◖argbur◗

The hum of the engine was the only thing keeping the silence at bay as you drove through the dark midnight sky of the city.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel so tight your knuckles were white matching the pale ghostly light reflecting off the rain slicked asphalt.

The airport was in the opposite direction, your suitcase was still in the trunk, a heavy reminder of the life you were supposed to be starting three hours from now... but you couldn't breathe.

Every time you inhaled, you tasted the phantom scent of stale cigarettes and cheap coffee, every time you closed your eyes... you saw him.

The memory hit you again, a violent jagged flashback that blurred your vision until the road ahead disappeared replaced by the fogged up interior of a beat up sedan parked on the edge of the world.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The night before at 02:14 AM.

The rain was a rhythmic drumbeat against the roof of Wilbur’s car, a relentless suffocating sound that made the small cabin feel like a diving bell sinking into the dark.

Outside, the bridge lights were mere orange blurs in the downpour but inside, the only light came from the glowing cherry of Wilbur’s cigarette and the dim sickly green of the dashboard clock.

Wilbur -or Argbur as the internet knew the ghost he had become- was hunched over the wheel, his long lanky frame seemed too big for the car, his knees nearly touching the steering column.

He looked wrecked, his hair was a mess of dark brown curls, his yellow sweater frayed at the cuffs and his eyes... they were dark hollowed out pits of exhaustion.

"So," he rasped, the word cracking like dry parchment, he didn't look at you he just watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling.

"Five hours... then the big metal bird carries you away to a city that doesn't smell like wet pavement and disappointment."

"Will... don't," you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm but you stopped yourself an inch away, the air between you felt electric and heavy with things that hadn't been said for years. "I told you it’s a career move, it’s not about... it’s not about escaping."

He let out a sharp jagged laugh that turned into a cough. "Right... The 'career', the grand progression of a life lived in the light."

He finally turned his head, his gaze sweeping over you with a clinical agonizing slowness. "And what am I? Just a flickering monitor in your rearview mirror? A bit of static you finally tuned out?"

"You're my best friend," you said, though the words felt like a lie the moment they left your tongue.

Wilbur flinched as if you had slapped him, he crushed the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray with a trembling hand, his breathing suddenly coming in short shallow hitches.

"Don't you dare," he hissed, his voice dropping into that terrifying low frequency rumble that he used for his broadcasts. "Don't you dare insult me with that word... not tonight... not when I can feel the seconds ticking down like a countdown to an execution."

"What do you want me to say Wilbur?" You cried, the frustration finally boiling over. "You’ve spent months pushing me away! You lock yourself in that flat with your tapes and your ghosts and you only call me when the sun is down and you're too far gone to be rational. What was I supposed to do? Wait for a signal that was never coming?"

He snapped, he lunged toward you not to touch but to invade your space, his hands slamming against the passenger seat on either side of your head, he was so close you could see the individual tremors in his pupils and the way his jaw was locking so hard the muscle was jumping.

"The signal was always there!" He roared, his voice echoing off the fogged glass. "It was in every song I played at 4:00 AM! It was in every coded line of the project! I built a whole world out of digital shadows just so I could hide my heart in it because I was a fuckin coward to say it to your face!"

You were pinned against the chair, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "Will..."

"I love you," he choked out, the words sounding like they were being torn out of his chest with a rusted hook. "I love you with a desperation that makes me physically sick... I wake up and I taste you in the air, I go to sleep and I hear your voice in the static between stations, I have spent every waking moment of the last year trying to figure out how to exist without being a parasite on your light... and I failed."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression shifting into something raw and pathetic, he looked like a man who had just confessed to a murder.

"I’ve spent every night imagining what it would feel like to just... to just have one hour where I wasn't waiting for you like a dying dog," he whispered, his long fingers fluttering near your cheek but never quite making contact.

"And now you're leaving... and the frequency is going to go dead... and I’m going to be left in the dark with nothing but the sound of my own heart failing."

The silence that followed was deafening, you stared at him, your mouth open, your brain trying to reconcile the "Best Friend" Wilbur with this shattered broken ghost of a man.

You wanted to reach out, to pull him into you, to tell him you would stay, but the shock had frozen you solid.

Wilbur saw the silence as a rejection, his face went pale, a sickly hollow gray as he pulled away entirely shrinking back into the driver’s seat until he looked small despite his height.

He stared straight through the windshield at the rain. "Get out," he said, it wasn't a command, it was a plea.

"Will... wait... let's talk-"

"Get. Out." He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles popped. "If you stay one more second I’m going to beg you to stay... I’m going to lose the last shred of dignity I have left! Just go! Go to your bright city and your bright life! Leave the ghost in his machine."

You opened your mouth to argue but the look in his eyes, the sheer unadulterated hurt cut the words out of your throat.

You opened the door, the cold rain instantly soaking your hair and stepped out onto the bridge.

The last thing you saw before he sped away into the fog was the silhouette of his head dropping onto the steering wheel, his shoulders shaking with a sob he didn't want you to hear.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The flashback snapped shut as you jerked the steering wheel narrowly avoiding a pothole, your face was wet with tears you didn't remember crying.

The city was still awake, the sky was dark, only lit by the half moon in the distance surrounded by few stars but you were heading deeper into the shadows of the old district.

You knew exactly where you were going, you weren't going to the airport, you weren't going to the life you always wanted even though it wasn't the best option.

You pulled the car to a screeching halt in front of his crumbling apartment building, the windows of his flat were dark, save for a single flickering blue glow that pulsed like a dying heart.

You grabbed your bag and ran, you didn't use the intercom because you had a key, one he had given you a year ago and had never asked for back.

Your heart was in your throat as you reached his floor, the hallway smelled of dust and damp, you stood before his door, the wood scarred and peeling and for a second, you hesitated.

What if he wasn't there? What if he had finally tuned out for good?

You slid the key into the lock, it turned with a heavy metallic click before you pushed the door open and the smell hit you first: stale tobacco, overheated electronics and the sharp metallic tang of copper.

"Will?" You whispered into the gloom.

The only answer was the low electric hum of a dozen flickering monitors and the hiss of a tape deck reaching the end of its reel.

The heavy door groaned shut behind you sealing out the outside air and trapping you in the suffocating reality of Wilbur’s world.

You stood in there paralyzed, you had been here dozens of times but the space you walked into now was unrecognizable, it wasn't just the mess of a bachelor, it was the physical manifestation of a mental breakdown.

The living room was a labyrinth of cables and flickering screens, stacks of cassette tapes were piled high on every flat surface, some labeled with dates and cryptic numbers, others just scrawled with your initials.

There were coffee cups everywhere, some with mold furring the surface and the floor was a sea of discarded notes, crumpled ashtrays and loose film reels.

It looked like a nest, a frantic desperate nest built by a man who had stopped caring about the world outside his front door the second he realized you were leaving it.

You stepped further in, your boots crunching on a stray piece of plastic, the silence was only broken by the low electric hiss of the equipments.

You moved toward his main desk, a sprawling wooden beast covered in audio mixers and analog gear, in the center sitting atop a pile of Polaroids -all of them candid shots of you from the last year- was a small handheld recorder.

A piece of masking tape was stuck to the front, on it -in Wilbur’s hurried sloping handwriting- was your name, your hand trembled as you picked it up, the plastic felt cold almost vibrating as you pressed the play button.

The tape whirred for a second, a harsh burst of static filling the room and then his voice broke through, it didn't sound like the Wilbur you knew, it didn't even sound like the poetic brooding "Argbur" from the car, it sounded like a man who had been hollowed out.

"She’s gone," the recording started, there was a long shaky exhale followed by the wet sound of a sob he couldn't keep back.

"I let her get out... I told her to go... I’m such a fuckin coward... I’m sitting here and I can still feel the heat where she was sitting in the car and I think I’m going to die... I actually think my heart is just going to stop."

There was a thumping sound, like he was hitting his head against the desk.

"I can't do this, I’ve spent months trying to build something... a project, a world, a distraction... but it’s all just noise, it’s all just fuckin noise if she isn't there to hear it... I’m looking at the door and I’m waiting for her to walk through it even though I know she’s at the airport... I’m a parasite... I’m a pathetic starving parasite and she was my only light."

A broken jagged gasp ripped through the speaker followed by your name whispered over and over like a mantra.

"I love her... I love her so much it’s disgusting... Please come back... Please just... don't leave me in the dark."

The tape ended with a sharp clack.

The silence that followed was deafening, you stood there clutching the recorder to your chest as tears blurring your vision.

You hadn't just been his friend, you had been his tether to reality, and in your absence... he had unraveled completely.

A soft creak came from the hallway.

You froze, slowly you turned toward the door, Wilbur was standing there leaning heavily against the doorframe as if his legs couldn't quite support his height.

He looked like a ghost that had been dragged back to earth against its will, he was deathly pale, his eyes rimmed with red and sunken into dark bruised hollows, his hair was a matted disaster and his oversized yellow sweater was stretched out at the neck hanging off his bony shoulders.

He stared at you, his gaze dropping to the recorder in your hand and then back to your face.

For a long agonizing moment he didn't move, he didn't even seem to breathe, his eyes went wide reflecting a terrifying mix of sheer paralyzing terror and a relief so absolute it looked like pain.

"I'm hallucinating," he whispered, his voice a wrecked dry rasp. "I’ve finally lost it... the static finally took over."

"It's me Will," you choked out, taking a step toward him. "I didn't go... I'm here."

