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Wilbur hates reunions.
He never saw the point in going; why does he have to be all friendly and nice to people he never even talked to outside of the school? Besides, he hated the school itself anyways, so honestly what was the point?
The point was Quackity is dragging him along, that's what.
"Oh come on, dude. You know it's gonna be fun! We haven't seen a lot of our old friends in a while, and I'm pretty sure that George is coming."
"Fuck off, as if I care about them.", Wilbur whines, dragging the word “off” dramatically.
"You seemed to care about George a lot."
"Shut up, man."
Quackity only laughs at him, and Wilbur is forced to drag his ass out of bed.
He likes to think that he's changed a lot since high school. Gone was the boy who would only awkwardly laugh on the sides, letting himself get pushed around by people. He wasn't a bookworm who hid in libraries because "social interactions are too hard" anymore. He's grown to be more comfortable with himself — wearing stuff that his old peers would make fun of him for. Hell, he's even writing songs and directing short films; something a lot of his classmates discouraged quite a bit.
He likes to think that he's moved on from his feelings.
You see, Wilbur was (is) a hopeless romantic.
Despite scoffing at rom-com films, he adores the idea of slowly growing attached to someone and falling in love with them. He's dreamt of dancing in the dark humming songs his partner wouldn't recognize — has craved soft and sweet mornings that reminded him of chocolate and oranges.
So, rewinding back to 7 years ago, dear little hopeless romantic Wilbur Soot fell in love.
Occasionally, he would deny having fallen in love at all. "It was just a big crush", he'd claim, feeling embarrassed for pining unrequitedly for so long.
And all of it — late nights yearning, tears shed at loss, and possible partners pushed aside — all was because of one boy.
George Lore.
The first time they met, Ivy was calling Wilbur a nerd for focusing on books instead of talking to other people. He would've been fine just ignoring the girl if it weren't for a new voice joining the conversation.
"Oi, you got a crush on him or something?", they ask, making both Wilbur and Ivy look at them. Vaguely, he hears Ivy deny the accusation, but his mind got stuck waxing poetic about the person in front of him.
There stood a beautiful boy that God had obviously favoured. Brown hair that reminded Wilbur of his favourite coffee rested on perfect alabaster-toned skin; a minute count of freckles sat on his face, and before he could even react, bitter chocolate eyes turned to look at him.
He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel flustered.
"Wilbur, right?"
"Yeah."
The angel (because that must be what he was) only chuckles, before turning away. Wilbur doesn't even immediately notice that Ivy left him alone, nor did he notice that he never got the boy's name.
Everything else after George was a whirlwind of emotions that would occasionally leave Wilbur breathless. He's ashamed to admit it, but he could probably divide his life into three parts: Before George, During George, and After George. Something about George felt like he was tethering between a simple and mostly problem-free platonic friendship and completely falling for someone he's meant to love in every dimension there was.
From arguing over who gets to pay for lunch to staring at each other in George's bed as they both open up — everything felt like so much but so little all at once.
Wilbur wanted to reach out and hold George; he wanted to keep hold of the warmth the shorter would emit. Wanted to hear the small laughs George would try to hide when Wilbur complains about wanting a partner. Needed George to look at him with the softest gaze and the most loving smile that left Wilbur feeling like he was choking.
Even getting rejected felt blissful with George — how could it not? Sally had turned him down harshly, yes, but he and George stayed in the latter's classroom that afternoon, just looking each other in the eyes. It was incredibly cliché, really, the way they lay down in opposite directions but were still magnetised by each other, filled with the need to memorize every freckle and mark the other had. How while everyone else outside yelled about the ongoing sports matches, all Wilbur and George did was fuck around and mess with broken locks their school refused to acknowledge — all Wilbur did was lose his breath at the sight of George grinning widely at him, losing the quiet demeanour for once.
It was perfect until it wasn't anymore.
Because Wilbur fell in love and even though everyone had pointed out that they were practically dating, he knew that it would always be unrequited because George is straight.
Through all the sweets and matching bracelets George had gotten him, no ounce of romance could be found. Even after hours of Wilbur holding George, George waiting for him after classes, and Wilbur running after George whenever the shorter would get unreasonably upset, there was nothing.
"Like brothers", George smiles.
"Yeah, anything you say", Wilbur replies. George didn't need to know how sick Wilbur felt.
Wilbur tried moving on, he really did.
When he moved to a new school, he flirted with people and had crushes on girls. His other friends had encouraged it, but he was never able to tell George about them. The one time he did, the shorter one only scoffed and told him that they wouldn't be good for him.
