All I want to do is shower. My hair is tangled and disgusting, my skin is sticky and I smell like Clay. Not that it's a bad thing, it's just my mind's been all over the place since I woke up and the smell is not helping.

Speaking of Clay. That idiot is taking too long in the shower. It's been almost 50 minutes. If it was George, I'd understand, cause his showers last a lifetime, but it's weird for Clay to take this long. The only thing keeping me away from banging on the door is that he has the right to take his time after babysitting us the whole night.

I start cleaning around the living room. It's a mess. The shot glasses are still here, the vodka bottle is still here, and most importantly the vodka I spilled left a massive stain on the tablecloth. It's not even a stain, it's a discoloration... proving once again that what we drank was closer to being rubbing alcohol, acetone, or bleach rather than vodka.

When I finish, Clay hits the one-hour mark in the shower. I'm starting to think he's doing something else in there, which is a perfect demonstration of the way my brain is working today.

Anyways. Soon Nick wakes up. He comes out of the room looking clueless. It almost looks like he doesn't recognize the house he's in. But after a good stretch and a few glances here and there, he finally looks at me.

"You're still alive."

Why is he so surprised?

"Never ceases to amaze you," I smile.

"Well, you were nauseous all night, thought you'd die," at least he remembers something unlike me.

"Yeah, we both were," I'm just telling him what I heard from Clay.

"I threw up once and only because I fell on my stomach from the bed. You threw up twice and it didn't even stop there, I remember you whining the whole night."

Not him bragging about being "less drunk" than me when he didn't even drink as much as me.

"At least I didn't fall from the bed-" just as I speak, I remember falling from the bed.

Nevermind.

"Then why did Clay say that he's hugging you cause you keep rolling off the bed?"

Why does he actually remember things? It's unfair.

"He just needed an excuse to hug me," I'm joking, but Nick's not having any of it.

"As far as I remember, you were the one clinging to him," he shrugs, "and you said something really dumb about being a koala and it cracked us up, I don't remember."

I'm your koala and you're my tree.

"Whatever," I laugh, "can you go check on Clay? He's been in the shower for more than an hour."

The water is still running. But as far as I know, I'm the only person in this house that actually locks the bathroom door while showering.

"What if he's jerking off?" I won't lie, Nick's words were something I did think of.

"For more than an hour?" My lips curl.

I'd successfully jerk off a whole neighborhood in that amount of time.

"I've heard he's got good stamina."

Uh..

His words are going to haunt my mind. Not only because of the context but because of the fact that he actually heard that from someone.

I look at him dumbstruck. And I proceed to look at him like that until he says "fine" and gets up to go check. If Clay's actually doing something in there and Nick gets traumatized for the rest of his life, I'm not responsible for it.

Anyways, I watch him approach the bathroom door and yell to see if Clay hears him. There's no response. Then he knocks loudly, and still, no response. That's when I tell him with a single hand motion to get in.

Nick slowly pushes the door open and peaks before going in. I'm intrigued to see what's going on, but seeing Clay naked is something my mental health will struggle to handle right now. So I sit and wait.

The water suddenly stops, bringing complete silence with it. Then Nick emerges from the bathroom with water splatters all over his shorts.

"He's sleeping."

I raise my brows in surprise, "He's what?"

"He's sitting on the tiles, sleeping," turns out I heard it right the first time.

Who sleeps in the shower? Was he that tired?

"Are you sure he's not dead?" I bite the inside of my cheek. I don't know, I think it's worth checking.

Nick enters the bathroom once again, this time taking longer to come out. Not gonna lie, I started to get worried, but still, refused to go in.

Eventually he's back. Now his socks are wet and I feel my guts twist just by looking at them. And the fact that he's not triggered by that reveals way more about him than any personality test could.

I wait for him to speak. And when he does, he makes me regret every decision that led to this point.

"He's alive and he's packing."

It takes me a moment but when it finally gets to me, I slap my hand on my forehead.

I did not need to know that. But also, I already knew it. I don't know how, I just did.

"What is wrong with you?" Now both of us are way more quiet knowing that there's someone asleep in the house. But I don't see the point of being quiet, not like we're gonna let him sleep on the shower tiles, "Go wake him up."

It's the third time Nick is going in. And with each attempt, I start to trust him way less than the previous time.

Looks like I was right, cause not even a minute after he goes in, I hear the water again. And I have a strong feeling it was cold water judging by the way Clay screams abruptly and starts cursing at him.

And once again, I see Nick storming out of the bathroom looking like he got in a catfight with water. His shirt, his shorts, his arm and leg hair - everything is dripping.

Before I can understand what's going on, Nick looks at me with terror.

"He's crazy," he mouths to me, and seconds later Clay comes out with a towel hanging low on his hips.

He raises his voice on Nick but I, unfortunately, cannot focus on his words. All I'm focused on is the wet hair, the water droplets on his body, his body, his body and his bod-

"What made you think it was a good idea?" Before I know it, Clay is talking to me. I wasn't paying attention to their conversation, I have no idea what he's talking about.

"What?" I blink, looking up from his abdomen to his eyes.

Clay opens his mouth slightly and shuts it close, giving me a knowing face. He definitely caught me staring. Somebody dig a hole for me to jump down.

"Why'd you tell him to run cold water on me?" I narrow my eyes at his sentence. But I guess my problem is with Nick.

"Who told you to run cold water on him?" I turn my head to look at Nick.

"You told me to wake him up," he shrugs.

"There are many methods not involving cold water, " is it even worth explaining at this point?

Whatever, I don't even care.

"Whatever, I'm going to bed," Clay reads my mind once again, "and you better not be high, drunk or on crack when I wake up."

I definitely did not stare at his back as he left and did not dig my nails in my flesh, imagining it was his and not mine.

Dreaming of someone should be illegal. I was just living my life, minding my own business and my brain manipulated me into wanting Clay.

But enough of that, I actually feel guilty for exhausting him so much that he fell asleep in the shower. It's a bit funny but it also makes me wanna wrap him up in the softest blankets and let him sleep as much as he wants to.

I blink myself back to reality when Nick's phone buzzes on the table. I sit up straight seeing that it's George.

"George is calling," I yell, but Nick is changing his wet clothes in his room.

"Answer it!" He yells back a little bit louder than it was necessary.

I clear my throat before swiping the screen. I missed him so much-

"Broo," he speaks immediately as I pick up, "I literally just hooked up with the hottest chick!"