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Wilbur’s body didn’t feel human.
His heart is beating loudly in his ears, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. His veins filled with plumping blood. Every single cell in him breathing, his organs aching.
But he didn’t feel human. He felt cold. So, so cold.
Wilbur got a second chance at life, the thing he so desperately wanted to escape from. He was forcefully brought back, stitched back together tissue to tissue. Nobody dared to bury the corpse, letting him rot away, meaning the state of the now revived man was tragic, least to say.
Wilbur's skin was swollen and purple at first, it lasted only an hour or two after being brought back. He felt heavy, his wounds bleeding. He felt his blood get warmer and redder as he took his few first breaths. His lungs felt stiff, almost as if they were made out of rock. The man cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms up, it felt as if his bones could break at any moment, just from moving around.
Wilbur couldn’t dare to take off his clothes, the thought of seeing his body in this state made him want to throw up.
Speaking of throwing up, his mouth would bleed every couple hours. Sometimes he'd just cough up blood. After a few hours from the revival his skin started turning from purple to sickly pale and dry, his limbs remaining a bit purpleish though. His bony fingers remained cold. Wilbur also lost lots of hair, a streak in the front getting white for whatever reason.
Wilbur didn't know a lot about body decomposition or being literally brought back to life by some magical spell or whatever, he didn’t know if he’d wake up one day and his body would be in a completely different state. He didn’t know if his wounds would stop bleeding, if his hair would fall off or if his organs would collapse completely randomly.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. There is no tutorial for stuff like this. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he doesn’t particularly care about taking care of himself. He didn’t necessarily want to die - going back there may be worse than whatever this is - but he didn’t really care enough to actually.. live. Not like he had much motivation to do so, anyway.
It’s been a few weeks since the resurrection now, the zombified man avoiding every being apart from animals and insects, seemingly the only beings not being repulsed by his presence (at least in his opinion). Generally speaking, Wilbur did a lot of stupid fucking shit nowdays. Apart from chain smoking he spent his days wandering around forests and fields, lost in thoughts or the complete opposite - zoning out for hours. Sometimes he would find himself in the middle of nowhere, not remembering how or when he got there. He never got lost though, his constantly bleeding wounds marking his trail perfectly.
Wilbur’s brain was damaged, he noticed that he was generally a bit slower when it came to reflexes and quick thinking. His memory has worsened too.
When it came to his thoughts, sometimes he would do anything to stop them. During long nights in Pogtopia, he wasted his time brewing potions - the only hobby he didn't completely neglect - and also experimented with some of them by adding different ingredients and using these potions himself to test them out. For example, he created a potion that makes you hallucinate by adding different kinds of dried up plants to swiftness potion.
He remembers being convinced that the caves got blocked by a stone avalanche or something like that - there was nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide, he was sure he was about to die. Then he was in a battlefield, dead bodies everywhere, blood on his hands. Next there was fire all around and later he was back at Manburg, getting executed. Suddenly he was in a room full of hornets and cockchafers, their amount growing with every passing minute. The trip lasted fourteen hours, he threw up eight times.
That night he made a promise to himself to never touch those again. He had also managed to create a slightly different version of weakness potion by adding more fermented spider eyes and blaze powder.
This potion in particular stuck with Wilbur. It made him feel numb . Some of the versions were physically painful, but eventually he worked out the perfect recipe.
Now that he was back, he felt as if he needed that feeling more than ever, so he got back to work.
That’s how Quackity found him blacked out on the side of the row.
When the undead man woke up, he saw a ceiling he didn’t recognize. His vision was blurry at first, slowly adjusting to the dimmer lighting coming from a warm fireplace. That’s right, his body was so cold. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to feel warm, not ever since being dead, but this time he was even colder than usual. He attempted to slowly sit up, but failed immediately. His limbs were stiff and heavy and his head was spinning the second he lifted his head up. He didn’t really think much of it - nor where he was - the effects of his potion are clearly still very much present - he definitely took a way stronger dose than ever before. He closed his eyes and groaned a little, his face felt funny. Then he heard footsteps.
His eyes shot open, his heart started racing. It was like that sound turned a switch in his brain and his thought process took a completely different turn. He needs to get out. He’s in danger. He will get hurt. Fight or flight.
