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Wilbur tried very very very hard to not overthink it. It was sheer coincidence, it had to be. People were able to have the same fashion style without being soulmates, after all. There were only so many color palettes and clothes in the world.
“Are you guys doing this on purpose?” Tommy asked, playful disgust obvious in his voice.
George blinked. “Doing what?”
Not for the first time, Wilbur admired how oblivious his friend could be.
“You two keep dressing like fucking salt and pepper soulmates. It’s gross. Think about poor Dream’s feelings.” Tommy rolled his eyes and George let out a startled laugh, looking down as if it were the first time he saw his own clothes that day.
“Tommy, I think anyone can wear pink on black, it’s not horribly inventive,” George joked, tugging at the poorly fitting clothes he wore. His infamous strawberry milk t-shirt hung loosely over black straight-cut jeans that were cinched in with a belt. Wilbur was genuinely a little shocked that George owned a belt. “Besides, Wilbur is wearing a blue shirt, not pink.”
Wilbur shot Tommy a pointed look. Tommy did not heed the silent warning. “No, that’s pink, Gogy. Your eyes are failing you again.”
“Is it?” George looked at Wilbur’s chest, eyebrows raising. “I didn’t think you owned anything that pastel, I assumed it had to be blue. Didn’t you tell me that you didn’t own anything pink?”
“I bought it last week. And I didn’t own any pink shirts before this one.” Wilbur tried to ignore the fact that every time he wore his one flannel that had pink and purple on it, he would later see George wearing his strawberry shirt on stream. It was just a coincidence. To think otherwise would kill him.
“You two are weird,” Tommy said decisively, promptly turning away and speed-walking down the sidewalk. Wilbur rolled his eyes and George huffed a laugh, stepping closer to Wilbur so they could walk side-by-side.
“You didn’t tell me that we matched again,” George said with a wink. Wilbur sighed, his cheeks tinging the same pink as their softly colored shirts.
“Forgot you wouldn’t notice.”
Wilbur never told him when they matched. He just ignored it.
“Or maybe you’re just not paying enough attention!” George teased. He pressed closer so that their arms brushed as they walked and Wilbur’s throat felt tight. In the early spring air, he could literally feel George’s warmth with their proximity, and it made his chest faint. He took shallow breaths as if a sigh too heavy would blow the moment away.
“Gogy, my dear, I pay attention to nothing but you,” Wilbur said, honesty covered up by a joking tone. George let out a soft laugh, rolling his eyes and not responding. He just looked away, grinning to himself and still brushing against Wilbur.
By nature, Wilbur wasn’t a hoping man, not willingly. He hated to be disappointed. But after that day, it was hard to ignore the… coincidences. Especially when George started sending him daily selfies for no explained reason.
It started with a text at 4 pm, reading ‘finally got up lol’. When Wilbur opened the text, there was an attached image of George. He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, wearing gray sweatpants that were hidden by an overly large black hoodie with a plain white smile on it. Wilbur ignored the jealous tremble in his chest at the sight, opting instead to amble over to his own bathroom while texting George back.
Wilbur: Proud of you
George: what are u wearing
Wilbur: Are you coming onto me?
George: 😏
George: just tell me
Wilbur was wearing black jeans with a gray sweater and a black button-up underneath. He stared at himself for a long moment before taking a selfie in return, sending it with some hesitation.
George: interesting. u look cute
Wilbur didn’t reply.
The next day, at noon, Wilbur got a text while he was practicing his guitar.
“Wilbur, why is George sending you mirror selfies?” Tommy asked, flicking open Wilbur’s phone for him, and Wilbur gave him an exasperated look.
“Don’t look at my messages!”
“But you’re busy,” he whined. “I’m being helpful!”
“Fine, Tommy. Be helpful. You annoying little gremlin.” Wilbur rolled his eyes obnoxiously at him, eyes dropping back to his guitar. He let his fingers shift along the strings, playing softer so that he could hear Tommy over the sound. “What did George have to say? Or did he just send the photo?”
