Dorm Buddies

Chapter 49

Friday

The knowing that their Sophomore year of college was right around the corner, along with Clay's nineteenth birthday just three months away. If only time would slow down...

George jolted up when he heard the alarm go off, nearly gasping at the loud, ear raping noise—his delicate, pale hands came up to his face, gently rubbing his tired eyes. Clay, who laid beside him, let out a groan, his grip on George's hip tighten slightly. George reached over and turned the annoying alarm off.

"Clay, we have class at nine, it's seven-thirty." George said, a yawn cutting his words off like a knife cutting a piece of fruit. Clay let his other hand that laid against the sheets, not holding George down from getting up and getting ready, slip on his face as he chuckled.

"Yeah, it's seven, we have class at nine." Clay said, his eyes still shut as he tried to get George to lay down. George let out a gentle laugh before pushing Clay's hand away, his strong grip loosening as he felt bad. George slid down to the end of the bed before he crawled off.

Clay sat up with another groan, rubbing his face. The American's attention was caught when he heard a laugh, making him look up at the British boy who looked at him with a smile. Clay smiled back, the boy's smile being to much to not smile back.

"What?" Clay asked with a chuckle, watching George nod at him with his tooth brush in his mouth. Clay looked down, his loose tank top was all twisted. He rolled his eyes and threw himself back onto the bed, catching the light scoff George let out into the air.

"Why are we getting up this early?" Clay yawned, his eyes closing again. The room went quiet, and he thought nothing of it, thinking George would just let him drift back into sleep. He thought so, until he felt a weight on top of him making him open his eyes quickly.

George was laying on top of him, a smile on his face. "We have breakfast with Karl, and Nick, remember?" George said, his fresh breath from him brushing his teeth hit Clay hard, almost knocking the wind out of him. Clay let out a sigh, not an annoyed sigh, just a gentle sigh.

"Do I really have to go?" He asked, George rolled his eyes before rolling off of the boy. "Of course you idiot." He said, opening the closet door. Clay sat up with another sigh—he watched George try to find something decent to wear, only pulling out tight-ish, skinny blue jeans, laying them neatly on Clay's bed.

"You can wear one of my hoodies George, one of my nice ones even." Clay interrupted his search for a decent top, the only thing that covered the closet was sweatshirts, jackets, and hoodies. The brunet looked at him with bright eyes, like the sun was shining on them, but the curtains were closed.

"Really? Can I wear the light brown sweatshirt you own? The one with the paw prints on the shoulder?" George's voice surprised Clay, almost making him physically jump—he had to smile at the overly excited George standing upon the end of his bed. He quickly nodded, noticing that he was sitting there for so long.

George gave him a toothy smile before reaching into the closet and pulling out the, in his eyes, beautiful sweatshirt. George didn't know what he liked about the sweatshirt, the color that he couldn't see—only knowing the color because Clay told him when he kept staring him down with a dirty look every time he wore it, or if it was the cute black cat paws that rode up the right shoulder.

Clay finally pushed the covers off his body, the very loose sweatpants he wore almost falling down as he stood up and stretched his body. His arms reaching up as he slightly turned his body to George with a weird smile on his lips.