Dream SMP and Other MCYT Oneshots

Smoky Eyes- Schlattbur

Vape is bad, kids. Don't do it. (Just read about it ahaha-)
HEED THE WARNINGS. This is fruity. Hell, this is the whole fruit salad. You've been warned.
TW: swearing, panic attack, vaping, a hell of a lot of romantic tension, enemies to spicy enemies, shotgunning (from a vape pen), LOTS of internalized homophobia, kissing while high, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, brief mention of religion/prayer
P.S. This takes place during the election because season one is still my favorite. Piss off /j

His hands were shaking, as if they were freezing, but September 21st was a lovely autumn day. There was no excuse that could sweep his anxiety under the rug.

He'd glanced at the results once. Maybe twice, but it was no matter. His eyes were shifting in and out of focus like an adjusting camera, photographing every blurry frame of time and storing them in his memory. But he never processed what the paper said. He didn't crunch the numbers or connect the dots because he was scared. So, each percentage sat ever-unchanging on the page, meaning nothing more than curving lines of ink on paper.

Apparently he'd zoned out, because when he was finally back in focus, the world was staring up at him. His world, that he swore to protect and care for. They waited for the answer.

Wilbur glanced at the results again, and slowly, each number added up. Each percentage made itself known and mocked him. He was speaking now, eliminating the independent parties. Fundy and Niki retreated to the crowd of people below, and Schlatt excused himself elsewhere. Wilbur didn't watch him go, nor did he care where he went.

He continued speaking, the voices around him mixing with his own and turning into static. The people were loud, his mind was loud, the taunts, the numbers, were his ears bleeding? He felt like they were. He heard celebration of some sort, he yelled something back and the cheers stopped. More speaking, the young Mexican boy at his side grinning and jeering, and then a few questions from the crowd breaking through the static and asking him:

"How did this happen?"

"Where is Schlatt?"

"What about the speech?"

The inauguration speech was meant to happen. Their new president was supposed to be here, but Schlatt didn't even know the power he now held. He was elsewhere, and people grew restless.

"Where is he?" Wilbur heard someone ask.

Wilbur left to find him, abandoning the crowd, the cheers, the tears, and whatever else was ensuing that he just couldn't bring himself to process.

He immediately strayed from his search when he was out of sight. He opened and closed the bathroom door behind him and exhaled.

There was no noise now, leaving room for his thoughts. And while he may be a scared man, scared of what his mind has to say, he knows that it's going to speak eventually. Better now, alone and in perfect silence, than in the presence of those who see him as strong. After all, there is the age-old question; if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

He lost.

He lost everything.

His voice was clawing at his lungs, his eyes stinging with tears, and everything inclined him to break. Oh, how his mind and body plead with him to let his sorrow drown him, to scream and cry and swear, but he didn't say a word. He just stood there and felt his soul escape. Even it was tired of him.

A soft whirring noise broke the silent atmosphere, and Wilbur stepped around the bathroom corner to examine. In the corner, propped up on the sink, he found him.