“He said ‘fit check’. Nothing interesting.” Tommy paused, then said, “he’s matching you again.”
Wilbur’s fingers stopped on the strings. “What?”
“You’re both wearing white shirts with some designs on ‘em. He’s wearing the one he wore in that video with Quackity, with the planet on it. You know the one.”
Wilbur was familiar. “You think I have all of George’s clothes memorized?”
“Yeah, I do,” Tommy shot back, dead serious. When Wilbur looked up, Tommy was already looking back at him, eyeing the white t-shirt he wore. It just had a simple band design but suddenly, it felt like a cattle brand.
“It’s not hard to wear white shirts, Tommy,” Wilbur pointed out, going back to playing guitar.
A few days later, he got yet another text, much earlier in the day. At 6 am, George sent him a photo of an outfit laid out on his bed. A light blue t-shirt, darker blue jeans, and a simple silver necklace.
George: i have to go out tomorrow 😐 what do u think
Wilbur: Looks nice, I bet you’re going to look very handsome <3
Wilbur took off the light blue sweater he had pulled on before even checking his texts that morning, swapping it for a brown one instead. At 11 am, George texted him back.
George: :] ended up changing out the tee but thank u
Wilbur: What did you go with instead?
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised by the brown sweater he was shown, just a few shades darker than Wilbur’s.
Wilbur was going to drive himself crazy if he kept ignoring it, but at this point, he didn’t know how to do anything else. So he kept trekking forward, swapping outfit photos with George (was this flirting? A silent confession? Just two guys joking around?), and ignoring everyone who pointed out that he was being ridiculous.
It would be so easy to just call George right now and ask. Ask him hey George, why do you keep sending me your outfits? Hey George, why do you keep flirting with me? Hey George, do you think we’re soulmates? Do you wish we were? I do. Somehow, every time he went for the phone, the words died in his throat. And so he kept trekking forward.
George: take me out to dinner tonight
Wilbur: Tonight? It’s almost five.
George: so?
Wilbur: It’s raining?
George: so?
Wilbur: You’re being needy?
George: so?
Wilbur: Okay. Where are we going?
George: somewhere nice. surprise me
Wilbur: Alright, I’ll pick you up from the station at 6
Wilbur: Dress nicely but not like, suit nice
Wilbur liked it when George was bossy.
He tossed his phone away with a fond grin before getting dressed, bustling around his room to grab everything he would need. A dark blue buttoned shirt and black dress pants, both slightly wrinkled but there wasn’t enough time to deal with that. He spent a good five minutes taking out his ironing board then wrangling it back into place regardless, changing his mind twice before deciding not to iron. A sleek black rain jacket over his nice clothes. Then he had to hunt around for his umbrella, rub some duct tape down over the hole at the very top of it, and then he fixed his hair and shoved on a pair of round glasses before heading out. The walk to the train station felt more like a blur than anything, head spinning with the sheer delight that was knowing he would be seeing George soon. Between the mental image of shining dark eyes and the physical fighting to keep his umbrella in place in the wind and rain, he could hardly focus on his surroundings.
“Wilbur!” As Wilbur approached the train station, a voice rang out through the air and he tilted back his umbrella so he could see clearly. Through the sheets of rain, George came running over, waving his hand back and forth.
“George!” He raised his free hand and unexpectedly, George thudded into his chest with a tight hug. Wilbur was startled, his eyes going wide, then he lowered his arm to return the hug. He brought his umbrella back over them, his grip tightening to keep it in place and keep them both dry. “You’re not wearing a rain jacket.”
“I couldn’t find it in time so I threw on a hoodie instead,” George said, breathing heavily as he pulled back from the hug. The hoodie he wore was zipped up, the black fabric falling down one shoulder.
