Shoulder to Lean On

First Meetings

He sat bolt right in bed, which may not have been the brightest move as he was still slightly dizzy and nauseous. Patches was startled, and she leapt up too. He turned to look at her and noticed the other presence in his bed. Dead asleep, laying on top of the covers in jeans and what looked like his own blue merch hoodie, was-

"George?"

Clay's brain was malfunctioning. All he could do was stare at his best friend, who was very much real and very much present. George was sleeping on the far edge of his bed, mouth open a little bit and his short brown hair a mess, the longer bits of it going so far as to curl a little. Clay brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed them so hard that it made his vision spotty and then looked back over again. Still there.

Not daring to believe it when he knew he had been drifting in and out of consciousness and shifty nightmares for who knows how long, Clay reached out a shaking hand and gently poked George's shoulder. His finger made contact with the fabric of the hoodie. Real. Real. Real. This is real! George is here! Why is he here? How did he get here?

Clay had so many questions that it almost hurt to think of them all. There was only one way to get answers though, and that was to wake George up. Clay retracted his hand from where it was still resting on George's hoodie-clad shoulder and used it to prop himself up into a sitting position. He took the time to get a good look at the world around him. His vision was unimpaired by extreme dizziness or tears for the first time in awhile.

On his bedside table, there was a bottle of ibuprofen and a bowl of brown liquid (probably a broth or soup of some kind). There was also a plate of stale looking toast and a glass of water. Clay picked up the glass immediately and took a cautious sip, before downing the rest of the water greedily. His stomach felt really weird, and the sharp pain of hunger from earlier had been replaced with a dull ache. The sunlight streaming through the windows and his now-charged phone screen let him know that it was about eight o'clock in the morning.

Suddenly, there was some shuffling and a murmuring noise. Clay turned his attention back to the mysterious intruder in his house, who was now stretching and rubbing his own eyes. He turned and looked at Clay, a smile lighting up across his face. Goodness, was it nice to see his best friend's smile in person. Clay realized the webcam, no matter how high quality, had never done George justice.

"You're finally awake!" George's voice broke Clay out of his intense study of George's face.

"I am....how are you here? What happened?" Clay felt slightly embarrassed. He knew he had passed out while trying to sign out of a Teamspeak call with George, but his memory after that was either hazy or nonexistent.

George gave him a sympathetic smile. "You don't remember anything?"

Clay squinted his eyes in concentration as he willed his brain to function. "I remember... we were recording and I wasn't feeling well. I think I passed out. After that I remember waking up and trying to get my phone. I thought I had a dream that you were here. I guess it wasn't a dream?"

George laughed lightly. "I'm really here Dream!"

Clay beamed. "I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper greeting. Speaking of..." Clay scooted across the bed and opened his arms. George leaned over and reciprocated the hug. Even though both of them were sitting, Clay was taller enough than George for the Brit to rest his chin on Clay's shoulder. The hug was tight, and warm, and genuine. The pair had waited so long for this moment. Years, even.

Finally, George pulled away from the embrace. Clay scooted back a bit, and visibly winced at the amount of energy it took. George noticed. "Hey, now that you're truly awake why don't you take some more pain medication and try to eat something? Also, I couldn't find a thermometer to take your temperature so I don't know how high your fever was. I'm assuming it was high."