Obviously , Wilbur chose to flee. Of course he did. When does he ever face his problems?
So, Wilbur sat.
And fell to the floor immediately.
“Holy shit! what the fuck are you doing again?!” Quackity entered the room, distraught.
Oh.
Quackity.
“Soot? You with me, idiot?” he said, kneeling down next to him.
Wilbur felt warm hands on his back, his face flat against the hard floor. His heart was racing, but he could barely move.
“Dude, c’mon, get up,” Quackity encouraged him, trying to pull him up. He managed to make Wilbur sit up, the bed supporting his back, Quackity gripping the other man by his arms, preventing any more face-on-floor situations.
“Can you fucking hear me??” He stared into Wilbur’s half closed eyes, shaking his shoulders a little. “Shi- your nose is bleeding, hold on..”
Wilbur felt a cloth against his mouth, blinking slowly. Why was he here ? With Quackity out of all people? Why was Quackity, who hated his guts, trying to help him? Why would he even care about Wilbur’s nosebleed?
“Wilbur, do you hear me?”
Wilbur’s thought train stopped completely and suddenly his focus shifted towards the man kneeling down in front of him.
Wilbur nodded.
“Are you hurt?”
Wilbur doesn’t respond.
He feels Quackity’s fingers on his chin as the younger man moves his face side to side and up to see if he has any injuries on his face and neck.
“What did you do man? What the hell happened to you?”
Wilbur's lips parted and Quackity waited for an answer, his eyes glued to Wilbur’s.
“..I'm okay, Q.”
Quackity felt a bit of relief at hearing the other talk, but he also knew Wilbur is full of shit.
“No, you’re clearly not,” he pauses, sighing, “Let’s.. Uh.. Listen, I can't help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,”
Wilbur winced, his voice husky. “Why am I here..? How did you..”
“Can you answer my fucking question, Soot?!” Quackity’s impatience was getting the best of him, his expression serious.
Wilbur froze a little bit. Explaining what happened was probably the last thing he wanted to do right now; not to mention he wasn’t even sure what exactly happened, apart from the ‘drinking an unsafe substance’ part. “..I uh- I- I don’t know, Quackity, I don’t know.”
“Did you just randomly faint or what? Are you dehydrated? Do you ever eat?”
Wilbur shruged. Quackity sighed.
“Holy fuck is that-“ The cloth on Wilbur’s nose was suddenly gone, soaked with red liquid and thrown onto the floor, Quackity’s attention turned to Wil’s torso. “Are you bleeding??” Quackity began to forcibly take Wilbur’s dirty, bloody coat off.
“Q- Don’t-“ Wilbur protested but the other man didn’t seem to even register Wilbur’s pleas, too focused on Wilbur’s injury.
“Fuck- have you ever washed that thing? Smells like shit.” The coat was on the floor now, Wilbur didn't really have it in himself to stop Quackity. The brunette felt a breeze on his stomach when the other man lifted his sweater gently. Wilbur’s eyes are fixated on Quackity’s concerned face.
“Oh my god- Wil- Fuck, this looks awful, man,”
The injury on Wilburs stomach was something Quackity had never seen before. He correctly assumed it must’ve been from the deadly wound, though it looked too big for a sword stab - the gash probably ripped more and more without any treatment. The first thing he noticed is that you could see Wil’s bones and organs. He made out his ribs, and possibly his liver or stomach. A weird smell hit his nostrils.
Wilbur felt deeply ashamed. Embarrassed, even. Quackity’s eyes found their way up into his again, “Wilbur, let me help you.”
Wilbur didn’t have to react because Quackity was already out the door before Wilbur even registered the sentence. He sat there, his dirty sweater falling over the gash again. He slowly felt the effects of the potion linger away.
He felt pathetic.
A minute or two later, Quackity rushes into the room with a first aid kit and some towels.
“Lay down,” Quackity ordered and Wilbur clumsily did.
Quackity took Wilbur’s sweater off, Wilbur didn’t bother to help. Then there was a towel gently pressed against the bloodied skin, wiping the liquid away.
“We’re gonna stitch you up, it’ll hurt.” Quackity explained while digging into the first aid kit. Wilbur’s eyes widened.
“Wha-”
“I’ll stitch this fucking wound so you dont bleed out on me. Understood, dumbass?”
