Chapter Text
Drinks with Jared came far too quickly for Wilbur’s liking, even if he would have preferred the event to have never occurred in the first place, but the other was sure to ask him at lunch the very next day. All the while, Sarah sat against his side, smiling encouragingly to him, luring him to agree.
It was almost three in the morning, when the bar staff had waved them out, eyeing them with that tired indifference reserved for the last stragglers of the night. Stumbling out of the dimly lit pub and into the crisp night air, the streetlights casting an orange glow on the damp pavement below their feet
Wilbur hadn’t been much of a drinker before all this, but tonight, he let Jared coax him into a few too many shots. His mind is hazy, the night spinning in and out of focus as Jared’s voice— his stupid deep, lilting voice— cuts through his thoughts, sometimes laughing, sometimes sharp with sarcasm. Jared’s laughter, loud and careless, drifts off into the night as they stand near the curb, waiting for the last bus.
“Man, you’re really on another planet tonight, William,” Jared says, his arm draped lazily over Wilbur’s shoulder, the smaller man almost curled in on himself from the unfamiliar touch. “Loosen up a little.” He punctuates this with a lopsided grin, pulling Wilbur a bit closer than he’s comfortable with. He’s too buzzed to react, letting himself lean into Jared’s warmth for stability.
Wilbur laughs nervously. “I think I’ve had enough,” he slurs, his words rolling together as he tries to shake the growing fog from his mind. “Besides, Sarah’ll be pissed if she finds out I got too drunk, y'know? ‘Spossed to make a good impression or somethin.”
Jared rolls his eyes, a hint of disdain creeping into his expression. “Sarah, Sarah, always Sarah,” he mocks, his voice dripping with exaggerated irritation Wilbur was fairly certain no man should have when referring to their girlfriend— especially if the girl in question was Sarah.
“Is she all you think about?” he leaned in closer, his eyes fixated on Wilbur’s face with a strange intensity that sent a ripple of discomfort through Wilbur, even in his inebriated state.
“Hey, lay off, man,” Wilbur mutters, trying to brush off Jared’s arm, but the other man holds him steady, laughing as if it’s all some big joke. Then, without warning, Jared moves in, closing the small distance between them and pressing his lips against Wilbur’s.
It happens so fast that Wilbur barely registers it. His breath catches, a cold, sinking feeling flooding his stomach as he pulls back, confused and disoriented. “What the hell?” he sputters, his voice thick with shock and alcohol.
Jared smirks, shrugging as if it were nothing. “What? It was just a kiss,” he says, his voice smooth and dismissive. “Don’t make it into some big thing.” His tone is almost mocking, as though Wilbur’s reaction is unreasonable, even ridiculous.
Wilbur stares at him, the anger and confusion warring inside him. “You—” he starts, but his voice falters, and he stumbles over his words. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to process the conflicting emotions tearing through him. The kiss feels wrong, out of place, but Jared’s nonchalance makes him second-guess himself, a quiet voice whispering in his mind that maybe he’s overreacting, that maybe he’s making a big deal out of nothing. After all, he’d seen drunk men do crazy things…
“Oh, come on, man.” Jared laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not like anyone’s here to care. It’s just us. No harm done.”
He sounds so sure, so casual, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He rolls his eyes, acting as though Wilbur’s discomfort is some silly quirk. “Besides, you should be flattered.”
Wilbur shifts uncomfortably, his pulse racing, feeling trapped between anger and a strange shame. He doesn’t feel flattered. He feels violated .
The words hover on his tongue, but they feel weak, too feeble to stand up to Jared’s confidence. Jared takes a step closer, tilting his head in mock amusement.
“Honestly, Wilby,” he says, voice dripping with a mix of amusement and exasperation, “you’re making this weird. It’s just a kiss.” He pauses, leaning back against the glass of the bus stop shelter. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?” he smirks, his eyes flicking over Wilbur with a calculated look that makes him feel exposed.
Bad. Bad and wrong and why is he even here? Why is he out with this man who he loathes with every single fibre of his being when he could be at home . When he could be in bed with day old pizza and a VOD and far away from the man that stood before him now.
Jared. Sarah’s boyfriend. Sarah…
He was there to make Sarah happy— to prove that he could and would do anything to make her happy.
The night bus pulls up with a hiss, its bright lights cutting through the dark. Without waiting, Jared steps onto it, throwing a look over his shoulder as if daring Wilbur to follow. Stumbling slightly, Wilbur trails behind, feeling like the world has shifted around him, tilting off-kilter. The ride is quiet, filled only by the hum of the engine and the occasional cough of other passengers, but his mind buzzes with thoughts he can’t quite grasp.
Jared leans back in his seat, smirking, watching Wilbur out of the corner of his eye, as though nothing has changed. But for Wilbur, something unnameable has lodged in his chest, something heavy and unresolved. The thought lingers, making his skin crawl as he stares out the window, watching the dark city roll by, feeling somehow both alone and trapped.
He was out drinking with Jared to make Sarah happy but kissing Jared— Jared kissing him— would that still apply? Or had the others' actions released him from any obligations of social niceties?
Jared glanced over with a lazy smile. “You gonna keep sulking over nothing?” he asks, his tone laced with mock concern. “I mean, seriously. Don’t overthink things. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.” He gives a careless shrug, turning away as if that settles everything, like it’s just another night, another conversation.
Wilbur sat stiffly, gripping the edge of the seat as the bus rumbled beneath him. In contrast, Jared lounged beside him, his posture easy, legs sprawled into the aisle as if he owned the space. Wilbur’s thoughts raced, looping back to Sarah and how she’d react.