The sound of your voice seemed to snap the last cord of his restraint, he didn't walk toward you, he collapsed.

He stumbled forward, his long limbs clumsy and shaking as he literally fell into you, his height made him tower over you but as he reached you he folded, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He was trembling so violently you could feel his teeth chattering against your skin, his arms wrapped around you with a crushing desperate strength, his fingers digging into your shirt as if he were trying to weld his body to yours.

He made a small broken sound, a whimper that was buried in your shoulder. "You stayed," he sobbed, the words muffled by your skin. "You stayed... You’re real... You’re actually here."

"I'm here," you repeated, your own hands tangling in the messy curls at the nape of his neck. "I'm not going anywhere."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face frantic and all the poetic metaphors, the clever wordplay and the "Argbur" persona were gone, there was no art left in him, only raw bleeding need.

His hands moved to your face, his palms cold and damp against your cheeks. "I’m sorry," he panted, his breath smelling of stale tobacco and desperation. "I’m sorry I’m a mess... I’m sorry I’m like this I just... I can't breathe when you aren't here... I can't think... everything just turns to gray."

He didn't wait for you to answer, he leaned down and kissed you and it wasn't gentle and it wasn't graceful, it was the kiss of a man who was starving, a man who had been wandering in a desert for years and had finally found water.

His mouth crashed against yours with a frantic bruising hunger, it was messy and desperate, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as if he were trying to swallow your very soul.

He groaned into your mouth, a deep primal sound of relief, his hands sliding from your face to your waist to pull you even tighter against him.

He was shaking, his knees buckling forcing you to back up until your hits hit the edge of the desk knocking over a stack of tapes.

He didn't care, he followed you, his body pinning yours against the wood, his hands roaming over you with a terrified urgency.

He touched your shoulders, your hair, your waist, your hips, your back, checking every inch of you to make sure you weren't going to vanish into static.

"Stay," he gasped against your lips, his voice jagged and mean with desperation. "Tell me you’re staying... tell me I’m not dreaming this... I'll do anything!.. I'll burn all of this... I'll stop the broadcasts just don't leave me again."

"I'm staying Will," you breathed, catching his face in your hands to force him to look at you. "I'm staying right here."

He let out a jagged broken laugh, his eyes filling with fresh tears as he descended on your mouth again.

This time he didn't just kiss you he claimed you, his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers cold against your skin and you could feel the frantic thrum of his pulse through his fingertips.

He was a man possessed, a man who had finally found the only signal he ever cared about and he was never, ever going to let the frequency go dead again.

The blue light of the monitors continued to flicker around you, the tape deck hiss filled the room but for the first time in a long time, the static was gone.

There was only him, broken, desperate and entirely yours.

"I need you to stay here with me right now," Wilbur rasped, the words catching in his dry throat as he pulled back just enough to look at you with eyes that were dark, blown out and bordering on manic. "I can’t... I can't wait... not another second, I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for this frequency to clear and I’m starving."

Before you could even draw a breath to answer, his large shaking hands slid down from your face to your thighs and he hoisted you up in one fluid desperate motion.

You let out a startled gasp, your legs instinctively locking around his lanky waist as your arms draped over his shoulders to steady yourself, despite the tears still wet on your cheeks, a small watery giggle bubbled up in your throat.

He didn't even stumble, the adrenaline of your presence seemed to have turned his exhaustion into a raw kinetic energy, he carried you down the narrow dimly lit hallway, his strides long and urgent.

He kicked open the bedroom door and the air changed instantly, it was cooler here smelling even more strongly of him, of old wool and the faint metallic scent of the equipment he kept running 24/7.

The bedroom was a mirroring image of the living room’s chaos, more monitors flickered in the corners casting a pale rhythmic blue light over a bed that was a tangled mess of gray sheets and discarded sweaters.

There were books cracked open facedown on the floor and a half finished cigarette sitting forgotten in an ashtray on the nightstand.

"Will!... You’re a menace," you whispered, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck. "A complete and utter menace."

"I’m a man who lost his mind," he countered, his voice dropping into a jagged private register as he reached the edge of the mattress.

He didn't drop you, he leaned forward laying you back onto the disheveled sheets with a surprising shaky reverence.

"I love you so much I lost my fuckin mind and I don't ever want it back if it means being without this."

He hovered over you immediately, his long frame a heavy comforting weight as he braced himself on his elbows.

He didn't give you space to breathe, he descended on your mouth again, his lips searching for yours with a hunger that felt bottomless.

This wasn't a tentative kiss, it was a collision of years of repressed longing, his mouth was hot and tasted of the coffee he had been living on, his tongue tangling with yours in a slick frantic rhythm.

Every time you tried to pull back to catch your breath he followed you, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a desperate rhythmic pressure.

"Don't," he groaned against your lips, his voice a low vibration that traveled straight to your core. "Don't stop... Don't pull away... I need to know you're real... I need to feel the air leaving your lungs and entering mine."

"I'm real Will," you panted, your hands sliding under the hem of his yellow sweater to feel the warm solid reality of his skin, he was so thin, his ribs prominent under your palms and the feeling made your heart ache with a fresh wave of devotion. "I'm right here... I'm not a ghost."

"You were," he rasped, his kisses moving to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive hollow of your ear. "Every time I closed my eyes in this room you were a ghost, I’d hear your laugh in the static of the radio... I’d see your shadow on the wall... I was living in a haunted house and I was the one who killed the lights."

He moved back to your lips, his kiss turning deeper, slower and more agonizingly possessive, his hands slid down from your face, his fingers grazing your neck before pinning your wrists to the pillow above your head.

He didn't do it to hurt, he did it because he was shaking so hard he needed an anchor.

"I thought I’d pushed you too far," he whispered into the kiss, his nose brushing yours. "In the car... when I told you to get out... I felt the world end, I sat there and watched you disappear and I’ve never felt more hollow... I felt like a radio tower with the power cut, just a useless hunk of metal standing in the dark."

"I was so angry at you," you confessed, your voice breaking as you arched your back trying to get closer to his heat. "I was so angry that you waited until the last second to tell me, but then I saw the apartment... Will why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

He let out a sharp self deprecating huff of a laugh, his lips grazing your collarbone.

"Because I’m pathetic... because I didn't want you to stay out of pity, I wanted you to stay because the signal was loud enough for you to hear, I wanted to be enough on my own but I'm not, I'm just... I'm half a person without you."

He released your wrists, his hands immediately diving back into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled you back into another bruising desperate kiss.

He was moving his hips against yours in a slow rhythmic grind that made your breath hitch, his oversized sweater bunching up between your bodies.

"You’re everything," he murmured, his voice cracking. "You’re the only thing that makes the noise stop, when I’m with you the static goes quiet, everything is just... clear, for the first time in years I can actually see the horizon."

"Then look at me," you commanded softly, pulling his face up so his dark watery eyes had to meet yours. "Look at me Wilbur... I stayed... the airport is miles away and my suitcase is in the car, I’m choosing this... I’m choosing the mess and the monitors and the static... I’m choosing you."

A single tear escaped his eye falling onto your cheek and he let out a jagged broken sob of a laugh, he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot and frantic against your skin.

"God... I don't deserve you, I’m a wreck, I’m a complete unmitigated disaster."

"You're my disaster," you corrected, wrapping your arms around his broad shaking shoulders and pulling him down until there was no space left between you.

He responded by kissing you with a renewed terrifying intensity, it was as if your words had finally given him permission to stop stressing and start taking what's his.

His hands were everywhere, mapping your waist, your ribs and the curve of your hips as if he were trying to memorize your geometry in the dark.

"I’m never letting you leave this bed," he growled against your throat, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your toes curl. "I’m going to keep you here until you smell like my skin... I’m going to fill your head with so much of me that you forget there was ever a world outside this flat."

"Good," you whispered, your fingers digging into his back. "Do it... ruin me for the rest of the world Will, I’ve been waiting for you to claim this for years."

He groaned, a deep primal sound of victory as crashed his mouth back onto yours, the kiss was longer this time, more rhythmic, a conversation held in the language of tongues and teeth.

The blue light of the monitors continued to pulse in the background, a silent heartbeat for the room but the only sound that mattered was the wet frantic music of your shared breath and the heavy synchronized thud of two hearts finally finding the same frequency.

Wilbur was desperate, his movements frantic and uncoordinated in his haste to feel more of you.

He was a man who had finally found the missing piece of his own machine and as he pressed his forehead against yours, panting and wrecked, you knew that the signal would never go dead again.

The feverish energy that had carried him from the front door to the bed suddenly broke, replaced by a heavy soul deep exhaustion that made his muscles go limp.

Wilbur didn't pull away, he collapsed his full weight against you burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His long lanky frame was a cocoon around yours, his arms locking behind your back with a grip so tight it felt less like a hug and more like a lifeline.

He was shaking, not with the manic adrenaline from before but with a rhythmic bone deep tremor that vibrated through your own chest.

"Will?" You whispered, your fingers smoothing the tangled curls at the back of his head. "You okay?"

He let out a sound that was half sob half shuddering breath, his nose pressing into your skin as he inhaled sharply.

"I’m just... I’m waiting for the static to come back," he rasped, his voice muffled and thick with tears. "I’m waiting for the monitors to flicker and for you to vanish... I’m waiting for the dream to end and I’m terrified that if I move, I’ll wake up in the car again watching you walk away."

