No More What Ifs (DreamNotFound)

17. Sleepy

TW// Somewhat graphic description of injury.

I woke up early the next morning to hear George's bizarre snoring again. I leaned up on my mattress to look at him, noticing he had removed one of the pillows from beneath his head to cuddle it. He was getting really into cuddling it, too - he had his legs and arms both tightly wound around it. I smiled and admired him for a moment, his features still beautiful despite how roughed up he was. His face especially was looking better than yesterday - the bruises had lost their red tint and now were only a dark brownish purple, and the scrapes were starting to look more coagulated. 

I did have to get up eventually, so I quickly changed into some of my spare clothes that were in his closet. George was still sleeping deeply, his snoring strange and adorable as before. I chuckled softly and quietly left his room.

As I came down the stairs, I saw that George's mom was in the kitchen with an apron on and holding a pan of scrambled eggs. There were a few plates on the table with some toast on them.

"Good morning, Clay," she greeted. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty good," I shrugged, yawning. "What time is it?"

"It's 8 AM. Which means that you have been asleep for over 12 consecutive hours."

"Huh?" I sputtered, surprised. "Well... I guess that's right."

She laughed it off, quickly shifting the subject. "What about George? Is he still asleep?"

"Yeah," I confirmed.

"Well, that won't do," she said, scraping some of the finished eggs onto the plates. "Could you go wake him up for me while I finish serving breakfast?"

"Oh, uh... sure."

The request felt a little abrupt, but I went back upstairs regardless and carefully approached George's sleeping figure. He was still cuddling the pillow-like he was earlier, though it looked like his grip was tighter. I poked him gently, yielding no result. He didn't even flinch at all. I tried saying his name at a moderate volume, but that didn't work either, so I decided to be dramatic. I clambered on top of him, leaned into his face, and loudly called, "Morning, Georgie!"

His eyes snapped open as he shouted softly, quickly fixing his gaze at me. "Clay, you prick. I was having a good dream about you." 

I smiled smugly. "Get up, your mom made breakfast."

"I have a skull fracture, bring me food," he retorted.

"Your mom said you should come downstairs."

"Shhh," he hushed, holding out his arms for a hug. Sighing, I returned it, holding him tightly as he gently stroked my hair. We lay next to each other for a moment, basking in the other's presence. I noticed how dazed he looked, even though he was clearly trying to focus on me.

"Do you want me to help you downstairs?" I offered. "I-I don't mean, like, carrying, but I know you have a pretty bad headache, so..."

"That'd be nice," he smiled. "Um... Let me get a shirt on."

And although he said that, he didn't move. A tension spawned in the air between us, the unspoken words between us growing louder as we locked eyes and my breath hitched in my throat.

"Do you... um... wanna kiss?" I finally asked softly.

"Yeah," he breathed.

I cupped his cheek with my hand, leaning in slowly as he did the same. When our lips met, my heart just about exploded with joy. It was gentle and slow, his nose rubbing against mine softly. One of his hands found my free hand and entwined with it, fingers closed together.