Signed /Dream Team/

33

I've never seen anyone sleep like Clay. If I couldn't feel him breathe, I'd think he's dead.

He did not move even a tiny bit for more than seven hours. His cheek was pressed to the same spot on my thigh, his arm wrapped around it exactly the same way, his heartbeat synchronized with the clock ticking.

And I did not sleep or move for the said seven hours as well. I didn't even want to keep myself busy with anything. The idleness felt ideal.

One of the biggest worries I had was the idea of Clay thinking he was hugging his ex again. All I want is for him to have a goodnight sleep with a peaceful state of mind at least once. And I'm also curious to see how our communication changes when he sobers up. Will he even remember anything? Will he go back to being an asshole? But as I said, I'd rather have him treat me like shit like he did before, than see him cry again.

And all that anticipation makes me straighten my back when I see his eyelids heavily rise. He doesn't move but lazily blinks a few times.

"You have work?" He mutters.

I'm not surprised that he lost the concept of time. It's Saturday, so no, I don't have work. And even if I did, it's afternoon now.

"No," I put all of those facts into one simple answer.

"Tell me if..." and the rest is muffled. If I had to guess, I think he told me to let him know if I need to get up. I'll never know, he fell back asleep.

I grab my phone and open the notes. There, I write a few things down; buy a different scented shampoo, wash the sheets. Yes, I need to write everything down cause styrofoam has a better memory than I do. And after all of this, I can't explain the feeling I have for Clay, but if somebody tried to hurt him, I'd turn that somebody into a dead body.

After that, because I have nothing better to do, I shamelessly bury my fingers in his hair again, smiling at how soft and fluffy it is. And I'm sure he likes the feeling too, cause every time my nails lightly scratch his scalp, I see the little blonde hairs on his arms rise.

The feeling is therapeutic to me as well. I feel my mind taking me places as my movements become automatic. I start thinking about George. A small smile appears on my face as I remember the way his skin glowed subtly under the golden sunrise. I wonder how his hair would feel.. it's probably really soft and silky, he takes good care of it. And I wonder-

-oh my god, I forgot to call him.

He was worried about Clay cause his phone was turned off and told me to call when I get home. I totally forgot. Without wasting any more time, I grab my phone and decide to text him that everything is okay and Clay is asleep.

He reads my text immediately and calls. And I take a deep breath before picking up.

"Hello?" I try to make my voice as quiet as it can go without sounding weird.

"Were you asleep? Why didn't you call?" He overwhelms me with questions immediately.

"I forgot, I'm sorry," at least I wasn't lying, "I wasn't asleep, I'm sorry, everything's fine."

George doesn't buy it. After a distressing silence, he says something that makes me wonder if it was worth it to lie in the first place.

"Pass the phone to Clay," he's not even asking, he's demanding.

"He's asleep-"

"He's been asleep the whole day, wake him up."

Something must be wrong with me for finding the fact that he's so worried and the way he's so demanding extremely attractive. But he's literally close to screaming at me, so I should concentrate.

I glance at Clay. I don't want to wake him up, and if I do, he's gonna be confused and speak nonsense.

"I'll tell him to call you back when he wakes up, okay?" I'm trying my best to convince him.

George groans. I get that he's worried but I don't get why he doesn't trust me. Well, I am in fact lying, but still, it seems like he thinks that if Clay was dead, I'd hide it from him.

"Did you talk to him today?" He asks.

"Yeah, before I left."

"And?" I can just imagine George's face saying that.

"And what?" I raise a brow.

"What did he say? Did you fight?"

I don't know how is that relevant to the conversation, but I still answer.

"I told him to not burn the house down and he said that I should take keys cause he's gonna be asleep when I come back," I finish talking but George is silent, "that's all, we didn't fight."

And finally, after minutes of convincing him that everything is okay, George agrees to wait until Clay wakes up and calls him. Which is not going to take long, cause right as I hang up, Clay opens his eyes.

I get deja vu when I see him slowly blinking again and taking a deep breath. And this time I'm determined to not let him fall back asleep cause George will kill both of us if he doesn't get a phone call in another hour.

"How are you?" I should've probably waited for his eyes to at least adjust to the light before attacking him with a question.

Clay hesitantly lifts his head up from my thigh and it sounds like a sticker is being peeled from my skin. Just as I expected, his cheek left a red oval print on my thigh.

Rubbing his eyes as he sits up, Clay sighs, "Headache."

I grab his halfway empty bottle from the counter and hand it to him. He doesn't even look at my face. Just grabs the bottle, mumbles a barely audible "thank you" and empties it.

"I'd give you a painkiller too but I'm scared there's still alcohol in your body," I crack my fingers nervously. The way he's not looking at me makes me shy to look at him.

"Yeah, it's okay, I'll go wash my face," he stands up, avoiding eye contact again.

I reflexively stand up with him and hold his forearm in case he loses his balance. But it seems like he's doing okay. And it also seems like he's slowly getting back to his regular self - minus the aggression; he flinches away from my touch.

"I'm okay," he covers the spot I grabbed onto his arm with his hand, "thank you."

The level of clinginess has dropped dramatically. But so did the rudeness. He never said thank you to me before. It's usually fuck you.

I wait till he's done washing his face, brushing his teeth, staring at the bathroom mirror for a while, doing god knows what for 15 minutes. Then as he frees the bathroom, I go and do those same things, and ironically, it all takes me even longer.

However, we meet again in the living room and I see that he's finally charging his phone. And when it's on, just by the sound of the pile of notifications, I can tell how many missed calls he has. And all from George probably. Which reminds me-

"George wanted to talk to you," I stand infront of him, with a bit of distance for comfort, "I said you'll call him when you wake up."

The news is not surprising to him, but it's still unpleasant. And I can tell it by the way he throws his head back and lets go of a breath.

"Does he know?" Clay furrows his brows.

I shake my head.

"You didn't tell him?" His brows now rise in surprise.

I shake my head again.

The room falls silent for a few seconds.

"Why?"

"I wasn't sure if you wanted him to know," I shrug, "I told him you were asleep this whole time."

I'm so intimidated by his sober self that I feel like he's about to blame me for making up lies about him. I cross my arms nervously and try to look away from his face without making it seem like I'm actually nervous.

But the painful silence is making it nearly impossible. I start chewing on my lip, and it makes him speak.

"Why.." he sounds so unsure, "wh.. why would you?"

Uh.. Why would I?