He was floating.
As if surrounded by clouds, he was flying. The colors swirled around him.
The only thought his clouded mind dared to utter was 'This must be heaven. It has to be.'
Alas, reality is a cruel mistress.
Suddenly, his alarm clock went off, shrill and nagging. Oh, how he hated that thing.
With a groan, Clay threw off his covers and jumped out of his bed.
He looked for his favorite pair of jeans. Absent. He shivers.
'/in the laundry/. Damn it.'
Today was going to be a long day.
He stepped down out of the bus, which, even though he hated it, was warm and inviting.
'Twenty five degrees. It had to be twenty five degrees the day after Allen stole my good jacket.'
He searched for his friends on the crowded bus ramp, and spotted them at the usual table.
"Guys!" He shouts, cheery, and makes his way to the group.
He is immediately tackled by Angela, who is freezing cold and shaking.
"Clay. It is too cold for you to be this warm." She says in almost a menacing tone.
Clay gives her a smug smile and proclaims "Iron content!" with a shrug.
She lets him go and he is immediately assaulted by…
Hair?
"Clay!" the hair shouts.
'Oh, it's just Chloe.'
She bounces off of him and gives him an accusatory poke. "You were supposed to text me when you got your new guitar!"
"Oh. It hasn't come in yet."
"Well, let me know when it does." She gives him an unconvincing pouty face.
They converse about Tumblr and the weekend's activities until the bell rings, cueing their leave for class.
Clay sighs as his bus arrives. He looks at it in distaste.
He hates riding home with these people, who, even with no knowledge of him, judged him mercilessly.
He climbs up the steps and finds a seat in the back, where at least some of the decent people sit.
He relaxes as the engine starts up and no one has bothered him yet.
Suddenly, a wet sensation seeps its way into his jeans.
Confused, he opens his eyes to see that someone has spilled coca cola on his white jeans.
He looks around for the culprit.
A small, middle school girl looks at him in shock and says in a quiet voice "I'm so sorry!"
He fights irritation, and, as nice as he can, assures her it's okay.
As he gets up to get off the bus, an older guy sniggers and shouts "Ey! Look who wet /her/ panties!"
Clay ignores him and hurries off the bus, but not before he catches the giggles of the other students.
He is glad to be home. Finally.
No people to abuse him here.
He opens the door to see Chewy greet him with many tail wags and licks.
He sits down on his bed and finishes off his homework quickly.
He flops down on the bed.
Finally.
Done with today. Done with everything.
Then he remembers. Damn it.
'Laundry.'
He takes the hamper full of dirty clothes to the washer, which is thankfully empty.
He pours in the cup of detergent and sets to work shoveling handfuls of clothes into the washer.
Done.
He then takes the clothes already in the dryer to fold them.
'Mmm. Warm.'
He puts his face into the clothes that contain so much heat.
He tosses them onto his bed and thumps down onto them.
'So warm.'
Then something happens. Something that should not, under these circumstances, be happening.
He got hard.
'Urg. Damn it bodily reactions.'
He can feel his face getting hot. He remembers there is no one home.
'Well. As long as these are here.'
He pulls his pants down to his knees.
He takes a rather soft looking towel and rubs himself with it.
'Oh, that is good.'
He thrusts into the towel covering his hand until he feels release.
He sits in the afterglow of his orgasm.
Then, he opens his eyes.
'Oh FUCK.'
He did quite a lot more laundry that night than he thought he was going to.