I whimper, feeling the emotions I've tried to dull, surge.
"I just— I don't want— is it not terrifying to you? The way people will judge and define you based upon my mistake? Based upon me?" I ask.
Clay half-smiles, cupping my face and squeezing me closer. "I'm a grown man. I can make choices like that and get hurt by them. You don't need to hurt for me." He says, soft.
I huff a laugh, but it's mostly as a defense so that I don't cry. I didn't realize I was so worried about this with the way I was preoccupied with Ellie.
I pull back, lifting to stare down at Clay. His eyes are red, puffy, tear-worn. I can't judge, mine are likely similar. I shift my arms, curling them further around his shoulders, staring down at him.
"Sorry. I can be a little jaded." I say, then sniffle.
Clay looks like he's about to smile, but it wipes off his face. His eyes look unfocused as they flick, searching my expression. It makes something seed in the pit of my stomach, nerves and fear blooming into my chest as he stays silent, looking at me with the most vulnerable expression I've ever seen on him.
I lift one hand to cup Clay's face, and he instantly turns into it. Still, his expression and eyes are unwavering in the way they stay locked to me. His lips part, dragging in a shuddered breath, and I brace.
"I think—" He starts, taking another breath, "I think you're it for me. I think I'm done. Y'know? I'm done for." He says.
I blink, searching the severity of his expression, melting into a smile. "Like I'll be the death of you one day?" I ask, trying to tease and lighten the gravity of the situation.
He shakes his head, not faltering. "No." He starts, then takes another shuddered breath, opening his mouth to speak again.
***
(special, pov is y/n's father)
***
This fucking kid.
I knew it. And when I say I knew it I mean I knew it.
'Dad, Clay's just a friend!', 'It's not like that!', 'You're being so unprogressive when you act like we can't just be friends!'
I slam my car door. I know I'm posturing, and I know I shouldn't be, but this is driving me up the wall. Daddy? Daddy? She calls this weasel daddy?
I thought I did a decent job, decent enough to not give her... issues of that sort. But, I guess I messed up somewhere along the way, because my twenty-one year old daughter is calling this twenty-one year old boy daddy, apparently.
I glare, purposefully, as Clay opens the passenger door and hops in shot-gun. He can't seem to meet my eyes. Good. How it ought to be.
I glare one more time, then shift into reverse.
I maintain stiff, tense silence, creating an atmosphere. I don't look at him, don't acknowledge him, just grip the wheel and drive. I need the moment to build my rage.
I can't believe this is what my baby chose. I swear, it wasn't 15 years ago that those big eyes were turned up at me as she asked me to pick her up and swing her around. Now they're on this fucking kid.
My wife's statement briefly rings in my head. During sex. I white knuckle the wheel. I know she's an adult, but I just don't want to know what my baby does behind closed doors. I can't handle the thought.
We finally get to a stoplight, and the words spill out.
"If you're leading her on or using her I'll kill you, son."
Ah, shit. I shouldn't have said that. My wife would have my damn neck if she knew I said that.
The kid shifts in his seat, briefly nodding. "Yeah— I'd kill me too. I'd never—" He huffs, then goes silent.
I feel my brow draw. I wasn't anticipating this energy. I expected fighting or ass kissing. I still remember a few years ago when I picked him and my baby up from a party he invited her to. Drunk. The next day it was 'yes sir' and 'no sir'. I would appreciate that energy again.
"How did you know?" He asks, suddenly breaking the silence.
I feel my brow furrowing as I spare a glance, seeing he's staring down into his lap where his hands are clasped, worrying his lip.
"Know what? That you were into my daughter? Kid, it wasn't—"
"No, no. Not that." Clay interrupts. "Like with your wife. How did you know that was it for you?" He asks.
I feel my brow crease even deeper. "I don't know. Why do you ask?"
"I just—" He starts, then takes a deep breath. I glance over, seeing he's still worrying his lip, eyes distant as they stay locked to the floor. "I was always so fucking sure, all the time, that your daughter would be it for me. All I had to do was land her and then I'd keep her forever but—"
"Ah—" I interrupt, shaking my head. "Keep her? She's not an object, son."
I hear the panic in his voice as he clarifies. "No— no I know— I got that. I know that. Trust me. I-I know that." He pauses to take a shaky breath.
I briefly consider jumping back in, reaming his ass for the choice of words. 'Keep' her. Like my daughter is a prize for him to claim. But, he sounds genuine. I decide to let it slide, hear him out first, and decide if I need to act protectively afterwards.
"I think about your daughter all the fucking time." He starts, almost frantic. "It's— it's— it's like a goddamn itch that I cannot scratch. I thought it would fade away once we started dating, y'know, turn into something comfortable, but it's worse. It's— it's—" He pauses to breathe and I glance again.
His eyes are wide, chest rising and falling with panted breaths, hands white knuckling his own thighs. "It's more. I think about her more. And it's suffocating and terrifying and the best feeling in the world all at once—"
I lift my brows. Alright kid. A healthy obsession, hopefully. I don't expect him to continue, but he does.
