ACID RAIN // DNF AU

Chapter Five (George)

He had dropped Clay off at his house late last night, and he'd returned to his hotel room and fallen asleep at one in the morning. Clay's parents and younger sisters were on vacation in Australia, but he hadn't gone with them, so he had his family house all to himself at the moment. He claimed it wasn't because of George's visit, but George thought differently.

When he woke up to a ringing cell phone, it was nearing noon. He checked the caller ID to see Clay's name and accepted the call. "Hello?"

"George? Are you at your hotel?" He sounded anxious, his morning voice low and gravelly.

He sat up in bed. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"How did we get home? What happened?"

George's eyes widened. He'd been right; Clay didn't remember anything. They could have kissed, and it would have been fine.

Regret surged up in him, but he laughed loudly to hide it. "Could you quiet down?" Clay snapped irritably. "I have a headache."

"I bet you do. You're probably so hungover right now. I drove you home. We were at the party for maybe three or four hours. What's the last thing you remember?"

There was a slight pause, a low hum from a machine carrying over the phone. "We played Truth or Dare, right? And then we sang. And then did we do Seven Minutes in Heaven? I remember Tasha asking to play."

He didn't remember going to the balcony, and George sure as hell wasn't going to tell him. "You told her no, so we just kind of talked the rest of the time. We met some other people than your friends, too. You were basically asleep." He had rested his head on George's shoulder for a few minutes, and it had conjured up a swarm of butterflies in his chest.

"Wait, did you drink and drive? I remember you had something." Clay sounded like he was about to sternly reprimand George, and it drew a small smile out of him.

"I only had half a cup of punch," he argued, "and I waited for, like, two hours first. It was fine."

He exhaled harshly. "The legal limit is point-zero-two percent for people under twenty-one, and you don't even have a license here. You should've asked one of my friends to drive. Riley and Jacob know where I live, and they don't drink."

"Oh, I didn't know. I guess they didn't have anything while we were with them. Why?" He didn't think his BAC was at 0.02% after all that time and barely anything to drink, so that wasn't the issue.

Clay was silent for a minute. "Riley is just responsible—you forget eighteen is underage here. And Jacob...I don't know. He wants to be aware of what's going on."

"Well, he's the opposite of you, I guess. You forgot half of what happened," George teased.

There was another long pause over the phone. "Yeah," Clay finally said, sounding upset.

"I didn't mean it like that," George said, instantly guilty.

"I know you didn't."

Now he was the one to hesitate. "I'm going to go shower and eat breakfast."

"Okay. Thank you for taking me home last night, even though it was reckless of you," he said earnestly, the usual trace of sarcasm missing from his words, replaced by sweetness.

George got a little flustered at that, glad that Clay couldn't see him. "Sorry, and no problem."

He hung up and set his phone on the nightstand, gathering clothes from his suitcase and latching the door to the bathroom. He turned the hot water on, letting the flowing water drench his dirty hair and skin, trying to wash away all the confusion of the previous night.

By the time he got out, the mirror was covered in condensation. He toweled off and changed quickly, stomach rumbling. George ran a comb quickly through his wet, dark brown hair, and finally cleared a spot of fog from the glass surface to check his reflection. His hair was soaked and chaotic, strands sticking up every which way. He sighed, giving up on taming it.

George retrieved his keycard from the nightstand along with his phone. Clay had sent something on Snapchat, apparently. George clicked the notification, opening the picture to see Clay resting his chin on one hand, pouting, looking to the left of the camera. I know you didn't give me my hoodie back, by the way, read the caption. He paused the picture before it disappeared, and his eyes darted over to the crumpled fabric lying on his bed. Clay's eyes were reddish and his hair was messy, but he still looked good. It was so unfair. George wanted to screenshot the snap, but he restrained himself. Sending a picture of the sweatshirt in question back, he put his phone away. He was still tired, and wistfulness was seeping into his bones.

His hotel had a breakfast buffet downstairs, so he opened the door, stepping across the ugly carpeted floor and heading to the elevator, pushing the button for the lobby.

There were scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, and coffee, among other things, so he took a little bit of each option and found a chair. George never got large, classic breakfasts at home, usually only eating cereal or a granola bar in the mornings, so he sent a picture of the meal to Clay too. He was spreading butter over the pancakes when Clay responded with a blurry photo—two pieces of toast on a plate. Your hotel has awesome food.

He took a selfie holding a piece of bacon at an awful angle, giggling to himself. Enjoying my life over here.

Ten seconds passed before the next snap, which showed less than half of Clay's face. His eyes darted over those defined cheekbones and the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. What do you want to do today?

He pointed the camera at the hotel doors, turning it away from his face, which paled in comparison. Idk. Any recommendations? He sent.

He watched the status change to "opened". I'll meet you in half an hour, he texted in chat.

George rolled his eyes at the rest of the room, knowing Clay couldn't see him, and went back to his breakfast. He either had some grand surprise adventure planned or they were just going to drive around.

He returned to his room, getting his wallet, and found that he had nothing to do, so he turned on the television.

When it had been twenty-five minutes, he took the elevator to the lobby to wait for a text from Clay, drumming his fingers against his leg anxiously and watching the cars driving past, feeling apprehensive. He wasn't sure whether it was for the activity planned or for being around his best friend.