teasing (schlattbur)

4

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Breakfast is peaceful between the two, Wilbur humming along to a song Schlatt doesn't know as he cooks eggs on the stove. The musician insisted that he'd make breakfast for their first day together, suggesting that they could head out for lunch later that day. It's Schlatt's turn to check his twitter, and his notifications have been completely broken by the excited fans over their meetup. Even his own friends have been repeatedly spamming him over discord, interested to know every little detail since they weren't in on this meetup.

He tells everyone that he'll fill in the details later, maybe a livestream if they were comfortable enough to do so.

"Checking twitter?" Wilbur questions, as he pulls out sasguages from the fridge.

"Yeah, they're practically on their knees begging for some sort of update." Schlatt replies. "Kinda funny really, watching all these Wilbur and Schlatt themed twitter users interact with each other."

"Well, everyone loves a good crossover." He hums, placing the cooked eggs onto Schlatt's plate. He hasn't taken a bite yet, but it smells heavenly. "How would you like your beans?"

Schlatt looks as if he's lost his mind. "Beans? Wilbur, what sane human eats beans for breakfast?"

"Less than whatever bland American cereal you've gotten yourself hooked on, that's for sure."

"Hey, don't insult Oreos just because they've got a good cereal going for them too." Schlatt remarks. "No normal American is going to eat actual beans for breakfast!"

"Well, you aren't exactly in America anymore, are you?" Wilbur says. "Are you upset because you won't be able to eat your hamburgers and hot dogs and shoot guns while you're at it?"

"You literally just took the typical American Republician stereotype and applied it to me."

"Don't you act like the typical American Republician stereotype frequently?"

Schlatt grins. "Touche."

Wilbur doesn't take long to finish the rest of a good ol' British breakfast, plating the food and sliding it over to the American. Schlatt murmurs a thank you in reply, looking down at the amount of food he's been given. He decides to stick a fork into the sausage first, taking a cautious bite.

He hums in satisfaction. "This - this is actually good. It's better than whatever black market meat Ted used to make his sausages - have you seen the monstrosities he's created? I can never look at a cheesecake the same."

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad." The musician grabs a spoonful of beans, waving it in front of the businessman. "Here, try this."

Schlatt does what he's told, the hot spice of the bean filling his mouth. "Damn, Wil. For someone who lacks taste buds you can cook well."

"I mean, when I used to live with the other Soothouse members, we would have to rotate who cooks throughout the week -" He's cut off with a sudden, harsh pounding on his door. The two of them jump in shock, and Wilbur raises an eyebrow in the direction of the front door. "Who could be at my door this hour? David isn't visiting until tomorrow..."

Schlatt begins to dig into his breakfast as Wilbur answers the door, attempting to mind his own business. But he can't, really, when he can hear Wilbur and another voice conversate loudly.

"Aw, Wilbur..." The mysterious voice replies. "Is that really how you treat an old friend?"

"We aren't friends. We've never been friends." Wilbur remarks. "I'm busy at the moment, I'd suggest you take your leave."

"Come on! I didn't drive two hours for nothing. I even picked you up flowers - sunflowers, they're your favorite. Matches that iconic yellow sweater you always wear during your streams." The sound of plastic being grabbed was heard. "Damn, William, there's no need to be so aggressive."

"I have every right to hate you."

"And yet, you kept coming right back to me. But one day it stopped, and I'm curious to find out why. You were like my sweet, little puppy trailing behind me so obediently -"

"Don't touch me!" Wilbur shouts, and Schlatt jumps out of his seat the next second. He appears right behind Wilbur, sliding an arm around his waist and glaring at the man standing in front of him defiantly. The said guy is an inch shorter than he is, dressed in a black suit with his hair slicked back - the perfect image of an asshole.

The asshole looks at Schlatt for a moment, before flashing him a grin and holding out his hand. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Wilbur's friend." Schlatt doesn't go for the handshake. "Who the fuck are you?"

"The name's Jared. I'm a very close friend to Wilbur."

"I can see."

Wilbur sighs, tossing the flowers into the small container holding two umbrellas besides the door. "Can we just talk later? Please?"

"Alright, alright. You better call, I'm just saying. You know how I hate being left on read." Jared takes another look at Schlatt, cheshire grin on his face. "He's a great lay, isn't he?"

Wilbur slams the door in Jared's face.

Schlatt clears his throat. "So uh-"

"I'm sorry about that." Wilbur laughs nervously. "I never expected him to show up, out of all the days today. He's a complete wanker like that."

"No worries, Wil." He says, yet he's looking at him worriedly. "Is he - is he hurting you or anything?"

"I uh -" Wilbur crosses his arms. "I'm not comfortable talking about it right now."

"We don't have to right now if you don't want to." Schlatt states. "As long as you're safe, I'm okay. Now come on, weren't you busy feeding me breakfast?"

That seems to make the musician giggle, rolling his eyes. "Every day you become more like a child."