Seasons {Wilbur X female reader}

Gray skies

Wilbur pressed his back up against the stiff gamer chair as he debated joining the server immediately or waiting. The blue glow from his screen filtered around the room, plastering the walls with a sapphire aura. His cursor hovered above the join option on his screen and his fingers started to fall asleep from being in the same position for some time. He huffed in frustration and clicked open another tab. His fingers glided across the keyboard. He clicked your icon on discord and hit call. He stared around the room and up at the ceiling as he waited for you to answer. Your icon appeared on his screen and a green circle around it started to move as you spoke.

"Wilbur, I asked you to get on about ten minutes ago. What's the holdup?"

You asked, voice soft instead of demanding.

"I-" He emitted a light laugh.

"I'm not sure... my pc is broken."

He could almost hear you roll you eyes.

"Honestly, you think I'm going to fall for that again? Your pc is... really bad, but it can't be that... bad."

You pause,

"I'm not leaving this call until you join the server."

Wilbur rubs his eyes, doing the opposite effect of what he intended on; waking himself up. His cursor drifts lazily back to where it started. With the join button staring him in the face.

He can almost hear you groan at his delay.

The click echoes through the silent room, bouncing off the walls.

Spawning in a badlands biome he can hear you mutter,

"Took you long enough."

And a few moments later,

"I'll just teleport to you."

A jumble of colors on his screen signifies that you have indeed teleported to him.

"Whoah, I know this makes me sound like a newbie but I've never been in this biome before, it's epic."

"We're surrounded by clay. I hate it." He says, tone darkening.

You laugh.

He's heard it a million times but he would do anything to hear it again.

"I know you still have hard feelings over the whole Ghostbur got revived thing but I have a stream to start. You ready?"

"Oh yeah!" He says, mustering up enthusiasm. Only half of it is real.

"Face on steam?" He asks tentatively, already knowing the answer.

"Nope. You're the only face on my steam."

You had never shown your face, not even to Dream. You were just like him, a faceless streamer.

You had showed up on the smp only days after he had.

Your friendship coincidentally started out as a fight. Something about not sharing carrots. He can remember it well.

You had this weird thing with carrots, he didn't exactly know what it was but you loved them.

Even when he was in his broken Ghostbur days you were his friend, always there to comfort him. You had taken friend as you agreed to before he got revived. If I... if I ever get revived, take care of friend, just as you would me. Just as you do.

He snaps back to reality at the sound of your voice.

"Hey, it's me.... u/n. I'm here with Wilbur Soot-"

He let out a light, "hello!" And you continued,

"We're going to be doing a speedrun, I know you guys say I'm terrible at it but I don't care! You'll see, imma beat the game with Wilbur!"

He laughed, "So you've never actually beat the game? What kind of YouTuber are-"

"Stop it I'm not that bad I swear. Chat, spam uhhh wilbursootiswrongandu/n is rightttt. Wait as sec, that's too long.... well do it anyway! Don't sub to him sub to me cuz I'm the best!"

With that you started the speedrun.

The blurring colors of his screen left him in a daze and your voice brought his nerves to a sense of alertness. You were tired. Really tired when you ended stream. You yawned,

"Thanks Wilbur, for staying up so late to speedrun with me."

"You didn't beat the game." He said, leaning back in his chair.

"Hey! That's not the point!"

You pause.

"I enjoyed it... that's the point. And you go and ruin my thank you speech that I've been preparing all day."

"I didn't. You couldn't even get though the nether. What kind of Minecraft YouTuber are you? Not knowing how to speedrun."

"It's hard." You say, pouting.

"Yeah, that's the point."

"Point or no point we had fun, or maybe that was just me."

He smiles, "I guess we did. But we still didn't beat the game."

You finally give up, "Goodnight."

He brought his mouth really close to his microphone, "You didn't beat the game."

He starts to laugh, and you end the call.

He blinks, tearing his eyes away from the screen to the pieces of paper sprawled across his bed. The new song he had been working on. This one was different than the rest. There was a mix of guitar and it gave off a different color whenever he listened to it.

He sweeps the notes into a jumbled pile and sets them on the desk. It reflects the colors of the screen. Black, blue, pink, and green. His eyesight blurred for a second then cleared. He had been staying up too late recently. Purple and black bags had formed under his eyes like bruises. He looked up at his clock, it was quarter to four. Days were rhythmic and repetitive, turning into a slur of wasted time.

The drill of rain hitting the roof every day with the burnt light flooding through the window. The clouds cluttered in gray clusters, then dropped their contents all over the city. Gray. Always gray, maybe the weather was effecting his mood because all he felt was gray. Gray was gloom, gray was hopeless, gray was broken. Always broken.

He slumped into bed, the white sheets cocooned him, making him feel safe but not okay, far from that. His heavy eyes fell shut, opening the doors to the horrors of the oblivion. Of the unknown.

He didn't know how to put himself back together again, or if it was even possible to do so.