He ignored the tiny voice in his head hoping that George was jealous.
One time, they had watched the sunset together. His father had found a new woman to love, and Wilbur would have to move out of town to live with them. He immediately told George, so they've decided to spend more of their time together. This brings them to the shores of Brighton, watching the sunset and ignoring the bouts of drunk people on the same beaches.
"You know how you got a new guitar?", George asks, throwing a pebble to the softly crashing waves.
"Yeah?"
"I… I want to keep this memory. So, describe the colours of the sunset for me, please?"
"Well-"
"In a song. I- I want you to write a song for me."
Wilbur blinks slowly at George, before smiling softly. "Yeah, of course. Anything for you.", he whispers. He tries to remember the specific colours and shades of the sunset that day, but all that sticks to him was the way warm oranges bounced against pink freckled cheeks.
George looks at him, and Wilbur guesses that the man was looking for something. Of course, he immediately complies.
"I promise, Gogs. I'll write a song for you."
He sees the other's cheeks get pinker, and watches as George rolls his eyes with a shy smile and looks away.
"Don't say it like that, I just want one about this sunset."
That night when he got home, he cried. He's ridden with the guilt of still loving George romantically. It makes him feel ill, the way he wants to hold George and kiss him all while George could never even see him in that light.
He thinks it's unfair; it's unfair to him when he's left with a spoiled sweetness that has settled in his bones. It's unfair to his potential partners when he'd inevitably remember George and compare them to him. It's unfair to George because he'll never be able to get rid of the stupid sickly sweet romantic feeling that the shorter seemed to despise.
They drift apart when Wilbur finally moved away. Busy with their own lives, their time together started to diminish. And when they did talk, one of them would snap at something petty that Wilbur would inevitably apologize for. Long sweet messages filled with "I love you" and "I'm sorry" 's were commonplace for each other, even if the "I love you" were said in different lights with different meanings.
Wilbur
im sorry. i love you.
you know you're important to me.
you mean the world to me, george.
i just want you to be happy.
George
ilyt. sorry
And yeah, maybe Wilbur had punched a wall out of frustration once when he and George fought over text — but what was he supposed to do? It wasn't like before where he could just grab George's hand and mutter on sweet nothings that would ease both of their moods.
Eventually, they had a fight that was too big. No bandage could ever be enough to patch up the cut it made between them. So, memories and love bled out and neither bothered to treat it. Wilbur hid from it, blocking George's number and hiding the matching jewellery they had; out of sight, out of mind right?
Out of sight, out of mind.
Just ignore the countless dreams of George he would have; ignore the range between them dancing as the sun sets beyond the beach's horizon, to George not hiding his tears, angrily yelling incoherent words that drove Wilbur crazy.
It's not until 2 years later that they get to see each other again.
Wilbur drops by his old town to see his grandparents, and Quackity insists they meet up. The man was a close mutual friend of his and George's (albeit, they'd accidentally leave Quackity out sometimes. It's not his fault George would drag him out to do stuff without including Quackity).
"Is- Is George gonna come?" Wilbur asks nervously, waiting to get off the bus.
"I actually don't know; we could just go to his house?", his phone crackles out.
He eventually ends the call once he gets off the bus, finding Quackity and getting food with him. Before getting to the bus stop, however, he spots a jewellery store.
"I've been meaning some rings, can we stop by there?", he asks, pointing to the store.
Quackity hums in agreement, and they step into the store. After a couple minutes of looking, he finds a simple little ring. It was plain silver, with only a couple ridges as the design.
"What do you think about getting matching rings — the three of us?" Wilbur jokes, scoffing at himself.
"That's actually a good idea", Quackity laughs out. It leaves Wilbur sputtering in surprise, and before he could protest, the other has already asked the salesperson to get 2 more of the rings he was looking at.
"What if the ring doesn't fit? I think George hates wearing accessories too.", Wilbur asks, hoping that the "this isn't a good idea" tone comes across.
"Nah, I know you know his ring size.", Quackity jokes. "And besides, don't pretend like he didn't have matching bracelets with you before, dipshit."
They exit the store wearing the rings. The last one of the set was left in a box, waiting patiently to be given to the third person.
Quackity wears his on his left hand's index finger, as 2 gold bands with purple and red gems embedded in them already sat on his ring finger. Wilbur puts his on his index finger as well, ignoring Quackity joking about wearing it as a wedding ring.
