IT’S STARTING TO GET COLD OUT -- well, for a california fall, and all clays got on is a hoodie -- unzipped. his forearms are pressed against his thighs as he leans forward, gaze pointed at the football field in front of him, peppered with the schools’ pick of the litter. only the finest athletes for liberty high. his emotional state has plateaued at about a morrissey level pissy. why the fuck did jeff have to die? the next question that followed was why did i have to be the one to find him? if anything he’s frustrated -- jeff couldn’t have been drunk, could he? he said he was sober. so much had happened with hannah at that party -- clay felt guilty thinking that their fight ( or whatever you wanted to call it ) was the worst thing that was going to happen to someone that night. sensing movement in front of him, clay spots a wondering alex while he rubs an eye with the back of his hand, ❝ uh, hey --- alex, ❞ he’s nervous to see what he’ll say -- if anything. clay wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t in the mood to talk, he hadn’t been for a while, either. after reaching to get the blonds attention, it was like his brain stopped working, he didn’t know what to say next. the two weren’t really even close, he’d only seen alex around the crestmont occasionally, but not too often lately. he was hoping that didn’t deter him from wanting to talk. because if clay was being honest, he really just needed some company.
@chaostheoried surprise












