primadonna girl || wilbur soot

Chapter Thirty-Five

[REAL LIFE]

"I hate you for this," George groans, buttoning up the top button of his shirt. Clara frowns, and reaches over, unbuttoning it again.

"No, you don't. You're a proper hermit who only talks to your online friends who live in America, you need to get out of the house at least once a week. And how many times have I told you, top two undone. It's too hot inside, plus you really want to reach maximum man-whore."

George rolls his eyes but lets it go, lacing up his shoes. He's in his black low-top Nike's, with a black button-up and black slacks. Clara contrasts him in a beige bustier dress with thin straps, and beige stilettos to match.

"Okay and this is your night. Now, I'm not saying I'll be sober, but I won't drink a lot. So don't be a helicopter, get out there and dance." Clara urges, smirking.

George doesn't look too pleased, so Clara pouts, sticking her lip out.

"Oh come on please? Don't make me guilt-trip you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"My birthday is in four days and you're making me spend it in Nottingham with Tommyinnit."

This is true. Clara's birthday is in four days, and George has scheduled a trip to go hang out with Tubbo, Jack Manifold, Niki, and Tommy fucking innit. He invited her to go with him, and she agreed, because as much as she hates to admit it, that little gremlin child is starting to feel like a little brother. And she'd love to meet Tubbo and Niki. Jack can go fuck himself. Kidding, Clara would love to meet him too. Though she'd have enjoyed spending her birthday with Salem, and maybe definitely Wilbur. Whatever, any friends are fun, so she's looking forward to the whole ordeal, despite her out loud complaining. She never does much for her birthday rather than some dinner, so this feels like an entirely new thing for her. Clara is definitely way more excited than she lets on.

Fake sighing, George closes his eyes before nodding.

"You've got me with that one. But um... are you sure that you'll be alright? I won't be there sober to come get you, you can't call me if you spiral-"

"I know that," Clara interrupts. It ticks her off that he's worrying about her. Hasn't she proven that she's fine, that Molly doesn't matter anymore, that none of that does? "Don't think about that. I'm fine."

"Okay," George responds slowly. "Let's go."

Clara claps her hands together excitedly.

"Wait last thing!" Clara reaches over and grabs two shot glasses, filling each with silver tequila. "Shot for the road?"

George doesn't really like tequila, but he knows Clara can't stomach vodka, so he refuses to buy any out of principle. He shrugs and grabs the shot from Clara's hand, downing it quickly, making a face only for a second. It burns on the way down, but George is fairly used to it. Back in uni, Clara dragged him out a lot. But after Molly, they usually stayed home on Friday nights. However, it seems as if Clara is getting better, indulging in petty drinking without a panic attack. George wonders if it's because of Wilbur.

"Alright Georgio, now let's go." She grabs her purse and the two head out, Clara donning no coat. It's getting warmer now at the tail end of spring, and the tequila shot is already heating her up.

The pair leaves, Clara locking the door behind them and stuffing the keys in her bag.

"I made sure to look super smoking, so that I can like be all over you and make the other girls jealous."