mcyt oneshots

just fine {dnf}

ship - dream x george (could be taken either platonically or romantically)

playlist of songs to listen to: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3hnqBGNkxCSZCjpNXYbSDM?si=Kr8hTxW2TU2xvOYr3xVPAg (link is also in my profile for mobile users)

tw: none

Clay blinked a couple times, clearing the sleep dust and grogginess from his eyes as he rolled over and checked the time. Great, it's 3:30, he thought tiredly. Being a borderline insomniac with way too many thoughts to process at once did not fare well for the blond's sleep habits, so even sleeping for a few hours consecutively was a little victory. He pushed himself upright, leaning against the cold, painted wall as he reached for his phone idly check for any notifications, but of course there weren't any; the majority of his friends had been asleep like him and likely didn't plan on waking up for at least 4 hours more.

With a yawn and a stretch, he shuffled out of bed, throwing on the hoodie he'd strewn across the floor the day before. Clay slowly padded out his room, creeping down the stairs to the kitchen, tiptoeing the pattern he knew so well to avoid the floorboards that would creak. He shivered as his feet met the cool kitchen tiles and grabbed a glass, filling it with water before sitting at the counter. Nothing feels better at 3:30 in the morning than a cool glass of water on a dry throat and the glass was soon empty and set down by the sink.

His next early morning mission, he decided, would be to find Patches. One of the best remedies for his insomnia, Clay found, was Patches curled up on his chest, her purrs blocking out any intrusive thoughts he might have. So, he embarked on his escapade, first checking the living area next to the kitchen; she wasn't under the sofas, or sleeping in some of the blankets that he had lying around for the rare occasion that you would need one in Florida, and the cat bed (that she barely used in favour of cardboard boxes) was, alas, also empty.

After quickly checking the bathroom and cloakroom just in case for some godforsaken reason she had decided to sleep in there and being correct in the assumption that she would not be in either, he ventured back up the stairs. He didn't bother checking his room, since the door had been closed all this time, and that only left one more room; the spare bedroom. Normally this would not have been a problem, except today was not a normal day. A month prior, George had challenged Clay that, should he send him a singular photo of his face, George would hop on a plane to Florida as soon as he could. Of course, the temptation of finally meeting his best friend was more than any remnants of pride and stubbornness he had left and without a second thought, he fixed his hair and had a quick look in the mirror before snapping a photo of him resting his head on patches and sent it over to George. Anxiety quickly set in, but George reassured him the moment he received it that first of all, he did not look worse than expected. In fact, Clay hadn't forgotten the exact words George had said, that he "exceeded his expectations in every way possible", even going as far to call him cute. He also quickly added that Clay was absurd to even harbour the thought that he would send it to someone else, and as the anxiety faded, the excitement rose. After a few weeks of sorting out visas and searching for suitable flights from London Heathrow to Orlando, George was finally there.

Of course, Clay could barely express how happy he was that his best friend was staying with him, but he finally drew his thoughts back to the matter at hand; does he quickly creep into George's room and grab the cat? But what if that's creepy? What if he's invading his privacy? But Patches might finally help him get some more rest-

The rapid thoughts were interrupted by a noise from the other side of the door. It sounded somewhere between a sniffle and a whimper, and Clay initially assumed George just had a blocked nose but then what sounded like soft mumbles and protests began.