Griffin had a towel wrapped around his waist when he saw August get out of the shower. He looked down at the pair of jeans he already had out, figuring that the best distraction would be Xander and his mockery. He couldnât handle the warmth for much longer, he realized. This illusion that heâd built up for the past 36 hours was due to come to an end, and he believed that the faster that happened, the easier itâd be to adjust back to his everyday schedule. August was merely nothing more than a warm mouth, he reminded himself as he pulled his jeans up and buttoned a plaid shirt to his torso.
August moved past Griffin into the bedroom where his clothes were. He dried off a bit more, then grabbed his clothes, putting them on and making a mental note to shower for real when he got home and put on his pajamas and lay around. He didnât like feeling this way, but he didnât know how to get rid of the way he felt. He had to wonder what exactly was so broken and wrong with him that no one could like him. He felt like he was a nice person, like he was a good person. He felt like he deserved someone who liked him and didnât get mad when he hugged them. Maybe he was so broken, so fucked up, that no one could ever feel that way about him. Maybe he was destined for no one to ever love him. He felt tears threatening to spill over, only causing him to want to get out of here faster. He left the towel on the floor and made it for the door. He had all his things and that was all he needed. âBye, Griffin,â he said, opening the door and stepping outside. He only made it about a block or so away from his house before collapsed onto the street and broke down crying.













