Breathe

adjusting.

hey guys :) before we get into the chapter i just wanted to say thank you all for your support !! it means so much to me :))) also, i wanted to announce that i am taking requests for dreamteam/mcyt oneshots. message me here or on twitter (@ bagelpilot) and i will get that started :) i will not write smut, but other than that, the only limit is your imagination :D thank you guys again for your love and support and i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

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The next few weeks of Clay's life were pretty mellow, all things considered. Twice a week, he woke up, went to physical therapy for his hands and his legs, then went back home to do his "homework" for counseling. Clay's therapist, Dr. Hartman, got really upset when Clay didn't choose his own tasks, so Dr. Hartman did it for him.

"Did you think about what you want to do in your free time that isn't on your computer, Clay ?" he had asked on a sleeting afternoon in late January. Clay had actually come to be comfortable around Dr. Hartman, so when his therapist asked this ridiculous question, he laughed out loud.

Then, realizing it wasn't a joke, he stopped and straightened his back. "Oh, um... I have not, no," he responded, holding his head low. In all reality, he had forgotten to brainstorm some ideas.

Dr. Hartman put his clipboard and pen on the table next to him and folded his hands in his lap, looking at Clay intensely. "You do realize that it's pretty important that you have something other to do, right ?"

Clay nodded. He shouldn't have laughed.

Dr. Hartman sighed. "I've been asking you to think about it for three weeks, Clay. You can't keep putting it off."

"I'm sorry," Clay apologized. He did feel bad. Clay knew that the only way he was going to get better was if he actually complied and did the exercises that were expected of him. Clay wanted nothing more than to get better, it was just that he was... preoccupied with the nightmares that came with sleeping and waking.

"I'm going to choose one for you to do," his therapist said. Clay nodded. He deserved that one.

Poring down a short list, Dr. Hartman muttered out loud. "Let's see... hmm, running would be bad for your legs... um- no, you can't do that one because of your hands... oh ! I've got one," he smiled at Clay. "You're going to bake."

Clay's head shot up. He hadn't expected that one. "B-bake ?" he'd stuttered.

"Yes, bake," Dr. Hartman laughed. "Each week, I want you to bake three things. Bread, cake, cookies, anything under the sun. I want you to take pictures of what you bake and bring them in the next week as proof that you did it."

Clay nodded, and the two continued with the session. So now, every day, Clay looked up recipes online and compiled lists of ingredients he would need from the store. When he wasn't doing that, he was busy in the kitchen, making macarons, frosting cupcakes, or making bread. He wasn't able to knead the dough for the bread because of his wrists, so whenever that situation arose, he commissioned Nick to help him. George was willing to do it, but when he tried, he couldn't put enough force into the dough, so Nick was the resident dough-kneader. 

Not that George was complaining. He loved the fact that there were so many goodies in the house at all times. 

One day, Nick and George were streaming in their respective rooms, and Clay was sitting in his room, working on a program that was going to go into his next video. They had decided to do "Minecraft, But Every Time We Take Damage, a Random Mob Spawns". The code wasn't difficult, but it was long, so Clay typed away on his computer for what seemed like hours. When it finally ran properly, he took a deep breath. He wanted to stream so desperately, it's just that whenever he entertained the idea, a stiff panic crawled up his back and into his chest, where it settled into a knot of fear.