Wilbur doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how to answer. Why would Quackity care about him bleeding out?
He felt the needle stab his skin, being pressed deeper into his body. It didn’t really hurt, nothing did after being revived, but it was a strange sensation. Maybe he was still high, but for whatever reason this whole situation didn’t feel as serious as it should have felt. Wilburs eyes focused on the man sitting above him. He dared to speak.
“Your hair is long.”
Quackity stopped his hand movement and looked at Wilbur, “..What?”
“Your hair’s longer than I remember. It looks good on you.”
Quackity blinked, “I- Are you serious?”
“Yeah, man.”
Quackity scoffed and went back to messily sew up Wilbur’s gorey guts, ignoring the comment. That was not a time for this..
Wilbur grinned.
Quackity felt Wilburs fresh blood on his hands. A disturbing sense of morbid curiosity washed over him, his fingers pressed against the open gash. Part of it was stitched; his ribs being covered up. Quackity slipped the tips of his fingers into the grotesque wound, feeling Wilburs organs. It was oddly intimate. Wilbur watched his every move.
Quackity imagined going deeper, feeling wilbur skin from the inside, palming his warm, working insides.
“You enjoying this?” Wilbur spoke quietly, calmly. It was more of a statement than a question. “You gonna pull out my intestines or what?”
“Maybe I should.” Quackity smirked, making eye contact with the man beneath him. “I could kill you right now and you’d do nothing about it, wouldn't you, Soot?”
“Correct, my dearest” the bloodied man grinned, somehow enjoying being completely at Quackity’s mercy.
Quackity clutched Wilburs wound at the pet name which made more blood pour out. “Shut up, freak.”
Wilburs eyes squeezed shut, his breathing quickened a little.
“That’s what i thought.” Quackity smiled smugly again and continued with his original plan - fixing Wilbur up - and he got back to work. After a short while the thread was snapped and the work was completed.
“Are you not in pain?” Quackity broke the silence, sitting up straight.
“Nah.” Wilbur said flatly and lifted his head up a little, looking at his bare chest. It actually stopped bleeding.
“You should clean up, Wilbur. You look fuckin’ awful.”
“.. Thanks.”
The room went quiet for a little bit. It wasn’t an awkward silence, not even comfortable silence. Just silence. Quackity stood up, gathered the mess and walked out of the room.
When he came back, he stopped in his tracks as he saw Wilbur, still shirtless, sitting on the floor with a freshly stitched up wound and dried blood on his torso, a tobacco pouch on the floor and Wilbur seemingly trying to roll a cigarette.
“You’re joking. What is that? ” he sat down next to him, pointing at the very poorly rolled cigarette in Wilbur’s hand with a slight smirk. He took it from him and the filter immediately fell out. “Oh my god, did you forget how to roll or what?” Quackity started rolling the cigarette for him, his hands very skilled.
“.. My hands are too shaky. Comes with being dead for a decade and half.”
Quackity’s smile faded, he looked up at the other, then back to his hands. “Here.”
“.. Did you actually just roll a ciggy for me?” Wilbur smirked and Quackity frowned.
“..Will you take it or not??”
“Aww big Q-“
“Oh my god just take the fucking cigarette!”
Wilbur snorted, took the cigarette from Quackity’s much warmer fingers and dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out a crusty zippo lighter. It had sunflowers painted on it, though they were hard to make out because of how old the lighter was. Sally gave it to him once.
Wilbur knew she’d be disgusted if she saw him now.
Quackity crossed his arms, “You are not smoking in my hotel.”
“Your hotel?” Wilbur looked up, “Q, Are we in Las Nevadas?”
“Yes, dumbass, where else would I take you?”
Wilburs grins grew and Quackity regretted his words already.
“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Wilbur chuckled groggily, the lighter in his right hand and the neatly rolled cigarette between his lips.
“I wasn’t just gonna let you die on the side of a road.”
“Why not? I thought you wanted me dead,” Wilbur replied calmly, the cigarette remaining unlit. None of them mentioned how Quackity’s gaze shifted towards Wilbur’s mouth for a little longer than it probably should’ve.
Instead of replying, Quackity changed the topic completely. “You should go wash yourself, you look like shit.” Wilbur rolled his eyes a little, trying to light the cigarette.