They drop by George's house, and they wait a little bit. When George steps out, Quackity leaves them with the flimsy excuse of "taking his boyfriends' call".
Wilbur laughs in shock, cursing out Quackity for leaving them. George stays silent, and the awkward tension settles in, not giving Wilbur a chance to escape it.
"So… you've been alright?" Wilbur asks.
"I'm fine… just a bit stressed with my classes. How… how about you?"
"Good. I'm- I'm alright, yeah. Been working on… stuff."
Before silence could settle properly, Wilbur inhales and shifts on his feet.
"I-I'm sorry, let me look for Quackity and —"
"No", George protests quickly, grabbing his hand. Wilbur only stares in surprise, freezing in his spot; and George must've surprised himself as well judging by the way he quickly lets go of the man's hand.
"I- Quackity's fine… You don't need to look for him. What… Did you guys need anything from me?"
Wilbur blinks, before suddenly remembering why they even wanted to look for George in the first place.
"Ah yeah, I- we wanted to ask if you could go out with us tomorrow? I asked him to text you but you haven't responded and… I don't have your number since I changed my phone."
"... Yeah, sure. D-do you want my number?"
"Uh, sure! Here-", Wilbur fumbles through his pockets and pulls out his phone, letting the man type out his number. He doesn't even glance at the newly saved contact, trusting George.
They stare at each other for a bit, and Wilbur hates himself for still wanting to kiss George.
"Oh yeah, uh, Quackity bought us matching rings", he mentions, half-lying. As he's pulling out the ring from his bag, he notices George shiver. He pulls out the first sweater he has in his bag; it was — (un)fortunately enough — his favourite pastel yellow jumper.
"Here… and you looked cold, so. Yeah.", he mutters awkwardly.
George grabs both items. He hesitantly puts the jumper on, and Wilbur almost misses the way its collar lingers on George's face for a bit. The ring he only stares at, and neither of them refuses to acknowledge the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears turning pink.
"I- I don't wear rings much… But I'll keep this. Thank you."
"Yeah, sure… Anything for you.", It slips past Wilbur's lips instinctually, really, but it didn't mean it was any less true. "I'm gonna go home now before my grandparents lock the doors on me… Where the fuck is Quackity?"
George chuckles at him, and right on time (almost like the little shit was just waiting outside of the Lore household's gate), Quackity pops in.
"Hey! You two done talking?"
"Yeah… I'll see you tomorrow, George."
They linger, and Wilbur opens his arms up a bit for a hug. He thinks he did the right move because the other takes a small step forward — he indulges himself and pulls George in; he keeps his head up, avoiding thinking about how George still smelled like mint and sugar.
The next day was mostly uneventful; George wore the sweater out and the ring sat on a thin chain around his neck.
They got pasta and just walked around aimlessly, talking about whatever topic may come up (avoiding the topic of Quackity being partially clueless to their "thing"), and before he knows it, the day ends.
Wilbur goes on his phone to text while walking, and he ignores George's warm hand pressed against his back as the man wordlessly helps him not bump into anyone or anything.
All was fine until Wilbur got home.
Tired out of his mind, he grabs 2 bottles of wine and drinks the night away. Drunkenly, he fumbles through his phone and calls George.
"Wilbur?"
"Gogs! Hey, I've missed you, y'know?"
"What are you up to?"
Wilbur drags himself to the sofa, abandoning his now empty glass and just drinking straight from the bottle.
"Nothing! Just drinking… Missing you. Did you ever miss me too?"
"Yes… why are you drinking?"
He doesn't answer; he just giggles and takes another swig of the vaguely sweet alcohol.
"George… You know how I had feelings for you? Like, really romantic and stupid cheesy feelings?"
"Wil-"
"I don't believe you. You — out of every partner I've had — you were the most loving. And we weren't even anything! Fuck, you're literally straight."
"Wilbur, I-"
"I'm sorry for being unfair. It's not fair for anyone that I still love you… Can you just… hurt me? Tell me to fuck off. Curse me out. Just… do anything that can cancel out all my feelings for your stupid pretty face."
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Please, George… anything."
George doesn't respond, and Wilbur lets go of his phone, guessing that the man had ended the call. He empties the bottle and passes out on his sofa, ignoring his racing heart and teary eyes.
The next day, Wilbur wakes up to a pounding head and a text.
George
I'm sorry, Wilbur. I just can't see you that way. You've been a good friend, but you can't be anything more. It's not you, it's just that the idea of dating men disgusts me. I'm really sorry.
