It was dark out. The clock on the hotel room wall read 3:40 AM. Everything was dead silent. The temperature was exactly how Clay liked it. The blanket was fluffy and warm.
So why was he awake?
He wasn't sure. If there was a sound that woke him up, it had been long gone already.
Then, a silent whimper came from the bed above Clay. The bed frame creaked as George turned.
"Just shifting in his sleep," he thought, turning over himself, burrowing his face deep into his throw blanket.
Then, another whimper. Then a soft gasp. Another creak and then a ruffle as George grasped the bedsheets.
At this point, Clay was becoming a little concerned. He got up to check on his friend, quietly as to not disturb his sleep.
George was curled up, clutching one of the pillows. It was a stark contrast to the sprawled out form taking up most of the bed space from several hours ago. He had a troubled expression on his face, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted into a frown.
Just as Clay was about to chalk it up to talking in his dream and lay back down, George made another choked sound. It sounded like a short sob, or maybe a tiny gasp, but out of someone whose throat was being squeezed.
His knuckles were starting to turn white from gripping the blankets too hard. Clay noticed he was... shaking. No, shivering. That wasn't normal from a person in room temperature, not to mention under thick blankets.
"George. Hey." Clay whispered, softly tapping George's shoulder blade. When he got another gasp instead of an answer, he knelt down onto the bed.
George's eyebrows went from knit together to raised in shock. His hands were making grabbing motions, as if searching for something to latch onto.
Clay realized what it was - a nightmare. He'd had plenty of those throughout his life, so he knew how to deal with it. With the softest voice possible, he said:
"Hey, George. Wake up." He gently shook him by the arm, "wake up Georgie."
He felt his friend slowly stir. That meant he was waking up.
"Come on George. It's just a bad dream." Clay tried to be as soothing as possible so that George wouldn't get even more scared.
Finally, Clay saw him stop moving and open his eyes. He couldn't help but smile as he stared up at him sleepily.
"Mmm... Hey Clay." George grumbled, "what is it?"
He'd be lying if he said it wasn't an adorable sight. George with his sleepy voice and messed up hair wearing Clay's clothes... did something to him. His eyes flicked down to his slightly gaping lips and back to his eyes in a flash.
"Sounded like you were having a nightmare," Clay sheepishly explained, unsure whether waking him up was a good decision, "I'll let you get back to sleep now."
George smiled up at him and closed his eyes.
"Thanks Clay... You should sleep too."
And with that, Clay went back to his blanket. As soon as George's breaths slowed down, he drifted off back to sleep.
George never really questioned who Clay was, he just referred to him by his name. Clay shook his head. George was so exhausted that he didn't question a complete stranger looming over him. At least that's what Clay thought, who didn't know about George's "play pretend" games.
__________
There was someone standing over George, holding a knife to his throat, eyes shimmering red. He pressed it down just enough to draw a little blood, making George yelp.
"P-please," he begged, "please let me go..."
George's pleas fell on the strange figure's deaf ears. He only pressed it down more and more, until all George could feel was a burning sharp pain in his throat and the hot blood from the gaping wound cascading down his collarbone, his chest...
His nose was overwhelmed with the smell of copper. His taste buds were filled with a familiar tangy, metallic taste. He desperately tried to plead for his life, but all that came out were gurgles as he choked up even more blood.
The glow from the figure's red eyes becoming almost blinding from the close proximity he was standing to George. He opened his mouth, revealing a gaping, endless black hole in its place. A gutteral, raspy voice sounded from far above them, then it seemingly encompassed them and got louder, booming from all around:
"Wake up, George."
The words made the figure recoil, then shriek in anger. He grabbed the knife, hovering the tip of the blade just above George's eyeball.
"George, wake up!"
The figure's face contorted into what resembled a toothy smile, rotten and black teeth forming a sharp ravine-like hole. It seemed to suck all the air and light out of the atmosphere, drawing it in and making it disappear.
"Georgie, come on. It's just a bad dream."
He recognized that voice.
Clay?..
Suddenly, the arms holding him down started phasing in and out of his shoulders, turning into puffs of black smoke. This didn't seem to please his captor. It let out an ear piercing scream, chattering it's teeth and aimlessly grabbing at George.
"It's okay, everything is fine. Just... Open your eyes. Wake up."
But his eyes were open. He reached out a shaking hand to the now recoiling figure and watched it dissolve into ash. Finally, he softly spoke out:
"Clay?.."
The dark, endless void he'd been in started dissipating as well. Warm light poured in from his left side and filled his whole vision.
"Yes George that's it! Just keep doing whatever you're doing. Wake up."
He blinked a few times.
George was in an unfamiliar room, with a man standing over him. Was he still asleep? Reality felt altered around him.
"Uh... Hey." George spoke out, deciding to break the silence, "who are you?"
Clay sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Hey Georgie," he smiled, trying to comfort his friend, "it's me, Clay."
George wondered how the stranger was so accepting of his fantasies that he just instantly adopted the role of his best friend that he was obsessed with. Had he paid him? Or why was he willing to participate?
"What time is it?" George asked, looking around for a clock of some kind.
"4:30. It's the second time you've had nightmares tonight alone." Clay stood up, "well, I should let you go back to sleep now. You sure as hell aren't getting any by me constantly waking you up."
George chuckled, "wait, Clay." He scooted over to the other side of the bed, "stay here with me. I don't really feel like sleeping alone again."
The fact that he assumed he was in a complete stranger's bed made it easier for him to be straightforward. He felt the man hesitate a bit and then get under the covers with him.
George huddled against the man's chest. The shirt he was wearing smelled fresh and nice, so he buried his face into his body. He felt warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer.
It was how he always imagined cuddling with Clay would be like. This guy was pretty good at pretending to be his best friend. Or the one he projected his feelings onto, at least.
He felt one of the stranger's hands cup his neck, gliding over his cheek and into his hair. It was weird how much George liked such a simple, innocent display of affection. The strangers he got to fulfill his fantasies were usually just driven by lust.
The man pulled down his hand again, this time caressing his cheek with his knuckles. He touched the small stubble he had growing down the length of his face with the tips of his fingers.
"How come you're growing a beard?"
The voice asked.
Damn, even the voice sounded awfully close to Clay's. Maybe a little softer than the real deal, but George shivered at how uncanny it was. He ignored the question, since he didn't have the energy for small talk about his beard with a stranger.
After that was done, the man pulled George even closer by the small of his back. His hands stayed wrapped around his waist.
George nuzzled closer to the man, weaving his fingers through the soft hair and closing his eyes.
This time, he had a lot less trouble sleeping.