Lost

                                    

                                          


                          
*TW: HOMOPHOBIA, PANIC ATTACK, SELF-LOATHING*
                          


                          
A.N. — Hi y'all. this chapter is pretty sad and goes over some serious topics so if you need to skip it then go ahead. it'll only get better after this I swear — I don't want this story to be too dark.
                          
Anyways, hope you are having a good day and enjoy :)
                          


                          
-back to the story-
                          


                          
How had George not known this? In the entire 4 years of his friendship with Dream, with Clay, he had never known, or even suspected, that he was into guys. 
                          
He quickly tried to wipe the look of surprise off his face as he stood up slowly from the sofa slowly and faced his friend. Clay was standing by the window, gazing serenely off into the distance.
                          
Clay continued to speak:
                          
"Me and Danny were together for 2 years. I was in love with him, or at least I thought I was..."
                          
George kept listening, unsure of what to say.
                          
"I went to his apartment on our two year anniversary and found him in bed with another guy."
                          
"...Oh." was all George could manage.
                          
Really, George? 
                          
Clay turned to look at him. George mentally slapped himself for being so insensitive. Clay had just confessed something big to him and here he was, standing frozen in place with his mouth formed into a little 'o' of shock.
                          
Clay looked away again, suddenly seeming bashful. 
                          
"I...I'm sorry. That was a lot to lay on you." his voice was quiet.
                          
Say something, you fool. Say something. Anything. Comfort your friend.
                          
George's mind was running at 90 miles an hour, trying to piece together his friend's story. He had so many questions and yet he couldn't word a single one of them.
                          


                          
POV DREAM
                          
Please say something, George. Please. Talk to me.
                          
They stood there, awkwardly, for another minute. Finally, with his heart sinking, Clay turned and walked into his room, closing the door quietly after him.
                          
He was unsure of what to do. He was unsure of what George was thinking right then, and it killed him. 
                          
He waited a couple minutes, hoping that maybe the man of his dreams would come back, knock on his door and comfort him like he had done the night before.
                          
Silence.
                          
Clay rested his forehead against the door and closed his eyes. 
                          
What have I done. I've scared him and now he won't want anything to do with me. He probably thinks I'm a freak. 
                          
He started to have flashbacks: him sitting in the kitchen of his family home, coming out to his parents, watching as their faces slowly turned to concerned confusion. Watching as they shook their heads, as if their son was just playing a silly prank on them. Watching as they patted his shoulder sympathetically. His mother's words rang in his head: "We'll find a way to cure you." 
                          
And now, the tears were flowing. He turned around, his back against the doorframe, and slid down slowly. He crumpled into a fetal position on the floor. His ears were buzzing, his head pounding, his vision blurring as droplet after droplet cascaded down his cheek. And yet, despite the panic that was clouding over his senses, the voice in his own head rang out loud and clear.
                          
You're disgusting. You really thought  George cared about your stupid past? You really thought you stood a chance with him? 
                          
Clay remained there, miserable, with his head in his hands for the next 20 minutes, cursing himself for his actions. 
                          
Eventually, his misery gave way to numbness, which in turn gave way to exhaustion. 
                          
He fell asleep where he was, curled up against the door.
                          


                          
POV GEORGE
                          
George had been standing outside his best friend's door for half an hour now. He hated himself for how he had left off that conversation. He wanted to go in there and wrap Clay in his arms, but for some stupid, ridiculous reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. His eyes burned with tears of regret and guilt. 
                          
Eventually, he lowered himself down and leaned his head against Clay's bedroom door, sitting there for another couple of minutes before he grew too tired to think,
                          


                          
He fell asleep where he was, curled up against the other side of the door.