"I’m right here," you promised, shifting your legs to wrap more securely around his hips pulling him even deeper into your space. "I’m not a broadcast Will... you can’t tune me out and I’m not going to fade into the background."

He let out a jagged broken laugh, his shoulders hitching against you, he pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes searching your face with a desperate frantic intensity.

He looked at your eyes, your nose, the way your lips were swollen and reddened from his own mouth and reached out a shaky hand, his thumb dragging slowly across your bottom lip.

"You’re so warm," he whispered, his voice cracking. "God! You’re so warm, I’ve been so cold for so long, everything in this flat... it’s all cold metal and glass and plastic... I’ve been living in a machine and you’re the first real thing I’ve touched in a year."

He leaned in, not for a frantic kiss this time but to press his face against yours, cheek to cheek as he let out a long shuddering sigh that seemed to drain the last of the tension from his spine.

"I used to sit here," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low private frequency, "at three in the morning watching the signal on the monitor and imagining the exact weight of your head on this pillow, I’d memorize the way you looked in those old photos on my desk until the colors bled together, I thought I was okay with the ghost of you... I thought I could survive on the memories."

He pulled back to look at you again, his expression raw and painfully honest. "I was wrong.... I was so fuckin wrong... your absence was killing me."

You reached up, cupping his face in both hands, his skin was pale and slightly clammy but he leaned into your palms like a cat seeking heat.

"You don't have to live with ghosts anymore Wilbur... I'm staying, we're going to fix this together, we're going to turn off the monitors for a while."

"Don't turn them off yet," he whispered, a small tired smile finally ghosting over his lips, the first real smile you had seen in months. "I want the blue light, I want to be able to see you, I want to wake up and see that you’re still here caught in the flickering of the screen."

He shifted, pulling the tangled gray duvet over both of you creating a small dark sanctuary in the middle of his chaotic nest.

He tucked his chin over your head, his long fingers tracing patterns on your back through your clothes, his breathing finally beginning to sync with yours.

"I love you," he breathed into your hair, the words finally steady and finally landing where they belonged. "I love you so much it's pathetic... my beautiful, beautiful signal."

"I love you too Will," you whispered back, closing your eyes and letting the hum of the apartment fade into the background. "Always."

In the dim blue pulsing light of the bedroom, the fear was finally over, the desperation had settled into a quiet heavy peace.

Wilbur didn't let go of you... not for a second, as if he was afraid that the moment he loosened his grip the frequency would drift, but for the first time in years the air was clear.

The madness of the last few hours hadn't fully drained from the room, it had just settled into the corners replaced by a heavy vibrating stillness.

Wilbur didn't close his eyes... he couldn't, he stayed propped up on one elbow, his lanky frame casting a long jagged shadow over the bed as he watched you.

The blue light from the monitors in the corner pulsed like a slow electronic heartbeat, in those rhythmic flashes he tracked the rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair was splayed across his gray pillowcase like a spilled inkwell and the faint reddened marks on your neck where he had been too frantic and too desperate.

He looked at the digital clock on his bedside table: 05:42 AM.

By now you should have been standing in a terminal, you should have been surrounded by the sterile scent of jet fuel and the bright unforgiving lights of a departure gate, you should have been three thousand miles away from this cluttered manic nest and the ghost who lived inside it.

But you were here, you were in his bed breathing his air, your skin warming the sheets that had been cold for years.

Wilbur reached out, his long fingers hovering just a fraction of an inch above your cheek, he was terrified to touch you, afraid that the physical contact would be the thing that finally broke the transmission and sent him back to the car on the bridge.

He looked at your closed eyelids, the peaceful curve of your mouth and felt a wave of such intense pathetic gratitude that it made his throat ache.

"She chose the static," he thought, his jaw tightening. "She chose the wreck."

"How?" He whispered, the word so quiet it was barely a vibration in the air. "How are you here?"

He spent the next hour just memorizing you, he wasn't the poet now, he was a scientist recording the only data that mattered.

He counted your eyelashes in the flickering light, he watched the way your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his yellow sweater holding onto him even in your sleep.

Every time you shifted he held his breath, his entire body tensing as if he expected you to open your eyes and realize you had made a terrible mistake.

But you didn't, you only sighed, a soft contented sound that bypassed his ears and went straight to his heart anchoring him to the mattress.

Slowly, the sky outside the grimy window began to shift from bruised purple to a pale misty gray.

The morning was coming, and for the first time in his life Wilbur wasn't afraid of the light, the "Argbur" in him, the lonely broadcast obsessed shadow started to recede.

The frantic "must check the signal" urge that usually kept him vibrating with anxiety began to dull replaced by the sheer heavy weight of your presence.

His blinking slowed, the jagged tension in his shoulders finally started to melt away, his muscles softening as the reality of your stay finally... truly sank in.

You weren't a dream, you weren't a coded message, you were a girl who loved him enough to let a plane leave without her.

Wilbur let out a long final shuddering breath, the last of the adrenaline leaving his system as he slid down until his head was level with yours on the pillow, his nose brushing against your hair.

He wrapped his long arms around you, tucking his chin over your shoulder and pulling you flush against his chest.

The hum of the monitors was still there, the tape deck was still hissing, but Wilbur didn't hear them anymore, he only heard the steady synchronized rhythm of your breathing.

As the first real rays of sun hit the dust motes in the air, Wilbur finally closed his eyes and let the darkness take him, falling into the deepest most honest sleep he had known in years, safe, loved and finally... finally home.

The sunlight was different in this room, usually it felt like an intrusion, a harsh glare that exposed the dust and the decay of Wilbur’s isolation but today it was honey gold filtering through the cracked blinds and catching the stray curls of hair on the pillow next to him.

Wilbur had been awake for over an hour, he was lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, his long body curled around yours like he was shielding you from the rest of the world.

He didn't move, he barely breathed, he just watched the way the light danced across your shoulder.

The terror hadn't completely vanished, it was still there, a small cold knot in his stomach but every time you shifted in your sleep, every time your hand twitched against his chest the knot loosened a little more, you were still here, you hadn't vanished into the gray mist of the morning.

He leaned in, his lips barely brushing the crown of your head, he smelled the scent of his own scent on you mixed with the faint lingering sweetness of your skin, it was the most intoxicating thing he had ever inhaled.

"You stayed," he whispered, his voice a low gravelly vibration that barely carried in the quiet room. "You actually stayed."

He began to trail ghost light kisses across your temple, down to your cheek and finally to the corner of your mouth, he was so careful and so agonizingly gentle as if he was afraid his touch might be too heavy for the reality of the moment.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice a jagged broken thread of sound. "How I’ve spent a thousand nights staring at this exact spot on the pillow... just trying to manifest the weight of you, I thought I was finally going insane... I’d look at the empty space where you are right now and I’d feel the static starting to swallow me whole."

He moved his mouth to your temple, his eyes closing tight as if he was trying to anchor himself to the sensation of your skin. "There were nights... god! There were nights where I wanted to set fire to every tape in this room... I wanted to smash the monitors and burn the reels just to make your voice stop echoing in the silence, it was like living with a ghost that wouldn't leave... but wouldn't stay either."

He let out a long shaky exhale against your cheek, his hand trembling where it rested near your waist. "And now you’re here... you’re actually breathing, you’re warm... and you don't smell like metal or dust... I'm so terrified I'm gonna blink and the broadcast is gonna cut to black and I'll be back in the car watching the rain on the glass and knowing I'm alone, please don't be a dream, just... stay real for me... Please."

Finally, the need to wash away the scent of the previous night’s breakdown became too much, he slid out of bed with the grace of a shadow tucking the duvet around you so you wouldn’t feel the cold.

He watched you for one more minute making sure you didn't wake up and realize the room was empty before he disappeared into the bathroom.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The sound of the shower was what finally pulled you toward consciousness, it was a steady rhythmic hum that competed with the distant buzz of the monitors in the living room, you blinked squinting against the bright dusty light.

For a second the panic hit you, you looked at the ceiling, cracked, stained and unfamiliar then the smell hit you... Wilbur.

Stale tobacco and expensive coffee and something uniquely him, the memories of the car, the bridge and the frantic desperate reunion came rushing back making your heart give a heavy happy thud against your ribs.

You sat up, the sheets slipping down your chest, the room was even more of a disaster in the daylight, it was a graveyard of "Argbur", stacks of cassettes, reels of film and scrawled notes that felt like the remnants of a life lived in a bunker.

You slid out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cold hardwood as you felt a strange sense of ownership over the space now as if by choosing to stay you had claimed the mess as much as he does.

You wandered over to his dresser which had a cracked spotted mirror on one of its doors, pinned to the corner of the frame was a single Polaroid.

It was from a year ago, "A night at the bridge", in the photo Wilbur was looking at the camera but his body was angled toward you, his tall frame leaning in as if gravitating toward your center of mass.

You were laughing, your head thrown back and he had this look on his face... a look of such profound quiet longing that it made your chest ache.

He had hidden it in plain sight all this time, he had been looking at this every morning while he got dressed, a constant reminder of the signal he thought he was losing.

You reached out tracing the edge of the white frame with your thumb, a soft smile tugging at your lips when the bathroom door creaked open.

A cloud of steam rolled into the room smelling of cedar and rain, Wilbur stepped out rubbing a towel through his damp brown curls, he was shirtless, his pale skin still glistening with droplets of water.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of low slung sweatpants that hung precariously off his sharp hipbones, he looked leaner in the daylight, his ribs visible, his collarbones sharp enough to cut.

