You were apart of Clay’s sad book club. And he took a liking to you. He fancied you. A lot. As he describes it; you hug and stuff, and cry. Today Clay was holding onto you while he read ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ to you in French. This was normal. To just curl up against someone in that book club. He held you against his chest, holding a hand on your back, stroking it gently every so often.