and i'd give up forever to touch you || Wilbur x Reader

the party's wake

"fuck." he had to find a hiding spot, looking around he tried to ignore the three people that just walked in, including you. he had to, this was supposed to be a fun night for you and him but done separately. he needed to get plastered and you needed to do whatever you came here to do. dance or something, maybe the karaoke setup was calling you from the second floor. and then his thoughts lit up like a bulb, not only was there a second floor but a third. filled with just rooms and rooms and more rooms. if he got up there, he'd be cleared to drink to his heart's content.

well if he brought enough alcohol, that is. and if he even makes it up there.

so, carefully threading his way through to the kitchen, he bumps into numerous people, apologizing out of the corners of his mouth and sighed in relief when he saw the kitchen was cleared.

snagging a few cans, he turned around where he came and found quackity right there, not quite turned to the kitchen but talking to someone he didn't recognize.

he curses and then turns to the door on the other side of the kitchen, sliding over there was enough and he slips inside a dark pantry right as he sees quackity fully enter the kitchen.

he holds his breath; the cans biting against his skin and the bottles slippery in his fingers. quackity scans the array of drinks, opened and unopened and opts for a bottle of water, a can of beer and some mixed into a cup, he didn't see the entire process.

before quackity left though, he saw you come in, and you two exchanged a series of laughs and idle conversation, enjoying the party and if you wanted a drink. quackity leaves and you grab your own bottle of beer, something gross from the grimace on your face. but you stay. shit.

and the drinks are starting to fall from his grasp and he's trying to keep them from falling but they keep slipping-

and then the cans fall and then he's backing up to at least stop the spraying but it just keeps going and he bumps into the cans and cans of various vegetables-

the door opens to a pathetic looking wilbur and the sole witness is none other than jared.

he could've sworn he'd seen you but i guess you must've left before he could've fucked anything up. that's good, he sighs out and begins to pick all the cans up, knowing that by the time the morning comes by there will be bruises from this onslaught of misfortune.

jared just watches him. watched as he stands in his wet and sticky sweater before opening the door wider and letting him out.

"they didn't tell us anything but you should apologize, whatever you did." his words stop him right before he leaves the kitchen and his own hand comes up to slide the beanie off his head, gripping hard as he turns around to face the man.

"sorry wasn't going to make up for what i did, but just so you know, i already did." and he turns to the stairs. fuck those drinks, one foot after another he ascends to the second floor where he quickly ducks to the other staircase, you'd been sitting at the couch, thankfully with your back to him but still, the fear got to him as he goes up the third floor.

he only manages to save one bottle of disgusting, cheap beer, and he swallows two mouthfuls down, fingers coming up to slide across the wall as he walks down to find a room to be a desolate weirdo in. the very last one- the one that has a weird looking sign on it. mr and mrs. yeah, sure they're doing alright. hope they find out how their son threw a fucking party and some creep slept in their bed. because he says fuck it and opens the door, finding it to be a solid trip down memory lane. almost like phil's room when his wife still worked at home, full of pictures and knick-knacks.

he must be a sorry sight, in a room he'll never get to have. married to someone he loves, with no secrets between the two, no cameras hidden in someone else's room. he takes another drink as he sinks onto the bed, suddenly remembering that he's still in his soaking wet sweater when the fan blows air onto him.