He stopped when he saw you standing at the mirror, for a heartbeat that familiar flicker of insecurity crossed his face, the fear that you were looking at his madness and regretting it.

But then he saw the smile on your face and the way you were looking at the photo, he dropped the towel and crossed the room in three long silent strides.

He slid his arms around your waist from behind, his skin still damp and cool from the water and pulled you flush against his chest, his height making it easy for him to tuck his chin into the crook of your neck, he was solid, heavy and real.

"I thought I lost that one," he murmured, his voice vibrating through your back as he squeezed you tighter, his large hands splaying over your stomach. "I thought I’d tucked it away in a box somewhere so I wouldn't have to look at what I was missing."

"It’s been right here Will," you whispered, leaning your head back against his shoulder. "You’ve been looking at us every day stop lying."

"I’ve been looking at a ghost," he corrected, his nose brushing against your ear. "The photo didn't talk back, the photo didn't stay when I told it to go... I used to talk to it you know? When the broadcasts were over and the room was too quiet I’d tell it all the things I said in the car last night."

You turned in his arms looping your hands around his neck, up close he looked more human than he had in months, the hollows under his eyes were still there but the manic light was gone replaced by a soft simmering heat.

"You don't have to talk to the photo anymore," you said, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. "You can tell me you love me as much as you want and I'll always tell you how much I love you too, you don't have to talk to a piece of paper anymore.”

"I know," he whispered, his hands sliding down to your hips, his grip firm and possessive. "But I’m still waiting for the catch... I’m waiting for you to tell me that this was a mistake... that you’re just staying for the weekend to make sure I don't jump off the bridge and then you're gonna call a cab."

"Will..."

"No listen," he said, his expression turning serious, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I'm a lot to deal with, I know I am... I’m messy and I’m obsessive and I live in a house made of static, I don't know how to be 'Normal' for you, I don't know if I can ever be the guy who doesn't need to hear your heart beating just to know the world is still turning."

"I don't want a 'Normal' guy Wilbur," you said, pulling him down until his forehead rested against yours. "I want the guy who kept me between his arms all night in my sleep, I want the guy who built a whole world out of signals just to find me, I’m not leaving because it’s 'Hard' I’m staying because I’m the only one who knows how to read your frequency."

He let out a long shaky breath, his eyes closing as he soaked in your words, a small crooked smirk finally pulled at his lips, the first sign of the old Wilbur, the one who knew how to tease.

"The only one huh?" He rasped, his hands sliding lower pulling your lower body firmly against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, you could feel the heat of him, the hard physical proof that his yearning hadn't ended just because you stayed. "You're very confident for someone who just walked into a haunted house."

"I’ve always liked ghost stories," you teased, your breath hitching as he began to trail his lips down your throat. "Specially the ones where the ghost finally gets what he wants."

"Oh... he’s gonna get it," Wilbur growled against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist. "He’s gonna get everything he’s been starving for."

Wilbur didn't give you a chance to respond to his smirk, he caught your lips in a kiss that was a complete departure from the gentleness of the morning, this was jagged, it was a desperate uncoordinated clash of teeth and tongue that tasted like a man finally reaching the end of a long agonizing fast.

He didn't break the contact as he began to move you backward, his hands stayed locked on your waist steering you toward the bed.

Every time your heels caught on a stray cable or a discarded tabe he caught you, his grip tightening until it was almost bruising, he was a man possessed, his breathing coming in frantic shallow hitches that you could feel against your own mouth.

"I can't... I can't stop thinking about it," he rasped, breaking the kiss for only a second to press his forehead against yours, his eyes were dark, the pupils blown out until only a thin ring of brown remained. "I’ve spent years imagining the sound you’d make if I did this."

He shoved you back onto the mattress, the springs groaning under the sudden weight as you giggled, before you could even settle into the pillows he was hovering over you, his long pale frame casting a shadow that swallowed you whole.

He braced his arms on either side of your head, his eyes locked on yours, he didn't go for your mouth again instead he dropped his head to the side of your neck, his lips dragging over the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

He was so close you could feel the frantic heavy thud of his heart against your own ribs, his breath coming in hot jagged hitches against your ear.

"Will," you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscle of his forearms trying to pull him down to close the agonizingly small gap between you. "You're shaking... look at me... I'm right here... I'm not a ghost anymore, I'm right under you."

He let out a sharp wrecked sound, his eyes squeezed shut as he buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck. "I know," he rasped, his voice a low frequency growl that made your toes curl.

"That’s the problem, you're so fuckin real I can’t breathe, I’ve spent a year starving and now that you’re finally in my bed... I feel like I’m gonna vibrate out of my skin if I don't mark every single inch of you... I need to know that if I close my eyes... I’d still taste you on my tongue."

He let out a low guttural moan, a sound of pure unadulterated relief and began to mark your neck, he wasn't just kissing you he was biting you making you moan loud, his teeth grazing your pulse point before his tongue followed to soothe the sting.

"You're so fuckin loud," he whispered into your skin, his voice a gravelly ruined mess. "Even when you're quiet the sound of you is the only thing I can hear... it’s been driving me insane... I’d be in the middle of a recording and I’d just... I’d smell your hair, I’d feel your skin, I’d have to stop because the static was getting too loud."

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers fumbling with the fabric in his haste, he wasn't being smooth he was being desperate, he tugged at the material, his knuckles brushing against your stomach and sending jolts of electricity through your nerves.

"Help me," he choked out, his eyes pleading as he looked down at you. "Get this off... I need to see you... I need to know there’s nothing between us, no more signals, no more clothes just... just you."

You reached up, your own fingers shaking as you helped him pull the shirt over your head and toss it somewhere into the mess of the room, the second your skin was bare Wilbur made a sound like he had been struck.

He didn't move for a heartbeat, his gaze roaming over you with a terrifying reverent intensity, he looked like a man staring at a miracle he didn't believe he was allowed to touch.

Then he collapsed against you, his hands were everywhere at once, mapping the curve of your ribs, the softness of your waist and the swell of your breasts, he was touching you like a man trying to learn a new language by touch alone.

His kisses became rougher and more frantic moving from your neck to your collarbone leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"Mine," he muttered, the word vibrating against your skin. "Tell me you're mine... tell me I’m the only one allowed to do this... the only one allowed to see you like this."

"Only you Will," you panted, your hands digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving white crescents in his pale skin. "I've always been yours."

He let out a sharp jagged breath and moved back to your mouth, his kiss turning into something deep and demanding, he was tasting you, claiming you, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive rhythm that made your head spin.

He pulled back just an inch, his lips still grazing yours, his breath hot and smelling of the soap from the shower. "Do you have any idea?" He rasped, his eyes dark and dilated searching yours with a manic intensity.

"How many nights I sat in that chair staring at the monitor until my eyes bled just picturing you exactly like this? Spread out on my sheets... looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters?"

"I thought about it too Will," you panted, your hands sliding down his back feeling the tension in every muscle. "I thought about you every single night."

"Not like I did," he growled, his hand sliding up to grip your jaw forcing you to keep eye contact. "I didn't just think about you, I obsessed... I pictured exactly how loud you’d scream my name if I did this... how you’d look with your hair a mess on my pillow and my marks all over your neck, I wanted to ruin you love, I wanted to make you so addicted to me that the idea of an airport, of a plane, of anything that isn't this room felt like a death sentence."

"Then do it," you challenged, your voice breaking as you pulled his head back down. "Stop talking about it and just ruin me... I’m right here... I’m yours."

He let out a jagged triumphant sound against your mouth. "You have no idea how much I'm gonna take from you, I’m gonna make you so shaky you won't be able to stand, I'm gonna fuck every other memory out of your head until the only frequency you can tune into is mine... you're never gonna look at another man without feeling the ghost of my hands on you, tell me you want that... tell me you want me to be the only thing left in your head."

"I want it," you sobbed into the kiss, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I want you to leave nothing else... just you Wilbur... only you."

He looked like he was vibrating out of his skin, his pale torso slick with a thin sheen of sweat that caught the afternoon light, he didn't know how to be gentle, he only knew how to be near, he pressed his face into the valley between your breasts, his breathing ragged and hot.

"Don't let me go," he whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden sharp vulnerability. "Even if I get weird... even if the static comes back... don't let me go, I’m starving for you, I’m literally dying for you."

"I've got you," you whispered, pulling his head back up to yours. "I'm not going anywhere Wilbur... keep going... don't stop please."

Wilbur suddenly pulled back, his arms locked straight as he braced himself over you, he was panting, his chest heaving and the sheer unadulterated desperation in his eyes was enough to make your blood hum.

He didn't say anything for a long moment he just stared down at you, his gaze dragging over your bare skin with a possessive territorial hunger, his long fingers twitching against the sheets.

"Do you have any idea," he started, his voice dropping into a raspy jagged growl that felt like sandpaper against your nerves. "How many times I’ve sat in that chair out there staring at a blank waveform and pictured exactly this? Pictured you underneath me looking exactly this wrecked for me? All while you were thinking about leaving me alone in this hellhole."

He didn't wait for an answer, he leaned down, his mouth crashing back onto yours for a second, a hard punishing kiss that tasted of salt and obsession before he tore himself away to bury his face in the crook of your neck again, he inhaled sharply, a sound that was half groan half sob.

