George wakes up to a high pitched buzzing sound coming from his phone. The only source of light there is, is simply his phone. It's completely dark outside.
It's from Clay. George checks the time with sleepy eyes to find out that it's four in the morning. Jeez.
George can we talk?
George's eyebrows knit, a confused face dazing upon him. It's 4 am and Clay's message was sent two minutes ago.
why r u texting me now out of all times? George replies. It's a sarcastic reply, but when he sends it, a small wave of worry washes over him.
The typing bubble appears.
Then it disappears.
I can't sleep bc of yk
George huffs, sending back an even more confused message. wdym?
can't you just come over rq? Clay asks, the text seeming desperate.
give me a reason to and I'll consider. it's 4 am. He types back, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Besides it being so early, he feels wide awake now, and that's only because of Clay.
Idiotic Clay. It's always Clay.
tell me why
Clay's text bubble appears. Then it disappears a few moments later, making George's brows furrow.
goodnight, he finally replies.
George scoffs. Okay then. Wake him up at 4 am only two hours before an important meeting. Nice one.
He decides to make some coffee, figuring he can't fall asleep again. The coffee machine deafens the birds that've just begun chirping. When his coffee is done, he sits down in his couch and scrolls on social media.
A yawn. Then another one.
He decides he might as well head to work early, because why not? Considering that, he has time to figure out why Dream took those documents. How he knew that you had to scan your fingerprint to get into the office.
As he puts on his dark brown coat, he thinks that there must be a connection somewhere. Something he's completely forgotten about. His tie is tight around his neck, so he fiddles with it before it loosens up.
When walking towards his office, he also thinks about Clay. The room. Spin the bottle.
It'd surprisingly turned intimate right when they were alone. He still recalls Clay's hot breath against his neck, the gentle whisper that had escaped his beautiful lips.
Do you like it when I whisper?
Words so soft that George feels shivers down his spine just thinking about it. So soft that if Clay were to say it again, George would forget his name.
But it was so delicate. He was so delicate.
"Morning, George," a man in a brown suit says, coffee in hand. He smiles, looking at George who's deep in thought.
"Good morning," George says, snapping out of his lingering thoughts.
"You're early," Wilbur says.
"I could say the same for you."
Wilbur playfully smiles, looking at George who has settled at his desk, his brown coat getting thrown to the side, "I'm always early, you're always late. That's why you never notice."
"Such useful information, huh?" George says with a playful smile, copying Wilbur.
"I know right," the brown, curly haired brunette says, "when is the meeting?"
YOU ARE READING
Homocide Fifty || DNF
FanfictionGeorge is excellent at solving cases. He's even known as one of the most talented detectives in the community. He's solved every case until he gets assigned a case that leaves him with questions. Notes that start from innocent messages to less inno...
