Claire rings out her wet hair, nimbly parting it into two Dutch braids. She slips on a baggy t-shirt and some sweats, not feeling in the mood for any sort of denim this evening. All that bread last night made her seriously bloated. She blows Maggie a kiss goodbye, throws on a jacket, and walks over to Mineral Blacksmith as the sun starts setting.
Saibara answers when she knocks, smiling as he strokes his white beard. "Claire, I told you that you don't gotta knock."
"Sorry," she says, stepping in. "It feels so rude to just open the door."
"I wish you'd teach my grandson a lesson in manners," he says, sighing. "I think that he's out cold, by the way." Saibara jerks his thumb towards the direction of Gray's bedroom, gripping his cane with his free hand.
Claire frowns. "It's so early."
"He's ill. Apparently that's why he couldn't work today."
"Oh man!" Claire smacks her head, guilt washing over her. "That's all my fault."
"Nonsense. He's a dumbass who coulda easily brought an extra jacket in case."
There's an angry kick that comes from Gray's bedroom.
"Hmm." Saibara slowly walks over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for himself. This action seems like it knocks the wind out of him though, and he begins to shake. "Maybe he's up. See if he wants visitors, Claire."
"Do you need some help with anything?" she asks him worriedly. It makes her sad to see him tremor like this.
Saibara's blue eyes light up beneath his thick eyebrows. "You're a sweet girl, Claire. If you can get Gray to quit his bitching, then that's all I could ever want."
She makes her way to Gray's room, knocking gently. Claire presses her ear against the door, listening for Gray when she doesn't hear anything. She knocks again, and feels another kick at the door, opening it hesitantly.
Gray is on the floor of his room, wearing a pair of checkered pyjama pants and a blue Abercrombie hoodie. He clutches an old Nintendo controller in both hands, rapidly pressing the buttons of it, his eyes fixated on the screen. Gray's cap is pulled backwards on his head, tufts of his hair sticking out like he's been electrocuted. His face is twisted in full-concentration mode.
For a second, his light eyes break away from the screen to look at her. "Claire?" he croaks, voice raspy.
She glances down at her feet and notices a pair of slippers that Gray must have tossed at the door amidst his game-playing. Claire cringes at his voice, taking a seat on the cold floor beside him. "You look-"
"Like shit?" Gray finishes. It sounds like he's been chain-smoking his whole life.
"I didn't say that."
"Don't worry," he says. "I feel it. I sound it too." His eyes quickly shift back to his television screen. He's busy playing a Super Mario game. Luigi runs across the screen like a flash of green, successfully passing by a series of piranha plants. He zooms through the end of the level, a star firework glowing up the air. Gray looks pleased, dropping the controller, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. "Didn't anyone tell you that walking around with wet hair gets you sick, Blondie?"
Claire rolls her eyes. "Um, your hair was dry yesterday night, and now-" She stops herself immediately, like it's just dawned on her once again that this is all on her.
"And now I'm sick 'cause some idiot walks around with no jacket." He gives her a half smile, but then furrows his brow at her expression. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Claire looks over at him, frowning. "I just wanted to thank you again for being there for me yesterday, Gray." She rubs her arm. "And I'm so, so sorry. It's my fault you got sick."
"It's all good. I don't care," says Gray, with a wave of his hand. He rises to unplug his console, wrapping the thick black cord around the controller. "Paid vacation day off of work."
"Really?"
Gray smirks. "You're dreaming."
Claire suddenly feels very panicky, and realizes that she isn't ready to tell him, or anyone, about what happened earlier with Trent. She doesn't even know how she can begin to lay it all down. Can't she just enjoy an evening with her friend tonight, without the overwhelming thought of her premature make out session looming over her head? Her procrastinating ass figures that she can just tell him tomorrow.
"What were you playing?" she asks, in an attempt to change the subject.
"Super Mario Bros. 3." Gray bends down to remove the game from his console. He presses on it and the game cartridge rises up with a small click.
"Looks like it came out in the 90's."
"'Cause it did. This console's been here at my grandfather's for God knows how long. I came one summer and brought it ages ago, when I was a kid. I just stayed inside and played. I don't think that I talked to anyone my whole time here."
"That sounds like everything someone like you could ever want," Claire laughs. "Um, I think that you should seriously give your voice a rest and stop talking, though. Like, now."
"Relax. I'm taking a full vow of silence tomorrow."
"Lucky for Saibara."
"You oughta consider doing one too." Gray pauses. "But I'm actually tired of speaking."
"Thank God!"
"Ha ha," he says, walking over to the other side of his room. "Do you wanna watch something? I have a couple of DVD's."
