#lotsa_words

george catches wilbur who is very beaten up. he keeps wil "captive", but is oddly gentle with him.

gogs dresses up wil's wounds, and finds dozens of scars scattered across his body. scars that weren't from his doing. he wonders who could hurt a hero in worst ways the one could. how evil and villanous must you be to hurt wilbur that badly?

due to reasons that george refuses to say, he ends up sitting in the "prison"'s infirmary to watch over wilbur. the only noises that could be heard was the beeping of the heart monitor, the occasional page turning, and their breaths subconsciously synching with each other.

wilbur scoffs at the screen before him, propping his chin on hand as he clicks exit out of the offending post.

"wilbur simping for georgenotfound; a thread // safe :D"

there was little to no noise in his office, apart from the humming of his computer. he eyes the corner at the other end of the room where george sat once, looking all cozy and content, holding the mic with two hands.

he thinks about how he should tell george to visit again.

he brushes off the idea, his mind immediately wandering back to the post and—

okay,

alright,

wilbur did not simp for georgenotfound.

well, at least not that often.

"not often enough that it warrants a thread", he thinks.

"what?"

oh shit.

he had forgotten that george was sitting in a call with him, bothering him with the flimsy excuse that all his other friends were too busy for him.

"nothing! i just— saw something and forgot that i was in a call with you."

"oh? send it to me, i wanna see.", george replies, clearly bored out of his mind.

wilbur brings the theater kid out of himself once more, sighing dramatically

"oh no, i already exited it! i— i can't find it anymore."

despite them both not having their cameras on, he could already tell that the small moment of silence was spent with george rolling his eyes, too exasperated to answer.

if you were to ask wilbur what he thought of george, you would get a 3 page, 5k word essay filled with nothing but words from a man in love.

he would rant about the burnt caramel colour of george's hair— how no matter what, it would smell like coconut and some boyish cologne that he cannot seem to recognize. if they were out, the faint smell of london would stick; and despite wilbur's distaste for the city, he finds himself falling in love with it too, anyway. 

wilbur would also mention how george's hair was always fluffy; he would talk about how he liked george's hair when it was long since he could run his fingers through them, but he would immediately backtrack by saying that he'd still be in love with george even if the man was bald. 

he would also talk about the man's eyes. god would he talk about george's eyes.

wilbur is so in love with george's eyes (as if he wasn't already extremely in love with everything else). george's comments about his eyes being boring would not deter wilbur from raving on and on about them.

"your eyes remind me of black coffee, george", wilbur offers once, grinning at his boyfriend.

george only rolls his eyes, half-heartedly punching wilbur's arm.

"i hate black coffee"

"but i love them. i adore them, even."

the shorter of the two scoffs fondly. he mutters a small "oh my god", just as wilbur jokingly asks if george had the time to "talk about his lord and saviour, georgenotfound".

another thing about george that could make wilbur "pop off" on a rant was his laughter; something about george accidentally having god-knows-how-many types of laugh makes wilbur's heart flutter in ways that a butterfly would be jealous of. 

from george letting small laughter be a sort of nervous reaction— the man filling awkward silences with a nervous chuckle before trying to move the conversation,

to george straight up sounding like he had a demon ready to jump out of his throat just because one of the feral boys made him laugh a little too hard; 

george never thought he'd one day walk around a forest, all bloody and dazed. in all honesty, he's confused in his current situation— all he knows is that one moment he's slaughtering dream and technoblade, next he's on his knees, crying in front of the mangled corpses of a pig and a sheep.

and even after that, he focuses on now. the bed he woke up next to was (is still) tempting, but by this point he knew that XD was just toying with him, so he walks

and walks,

and walks,

and walks.

despite the blood on him not being his, he thinks that his feet might as well be mangled. yet he continues dragging himself, until he faintly hears music that reminded him of times he should've forgotten long ago.

"i'd say you look tired, sing my secret choir."

like a sailor being lured by a siren, george follows. he keeps following blindly until he stumbles upon an open field in the middle of the forest. a pond so small that it could be considered as nothing but a big puddle shines brightly with the moonlight; on the other side, wilbur continues singing. 

george faintly sees the smug smile on his downturned face.

"wilbur", he calls out after a minute of dumbfounded staring. the man stops singing, but continues with his guitar.

"george, how lovely to see you. what are you doing here?", the man calls out, sarcasm dripping like sap from each syllable. 

when george doesn't move, wilbur stops his guitar playing with a raised brow. unmatching blue-brown eyes meet red tinted brown ones.

"well? are you just gonna stand there?"

george rolls his eyes, making his way around the pond. when he's a foot away from wilbur, the man kicks his foot in an attempt to trip him; george responds by stepping on the offensive limb.

he's reminded why he broke up with the man long ago.

"fuck me", wilbur whines, shifting his guitar to pull his foot up. 

