[a/n: just an fyi, no smut in this chap, but things get a lil steamy in their implications so watch out]
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Clay woke up with a start, his gut turning and sweat sticking him to his sheets. The memory of his nightmare faded briskly, but the nerves that came with it stayed.
It was early morning, around 7AM, so there was no use going back to sleep, especially with the possibility of slipping right back into the same dream. Clay pulled back the sheets and rose out of bed.
George was still asleep on the couch when Clay made his way into the living room. He lay facing the backrest, cozied up in a thick blanket. Clay noticed his navy hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, smoothed out. He smiled at George's peaceful form and continued to the bathroom, careful as to not be too loud.
When he turned on the tap, ice water came rushing out, no matter how far he twisted the faucet. He waited hopefully for the water to heat up, but when minutes passed and there was no difference, he groaned and accepted his fate.
The cold stung his teeth, making him wince as he swished his mouth. Washing his face wasn't any better, but at least he was 110% awake by the time he was done. He looked at the shower before shaking his head, not feeling brave enough to submerge himself in an icy stream.
When he emerged from the washroom, George was up off the couch, tousling his dark hair and mid-yawn. He was looking down at his phone, scrolling through various social media feeds.
"You're up earlier than usual," George noted, glancing at Clay.
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, no, I was loosely asleep anyway."
Deciding to keep his dreams to himself, Clay made his way to the kitchen, checking the tap. Surprisingly, this one still ran luke-warm water.
"There's no hot water by the way," he called to George before the man could enter the washroom, "only the kitchen sink has some."
George hummed, his eyes still half-lidded.
"I hate washing up with cold water..." he mumbled, "can I use this sink?"
With a nod from Clay, George brought his toothbrush and paste from the vanity and positioned himself at the kitchen sink while Clay poured himself a coffee and sat at the table.
George got to brushing his teeth, bent over the sink. He slowly went through the motions like any other day, turned 3/4 away from Clay's spot at the table. He didn't notice that Clay was watching him, and Clay didn't realize how focused he was on George's stance. George smoothed the paste on after running his brush under the stream. Soft chk-chk-chks mixed with the sound of running water. The toothpaste slowly turned to white foam at the corners of his mouth, sliding down the shaft of the brush. Clay looked on, nonchalant, as the toothbrush poked the side of George's cheeks, protruding at every which angle. It went back and forth, leaking with translucent-
Holy shit- Clay snapped his eyes away, turning to face the wall.
Oh God, what the fuck, he thought, refusing to look back to his friend. Clay slowly slid his gaze to the table, sipping his coffee and fighting the image forming in his mind. George could be heard spitting off to the side, and after a moment, the tap turned off. He left to replace his things in the bathroom, allowing Clay to breathe out and fully regain himself.
He slicked back his dirty blonde locks before shaking the tension out of his arms. George came back in and poured himself a cup, settling in a chair across from Clay, like usual.
"We have to record today," George said, raising his mug to his lips.
"Alright, did you finish the plug-in?" Clay asked, swallowing his coffee hard.
George nodded and explained the idea, almost as if delivering a pitch. It was a challenge in which they had to beat the game, but would be teleported to a random location every time they gathered a new block. George laughed at some of the outcomes of this code, like how funny it would be if they got dropped in a pool of lava right as they found diamonds, or if they accidentally mined end stone and teleported off the platform. Clay laughed along, excited to record another video.
George kept rubbing his spine every time he moved in his chair, and it happened often enough to catch Clay's attention.
"What's wrong with your back?" Clay asked, interrupting George's musing.
"Oh, nothing," George retracted his hand, "I'm just a little sore from the couch's springs."
Clay had a decent couch, but it wasn't really built to be slept on for long periods of time, so the discomfort was understandable.
"Sorry it's not hotel quality," Clay said sheepishly.
"Please," George smiled, "I'm super thankful you even let me stay here."
Clay cocked his head. "But it's not the best I could offer."
"Where else is there for me to go?" George chuckled.
"Take my bed," Clay said after a pause.
"Huh?"
"For a couple of nights, I really don't mind."
"No way, you're already letting me have too much, I'm not going to take your bed too."
"I want you to."
George grinned at that, averting his eyes. "Well, if you insist..."
"I do," Clay grinned back.
"One night," George held up a finger, "just until my bones heal up."
"One night," Clay confirmed before collecting his cup and leaving the kitchen.
George felt warm, but he pushed the fluttering of his stomach away and followed Clay out.
