"What do you mean?" I'm confused.

"I mean if I got drunk and cried infront of George and Nick, they would definitely laugh and tell everyone," he shrugs, "I don't see why you wouldn't do the same, you're not even my friend."

It's painful that his words are true. I think George and Nick are great people and wonderful friends, but the way they're treating Clay's situation is just childish. Maybe it's because they don't understand how much it affects him.

"What would you do in my place?" I want him to imagine the situation without invalidating his right to express emotions, "If I got drunk and cried about something that caused me pain? Would you laugh and tell everyone?"

Clay looks down at the floor. He's thinking, yet I don't even feel like it's necessary. Right when the words left my mouth, he had the answer.

"No.."

I nod, "Even though we're not even friends and you don't care about me, right?"

He takes in a heavy breath and finally moves his eyes up from the floor. He's silent, but his eyes are full of emotion.

I'm worn out after saying this countless times. But I'm gonna say it again, cause I feel like this time it'll finally alter him.

"I know you're not really fond of me and you made it clear a thousand times that you don't trust me, but even if you don't see me as your friend it doesn't change the fact that I'm here for you and you can always talk to m-"

My sentence is cut short by the sudden physical contact.

I wince and close my eyes as the feeling of my body slamming against Clay's cuts the thread of my thoughts, pointing all of my focus to the bone-crushing hug I'm welcomed in.

Clay's arms lock around my head and neck as he hangs his head to rest it in the crook of my neck. My reaction is delayed because of the overwhelming surprise, but eventually I wrap my arms around his torso and let my head rest on his chest. The way he lets go of a breath and squeezes my body tighter is telling me that the consent was all he needed.

And while experiencing the tightest and longest hug in my life, I break the silence.

"Do you wanna be friends?" Keep in mind that we're both 22 year old adults that had been living together for more than a month already.

"No," he mumbles into my shoulder, "I want to hate you."

I don't know why I smile at his words. It's just funny that he's saying that while tightening his arms even more around me.

"Why are you so obsessed with the idea of hating me?" Even though he can't see my smile, I'm hoping he can hear it.

I thought it was a good question for him to think about for a while. But the way he immediately answers makes me think that he's thought about it way too many times before.

"Cause wouldn't it be nice if I got happy every time something bad happened in your life?"

He's such an idiot.

I laugh, "You'd be one happy man."

Clay finally pulls away. And I'm conflicted by the misery written all over his face. There's indescribable sadness in his eyes - or is it doubt? I'm not sure.

"I need to tell you something," he sighs with a heavy heart, "but I don't know if I should."

Just because I like secrets and hate anticipation, I quickly speak, "If you thought about it, then you probably should."

He thinks about it for a little longer and I patiently wait, afraid that if I speak, he'll change his mind. I hope the outcome will be worth it, I'm putting all my patience into this.

"George's gonna kill me," he rubs his neck, "but-"

Clay's phone rings in his pocket. The timing is obnoxious, but the fact that it's George is nothing less than dreadful. It's like he could sense the moment.

Clay looks like he's debating whether he should pick up or not. But I'm terrified, it's gonna be disastrous if George's calls go unanswered one more time.

"Pick up, please," my lips grow thin and firm with my words.

Clay swipes the screen. And right as he puts his phone on his ear, I hear George yelling at him through the line. It makes Clay back away from me and violently press the volume down key to cancel at least some of the swear words that are echoing through the speaker.

But I heard some of it. It went like why wouldn't you call me back you useless cunt I was fucking worried.

"I was asleep," he continues the lie I started. I'm not sure what George says next, but Clay's answer is true, "You sleep for 16 hours all the time, George."

By the way Clay rolls his eyes and groans I can tell that George is lecturing him. I hear british blabbers but can't tell what he's saying. All I know is Clay is pissed.

And then at some point, he looks at me before speaking, "She's okay, don't worry," aww, George asked if I'm okay, "No, we didn't," and now I guess he's asking if we fought or not, "I didn't, George." I don't know the question to that one answer.

I third wheel for a while. But it feels like Clay is second wheeling on a unicycle. George is the only wheel that matters, he's having a monolog. And when he finally finishes, Clay's exhausted.

"They're coming back," he announces, "did you need anything from the store?"

I did need a shampoo but I'm not gonna trust them on that one. Nick once washed his hair with my bodywash and thought his hair felt exceptionally nice.

"No," I speak, "what were you gonna tell me?"

I already knew that the moment was ruined and he wouldn't tell me anything. And even though he shook his head no, I was happy that at least we got close to a point where he considered trusting me. I think with a little more time and effort we can actually become friends.