Hitchhike//A DreamNotFound Fanfiction

10|Anything For You|

What have I done?

That was the first thing that passed through Clay's mind in the midsummer morning, which reeked of nothing but sex and stale alcohol; it laid unpleasantly along humid air, dancing on top of bright rays of light which peaked between sheer white curtains.

The second thing that ran through Clay's head was the splitting headache he had. With a groan, he pulled himself upwards off of the California king-sized bed, squinting his eyes. Clay licked his dry, cracked lips; he hated the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and the feeling of burnt weed resting on his lips like a sad reminder of regretful activities.

"Morning, my love!" An awfully cheery British voice rang through the room, cutting into Clay's skull similar to the migraine he was experiencing simultaneously.

Clay rubbed his eyes free of remaining sleep, allowing his gaze to slip over to Wilbur standing in the doorway; a white button-up shirt was unevenly buttoned across his chest, black slacks resting lackadaisical on the tips of his hip bones. Wilbur shifted his glasses upwards on his face, dropping his hand to the side. In his other hand was a spatula, to which Clay guessed he was making food.

"Could you be a little less loud?" Clay complained, putting his head into his hands. "I have a serious headache, and you aren't helping."

"Someone is in a mood this morning--or rather noon. It isn't exactly morning."

Clay froze for a moment, asking slowly, "...What do you mean it isn't morning?"

Wilbur flipped his wrist over, reading out the time: "Half-past one, now. So no, not morning."

"...What the fuck! You should have woken me up earlier! You were supposed to take me to Miami!" Clay exclaimed, scrambling out of the bed; he let out a soft grumble as he fell forward, his foot caught in the sheet.

"Oh calm down! We have plenty of time to do that later," Wilbur replied with a soft calmness, watching Clay fumble out of the bed with amusement. "For now, let me treat you to a real breakfast."

"...No? I don't want whatever you've made. I just want to make it to Miami like you promised me earlier. So get your keys, we're leaving-"

"Oh no," Wilbur cut off Dream with a smirk. "I will decide when we leave, and it'll be soon, darling. Just enjoy what I have to offer you, first."

Clay rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in a huff. He mumbled, "You do this every time, you know? I should have learned my lesson from the last time I asked you for a favor."

Wilbur pulled what seemed to be a bottle of pills out of his front pocket, tossing it to the slightly shorter blond. "Take it. You probably have a raging migraine, right?"

"...You're deflecting from the topic," Clay continued, opening the bottle of Tylenol anyways; he dumped an undisclosed amount of tablets into his hand. "You told me you would take me to Miami, and you're doing the thing you always do and that is to circle around what I want from you just so I stay longer."

"Shouldn't that be a compliment? That I want a pretty boy like-" Wilbur pointed the end of his spatula against Clay's chest "-you around here longer?"

"It isn't a compliment if it's coming from you. That's one thing I've learned."

Clay rolled his eyes and brushed past Wilbur, shoving the pill bottle into the taller boy's hand on his way through the door.

Wilbur took his hand--which admittedly made Clay jump out of surprise--and pulled Clay back so they were facing each other once again. He growled, "My house, my rules. Understand that? We do what I want."