A/N: First of all, this fic is based on the Netflix series, not the book (the book is on order but I heard about the show first :)). I found the romance between Hannah and Clay to be really endearing, and the way that Clay responded to Hannah's outburst in this episode was so incredibly sweet. I just wish it didn't have to be so sad, so I'm writing an alternate take (I realize there's similar fiction out there but I purposely didn't read it in an attempt to keep this as original as possible). I have no idea how long this story will be or where it's going yet.

Chapter 1: Hannah's POV

"Hannah-"

"Get the FUCK out!"

I hear you walk briskly to the door. I hear the rattle of the doorknob jiggling. Yet, for some reason, the party downstairs doesn't get any louder. There must still be something in the way, an obstruction, because the sound waves aren't suddenly being amplified even more in my ears.

The sounds of all of our classmates laughing, talking, drinking, being rowdy and carefree and uninhibited, having the time of their lives. The sounds of everyone down there feeling the kind of good that I never thought that I'd feel again.

Except that I just felt it, when you first kissed me. Even though now it feels like so long ago.

At that moment, everything was perfect. And for the first time, in a long time, I could imagine a future where I was happy. How good life could be.

You haven't opened the door yet- that's the only thing I can think to explain it. You've turned the knob, but for some reason you're hesitating to pull on it. Waiting.

And I know you felt it, too.

You're meeting me halfway. Giving me time. Time for the part of me that never wanted to see you again to lose a bloody battle to the part of me saying "please don't leave."

Right? I don't dare look at you to confirm or discredit my theory.

But how long will you stay? How long will you wait for me? If you open the door now, will you shut me out of your life forever?

I'm terrified to find out. But even more terrified to show you how weak I am, how broken I am. Because you deserve someone unbroken, whole. Not me.

Please don't leave.

Three words. Too many. And one of them so vulnerable, practically begging you. Please. No. I just can't do it.

Two words? Don't go? Turn around? Stop there?

No. Two is too many, too.

The doorknob rattles again. This time, it feels more finite. And then, gradually, the noise of the party begins to filter inside Jessica's room, just a bit at a time. The moment that it starts to happen, I realize that I hate it. Those voices, those stupid, happy, voices. They'll drown out my own, and yours. I can't let them.

I don't have much time. I have to act now. You're opening the door.

One word?

"Wait." The word escapes my larynx in a garbled whimper. Surely not loud enough to be heard over the rising volume of the festivities downstairs. Which is probably for the best, because part of me doesn't want you to hear me anyway.

But somehow, miraculously, you do hear me. The door shuts again, as slowly as it opened, and the doorknob jiggles again. The voices subside. I breathe a sigh of relief. And you turn around, and your eyes are on me, which usually is thrilling but right now is terrifying. When I look closer, I see both the love and the sadness in them.

"Of course, I'll wait, Hannah. I'm so sorry for pushing you."

You've misinterpreted. You mean the sex, right? Well, yeah, we're definitely not going to have sex now. So yeah, you'll have to wait for that.

Still, you're apologizing. For something you didn't even do. You didn't push me into anything. You even asked me if it was okay. Which is far more than what most guys do, from my experience. And me saying "more than okay," isn't exactly a mixed signal.

I open my mouth, and then shut it again. It's not worth the effort to clarify what I wanted you to wait for. I'm not sure I even know.

You creep closer. As if I was holding a bomb, maybe. I can't blame you, really. I did just explode.

I could explode again. I could tell you to get the fuck out again. And you would- you'd listen. I'm sure of it.

Except- you did what I wanted. Or what part of me wanted anyway, the bigger part of me, at least for now. You didn't leave. I should at least reward you for that. So I don't tell you to get the fuck out. I just watch you as you cautiously approach. I guess that's something.

You sit gingerly at the foot of the bed. At least a couple of feet away. Again, I don't blame you. The fact that you kept touching me as you were apologizing just seemed to piss me off even more. The distance is better, for now.

I don't know what comes next. I guess I should apologize for pushing you away, except I don't have the energy. Even "please don't go" still sounds too daunting. I don't have the courage to tell you what's wrong, either, so that's a question I won't be able to answer right now. And I know you'll ask it. I finally shrug my shoulders, as if to say "don't worry about it," without making the effort to move my mouth.

You look at me seriously, worried. "You know I didn't try to push you, right? I would never-,"

I nod. I know you wouldn't. You aren't every other guy. You're different. You're good, and kind, and decent. I speak softly. "I know."

