CalPal

-24-

Chapter Twenty Four

Dream was sound asleep when I woke up and let me tell you, it was a real struggle to get away from the grip he held on me. This man was really soft. In my opinion, he tries to come off as very sarcastic and hard-edged online. While he is pretty sarcastic, he's such an emotional person, especially when it comes to me. George and I or Sapnap and I could be completely obliterating each other in a verbal abuse battle as a joke, yet Dream would get so defensive. In the end, we all just laugh about it and call him a simp. He's very aware that he has a soft spot for me. I do use it to my advantage from time to time.

Currently, I was sat on my stool in the corner of my bedroom working on the same portrait as the one from before the Texas trip. I had music playing from my AirPods and I was humming along quietly to the music. I was very close to finishing my Cole Sprouse portrait. I was hoping to finish it before we dropped George off at the airport.

"Good morning," Clay whispered. I turned around to see his arms stretched out with his eyes closed. I don't think he's fully awake yet. I probably woke him up with my humming.

"Good morning sunshine," I smiled, greeting him like I do every morning, "How'd you sleep?"

"Good, you?"

"I slept well. I had a dream that I won a Tesla in the David Dobrik contest and all of us were driving around in it. You were messing around with the settings and set it up so you triggered a farting sound under George's seat. He was getting quite irritated about it."

He chuckled, "That sounds very interesting. I feel like Sapnap would be the one to do that to George though, not me."

"Yeah you're right. We'd be the driver and passenger ignoring everything they do as they bicker in the back seat like children."

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah."

I heard rustling from behind me, so I turned back around to see Clay getting out of bed and approaching my art corner. He placed his hand on my shoulder, then immediately retracted it and started flailing his hand in disgust. I looked at his palm to see paint smeared all over it, and before I could warn against it, he wiped it all over his sweatpants.

I sighed but couldn't help laughing, "Clay! That's oil paint."

He wheezed, "Why the fuck do you have paint on your shoulder?"

"I don't know! Paint finds itself everywhere, I swear. You wouldn't understand, you're not an artist."

"Does this come out?" He pouted.

"Uh, sometimes. C'mon let's wash it out before it has the chance to dry. That's the best bet at getting it out."

I dropped my paintbrush onto the pallet and walked over to the bathroom in my room. Clay followed and sat down on the toilet while I grabbed a washcloth and wet it with cold water. As soon as it dripped onto his pants, Clay jumped up and freaked out.

"That's fucking cold!" He screeched.

"Do you want the paint out or not?" I laughed, "You're such a pussy. Take off your pants if you don't want the water touching your skin."

"Woah there! We haven't even kissed and you're already trying to take my pants off? Slow down!" He started full on laughing to the point where he was wheezing.

"You're such a child," I laughed along and shoved him backwards, "Just go get changed for the day and hand me your sweats after—" He started pulling the waistband of his pants down, "Clay! I didn't mean in front of me!"