"Dream I swear to all that is holy. Stop being so clingy." George said, shoving Clays head off of himself. They were laid up in one of the beds at the house they rented, with the TV in the background. They weren't focused on whatever was playing, just spending time with each other doing nothing in particular.
George had been released from the hospital two days ago, and he was stuck in the bed with a broken leg. He wouldn't be allowed to walk around regardless, but the cast that swallowed his leg was a constant reminder that he was trapped in the bed. He was at the mercy of Clay and Nick.
(He of course had a more extensive list of injuries which is the reason he was on a form of bed rest but the author doesn't feel like figuring out what they are so we'll pretend they're bad enough that he is confined to the bed.)
Clay looked up at George, with his puppy dog eyes and a little pout. George just rolled his eyes and let Clay nestle his head back onto Georges shoulder. He had his hands held in his own lap, thumbs rubbing together to keep his mind occupied.
But then he lifted his head back up, on his own accord, just to look at George. He looked at the unkempt hair, his little beard that had started to grow. Clay of course had one of his own, since he didn't have his dominant hand able to shave it properly.
He looked at the dark blue cast on Georges leg, which had a penis drawn on it because Nick snuck in late at night with a sharpie to give them both a little "get well soon" notes. And while the idea was sweet, it was immediately ruined by the phallic symbols that were now permanently etched onto the plaster.
George turned his head towards Clay, thinking he had a question or something.
"What?" He asked as he looked at the other in confusion. Clay shook his head and continued to stare. The only things running through his head was how he almost lost George. How much he really loved him.
"You are being so weird. What pain meds did they put you on?" George asked looking at the infatuated look on Clays face. "Just ibuprofen..." Clay replied. They barely gave him anything when he left the hospital, so he was taking plenty of ibuprofen to help subside the pain and ache his body felt.
"Mhmm..." George said, turning his head back to the TV again.
They settled back into each other for a few more minutes, absently watching the soap opera playing on the TV, even though they weren't actually absorbing the plot or anything the characters were saying.
"Dream!" Nick called from somewhere in the house. Clay groaned, knowing his friend was trying to do something stupid and needed help with it.
Clay got up, slipping out of Georges arms to help Nick with whatever he need to do. Probably something dangerous knowing him.
"What do you need Sap?" Clay asked, spotting him in the kitchen. "You're talkative today aren't you?" Nick said, behind the island counter. "Just in a good mood I guess..." Clay said, a little quieter before, thinking he did something wrong.
"No no! Its not a bad thing! I just wasn't expecting it!" Nick said nervously, scratching the back of his neck. He didn't want his friend to just stop talking again. His recovery attempt seemed to work because Clay bounced back to his previous mood.
"What did you need anyways?" Clay asked, moving closer to the kitchen. "I made breakfast!" Nick said cheerily, showing the plated pancakes and cut up fruit on the stove.
"And you made me come out here for that?" Clay asked. Nick nodded happily as he wobbled over to the fridge pulling out the butter and setting it down next to a bottle of syrup. He was still getting used to the boot so his movements had been very uncoordinated and he couldn't walk properly.
"Help bring this to your guys' room. For George!" Nick said, pulling two plates into his own hand, and gesturing to the butter and syrup he had just pulled out. Clays eyebrows creased in confusion at his friends bubbly behavior, but he complied anyways, balancing the butter on top of his sling, and grabbing the syrup bottle with his free hand.
They both made it back to Georges room to drop off the food that was prepared amateurly by Nick.
"What is this?" He asked as a plate of food was set down onto his lap. "Pancakes!" Nick said looking at his masterpiece.
"American pancakes..." George said, looking at the fluffy circles on his plate. He was used to the thin sheet like pancakes that they made back home. "You don't like them?" Nick said, his mood dropping.
"No, that's not it at all. I'm just confused why you Americans make them so thick." George said, picking one of the pancakes up with his fork. "Thank you though." he added, so that Nick wouldn't get sad.
Nick smiled, setting down Clays plate for when he finally settled back in.
"I'll go get mine so we can eat breakfast together. Since you two like to keep yourselves secluded in here for no reason." Nick didn't leave room for response before he hobbled out of the room to grab his own plate.
"He seems excited." George said, grabbing the butter from Clays sling so he could smother it on the pancakes. Clay nodded, placing the syrup on the side table next to his own food.
"Scoot." Clay said, trying to make enough space to sit down on the bed. George looked at him, but complied, shifting over as much as he could to make room. Clay plopped onto the bed, struggling to scoot over himself.
They really were a pair. Weren't they.
"You know, I never pegged Sap for a chef, but these are actually edible." George said with a mouthful of the pancake. Clay looked over as his friend prepared another bite, even though he hadn't even finished the one in his mouth. He chuckled a bit, going back to his own plate, and picking up a slice of strawberry.
By now Nick was back, with his plate which was stacked high and ready to be drowned in syrup. Which he did, pouring a shit ton onto the stack.
"That's disgusting." Clay said, watching as the sticky substance almost overflowed on the plate. "Okay Mr. Talkative. You eat your pancakes the way you want and I'll eat mine the way I want. Which just so happens to be covered in maple syrup." Nick clashed back.
"You know, you bring up a good point. Dream why have you been talking so much. Ever since we got out of the hospital you've been such a chatter box." George stated looking at Clay who was struggling with a fork in his left hand. He looked over, looking like a deer caught in headlights. They never questioned why he talked more or less before, this was new to him.
"Uh..." He stalled, trying to figure out how to say it correctly. "Well, I'm comfortable with you guys and.."
"and its kind of hard to type and sign right now..." He explained, looking to see if they accepted his response. And they did, so he relaxed. "Its just so weird hearing you talk this much, especially after you were so quiet at the hospital. I like it though." George smiled, looking over at Clay. He had the faintest amount of blush on his face and a little smile to accompany it.