Claire makes her way over to where he's standing, by a little bookshelf underneath a Sports Illustrated poster. It's of three models with their backs facing the camera, wearing nothing but small, black bikini bottoms. She gives Gray a quizzical look and he just shrugs at her sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink.
"What do you have? Besides porn on your wall." Men. Claire thinks about the fact that women seldom buy photographs of scantily clad men to hang up in their rooms.
Gray scrunches his nose down at her. "Leave me alone. It was a gift from Kai."
Typical Kai. "I'll bet."
"Okay, I have two movies, and like, six stand-up comedy specials to choose from." Gray holds them all out in front of her, handing her a couple.
"Wide selection."
"I know, eh?"
Claire shuffles through his selection of films, which is the prequel and sequel to some action movie. No thank you. She then rifles through the comedian DVD's, gasping at one.
"Hey!" Claire exclaims, her eyes brightening. "This guy was on Full House!" She points to the cover of a much-older looking Danny Tanner, fondly remembering her days of watching that show at the convent. It was pretty clean and wholesomely family-oriented, so the nuns always entertained the group with it. She liked it so much that she'd even watch it in high school from time to time. Mostly for Uncle Jesse, but hey.
Gray grabs it away from her. "We are not watching this one."
Claire tries to reach for it back, but he holds it above his own head, making it impossible for her to retrieve it. "What the heck? Why not?"
"You aren't going to like it, Blondie. Bob Saget's stand-up is really dirty." Gray rubs the scruff on his chin, shaking his head with an exasperated laugh, like he's recalling a joke from it in his mind. She snatches the DVD back when he lowers his hand.
"I understand dirty jokes," she lies, peering at the cover.
"You one thousand percent do not. And it's not just dirty. His comedy is like, fucking vile."
"Oh, Gray, quit buggin' out. He was on a kid's show. How bad can it be?"
It really is as bad as he said. No, it's worse. Way worse. Inappropriate isn't even the word to begin describing it. This is not the Danny Tanner that Claire grew up loving.
But, while he's crude and foul, his comedy is so shocking, that it can't help but be admittedly hilarious. Claire is positively dying at the routine. She almost feels bad cackling at some of the really bad jokes, but it's too funny to not. So funny, that the she and Gray sit on the floor of his room, mindlessly watching the television while laughing in unison. She pauses a few times so that he can explain what certain… terms are? And although they're both flushed and embarrassed, they're so busy snickering together that it doesn't even matter in the end
"I didn't… even know that a 'taint' was a thing," Claire says through giggles. "That's so… gross!"
Gray is dying beside her, grinning so wide that his mouth hurts. In this moment, he comes to a sudden realization that he admittedly laughs harder when she's around. How did it take him so long to grasp this?
"I cannot believe that you of all people are laughing," he says, reaching for his water to sip it. Gray isn't even thinking about his sore throat, or his illness, or coming face to face earlier with the man that he's fully blamed for his mother's passing. He's sitting beside Claire, and although sick, he feels kinda happy. When's the last time that he could actually say that? "You keep... surprising me."
Is she surprising him, or is he the one surprising himself?
"I dunno if it's just the shock factor," she tells him, after she's caught her breath. "But it's super funny."
As the special nears its end, Claire is staring at the television screen, but Gray is busy staring at her. At her blonde hair in twin braids, at the reflection of the light in her dark blue eyes, at the smile that falls across her pink lips.
And it's only now that Gray comprehends how hard he's falling for this girl.
Has he been this whole damn time, and he's just too stupid or stubborn to admit it? Gray thinks of when he dismissed her as a pain in the ass at their first time meeting. Or, when she cried opening up to him, and he was reminded of the anguish that he kept bottled inside. Or, when they danced together at the inn, sharing an electric kiss hours later that he still can't help dreaming about. Sure, they get under each other's skin. But she makes him happy. How can he not be falling for this girl?
Gray inwardly laments at her words last night. She had referred to him as a "good friend." And he agreed whole-heartedly, but now he's looking at her with different eyes and a new yearning in his heart. Despite him being under the weather, all that he wants to do is pick Claire up and kiss her.
Is he not supposed to feel this way? Would she even reciprocate the feelings back? They're hanging out right now, the way that friends would, but you aren't supposed to want to hold your friend in your arms and kiss her like fucking mad. Yet, Gray wants that. He wants that more than he can even begin to comprehend it. He wants his lips on hers again, her body pressed against his own, the taste of her to linger the way that it did that night.
