#clay roach

[iiforuu]

what if clay roach and namgyu had crazy greasy long hair woman hating drug addict sex

[iiforuu]

i think they should kiss

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH23 🎶 Raw - Thornhill 🎶

TW - smut

Clay emerged from the shower, steam still curling off his skin and little droplets falling against his bare shoulders as he entered the bedroom. It was dark, but there was a warm, comforting glow and his eyes were immediately drawn to the bed.

Specifically, to you—in a sheer black chemise that accentuated your figure perfectly. Your breasts were practically spilling out of the skimpy fabric, and he suddenly realised his mouth had gone dry.

You looked up at him with a soft gaze, heat blushing your chest and neck as anticipation and anxiousness mingled together in your stomach. Clay raised an eyebrow, and the licked his chapped lips before the corner of his mouth turned upwards.

“My birthday isn’t for a couple months, babydoll.” He tossed the towel aside and you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before repositioning yourself on all fours.

“I just thought our first time could be special.” You admitted shyly, trying to hold his gaze confidently, even as your heart hammered in your chest.

If felt silly—you’d done everything but fuck, so it seemed so insignificant, but to you—it meant everything. It meant finally giving yourself completely to another man. To Clay. Not just your body, but your heart and soul.

You crawled forward and met him at the end of the bed, where he dipped down slightly and took your face gently in his hands. His stormy eyes were a mixture of lust, adoration and something deeper that made your heart skip a beat.

“You don’t have to do this, baby.” Clay’s heart clenched, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the possibility that he could finally have you—finally call you his—or if it was because he was afraid you’d change your mind again. If you did, he would respect it, as always—but he couldn’t deny that each time it happened, it ripped him up inside, even if he knew it had nothing to do with him.

“I want to,” You whispered against his lips, pulling him in just enough that he caught the scent of your intoxicating perfume. “I want you to take me,” you continued softly, taking his hand from your face and kissing his palm, his wrist. Then, you placed it on your chest, right above your heart.

Clay almost shuddered at the contact—at how fast and hard it was beating beneath the palm of his hand. It made his own pulse flutter. “Take all of me Clay,” your voice was shaky with unspoken emotion, and his eyes flicked back to yours. “I’m yours. All yours.” You breathed, and he couldn’t resist you any longer.

Those words—your shimmering eyes—it unleashed something within him that he didn’t even know existed. His lips crushed into yours, stealing your breath. Clay moved forward, pressing you gently against the mattress as his tongue licked your lips and begged for entrance. You complied happily, warm anticipation pooling deep in your stomach.

Clay’s hand skimmed over your body carefully, caressing each curve over the fabric of your skimpy outfit, appreciating it as his cock hardened. He loved touching you, feeling you beneath him—it was intoxicating in all the right ways, and he was addicted. Even months in, he could barely go a day without caving to the cravings that only you and your body could satisfy.

His mouth trailed down your body, kissing and sucking, leaving you a puddle as he worshipped you. Finally, he reached your stomach, and then your core. His gaze met yours as you glanced down, and the dark lust filling his eyes spread a shiver through you. You needed him, but you knew he’d tease you first—he always did. The bastard loved to watch you squirm, whimper and beg him to let you cum. You loved it, too, even if it was frustrating in the heat of the moment.

Teeth grazed the flesh of your thigh as he tugged the panties down, and you swore you heard him growl a little when he saw your pussy. Glistening and already so wet for him. He’d barely done anything, but you were always so willing and eager. It definitely inflated his ego, and he loved it.

In a swift movement, the panties were gone, but when Clay hovered over you, confusion swept over you for a moment. His eyes glinted darkly, and he commanded, “Open,”

You obeyed, opening your mouth as he stuffed the fabric inside of your mouth. You hated the feel of the fabric on your wet tongue, but the notion was so hot that it didn’t matter. Your eyes were wide with surprise, and the sight made Clay’s cock twitch as he returned his face to your core.

Clay’s nose brushed against your clit as he inhaled your scent. A second later, his tongue plunged as deep inside your pussy as it could go. Your muffled moans filled the room and it took everything in him not to grin while he tongue fucked you the way you loved.

Clay lapped at your core like a man starved, groaning in pleasure and sending little vibrations through you. Your hips grinded against him, bucking desperately for more friction, but he denied you, pulling away.

He spat on your pussy, and a dark chuckle escaped him as he sat up, taking in the sight of your needy cunt as you squirmed, already so close to cumming for him.

Precum drenched the tip of his cock as he pulled it out of his boxers, and your beautiful eyes glazed over at the sight. He knew you wanted a taste, but he needed to feel your pussy stretch around his cock—finally fuck you so deep into oblivion that neither of you would be able to think straight for days.

He sat up, removing the damp fabric from your mouth as you inhaled deeply.

His eyes softened slightly as he took in your face. Your big eyes were half-lidded, and your bottom lip was between your teeth. So fucking beautiful.

He stroked his cock with one hand, and pushed your legs back to your chest with the other. “Ready for me, beautiful?” It took every ounce of control in him to pause and make sure you were okay. Every selfish instinct he had was screaming to ram his cock inside of you and claim you—but he loved you, and no matter how bad he wanted you, he needed you to want him back just as much.

You nodded slowly and rested your hands on his neck. His skin was soft, and a tiny slip of a moan escaped you as he rubbed his cock to your soaked pussy. Finally.

Every ounce of stress and anxiety you’d felt seemed to melt away as your fingers tangled in his hair, and he locked in your gaze. Then, he caved, burying his cock deep into your cunt in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Clay groaned at how tight and warm your pussy felt as he stretched you out. “Mine,” he grunted, easing out slowly as you closed your eyes. That single word sent sparks through your entire body, and your breath hitched.

“Yours, baby,” you whimpered sweetly, right before he slammed back into you again. He was so big, and felt so incredibly good. The ball of heat in your stomach was already expanding, threatening to burst with ecstasy at any moment, but you desperately wanted to hold off.

Clay began to savagely fuck in and out of your tight pussy, groaning and gritting his teeth. You felt too good. He wanted to blow his load inside of you, on your face, down your throat, on your ass, on your tits—fucking everywhere.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathed heavily, staring down at you as you grabbed and kneaded at your tits, putting on a show for him. “Dirty fucking pussy was made for me, huh?” He pounded deep inside you, then held his cock there while he swivelled his hips. Your hands ran up his arms, nails digging into his skin as you moaned little agreements.

“Let me fill up this pretty cunt with my cum,” he commanded, and you nodded, helplessly as he fucked you raw.

His thumb found your clit and you gasped as he circled it gently, teasingly as he fucked his cock in and out of you. “Oh, oh, God—“ you gasped but it was too late to warn him. Cries exploded from you as a soul-shattering orgasm ripped through you and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Your pussy clenching and pulsing around his dick sent Clay over the edge, and he released a tortured groan as his own climax rocked him. Ropes of his thick, hot cum filled your pussy, overwhelming both of your senses.

Clay panted, breathless as he slowly removed himself from you. Instantly, you felt his cum dripping out of you, and he laid beside you, intense eyes unwavering from yours. You reached down, fingering your soaked hole before bringing the fingers to your lips and sucking them clean. Clay let out a shaky, breathless laugh, but the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he enjoyed the little show.

You smiled as his hand held your side and he pulled you closer, burying his face into your neck. He kissed gently, and you sighed contentedly.

“You are like a fucking drug,” he murmured, nipping at your neck, making you giggle.

“I approve of this addiction.” You countered, gasping as he bit harder and began sucking your neck.

“Good, because I’m gonna fuck you so much you’re gonna have to beg me to stop.” He promised and a jolt of heat was sent straight back down to your core.

He pulled back slightly and took your face in his hands, crushing his lips to yours again desperately. You tried to keep up, but you were still so shaky and lightheaded from your first orgasm that you struggled. Clay bit your lip impatiently, and you gasped. “I fucking love you, Myah.”

Warmth spread through you for an entirely different reason, and you met his gaze—those familiar icy eyes, soft with so much emotion. “I love you, too, Clay.”

EPILOGUE: 🎶 Nerv - Thornhill 🎶

You kicked off your shoes at the door, stretching out your sore shoulders as you walked through the small space.

Clay was hunched over the desk, pencil moving in smooth, practiced strokes across the paper. He didn’t look up when you came in, too focused on whatever he was working on, but the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly.

You stepped behind him, ruffling his hair just to annoy him. He grunted, ducking his head, but didn’t swat you away like he used to. “How’s it coming?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

He sighed, tapping his pencil against the edge of the desk. “Professor’s got a hard-on for realism,” he muttered. “And I’m pretty sure I just drew this guy’s nose sideways.”

You hummed, taking in the half-finished sketch—something for his latest art assignment at the community college. You ran your fingers lightly over his forearm, tracing the ink that decorated his skin, your work woven into his like a second story. His sleeve was nearly finished now, a patchwork of meaning and memories. Pieces of his past. Pieces of you.

Clay glanced at your hand, then at your face. He smirked. “Admiring your work, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta appreciate it,” you teased, tapping a finger against the healed ink. “Still think this one’s my favourite.”

“You would,” he said, rolling his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way his smirk softened.

You wandered to the kitchen, grabbing a cold non-alcoholic beer from the fridge. Clay’s voice followed you. “Ma made your favorite for dinner.”

You paused, the can cool in your hand. Something in the casual way he said it made warmth curl in your chest. Three years. Almost to the day. Three years sober, three years learning how to be good to each other. Therapy was less frequent now, but the work never really stopped. The trust, the faith in him—it had been earned, built brick by brick. Even his mother saw the difference this time, and in her own strange way, she had accepted you.

Not just as Clay’s partner, but as family.

You turned back to him, taking a slow sip of your drink. He had stopped sketching, watching you now with that quiet, unreadable expression.

“You good?” he asked, brow raising slightly.