Quackity snapped the cig out of his mouth before it got lit and placed it by the ashtray. “Get up. You're taking a bath here, I don't want the wound to get infected or some shit.” Quackity ordered and stood up, hands on hip.
“Right,” Wilbur replied, not taking the other seriously at all.
Suddenly, he felt a grip on his forearms, his weakened body being pulled up. His knees were still shaking, his vision went dark for like ten seconds.
Wilbur's whole weight pressed against Quackity, who was luckily strong enough to keep the zombified man up on his feet. With some swearing and annoyance, Quackity led Wilbur towards the bathroom. It was fancy and clean, Wilbur felt unworthy of such luxury. Quackity left the room and Wilbur undressed, throwing his dirty clothes on the floor before sitting in the bath, struggling not to fall down again.
He thought about washing off the blood and dirt before filling the tub so he wouldn’t sit in the dirty water but his body remained too weak to even begin with the task. So he just layed there; letting the warm water surround him. After a little while he noticed some bathing products on the edge of the bath - shampoos, hair masks, salt, body wash, bubble bath products and all sorts of things. He poured the bubble bath water into the tub, hoping he wouldn’t have to look at the bloodied water, nor his body.
About thirty minutes later, Quackity knocked on the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”
No response.
Quackity knocked again, a creeping sense of concern growing in his guts. “Wilbur, if you don’t answer me I’m coming in.”
Still, no response. Did he manage to drown himself in the fuckin’ tub?
“I’m coming in, Soot.” he warned the other, opening the door. He didn’t expect it to be locked; it’s not like Wilbur doesn’t know Quackity has keys to every room in here.
“What the fuck are you doing?” was the only thing Quackity said when he entered the room.
Wilbur was sitting in the tub, knees pressed against his chest. He seemed to be completely zoned out, staring at the tiled wall.
“Wilbur?”
“Why am I here, Quackity?” he said, without looking away from the wall.
“Because you smell and look like shit?”
“No, no- Why am I here ? In Las Nevadas?”
Quackity didn’t know how to respond. The truth was, he himself wasn’t really sure why he took Wilbur to the hotel. Yes, it was true that he didn’t want Wilbur to just die there, but both of them knew that it was very out of character for him to.. do all this. Quackity was very loyal to his allies, but he had no reason to trust wilbur.
Maybe Quackity just missed him.
“How about you tell me what happened and.. and I tell you why I took you here.” Quackity offered, leaning against the doorframe.
Wilbur considered it, sighing, “.. Okay.” his tone sounded rather annoyed, but if this meant spending more time with the other, he wouldn’t complain. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly while finally looking at the winged man.
“Remember those.. uh… potions..?”
Quackity raised his eyebrows. “The drug potions?”
“What? They’re not drugs, I-“
“So you fuckin’ overdosed or what? Do you realize what could have happened? You can't just- consume whatever you find, dumbass! It’s like you want to kill yourself again!”
The room fell silent for a little moment. Quackity took a deep breath to calm himself, face palming. “What did you take?”
Wilbur bites his lip, staring into the once clear bubbly water. It's gotten red-brownish from the major wound, there's still some bubbles too. He can't see anything under the water level. He hears Quackity sigh.
“It wasn’t poison, was it..?” Quackity asks carefully, his tone unusually soft. Wilbur shook his head.
“So what was it, Wil? Was blacking out your intention?”
Well, what a question. Wilbur wanted to say no. Gods , he wished he could say no.
“Talk to me, please .” Quackity walked towards the tub and sat on the floor next to it, his eyes glued to Wilbur’s.
“… I don't-” Wilbur sighed. “I uh- It was… a weakness potion.”
Quackity tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”
“… You know that feeling when you're so drunk you can't do anything, and you just lay there, dizzy and shit. It’s like that- with the uh, the potion. but you don’t feel sick and your thoughts are just.. so dull. It numbs you physically and mentally, It- It’s like.. like an opiate, sort of.” Wilbur rambled a little and exhaled deeply, looking at the other man through his overgrown bangs. He didn’t mind Quackity being there, but he did feel a bit ashamed of himself. He wasn’t used to being so.. vulnerable.
“Right, but it's ‘not a drug’.” Quackity said sarcastically.
