𝘢/𝘯: 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘮𝘱 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰? 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥
𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳 - 𝘩𝘪𝘴 (𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵'𝘴) 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴
𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴
𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 - 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘣𝘶𝘳'𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥?
𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰, 𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘯𝘢𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺, 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 - (𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧) 𝘥𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘰
𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵 - 𝘰𝘩 𝘪 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥
𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦! 𝘺𝘢𝘺! 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰! :)
-
the phone lit up the darkened room as it rang, startling the comatose boy sitting on the windowsill of his apartment. london dramatically distorts before his eyes and he is unsure whether it's the rain relentlessly drowning the city or the amber liquid he poured down his throat an eternity ago that causes this. he's unsure if he even cares anymore.
the phone rings again and he glances over, expectant. no one had called him in weeks, he had barely interacted with those he cared for, just enough to convince them that yes, he really was fine and no, he wasn't drowning his sorrows every other night with overpriced drink. maybe he should have pursued theatre. he's certainly perfected the art of deception.
he was always present online, but he wasn't really there. his mind was clouded and his eyes were shifty and his voice caught a couple of times when he was speaking but it wasn't enough to signal that anything was wrong so to speak. so his fans continued to shower him in unwarranted adoration and he continued to hate himself for letting them.
it was the third ring that broke whatever pity party his mind had trapped him in. he unfolded his long limbs, spindly veins so very shallow under the skin, and padded over to his bed where the phone lay parroting some obnoxious ringtone. unthinking, he picked it up and accepted the call, preparing the host of lies about how fulfilling his life was and all the brilliant things he had done to satiate the hunger of worried friends.
"wil?"
shit.
the familiar mellow tang of an exotic american accent rang in his ears and wilbur so desperately wanted to hang up, to never have to hear his voice again but some deep-rooted thought was screaming no, and who was he to argue?
"you there buddy?"
swallowing the iron taste of grief in his mouth, he steadied himself on the bedframe and spoke.
"i'm here, schlatt. what do you want?" his voice remained remarkably sturdy and could almost pass as normal. it certainly would have fooled anyone else he knew. but schlatt wasn't anyone, and would never be again. not to wilbur.
"it's been a while, huh." he said, after a pause. "you okay?"
wilbur almost laughed. if only he knew.
"i'm doing alright. how about you, jonathan schlatt?"
"good. i'm actually good. isn't that surprising?"
"no. i'm happy for you." he said, gritting his teeth to ground himself. he blatantly refused to lose it in front of schlatt. "not to be rude but... why did you call?"
"oh yeah, that. would you, wilbur soot, like to play some minecraft? for old times sake?"
whatever wilbur was expecting, it wasn't that. schlatt's usually confident tone was shadowed with pleading and wilbur didn't posses the willpower to refuse him. maybe that was how he kept getting hurt.
"um... sure?"
"that, wilbur soot, is exactly what I needed to hear."
wilbur sat down at his computer, holding the phone like a lifeline, and opened minecraft. bittersweet soft music accompanied the fresh wave of nostalgia that he received every time he played the game.
he clicked onto his friend list to see that schlatt was already on a server and joined automatically, head suffocating in doubt. wilbur didn't know he was a masochist, but apparently he enjoyed the feeling of a knife twisting in his heart whenever he heard the american speak.
as the world gradually loaded into view, wilbur gasped at where they were, eliciting a chuckle from schlatt.
smp live. the server that had built their careers, their lives. the server where wilbur fell in love for the last time in his life.
it was somehow eery, but in a comforting way; the view of empty creations slumbering under the stars where love and joy once bloomed in wild abandon. they were alone in a place where the dreams of the original members lived on, and that gave wilbur an odd feeling of solace. like their friends were watching over them in a way, like forgotten gods.
schlatt's character was next to him, crisp business suit and all and wilbur felt as though he could almost kid himself that things were the way they used to be, just him and schlatt verses the world. he turns expectantly towards schlatt, gesturing vaguely to the sanctuary they had once created but was surprised to see schlatt simply walking away in the opposite direction, blissfully ignorant to the flood of emotions wilbur was experiencing. a common theme.
swallowing his hurt, wilbur followed him, through forest and up, reaching towards the night sky. the silence was only broken by the occasional "are we there yet?" from him and some smart-ass rebuttal from schlatt.
eventually, they made it to the top of a small, secluded mountaintop; miles away from the place they had called home for so many weeks. small flowers dotted the grass and the expanse was littered with acacia, framing the pixelated moon.
they stood there in companiable silence, watching the world morph slowly around them. two lonely travellers, watching the stars together across continents. It was the closest wilbur had been to anyone in almost half a year and it terrified him to no end. but still, his character stood in stoic silence and betrayed no similarities to the scared little boy on the other side of the screen who's hands were shaking too much to use the mouse.
"hey wilbur, why don't ya talk to me anymore?" schlatt said, out of the blue.
and just like that, the bubble wilbur had crafted to protect himself from reality abruptly shattered.
the truth was that wilbur was a coward. always had been, always would be. that was where this all began and where it all ended really, in his own cowardice.
he fell in love with schlatt slowly, then all at once.
it's slow, the tar-like sensation of falling in love with someone you can't see. the little things hooking you on like a drug, gradually addicting you til you can't live without them. love was wilbur's morphine, and as much as it helped his body gradually decay, he craved it all the same. masochism at it's very finest.
because schlatt didn't know. would never know. wilbur was stuck, perpetually fantasizing over a relationship that was nonexistent in the others mind, yet he refused to tell schlatt. he didn't even know if schlatt liked boys at all. but he still could have tried.
life was never that simple though.
because as wilbur was inching closer to building up the confidence to confess to schlatt, someone beat him to it.
wilbur wanted to hate her, long lilac hair, brash sense of humour and a sickeningly pretty face; but he simply couldn't. they were perfect for eachother, and schlatt was the happiest he had been in a long time. who was wilbur to deprive him of that? selfish, selfish boy who wanted schlatt all to himself but couldn't pluck up the courage to even try to win him. it was his own fault for his suffering, and that only made it worse.
so he stopped talking to schlatt. stopped it all, because it hurt too damn much and he was too scared to admit to himself that he just might be the bad guy in this situation. he had hoped that schlatt would forget, would move on but of course the universe could never be that forgiving.
"i don't really know dude. i guess we just grew apart. happens, y'know?" he finally replied, lying through the skin of his teeth and faithfully ignoring the sharp pain in his abdomen.
"i guess. i miss you, though."
wilbur's heart stopped.
"you do?"
"yeah. you're unfathomable, you know that wilbur soot?"
"is that so?"
"it is indeed."
there was some background noise that filtered through schlatt's mic and wilbur could hear minx talking to him softly. it took everything he had not to rake his nails down his face.
"duty calls i'm afraid wil. make sure you get some sleep bud."
"okay mum, anything else?" he replied, a stiff mimicry of their old banter. maybe he wasn't as good of an actor as he thought.
"stay sane, wilbur."
a pause as wilbur tried to dissect what that meant.
"i'll certainly keep it in mind. farewell, jonathan schlatt."
"see ya round, wilbur soot."
it felt too final, too abrubt and in a sudden burst of insanity, wilbur knew what he had to do.
"schlatt i think i-"
a beep.
"love you."
schlatt was gone.
come to think of it, so was wilbur.