Chapter Text
Upon George’s return to London, he and Clay had called nearly every day. Even so, neither could shake the feeling that it simply felt different . It was as if their two realities had collided, one on screen and one off, forming a strange bridge between the two. Clay had grown a liking to talking about their relationship in semesters: “B.M.” (before meeting) and “A.M.” (after meeting). George had noticed that he had begun doing it as well.
Clay had found himself waking up outside again. He had eventually grown numb to it; it was a part of his daily routine now.
After a couple of months, their initial euphoria from meeting had died down exceptionally. Neither Clay nor George truly had the effort nor longing to stay up until ungodly hours of the night in order to match each other’s sleep schedules.
Even so, they still considered themselves “together.”
Clay had found himself getting incredibly caught up in his work, finding little time to talk to friends outside of streaming and filming.
He tried his best, but catching up with George every day proved itself difficult. With neither of them on the same time schedule, there was little room for them to socialize together for long periods of time.
Nick had called Clay one night, nearly 3 AM his time. He had clearly noticed a wall between the two - it was difficult not to.
“Dude, what happened with you and George?”
“What do you mean?” Clay responded, voice riddled with exhaustion.
“I don’t know… it’s- it’s like you’ve given up.”
Clay inhaled sharply at this. He himself almost believed it.
When he thought of George, however, he knew he could not give up on him. He reminisced on their time on his roof, the brunet boy’s hair scratching his chin as he leaned upon his chest. The bitter glee he felt kissing him after what felt like years of hesitation. The jubilation of reciprocated feelings.
Clay would not let himself give up on George.
George, on the other hand, was caught up in his own mind, afraid to reach out to Clay too often in fear of seeming pathetic or overly clingy. George was well aware of Clay’s lack of reciprocated effort to keep their relationship intact. He no longer answered every single one of his calls, and when he did, they were short and far in between. He no longer answered his messages like a love-struck teenager, plagued with “:)”s and “<3”s. He answered George as if talking to him was a chore.
George had brought the subject up to Nick who seemed to wholeheartedly agree.
“I feel like he is sick of me,” George confessed, eyes bloodshot from tears that, against George’s desires, flooded out of his dark eyes.
“I promise dude, he isn’t. He’s just… difficult.”
“ Difficult ,” George repeated, unable to fully comprehend it. Their relationship was never difficult , it had always been effortless for the two to get along.
Since when had it become… difficult ?
Clay would be lying if he said his feelings had remained completely stagnant. Quite literally, they were faltering, and he (much to his dismay) had noticed.
Clay had met a girl.
And she was lovely.
She had moved in a couple houses down a few weeks following when Nick and George had flown back to their respective abodes, and Clay had quickly grown a liking to her. Her name was Juniper, and her hair was a bewitching shade of auburn red. According to what she had told Clay, she was a “struggling artist who was wasting her talents working as a fucking barista.” She was funny. Not as funny as George, though , Clay reminded himself.
Clay had made sure not to lead Juniper on, however. He refused to hurt her like that, but especially refused to hurt George. Even so, his few somewhat flirtatious encounters with her left him plagued with guilt. He knew he had to tell George.
He opened Discord and remembered they had changed their nicknames for each other several odd weeks ago. Weeks ago when they were still clinging to the longing that they had felt following George’s departure.
loverboy <3: hi george
George answered almost instantly.
georgie <3: hello clay <3
Shit, a heart. This was going to make talking to him even more difficult.
loverboy <3: can i be blunt with you?
georgie <3: seems like you’re planning to anyways, so go ahead
loverboy <3: i met a girl.
George was typing.
And then stopped.
And typed again.
And stopped.
It was a full ten minutes of this before he finally responded.
georgie <3: oh.
loverboy <3: yeah
georgie <3: are you like…
loverboy <3: nononononono
georgie <3: ?
loverboy <3: i just felt like i should tell you. keep you in-the-know. you are my boyfriend, after all.
georgie <3: am i?
loverboy <3: i hope so … ?
Immediately after this, Clay was met with the sound of a FaceTime call. It opened to George boasting a red and tear-covered face.
Shit . He had caused this.
“What the hell, Clay?” George asked, pain wrecking his voice. George felt as if Clay had completely mutilated him, stabbing him in the chest as if George was a Julius Caesar and Clay was Brutus.
Et tu, Brute?
“George-” Clay spoke softly. He was aware he had fucked up.
“No, don’t fucking ‘George’ me, Clay. I have tried talking to you so many times and you just brush me off. Now I find out you’ve fallen for some girl ?”
Clay felt tears well up in his face as well.
“I haven’t ‘fallen’ for her, George. I am in love with you.”
George’s breath hitched at this. “No you’re not,” he replied, his voice cold.
Clay was taken aback by this, “Y-yes, I am.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
Clay watched George shrug bitterly across his phone screen, “I don’t know. That’s what you need to find out for yourself.”