"i used to. you were bad.", george absentmindedly responds, sitting a good (embarrassingly short) distance away from the ex-president.

"like you wouldn't scream my name out everytime i- FUCK", wilbur's remark was stopped, george kicking his right thigh.

"you never learned to shut up, did you?", george starts, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. he rests his head on his arms; "fools who run their mouths off wind up dead."

his ex lover only scoffs, shifting once more to hold his guitar properly. george ignores the way wilbur tilts his body to face him.

"any request, gogy?"

"yeah. can you… shut up?"

george would've kept a monotone face, but wilbur pouts at him and it's like his cheeks were being pulled upwards automatically.

silence settles again, and george feels himself lie down on the damp grass before he could really think about it. their eyes both widen in surprise by the mushrooms and flowers that grow around him, but neither say a word. a hand slowly lands on his hair, and they keep silent even when george lets out a sigh of relief.

"play… play the song. the one you used to always play.", george mutters, a shyness that he swore died off long ago coating his voice. he doesn't have to look at the other man to know that he nervously gulped and nodded — the way his hand twitched was enough of a sign.

george keeps his eyes closed, trying to ignore the vulnerability he's showing off to a man that blew up a nation with his family and friends in it. he hears the satisfying noise guitar strings make when you drag along them, and listens to the quiet throat clearing wilbur does.

"by your hand is the only end i foresee", wilbur mutters out. he pauses, clears his throats, and george feels that he should adjust himself as well.

"i have been dreaming you've been dreaming about me", is sang out softly. neither of them acknowledge the slowly dissipating between them.

wilbur continues singing, and the only acknowledgement he gives to george lightly singing along is a small glance. it's a bitter reminder of how wilbur used to grin and nudge at george whenever he used to sing along.

george doesn't know if he's just that lost in thought, but he just notices the fireflies flying around them. he doesn't know either if it was XD messing with him, or if it was just a funny little coincidence that he would have blushed at over 20 years ago — back when he was just a foolish 20-something-year-old. 

"cause we were kissing for hours, with your hands in my trousers", wilbur sings loudly, nudging at george. george pinches the man's thigh.

neither of them acknowledge the hand that stays on the other's thigh. they both ignore the flower growing beside wilbur; pink and filled with determination. and neither of them comment on their cheeks slowly matching the stupid flower.

george didn't expect to be blushing like a silly teenager when he woke up in front of carcasses tonight.

"i'm not sure if it's love anymore", comes and silence follows for a bit. wilbur glances at him, but when george opens his mouth to talk, he continues singing. 

"but i've been thinking of you fondly for sure. remember what your heart is for", if they were stupid and 22, then george would've kissed wilbur's cheek fondly by this point.

the song continues along smoothly, except for when wilbur hummed the lyrics about being in limbo rather than singing it out loud. george would've made fun of him for it, but the pained and bitter look on the man's face was enough to shut him up.

"you still sing… good.", george utters out awkwardly. heat crawls from his chest up to his cheeks, and he thinks he might catch on fire when wilbur starts chuckling.

"ever the man of words, george lore", wilbur muses. 

he doesn't respond, and silence once again settles between them. had they been 20, they would've been scrambling to get rid of the silence. but they've learned a lot in the course of their 3 year relationship; they've learned to eventually just appreciate the quiet between them.

wilbur clears his throat while setting his guitar down, and the moment breaks. he shifts to look at the man better, but is stopped by the hand landing on his head; george ends up resting his head on the man's lap, ignoring the lingering scent of smoke and rot.

"why do you have so much blood on you… doesn't seem much like your style."

george blinks, processing the question.

"ah, well… i just killed dream and technoblade… in a dream", he starts. wilbur's eyebrows furrow, so he elaborates. "and when i woke up, there were these… quite literally bloody carcasses in front of me."

judging by the silence, he guesses that wilbur was still confused. george sighs, and the hand from his head shifts and moves down to his chest — hesitantly, he reaches out for the hand. 

"... XD has been messing with me. i promised to be his friend forever and… i don't know, i guess he has different ideals of what being a friend means."

(chapter 6 scrap)

After hours of Wilbur definitely not taunting Dream, he finally exits the flat with George offering to get lunch with him before he goes back to Brighton.

Quackity makes an off-handed comment about them being "lovey-dovey" that makes Dream scowl, George groan, and Wilbur grin. He places an arm around George's shoulder and excuses themselves out of the house.

Once they were a good 3 minutes away from the flat, George sighs and shifts away from Wilbur's hold. 

"You saw that right? Dream was jealous!" 

Wilbur glances at the man beside him who seems to be deep in thought. He lets out a non-committal hum, and George continues, 

"Why isn't he making a move still?! What am I doing wrong, Wil?"

They stop in front of a Nando's, and Wilbur sighs, holding the door open. 

"I mean… in his eyes, you two are dating different people."