"I’m gonna mark you so deep you’ll feel me under your skin for months," he muttered into your collarbone, his teeth grazing the bone before he sucked a dark bruised rose into the skin.

"I’m gonna make sure that every time you try to walk you feel the weight of what I did to you... I want you limping, I want you sore, I want you so full of me that you can’t even remember your own name... only mine, I want you screaming my name until your throat is as ruined as mine is."

You looked up at him through your lashes, a small breathless smirk playing on your lips despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribs as you reached up, your fingers trailing lightly over the sharp line of his collarbone tracing the damp skin still cool from his shower.

"You talk too much Wilbur," you whispered, your voice a low teasing hum that made his jaw lock. "A whole year of waiting for this and all you have for me are threats? I thought the big bad ghost of the bridge was actually gonna do something, are you gonna keep making speeches or are you actually gonna show me why I missed my flight?"

Wilbur let out a sharp jagged hitch of a breath, his eyes darkening until the brown was completely swallowed by black, his grip on your waist tightened until it was borderline bruising, his knuckles white.

"You think I'm just talking?" He rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous gravelly register. "You think I’m gonna let you tease me after I’ve been starving for a lifetime? You have no fuckin idea what you’re playing with."

His hands slid up from your waist, his thumbs found your nipples circling them with a frantic rhythmic pressure that made your back arch off the mattress, he watched your face as he did it, his pupils so blown out they were just bottomless black voids.

"Then prove it Wilbur," you gasped, your voice breaking as he increased the pressure. "Stop... ah!~... stop talking and prove it... I’m right here... mmmh!~... I’m not a ghost on a screen anymore... I’m right under you... show me how much you wanna ruin me."

"Look at you," he choked out, a dark tilted smirk pulling at his lips as he saw your breath hitch. "Look how you’re shaking... you still think I'm just talking yeah? I'm gonna fuckin ruin you."

"Will... please," you gasped, your fingers digging into his biceps trying to pull him back down. "Don't stop... just... don't stop."

"I'm never stopping," he promised, his voice a filthy low frequency vibration. "I’m gonna spend the next few hours making up for every second I spent waiting for you, I’m gonna ruin those pretty little noises you make and turn them into something loud, something filthy, something that belongs only to me."

He leaned down again, his tongue dragging across the swell of your breast before he took one peaked nipple into his mouth, he wasn't gentle, he used his teeth, a sharp demanding nip that made a high pitched keen escape your lips.

He let out a muffled groan against your skin, his hand sliding down to the opening of your pants, his fingers hooking into the waistband with a terrifying urgency.

"I’m gonna be so deep inside you that you won't know where the static ends and I begin," he whispered, moving back up to your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. "I’m gonna fuck the airport right out of your head and make you forget there’s a world outside this door... it’s just us... it’s just this room and the bed and me finally taking what’s mine."

"Stop talking Wilbur... please," you sobbed, your voice breaking as you reached down, your fingers hooking frantically into the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Tell me you want it," he demanded, his hand gripping your hip so hard it was gonna leave a mark. "Tell me you want me to ruin you love, tell me you want the ghost to finally come alive inside you.”

"I need you Wilbur," you cried out, your head tossing back against the pillow as his mouth returned to your neck, his kisses turning frantic and rough. "I want everything, don't be gentle just... give it to me... All of it."

He let out a jagged triumphant laugh, his forehead resting against yours for a brief electric second. "You have no idea what you just asked for," he rasped, his eyes burning with a desperate allconsuming fire. "But I’m gonna show you every... single... detail."

He dived back into the hollow of your throat, his hands working at the last of your clothes with a manic speed.

The last barrier of fabric didn't stand a chance against the intensity in Wilbur’s hands, he stripped the remaining clothes with a frantic uncoordinated speed, his breath hitching in his chest every time more of your skin was revealed to the dusty afternoon light.

When you were finally completely bare beneath him he didn't move, he just hovered there, his ribs heaving, his eyes tracking every curve, every dip, every shadow of your body like he was trying to memorize the image into his mind.

"God," he choked out, the word sounding like a prayer and a curse all at once. "You’re so... you’re actually here... you’re real... I’m not looking at a screen... I’m not looking at a photograph."

He didn't wait for you to answer before he collapsed back onto you but he didn't go for your mouth, he started at your collarbone, his kisses desperate and wet moving down the center of your chest.

He was worshipping you, his tongue tracing the line of your sternum, his hands sliding under your lower back to hoist you up molding your body to his.

"Will... please," you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his damp curls pulling him closer. "I can't take it anymore... I’ve been thinking about this since the bridge."

"The bridge was a lifetime ago," he muttered against the skin of your stomach, his breath hot and frantic. "You're here now... we're finally together... you're all mine."

He continued his descent, his kisses turning into a trail of fire as he moved lower, his hands sliding to your inner thighs, he pushed your legs apart with a firm possessive urgency, his eyes looking up at you from between your knees.

He leaned in peppering the sensitive skin of your inner thighs with soft nipping kisses that made your entire body vibrate, he moved higher and higher until he was inches away from your cunt, the heat of your body radiating against his face.

"I need to taste you," he whispered, his voice a ruined gravelly rasp. "I’ve spent years imagining what this would be like... I’ve smelled you in my dreams... I’ve tasted you in the static... I need to make sure the reality is better than I’ve ever imagined... I need to feel how real you are."

"It's better Will," you panted, your head tossing back against the pillows, your hips instinctively rolling toward him. "I promise it's better... just... please... I need you inside me right now."

"Not yet," he growled, his hands gripping your thighs so hard his knuckles were white. "I’m gonna take every bit of this... I’m gonna drink you until I’m sick with it."

Then he finally dived in, the first touch of his tongue was a shock to your system, a hot slick glide that made a high pitched scream rip from your throat.

Wilbur groaned against you, a deep vibration that you felt in your very bones, he wasn't gentle, he was starving, he used his tongue in long demanding strokes, his nose buried in your heat, his hands moving up to grip your hips and hold you steady as he feasted on you.

"Do you like that?" He rasped, pulling to look into your eyes, his lips slick and shining in the light. "Tell me... tell me if I’m doing it right, tell me if I'm doing good for you baby please."

"Yes... ah!~... Will... yes," you panted, your fingers tangling in his damp curls pulling him closer and deeper. "It’s... it’s perfect... you’re... mmph~... you’re so good at this... please... don't stop.”

"I'm never stopping… you taste like everything," he muttered, pulling again for a split second, his lips glistening. "You taste like the only thing worth living for, tell me you like it, tell me you want me to keep going until you can't breathe."

"I love it... Will... please... more!... Don't stop!" You wailed, your hands clutching the bedsheets, your knuckles white. "You're doing so good baby... I want you to take everything... I wanna feel you everywhere!"

"I've got you," he rasped, diving back in with a renewed frantic energy. "I'll be so good for you baby."

He was relentless, he used his tongue with a rhythmic possessive intensity swirling over you before dipping inside with a deep demanding pressure, he was tasting you like a man trying to memorize a frequency, his nose pressed into your heat, his eyes closed in absolute agonizing focus.

He kept asking, kept demanding your praise, his voice a low constant hum of "Good?" and "You like this don't you?" and "You’re mine say it."

"You're... you're amazing," you sobbed, the pleasure building into a tight agonizing coil in your gut. "I'm... I'm yours... I love you... I love your mouth... Will!... please!"

As he continued to work his tongue he slid two long calloused fingers inside you, the sudden fullness made your eyes roll back in your head, he was rhythmic and relentless, his fingers mimicking the pace of his tongue, stretching you, filling you and marking the internal territory he had waited years for.

"You're so tight and wet for me," he whispered, the words a filthy low frequency hum against your skin. "You're practically drowning me, is this what you wanted? To have me worshipping you like a god in this shithole apartment?"

"Yes!... Yes Wilbur!... More!... Please!" You cried out, your breath coming in short jagged gasps. "I wanna cum for you... I want you to feel what you're doing to me!"

"Then do it," he growled, his fingers moving faster and deeper, his tongue centering on your clit with a terrifying precision. "Cum for me... break for me baby... I’m right here for you baby."

The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter, a high pitched frequency that was about to snap, you could feel the climax rushing toward you like a tidal wave, your legs shook, your toes curled and suddenly... you went over the edge.

You screamed his name, your body bucking against his mouth as waves of pure electric pleasure crashed through you.

But Wilbur didn't stop.

As your body began to pulse around his fingers he kept going, he kept his tongue moving, kept his fingers pushing deep inside you forcing the orgasm to stretch out, to turn from pleasure into something bordering on overstimulation.

"Will!..." You sobbed, your hands trying to push at his shoulders but he was an immovable weight. “Will!... Stop!... I can't... it's too much!”

"No," he growled, his voice dark and possessive as he looked up at you through the curls falling over his eyes. "I told you... I’m starving... you don't get to stop just because you came once, I’ve been waiting years for this... I’m gonna keep you right on this edge until you don't know where you are, you’re staying right here with me... in the static."

He dived back in, his tongue even more demanding now, his fingers never slowing their frantic slick pace, his desperation turned into a focused beautiful cruelty, he wanted to see you cum again and again until you were nothing but a shivering wrecked mess beneath him.

"You're mine," he muttered against your thrumming pulse. "Every scream, every twitch, every drop... it's all mine, tell me you aren't going anywhere, tell me you're staying in this bed until I'm done with you."

