Homocide Fifty || DNF

5. Risky Business

He almost spits out his invisible drink, searching besides him for the unfamiliar voice.

A blonde dude sits in-front of him with a curious gaze. George notices that the blonde scans his facial features for a second.

George raises a cocky brow, "am I hot?" He chuckles.

The blonde shows no remorse and continues, "you pulled up your sleeves so I figured you were warm. Anyways, hi, what's your name?" He asks.

George's raised brow travels to his eyes as he squints them, "I'm George. You?" He says with a friendly gaze.

"I'm Clay," he answers, flipping his hair to the side. It's about the same length as George's. Needs-to-get-cut kind of length. He notices small curls overlap his ears.

Now that he looks more at Clay's face, he realises that his hair is light brown.

He notices freckles that scatter across his cheeks, "why are you here?" Clay asks out of nowhere.

"I'm just having some fun, I suppose," he manages to create a puzzled smile, "what about you?"

He shrugs. "I work here. Not today, though, I only work Tuesday till Thursday."

George's mouth turns into a thin line as he wonders why that is. That has to be one of the most odd schedules he's ever heard.

"But my friend, Sapnap, is working now, so I figured i'd come," he smiles, looking at the guy that is currently making George's drink.

That's also when he notices that Sapnap is almost done with it, so he keeps his gaze there until Sapnap turns around and gives it to him.

George pays and turns around to look at Clay.

"He seems nice," George says, a leer appearing on his face.

Dream looks in Sapnap's direction again, a bright look engulfs his face. George pulls up his sleeves a bit more because now he's realised that he actually was warm.

Then he notices what Clay is wearing. Grey sweats with a black t-shirt that has a supreme logo on it.

He wonders how he can afford a supreme shirt when he works three days a week.

"So, what do you do?" He asks.

"Work?"

"Mhm."

"I'm a detective. What about you?"

Dream raises a brow, though swiftly undoing his actions, "that's cool, I only do bartending."

George scoffs, "then how can you afford that shirt?" he questions strikingly, pale fingers pointing at the supreme logo on his shirt.

Dream stays silent for a second before he eventually answers more strikingly, "bartending pays more than you'd expect."

After that, they decide to go to a more quiet room because of the noise.

They talk for a while, even though the topics really aren't that appealing, George still finds himself talking to Clay until it's 1 in the morning.

That isn't particularly bad, but it's bad considering he's got work at 6 am.

So he says goodbye, waving at the taller figure as he makes his way out of the bar.

When he leaves, he thinks about how the bar hasn't quieted down one bit, it has rather reached its peak. That's also what he though two hours ago, when he brought up a question he thought of as a child; how much money do you make as the president?