[w.s] oneshots (schlattbur)

dumbfuckery

happy new year to him, huh.

11:43 pm. new years eve. no party, no friends. rain pouring hard and fast ever-so-festively, and his tv wasn't working, so he couldn't even watch that stupid ball drop in NYC hours before it should for him. but the worst part of all had to be that his boyfriend wouldn't answer his texts.

they had only been dating for a couple months, hidden behind a cleverly constructed ruse of a friendship that nobody other than close friends and family could see through. it was comfortable, texting each other at ungodly hours and laughing their asses off at stupid jokes. and sure, he might just be being needy, but wasn't seven and a half hours a long time to not text someone, especially if you're trying to maintain a long-distance relationship? on a holiday?

it was fine. he was fine. it was new years eve, and he could celebrate alone if he wanted to. isn't that what self-care was supposed to be, or something?

he pulled gas station wine out of the cabinet above his fridge and poured it into a fancy glass. it tasted all kinds of wrong, but he took a second sip anyways. it's not like anyone was there to judge him.

he lounged on his ugly, beat-up sofa, and checked his phone again for any signs of life from his significant other. none.

that was really fucking depressing actually, so he scrolled through a random social media aimlessly, retaining nothing, waiting for another year to pass by uneventfully.

------

schlatt, if he was right about where wil lived, would arrive just in time for midnight.

he felt like shit for not answering his texts. while he was on a plane, there was an excuse, but now that he had landed, he justified it by saying that he was surprising him. but still, he had a nagging feeling in his gut the he should text him a paragraph of apologies and excuses to make up for it, and he just might do it if he weren't driving.

he can't believe he was actually going to pull this dumbfuckery. show up at his doorstep with a rose and a bottle of champagne. would wilbur even be happy to see him? (now he was just overthinking, and he knew it, too. he entertained the thought anyways, he's rather bored). what would he do then? he had no hotel, and his ticket back was for a week later. he should stop being demoralizing now, he knows, because it combined with the constant downpour of rain were not a good combination. the weather really is gloomy.

11:48 pm. thank god britain has minimal traffic, especially compared to what he wass used to, or he'd never be there on time.

-----

11:53 pm, and he was actually fucking doing this. he was there, standing on this boy's doorstep with a rose in one hand and a bottle of semi-nice champagne in the other, and he was actually fucking doing this. desperately hoping he didn't stink from a seven hour flight to the uk, he knocked on the door

once,

twice,

three times.

oh god.

-----

what the fuck was anyone doing knocking on wil's door at this hour? he got up and padded to his front door, disgruntled by the inconvenience. it's times like these he wished he had a peephole or window on his door to be sure he wasn't about to be murdered the moment he opened the door. regardless, he fumbles with the lock until he gets in and pulls it open.

and holy shit, this can't be real.

"happy new year!"

"you fucking didn't!"

and both of them were grinning like madmen as schlatt took the front steps and wrapped his arms around his shoulders awkwardly with his hands full. he heard him mumble a greeting into his neck, and he introduces back, still dazed. wilbur pulled away to half-laugh, half-say, "so that's why you weren't answering my texts." and couldn't stop grinning.

"sorry about that by the way."

wil couldn't take it anymore, so he kissed him, and the rain was soaking them both now and neither cared. it mopped their hair and left them squeaking in their shoes, but they were just so happy, so happy to be alive standing in the middle of the sidewalk breathless and laughing like maniacs.

"you're here. you're actually fucking here, schlatt, that's insane!"

and the rain was only getting worse, so they step inside to put down schlatt's gifts before kissing again (and it's strange to kiss someone whilst smiling like the cheshire cat, but they manage it).

"you have no idea-" kiss. "how worth it-" kiss. "that flight was. god, it's so fucking good to see you again."

now he's cradling his head in his hands, and schlatt's eating up the attention. "you have no idea how much i missed this." he said to him, and he replied,

"why do you taste like cheap wine?"

and wilbur's smiling softly at him now, and schlatt's heart definitely isn't melting at the sight.

"long story, but it's about to hit midnight. kiss me again."

and he does.

12:00 am. two idiots are soaked from the rain and kissing in the middle of an entryway with the front door not even fully shut, and when they break apart they shout happy new year at the top of their lungs in unison and laugh way too loud, and all is right with the world.