The Dream Case || Dreamnotfound

8

~Two Weeks Later~

George set down his phone in frustration. Another text sent. Another text ignored. Clay hadn't texted or talked to George in two weeks.

He had helped George bring his cat home and set everything up and then just disappeared off the face of the earth.

George didn't have much time to think about it. Dream had killed five more times in the past fifteen days. Work was kicking his ass and George didn't have much time to himself.

His cat certainly helped. George hadn't thought of a name yet, for now he was just known as Cat.

Currently George had just gotten home after a long day at the station. He strode into his room and studied the graphs and photos on his wall.

If Clay was done with George, he would find something to focus on. That thing being Dream's case.

George paced his room for a solid two hours and soon it was seven pm on a Friday night. He sighed and sat on his bed, running his hand through his hair.

All of his thoughts drifted back to Clay. It's not like they were in a relationship or anything official, but George thought they had really connected. Maybe Clay was busy— maybe he had a lot going on.

But that didn't mean he couldn't at least send a text. Just one.

George had passed his stage of worry and only harbored feelings of anger and frustration towards Clay.

Cat rubbed against his leg and George smiled softly. He leaned down to scratch his head and Cat purred. Seconds later there was a knock at his door. He got up and walked to the door.

Outside of his door stood Clay.

George's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then anger. He ignored Clay's pleading expression and the flowers in his hand and closed the door.

"George!" Clay's voice was muffled through the door. "Please, I can explain!"

George groaned internally. He really did want an explanation for Clay's actions, so he opened his door.

Clay held the flowers out to George. "I didn't know you're favorite flower so I just got these."

George took the roses, careful to avoid touching Clay. "This doesn't change anything... Where have you been? Why were you ignoring me?"

"I have a lot going on at work," Clay said hesitantly. George noticed a bag in his hand.

"Yeah," George said sarcastically, "I bet being a car salesman must be so difficult."

"I'm sorry, George, truly, will you please forgive me?"

"You could've sent me a text," George muttered, "I was worried."

Clay's face softened. He lifted his bag and said quietly, "Can I explain over dinner? I brought food."

George sighed. "Fine." He stepped out of the way and Clay cautiously stepped in.

"Do you mind if I use your kitchen."

"Go ahead," George muttered and closed his door.

He showed Clay the kitchen and Clay got to work right away, pulling stuff out of his bag. Bagged noodles, sauce, seasoning— everything needed for spaghetti.

"You're cooking the food?" George asked skeptically.

Clay nodded. He opened a drawer and pulled out a spoon. Pointing to a chair on George's kitchen island he said, "Take a seat. I may not be the best cook, but I know how to make spaghetti."