"Come on Quack', it's getting late now and someone isn't going to keep the bed warm for you for forever," Wilbur mutters jokingly with a small yawn of his own. The ravenette passes him a flustered glare. When they part ways Wilbur wishes they had stayed longer. Longer so the night wouldn't feel so lonely. Longer so that the pain of tomorrow would be numbed. Wilbur had always made reckless promises. Maybe he should have held on tight and thought a little longer. »----------- or In which a funeral is held in the aftermath of L'manburg; but it isn't for Wilbur. Brought to you by keep notes and several months of procrastination