Singleplayer [DreamNotFound]

Fabric of Relief

Even though the show is funnier than I thought it would be, I can't concentrate properly after a couple of minutes on it with Clay so close to me. I know I'm not attracted to him, but it feels a little strange. Even unnatural. Clay laughs frequently and I can sense him glancing at me to see my reaction at some joke, and I produce a smile or two for his benefit, but I'm not paying attention. I jolt back to reality when he shakes me a little, and I look around at him questioningly.

'I asked you something.'

I blink, not having heard. 'What'd you ask?'

Clay rolls his eyes. 'What did you think of the show?'

I glance at the screen. Clay's paused it on the credits. 'Oh. Oh, yeah, um, it was pretty good.'

'"Pretty good"? Seriously?' Clay shakes his head and flips his phone to its vertical position. 'It's godly.'

'Yeah, I guess.' I shrug. I try to find an excuse to get out of his bed, and my assignments immediately come to my mind. 'I have to go do my work now. Have you completed yours?'

Clay laughs. 'You know I haven't. Fine, I'll just watch something here.' He withdraws his arm from around me.

I get up, relieved. 'You should really do it, you know.'

Clay makes a 'meh' sound. 'Whatever, I'll do it later.'

I grab my textbooks and papers, pushing my laptop to one side to make room for the books. Trying to do the math work is annoying, but the thought of being free after completing it keeps me going on. As I'm struggling through my calculus, I hear Clay calling me.

I answer without turning around. 'Yeah?'

'Are you, like, hiding something?' Clay asks without hesitating. I freeze for a second.

'No, why?' I ask, keeping my eyes on the paper.

'I don't know. You've just been acting strange.'

'Sure. I'm acting strange.' I say, scoffing. I feel my face grow hot.

'Dude, it just feels like you're not telling me about something. Did I do something else yesterday?'

I straighten up and twist around to look at him. 'If you did, I would've told you.' I don't know how I'm so calm. 'Honestly,' I add at Clay's sceptical look.

He stares at me for a while, then looks back down at his phone screen. 'Fine. You better not be lying.'

I make a noise in the back of my throat. 'Why would I?'

Clay goes back to watching whatever he's watching, and I turn back around to stare uncomprehendingly at my assignment. I feel pretty bad lying to Clay, but if I told him things would get even more awkward and I wouldn't even be able to look at him. But then again, knowing him, he'd probably shrug it off with a 'we had socks on, it's not gay'.

About an hour later, I'm finally done with my work. I shut my book with a thud, sighing. My eyes hurt from staring at the same spot for a long time. When I turn around, Clay's still on his phone, making quiet little remarks to himself about whatever he's watching.

'Dude.' I say.

Clay looks up at my voice. 'What?'

'It's been an hour. You should do your work.'

Clay hits the pause button. 'How can I when you're sitting at the only desk in the room?'

'Would it kill you if you did it on your bed?'

'Of course it would!' he gawps at me as if he's surprised that I don't know this already. 'How could I ever do something so lame upon my fabric of relief?'

'"Fabric of relief",' I laugh. 'Well, I've done my shit.'

I get up from the chair, and Clay groans. 'Please just stay there for another hour or something. I don't wanna do this.'

I shake my head. 'Clay. Get here. Right now.'

'Fine, mom,' he angrily wrenches out his earphones. 'Why can't you let me do whatever I want to?'

'Did you just call me mom?'

'Yeah, aren't you my mom?' Clay rolls his eyes. 'I'm gonna do my work now, so kindly don't disturb me.'

I shake my head and move away from the table. Clay angrily drags himself to the desk, shuffling his feet, mumbling something under his breath. I grab Insurgent and try to concentrate on reading.

People, I have discovered, are layers and layers of secrets. You believe you know them, that you understand them, but their motives are always hidden from you, buried in their own hearts. You will never know them, but sometimes you decide to trust them.

I glance at Clay, sitting with his head bent over the desk, scribbling something on his notebook. Why does everything remind me of him? I'm trying to read a dystopian science fiction book, for god's sake. I exhale loudly, irritated, and look back down at my book, trying to act oblivious to Clay looking quizzically at me.

Clay is my friend. Nothing can change that.