Warm hoodies on cold nights (and all the stars in your eyes)

Hey girl, I'm in the water

He's aware that he's dreaming, but not aware enough that it changes anything. He's running through the hallways of his house, stumbling and tripping, knowing he has to be somewhere. He's half asleep; the feeling is dragging him to the floor, he can barely stand. Maybe he can have five, ten more minutes of rest. He looks at the clock, and he dimly knows it's about an hour before he needs to be somewhere. That's okay, he thinks, and he's already slumped on the floor of his room, but the little clock on his shelf is showing a completely different time, and his alarm clock another, and when he runs dizzily to find Phil, and begs him for the time, Phil pulls out his phone and reads out something completely different, and Wilbur sinks onto the floor and wakes up.

His covers have fallen to the floor, and he's facing Schlatt now. Schlatt's fast asleep, bathed in cool morning light, sprawled all across his bed, and Wilbur smiles for a fond second before sitting up, ignoring the ache in his head that tells him to lie back down. Come to think of it, he hasn't drunk anything in the real world for a while. He should probably drink some water or something, although in a server, eating food gave the same benefits as food and water together, so that problem would probably be solved. And it wouldn't exactly translate to the real world, but he'd probably feel a bit better now.

"Rise and shine," he says loudly, leaning close to Schlatt, who grunts and startles, then stares blearily out of the window.

"What the fuck, Wil," he asks, squinting. "It's like, only just past sunrise."

"Best time to be awake," Wilbur grins. Not that once he's awake he hates the thought of going back to sleep again, because he's afraid of being stuck in a drowsy circle, unable to pull himself awake. Better to be up at the crack of dawn, he thinks, folding the covers of his bed, grounding himself in the rough feel of the wool.

"What're we doing today?" he asks, humming to himself.

"Apparently moving house," Schlatt grumbles, staring out of the window.

"What?" The wool slips from his grip. "Was Man Shack not good enough for you?"

"Eh," Schlatt shrugs. "It's more about the water."

"The... Water?" Wilbur asks slowly, then joins him at the window, their shoulders brushing against each other. True enough, water is lapping at the base of their house, and Wilbur yelps. "The water!"

"No shit," Schlatt grumbles. "I'm going to get my fucking feet wet."

Wilbur sighs, flopping back down on the bed before jumping back up as if burned. "Okay," he says abruptly, trying to hide the brief alarm at the tiny thought that had asked him if he was going to fall asleep there, "Let's get to higher ground. Does... Does this happen often in your little servers?"

"Eh," Schlatt shrugs, breaking the roof down slowly. "Usually it's just random fires and shit. But this one is more unpredictable than most, so I guess it's just what happens. It'll probably go down soon anyways."

"Have you... Have you ever respawned in a server like this?"

"Hm? Oh, a couple times," Schlatt says carelessly. "As in, a couple times accidentally. Always fall damage. It's not pleasant – but it's a bit different with fall damage. Server correction means it doesn't hurt – or not for long - not like the other types of... Of dying in these servers. It's quick. I guess."

"Huh," Wilbur replies absently, swiping the beds into his inventory, crafting table and furnace following soon after. Schlatt took down the walls, and by the time he was done, water was leaking onto the floor.

"Leave the floor," Schlatt urges. "We can cut more trees. Come on."

"Comin'" Wilbur sighs, taking off his trainers and socks, because there is already a large puddle around the remains of the house, and he is so not having wet socks. Schlatt doesn't care, sloshing through the water, and Wilbur follows gingerly, enjoying the feel of grass on his feet as they make their way up the hill, up and up for what could have been an hour.