-
"Where the hell am I?!" George exclaimed as his character spawned in a desert.
"What are your coords?" Clay asked between wheezes.
"235, 78- are you kidding me! I'm a thousand blocks away?!"
Clay continued wheezing as George dug up a sand dune. He had already gotten sand previously, so the newly dropped blocks didn't affect his position.
"I have to find sandstone," he said, "maybe that will zap me closer to where you are."
The two sat on opposite ends of Clay's room, with him at his workstation and George sprawled on the bed with his laptop. They were an hour and a half into the recording session and just over a third of the way to beating the game.
"This is the worst idea I've ever had," George ranted as he sprinted across the desert to Clay.
Finally, they decided to call an end to the challenge right as both of them died in the nether, and Clay signed the video off by saying a part 2 may be coming another time. There was still time left before the sun would set, so George examined Clay's room.
It was small but had just enough floor space to fit a double bed, gaming setup, and a few shelves. George looked over the various memorabilia that Clay had on his drawers and cabinets, spotting some loose TwitchCon badges and fan gifts among other small figurines. Play button awards stood side by side on the closet drawer, leaning against the wall.
Patches was curled up in her bed in the corner of the room, her form rising up and down. George turned his attention to Clay, who was checking the recording and doing some basic stitching.
"I'm gonna grab the pillows and blanket off the couch," George said, "I'm used to them."
"Oh, go ahead," Clay called, peeling himself from the monitors, "I'll move my stuff over there right now."
George passed over the pillows beside him, ignoring the decorative ones that no one ever slept on. He followed Clay out of the bedroom and collected the stuff on the couch before returning to the bedroom and tossing it on the bed.
By that point, it was dark but not late enough to sleep, so the boys sprawled on the couch and chatted as Clay edited and posted the video. At around midnight, they were worn out and decided to separate. Clay wrapped himself in his blanket and turned in for the night, thinking how surreal it felt to be sleeping on his own couch. He tossed and turned for a bit, falling in and out of light rest.
George had better luck as he fumbled around the unfamiliarity of Clay's room before softly collapsing onto the mattress. The comfort instantly turned off his brain, and he thanked the heavens that Clay invested in memory foam. He passed out almost immediately, half due to the sudden change in comfort and half to the fact that he was a heavy sleeper.
The night flew by, but Clay still found himself being rudely awoken by nightmares. He had been having them for years on end, to the point that it made more sense to just deal with them. He always expected them, and they always showed up, regardless of what psychologists he saw or what prescriptions he took.
It was quite early once again when Clay drew his eyes open. The sky peeked in through the curtained living room windows, flashing a strip of dark blue. Clay patted around for his phone, finding it halfway under the sofa. He scrolled through the comments on his and George's video, giggling at the funny responses and time stamps. A low battery notification blocked his screen and he clicked his tongue, absentmindedly reaching for his power cord.
When he remembered where he was, he sighed. It dawned on him that he hadn't grabbed the charger from his room before switching with George. Clay put his phone down, debating whether to disturb his friend or try to get more rest. Boredom creeped in rather quickly, and Clay threw back the covers and tiptoed down the hall.
He slowly drew open his bedroom door and watched as George's form lay dead-still under the scratchy couch blanket. He walked in, noticing Patches wasn't in her bed but rather lodged over George's waist.
Clay crept in, standing silently over the bed as he fumbled for the charger stuck in a wall outlet. He made sure to be as silent as possible as to not wake up his friend, and he kept his eyes on George as he unplugged the charger.
George slept on his right side, facing the door, with his hand lightly covering his face. His shaggy brown hair had grown long during his stay, so it swooped over his eyes, laying matted and messed with sleep. The shine of streetlamps eased in through a slit in the blinds, showering a portion of the bed in soft yellow haze.
Clay's eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, and even though he was already holding his charger, he stood over the bed, peering down at George.
The silence in the room was almost deafening. Without thinking, Clay reached out and brushed George's hair out of the way, revealing an expression so serene it could only be seen on an angel. George didn't move, too deep in his slumber to notice a thing.
Clay softly brushed the hairs away once again, more deliberately. In a moment of clarity, he swallowed and snapped his hand away, backing up and out of the room. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his nerves going haywire. His fingertips were numb, but he slowly walked back to the couch and plugged his phone into an extension cord that ran behind the TV stand.
He couldn't focus much on reading his comments. All he wanted to do was wake up George and spend the day with him over and over again.