She wouldn’t believe him, would she? About the kiss? Jared was her boyfriend, after all—the charming, confident guy she always defended. And Wilbur? He was just… Wilbur.
Jared seemed to sense his unease, that smirk of his creeping back like he had all the answers. He leaned closer, his voice low and conspiratorial, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re not gonna tell her, are you?”
The question struck Wilbur like a slap, dragging him out of his dizzying thoughts. He turned to Jared, eyes wide. “I—what? No, I—” he stammered, unsure if he was denying the accusation or answering it.
Jared laughed, the sound sharp and cutting. “Relax. I mean, you could tell her, I guess,” he said, feigning casualness. “But let’s be real—what do you think she’d say?”
Wilbur didn’t answer, his throat tightening. He didn’t want to picture it—Sarah’s face twisting in disbelief, maybe even anger. Her accusing him of making things up, of trying to ruin her relationship out of jealousy or bitterness. He would have… oh if he thought such a thing might actually work he would have done so weeks ago at this point.
Jared’s voice softened, taking on a tone that felt almost friendly, like he was doing Wilbur a favour. “Look, Sarah wouldn’t believe you. You know that, right? She’s… invested in me. I mean, what would she think about you coming on to the man she loves ?” he shrugged, the smirk never quite leaving his face. “Telling her would just make things messy—for you.”
Wilbur’s stomach churned. That wasn’t right. No, he hadn’t— he wouldn’t have done something like that. He wasn’t gay and even if he was he’d never be into someone like Jared.
More so, he’d never even consider trying to steal Sarah’s boyfriend. He felt like he was trapped in quicksand, sinking deeper with every word Jared said. “ You kissed me,” he muttered, more to himself than to Jared.
“Did I?” Jared tilted his head, still smiling. “It was a moment. A stupid, drunk moment. That’s all. Don’t blow it out of proportion.”
Wilbur clenched his fists, staring down at his hands as his words seeped into his head. Was it really just a moment? Could he let it go? It felt impossible to separate what he felt from the dismissive way Jared framed it, like it was all in Wilbur’s mind.
Jared sighed, leaning back again as if the conversation were tiresome. “Look, Wilby, this is just between us. No point dragging Sarah into it. She’d only get upset, and honestly, I’m doing you a favour here. Keeping things simple.” He flashed Wilbur a toothy grin that sent a chill down his spine. “Don’t you agree?”
Wilbur didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The weight of Jared’s words pressed down on him, silencing every thought that tried to form. Instead, he stared out the window, the passing city lights blurring into streaks of orange and white. He felt sick. His head throbbed from the alcohol, but the nausea twisting in his gut had nothing to do with that.
He wanted to tell Sarah. He should tell her. He wanted to tell her everything— more than everything. But Jared’s voice lingered, echoing in his mind: She wouldn’t believe you… She’d only get upset… You’ll make it messy—for you.
As the bus hissed to a stop near Jared’s place, the man stood, giving Wilbur one last playful shove on the shoulder. “See? You’re fine. I forgive you. Don’t overthink it.” He stepped off the bus, his figure disappearing into the dimly lit street.
Wilbur stayed seated, watching Jared go, his legs too heavy to move. He wanted to disappear, to press pause on his life and figure out what the hell he was supposed to do next.
Forgive him ?
Had he..?
Wilbur’s stomach clenched as he watched Jared stroll down the street, his silhouette blending into the darkness, carefree and smug. Forgive him? Wilbur’s mind echoed, latching onto those last words Jared had tossed so casually, as if they’d settled some harmless dispute instead of whatever tangled mess they’d just left behind.
Forgive him for what? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Jared had been the one to— Jared kissed him . Jared was the one playing with his mind, twisting his confusion and anger into something that felt like guilt. But guilt for what? For not being able to stop Jared? For letting it happen? For feeling lost and helpless in the space between what he knew to be true and what Jared wanted him to believe?
He dragged his hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes, trying to steady the spiralling. The night felt warped around him, heavy and sharp-edged, like everything that happened was unreal, only it was far too real.
The bus driver called for the final stop, his voice blunt and uncaring. Wilbur barely registered the sound. He was back to staring out the window, his mind frayed with questions that only seemed to echo without end.
Finally, he stumbled off the bus, his feet moving on autopilot as he walked through the empty streets toward his flat. It was all too much. His mind circled around the idea of telling Sarah, of her possible reactions, of her disbelief—her laughter, maybe, or the way she might look at him, pitying and condescending.
She wouldn’t believe him; he felt certain. Not when Jared’s version would sound so much neater, would slide into her trust so much easier than his shaky voice and uncertain account.
But a part of him rebelled against that thought, pushing him to try anyway, to say something to her. If he didn’t, Jared’s words would fester in his mind, blending into his own thoughts, making him wonder if maybe he really had misread everything. He could already feel that weight settling in, that doubt creeping in, fraying the edges of what he knew.
Inside his flat, he dropped onto the threadbare couch, staring blankly at the wall. The room felt cold, as if it, too, were holding its breath. With a shuddering sigh, he rubbed his hands over his arms, wanting to scrub away the memory of Jared’s touch, Jared’s words, Jared’s forgiveness .
Forgiveness—a word that felt so hollow, so wrong. What had Jared forgiven him for? For not fighting back? For existing in a way that let Jared twist things around? For being weak ? The thought made him queasy, a sickness that went deeper than the night’s drinks, settling into his bones.
He didn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt Jared’s smirk, heard his words echoing, stripping away any sense of clarity or conviction.
And beneath it all, an ache he couldn’t ignore—the sharp reminder that the person he wanted to turn to, to seek comfort from, was the very person he feared would pull even further away if he told her the truth.
Sarah…