miami

thirteen.

"When did you get there?" George finally asks after a few minutes of easy silence.

"Tuesday night. I'm not sure when I'm going to leave."

"You were going to stream this week." George's soft words are a reminder that dries his throat out. He tilts the camera away from his face so his friend can't read his expression. George is good at that and it's the last thing Clay needs on his conscience.

"Maybe I will when I go home." The promise is empty. His voice is just as readable as his face. George sighs.

"How much longer are you going to go? Not streaming, not filming? You haven't worked on new content in awhile, Clay." The use of his actual name shows him just how serious George is. The truth is, he's glad his friend cares, but right now the reminder of his unproductiveness hurts more than it helps. How can he openly admit to anyone that his motivation and willingness to be perceived by the internet has dropped drastically in the past month? He's scared to open his mouth anymore and the only person who knows that is himself.

"I'll do something soon. I just gotta plan it, you know?"

"I'll be there," George prompts. Clay silently thanks him. They've worked together on his channel and he can't imagine what he'd do without him. "And Clay? Talk to Irena. She cares for you. A lot. If you feel like you're stuck, I swear she can help. She's amazing and I wouldn't pick anyone else for you."

"I will," he mutters. His fingers play with the tassels of the worm pillow, weaving them around and around his pointer finger until the texture of the material feels smooth against his skin. George is still on the call, the faint murmur of music from a TV coming through the microphone.

"So," he tries to counter. "What have you two lovebirds been up to?"

"Just hanging out. Kinda. Tuesday night she fell asleep early and last night we went to the beach and we talked for a really long time. I think we got in at...four? Irena had to wake up early so I kinda feel like shit for keeping her out so late, but it was so worth it." The smile comes back at the memories. A lot of stolen kisses under the stars. Something out of a dream. Pun fully intended. "Told her she should've taken the day off...didn't listen."

"She's serious about her schooling," George muses. "We've been talking about her courses, since we were kinda in the same technology programs. She's smart as hell with all that stuff. Coding, too, actually."

"She's insane," Clay agrees. "I want to buy her a professional set up so she can really start putting out some serious work but she refuses to let me help her. Same with a car."

"She's stubborn," George laughs. Clay is relieved that the topic of conversation has moved away from him. He'd talk about Irena for hours without getting tired.

"Stubborn as hell." Clay's fingers finally drop the tassels as he relaxes. His eyes flicker back up to the apartment, surveying the comfortable space. There is a serious part of him that would prefer this golden room than his luxurious house. There's something comforting about the cluttered surfaces and warm shadows that he's never felt in his own room. He lets his mind run with the idea of dropping everything — his channel, his monitors, his fame — and packing his car with only clothes and Patches. There could be a simple life here, in this sweet city with the girl he loves. Mornings with the smell of coffee and golden sunlight, knowing the beach is only a few minutes away. Nights filled with city lights and stolen kisses, running from responsibilities until the sun rises again. But he can't do that. He can't leave millions of people waiting for another video while he's escaping the burden of being consistent.

Oh, but he wants to. He wants to so badly his heart hurts.

"Do you ever regret this?"

"What?" George asks, confused by the sudden passion in his question.

"All of it. Starting a stupid YouTube channel and spending so much of our lives on the internet? I don't want to be ungrateful but I feel like there's a lot of my life I haven't explored. So much shit I haven't done. Am I always going to be stuck here, regretting this? Or is it just a slump? Fuck! I hate it, George. I just want to me normal for once. Take a step back. Live life like a normal fucking twenty-one year old." His chest is starting to heave with the boiling of hidden worries. George has seen him like this before, but these exact words have never been expressed aloud. His words are slow and calm as he replies.

"I think it's a slump. But if you need a break, don't keep stressing over it. Take some time, the fans will understand. I think you'll regret it if you leave it all. Just a small break, if you really think you need it. But sleep on it for a bit before you jump to any rash decisions, alright? Talk to me again next week and we'll see if you still feel the same way."

Stupid therapist George. Clay wants to get angry, wants George to agree with him and encourage the reckless behavior. He never does. He never will. Clay's head drops backward onto the couch. A slow, heavy breath oozes from his lungs. It's a bad attempt at pushing his worries out, but it works well enough.

"Okay," he chokes out.

"Do you want me to stay on or will you be alright?" George asks. Clay shrugs, eyes still fixed on the textured ceiling.

"I'm alright, I guess. I'm picking Irena in like an hour."

"Okay. I'll see you later? Text me if you want to be on my stream or something."

"I will. Bye George."

"Bye, Dream." George's goodbye is guarded. A careful response to all the worries Clay's shoved on him over the course of an hour. He knows he shouldn't put so much on his friend...it's a mistake he's done before and he always feels bad days later when he realizes how much stress trickles down to George. He'll apologize later. Right now, he has to pull himself together before getting into his car.