Chapter 1: Clay's POV

"Hannah-"

"Get the FUCK out!"

I walk towards the door, shocked, numb. It's a small room- it doesn't take me long. I put my hand on the doorknob; rotate it. I'm about to pull the door open when I can't shake a thought:

Even though you told me to- I can't leave things like this. Right? I just stand there frozen to the spot while I try to decide.

My mind is still swirling, churning at a million miles a minute. I just cannot figure out where the fuck I went so wrong. Because a minute ago things felt so right. I need to figure it out quickly, before I lose you for good. Time is running out. I fiddle with the doorknob impatiently.

I guess- you thought I was taking things too far just now? I thought- I thought you were okay with everything that I was doing. But I'm obviously missing something, something big. I try to break it down.

It wasn't the kissing- you responded to that just fine. More than okay, in fact. And there was absolutely no way kisses that good could be one-sided. Your soft lips, her warm tongue against mine- it was basically the best feeling in the universe. Better than I could ever imagine kissing could be.

Maybe it was when I felt your breast- perhaps I was a little too aggressive. I was trying to be gentle, to do something that you would really like, honest. I would never try to hurt you. But considering that it was the most intimately I've ever touched anyone (with porn being my only teacher), combined with the fact that you're basically the girl of my dreams- I might have gotten carried away. I was certainly excited enough.

Maybe you could feel how excited I was, pressed so closely against you; maybe that was the problem. Given the circumstances, I couldn't really control myself, but maybe I should have been more considerate so as not to confront you directly with my raging hard-on.

Still, it's hard to imagine that either of those things are what caused you to get as upset as you did. I mean, all that they tell me is how much you turn me on (and, God, it is a lot). And yeah, of course I would love to have sex with you- but only when you want to. It's not just about the physical stuff for me. I love talking to you- I have ever since that first day at the Crestmont. I want to take care of you, to make you feel better when you're down, to love you. I love you, Hannah.

I've never seen you so upset before. It shakes me to my core. What else could I have done to cause it? I went through everything we were doing already- kissing, boob-grab, bodies close. If not any of those things, then what? What are you going through?

Did something happen to you physically just now that you didn't want to tell me about? Maybe you got your period? Or maybe you just weren't feeling turned on so you decided to react this way instead? I think back to health class, how embarrassingly little I know about the female anatomy, about your anatomy. Maybe Justin was just light-years better at this stuff. Of course he was. I have so much to learn. But I want to learn it, I do. I'll do whatever you tell me, whatever makes you happy.

Or what about emotionally? You don't- you don't think I'd actually do what Justin did, snap pictures, brag to everyone, send out a group text, do you? I would never do that to you. I hope that you already know that.

Or maybe something else happened? Something you think I'm incapable of understanding because I was raised in a bubble by helicopter parents. Something I probably wouldn't understand. But why not try to tell me anyway? Even if I didn't understand, I'd listen and stroke your hair and hold you and wipe away your tears, I'd say the most comforting words I could, I'd stay with you as long as you'd let me.

But you obviously want me to leave, which you so colorfully articulated to me. Standing at this door for God knows how long hasn't helped me to figure out why. Waiting here with the hopes that you'll change your mind seems pointless. I might as well go. I start to open the door.

"Wait."

Your voice sounds small and scared. And I want nothing more than to run to you, hug you, comfort you.

But I'm not a total idiot. I've learned from the last few minutes. I'm the rat in a cage who got shocked after grabbing a food pellet. There's another pellet there now, but I need to find out how safe it is before touching it.

I close the door, hesitating, my hand still holding the doorknob for a moment. As I do, I feel something there, almost as though someone's on the other side, though the feeling quickly dissipates. I make an adjustment before turning around and approaching you. I don't know exactly what you mean, and I'm afraid to ask. Did you mean wait, don't leave? Or did you mean wait, wait for the physical stuff we were just doing?

It doesn't matter. Either way, I'll wait.

"Of course, I'll wait, Hannah. I'm so sorry for pushing you." I'm sincere.

You shrug. I'm not sure if that's an acknowledgement that I did push things too far, or if you're shrugging to get out of telling me whatever the alternative explanation is.

I decide to act quickly assuming option 1. After all, if I did act too aggressively just now, you need to know the truth about it. If that's not what you felt, you can always correct me. "You know I didn't try to push you, right? I would never-,"

You look at me, with those wide, piercing eyes. Honest eyes. Sad eyes.

"I know."