George rolls his eyes and enters the venue, leaving Wilbur waiting as he keeps holding the door open for this old lady that prompted him to do so.

Once he lets go, he finally sits down at the spot George chose. The shorter of the two continues his rant.

"Yeah, but he's competitive enough that he's not gonna let this slide. Even you know that."

Wilbur ignores George to order their food. Once finished, he turns his attention back to the shorter and sighs, 

"You're like a needy girlfriend, George."

George furrows his eyebrows, opening his mouth to deny it. He closes it again, realizing that anything he says would make him look guilty of the accusation, and glares. 

"Whatever."

A few blocks away from the Nando's, a blond is pacing back and forth in the living room of his shared apartment. His black-haired friend watches him in simultaneous amusement and exasperation.

"How long have they known each other? And "Gogy"? Really? That's such a shitty nickname! Well… it's cute but GOD, it's so unoriginal!"

Quackity rolls his eyes, secretly recording Dream for blackmail material.

"Dude, I mean George told you why he didn't tell us. I think you're kinda proving his point right now."

Dream glares, but Quackity continues;

"Also Gogy's really fucking good, I like that."

If the "glaring daggers" saying was literal, Quackity would've been dead by now.

"... George deserves so much better than some… British fuck boy."

"And what? You'd be better than Wilbur? Dude, the only difference you two have is that you're American… and maybe the height."

Quackity chortles; Dream hits his face with a pillow. 

"No… kinda. I don't know. I don't even like George that way. I think. Look— the difference is, I've known George for what, four? Five years now?"

The shorter of the two sighs, and Dream could tell that Quackity wanted to be serious this time.

"So what? You said it yourself, you don't like George that way, so why does it matter to you so much? Even if you did feel that way for him—"

"Which I don't."

"... Right. Even if you did, you've been dating different girls and shit. Let George have his thing."

A tense silence fills the room, and Quackity starts to stand up, fixing himself in front of the living room mirror.

"I know that you're worried about George, but all I'm saying is that you absolutely have no fuckin' say on who George dates and whatnot. I mean, he doesn't do this shit whenever you start dating your new girl of the month."

Quackity puts a hand on Dream's shoulder in an attempt to comfort the blond.

"We all love George. If Wilbur ever hurts him, we just deck him in the face, easy. But for now, just let him be all sappy with the dude and be happy for him. The same way he does with you. Get your shit together."

Dream nods wordlessly, and Quackity exits the apartment.

George doesn't even like me that way… do I like him that way? What about Jen?

He sighs, messing his hair up.

Fuck this.

Back to the Nando's, George is trying his best to not yell in the venue.

"Wilbur! At least take a proper picture of me, you prick."

The man being reprimanded laughs, dodging George's attempts at grabbing his phone.

"No! You look cute in this."

Wilbur posts the picture on his story; another "cute date" post that pisses him off to no end.

George reluctantly takes a picture of the man still grinning smugly at him. Truly, damn Wilbur and his ability to be so photogenic. 

Before George could even lock his phone, a reply to his story pops up.

Dream

Hope u two have fun. Get home safe :) 

George

thanks <3

want me to get some takeout for you? 

Dream

Just get me a pumpkin spice latte pls

George

basic bitch

Dream

🥺🥺🥺

George sighs, locking his phone. He reminds himself to buy the latte and a croissant for the man, as he enjoys his meal with Wilbur.

A bit over an hour later, they step out of the facility and walk silently to the train station. Wilbur blurts out useless fun facts, and George points at random animals he sees.

It feels odd to find that you have a pretty good dynamic with someone you're not supposed to like.

phil za likes to think that he's a patient man.

being a highschool teacher, you were pretty much forced to be patient. it's honestly surprising that he hasn't snapped at his students yet, with all the bullshit he has to tolerate.

from a freshman (tommy) insisting on calling him mr. pizza or Big P,

to a sophomore (sapnap) trying to burn his fucking classrom down,

a junior (dream) fucking around with the school's electricity to cancel classes for the day,

and now, the seniors are not letting him start his class because a student is flirting with the honours student.

and the honours student is flirting back.

the fact that his own son was the one flirting with the honours student did not make things any better.

he really just wanted to start his class. really. it was the last period, and he was tired and just wanted to go home.

but now, he's forced to dead-stare at the back of wilbur's head, who was currently serenading george.

wilbur was singing some indie love song that if you dissect enough, you'd figure that it's a lot sadder than the melody lets you feel. he was sending soft looks to george, occasionally looking down to his guitar either to check his fingers or out of shyness. he sat on top george's desk, leaving almost zero space between them with one leg under himself and the other dangling down.

george looks a bit shy, with the tips of his ears going red. despite this, he still hasn't broken his stare from wilbur's face. his finger was tracing tiny hearts and infinity signs on wilbur's knee.

phil understands it, he really does. he used to pull that shit off with kristin, and wilbur did pick up his flirting methods from someone.