You set the can down and leaned against the counter. “Yeah,” you said, meeting his gaze. “I really am.”

And for once, you weren’t just saying it.

You barely had time to toss your clothes into the laundry basket before you felt Clay’s presence behind you. A shiver ran down your spine as his hands found your hips, his grip firm, possessive.

“C’mon, dollface,” he murmured against your neck, his breath hot, sending goosebumps down your arms. “You didn’t think that little hello out there was the real greeting, did you?”

Before you could respond, he spun you around, pressing you back against the bed with just enough force to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes flicked over you, lingering, hungry. “Been missing you all day,” he admitted, his voice low, rough, like he’d been holding it in since you left that morning.

You were just about to shower, but it could wait. It wasn’t like you needed persuading. Three years in, and you two were still fucking like rabbits—when you could at least. These days, you were both busier.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “Yeah?” you teased, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Clay hummed, eyes darkening as he pushed you onto all fours. His palm ran over the curve of your ass before delivering a sharp slap that made you gasp, heat pooling low in your stomach. “That’s for making me wait,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

You shot him a glance over your shoulder, breathless, daring. “And if I keep teasing you?”

Clay smirked, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your spine before dragging his tongue along your skin. “Then I guess I’ll just have to remind you who you belong to.”

With little warning, Clay ran his tongue along your cunt, and you moaned, sinking into the mattress. He toyed with you in every way he knew you loved, flicking and swirling his tongue like it was second nature.

Every now and then, a sharp sting would pull you out of your little haze, and you whimpered. His tongue suddenly stopped, and you heard and felt him spit on your ass. Clay grunted as he eased his cock into the tight hole, and you groaned, pussy clenching around nothing as you kept relaxed for him.

“So good for me, babydoll.” He gritted out, pumping faster now.

“More,” you demanded, aching to feel more full than you already were.

“Greedy bitch,” he spat, but he complied, reaching down and sinking several fingers into your sopping cunt easily. You cried out in pleasure, feeling Clay’s free hand wrap around your hair and yank your head back.

“Who’s little slut are you?” He growled, tears watering your eyes as you succumbed to his full control.

“Yours,” you choked out, and he tugged your hair again, eliciting another cry.

“Yeah, take my cock so fucking good,” he groaned and you tried moving back into him to match his thrusts. “Good girl,” he praised. You were so unbearably close.

“Please,” you whimpered a cry and Clay’s fingers disappeared from your pussy, sending another hard spank over your ass.

“C’mon, doll, you can last longer, can’t you?” He taunted. “Or does my cock feel to good ruining this fucking tight fucking hole?” His breath was shaky, and you knew he was close too. Bastard.

“Cum in me,” you begged. “Please, Clay—fill me, I need it.” You cried, and he groaned, thrusting into you even harder and deeper than before. Within seconds, his cock was pulsing as he emptied a warm load into you, and your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate as you teetered on the edge of your own climax.

Clay knew—and he shoved his fingers back inside your cunt, curling as he kept his cock buried into your ass to keep you full.

He loved the noises you made as you came, especially on his fingers—there was something about it that he couldn’t resist, and feeling it now as your plush walls swallowed his fingers, he relished in the feeling.

“Fuck.” He laughed hoarsely as he removed himself from you. You collapsed into the bed and he wrapped his arms around you, cradling you like he always did as your bodies recovered. “Never fucking leave me,” he breathed, planting a soft kiss onto your shoulder. You grinned, and giggled slightly.

“Not a chance, trouble. You’re stuck with me.” You assured him.

XXX 🎶 Sweater Weather - The Neighbourhood 🎶 XXX

After a quick shower—where Clay couldn’t help but press you against the tiles for a few stolen kisses—you both got dressed and headed across the hall for dinner. His mom’s apartment smelled like roasted garlic and herbs, and the familiar scent made you smile.

As soon as you stepped inside, the sound of tiny feet pattering against the floor filled the space. A small, curly-haired toddler came barreling toward Clay with a wobbling run, her big blue eyes lighting up the second she spotted him.

Clay crouched down, scooping her up with ease. “Hey, trouble,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft curls. She squealed in delight, tiny hands grabbing at his slightly stubbled jaw. “Miss me?”

Indy—short for Indigo, though neither of you ever really used her full name—giggled, patting his cheeks. “Dada!” she chirped, her little voice making your heart swell.

You reached out, smoothing her curls, and she turned to you with the biggest grin, her chubby arms reaching for you next. Clay handed her over with a smirk, watching as Indy nestled against you.

His mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “She’s been waiting by the door for the last ten minutes,” she said dryly, though the fondness in her voice was unmistakable. “Girl’s got her dad wrapped around her little finger.”

Clay scoffed, resting a hand on your lower back. “Yeah, well, I think we all know who she really takes after,” he said, tilting his chin toward you. “Same attitude and everything.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the warmth blooming in your chest. Your family was unconventional, far from perfect, but it was yours. And as you held Indy close, feeling Clay’s gaze on you, you knew—despite everything, despite the struggles, the setbacks, the fights—you wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

And suddenly, you were very grateful you ran out of weed on your first night in the building.

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH22 🎶 Disintegrate - Moodring 🎶

The room was silent except for the sound of your sniffles and the faint hum of the TV in the background. You sat curled up against Clay, your knees drawn to your chest as his arm rested loosely around your shoulders.

You’d really tried to give him all of you. For whatever reason, he could have you in any other way, but when it came to sex, you just… froze.

He hadn’t said anything since you’d pulled away, tears spilling down your cheeks as the weight of it all—Will, Clay, and your own fractured heart—became too much.

You hated this. You hated how complicated it was, how much guilt you felt. You knew it was all in your head. Will would want you to be happy, and move on with your life. Hell, he and Clay would have gotten on like a house on fire. Maybe not at first, but eventually. You just couldn’t seem to break free of the chains holding you back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, barely able to look at him. “I wanted to, but I just… I couldn’t.”

Clay shifted beside you, leaning back against the couch as he let out a dry laugh. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s what I need. You apologizing for having a soul.”

You glanced at him, surprised, and his eyes met yours, sharp but not unkind. “Seriously,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “You think this is about me being mad or something? Give me a little credit. I’m not that much of a jackass.”

You bit your lip, tears still threatening to spill. “It’s not fair to you. You’ve been through so much, and now I’m dragging you into this mess of mine. You deserve—”

“Stop,” he cut in, his tone firmer this time. He turned to face you, one hand gripping the back of the couch as he spoke. “Don’t give me that ‘you deserve better’ crap. You know what I deserve? A decent cup of coffee for once. To smoke without my Ma lecturing me when she does it herself. Not some fantasy perfect girlfriend who’s got it all figured out.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence. It was the first time you’d heard him call you that. Girlfriend.

He softened just a bit, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I’m not exactly a prime catch either. I’m a recovering addict with zero life skills. Pretty sure my resume just says, ‘Professional Fuck-Up.’ So maybe… maybe we’re both a little fucked. But I’m not going anywhere.”

His words hit something deep in your chest, and a fresh wave of tears escaped. You tried to wipe them away quickly, but Clay noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered, leaning closer to you. “Don’t cry. I can’t— You know I suck at this emotional support stuff.”

A weak laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Clay seized on it like a lifeline.

“There we go,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s the face I like. Not the whole sobbing mess thing—though, you know, you still somehow make it work. Which is annoying, by the way.”

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him lightly, but your smile lingered.

Clay’s smirk faded into something softer, and he reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Listen,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I know it’s not easy. I know you’ve got Will in your head, and… I’m not trying to compete with a dead guy, okay? But you’re not betraying him by being here. You’re allowed to be happy… or whatever the hell I make you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the guilt you’d been carrying for so long threatening to spill over again. “I just… I don’t know how to let go,” you admitted, your voice breaking.

“Then don’t,” Clay said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to forget him. Just… don’t let him keep you stuck. You’re not living in a cemetery, Myah.”

His words hung in the air, raw and honest, and you felt something shift inside you—something fragile, but real.

xxx 🎶 Same Soul - PVRIS 🎶 xxx

You slipped your key into the lock, hesitating for a moment before turning it. Your heart was beating a little too fast, and the bag of gifts in your hand felt heavier than it should have. This wasn’t just another night. You knew that as clearly as the blush spreading across your cheeks.

The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, the familiar scent of Clay’s cologne mingling faintly with the fabric softener you insisted on using. You thought it was sweet — you’d mentioned you like the scent once and he’d begun using it daily.

He was sprawled on the couch, one socked foot propped on the coffee table. His sketchpad rested on his stomach, and a faint smear of graphite stained his fingers. The glow from the TV flickered across his face, but he wasn’t paying attention to whatever was on. His focus was on the page, pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

When he looked up and saw you, his lips tugged into that crooked smirk that always made your stomach flip. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he set the pad aside. “Thought you ran off or something.”

“Just running errands,” you said, holding up the bag as evidence. You felt his eyes lingering on you as you shrugged off your coat, suddenly hyper-aware of how the chill from outside had left your cheeks flushed.

“What, did you miss me?” you said, setting the bag on the counter.

His lips twitched into a half-smile, but he didn’t answer, just shifted to sit up. His sketchpad slipped to the floor, and he barely glanced at it. “What’s with the bag? Steal something?”

“Stuff.” You tried to sound casual, but you felt like your face was giving you away.

Clay arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Stuff, huh? That’s not mysterious.”

You laughed softly, brushing past him and setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. “You’ll see soon enough.”

When you turned back, he was leaning on the armrest, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His hair was messy from running his hands through it, and his jaw had a bit of stubble that he’d probably shave in the morning. Everything about him felt familiar yet electrifying, a contradiction you couldn’t explain.

“You alright? You seem sorta… flustered or something.” He asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you said, the word coming out a little too quick. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, that’s dangerous.” His crooked half smile tugged at your heart as you watched him run a hand through his growing hair.

