Clayton had a record of disappointing you. He didn’t even realize he was making you sad, until you just were. You were supposed to be his dearest friend, yet he left you upset almost every time you two conversed.

You storm out of the house, crying yet again. It was pouring rain, your hair and clothes getting soaked and sticking to your skin. Clayton comes out after you, holding an umbrella. He held a saddened expression on his face, but a determined one as well.

This time, he had started going on about how careless you are. You just so happened to lock yourself out of your apartment, and so, you ran to him. He was open to the idea of you staying at his place, but the liberty of his place didn’t come without a reprimanding.

It wouldn’t have been bad if he had just said it nicer. Instead, he just rambled on and on about how you lack spatial awareness and how you’re very forgetful. Clayton wasn’t kind when it came to stuff like this — he didn’t know how to be. He used used to blunt, firm discussions. Blame it on his upbringing, or perhaps his experience in the business world. Either way, he never knew how to speak to you in a way that wouldn't upset you.

He ran after you, calling your name in the pouring rain. It was late at night, freezing cold and wet, the perfect conditions to get sick. With Clay's heart condition, he knew he shouldn't be out like this. But he couldn't help it, he needed to apologize and make it up to you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Can you come inside so we can get warm?” He asks, holding out his hand slightly. He knew he was treating you like shit, but you gave him attention, and he craved it. He desperately craved your praise and your touch, even when he didn’t deserve it in the slightest.