"Promise me right now that you're making it out of this alive. Tell me you booked a returning flight." What a polite goodnight. Or was it a good morning? He'd been awake too long to know.

"Ro-"

"No, Ash, promise me." Jethro pushed desperately, knuckles white around the phone pressed to his ear. "Please." He breathed, voice cracking. There was a wretched silence in which Jethro waited for the words he so needed to hear and Clark fought with himself to not give Jethro an empty promise containing a false hope.

This wasn't them. This wasn't how they were and that knowledge hurt more than either were willing to admit.

Clark was never at a loss for words, never found it hard to lie through his toothy grin and never found it hard to talk to Jethro. He'd never once sat silent on call with his best friend and felt anything but light and full and happy.

Jethro was never one to beg, never one to crumble and plead for someone not to leave and never one to not be certain of his future. He'd never once pictured a life without Clark at his side for every step of it.

Jethro prayed to the universe that this was just Clark being dramatic, just Clark having a moment. Something told him it wasn't.

"...turn your camera on." Clark whispered and Jethro rushed to wipe at his eyes before doing so without question. Clark did the same.

And, dear lord, weren't they a sight to see?

Jethro's eyes were red, raw and glassy, eyebrows pinched and face splotched with hazy little blemishes. Clark was rumpled, hair a mess - Jethro distantly registered that he could see Clark's brown roots growing through - and his face was in a similarly wrecked state to Jethro's.

"Hey doll." Clark murmured, smile bittersweet in shape. Jethro shook his head, covering his eyes with the arm that wasn't being used to hold up his phone.

"Please, Ash. Please promise me." Jethro begged and Clark sighed softly.

"I can't lie to you, Ro. I'm not going to make a promise I can't keep." He answered after a moment and Jethro grit his teeth, letting out a low growl.

"You can keep it!" He shouted desperately, bringing his arm off from over his eyes. "Why is everything so all or nothing with you? You don't have to put your life on the line at every chance you find!"

"Ro I'm not- I'm not planning on being killed, I'm preparing for the worst. I need to be prepared, just in case." Clark tried to reason gently, wishing more than ever that he'd gone along with them to George.

"Not to die, you don't!" Jethro fought, voice loud and abrasive. Only Clark would have been able to tell that it was that way through fear.

"Ashton, when people ask me what I see when I think of my future, I lie. I lie every time because do you know what I see?"

Clark stayed silent but shook his head softly.

"You."

"Every single time, I see you. No matter what changes about what I want in my future, what job I want, what my house will look like, how many children I want, one thing always stays the same," Jethro breathed, catching Clark's gaze and holding it "and it's the fact that you are there at my side." He finished earnestly.

"And sometimes that fucking terrifies me because I have no idea what it means." He said honestly. The amount of nights Jethro spent awake - aching and confused - because of how little he knew about what he wanted from Clark were immeasurable. He was certain he didn't remember them all.

"But that doesn't change that it's been that way since the day I met you. And that it will always be that way, no matter what happens between us." Clark couldn't breathe. His chest was tight and his eyes were sore.

He had never thought of the future. Never considered what job he wanted, where he'd want to go or live, what he'd like to do.

He'd never thought of the future because he never thought he'd make it that far.

So to hear those words, to hear how much of a crucial part of Jethro's future he was, Clark wasn't really sure how to react.

He didn't have all that much time to anyways.

"Please don't take that from me."

////:\\\\

@Sapnap

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retweets likes
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@catcat
These really vague tweets are beginning to scare me guys. Would be pretty cool if you stopped.
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What did A6d do now
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Everything okay?
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@OfficialA6d
     George ran straight past him to hug Dream   
     when we went to pick him up. He's just
     dramatic.
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The drive back to Clay's was full of loud laughs and fake arguments, mostly from where Nick and George had insisted on taking the back seat together - or rather, Nick had insisted they both take the back seat, George tried to call shotgun.