You rolled your eyes, but hesitated as your nerves fluttered. About how badly I want you. About how scared I am of letting myself love you. About how tonight, I’m hoping to face both.

“Christmas stuff,” you said instead, forcing a small smile. “Speaking of, I got a gift for your mom.”

Clay blinked, sitting up straighter. “For Ma?”

“Yeah,” you said, pulling out the robe and slippers to show him. “Figured we could say it’s from both of us.”

He stared at the gifts for a moment, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

“I wanted to,” you said, stepping closer. “She deserves it. And so do you.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, something unspoken passing between you. Clay rubbed his jaw for a moment. He hadn’t even thought about getting his mom anything, let alone something thoughtful. “Thanks. She’ll… she’ll love it.”

As you sat down beside him, pulling your legs up under you, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Maybe I am,” you said, leaning back. “Or maybe I’m just full of Christmas spirit.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re full of something alright.”

You felt your chest tighten at the warmth in his voice. For all his sarcasm and sharp edges, there were moments like this, where you caught a glimpse of something softer beneath.

“So, where’s my present?” Clay smirked mischievously and you rolled your eyes.

“Who says you’re getting one? Pretty sure Santa knows what you’ve been up to this year.” You grinned teasingly, poking fun at him.

Clay’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his grip firm but not rough as he pulled you against him. “If anyone’s made Santa’s naughty list this year, it’s you, doll.” He said, his voice low and thick with that suggestive tone that suited him so well.

“Maybe Santa will send me something hard to fill my stocking,” you teased, but had to bite a laugh at the cheesy line.

“Yeah?” His nose brushed yours, his lips so close you could feel the heat of his breath. “Lucky for you, I got something hard right here.” He muttered, before finally closing the distance and kissing you.

His lips were warm, soft despite the roughness of his hands as they slid up your arms. You kissed him back, letting yourself melt into it for a moment before you pulled away, earning a groan of protest.

“Tease,” he grumbled, his hands still on you, holding you in place.

You grinned, stepping back just enough to tease him. “Later,” you said, your voice light and playful. “You’ll have to wait for your present. Patience is a virtue,” you quipped, smoothing your shirt like you weren’t just seconds away from losing all self-control.

“Yeah, well, I’m fresh out,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He watched you for a moment, his gaze softer now, almost nervous. “So… you want your gift now?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You got me something?”

His expression faltered for a split second, like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said anything. “Maybe,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Whatever he’d gotten, you could tell it wasn’t just some throwaway gesture. But before you could ask him about it, he was already standing, reaching for your hand with a hesitant glance your way.

Clay led you to the spare room, his hand resting lightly on your back as he guided you inside. “Alright, don’t freak out or anything,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not, like, a big deal or whatever.”

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, immediately hit with the soft glow of candlelight. Your eyes landed on the new shelf mounted on the wall. It was simple but perfect—framed photos of Will, a few small candles flickering underneath, and even a space for the little trinkets and mementos you’d held onto over the years.

Your breath hitched, and you brought a hand to your mouth as tears welled in your eyes. “Clay…”

He stood awkwardly to the side, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the floor. “I, uh… figured you didn’t really have a spot for this stuff. Thought maybe it’d help, y’know? Keeping him close, or whatever.” He shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy moment he’d created.

You turned to him, tears spilling over. “This is… Thank you.”

Clay’s face flushed, and he rubbed at his neck again, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah, well. Don’t get all sappy on me. It’s not like I built the shelf or anything—I just stuck it up there.” He glanced at the photos, then back at you. “I just… I don’t want you to forget him. Or feel like you have to. Will, he… he clearly meant a lot to you.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice.

“And honestly,” he added, his words a little rushed now, “I’m kinda grateful for the guy. I mean, he looked out for you, right? Kept you safe. Took care of you. And yeah, it sucks he’s not here, but… if he was, I probably wouldn’t have met you.”

You let out a soft, tearful laugh at his awkward delivery, and he gave a weak shrug. “Not saying I’m glad he’s gone or anything, just… you get what I’m trying to say, right?”

When you nodded, Clay exhaled, relieved, then tried to lighten the mood. “Good. ‘Cause I really didn’t wanna explain this whole sentimental crap twice. Not really my thing.”

You wiped at your cheeks, smiling as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Seriously, though,” he added, his tone softening again. “You’re stuck with me, doll. And I’m not about to compete with a dead guy. So… this seemed like the least I could do.”

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH21 🎶 Gotta Get Away - The Offspring 🎶

The days that followed were hard. Withdrawal was ugly, and Clay was in the thick of it again—shaking, sweating, pacing the apartment like a restless animal. He’d go through waves of irritation and exhaustion, snapping at nothing and everyone, then collapsing into quiet despair.

You stayed patient, even when it tested every ounce of your resolve. You knew this wasn’t Clay lashing out at you—it was the sickness. The addiction clawing at him, trying to drag him back under.

One particularly rough afternoon, he was pacing the living room, his hands trembling and his breaths shallow. “I can’t sit still,” he muttered, his voice raw and frayed. “I’m crawling out of my fucking skin here.”

You watched him for a moment before an idea sparked. Standing, you crossed the room to grab your sketchpad and a pencil. You flipped to a blank page, sat down at the table, and began to draw.

“What are you doing?” he asked, still pacing, though his steps slowed slightly as his eyes flicked to you.

“Sketching,” you replied simply, not looking up.

“I can see that,” he said, his tone sharp. “Why?”

“Because it helps,” you said, your pencil scratching against the paper. “When my mind’s all over the place or I feel like I can’t focus, this grounds me.”

He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Good for you,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his tone.

“You could try it,” you offered, glancing up at him.

He scoffed. “Yeah, right. I can’t even hold my hands steady, and you want me to draw a damn picture?”

You shrugged, returning your attention to the paper. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just something to get your mind off everything else.”

He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “I haven’t drawn anything since… I don’t even know when.”

“Then it’s about time,” you said with a small smile, sliding a spare pencil and another sketchpad across the table toward him.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, reluctantly, he sat down across from you. He picked up the pencil, turning it over in his hands as if it were some foreign object.

“What am I even supposed to draw?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation but also a hint of vulnerability.

“Whatever comes to mind,” you said, your tone gentle. “Doesn’t matter what it looks like.”

Clay grumbled under his breath but pressed the pencil to the paper. His first few strokes were hesitant, shaky, but he kept at it. Meanwhile, you continued sketching beside him, keeping the atmosphere calm and quiet.

After a few minutes, he let out a frustrated sigh and dropped the pencil. “This is stupid,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his sketchpad.

He pulled it back, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s not done.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” you said, giving him a reassuring smile.

Reluctantly, he slid the pad over to you. It was rough and unpolished, just a few lines and shapes that didn’t seem to form anything coherent, but you could see the effort in it.

“I like it,” you said, meaning it.

Clay rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not,” you said firmly. “This is a start. And that’s all that matters.”

He looked at you, his jaw tightening, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—determination. It wasn’t much, but it was there, and that was more than you’d seen in a long time.

Slowly, he picked the pencil back up. You smiled softly, returning to your own sketch. Together, the two of you sat there, the silence punctuated only by the sound of pencils on paper. For the first time in days, Clay wasn’t just floating in the current of addiction—he was fighting it. And that promise to try? It wasn’t just words anymore. It was real.

xxx 🎶 All I Wanted - Paramore 🎶 xxx

The therapist’s office was quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. You sat on the plush chair across from her, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you tried to find the words to explain the storm of thoughts swirling in your head.

Your therapist, Dr. Lange, asked gently. “How have the nightmares been lately?”

You shrugged slightly. “Still getting them,” you sighed, twitching your thumbs as you recalled the one from last night. Clay had heard you from the living room sobbing in your sleep. “They’ve been more emotionally intense than scary.” You admit. You know exactly why— Clay.

“It’s been… complicated,” you continued, your voice tentative. “I thought I had grieved Will, but these sessions have made me realize how much I’ve been carrying all this time. And now, with Clay…” You trailed off, unsure how to articulate the knot in your chest.

Your therapist, Dr. Lange, tilted her head slightly, her expression calm and open. “What about Clay?”

You sighed, leaning back in the chair. “I love him. I do. But I don’t know if I’m ready for what that means. Or if he is. And part of me is terrified that once he’s better, he’ll realize I’m not… enough. Maybe he deserves someone without all this baggage.”

“Why do you feel you aren’t enough?” Dr. Lange asked, her tone gentle but probing.

You hesitated. “Because I can’t fix him. I can support him, but I can’t be the reason he gets better. I’ve learned that much. And I want him to be happy, truly happy, but…” Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard. “I want him to be happy with me. And what if he’s not?”

Dr. Lange nodded, taking a moment before responding. “It sounds like you’re carrying a lot of fear about the future—fear of abandonment, fear of inadequacy. But relationships aren’t about fixing someone or being fixed by them. They’re about mutual growth. What would it look like for you to focus on your growth, separate from Clay’s?”

The question gave you pause. You hadn’t really thought about it like that. “I guess… I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe I’ve been so focused on him that I haven’t given myself enough space to think about what I need, too.”

Dr. Lange nodded again, her expression thoughtful. “It’s okay to have doubts, especially when you’re both navigating such significant challenges. But it’s also important to recognize that love doesn’t have to mean certainty right away. It’s okay to grow into it, to figure it out as you go.”

You mulled over her words, your heart heavy but your mind beginning to clear.

The air in your apartment felt heavier than usual when you walked through the door, almost as if the walls themselves had absorbed your anxiety and were radiating it back at you. Clay was in his usual spot on the couch, sketchpad in hand, pencil gliding across the paper with a kind of absentminded focus. He glanced up when he heard you, his expression softening as he set the pad down.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and warm. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure if that was true. Shrugging off your coat, you moved closer to him, your eyes catching the sketch he’d been working on. It stopped you in your tracks.

