you led my heart {dreamnotfound}

thirteen.

happy trans day of visibility!!  Anyways yk how Clay is writing a song? I'm honestly not sure which one I should choose, I think Home by Edward Sharpe.
yeah that's what I'm doing, should I make George the females part though? I will do that. Okay, okay, we are going to stop rambling and get started!!

So without further adieu...
I present to you,
Like Real People Do.

"What are you working on?" George asked, traveling over to Clay who sat atop the bedside, upon noticing a guitar in the man's lap, and a note book in his left hand, scrunched eyebrows and rubbing his temple with the right.

Clay just simply smiled, beckoning for George to sit beside him on their bed, with a soft pat to the undone viridian coloured bedspread. Once George got the message, sitting beside Clay and resting the side of their head on Clay's sharp shoulder blade, the man spoke, "Well, I wanted to do this at a better time, possibly when you were away," George's smile faltered, Clay noticing almost immediately, speaking up, "No, George, so it would be more of a surprise."

George nervily laughed, red flushing in their often pale face, "Anyways, as I was saying, there probably won't be a better time to do it for awhile," Clay turned to his notes, "With Christmas coming up and all.. I kind of, I kind of hoped to have it finished by then."

The man looked up, avoiding eye contact with George, simply staring at the scenery before him, which had consisted of a dark wardrobe dresser, a television, clothing rack, and a variety of  miscellaneous items that had been scattered messily on the dark oak, wooden, floor. George however, stared straight into the unsettled, green eyes. He urged the other to continue with a polished shake of the head.

"I'm sure you know," Clay fiddled with the strings of the acoustic, in attempt to distract from picking at the already raw skin beneath his nail bed. George nodded, rubbing the other's bare arm, with his thumb, in attempt to calm him down.

"Now isn't the time to tell me you are pregnant, Clay." They joked, in attempt to diminish the tension that was clear, practically radiating off the man's body. It had worked however, Clay breaking out into a winded convulse. George had felt rather accomplished.

"I'm not pregnant," He denied, before giving the other a badgering look, raising a single, dark brow, "...unless?"

George exulted, letting a high pitched hum croak in his throat, pulling himself into an equally teasing front.

"Okay, well, I just, I never played for someone, so-" Serious but scared tone of voice exiting through the man's frowned lips, George speaking up after the pause,

"Clay, it's just me." They established, placing a smooth hand over one of Clay's which had been nervously scratching at said instrument. "I am not going to laugh or anything," He spoke, tracing shapes on the other's shaky hands, "I promise."
He finished, somewhat awkwardly before pulling away the lingering hand, giving the wrist one last squeeze, then bringing in to rest in their own lap.

Clay nodded, taking a draw of breathe, then focusing down to the guitar strings once again,
one
two
three
The blonde started whistling, to the thump of his guitar, before starting.

"Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa.." He started, soon after looking up to George, half expecting them to be laughing, the other just watching, assuring smile on their face, Clay continued, "Not the way that I do love you,"
Clay smiled, now more comfortable in front of the other, "Well holy moly, me oh my, you're the apple of my eye, boy I never loved one like you.."
George smiled.