AT LEAST IT'S ALL ABOUT YOU // Dream X Reader

28

The San Francisco show went just as well as all the others, but you would always think of it as the best one - not for anything big really, but it felt different, being allowed to blatantly stare at Clay on stage, and knowing that thousands of fan girls would kill to be you right now, even if they had no idea you existed. He kept glancing at you during the show too, and just from his body language you could tell he was smiling. 

It was after the show that really solidified it though. The lights dropped, the boys came backstage and Clay pulled the mask off, walking right up to you and dropping an arm around your shoulders. 

"You were great, as always." You said, leaning into the touch. 

Clay beamed. "You thought so?"

"I always think so, you know that." You said. You knew you had made it clear how highly you thought of him many times before, but that your admiration still made him smile made those butterflies squeeze your heart again.

"Dinner?" George asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

"Yes please." Nick groaned, whipping his bandanna off and playfully flicking Myra with it. "I'm starving."

Clay's arm around you slipped away, going to grab your hand instead. "I'll pass." He said. "I had an idea for the song in the middle of our set, and I think after I change this one bit it'll be done- I have to go write it down before I forget."

"Y/N?" Myra asked.

You glanced up at Clay. "I'll just grab something from the bus." You said. "You guys can go ahead."

Myra and Nick traded look of amusement, but said nothing, simply waving as they and George headed off to go get a hot meal. You were sure you were going to get teased about this later though, but it was alright. If Clay thought he was going to finish the song, you wanted to be there for it.

He tugged on your hand, and you started off, letting him pull you back to the buses and into the Dream Team's bus, making a beeline straight for the couches, where his laptop and his guitar sat. He popped open his computer and grabbed his notebook, flipping it open to the page with the original scrawl of words that would turn into the song. "There's leftover takeout in the fridge if you want, and I think there's stuff to make a sandwich too. You could've gone eat, you know." He said. 

You opened the fridge, taking out a styrofoam box containing some chicken lo-mein. "I want to be the first one to hear it when it's done." You said. "Do you want something to eat? I'm going to heat this up-"

"After." Clay said, focused on the music in front of him, tapping at something on his laptop. You let the takeout heat up, watching the intense focus as Clay worked. He didn't even look up when you sat down next to him, swirling a fork through your noodles. 

On his laptop, five different tabs were split on the screen so he could see them all. The word document with the lyrics was biggest, but there were a bunch of other programs you didn't recognize - probably sound stuff. Clay's eyes darted between each of the tabs, reading, adjusting, changing. You were too busy the mouse move on the screen, you didn't notice his mouth was open until he made a sound. 

You huffed out a laugh, feeding him a forkful of noodles. "I asked if you wanted me to heat something up for you-"

"It was just one bite." Clay said, finishing typing with an air of finality. "And I think it's done."

Clay set his laptop to the side, grabbing his guitar and giving it a few strums to make sure it was in tune. His eyes darted up to meet yours (they looked greenish blue in the light streaming in from the window) and smiled, as he began to sing. 

You let his voice wash over you, accompanied by the gentle strumming of his guitar. A smile grew on your face as you recognized these words as your own - those first feelings you'd had for him, sung back to you in a voice that you loved so much. His fingers worked the guitar strings as he moved into the chorus - a little something romantic about the open road and the bus roof and stars above you. Even though you had been there for most of the writing, having it all sung to you was making your face heat up.

The second verse made it even worse - this was Clay's verse, a version of the piece he had written for you. To the common eye, it would be just any other summer love story, but you knew the story behind each of those lines - you had lived them, and it made the song strike your heartstrings. You bit back a giddy smile, listening as Clay moved to the chorus and then to the bridge before the final round of the chorus, and the final notes of the song hovered in the air around you. 

You set your dinner aside to press your lips to Clay's insistently. He laughed into the kiss, laying his guitar down on the floor so that he could rest his hands on your hips as you pushed him down into the sofa, peppering his face with tiny kisses before settling on his lips again.

"I take it that you liked it?" Clay asked, a little breathless when he pulled away. 

"Clay, it's perfect." You said. "I love it."

He hummed. "It still needs a name."

You looked down at him, staring into the depths of those eyes that you had come to know and love. For all the color changing they did depending on the light, it was now, in the direct light of the window that you could see their true color - green around the edges, but closer to amber as they moved inward. 

"Chartreuse." You said. 

Clay raised an eyebrow. "Chartreuse?"

"Your eyes." You said by way of explanation. 

Clay laughed. "Chartreuse it is, I guess."