Clay felt more and more torn with every step he took towards he and Vincent's house. He was able to forget, while out with Keres, but now the hot weight of he and Vincent's earlier argument weighed heavy on his shoulders.

As was normal for them, the argument had been Vincent saying all the right things in the most blunt way possible and Clay not wanting hear them, getting angry and saying things he didn't mean. This time it was about George and Keres.

Really, Clay should be thankful that Vincent cared so much for George and, on any other day, the idea would make Clay impossibly soft. Today, though, it had just made him angry. It wasn't Vincent's place to govern he and George's relationship, was what he had thought.

Vincent had insisted he talk to George, as if Clay wasn't already planning on it, and to cancel meeting with Keres until after he had talked to George. As if Clay had a choice. As if Clay didn't wish he could be done with Keres. As if Clay didn't wish he could just call George and not worry about anything else.

But Clay realised now. He wasn't as cornered as he'd thought he was. He was blinded but the pressure management had put on him. He could have called George and postponed his meeting with Keres. He could have talked to George first and made sure that he never once had to wonder what Clay's intentions were. Once again, Clay found himself wondering how he could apologise to Vincent. But first he wanted to clear things up with George.

And that was his plan. Get back to the house, call George and explain himself, then call Vincent and apologise. That's what he'd do. Or, at least, that's what he thought he'd do.

"What are you doing here?" Clay asked as he rounded the corner to the sitting room. Car parked out front, pristine shoes by the door. He wasn't even trying to hide.

"You wouldn't return my calls." He replied, as if it was obvious. The man had such a talent for making Clay's blood boil within seconds that Clay wondered how he had ever managed to work for him for this long.

"I was with Keres." Clay responded, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. The words sounded something like a challenge.

"I saw." He continued nonchalantly. Clay wanted to kick in his perfectly straight, white teeth and tear his perfectly laundered suit to shreds. Even the way he sat pissed Clay off. Like he had a stick up his ass and that made him better than everyone else.

"What do you want from me, Damien? I did what you asked. Leave me alone so I can talk to George." Clay growled, stomping his way toward his room, only to be stopped by the sound of his manager gracefully whipping into standing.

"That's what I came here to talk to you about." Damien interrupted largely, smoothing down nonexistent rumples in his blazer. "That boy is nothing but a distraction, Clayton. I'd like for you to stop talking to him." He stated, coolly, as if he had simply asked Clay to pass him the salt or something similarly meaningless. Clay kept his back to the wretched man, hands clenched at his sides.

"What?" Clay whispered, body trembling with a disgustingly dark rage. Damien huffed, as if repeating the request was such a burden to him.

"Ever since this George came along, you have been distracted with these menial tasks - don't make me remind you of your little escapade to London - and I won't have it any longer. He's nothing but a bad influence on you and I'd like for him to be removed, effective immediately." After delivering his news, Damien decided his presence wasn't necessary any longer - especially if Clay was going to attempt to argue with him - and began making his way to the door. He'd done what he came to do.

"Oh, and if I find that you have not listened to my advice, there will be consequences." Damien reminded from the front door, Clay still frozen, trembling, in place in the sitting room. The door clicked closed and Clay dropped to his knees.

Clay screamed. The noise was wretched, heartbreaking and tore its way from Clay's lungs and through his throat in the worst possible way. It didn't relieve any of what he was feeling so he slammed his fists to the floor repeatedly until his knuckles bled a warm crimson to accompany his harrowing screams. As the liquid dripped from his fists, the energy fled from his body.

Clay rested his fists loosely on the wooden floorboards and pressed his forehead between them, tears welling up and spilling from his eyes. He coughed and spluttered into the ground, having never felt so alone.

He couldn't message George, God only knows what Damien may do to him if he did. He couldn't talk to Vincent, he'd already ruined that for himself. He couldn't talk to Zak or Darryl, they would have already heard from Vincent, maybe even George too if the wrong photos got out. No doubt Nick was angry with him too after seeing whatever people may have posted.

What about Keres?

////:\\\\
27/09/20

DREAM!!!
arw you tgere
3:16pm

Keres Hexx
Dream!
3:16pm
Yeah, I'm here
3:16pm
Is something wrong?
3:16pm

DREAM!!!
yed
3:16pm
csn yoi come ovet
3:17pm

Keres Hexx
Of course!! Did something happen???
3:17pm
Do you think you could send your location?
3:17pm

DREAM!!!
[location shared]
3:17pm

Keres Hexx
Okay, I'm on my way
3:17pm
Stay safe and hang in there, I won't be long
3:17pm
Seen

////:\\\\

Clay had just about managed to shift his body so that he was curled in on himself, back pressed to the front of the couch. He stared at his bloodied and bruised hands, feeling more numb than anything. He was silent through the door knocks and waited for the quiet click of the door opening.

"Dream? It's Keres." A quiet, gentle voice called. Clay just about managed to force out a broken sound, something akin to 'in here'. He listened to the quiet footsteps approach. "Oh Dream." She whispered, gently lowering to her knees at his side and taking one of his hands into both of hers.

"What happened?" She asked softly, pulling back one hand and observing the blood that came with it with a slight sense of alarm.

"Management visited... got angry..." Clay choked out through bated breaths. Keres nodded sympathetically, standing.

"Do you think you could make it to the bathroom, Dream?" She asked softly, hands still clasped around one of Clay's. Clay nodded, shakily pushing himself into standing. Keres moved closer to let Clay lean on her more heavily when she noticed his shaking knees.

"Clay," Clay croaked. Keres looked at him, confused, before piecing the information together. She nodded gently, continuing to carefully guide him toward the bathroom, Clay having weakly pointed to it. She managed to awkwardly manoeuvre him into sitting on the lid of the toilet.

"Have you got a first aid kit?" She asked, rinsing Clay's blood from her fingers and ignoring the nauseous feeling in her stomach. Clay nodded and motioned to the open-out mirror above the sink. Keres opened it and pulled out the small box, setting it on the sink.

She took Clay's hands wordlessly and pulled them under the stream of water trickling from the tap, rinsing his hands with a gentle, repetitive swipes of her soft thumbs. Then, she carefully dabbed them dry with toilet roll before opening the case and looking for some antibiotic cream.

Clay watched, numb, as she spread it over his knuckles. Her hands were smaller, more delicate, than George's. Clay preferred George's. Clay wanted George to be the one cleaning his hands.

As Keres gently secured the bandages over each of Clay's hands, she looked up at his face. She searched it for a moment, sadly. From where he'd clearly been crying, there were long tracks in his foundation that exposed a few freckles. Keres looked back down at his hands again and realised there were more there too. She hadn't realised, too caught up in making sure he was okay.

She carefully placed his hands back into his lap and studied his face for a moment longer. He was zoned out, clearly so, and Keres distantly remembered reading somewhere about not trying to snap them out of it and instead trying to gently bring them around.

"Clay?" She called, barely a whisper. She stayed still and watched as his gaze slowly came to focus on the wall he was facing. He blinked for a moment before looking down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He then looked up to see Keres' concerned face. Had her hair been down the whole time?

"Would you like to talk about it?" She asked, clutching one hand at her elbow. Clay thought for a moment. This could be dangerous. If Clay was honest with Keres and told her everything, she could use it against him in a hundred different ways. She could use it to hurt George.

Clay looked between her pale blue eyes. They weren't endless, entrancing, mesmerising like George's but they were kind and they were earnest. Clay decided to trust her.

"Please?" Clay responded with a sigh, looking back down at his bandaged fists. Keres nodded.

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1.6k words

We begin to find out what Clay was so busy with.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated!!!

Yours, Dandelion