Stay Inside (by my Side) : Gream/DreamNotFound

14. Fully Gone

"Maybe if you helped, you could warm up."

"Well that wasn't part of the deal, was it?" George grinned mischievously, popping another oreo into his mouth.

Clay looked on and smiled, realizing there was no way out. The heat was still unbearable, and he wasn't done cleaning yet, so he grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it up over his head.

He heard a cough and looked up to George choking on his cookie.

"Forgot how to chew?" Clay asked, folding his sweatshirt over his elbow.

George quickly glanced away, sitting up straight and covering his mouth. He coughed some more before clearing his throat and focusing on his phone.

Clay wasn't athletically built, but he was lean and had sharp curves of muscle cascading down his abdomen. His tan skin glistened slightly with sweat, and his grey sweatpants hung low on his hips.

George peeled his eyes from the screen of his phone and took in Clay's form as the other prepped his washcloth. His gaze trailed from Clay's shoulders to his waist, and ultimately further down. George cursed under his breath, begging himself to stop staring.

Clay backed away and out of view, returning to his cleaning. George sighed and hung his head. This all just became much more difficult, and he was in a massive predicament.

Back in his room, Clay sat down on the edge of the bed, tossing his sweatshirt behind him. He glanced at George's duffel bag that sat half-open on the floor. He was still sleeping in Clay's room, despite insisting it was a one-night thing. Clay didn't mind at all. He twirled the rag in his hands, suddenly lost in thought. He had never taken his shirt off in front of George before. It would have been normal any other day, but now it felt way more intimate than Clay could handle. George's reaction was also quite strange- Clay could practically feel his eyes burning holes in him. Maybe he was glancing at the stupid scars on his hip, the ones they bonded over several weeks ago. But maybe there was something more to it...

Wishful thinking, Clay thought, rubbing his temples, he would never think of me like that.

Despite telling himself that, Clay's chest grew warm as he considered the possibility. He really, really wanted George to like him, but it just wasn't realistic.

There were some things George had started doing that gave Clay hope, but he just chalked it up to lovesickness to avoid disappointment. The mind makes stuff up all the time, and it wouldn't be that crazy if Clay suddenly started noticing little quirks about George that could maybe mean he returned Clay's feelings.

God, why did it have to be George? Clay rubbed his eyes.

Clay saw George in a different light by this point. Every time they talked, George's eyes rivaled the moon in their shine. Clay wished that this was a sign; that they only shined that way for him. They didn't. He knew they didn't. His eyes were just always pretty like that, no matter who he was looking at.

Deciding not to dwell on his confusion any longer, Clay sprung up and finally finished cleaning, popping on a fresh tshirt before walking into the living room.

George looked him up and down briskly, tossing a polite smile his way.

"All done?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clay answered, gripping the washcloth tight.

A silence fell as Clay felt himself rooted in place under George's gaze. They looked at each other for a second too long before George turned away and cleared his throat again.

"That's one half of your bet done," he reminded, drawing his knees to his chest.

"Yeah," Clay smiled, leaning against the wall, "and I've decided where to go."