"I'm staying... ah-hahh!~... I'm staying forever!" You wailed, your head hitting the mattress as a second wave of pleasure started to build, even more intense than the first. "Only you Will!... Only you!"

"That's my girl," he whispered, his eyes burning with a terrifying absolute love. "That's my beautiful perfect girl.”

He ignored the way your hands clutched at his shoulders trying to push and pull at him simultaneously as the overstimulation turned your nerves into live wires, he didn't care that you were already wrecked, he was a starving man who had finally found a feast and he was going to devour every last second of it.

"I can't stop," he gasped out, his voice a ruined jagged wreck as he looked up at you from between your legs. "I'm sorry... I'm so fuckin sorry baby but if I let go of you right now I think I'll actually die... I've been so cold for so long and you're so warm."

He dived back in but this time he wasn't just worshipping you, he was aggressive, he pushed his tongue deep inside you mirroring the way he wanted to fuck you, his face buried in your wetness.

He was tasting the very depths of you, his nose pushing against your clit while his tongue worked in a rhythmic punishing slide.

You let out a broken high pitched scream, your head tossing violently against the pillows. "Will! It's... it's too much!... Ahh-ha!~... please... I’m so sensitive... I can't... I can't breathe!"

"Don't breathe then," he growled, the words vibrating against your inner folds. "Just feel me... feel how much I need to be here, tell me you can feel how much I’ve been dying for this... Answer me! Tell me you feel me! Tell me you like that!"

"I feel you!... God!... I feel everything!" You wailed, your fingers tangling in his damp curls and pulling him even harder against you. "You're everywhere... nghh~... you're ruining me Wilbur!"

"Good," he hissed as his fingers pushed deeper inside you again. "I wanna ruin you... I wanna see you all broken for me baby."

He was searching for something inside your walls and he found it, a specific sensitive ridge deep within you that made your entire body go rigid the moment his knuckle grazed it, his eyes widened reflecting the blue flicker of a monitor as he felt your internal muscles clamp around him in a desperate spasm.

"There," he whispered, a dark triumphant light in his gaze. "You like it when I touch you here baby yeah? Tell me your mine come on."

"Yours!" You shrieked, the word tearing out of your throat as a raw jagged sound that didn't even feel like your own, your hands flew to his wrists not to pull him away but to anchor him there, your nails biting into his skin as you fought to stay grounded. "I’m yours... ah!~... Wilbur... please!... I’ve always been yours!... I’m the only one who stayed... I’m the only one who wants the mess!... Just... nghh-ha!~... don’t stop!... Ruin me... just don't let me go!”

He didn't just touch your g spot he abused it, he began to hook his fingers against it with a frantic rhythmic intensity, his movements uncoordinated but perfectly aimed, he was hitting that sensitive nerve over and over and over, his tongue following the same pace driving you toward a cliff you weren't ready to fall off of.

"Wilbur!... No!... Ah-ah-haa!... Stop... please!" You sobbed, your back arching so high only your heels and head were touching the mattress, the pleasure was so sharp it felt like a knife cutting through the overstimulation and making your vision go white.

"Shhh… I know you love it!" He roared, his voice cracking with his own desperation. "I wanna hear you shatter! I wanna hear the exact moment you realize you can never, ever leave this room! Tell me who owns you! Tell me whose fingers are ruining you right now!"

"You!... You do!.... Ahh-hah!~... Wilbur... please!... Only you... haahh!~... I'm cumming!... I'm... Ah!~... fuck!"

The climax hit you like a physical blow, your body arched against him, your internal walls pulsing and tight around his fingers, your voice losing all form as you screamed into the quiet of the apartment.

It was too much, too loud, too bright, too intense, too good, too warm, you felt like you were dissolving into the very static he loved so much.

Wilbur didn't stop even as you came again, he kept his fingers hooked against that spot, kept his tongue flickering and sucking on your clit forcing the waves to continue long after they should have subsided.

He was trembling, his own body close to its breaking point, his eyes streaming with tears of sheer pathetic relief.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over and over though his movements didn't slow, he pulled your hips even closer dragging your lower body toward the edge of the bed so he could get even deeper. "I'm sorry I'm so greedy... I'm sorry I'm so broken for you but you're so beautiful when you scream like that... you sound like the only truth I've ever known."

"Will... please... I'm so... I'm so tired," you panted, your voice a tiny wrecked thing.

"I know love, I know," he murmured, finally pulling his hand out only to immediately crawl up your body pinning you beneath his damp pale chest.

He was shaking, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your own, he tucked his face into your neck, his breath coming in jagged wet hitches. "I'm so sorry... please don't hate me... please tell me you're still here! Answer me! Just say my name once please."

"Wilbur," you breathed, your arms flopping uselessly around his neck, your fingers barely able to twitch. "I'm here... I'm... not... I'm not going anywhere... you're... you're a menace."

He let out a jagged broken laugh, he was looking at you with a look of such absolute terrifying devotion that it made your breath catch.

"I love you," he whispered, his thumb dragging across your swollen bottom lip. "I love you so much I'm gonna make you stay in this bed until the sun goes down and comes up again and then... I'm gonna do it all over again."

He moved back to your mouth, his kisses turning hard and demanding again, they weren't the poetic soft brushes of a best friend, they were desperate and possessive, he tasted of coffee and the sharp metallic tang of his own desperation.

"Will," you breathed into his mouth, your voice a tiny wrecked rasp. "You’re... you’re gonna kill me... I can’t... my legs are like lead."

"Then let them be lead," he muttered against your lips, his voice a low vibrating growl as he didn't stop kissing you, his tongue tracing the line of your teeth before diving back in. "Let me carry the weight, I’ve been carrying this weight of wanting you for years, I can handle a few more hours of you being weak for me... just stay... just keep making those noises."

"I'm staying," you panted, your fingers weakly clutching at the damp curls at the nape of his neck even though your muscles were trembling from the overstimulation.

The sight of him, this raw unpolished needy version of Wilbur made a fresh wave of heat bloom in your chest. "I wanna please you Will... I wanna see you finally... haa~…finally let go."

Wilbur pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark, his pupils so wide they looked like bottomless voids, he looked wrecked, a beautiful disaster of a man.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his thumb dragging across your bruised bottom lip. "You have no idea how much I’ve needed to hear you say that... to know that you’re not just enduring me... but that you want the mess I am."

You looked up at him, a tired but devious smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as you reached down, your hand sliding under the waistband of his gray sweatpants feeling the hot hard reality of him.

"I want all of it Wilbur, the mess, the static, the love... and I want you to stop talking and finally show me what happens when the signal breaks."

Wilbur let out a sharp choked off sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, that was it, that was the final wire snapping, the last shred of his restraint disintegrated.

"God... you're crazy," he growled, his voice dropping into a filthy dark register. "You're calling me a menace when you're that desperate for me baby? Let's see who's more crazy."

He didn't waste another second, still hovering over you he used one hand to frantically shove his sweatpants down his hips, he was clumsy in his haste, his breathing turning into a series of jagged shallow hitches.

You let out a soft genuine laugh, a sound of pure affection and heat and reached down with your legs using your heels to help hook the fabric and push the pants all the way down until they were kicked onto the floor.

He was bare now, his long pale body completely exposed to the blue flicker of the monitors as he looked down at you, his face flushed, his chest heaving.

"I'm sorry I'm so fast," he rasped, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. "I'm sorry I'm such a fuckin wreck for you."

"Don't apologize," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Just come here."

He descended on you again, his mouth crashing onto yours with a renewed intensity. "I’m gonna make sure you never forget the way this feels," he whispered into the kiss, his words a blurred frantic stream of confessions. "I’m never letting the airport have you back... you’re mine do you hear me? You’re the only thing that’s real."

You didn't answer with words, you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him firmly into the cradle of your hips, the feeling of his bare skin against yours, the friction, the heat and the sheer nearness of him made your head spin.

Wilbur stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he felt the invitation, he pulled back, his hands sliding under your lower back to hoist your hips up tilting you perfectly for him.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice shaking with the effort of holding back. "Look at me love, I wanna see your eyes when I do this... I wanna see the exact moment you realize you’re never leaving this bed."

You did as he said, your eyes locking onto his as you saw the terror, the love and the absolute terrifying devotion in his gaze, you saw the man who had built a world of signals just to find you, you saw the man who was finally, finally home.

He pushed forward entering you in one slow agonizingly deep stroke and the feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced, it wasn't just physical, it was an emotional tidal wave, it felt like the static in the room suddenly went silent replaced by a single perfect note.

Wilbur let out a long broken groan, his forehead dropping against yours as he buried himself to the hilt. "Fuck," he choked out, his eyes welling with fresh tears. "You’re so... you’re so tight... you’re so warm... it’s like... it’s like the world finally makes sense."

"Will," you sobbed, your hands digging into his back, your nails marking his skin. "It feels... it feels s-so good."

He didn't move for a long moment, he just stayed there anchored inside you, both of you shaking with the sheer weight of the connection.

The static was over, the yearning was satisfied and the signal was clear.

"I've got you," he whispered into the quiet of the room, his voice finally steady. "I've got you baby... and I’m never letting go.”

Wilbur didn’t just move, he surged, it was a frantic uncoordinated friction at first, the kind born of a man who had spent years living on memories, he was shaking, his long arms trembling as he held his weight over you, his eyes never leaving yours, wide, watery and terrified of the very pleasure he was experiencing.