Clay was about to respond when he saw George had ended the call.
Clay spiraled, searching frantically to find something - anything - that could prove his love to George.
Clay had been confused by his feelings, sure, but hearing the pain in George’s voice had reminded him just how much Clay had cared for him.
Clay found a message.
From Christmas.
The plane ticket George had given him to London.
He frantically packed a bag and was on his way.
__________________________________________________
It had been mere hours since George and Clay had called, and Clay was already on line for security at the Orlando International Airport. Here, only a few short months ago, he had kissed George. He hadn’t said goodbye.
They still had a chance.
It was no short of a miracle that Clay had managed to get a flight to London in such short notice. If he wasn’t agnostic, he would’ve practically been on his knees praying to God that his plan worked.
After a turbulence-flooded flight, a day later, he arrived in London.
Clay didn’t even bother renting a car.
He clumsily hailed a taxi, feeding him George’s address he had already previously acquired from their past discussions.
Then, it dawned on him: George did not know he was coming. What if he turned him away? Would this effort amount to nothing?
George, on the other hand, was nervously pacing around his living room, racking his brain for where perhaps he went wrong. Was he not good enough for Clay? He didn’t think so. He had always thought Clay was too good for him; too good looking, too kind, too patient. Did Clay finally realize this himself?
George dissolved into his wooden floorboards, hugging his knees close to his chest. He could sit here for hours. He would , he decided. His entire apartment was disheveled, left unkempt from his lack of cleanliness resulting from his confusion and frustration with the man who, unbeknownst to him, was on the other side of his door.
George shot up in shock after a light knock graced his door.
He hadn’t invited anyone over, so he assumed it was the postal service or something of the sort. He returned back to his position on the floor.
Another knock .
George continued to sit silently.
Another .
He heard faint muttering from the exterior of his apartment, but he couldn’t make out a distinct voice.
“Shit, shit, shit, is he not home? Fuck .”
George tiredly walked to the door. Clearly, the person who was knocking was obnoxiously adamant about coming in. George warily opened the door and was met with a blonde man towering over him, eyes wide with heavy eye bags.
Clay relaxed his shoulders when he saw George. His mere presence seemed to force all of his worries to dissipate.
Before Clay could speak up, perhaps to apologize for either coming without warning or for his past grievances, he was pulled by the collar of his sweatshirt into a passionate kiss, riddled with pain and longing.
Clay felt himself instinctively pull away, desperate to meet the shorter man’s eye contact.
Dark pools of sincerity stared back at him. At this, he remembered why he was in love with him.
He practically grabbed George into another kiss, who gladly kissed back. They ran their hands through each others’ hair, cupped each others’ jaws, and whispered into each others’ fragile souls.
“You fucker,” George whispered charmingly while biting his lip, leading to Clay hitching his breath.
“Wh-what?” Clay responded, face flushed. It had been what felt like forever since he had heard George speak with such endearment.
George pulled away and pressed their foreheads together, just as they did that night on the rooftop and the day they had promised to come back to each other at the airport.
“You did it,” George replied softly.
“Did what?”
“You proved that you’re in love with me.”
__________________________________________
It had been almost two years since Clay had impulsively flown out to see George.
It had been around a year since Clay had moved into his flat in London.
It had been around 4 months since Clay had proposed to George.
They were sitting on the roof of George’s apartment building (which was strictly prohibited by the apartment complex owner, but Clay forced him to anyway). They were singing along to the playlists they had made for each other, when eventually, Clay got down on one knee.
He held out a ring.
It looked small in Clay’s large hands, as if he was protecting it.
George said yes.
It had been around three weeks since the engaged couple had decided to move into their own house, somewhere in the outskirts of Brighton.
It was rather modest on the outside, a wooden and stone brick exterior that resembled a contemporary take on a cottage. The inside, however, was rather lavish. It was a perfect mix of resplendent and unobtrusive. It was them .
They had livestreamed together around a week ago, giving out small details and hinting about their engagement. After all, the boys enjoyed being at least a little cryptic.
Today, George and Clay had decided to somewhat publicly announce their status.
@dreamwastaken: (boy)friends don’t lie.
Accompanied by the text was an image of their hands intertwined, and just barely could the viewer see George’s ring.
In a word, the boys were content.
___________________________________
The butterflies had never died down in either of the boys’ stomachs.
Even after the years that they had been together, even a simple touch from the other would send shivers down their bodies and send blood rushing to their veins.
Every time they touched, it felt like the first time.
Clay no longer woke up outside - he no longer was awake at dawn, scrambling for answers as to why he was there.
George protected him.
George had solved his problems.
George found himself being more sociable with others when he was around Clay, as if he was the ignition he needed to force himself to be more outspoken.
After Tweeting out the picture, and forming witty responses to comment towards shocked fans and friends, the boys eventually found themselves in their bed, fingers in each others’ hair and legs entangled.
They were together.
They were happy.
Awake at Dawn.