It was you. But not just you—every line, every shadow captured something deeper. The softness of your expression, the curve of your lips mid-thought, the way your eyes seemed to hold secrets even you didn’t fully understand.

“Wow,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Clay, this is… beautiful.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his neck. “Yeah, well, I had a good subject.”

You traced the edge of the page with your finger, admiring how much he’d improved in the past few weeks, but the weight in your chest pulled your gaze away. Clay noticed immediately.

“Alright, spill it,” he said, setting the sketchpad aside. His tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious, scanning your face like he was trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. But there was no point in lying—not to him. “My session was… heavy today,” you admitted, sinking onto the couch beside him.

He shifted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah?” he prompted, his voice softer now. “What about?”

“Will,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “And… you.”

His brow furrowed, and his hand instinctively reached for yours. “What about me?” he asked, his tone careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

You sighed, running your free hand through your hair. “I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of future I want. What kind of future we could even have. And whether or not you… want to be in it.”

His reaction was immediate—his grip on your hand tightened, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “How thick are you?” he asked, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and hurt. “Of course I want you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the rawness in his tone.

“Don’t you want me?” he asked, the question softer this time, his usual confidence giving way to uncertainty.

You nodded, the movement instinctive, but your mind was spinning. “I do, I just don’t know how to move forward without feeling like I’m betraying Will.” You sighed. “But I do want you, Clay.”

Clay’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was bracing himself. And then, with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken, he leaned closer.

“So prove it,” he said, the words a dare and a plea all at once.

You didn’t hesitate. Your lips crashed against his, and the world seemed to fall away.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was raw, desperate, a battle neither of you wanted to lose. His hands found your face, pulling you closer like he needed you to feel how much he meant this. Your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring yourself as the kiss deepened, every ounce of doubt and fear melting into the fire between you.

The weight of the kiss lingered long after you pulled away, leaving both of you suspended in the silence that followed. Clay’s hands stayed on your face, his touch tender, but his gaze searching, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see. It was a side of him you weren’t used to—unguarded, unfiltered. And it terrified you.

Clay’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at the floor. “You think this is about replacing him?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the pain evident.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I know you’re not him, and that’s… that’s why this is so hard.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability there, the uncertainty. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know how to move forward without feeling like I’m leaving him behind,” you admitted, your voice cracking as tears threatened to spill. “And it’s not fair to you. But every time I let myself start thinking about us — it’s like there’s this part of me screaming that I’m disrespecting his memory, and all the love he poured into me.”

Clay ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You think I don’t get that? You think I don’t have my own voices screaming at me every second of every day? Telling me I’m not good enough for you, that I’ll screw this up, that I’ll drag you down with me?”

His words hit you hard, and you looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time since the conversation had started. The man in front of you wasn’t just battling his addiction—he was battling himself, every single day.

“You don’t drag me down, Clay,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “I thought I’d be alone forever and turn into one of those old ladies you see pushing her cat around in a stroller.”

He scoffed, though there was no malice in it. “Just one?” You rolled your eyes at him and nudged him playfully, feeling the tension lessen slightly.

The weight of his self-doubt pressed on your chest like a vice, and you squeezed his hand tighter. “Seriously, I can’t imagine life without you anymore,” you said firmly, even as a persistent tear finally spilled over. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to give you all of me when there’s still so much of me tied to someone who’s not even here anymore.” Your heart clenched. Even now, admitting aloud that Will wasn’t around anymore pained you.

Clay’s expression softened, though the hurt in his eyes remained. “I’m not asking you to forget him,” he said quietly. “I’m just asking you to let me in.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and you realized that maybe the guilt you felt wasn’t just about Will—it was about being afraid to let yourself be happy again. To let yourself love someone else.

You didn’t respond right away, but when you leaned forward and kissed him again, it wasn’t desperate or frenzied like before. It was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the emotions you couldn’t yet put into words.

Clay kissed you back, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulled you closer. But when you pulled away, resting your forehead against his, he spoke again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you have to meet me halfway.”

You nodded, the tears still falling, but for the first time in a long time, the knot in your chest loosened, just a little.

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH19

🎶 Medicate Me - Rain City Drive, Dayseeker 🎶

The beer garden was alive with chatter and laughter, a warm, golden glow spilling from the string lights that zigzagged above the tables. The smell of beer and wood smoke mingled in the air, making the space feel cozy despite the crisp December night. You led Clay through the crowd, your fingers laced with his, feeling a little giddy as the warmth of his hand grounded you.

Clay, on the other hand, was less enchanted by the festive atmosphere. His gaze darted around the beer garden like a rabbit in a fox den, taking in the groups of strangers laughing too loud, the twinkling lights overhead, and the way everyone seemed so… comfortable. It was unsettling.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing back at him as you weaved between the tables.

“Yeah,” he muttered, though the slight edge in his voice gave him away.

Finally, you reached the long wooden table where your coworkers had claimed a spot near the heaters. They greeted you with cheers and smiles, some already halfway through their beers. You introduced Clay with a grin, gesturing to him like he was your prized plus-one.

“Everyone, this is Clay.”

“Hey, man!” your boss Johnny said warmly, offering a fist bump. “Glad you could make it.”

“Nice to meet you,” chimed in Lucy, a fellow tattoo artist with red-dyed hair and an arm full of colorful ink. She gave Clay a bright smile, her eyes flicking briefly over his scruffy appearance.

Clay nodded in response, his mouth tightening into a faint smirk as he bumped fists with Johnny. But he let go of your hand almost instinctively, his fingers slipping away like they had a mind of their own.

You noticed it immediately and glanced at him, but he avoided your gaze, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his worn jacket.

“Grab a seat!” Johnny said, gesturing to the bench. “We’ve got a round coming.”

As you sat down, Clay lingered awkwardly for a moment before sinking into the spot next to you. You could feel his tension radiating off him, the way his knee bounced slightly under the table.

“You good?” you asked quietly, leaning closer so only he could hear.

“Yeah,” he said again, though his eyes flicked toward Lucy and Johnny, who were now chatting with each other. “Just… not used to this kind of thing.”

“What, sitting at a table and drinking a beer?” you teased lightly, trying to ease his nerves.

“Nah,” he replied, his voice lower. “All the… boyfriend vibes.” He muttered the last part like the word tasted strange in his mouth.

You bit back a smile, realizing what he meant. He felt like he was being put on display, like everyone was sizing him up as your guy.

“They’re just being friendly,” you assured him softly. “Nobody’s judging you, Clay.”

But that wasn’t how it felt to him. He could practically feel their eyes on him, taking in his shaggy hair, his frayed jacket, his whole vibe. It didn’t matter if their smiles were genuine; he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong here, in this polished little world you were a part of.

When the beers arrived, Clay immediately reached for his, taking a long pull as if it might quiet the voice in his head screaming, What the hell are you doing here?

You chatted easily with your coworkers, your laughter breaking through the noise of the beer garden. He watched you out of the corner of his eye, a part of him amazed at how effortlessly you fit in, while he felt like he was holding onto the edge of the table just to keep from bolting.

“Clay,” Lucy said suddenly, turning her attention to him. “What do you do?”

He froze for half a second, his grip tightening on his beer. “Uh… odd jobs,” he lied, his tone clipped but not unfriendly. “Whatever pays, you know?” It’s not like he could casually mention he was a dealer. These people probably already thought he was a loser, right?

“Cool,” Lucy said, nodding. “I love your jacket, by the way. Very grunge.”

“Thanks,” he replied, though his hand subconsciously tugged at the frayed edge of his sleeve.

You noticed his discomfort and placed a gentle hand on his thigh under the table, giving it a light squeeze. He glanced at you, his eyes softening slightly as if to say thanks.

But even as he tried to relax, the word boyfriend hung in the back of his mind, growing heavier with each passing minute.

Two hours in, the warmth of the beer garden had mellowed into a comfortable buzz of voices and clinking glasses. Clay had relaxed a little—a little being the operative phrase. He wasn’t quite gripping the edge of his seat anymore, but every time your hand brushed his thigh under the table, or your fingers traced absentminded circles on his back, he felt like a rubber band stretched too tight.

You weren’t doing anything wrong, of course. You were just being you—sweet, affectionate, trying to make him feel included. But to Clay, each tender gesture was like another weight added to the pressure he was already putting on himself. She thinks I can do this. She thinks I belong here.

The self-imposed expectation was suffocating, and Clay found himself nursing his beer more for the excuse to avoid conversation than for the taste.

“Clay?” Your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, soft and teasing. “Earth to Clay.”

“Huh?” he blinked, focusing back on you.

“I asked if you wanted another drink. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, forcing a tight-lipped smirk. “Just zonin’ out.”

You gave him a knowing look but didn’t press. He appreciated that about you—how you always seemed to know when to let him breathe.

Just as he started to settle into the noise around him, his eyes caught something—or rather, someone—at the bar. Jackie Rohr.

Clay stiffened instantly, the world around him fading into a dull hum. He hadn’t expected to run into the man tonight, not here, not while he was trying to keep his act together in front of you. His stomach churned as he thought of the last time they’d crossed paths—Jackie with his slimy grin and a favour dangled just out of reach like a carrot on a stick.

“I’ll be back,” Clay said abruptly, sliding off the bench before you could ask where he was going.

“Everything okay?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“Yeah,” he lied, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Just need some air.”

Without waiting for your response, he slipped away toward the bar and then out the side entrance, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face.

Jackie was leaning against the wall outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his leather gloves immaculate even as he exhaled smoke like a chimney.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite little errand boy,” Jackie drawled, his sharp eyes gleaming under the streetlights.

“Jackie,” Clay muttered, his jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

“Relax, kid. I’m just here for a drink—same as you. Though I gotta say, I didn’t peg you as the social butterfly type. That your little lady in there?” Jackie smirked.

Clay’s fists clenched in his pockets. “What do you want?”