For you it felt like a low voltage current suddenly spiking, a heavy sliding friction that made your internal muscles clench in a desperate attempt to hold onto the sudden fullness of him.

Every time his hips hit yours the air was knocked out of your lungs replaced by the scent of his damp skin and the overwhelming heat of a body that had been a ghost for years finally becoming solid, heavy and undeniable inside you.

"Is it... is it okay?" He rasped, his voice cracking on the last word as he thrust again, a deep heavy slide that made your breath hitch in a jagged sob. "Do you like the way I feel inside you? Tell me... tell me it's better than you ever imagined, tell me you can feel every inch of me."

"It's... Hhah!~... it's so good Will," you panted, your head tossing against the pillow, your fingers digging into the corded muscle of his shoulders. "You're so deep... god~... it's... it's too much... I love it... I love you."

The confession seemed to break something final in his chest, he let out a sound that was half sob half growl and descended on your mouth again.

This wasn't a loving kiss, it was an act of consumption, he tasted of salt and the sharp metallic tang of his own desperation, his tongue swept through your mouth with a possessive rhythm that mirrored the frantic pace of his hips.

He couldn't stop kissing you, he moved from your lips to your jaw to the pulse point in your neck that was already purple with his marks then back to your mouth as if he were trying to breathe your very soul into his lungs.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his words a blurred hot stream of worship. "My beautiful... beautiful signal, I’m never letting the noise back in... I’m gonna fill your head with so much of me that there’s no room for anything else."

He shifted his angle, his hips grinding into yours with a blunt agonizingly perfect pressure that hit that sensitive ridge he had discovered earlier. "Do you like when I hit you there? Tell me love, tell me what you need."

You let out a high broken moan, your legs locking even tighter around his waist pulling him in until there wasn't a single molecule of air left between your bodies. "Yes!... Ahh!~... Right there!... Will!~... Hnghh~... please... don't stop!"

"I'm never stopping," he promised, his voice a filthy low frequency vibration that traveled straight to your core.

He began to move with a renewed terrifying intensity, his thrusts becoming faster, more rhythmic and more certain. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making up for every second you weren't in this bed, I’m gonna fuck the airport right out of your memory... I’m gonna make you forget there was ever a world outside this flat... it’s just us... it’s just this frequency."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face flushed and sweat dripping from his temple onto your chest, he looked like a man possessed, his pupils blown out until his eyes were just bottomless black voids of need.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his hand coming up to grip your jaw forcing you to keep eye contact through the haze of overstimulation. "Tell me you're never leaving me again... tell me who owns this... who owns every noise you make... my perfect beautiful girl."

"You do!... Ahhh!~... You!... Wilbur!" You wailed, the pleasure building into a white hot coil in your gut. "I'm yours... I'm only yours!... Please... Will!... I'm close... I'm so close!"

"Good girl," he choked out, his own breathing turning into a series of jagged shallow hitches. "Stay with me... look at me don't close your eyes... I wanna see you break... I wanna feel the exact moment you cum all over my cock."

He increased the pace even more, his movements turning into a frantic blurred assault of heat and friction, he was hitting you so deep you felt him throbbing on your cervix, his long frame shaking with a violent rhythmic tremor.

He was crying, the tears falling onto your cheeks and mixing with your own but his body didn't slow down, he was a man reaching the end of a desert and the water was finally within reach.

"I love you," he sobbed into your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours one last time as the tension in his body reached a breaking point. "Look how you take all of me... I love you so much it’s disgusting... I’m gonna cum... Fuckfuckfuck... I’m gonna... Ahh!"

The climax hit like a physical blow, a violent jagged release that made both of your bodies go rigid at the exact same moment, you screamed his name, your voice losing all form as the world dissolved into pure unadulterated static.

Wilbur let out a primal guttural roar of victory burying his face in your shoulder as he came so deep inside you, his body racking with the force of his release.

He didn't pull away once the initial wave of the climax began to subside, he stayed anchored as deep as he could go, his chest heaving against yours as he tried to catch a breath that seemed permanently stolen.

He was still shaking, a violent rhythmic tremors that felt like the aftershocks of a massive earthquake.

He was sobbing, the tears hot and wet against the crook of your neck. "I’ve got you," he whispered, his voice a ruined gravelly thread that barely rose above the sound of his own thudding heart. "I’ve finally got you... tell me... tell me you’re still here... don't go quiet on me now love... please."

"I'm here Will," you panted, your voice a tiny wrecked thing, you were so overstimulated that even the air hitting your skin felt like a touch but you didn't pull back, you tightened your arms around his neck, your fingers stroking the damp tangled curls at the nape of his neck. "I’m... I'm not going anywhere... I’m right here."

He let out a jagged broken laugh and finally lifted his head looking down at you with a look of such absolute terrifying devotion that it made your heart give a heavy happy thud, his face was a mess of flush and tears, his lips swollen from the intensity of his kisses.

"You're so beautiful when you're wrecked for me," he murmured, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip tracing the bruise he had left there. "You look exactly like the version of you I used to dream about when the static got too loud, only better because you’re warm and you’re breathing... and you’re mine."

He leaned down catching your lips in another kiss, this one is slow, lingering and heavy with the taste of the salt and the intimacy you both just shared, it was a silent promise, a declaration that the broadcast wasn't over.

"I love you," he whispered against your mouth before pulling back just an inch, his eyes searching yours as if he still couldn't quite believe the signal hadn't cut to black. "I love you so much it hurts to breathe, stay in this bed with me? Just for a while? I need to make sure you're real for just a little bit longer."

"As long as you want Wilbur," you breathed, pulling him back down to the safety of your chest. "As long as you want."

The monitors in the room continued their low electric hum but for the first time in years the apartment was truly silent, the ghost was gone and in his place, was the man who had finally found his way home.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The quiet that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sex and the lingering scent of Wilbur’s obsession, he stayed draped over you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing finally slowing from a frantic gallop to a jagged exhausted rhythm.

Every few seconds, his fingers would twitch against your skin, a tiny involuntary reflex as if he were constantly checking to make sure the signal hadn't dropped out.

"I need to wash you baby," he murmured eventually, his voice a low gravelly vibration against your collarbone, he sounded more grounded than he had all night, the manic edge replaced by a bone deep protective tenderness. "I don't want you feeling uncomfortable, I wanna take care of you."

He moved with a slow careful ease this time, a stark contrast to the desperate fumbling from before, he slid out of bed and reached back down gathering you into his arms as if you were made of the finest most fragile glass.

Your legs felt like lead, heavy and trembling from the overstimulation, you willingly tucked your face into the crook of his neck as he carried you into the small humid bathroom.

The light in the bathroom was dim and filtered through the steam as he turned on the water, he didn't put you down immediately he just stood there in the center of the room holding you against his bare chest while the pipes groaned and the air grew thick with the scent of cedar soap.

When the water was warm enough he stepped under the spray with you still in his arms, the heat hitting your sensitized skin made you gasp, a soft sound that made Wilbur tighten his grip.

He finally set you down on your feet but his hands never left you, he kept one arm wrapped firmly around your waist anchoring you to his side while he reached for the soap.

His touches were agonizingly slow, he ran the soapy sponge over your shoulders, down your back and along the curve of your hips with a focus that was almost reverent.

He lingered on every bruise he had left and every dark rose colored mark on your thighs, his thumb tracing the edges of the discoloration with a quiet triumphant intensity.

He was learning you all over again, verifying that you were solid, that you were warm and that you wasn't going to dissolve under the water.

"You're so real," he whispered, his eyes dark as he watched the water run over your skin, he moved the sponge between your legs, his touch gentle but lingering cleaning you with a thoroughness that made your breath hitch. "I can still feel you shaking... I can still taste you."

You looked up at him, your vision slightly blurred by the steam and the stray droplets of water clinging to your lashes, Wilbur looked incredible, his hair plastered to his forehead in dark heavy curls, his pale skin glistening, his chest still heaving slightly.

The sight of him so raw and focused entirely on you, made a fresh insistent throb start up deep in your belly.

You reached out, your hand sliding up his wet chest to rest over his heart, it was still hammering, a fast frantic rhythm that matched your own.

"Will," you breathed, leaning in until your lips were brushing against his. "I don't think I'm done with you yet.”

Your fingers trailed downward moving past his navel to where he was already growing hard again, the physical proof of his never ending hunger for you, your palm sliding down the length of him in a firm hungry motion that made his entire body go rigid feeling the hot rigid reality of his need.

He let out a sharp jagged intake of air, his hand pausing on your hip as his fingers dug into your skin. "Love..." He choked out, his head falling back against the shower tile. "you're exhausted... you can barely stand…”

You were exhausted, yeah, but there was a secondary surge of adrenaline now, a greedy need to feel the way his composure shattered under your touch again.

You increased the pace, your thumb tracing the crown of his length before your hand swept back down jerking him with a rhythmic demanding intensity that mirrored the way he had just worshipped you.

"Then hold me up," you challenged, a small devious smile pulling at your mouth. "I wanna feel you so deep inside me while the water is hitting us... I wanna make sure you're no longer cold."

You didn't wait for his permission, you leaned up and caught his bottom lip between your teeth kissing him with a sudden renewed hunger that tasted of soap and cedar, your other hand slid around his neck pulling his head down, your tongue searching for his in a frantic wet glide.

Wilbur let out a low guttural growl deep in his throat, a sound of pure unadulterated surrender as he didn't break the kiss, he couldn't, he was a man possessed once more.

