Stay Inside (by my Side) : Gream/DreamNotFound

12. Mutual

[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.