Jackie reached into his coat, pulling out a small foil packet. “Same as always. Intel. You get me what I need, I get you what you need.” He held up the envelope like a prize.

Clay’s stomach dropped. “I’m clean,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

“Sure you are.” Jackie laughed, stepping closer. “But let’s not pretend you’re not tempted. I’ve been around the block, kid. You don’t just walk away from this stuff.”

“I said no,” Clay snapped, but his voice wavered.

Jackie tilted his head, scrutinizing him. “C’mon, Clay. You and I both know you’re one bad day away from crawling back. I’m just saving you the trouble. Think about it—one hit, a little clarity, and you might even impress that girlfriend of yours.”

Clay swallowed hard, his resolve cracking. The pressure of tonight, of everything, pressed down on him like a vice. One hit… just to take the edge off.

“Fine,” he muttered finally, snatching the foil from Jackie’s hand.

“That’s my boy,” Jackie said with a grin. “I knew you’d come around.”

Clay didn’t wait for more gloating. He stuffed the packet into his pocket and disappeared down the block, his mind already swirling with shame and anticipation.

Back in the beer garden, you glanced toward the entrance for the hundredth time, your unease growing with every passing minute. Clay had been gone too long, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Where’d your guy go?” Johnny asked, nudging you with his elbow.

“Just stepped out for some air,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light.

But as you stared at the empty doorway, the knot in your stomach tightened.

xxx 🎶 Like A Villain - Bad Omens 🎶 xxx

The bathroom mirror reflected your furrowed brow as you leaned against the sink, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Clay had been gone for over an hour, and every scenario your anxious mind conjured was worse than the last.

As you pushed open the door and stepped back into the beer garden, your heart leaped to find him at the table, slouched comfortably in his seat. Relief washed over you for a split second before you noticed something was… off.

Clay looked relaxed—too relaxed. His usual tight-lipped smirk had given way to a wide, easy grin as he laughed at something Alex had said. He leaned back with his arm draped over the back of the bench, exuding a cocky confidence that didn’t quite feel natural.

“Hey, doll,” he called when he saw you, his grin widening. “Miss me?”

His voice was louder than usual, a touch of bravado lacing his words. He gestured for you to sit, and as you slid back into your seat beside him, you were caught off guard when his arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling you close. The gesture was unexpected—almost affectionate—but it set off alarm bells in your mind.

“You good?” you asked softly, trying not to let your unease show.

“Never better,” he replied, his tone almost too chipper. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple, a move that made your coworkers exchange amused glances.

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Lucy teased, raising her beer in mock salute.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clay drawled, reaching for his own drink with his free hand. “Can’t blame her, though. Hard to resist this face.” He winked at Lucy, earning a round of laughter from the table.

You forced a smile, trying to play along, but your chest felt tight. Clay’s banter wasn’t unusual—he always had a smart comment ready—but the way his words tumbled out, quick and loose, didn’t sit right with you. And then you saw it: his pupils, blown wide, practically swallowing the icy blue of his irises.

Your stomach churned as realization dawned. He was high.

“Man, you’ve got her whipped,” Jace—the co-worker he recognised that walked you home that one time, joked, nudging Clay with a grin.

“Whipped?” Clay scoffed, leaning forward. “Please. If anyone’s got control here, it’s her. She’s terrifying.” He glanced at you, his grin softening just enough to seem genuine. “In the best way.”

The table erupted in laughter, and you chuckled weakly, trying to keep up appearances. But inside, you were unraveling. The relief you’d felt at seeing him again had twisted into a tight knot of anger and disappointment.

You wanted to confront him, to demand answers, but the thought of causing a scene in front of your coworkers stopped you. Instead, you let him keep his arm around you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your shoulder as you sat stiffly beside him.

The minutes dragged on, the conversation swirling around you as you struggled to maintain your composure. Every glance at Clay, every casual joke he made, only heightened your turmoil. You couldn’t decide if you were angrier at him for getting high or at yourself for not speaking up.

Clay seemed completely at ease, basking in the rare feeling of fitting in—if only for a moment. But you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that this wasn’t him, not really. And as the laughter echoed around the table, the weight of what was left unsaid pressed heavier on your chest.

An hour later, you stepped out of the beer garden and into the cold night air, you felt like you could finally breathe. You kept your strides brisk, hoping Clay would get the hint and let you go without a word.

“Hey,” he called after you, his tone lighter than the situation warranted. “C’mon, let’s stay a little longer. Everyone loves me back there.”

You didn’t slow down, your boots crunching against the gravel as you marched forward. “I’m leaving,” you replied sharply, not even looking back.

Clay let out a short sigh and jogged a couple of steps to catch up, his hand slipping into yours. For a moment, you felt his fingers tighten around yours as though it were some silent apology, but it only made your anger flare hotter. You shook him off, your hand dropping to your side.

“Don’t,” you bit out, your voice laced with quiet fury.

He fell back a step, stunned for a second but quick to follow as you crossed the street and headed toward your apartment. The walk was tense and silent, Clay staying a few paces behind as you refused to look at him.

Inside, the door clicked shut behind him, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. The hum of the heater felt louder in the heavy quiet between you. Your back was to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around yet.

“Where’d you get it?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Clay stiffened, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets as he leaned against the doorframe. “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” You turned then, your eyes meeting his briefly before you looked away, unable to stand the sight of him. “Where’d you get it, Clay?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked toward the window instead of at you. “I needed it,” he muttered. “Just to get through the night. That’s all.”

He reached up and slipped off his jacket, letting it fall onto the couch. The movement was slow, deliberate, as though shedding his outer layer was the only way he could stop himself from running.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Unbelievable. You needed that to get through a casual hangout?”

Clay’s defenses flared, his posture stiffening. “You were drinking,” he shot back. “How’s it any different?”

Your voice rose, sharp with incredulity. “Are you serious right now? After one beer, I switched to soda, Clay. Because I wanted to make sure I could take care of you if you got in over your head. You can’t compare beer to fucking Heroin.”

His face twitched at the implication, but he didn’t say anything. His silence felt heavier than any argument he could have made, and it only fueled the ache of betrayal simmering in your chest.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, leaning against the counter for support as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I can’t do this again, Clay. I can’t watch you go through detox, not again.”

His face twisted, like he wanted to argue but knew he couldn’t. “You won’t have to,” he said, his tone low, almost dismissive. “It’s not like I’m— I don’t know— spiraling or anything. It’s not like last time.”

You scoffed, running a hand over your face. “You think this is different?”

“It is different,” he said defensively. “I’ve got it under control.”

The words stung more than they should have, and deep down, you knew why. Even as you said it, even as you wanted to stand firm in your resolve, there was a part of you— the part that loved him more than anything— that knew you’d be there for him again if it came to that. And it terrified you.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe you did this. After everything…”

Clay’s jaw flexed as he stepped closer, the frustration evident in his movements. “You don’t get it, alright? The pressure—this whole thing. Us. It’s… It’s messing with me.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as his words sank in. “I didn’t realise being with me would be such a burden.” The words felt shaky on your whisper.

He exhaled sharply, looking away for a moment before his glassy eyes found yours again. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I don’t know. Being in a relationship— I’ve never done it before. Not like this. And it’s— I dunno— it’s a lot.”

His voice softened, his hand running through his hair as he muttered, “It’s only now, though— now that I’m… thinking clear— that I can see it. That I’m sure I want this. I want you.”

You felt the burn of tears welling in your eyes, and you blinked them away, your throat tightening as his words hit you like a punch to the gut. “So you’re only sure you want me when you’re high?”

His face fell, and for a second, he looked like he might reach for you, but he stopped himself. “It’s not like that,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not a big deal. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the hurt bleeding through your voice. “Not a big deal?” Your hands dropped to your sides, your expression hardening. “If it’s not a big deal, then let me try it. If it’s so great, let me see what all the fuss is about.”

Clay’s jaw tightened as his glassy eyes darted between you and the door. Your challenge—your insistence that you could handle whatever he was struggling with—cut deeper than he could let on. But it wasn’t anger in his silence, or even frustration. It was shame, heavy and suffocating. He couldn’t bear to look at you, standing there with all the care and determination he felt he didn’t deserve.

“No,” he said finally, his voice cracking. “You don’t… You don’t want that. Trust me.”

“Why not?” you pressed, your voice trembling as the weight of the conversation pressed down on you. “Why don’t I get to understand what you’re so willing to throw your life away for?”

Clay shook his head, running a hand over his face, the frustration evident in the sharp, jerky motion. “Because you’re not like me,” he muttered. “You don’t— you’re not supposed to… know this.” His words felt tangled, heavy with something unspoken.

Your stomach twisted. “Not like you? Clay, I’m with you. I’ve seen you at your worst. You don’t think I already know what this looks like?”

“That’s the problem!” He snapped, his voice rising as he finally looked at you. His eyes shone, red-rimmed and frantic. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this— with me. You’re better than that. Better than me.”

The words came out fast, like he couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to. “I know what I am, alright? I know I’m a screw-up. I’m not… I’m not somebody who gets to have someone like you.”

You flinched, and he immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice. “Clay,” you said softly, almost pleading. “That’s not true. You don’t get to decide what I want or who I choose to care about.”

He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “But I can’t take it,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, cracking under the weight of his confession. “You standing there, offering everything— it makes it worse. Because I know I’ll mess it up. I always mess it up.”

You felt tears slipping down your cheeks as you took a small step toward him. “You’re not unworthy of real happiness, Clay,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled. “You can fight this. You can let me help you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Maybe I don’t want to.” The words weren’t real. He didn’t mean them, at all, but he didn’t know what else to say. He just wanted you to stop fighting for him.

“Leave,” you said hoarsely, pointing to the door. “Just go.” Your chest ached as you watched him.

He hesitated, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. But eventually, he did as you said, stepping out without so much as a glance back.