Clay smiled back, and then immediately went back to his own plate of food. And continued to struggle with the fork.
"Here let me." George said, reaching for the plate. Clay looked at it, almost offended, but he let George grab the plate, and then the fork. George carefully cut the pancakes into little square pieces that would be easier to pick up with a fork.
Clay felt like a baby, watching his food be prepared by someone else since he wasn't capable of doing so himself. He was handed back the plate, as well as the fork, and he was able to at least eat the cakes better. Was it graceful? No. The poor guy could not handle a fork with his left hand. He just had his fingers gripped around the handle and he just repeatedly stabbed each and every piece.
The sight was very funny.
They all sat and ate food for a while, talking about random topics.
"I think I'm going to shower." Clay said once they were all finished. "Do you need help with anything?" Nick asked, knowing the last time he had to tape a trash bag over Clays arm so the cast didn't get wet.
"Just the bag." Clay replied, starting to pull his socks off so he could get ready for the shower. "Okay." Nick said as Clay headed over to his suitcase to find a hoodie, and a pair of joggers. He then went to unclip his sling, pulling apart velcro and unclipping the buckles.
Unlike George he had a simple white cast. It of course had the penis drawn on, but Nick also insisted on how it needed on of the cryptic Dream smiley faces, so there was one, right at the top of the cast.
Nick helped him get situated and eventually George and Nick were just chilling in the bedroom, waiting for Clay to get out so they could continue to do absolutely nothing.
"Hey Sapnap?" George asked, looking over at his friend. "Wassup?" Nick replied looking at his friend.
"Why is he mute?" George asked. The question was serious, and he was curious as to why Clay was the way he was. "I've asked Dream before, but he ignores it or redirects the conversation. I've never gotten a straight answer from him and I'm just worried that's all."
Nick looked at George. He understood how he felt to an extent. But he also knew a lot more than other people did, since he had been Clays friend for years and he was there during a couple instances.
"He doesn't talk about it because he doesn't like to think about it." Nick explained, "His dad was a horrible person, and even worse when drunk, which he was pretty much every hour of every day. That's why Dream doesn't drink, he doesn't want to turn out like that."
"He basically conditioned Dream to not speak. He would yell at him or hit him, and it got to a point where his dad would use him as a punching bag to relieve stress. Every time Dream would ask his father a question, or even say hello, it would risk his safety. It got so bad that he assumed everyone would act like his father so he was a very quiet kid."
Nick paused, thinking back to a couple times he was in a voice call with Clay as a young boy. Clay had forgotten to mute himself when his father walked in, and Nick had to sit and listen to the punches, and the crying, and the "I'm sorry!" every 3 seconds. He could forget the screams and the pain in his friends voice. Even 9 years later.
He was too young to know exactly what was happening, so he wasn't able to do anything about it, but he wished every day that he could go back and call the police and maybe stop Clays father before things got too bad.
"Then the incident happened." Nick prefaced, thinking about the night that Clays father got into a car accident while driving drunk. "Dream called me after he saw his dad break a glass bottle over his mothers head. He sounded a little worse for wear but he was still talking. The next day he texted me that his dad was on life support, he had caused a three car pile up on the highway. No one survived."
Nick choked up, thinking about everything.
"It really got to Dream. He didn't physically talk to me for months. Just texts. He just stopped talking, he never explained exactly why to me, but I knew about his dad, and I knew how quiet he could get so I put two and two together. He told me a few years ago that I was the only person he actually talked to outside of texting, which basically confirmed what I already assumed."
"So his dad, died in the ICU?" George asked, looking concerned. This was a lot to process. "Yeah, I think that's why seeing you really got to him. You reminded him of when he saw his dad in the hospital."
George looked out the window, processing everything. Now he understood why Clay was so scared to tell him about being mute. Why he would shut down whenever anyone would yell at him. The flinching when he saw the quick approach of a hand in his direction.
The constant nightmares.
Clay was scared, better yet terrified, that someone would hurt him for speaking.
George then realized the value of Clay opening up to him. Saying he was comfortable around George. He realized how much he really trusted him. Even after all the times that George had made him cry, or gotten on his nerves. Clay still trusted him. Clay still loved him.
And George was really starting to realize how much he loved Clay too.
So when Clay exited the shower, and saw George hopping towards him, he was confused. He watched as George pulled himself up to reach his lips and kissed him. Right there.
Clay didn't protest and just let it happen. It was more passionate than the first, and it lasted longer too. They seemed to fit together perfectly, like they were truly meant to be together.
At some point George wrapped his arms around Clays neck, and Clay rested his hands on Georges hips. And when they pulled back, they stared into each others eyes, smiling with blush creeping onto their cheeks.
George unhooked his arms and pulled Clay into a tight hug, squeezing as hard as his weak body could. Ignoring the grunt that Clay let out. And Clay ignored the pain in his rib cage.
He wanted this so much. He needed this.
"You should get back in the bed before the doctor hunts you down." Nick piped in ruining the moment, having seen everything. "You're supposed to be on bed rest Gogy."
"Oh hush."
A|N
I feel like I should mention this, but as far as I'm concerned real dreams dad is not actually a dick and this is all fiction. So uh.. And I figured I would incorporate dream not drinking (because real dream doesnt drink based on what hes said) into the story line because fun fact, alcoholism and addiction actually have a genetic component which I find very interesting.
Anyways, after this theres one last full chapter and then a short 500 to 700 word epilogue so were nearing the end! I hope this story has been enjoyable so far, I also really appreciate all the feedback and interactions from everyone, they really make my day when I wake up to read all the comments!
as always, feedback is very much appreciated!
-wowie