And if Wilbur changes his number again, that was no one's business anymore.
"Dude, are you fucking ready yet?", Quackity calls out. Wilbur shakes his head, snapping out of his daze and looking at his reflection one last time, grabbing his stuff from the nightstand.
"Yeah, yeah, hold on."
The beige sweater sits on him nicely, the collar of his button-up peaking out. He matches it with a pair of black corduroy pants and some Doc Martens, not thinking much of it. There wasn't anyone he needed to impress.
No one but himself.
They arrived at their old school and he was greeted pretty warmly enough. Old friends excitedly came up to greet them and he kept mutual anonymity between the people he never liked, ignoring them like he always had.
He drinks a bit of the spiked punch, enjoying his time. Wilbur's not much of a party-goer, but the reunion wasn't much of a party anyways. They've all grown up, matured. It wasn't dim lights and loud music just like their senior prom anymore; there were no more teachers
attempting to prevent students from being rowdy.
It was odd to think about it — he's 25 now. Most of them were. Some of his peers are now married with kids, some still studying, some incredibly successful career-wise. It makes him think of what he's been doing, so he steps out of the gym for a bit, staring at the stars.
He was on his phone, thinking if he should text Quackity about going home. He hums a song he's been thinking of to himself when he hears someone clear their throat behind him.
"Hey… are you busy right now?"
Immediately, he turns his head. Wilbur puts on a nervous smile before he could even think about it.
"George."
"Wilbur."
He lets George stand beside him, leaning on the (probably dirty) wall. He puts his phone away out of politeness and observes the man beside him.
George's hair was longer than it's ever been — Wilbur figures that the man had finally ignored his mother's comments about his keeping his hair short. It wasn't even that long, it was just enough that curls were covering his forehead now. His skin was still pretty much the same alabaster tone as it's always been, except a couple of his freckles seemed to have faded out. But his eyes — oh his eyes — were still the same shade of bittersweet chocolate that Wilbur occasionally craves.
He compares George now to the George he first met. His breath hitches.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"I- no- Wilbur. I'm sorry."
Wilbur furrows his brows in confusion; George proceeds to open up without being prompted.
(Wilbur feels vaguely proud of it)
"I… I was dumb. I said a lot of wrong things and I hurt you… I was being immature."
"So was I,"
"But you — you kept saying you wanted what's best for me and I was being selfish. When we… fought … and you said you wanted me to be happy, I was so mad. I hadn't realised that we weren't good for each other anymore."
Wilbur crying because of a proper confrontation he's been waiting for for so long was not a surprise to himself. George crying, however, caught him extremely off guard.
He puts a hand on the other's forearm, who leans in for a hug. Wilbur scurries to return the affection, burying his face in George's hair. He lets George cry — lets him sob words incoherently. All he does is rub his hand along George's spine, hoping it would be enough.
They only pull away when someone walks out of the gym. Wilbur sends Quackity a text, and they head to a park near the high school.
Sitting on the swings as the moon shines above them, he looks straight ahead. He ignores the way his heart was beating wildly, and how it could get worse if he keeps his eyes on the short brunet.
"I… I've made realisations and — ", George scoffs at himself, which makes Wilbur finally look at the man beside him. " — I'm not as straight as I thought I was."
Wilbur smiles a bit, "Welcome to the club, 5 years later… What- what made you realize?"
He sees George flush, but instead of hiding, the man makes eye contact with him.
"I talked to one of my friends about you."
At this point, Wilbur furrows his brow in confusion even if the smile stays on his face.
"What?"
"Yeah," George breaks eye contact, starting to move on the swing. "He kinda made fun of me for it and… I realised he was right… You were right."
"Oh", was all Wilbur could say.
They sit in silence for a bit, the alcohol from the punch dying out from Wilbur's system. Unlike the other silences between them, it wasn't awkward. Oddly enough, it was a bit relieving.
"What now?" Wilbur asks hesitantly.
"I don't know but… can I- can we try again?"
Wilbur licks his lips, looking at the moon.
"I still wear the ring. I think Quackity lost his."
"I still have mine too."
He looks at George, who pulls out his necklace. The ring still sat there, almost taunting him. Wilbur stands up and holds George's jaw with his left hand. The other brings his hands up, copping a feel for the cold ring on his index finger.
"I can't… I can't just dive right back in like nothing happened."
"I know, Wil."
"But it's not a no."
"I know."
Wilbur smiles tiredly; for the first time in a while, he and George finally come to an understanding.