The sound of the lock clicking into place felt final, but your heart refused to settle. You turned to see his jacket on the couch, and a fresh wave of anger rolled through you. Grabbing it, you rifled through the pockets, cursing under your breath as you searched.

Your fingers brushed against something small and crinkly, and when you pulled it out, the knot in your stomach tightened. There it was.

You stared at it, the small bag almost taunting you. You thought of Clay, of everything he was refusing to say, everything he was trying to bury under this.

Your hand trembled as you held the bag. You hated yourself for even considering it, but the question echoed in your mind: What if I could understand? What if this could make sense?

Your breath came quicker as you turned the bag over in your hands. And then, before you could stop yourself, you made the choice.

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

‼️ smut ‼️

CH17 🎶 Crave - Paramore 🎶

It was later that night, and you were lying wide awake in your own bed. You thought you’d be used to the emptiness of the apartment again by now, but somehow, it felt heavier knowing Clay was across the hall.

His mother had come home, and you’d left so they could reconnect. You could feel how Clay uncomfortably shifted when she walked in - could sense the shame he felt. You hoped it wouldn’t linger.

Tonight was the first night in weeks you hadn’t itched for the bottle, but you were having trouble relaxing.

Across the hall, Clay was lying awake in his own bed, staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling. It was comforting to be home, surrounded with familiarity, even if it felt different. His mom’s words kept replaying in his head. “Don’t fuck this up,” she’d said, embracing him. Somehow, he could tell she wasn’t just talking about staying clean.

He ran his hands roughly over his face as he willed himself to sleep. It was already 2am, but all he could think about was you. He sat up with a sigh, switching on his bedside lamp. Your eyes glanced up at him. The delicate ink on his skin was something he’d quickly grown to love. He was almost embarrassed at how frequently he traced the little lines on his wrist, thinking about you.

Rehab had been isolating and lonely, yet he felt the support of the other patients, despite choosing to stay silent during most of the group therapy sessions. Once the severity of the withdrawals had lessened, the hardest part about being in there was being without you.

He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back to the absurd idea to knock on your door at this hour, but he couldn’t ignore the urge, couldn’t fight it off.

He knocked twice, shuffling awkwardly at the door, half expecting you to not hear him. As he turned to leave, your door creaked open.

You stared at him blankly for a moment before opening the door wider to let him in. His eyes said all you needed, and wordlessly, he walked in.

The door clicked shut behind you and you took his hand, smiling softly at him as a warmth spread through your chest. You led him back to your bed, where you both climbed in under the covers. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, a gesture that made your bare skin beneath his fingers prickle with a kind of anticipation you’d been pushing away.

Your heart was racing, and you could feel Clay’s beating just as hard beneath your hand as it rested on his chest.

Clay couldn’t ignore that your proximity alone had spiked his blood pressure. The ache he felt below the waistline of his pyjama pants was antagonising. He’d dreamt about being this close to you for weeks, and while he was too anxious to make a move earlier, he couldn’t deny the urge to give in to his instincts any longer.

You looked up, eyes briefly meeting with a quiet, understanding desperation before your lips finally met. The kiss was fiery, with a fierce but gentle pressure, and it made your stomach flutter. It felt like both of you pouring out every emotion, positive and negative, into each other in a desperate effort to connect, make up for lost time.

Clay couldn’t resist himself when you began pressing your body against him harder. He needed to feel you as close to him as possible, even if it meant his walls would come crumbling down.

Your hands tangled in his hair as his hand slid down your thigh, hitching your leg over his waist. As his hand ran back up your bare thigh, you gasped—your breath mingling as he resisted a smirk against your lips and deepened the kiss.

You felt the warmth in your stomach spread lower, and you couldn’t help but move your hips desperately against him for friction. He craved the same, and gently pulled you on top of him, barely breaking your kiss.

His tongue darted between your teeth, twirling with yours as you moaned into his mouth, finally feeling his arousal against your core. Clay moaned, gripping your hips and forcing you to grind against his throbbing cock. He cursed the fabric between you, but even with it, you’d soaked through your own pyjama shorts. Feeling the dampness of you against him was intoxicating, and he hadn’t even truly felt you yet.

It was shameful how slick your pussy had become just from rubbing against his hard cock, but you craved more.

Clay’s breath hitched suddenly, and his firm grip on the flesh of your hips became even tighter. He bucked his hips beneath you, stifling a long groan as an intense wave of warmth and bliss surged through him.

He looked up at you, wide eyed for a moment and you looked at him concerned. “Fuck,” his head fell back into the pillow and he groaned in annoyance. In that moment, you felt the sticky wet patch beneath you was bigger, and you bit your lip, holding back a giggle.

Clay felt the heat in his cheeks as he avoided your gaze, trembling slightly from embarrassment. Your heart tugged a little at his vulnerability and you brushed his hair back, gently tucking it behind his ear. “Hey,” your voice was soft, careful as his eyes flickered to yours. “It’s okay.” You smiled reassuringly before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against his lips, then the tip of his nose.

You rolled off him, ignoring the hot ache between your thighs as he turned to look at you. He still seemed upset, but you continued to smile warmly at him, and after a minute, the pressure in his chest lightened.

He chuckled slightly. “It’s uh, been a while.” He admitted sheepishly as you blushed.

“I won’t hold it against you.” You winked playfully with a smirk and he rolled his eyes. “Seriously though, Clay,” you continued, your tone still soft, but more serious. “You’ve been through hell. You don’t need to be perfect.”

Clay felt his stomach clench, but it wasn’t in an uneasy way—it was relief. He never took you to be the type to apply pressure in these situations, but he had never considered the patience you had would extend to this level. He felt guilty, but made a promise to himself that he would make it up to you.

With that, you slid your arm across his chest and let your fingers twirl mindlessly with his hair as you nestled into him. His heart thudded in his chest as you pressed your ear to it, and you both relaxed into each other.

For the first time in a long time, you both felt completely content—neither afraid of how close you were as both your walls crumbled just a little more.

xxx 🎶 Antimatter - Silent Planet 🎶 xxx

Clay woke before you, stiff from the first good night’s rest he’d had in years. He sat up just slightly and cracked his neck to either side, exhaling in relief as the tension eased.

His eyes flicked over to you. You were so peaceful, the smallest remnant of a smile tugging at your lips in your sleep. His chest felt tight, but it wasn’t in the usual way where it felt full of dread. Something warmer spread through him, but he sniffed and turned away, unsure exactly what it was—and not entirely certain he was ready to find out.

He had to admit that the iciness between you had thawed, and he was grateful to begin feeling like his usual, asshole self around you again.

As he laid back into your soft pillows, he couldn’t ignore the ache he felt below his waist. Instinctively, he palmed his cock. He looked at you again, gaze a little darker this time as he began imagining all the fun he could have with you. Last night had been fun, but barely a taste of what you had to offer, and now, he was starving.

You stirred slightly, stretching out and his eyes shamelessly fell to your chest where your breasts were spilling out of the tiny tank top you wore to bed.

Swiftly, he removed his hand from himself and rolled over to you, placing it gently on your warm waist. “Mornin’, Trouble.” You murmured, voice filled with sleep as you smiled softly at him.

He smiled back, and immediately you detected a hint of mischief behind his otherwise charming smile. Before you could question him, Clay’s lips were hot on yours. Soft at first, like he was testing the waters, but he quickly deepened the kiss as your tongue traced his bottom lip.

A small moan from him and you felt your heart begin to beat faster as you became aware of the heat radiating from him. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and you tugged at it softly, earning a more animated grunt that sent a jolt of warmth straight to your core.

In one swift motion, he rolled you onto your back. He wasted no time, pressing one of his hands to your core as he buried his face into your neck. His lips left wet, open mouth kisses that sent chills down your spine every time you felt his tongue graze your skin.

The familiar knot of anxiety twisted inside your stomach, but it was deafened by the intensity of your need for Clay’s touch. There was no backing out now, you were in far too deep.

A silky moan escaped your lips as he rubbed lazy circles against your clit. Clay’s heart raced, but he pushed further, sliding a single finger into your wet hole. You gasped a little as it curled and pumped steadily inside of you.

Immediately, he could feel your juices begin to flow and he groaned. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” His eyes flickered to yours as you gave him a breathy smile. “Oh, you like when I talk dirty?” He smirked and watched something inside your eyes change—mirroring the devilish glint in his own. You nodded slightly, as he slid another finger inside of you, making your lips tremble.

Your breath hitched slightly and he grinned. “Oh, baby doll, you’re in for a treat.” He murmured seductively, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. Your lips moved in perfect sync, slow and passionate, but there was a lustful undertone to it all that left you feeling warm inside.

His teeth nipped your bottom lip as he inserted another finger. You groaned, teeth gritted slightly as his slender fingers continued their exploration of your supple insides. “Mm, gonna have fun stretching out this pretty little pussy.” His hot breath spread over your ear as you shuddered, a jolt of warmth spreading throughout your body.

Clay removed his fingers, one hand reaching for his cock as the other gently spread your legs apart. In a split second, he caught the flash of panic in your eyes before it was replaced by anxiousness. Quickly, you composed yourself, but Clay had already seen the fragile layer of doubt that lingered below your eager surface. Immediately, it dawned on him and he felt himself retreating internally—this could be too fast for you.

Clay’s heart clenched, but your eyes met his again, still full of desire. You brushed the hair away from his face as he stared at you cautiously. Suddenly, your fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to you. Your lips crushed together, almost as if you were begging him to pull you out of your own thoughts. You just wanted to feel him with no guilt—no lingering doubts.

Clay could sense your urgency through the kiss. Silently, he cursed himself. His body burned for you, he needed you, and you clearly still wanted him.

Then it hit him. If he couldn’t have you like that, he would make you his in a different way. At least, for now.

His face broke away, resting mere inches from yours, leaving you breathing heavily as you ached for more. “Do you trust me?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but you could hear the depth of his question. Without hesitation, you nodded. His lips met your again, a little softer this time, but carrying the same urgency as before.

