primadonna girl || wilbur soot

Chapter Thirty-Nine

[REAL LIFE]

Clara usually hates wearing jeans around the house, but after living in the same clothes for about four to five days, she wants to feel a little put together. The aforementioned jeans are blue and flared, and she's paired that with a plain green camisole, a sheen of sweat adorning her forehead in the rising heat of May.

Poor Wilbur's still in the same crewneck and sweats that he arrived in. They washed the clothes that seemed riddled with illness, but she's sure he wants to change desperately.

Clara was sick for about four days, and while this is only Wilbur's third, he seems almost back to normal. He's still coughing up a storm, but he's able to drag his body out of bed and around the house.

In the same clothes, sick in a bed that's comfortable but far from his own, and George is returning today. These reasons are all that lead to Wilbur leaving.

He loves spending time with Clara, but he wasn't planning to stay for this long at all and is craving his own home. He will miss sleeping next to her though, and running his fingers through her hair.

"Thank you for helping me tidy up," Clara says gratefully, primping her pillows. Being sick makes a tornado go through your room, and Wilbur and Clara have just spent some time picking up, returning cough drops to her medicine cabinet, and cleaning out the tissues littering her nightstand.

"Of course. Half of this mess is mine. Actually, you're pretty clean, it's likely that at least three-quarters of this mess is mine," Wilbur comments, smoothing her sheets from his seated position on her bed.

Clara shrugs, putting her hands on her hips. "Eh, it's whatever."

Wilbur looks her in the eye. That damn tank top is driving him nuts. She tucks her hair behind one ear and bites her bottom lip absentmindedly, seemingly lost in thought. It makes Wilbur crazy, taking the air from his lungs.

Wilbur had only brought the bag of things to treat her illness and her bag of gifts. He's been using a spare toothbrush and has nothing to take home other than his phone.

His train leaves soon, so he knows he must be going. Getting up with a groan, he yawns loudly, body stiff.

"Alright old man, come on, you're gonna miss your train." Clara jokes, pushing him lightly towards her bedroom door.

She follows him downstairs as he trudges slowly to the door. He sits down to lace up his trainers, and Clara stands over him. She offers him a hand to help him up and he takes it, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Wow didn't know I made you weak in the knees."

Wilbur chuckles. "Oh of course love. You knock me out cold."

She leads him to the door, turning to him to say goodbye.

"Well, this is-"

Wilbur pulls her lips to his explosively, interrupting her, his hands shooting firmly to the bottom half of her hips. She returns the kiss with equal passion, knotting her hands in his hair, getting distracted by his jawline when she grazes it. Both a proper snog and just a peck make Clara burn on the inside equally, his lips against hers turning her to putty. She loves kissing him more than she probably should.

They have to pull up for air at some point (a shame to them both), and when they do they keep their arms around each other for one final moment. All good things must come to an end, and Wilbur knows it's time for him to go. He steps back slowly, reluctantly.

"Alright, love. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks for taking care of me, darling. And for keeping me company on my birthday."