None of them said anything for a few moments, Wilbur seemed to be zoned out again. Quackity figured that Wilburs odd behavior is related to the substance usage - this whole ordeal felt much different from their usual interactions. Quackity could usually read Wilbur like nobody else could, predicting his every move and every word; nobody understood either of them quite like the other.
This was different.
Quackity scanned Wilbur’s face, resting his chin against the edge of the tub.
Wilbur felt a warm touch on his cheek as Quackity placed his hand on the side of his head, pulling him back to reality. His cheeks turned a slightly deeper shade.
“… You need help, Wil. Let me help you. ”
Wilbur subconsciously leaned against the hand, sighing deeply. He knew he needed help. He knew but he didn’t know if he could accept it. He didn’t feel worthy of help.
“.. Why, Q? What would you.. I don't..”
“Why do I want to help you?” Quackity’s gaze was much softer; his touch gentle. “Because, Wilbur, I just do. I don’t want to see you like this. And if you plan on dying, I think you deserve a cooler death than overdosing by the side of a dirty road.” Quackity smiled slightly, attempting to lighten the mood.
Wilburs lips curled slowly upwards.
“.. Can I wash your hair?” the winged man asked while still touching Wilbur’s face, his other now in his hair.
Wilbur raised an eyebrow, “You- You wanna wash my hair?”
Without a word, Quackity sat on the edge of the bathtub and took the shower head into his hand, turning the water on. He made sure it was warm but not too hot before starting rincing Wilburs curls.
His other hand started gently massaging his scalp, getting the water all over his head. Wilbur closed his eyes and let Quackity work his magic, he felt a fuzzy feeling in his stomach; this wasn’t anything he was used to. It felt nice being taken care of.
Quackity poured a generous amount of expensive shampoo on his palm, gently rubbing it in Wilbur's hair. He then rinsed it off and repeated the process again to ensure the hair was really clean. The ravenette spoke up: “You need to be more careful with yourself, Wil.” Quackity’s voice was low, “Is this all you've been doing? Making and drinking numbing potions?”
Wilbur shrugged. “I guess so.”
“.. You deserve to be better, you know? You can be better, it doesn’t have to be like this.”
“… I don't know, Q. I don't think I can.” Wilbur rubbed his eyes with his wet palms.
“I do know, though. But unless you’re willing to accept the help, nothing’s gonna change. Remember what you told me that one night in Pogtopia? After Niki’s birthday party?”
Wilburs eyes shot open at the mention of that night.
“When we stole the wine and made out?” Wilbur mumbled.
“I- Yeah, that too,” Quackity chuckled, cheeks red, “You said that one can’t just keep waiting for things to change. If you really do want things to change, you’ll take things into your hands,” he paused, “and by that I don't mean forcing your father to stab you again but to get help. ”
“But I... It’s hard, Quackity. It's so.. hard..” Wilbur confessed, his tone low.
“I know it is.. But isnt it worth it..?” Quackity lifted wilburs chin up, making Wilbur look up at him.
“.. Maybe it is..” Wilbur sighed, breaking eye contact.
“Of course it is,” the other assured, letting go of Wilburs face to continue washing his hair.
Wilbur hums a little, “.. How did you drag me all the way here, by the way? How did you even find me?” Wilbur spoke up, eyes still closed.
“Went out for a smoke, you were just outside the city’s borders. I uh- well i.. carried you.”
“Bridal style?” Wilbur snickered.
Quackity’s tone sounded more embarrassed now, “I saved your life, asshole!”
Wilbur only laughed: “Man, I wish i could see that,”
Quackity shook his head and murmured a quiet “ shut up ”, smirking. After shampooing the locks, Quackity reached for a bottle of conditioner, squeezing a bit out and massaging it into Wilburs curls.
Wilbur let himself be vulnerable with Quackity. He didn’t think he’d let anyone else do this. It reminded him of the times before Wilbur’s death, when the two of them were close.
When Quackity finished washing Wilbur’s hair he stood up, Wilbur couldn’t help but miss the touch. “You wanna get out?” Quackity asked as he began walking towards the door to give the other privacy.
“Um- yeah, yeah.” Wilbur muttered and Quackity stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at Wilbur: “I’ll get you some clean clothes, yeah?” Wilbur nodded quickly before Quackity disappeared behind the closed door.