Suddenly, he pulled away and cleared his throat. “Sit up.” He murmured, releasing a deep sigh as he sat back. You watched his cock spring free, hitting his stomach as it sprung up, eager for attention.

Immediately, you felt the heat rush to your cheeks, through your body as you stared. He began stroking the impressive length and you took in the sight. It had felt big last night when you were grinding on him, but you hadn’t expected it to be quite so attractive; long and girthier than most without being intimidating. His dick curved ever so slightly upward, and you watched his hands stroke expertly along his shaft.

Your mouth watered as your eyes flickered back up to his, only to be met with a smug smile and a knowing look in his eyes. He knew you liked what you saw, and that fact sent a thrill of satisfaction through him he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You watched him intently as his thumb rubbed over the tip of his cock, collecting the bit of precum that had oozed out. Gently, he reached out to your face, fingers grazing your jawline as he cupped your cheek. Your eyes were locked in his gaze as he stared at you, mouth slightly agape. Then, he brushed his thumb over your lips, smearing the salty liquid in. Instinctively, your mouth opened and the corner of his mouth twitched into a crooked half smile as his thumb grazed your teeth. You sucked on it gently, earning tiny nods of approval from him—like he was sizing you up for more.

“So pretty,” his gaze rested on you in awe as he muttered. “Take your shirt off and grab the pillow.” Confusion crept into your eyes, but he watched you slowly remove your skimpy shirt and reached for the pillow behind you. “No, no—this one,” he handed you the one he’d slept on.

“Get on all fours,” his voice was soft, like he wasn’t sure you’d do itc but you obeyed, feeling the cool air on your exposed skin and soaked pussy. He stood and walked around the bed as you remained still, shifting just slightly under his quietly expectant gaze. He stroked his cock lazily and you licked your lips as he brought it closer. The saltiness of your little taste from earlier still lingered on your mind.

Clay’s free hand reached out, lightly smacking your ass. You jolted slightly, but couldn’t deny the feeling of your juices trickling down your thighs.

Instinctively, you lowered your chest to the mattress, presenting your ass to him as he chuckled darkly. “I think I should be calling you Trouble, babydoll.” His voice was husky, and his hand firmly grabbed your ass before it slid to the other side and did the same.

Suddenly, the warmth of his hand against your core returned and you shivered with relief. “What’d ya say? You gonna be a good little thing for me?” His voice dripped with a honey-like tone that earned a breathless nod from you. Your mind was a mess, and all you could feel was your burning desire for him to fill you up, use you as he wanted.

His fingers worked your sweet pussy, and he was practically drooling at the sight. “Mmm, such a pretty little pussy.” His tone darkened slightly, sending a thrill through you.

You whined when he removed his fingers and stood in front of you. You lifted your chest and he stroked your head, brushing the hair away from your face. He held his cock in front of you, waiting patiently for you to take it. He’d imagined this moment since the day he met you, and here you were, eager and bright eyed.

Your tongue met the sensitive head of his cock in almost kitten-like licks, and it took Clay every ounce of willpower to not force your mouth all the way down his cock. You were tentative at first, a little hesitant as it had been so long, but the hunger inside you grew ravenous with each flick of your tongue. It wasn’t long before you had Clay moaning as you worked your expert mouth over his perfect cock. It may have been a while, but to you, this was instinctual—second nature.

He ran his hands through your hair, bunching it all back into a rough ponytail before his hips began thrusting, matching your eager mouth with his own energy. “Ohh, yeah,” Clay’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. “That pretty wet mouth feels great, babydoll.” He cooed, his head rolling back as he relished in the feeling.

You moaned into his cock, slurping and drooling all over him. The sight of you was driving him wild. He could have easily finished right there and then—filled your incredible mouth with his load, but he wanted to make sure you were taken of this time, too.

Reluctantly, he stepped away, leaving you gasping for air now that your throat was free. Drool smothered your face and chin, glistening in the dim light of your bedroom and he swore his heart gave out for a moment. You were so fucking beautiful.

He kept stroking his spit covered cock as he wedged the pillow between your legs. Then, he guided your hips down. You looked at him, slightly puzzled, but he grinned. “There you go babydoll,” he cooed lightly. “Make yourself feel good f’me.” He took a seat in the chair sitting in the corner of your room.

For a moment, he thought you might laugh at him—get too embarrassed and shrug him off. But to his sheer delight, you bit your lip and began grinding your hips slowly. Your big doe eyes met his lustful gaze and he smirked, watching you pleasure yourself on his pillow.

Clay had fantasised about this for years—watched countless porn videos of it, but fuck—nothing compared to you. Watching you obey his every command made his chest swell with something he didn’t recognise. Pride, maybe?

Your little whimpers and mewls made his cock twitch in his hand. “Louder, dollface. I can’t hear you.” He teased, and you shot him a pitiful look.

“Clay, please…” you whined, grinding your dripping cunt over his pillow as your swollen clit throbbed from the friction.

“Please, what?” Clay asked, standing up. He sauntered over to you, cock in hand as he grabbed your hair by the fistful. “Still hungry, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, trying to nod, but couldn’t because of his grip. “Good girl,” he praised you as his cock slid back into your supple, wet mouth.

Clay could feel the knot in his stomach expanding, like he was ready to explode. “Gonna make that pretty pussy cum for me, aren’t you?” He cooed, and you nodded, moaning incoherently against his cock. The vibrations sent a chill down his spine, but he held off.

“Yeah, makin’ such a mess on my pillow, dirty girl. Like being told what to do?” Your eyes watered, feeling Clay’s cock begin to bruise the back of your throat as his thrusts became involuntarily harder.

You could feel the edge of your orgasm right there, and you desperately chased it with every wiggle and movement of your hips, grinding relentlessly into the soft pillow as your pussy clenched around nothing. Finally, Clay’s hands reached down to your breasts. With one firm pinch of your sensitive nipples, your body shook, releasing an intense wave of pleasure through you.

Clay groaned as the vibrations of your muffled moans against his cock sent him over the edge. He gripped the back of your head, desperate to keep the warmth of your mouth around him as he unloaded his hot release down your throat.

Your eyes watered as the salty liquid pumped into your mouth, spilling from the corners of your mouth. Clay removed himself gently, leaving you with an aching jaw. His heavy breathing filled the air as you tried your best to swallow, but you felt the sizable load running down your chin.

Clay’s heart was pounding as he looked at you. You were a fragile mess, tears and old mascara streaking down your face. His chest swelled with a mix of emotions—guilt, relief and something lighter that he felt could be pride.

Without thinking, he grabbed his shirt and knelt down beside the bed, quickly trying to clean you up. As the lustful fog in his brain began to lift, the guilt grew heavier for being so rough with you.

You looked at him with a small smile as the heat crept up your neck and face. He stared at you, something unreadable, but soft in his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words left his mouth before he felt them coming on, and now he was the one blushing. He cleared his throat, and you sat up, blinking at him as your pulse slowly returned to its normal pace.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” Clay’s voice sounded almost foreign to him, but he took your hand and led you into the bathroom, running a warm shower.

Your heart fluttered. You’d never seen this side of him - so gentle, compassionate. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t said anything. You were okay, just somewhat in shock at the intensity of it all.

Clay turned to you, eyes soft but clouded as he stepped into the shower, guiding you in. You followed his lead, and the water cascaded down your back, sending a small shiver through you.

“I-I uh,” he murmured sheepishly, struggling to meet your gaze. “Are you okay?” Cautiously, his eyes flickered up at you and you nodded, a small smile playing at your lips.

“Yeah,” you laughed a little, letting the sound wake you from your own daze. “Don’t get me wrong, that was … intense,” you chuckled but the sound relieved some of the tension in his chest. “But I loved it.”

The palm of your hand rested on his bare chest, and you leaned in, pressing a reassuring kiss to his slightly chapped lips. He seemed to relax more, letting the steam and your touch melt away some of the tension in his muscles.

His arms snaked around your waist gently as he brought you closer to him. As he stood there with you, the warmth of your naked body against him, he felt something shift inside him.

He looked up, catching a glimpse of your reflections in the mirror. You nestled your head into his chest and closed your eyes—embracing the comfort he offered.

He blinked. Clay barely recognised himself. And to his surprise, he wasn’t sure he minded the person looking back at him in the mirror.

[startseeingstars]

Under the Needle - Clay Roach (City on a Hill)

CH16 🎶 Shimmer - Ocean Grove 🎶

The clinic parking lot was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that made your heartbeat seem louder. You sat gripping the steering wheel, your palms damp, your stomach churning with nervous energy. This was it—the day you’d been counting down to for weeks. But as much as you’d longed for it, the anticipation was suffocating.

You weren’t sure what to expect. Would he still be Clay—the sharp-tongued, cocky mess who’d stumbled into your life and turned it upside down? Or would he be someone different, someone sober and distant, someone who didn’t need you anymore?

The door to the clinic opened, and there he was. He stepped out with a cautious sort of energy, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel hopeful yet. He looked thinner, his clothes hanging looser on his frame, but there was a softness to his movements that hadn’t been there before. His hair was a little longer, curling slightly at the ends, and his face was pale but sharper, the shadows beneath his eyes lighter than you remembered.

The fresh air hit his face, sharp and unfamiliar, and his heart raced as he scanned the lot. Then he saw your car—saw you sitting there, waiting—and his stomach twisted into knots.

He was nervous. Really nervous. He hadn’t been sure you’d actually come. Part of him had convinced himself you’d find a reason not to. That maybe you’d realize you were better off without him. And yet, there you were, leaning slightly forward in the driver’s seat, your hands clutching the wheel like it was the only thing keeping you steady.

He hesitated for a moment before walking over, the weight of everything between you pressing on his chest. When he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, the tension was palpable.