"Before I was dating her I felt so fucking sure." He says, then punches his door.
I want to tell him off, but... I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been there before. I tense my jaw, looking away, letting him have the moment.
"She'd be it. But now it's like... what if I fuck up? What if I'm not good enough? Y'know? Before it was always just— ah she just doesn't know yet. But, now it's like I'm on stage just waiting for her to go 'I'm bored of you. I'm tired of you.' But the more scared I get, the more there's more there. It's— i-it's." He stops again.
I glance over, seeing he's palming his eyes and quickly turn back, allowing him the privacy.
"What's your question, son?" I ask after a moment.
The kid takes a shuddered breath. "How did you know? Like when you proposed to your wife, right, there was something right? You felt sure? You knew you'd be it for her? You weren't scared?"
I feel something break for the boy.
"Ah, kid. No. Not at all. I nearly pissed myself the entire day. Worst and best day of my life. I threw up in the bathroom right before I proposed." I glance over, seeing him nodding. "If you're asking me for permission to propose that's a hard fucking no, by the way, I just—"
"No. No. It was just an example. I mean. Maybe one day. But, God, not any time soon." He says, quick, but there's a vulnerability breaking through his emotional outburst of anger.
Oh damn. This poor kid. He's in love, like love love, with my baby.
"You'll know." I mumble out, finally dropping the facade of harshness from my voice.
Clay manages to look over, meeting my eyes, expression going soft as well. "How?" He asks.
I nearly smile, shaking my head, honestly thinking about it, then shrug.
"I don't know. That's all there is to it. You'll know. One day you'll feel that pull in the back of your head that just says 'That's it. I'm done. There's no one else. It's her.' and nothing else will be enough. You'll... you'll know."
I don't expect the way he goes silent, curling in on himself, nodding. That wasn't the conversation I expected to have on this car-ride but... I'll it count as good enough. Maybe he's not so bad.
***
I drive around awhile longer, waiting for the kid to collect himself before heading back home. I hop out the car before him, heading to go inside. As I try to walk in the door my wife is walking out.
"About that time?" I ask. I must've caught her on her way out to work.
"Yeah." She chirps back, switching her briefcase to her other hand. "Our little toad stomped off to cry. I heard her snoring." She says, then takes the arm she freed to wrap me in a hug.
I wrap her right back, pressing a kiss to her cheek, mind heavy with the words spoken during the car ride.
"How'd the talk go? He alive in there?" My wife asks, eyes briefly looking over to where Clay is, still in the car.
I shake my head. "Oh yeah. He's in love. He'll... he's not gonna hurt her." I say.
My wife's brows lift. "She must've chose well if he managed to tame the beast in under an hour. You've always disliked him." She says, then slaps my chest.
I laugh then press another kiss to her cheek that she returns.
"Okay. Bye dear." She says, breaking away.
I let her go, finishing going inside and sitting on the couch. It's another ten or fifteen minutes before Clay appears looking worse for wear, wiping at his face. I'll give him the dignity of not questioning that.
I briefly look up from my phone. "Toady is downstairs in bed. Why don't you wash your face and wake her up. I'll give you five minutes, but if you take any longer than that I'm coming down there."
Clay nods. "Thanks." He mumbles, then he's gone.
I groan in disgust, knowing he's probably about to go kiss my baby, and decide to throw the television on to distract myself. Football. Loud.
I keep track of the time. The second five minutes is up I shout their names as a warning. 30 more seconds until I'm up. Luckily for them, it only takes 20 before I hear their footsteps on the stairs.
I look up just in time to watch them both come up, heads ducked. As much as I wish I didn't, I can tell exactly what they were up to. As I continue to glare, there's a moment, it's small, but unmissable, where my daughter looks up at Clay, tightens her hands around his arm, and just... lights up. Everything about her face goes soft. I know what it's like being looked at like that.
Ah, kid. That's it, huh? It's over. For both of you.
I huff a laugh watching them stare at each other. They'll know. They just need a little time.
"Mom leave?" My daughter asks, and I'm startled from my thought, glancing up hesitantly.
"Yeah." I say, simple, then turn back to the T.V. before I give something away.
There's something about young love. I should take my wife out sometime. Slow dance, get looked at like that again.
"I didn't expect them to take the lead." Clay says, and I look over again, sitting up to attention, seeing he's hovering awkwardly nearby.
Football? I can talk about that. That's easy.
***
(end pov)
***
"It's like, I just— I know, now. I'm done." Clay says.
"What?" I ask back, brow starting to furrow. I don't know if I'm stupid, but I don't get it.
He just shakes his head. "There's nothing else to say. I know. Thats all. I just know."
I stare at him for a moment, computing. I don't understand, but I drop it, lifting my brows. "Okay... Go ahead and know, then... freak." I tag on the last word with a laugh.
It gets him to smile, lifting both hands to squish my face. "I will. I'll spend my life knowing." He says.
There's a... feeling that tells me I'm missing something. I shake it, leaning forward to collapse into his chest. I've had a tough few days, and that was an exhausting conversation. I just want to melt for a bit, feeling happy and safe, the way I always do with him.