not a love story. {dreamnotfound}

six.

uhhh you guys good?? yeah me neither <3

character update:
Wilbur is twenty-five, straight, and uses he/him pronouns

So without further adieu...
I present to you,
Lost Cause.

The blinding light immediately stings his visions. He snaps his eyes shut. The hum of the generator is far too loud for his liking. He just wants it all to be shut out. He remembers what had happened. After all, how could he possibly forget. Thinking back to that day — that time. He's not all too confident as to how long he was out, or what had happened after Dream left. It doesn't bother him that he was belittled and used. In all honesty, he'd enjoyed it. But how was he meant to tell someone that? You're not supposed to enjoy being sexually harassed. Would it even be considered sexual harassment if it hadn't upset him? He wasn't sure; he didn't care. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep and never wake up.

"George . . .?" A voice whispers over the static-like silence. "Are you awake?"

He groans. He doesn't feel like having a conversation about what had happened. Nothing even had happened. It was just an aggressive blowjob for fucks sake. What's the big deal?

"George," the voice repeats. Much more stern this time; much more distinguished. He now knows who he is speaking to — who's speaking to him.

"Alex." He doesn't open his eyes. He hopes this is all a dream. It's all a dream and he will awaken from it soon. Won't he? Well, then again, he seems to live in a constant, never ending, nightmare. This being fictional wouldn't be any better. It wouldn't change anything. "Where am I?"

"Well," Alex drawls. "If you actually got up, you'd see that you're in the classroom. Still." It hits him. He's with Alex. He's with the guy he promised Dream to never see again. The brunette shoots up immediately. "Ah —" Alex raises a hand in warning. George yelps in pain as his head slams against a rough surface.

"What the fuck?" George rubs his aching skull. He looks up. Ah, yes. The desk. The desk that he got absolutely destroyed on — by his student. He brings his glare to the raven who is now squatted beside him.

"Hi." Alex smiles apologetically. George's frown deepens.

"Get out," he deadpans. "You can't be here."

"And why's that?" Alex reaches to ruffle George's dark locks. George's instinct tells him it's okay, yet he immediately flinches away. "This is a public area after all. Isn't it?"

"I said, get out," he repeats.

"And what if I don't want to?" The raven smirks. George wants to bash the bastard's brains in for acting so smug. How could he be so calm right now? What type of fucking sociopath is he?! Well, the brunette shouldn't be one to talk. He — after all — is the one pleasured by the thought of death. And rape. And pain. And well, anything and everything that could destroy his humanity. That is considered crazy. Isn't it? He's almost one-hundred percent sure that he could end up in the psych-ward for it. For his obsession with death, and all. The thought doesn't scare him as much as it should. He'd be away from everyone. Pure and utter silence.

"If you don't want to, I'll call security and they'll fucking kick you out." George shoots back. "Got that?"

"Awe, baby." Alex pouts. It's disgusting; how can he just act like this? So calm and collected. But then again, maybe deep down, he is just as fucked up as George. Best friends tend to think alike. Don't they? "Then they'd see that damn semen on your face. I'd have to explain what had happened. That the teacher molested his student. That wouldn't end so well, would it?" Revenge. He's playing the game of revenge. Well, two can play it that way.