“Hey, Trouble.” You said softly, your voice hesitant, unsure.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice quieter than you’d expected. He avoided your eyes, looking out the windshield instead, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“I, um… your mom was going to come, but she had to work,” you said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly, but he didn’t say anything. That guarded wall was up again, and it made your chest ache.

Your voice was a lifeline and a reminder of how much he’d missed you. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding pathetic. So instead, he stayed quiet, his stomach twisting with the awkwardness of it all.

The car ride was quiet, apart from the hum of the engine and the faint sound of traffic in the distance. You stole a few glances at him, noticing the way he was holding himself—tense, like he was bracing for something.

It felt like he was a stranger sitting next to you. The Clay you’d known before rehab would’ve filled the silence with some sarcastic remark or half-assed joke, trying to deflect from the awkwardness. But this Clay seemed to be quieter, softer, but also heavier, like the weight of the past month was written into every line of his face.

The walk upstairs to the apartments was silent, and he turned to you when you reached his door. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low, almost shy.

“Sure,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

He opened the door, but then stopped, glancing back at you. “You don’t have to come in,” he said, his tone neutral, guarded.

Your heart sank a little, but you nodded. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

He stood there for a moment, as if debating something, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually… would you mind staying? Just for a bit?”

Him asking you to stay felt like admitting he couldn’t do this alone. He hated that vulnerability, hated needing someone. But the thought of being alone in that apartment—the silence, the memories—it was too much.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you quickly nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Inside his apartment, everything felt eerily the same but somehow different. Though the place was much cleaner, some clutter was still there, and it felt like a snapshot of a different life—a life he was trying to leave behind.

He sank onto the couch, running a hand through his hair, and you sat beside him, keeping a bit of space between you. For a while, neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn’t as heavy as it had been in the car. It felt like a tentative truce, a shared understanding that things were different now but still worth fighting for.

Having you there—just sitting next to him—was enough to quiet the chaos in his head, at least for a little while. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely alone. And neither did you.

xxx 🎶 Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls 🎶 xxx

The evening sunlight filtered softly through the blinds of Clay’s bedroom, casting golden streaks across the walls. You sat cross-legged on his bed, inspecting the tattoo on his wrist. The small design of your eyes was healed now, the lines clean and sharp, a permanent reminder of the connection between you both.

Clay sat across from you, his wrist outstretched and his other hand resting awkwardly in his lap. He was watching you with a quiet intensity, the kind of look that made you feel self-conscious but also oddly warm.

“It’s healed really nicely,” you said, running a gentle finger over the ink. “Looks perfect.”

He tilted his head, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smile. “The tattoo’s great,” he said softly, his voice rough but sincere. Then, after a beat, his face turned a shade darker, and he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, uh… nothing compares to the real thing.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Not flirting,” he muttered, his gaze flicking back to yours before quickly looking away again. “Just telling the truth.”

The vulnerability in his tone made your chest ache, but you decided not to push it. Instead, you smiled gently and tapped his wrist. “Let’s celebrate your tattoo being all healed—with a movie,” you suggested, trying to ease the moment.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter now. “A movie sounds good.”

You grabbed the remote and climbed off the bed to put something on. Meanwhile, Clay laid back against his pillows, letting out a long, contented sigh. “God, I missed my bed,” he murmured, stretching out like a cat.

When you turned to look at him, he had his eyes closed, his head sinking into the pillow. He looked almost peaceful, which was rare for him.

“It’s the same bed you told me felt like a brick compared to mine,” you teased.

“Yeah, but the sheets smell different,” he said, opening one eye to look at you.

“They’re clean, Clay,” you shot back with a laugh, throwing a pillow lightly at him.

He caught it, a small grin pulling at his lips. “Clean is… nice,” he admitted, his tone almost contemplative. “It’s weird, but I think I like it.”

You smiled softly, sitting down beside him as the movie started. He shifted closer, his head resting just a little too close to your shoulder, but you didn’t mind. In the quiet glow of his room, everything felt a little more settled.

For Clay, lying there beside you felt like a rare kind of peace. The world outside could wait. For now, he was home—his sheets were clean, his wrist carried a piece of you, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe he could do this. Maybe he could be someone worth sticking around for.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes softening. ‘You’re still beautiful, y’know,’ he murmured, his voice quieter. It wasn’t an ‘I’m sorry’ or a ‘thank you,’ but it was something more. Something fragile. Something real.

Your cheeks flushed pink, and a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re still trouble,” you nudged him lightly, but his smile felt like more ice was chipping away between you.

The soft hum of the television filled Clay’s room as you lay beside him, tucked into the familiar quiet that only seemed to exist in moments like this. After everything you’d been through together, the simplicity of lying there, your head just barely brushing against his shoulder, felt like a fragile kind of peace.

You took a chance, shifting slightly to nestle into him, feeling the warmth of his body radiate through your own. For a moment, he tensed, his body rigid beneath your touch. You were about to pull away, but then, in that subtle, unspoken way he had, his arm slid over your waist. He pulled you closer, his grip gentle but firm, like he wasn’t quite sure how to hold on without breaking something.

The tension in the room eased, and you both settled into a comfortable silence. There was no need for words—not right now. The steady rhythm of his breathing softened, syncing with your own, and the two of you stayed like that, just enjoying the stillness.

At some point, you must have dozed off. When you woke, the soft orange glow of early evening was spilling through the blinds. It was 6 p.m., and Clay was still beside you, his face turned toward you in his sleep. The dark smudges under his eyes were still there, but his expression was peaceful, the lines of stress and pain smoothed out for once. He was snoring lightly, his chest rising and falling in a way that made you ache with something you couldn’t quite name.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, doing your best not to wake him. You wanted to do something nice, something simple to keep this fragile sense of normalcy going. In the kitchen, you found the old takeout menu for the Chinese place you both liked and placed an order, making sure to get extra for his mom when she got home from work.

As you hung up the phone, you turned and jumped, startled to see Clay standing there in the doorway. He was leaning against the frame, his hair messy from sleep, and he gave you a lazy, half-smile that made your heart skip.

“Still jumpy, huh?” he teased, his voice rough but light.

“Only when you sneak up on me like that,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you tried to hide your embarrassment. He smirked and wandered over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a groan.

“You ordered Chinese?” he asked, glancing at the menu still on the counter.

“Yeah. Figured you’d be sick of hospital food by now.”

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered, his lips an appreciative smile on his lips.

“Oh, and there’s strawberry ice cream in the freezer,” you added casually.

He gave you a puzzled look. “Strawberry?”

“Your mom said it was your favourite,” you said with a shrug, trying to play it cool.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his expression softened, and you caught the faintest hint of a smile before he turned his attention to the TV.

When the food arrived, you sat on the couch together, the smell of grease and soy sauce filling the room. Clay wasted no time digging into the noodles, shoveling them into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“This is the first thing I’ve eaten in a month that hasn’t involved rabbit food,” he said through a mouthful, making you laugh.

“Slow down, you’re going to choke,” you said, grinning as you watched him.

The atmosphere between you had lightened over the course of the day, the awkwardness and tension from earlier melting away. It felt almost normal, like the easy camaraderie you’d shared before he left for rehab.

When you were both done eating, Clay surprised you by gathering the empty cartons and cleaning up the coffee table without being asked. It was such a small thing, but it made your chest tighten in a way that was hard to ignore.

As the evening wore on, the pull in his chest—the one that had been growing stronger all day—became impossible for him to ignore. He grew restless, flipping through channels on the TV without really watching anything. He sat sprawled on the couch, his fingers tapping idly against his knee. He’d been stealing glances at you all evening, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Finally, he broke the silence.

“So,” he said, casually but with a pointed undertone, “what’d I miss while I was gone? You rob any banks? Start a cult?”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “The cult thing didn’t work out. Turns out it’s hard to find virgin sacrifices around here.” You joked and he laughed - a sound that made your chest swell. “Work, errands. Real exciting stuff like folding laundry and paying bills.” You answered more seriously.

“Uh-huh,” he said, giving you a sideways look. “You’re dodging the question. You know that, right?”

“There’s nothing to dodge,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” you said defensively, picking at the loose thread on your sleeve.

“Yeah, you are. You’ve got that twitchy thing going on.” He gestured vaguely at your face, and you rolled your eyes.

“What twitchy thing?”

“That thing where you avoid eye contact and your voice goes up half an octave,” he said, leaning back and smirking like he’d just solved a mystery.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “I don’t do that.” You muttered, defeated.

“You literally just did.”

You glared at him, but his smug expression made it impossible to stay mad. “Fine.” You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion. “I’ve been drinking a little more than usual.” you said finally, keeping your tone flat. “Like, not ‘fun night out’ drinking. More like ‘numb the noise’ drinking.”

Clay’s eyebrows shot up, and for a second, you thought he might make some sarcastic comment. Instead, he just blinked at you, processing.

“Well,” he said after a beat, “guess I wasn’t the only one spiraling.”

You shot him a look, and he held up his hands defensively. “I’m not judging,” he said quickly. “I mean, come on. Look at me. I’ve got zero room to talk.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to add to your pile of shit.” You admitted, your voice softer now.

“Myah, I’m the guy who made you lock me in your apartment like a zoo animal. The least I can do is listen to you vent.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, even though the topic was anything but funny. “I just… it’s been hard.”

Clay nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I get that. Trust me.” He muttered. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it felt lighter, easier. Finally, he nudged your shoulder with his.

“So…” he hesitated, trying to find the right words to say without being cliche. ““We’re gonna deal with this, right? Like, not me telling you what to do, but, you know, not ignoring it either.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding slowly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“And if we fail, we blame each other.” A mischievous smirk appeared—one you’d missed.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your ass,” he quipped, the hint of a grin softening his words.

He leaned back into the couch, his eyes back on the TV. “Now, can we watch something that doesn’t make me wanna gouge my eyes out?”

You laughed, grabbing the remote. Typical Clay—deflecting with sarcasm but still sticking around when it mattered.