Claire was the one who asked him to kiss her; was it because she found herself attracted to him too? Or was it just to abide by the rules of seven minutes in heaven, and have her first kiss with someone who knew what they were doing. Did Gray blow it, the way that he's been blowing everything lately, by fighting with her the day after? Why does he do any of the dumb shit that he does? Why can't he just learn to channel his pain by doing something other than holding screaming matches with people?
And she honestly believed that he hated her. Why did he continuously act like such a goddamn prick? His mother would be horrified at the disaster he's become. How can Gray confess to this girl that he doesn't actually hate her; in fact, he might even-
Don't. Don't even think it.
But he does. He does, and it brings upon feelings of both liberation and fear. Am I… falling for this girl?
Bob Saget throws out another one liner, a filthy one about his Full House co-star John Stamos, and Claire snorts when stifling her laughter. She covers her face with her hands, mortified.
"Pretend you didn't hear that!" she cries, clenching her teeth awkwardly through her snickers.
"I heard it," Gray says, grinning at her. And there it goes: I might be so freakin' in love with this girl, that it's crazy.
In his mind, he isn't sick anymore. His throat is better, and Claire looks at him curiously until he musters up the nerve to pull her closer to him. Even though his hands are shaking, Gray dips her head back, much to her astonishment, carefully pressing his lips to hers. Slowly, she overcomes the shock, and clamours on his lap, running her fingers through his hair as the cap falls off his head. She kisses him back hard, like her life depends on it.
He doesn't mean for things to get rough in his head, but they do. They break apart haphazardly as he lowers his lips to her neck, planting kisses all around it. He can feel Claire's fingers tighten against his locks, and she just moans softly.
"What do you want, Claire?" he mumbles against her skin, and this is his favourite question to ask a girl. It's sexy and elusive and helps him to know exactly what she-
"Uh, for you to give me back the Danny Tanner that I grew up loving," Claire says.
She gazes at him quizzically when Gray's mouth stays agape at her. He didn't just say that out loud, did he? DID HE?! Was this cough syrup that he's been taking a secret dose of crack? What the FUCK is WRONG WITH YOU?!
Gray just swallows, his cheeks burning. He hopes to God that he wasn't actually staring at her when he was thinking about their imaginary try at first base. Jesus Christ.
His dream didn't happen. None of it happened, except for the part that he idiotically spoke at the end, of course. City Gray would have never done this kind of embarrassing shit. Then again, City Gray wouldn't have found himself falling so quickly in love, either.
He's almost afraid to think about what would have happened if his daydream wandered further. She'd wouldn't want to have sex, which is fine, he doesn't want to do it either, given at how firm she is about her virginity. Not that they'd be put in that position. Jeez. He doesn't care; he only wants to kiss her until their lips swell and their hearts race against each other.
This is kind of a first for him.
Gray feels his crotch throb, and he doesn't even realize that his fantasy made him hard. Is it his fault for being an eighteen-year-old horny dipshit?
Yes, he thinks frantically, desperately throwing a blanket over his lap. His face feels hot and his heart is pounding. Claire looks at him, perplexed, waiting for a response. Gray just nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to calm himself down.
"You were the one who wanted to watch it," he says, yawning as he watches the credits roll down the screen. His voice is wavering a bit, and he wants to choke himself. Why is it that he considers himself to be experienced, yet he gets all tongue-tied around this inexperienced girl? "I warned you, y'know."
Claire smiles. "I guess that you did."
Who asked her out? Who was lucky enough to get a date with her? And who the hell completely screws that up and leaves someone like her waiting? Gray asks himself.
A moron; a real dumbfuck.
"Blondie," he begins, and he anxiously readies himself, searching to find the words that haven't crossed his mind until tonight. He doesn't think that he can recall a time when he told a girl his candid feelings, because he's never been that kind of guy; even before his life went to shit. He's just always maintained that the sex did all the talking he needed.
"What?"
You're the dumbfuck. Tell her!
"Uh." The television screen has faded to black. Although the room is dark, Gray can make out Claire's pretty face, and he just can't. He can't tell her anything. Not now. "Wanna watch Dave Chappelle?"
Maybe next time Gray sees her, he'll tell her. And then he'll figure out why he's become so chickenshit in Mineral Town in the meantime.
No. He'll tell Claire before she leaves tonight.
But when she smiles at him, his stomach knots. No girl has had this effect on him, not ever. Claire's dimples mark her porcelain face so cutely, like a pretty doll. She picks up the TV remote and hands it to him. "Sure," she says with a dorky wink.
Tomorrow, he thinks, rising to slip the DVD into the player. Gray takes a seat on the floor beside her again, and the two silently watch the screen flash with colour once again. I'll tell her tomorrow.
