You Depressed Fuck

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Wilbur and his boyfriend, Quackity, stayed in bed. The scent of alcohol filled his nostrils as he sat on the bed next to his sleeping lover. He held a can of cider close to his chest before taking a large  swig of it. The cool sensation of alcohol running down his throat made him feel satisfied. The quiet TV playing some boring show played in the background as he drank. His lover had no idea Wilbur was drinking due to being fast asleep, yet Wilbur didn't care if he found out or not. He just kept drinking.

Wilbur had long before given up on life. His family stopped seeing him. His reputation destroyed like the nation he build then torn down. His body used and scarred. He hated living. Drink numbed the pain of having to last enough minute on this dreadful planet.

Wilbur perked up slightly when he felt Quackity stir in his sleep next to him. "Shhh..." He drunkenly reached out to brush the loose strands of hair out of the sleepy man's face. He leaned in to kiss his forehead but stopped just before his lips made contact...instead he just stared at his face before moving back and staring at the empty cans.

He sighed...he kept drinking but guilt had taken over. He was a state and he hated himself. He caused pain and he had to live with this situation he caused.

(Yes, I'm drunk. I'm sorry.)

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