Occasionally they would fall into silence, finally quiet enough to hear the soft hum of Clay's playlist and the occasional meow from Bartholomew's carrier. Then, Nick would make some joke or quip or George would poke or elbow Nick and they'd fall into chaos once more. Clay had never been more elated to hear such ruckus.

They dropped Vincent and Nick off on the way home, the two only having come along to welcome him - or, at least, that's what they said. Privately, Vincent had messaged Nick to read the social queues and that they'd likely already overstayed their welcome with the newly reunited couple.

Even long after they had arrived home, after George had unpacked the little essentials he had bought with him and had toured Bartholomew around the house with Clay's help, George was still giddy with a sort of breathless excitement that Clay thought suited him wonderfully.

George was currently sat on their bedroom floor with Patches and Mew beside him, chatting animatedly to the two animals, and Clay was lent against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes amused. He could feel the swell of something soft and warm in his lungs and his heart and spreading across his face.

"You look stupid." George quipped with a wide, cheeky grin, staring up at his boyfriend. Mew had picked his moments conveniently, trotting elegantly from the room only to be chased a few seconds later by a playful Patches.

"I'm not a mirror, George." Clay shot back, walking to where George had lifted his arms in a silent request. Clay took George's hands in his, yanking him up and into his chest harshly. George crashed into him with a huffed 'oof' and Clay broke into raucous laughter, wrapping his arms around George's shoulders to keep him against his chest.

George rolled his eyes but wrapped his arms around Clay's waist regardless, pressing cheek to chest and listening to his fluttering heartbeat. Clay softly rocked them side to side, one hand rubbing up and down George's spine.

It hadn't quite hit, not in its entirety, that George was here to stay this time. Not until now, at least.

"I can't believe you're finally here with me." Clay murmured in a rumblingly low voice, hands stilling at the tops of George's shoulder blades. He watched as George tilted to press his chin to Clay's chest instead in order to gaze up at him.

"I've been here before, just not to the house." George answered as though it were obvious - which it really was - but Clay simply smiled and moved a hand to the nape of George's neck, playing with the trail of baby hairs that resided there.

"Not like this. Now I know you're here for sure." He finished warmly, shifting his free hand to press lightly into the small of George's back.

George closed his eyes, unravelling his arms and rubbing his hands up and down Clay's upper arms slowly. Clay let out a content sigh, pressing his lips to George's forehead in a chaste, lingering kiss. George smiled as Clay pulled back, letting his eyes slide open again.

They stared silently for a long moment, Clay pressing his fingertips into the small of George's back and rubbing little circles while George traced his thumbs absently back and forth over Clay's biceps, until George stuck his tongue out childishly. Clay chuckled and dipped to kiss the tip of George's tongue.

George reacted with a wonderfully animated gag, leaving his tongue hanging out.

Clay let out a wheeze, not too different to the whistle of a kettle, and crouched to wrap his arms around George's thighs and hoist him up.

"You're so gross." George dramatically wiped at his mouth before dropping his hands to Clay's shoulders.

The position felt vaguely familiar: Clay's arms keeping him up securely around his thighs and gazing up at him with a warm, almost flustered look. Something in George urged him to softly, gently, cup Clay's cheek with one hand. So he did. Clay lent gently into George's palm.

"Simp." George stated, deadpan, and Clay let his mouth drop open in an amused sort of shock. George erupted into bubbling giggles, eyes near closed, and pulled his hands from Clay's shoulders in order to cover his grin.

Clay didn't hesitate in throwing George into the centre of the bed.

George barely had a moment to think, too busy laughing, before Clay had crawled his way on top of him and grabbed a pillow, attempting to hold it over George's face. George shrieked, still shaking with laughter, and attempted to ward off the attack.

It took a few moments wrestling, George begging for mercy, before Clay finally sat back on his knees between George's legs and discarded the pillow. He gave George a minute to breathe and recover, often interrupted by quieting giggles, before hovering over him once more, bracketing him in with a forearm either side of George's head.

George decided against playing longer, against making either of them wait, and pulled Clay down with arms around his shoulders in order to press their smiles together.

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