Without a word he hooked his large hands under your thighs and hoisted you up, your legs instinctively locking around his waist as he took two long strides and slammed you back against the cold wet tile of the shower wall, his body pinning you there with a heavy territorial force.

The impact of the cold tile against your back was a shock but it was instantly eclipsed by the searing heat of Wilbur’s body crushing yours.

You didn't just kiss him back you fought for him, your mouth moving against his with a desperate slick hunger, your hands tangled in his wet hair pulling him closer as if you could somehow merge your skin with his.

Between gasps for air you pressed your forehead to his whispering against his lips. "I love you... god... Wilbur I love you so much... don't stop... never stop."

Wilbur's breathing was a series of jagged wrecked hitches, his hands gripping your thighs with a bruising strength tilting your hips upward as he positioned himself at your entrance, he was trembling not just from the cold water but from the sheer terrifying weight of his devotion to you.

"I love you more baby... I've got you," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass. "I'm not letting go... not again."

He pushed forward entering you in one slow agonizingly deep slide, the feeling of him filling you while the hot water cascaded over your shoulders was a sensory overload that made your head snap back against the tiles, you let out a long broken moan that echoed off the bathroom walls, your internal muscles clamping around him in a frantic welcome.

Wilbur froze for a second, his eyes squeezing shut as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours.

"Is it... is it good?" He choked out, the question sounding like a plea for salvation. "Tell me it’s good... please... tell me you can feel how much I need to be here."

"It's… it's perfect Will," you sobbed, your voice a tiny wrecked thread of sound as you tightened your legs around his waist urging him closer. "You're so deep... you feel amazing... ahhh!~... you're s-so good to me honey... you're... mmm~... exactly what I need."

The praise seemed to fuel him, grounding him in the reality of your shared heat as he began to move, a slow deliberate rhythm that felt like he was trying to map the very limits of your body.

Each thrust was deep and heavy, a slow motion wrecking your senses and made the steam in the room feel like it was glowing, he moved his hands from your thighs to your waist holding you steady against the wall as he drove into you, his movements possessive and certain.

He kept the pace agonizingly slow, relishing the way your breath hitched with every deep sliding contact, he was looking at you with a gaze so raw and unpolished that it felt more intimate than the physical act itself, he was no longer a ghost haunting a bridge, he was a man -solid and real- carving his name into the very center of your world.

"I’m never gonna be cold again," he whispered, his voice a low frequency vibration that hummed through your entire body. "As long as I’m inside you... the static is dead, it's just you, it's just the sound of your heart."

"Then let the static stay dead," you gasped, your voice breaking as you arched your back against the tile, the water slicking the space between your bodies as you pulled him back to your neck. "I’m here... I’m right here Will... I’m... fuck!~... I'm the only frequency you ever need... I’m never... leaving you in the cold again... ah!~... stay right there... keep doing that."

The sound of your voice seemed to anchor him but it also stoked the embers of his desperation, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his face a beautiful wrecked mask of desire and devotion, the steam curling around his damp hair like a shroud he was finally stepping out of.

He crashed his lips back onto yours, a deep bruising kiss that tasted of his soap and the salt of his earlier tears, it was a frantic wet glide of tongues that mirrored the slow heavy friction of his hips.

"Tell me," he demanded against your mouth, his voice dropping into a filthy possessive growl as he ground himself against you. "Tell me you're mine... I need to hear it again... tell me whose body is this."

"Yours," you wailed, the sound echoing off the tiles as your fingers dug into his wet shoulders. "I’m yours Wilbur!... Only yours!... Ahh!~... it feels so good... you’re so big... mmh!~... please... more... I love you!"

"Good girl," he choked out, his eyes darkening until they were just voids of need. "I wanna hear you louder... I want the neighbors to know you're mine... I wanna hear the exact sound of your voice breaking because of me, it’s the only thing that makes this real baby."

He shifted his weight, his large hand sliding down from your waist moving through the cascading water until his thumb found your clit, he didn't just touch it he rubbed hard, a frantic rhythmic pressure that collided with the slow agonizing depth of his thrusts.

The contrast was devastating, the slow thick slide of him entering you to the hilt making you feel every vein and every ridge of his skin combined with the sharp electric friction of his thumb sent a jolt of pure fire through your nervous system.

"Wilbur!... Ahh-hah!~... No!... Will!" You screamed, your head slamming back against the wall as your vision fractured into white light, your internal muscles clamped around him in a series of violent desperate spasms trying to pull him even deeper, trying to swallow the sensation whole.

He crashed his mouth back onto yours swallowing the high broken shriek that tore from your throat, it was a chaotic punishing kiss, you were torn between wanting to scream and wanting to pull his tongue deeper into your mouth, your teeth clashing as you fought for air and for him.

Wilbur pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dilated until they were bottomless black pits reflecting the sheer mania of his love.

"That's it," he rasped, his own breath coming in ragged shallow hitches as he watched you shatter. "Scream for me... let it out, I’ve spent years in silence... I’m never gonna get tired of the sound of you, you’re so fuckin perfect... you’re so tight... god look at what you’re doing to me.”

"Will... Ahh!~.. Will... I'm so close," you sobbed, your voice a wrecked airy whisper, your internal muscles were already starting to pulse clamping around him with a rhythmic desperate force that made his jaw lock. "I'm... I'm gonna... hh-ha!~... Wilbur!"

"I know... I know baby," he rasped, his voice a low vibrating growl that hummed through your shared connection. "I’m close too... I’m right there with you."

He didn't wait, he abandoned the slow agonizing pace and began to thrust hard, his hips slamming against yours with a bruising territorial finality, the sound of skin hitting skin was lost in the roar of the shower but the feeling was everything.

He caught your lips again, his kiss turning deep and demanding muffling the loud vibrating moans that were bubbling up from your chest.

When the climax finally hit it was like a fuse blowing, you let out a muffled frantic scream directly into his mouth, your body racking with violent rhythmic tremors as you shattered against him, you were tightening on him so hard it was almost painful, your walls pulsing around him in a frantic attempt to keep every bit of him anchored inside you.

Wilbur let out a sharp choked off sound against your lips, a mixture of your name and a broken prayer, he didn't slow down he thrusted harder and faster, his movements becoming a blurred assault of heat and friction as he chased you into the white light.

He buried himself to the absolute hilt, his body going rigid as he came deep inside you for the second time, his release hitting your cervix with a force that made your toes curl.

He let out a long guttural roar that was swallowed by the kiss, his fingers digging into your hips so hard they were going to leave white marks in the red bruised skin, he kept his mouth locked onto yours sharing the taste of your shared salt and the hot humid air of the room until his knees finally started to give way under the weight of his own relief.

He didn't let go, he just sagged against you pinning you to the tile with his heavy trembling frame, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck as the water continued to rain down on both of you finally washing away the last of the cold, the last of the static and the last of the distance.

"I feel so warm," he whispered into your skin, his voice thick with a relief that bordered on heartbreak, he tilted his head to look at you, his eyes glassy and soft. "You’re so perfect, I forgot what it was like to feel something this... this solid... this good."

You reached up, your fingers trembling as you cupped his wet face thumbing away a stray droplet from his cheek, you leaned in pressing a soft tired kiss to his salt stung lips. "I’ll make sure you never feel cold again Will," you breathed against his mouth. "The static is gone... I’m staying right here."

He let out a long shaky exhale resting his forehead against yours for one more quiet moment before he finally pulled out of you, the loss of his heat made you shiver but he immediately gathered you back into the spray.

He was incredibly gentle now using his large hands to wash away the evidence of your shared franticness, his touch lingering on every inch of your skin as if he were still memorizing the texture of you.

"Ready to sleep now love?" He murmured, his voice a low gravelly hum.

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyelids already feeling heavy as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. "God yeah."

He shut off the water, the sudden silence of the bathroom feeling heavy and intimate as he dried you off with a thick white towel treating you with a terrifyingly sweet reverence.

He walked you back to his room and sat you at the edge of the bed before wrapping you in his favorite clean black shirt he had pulled from the dresser, while you pulled the fabric over your head he stepped into a pair of sweatpants, his long skinny frame looking soft and domestic in the dim light.

He slid in behind you on the bed and you giggled tiredly as he hooked his arm around your waist hoisting you back until you were flush against his chest settling both of you into the messy sun warmed sheets.

"You're a menace Wilbur," you murmured, tilting your head up to look at him, you leaned to press a final sleepy kiss to his jaw. "I hope you know you’re the most obsessive dramatic man I’ve ever met."

Wilbur let out a crooked tired smirk, his fingers already tangling in your damp hair stroking the strands away from your face with a steady rhythmic motion.

"I know," he whispered. "But you're the only one who didn't run away so I think that makes you just as bad."

He pulled the duvet up to your chin, the weight of it settling over you like a promise. "Do you think you'll still be here when the sun goes down?" He started to ask, his voice dropping into a vulnerable quiet register. "Do you think you could-"

But he stopped, your head tucked perfectly into the hollow of his neck, your hand resting limply over his heart, your breathing leveling out into the deep steady rhythm of sleep.

A soft jagged laugh escaped his lips, he buried his face in your damp hair inhaling the scent of his soap on your skin.

"Sleep baby," he whispered into the quiet room as he tightened his grip just a fraction feeling the solid rhythmic thud of your heart against his own. "You’re finally real... you’re actually finally real.”