Quackity managed to find some clothes in his closet that could actually fit the taller man and he brought them back to the hotel room, knocking on the bathroom door and placing the folded clothes on the floor in front of the door. “Wilbur? the clothes are on the floor here, I’ll go for a smoke on the balcony.” Quackity heard a muffled “okay” and reached into his pocket while walking towards the balcony.
Minutes later Quackity heard Wilbur sitting on the bed again. He put out his cigarette and walked back inside, seeing Wilbur collapsed on the bed. He was wearing Quackity’s plain black tee shirt with short sleeves and some sweatpants that were a little too short for him. He was laying face down, his limbs spread across the double bed, face in pillows. Quackity chuckled. “You okay there, Soot?”
Wilbur groaned a little into the soft pillows, he doesn’t remember any bed being this comfortable. He felt the mattress shift under Quackity’s weight as he sat down next to Wilbur.
“Look at you, clean and all.” Quackity sniggered again, Wilbur lifted his head up from the pillows. It seems that Quackity’s wings caught his attention.
The winged man noticed, “What?”
“Your wings.. They look healthier. You look healthier. I never realized how pretty they are..” how pretty you are.
“It’s called self care, you should try it out sometime.” Quackity smiled softly, glancing down at Wilbur’s face.
“I’ll consider it,” he replied and messily sat up, wet hair in his face. He could definitely use a haircut. ”Thanks for the clothes by the way. They’re comfy.”
“Hah, yeah, I bet anything would be comfier than that old coat and skinny jeans. How are you feeling by the way?”
“Uh.. okay i guess.” Wilbur shrugged.
“You guess?” Quackity repeated, encouraging the other to elaborate.
Wilbur looked up at him, “I’m.. tired, but okay.”
“Do you think you can walk back.. uh, home, or wherever you spend your time?” Quackity regretted his question before he even finished the sentence.
“… I doubt it.” Wilbur lied. Quackity figured.
“You can stay here then, wouldn’t want you fainting on the streets again.”
After a short moment of silence, Wilbur spoke up again, voice soft “Hey Q?”
“Yeah?” Their gazes met once again.
“... Thank you for all of this.. You could’ve just left me there but you.. you didn’t; you made sure i was okay..You- You just..” Wilburs eyes got a bit glassy, his voice quiet, “You really helped me, Q. Thank you, seriously ..I wish i could repay you,”
Quackity sits closer to Wil, their bodies contimeters away, and gently wraps his arms around him.
Wilbur was a little taken aback but returned the hug tightly; one of his hands in Quackity’s hair and his other on his back between the golden wings.
He didn’t think anyone would be willing to touch him, nor to give him a hug. He felt gross most of the time, like a walking corpse - that’s what he was, really. But it seemed that his so-called rival didn’t think so. It made something in Wilbur melt.
“I missed you, Wilbur,” Quackity’s grip is gentle but firm, “I feel like a part of me is still grieving you, even though you're back.”
“I- I'm sorry… I missed you too. I wish things went.. differently..”
Quackity spoke against Wilbur’s shoulder, “Wil.. Promise me you’ll accept my help. I dont- I can’t see you like this. I don’t want to lose you again. ”
“I’m not your responsibility, Q.”
“I know, dumbass, I just want to help you. You deserve it. Will you let me?” Quackity pulled away a little to look into Wilburs watery eyes, his arms still around the taller’s hips.
“…Alright ..” Wilbur almost whispered.
Quackity pulled him close again, Wilbur resting his head on Quackity’s shoulder. Both of them missed physical affection. This was something completely different from their usual back and forth banter; the teasing and arguing. It was much deeper, softer . Both of them knew this was a sensitive situation, Quackity being especially careful in an attempt to let Wilbur know that he really was serious about this.
Quackity didn’t want to break the hug; when he looked down and moved a little, Wilbur didn't move a single bit. His chest was rising and falling slowly, breathing steadily, eyes closed.
“Oh my god” Quackity thought - the man’s asleep.
Quackity carefully shifted Wilbur onto the bed, pushing his hair out of his stitched up face. He tucked Wilbur in like a baby, placing a soft kiss on his cheekbone.
When Wilbur woke up, he felt a pair of arms around him.
For once, Wilbur’s body felt warmer.