Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

Loud Pt1

The brunet saw Mr. Dream's office door approaching on his left, and he instinctually lowered his head as he passed it. The door swung open suddenly, a tall form presented itself in George's path, and before he could react, there was still-hot coffee being spilled all over Mr. Dream's crisp white button-up.

"Shit, shit, I'm sorry- I- Here, um, I'll go get some napkins-" George stammered, avoiding meeting the CEO's eyes as he stared with eyes as wide as saucers at the stain. Abruptly, and perhaps a bit belatedly, he realized he was staring right at Mr. Dream's chest, which was now easily visible through the wet shirt. He averted his eyes and tried to ignore the blush on his cheeks as he turned on his heel.

A firm hand placed itself on George's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "My office. Now."

George wanted to cry. He wanted to run away, to hide, to leave this place and never come back. But he didn't. He couldn't. He needed this job. He could only nod his head silently and follow Mr. Dream into his office.

When they made it inside, Mr. Dream paid no attention to George. He went to his desk on the other side of the room and opened a side drawer, apparently looking for something. George stood with his back against the closed door, unsure of what to do or say. He made notes of his surroundings while he waited for a prompt from his boss.

The door was a dark oak wood, smooth and shiny against his back. The floors and walls were dark, as was most of the furniture in the room, save for the two loveseats in one corner. One of the walls was a giant window overlooking the city, but the blackout curtains were half-drawn so only a portion of the sunlight was able to penetrate the room. The desk was the same dark wood as the door, and the chair was a comfortable-looking black swivel chair. Overall, George could reliably guess that Mr. Dream preferred dark colors.

George's eyes wandered to where Mr. Dream was still searching through his desk drawers. The man was wearing black slacks and a now-stained white button-up, a thin belt around his hips, and slick black loafers. He noticed the CEO's suit jacket was draped over the back of the desk chair, and his button-up sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Now that he had a chance to look at Mr. Dream's face, he could see that his hair was messed up. Where it had clearly been gelled back before, it appeared as though the man had been running his hands through it quite a lot throughout the day.

"Done staring?" Mr. Dream asked, a cocky smirk on his lips. George startled back into reality, suddenly realizing that Mr. Dream had found whatever he was looking for, and was now meeting George's eyes with an unwavering gaze.

"Uh, yes, sir, I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," George explained, trying to stay on his boss' good side. He could have sworn he saw Mr. Dream's cocky smirk falter, but for only a millisecond before it was back again.

The CEO lifted a hand, beckoning George to come closer. George swallowed, hesitated, but ultimately obeyed.

"I always keep spare shirts in my office for occurrences like this. It might be a bit large for you, but... It's all I have, unfortunately."

The brunet realized Mr. Dream had an arm outstretched, a folded white button-up in his hand. George reached out on instinct, but quickly pulled his hand back as he began to question the situation.

"Sir, I spilled coffee on you, you're the one who should be putting this shirt on," George said quietly.

Mr. Dream quirked an eyebrow. "Are you questioning me?"

George sputtered. "Wh- No! No sir, I was just, I- Well, your shirt is all stained and-"

"Relax, George." The smaller boy's cheeks were completely aflame. Since when did Mr. Dream know his name? "You got some on your shirt as well. I suppose you didn't notice."