“Do you own any clothes that fit you, my dear?” Wilbur joked and George rolled his eyes. He couldn’t tell if George’s cheeks were pink from a blush or because he had been running. “Come on, the restaurant I’m thinking of is this way.”
“What are we having? Italian? Indian?” George asked. As Wilbur started walking, George pressed into his side. Wilbur told himself that it was just so he could stay under the umbrella.
He took the risk of wrapping his arm around George’s shoulder, pulling him closer. It wasn’t like Wilbur was ever shy about touching his friend and with familiarity, George tucked under his arm and against his side. Teasingly, he asked, “I thought you wanted a surprise?”
George sighed, heavy and overdramatic. “I guess I did. Fine! Fine, don’t tell me. I want the surprise.”
“I thought so!” Wilbur grinned, squeezing George gently. He laughed, his head falling against Wilbur’s shoulder, and Wilbur felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. “Aren’t you cold in that hoodie? Do you want my jacket?”
“Keep your clothes on, Wilbur,” George said with a scoff. Wilbur laughed. He did that a lot around George. “I am a bit cold, but it’s nothing unbearable.”
As if on cue, a sharp blast of wind hit them, splattering raindrops across the exposed backs of their necks. George let out a startled hiss and Wilbur flinched, his grip loosening. His umbrella caught in the wind, flipping inside out and being pulled away from his hand. He fumbled to catch it, only succeeding in knocking it further away, and he watched with wide eyes as it flew into the road. Promptly, a car ran it over with a screech of metal, the car barely bumping as it sped away. Wilbur and George were both silent, the rain now pounding down on them with no resistance.
“Now it’s unbearable,” George declared and Wilbur burst into laughter.
“Let’s go back to my apartment,” Wilbur agreed, turning them down a different street. The rain just seemed to get stronger, enough that water was running past them down the hill they were walking up and pooling at the bottom. It was getting hard to see, the gray rain blending against the gray sky and the gray buildings around them as the night darkened. George shivered and broke into a run, pounding up the pavement with wet thuds. “George, stop, you’re going to fall!”
“We’re gonna get sick if we’re out here for too long!” George yelled back, turning around to face him as he ran backward. Wilbur winced as George stumbled, not quite falling but close. He took a deep breath then started running after him, letting himself grin as the rain started hitting harder against his face.
“Come back, George, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Wilbur squinted against the droplets of water, catching up to George quickly. He could barely make out the way his friend’s eyes widened before he spun away, trying to run faster. “Are you trying to get away from me?!”
“Yes!”
George burst into laughter as if this was some sort of game, and Wilbur’s grin grew. He pushed his head down and sped up, throwing his arms out. From the way George’s laugh turned slightly hysterical, Wilbur was on the right path, and once the sound seemed close enough, he bought his arms together in front of him. His hand barely clipped the edge of George’s arm and he swung it back out, grabbing onto the arm and pulling him close. George gasped, stumbling, and the two came to a predictable end. George fumbled over Wilbur’s feet, Wilbur tripped, and they both crashed to the ground, right into a puddle forming on the sidewalk.
“Now, George, what did I say?” Wilbur complained, letting go of George and rolling onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut, annoyed with the way that water dripped down his face. Behind his eyelids, he could see the light overhead shift and the raindrops hitting him cut out. He cracked one eye open and George was looming over him, wearing a bright grin.
“You said I was gonna fall,” George answered, not sounding sorry at all. The rain was flattening his hair to his face, the dark waves falling around him like a thick curtain. His cheeks were flushed from exertion, his eyes dancing with amused mischief, and Wilbur forgot how to breathe for a moment. George tilted his head, enough for a raindrop to roll down his pale nose and drip off onto Wilbur’s face. He flinched as it hit him, eyes falling closed again. “You okay?”
“You’re beautiful,” Wilbur replied stupidly and George let out a giggle.
“Alright. That doesn’t answer my question?”
“I’m fine. You’re very attractive when soaked, you know that?”
Wilbur could practically hear the smirk in George’s voice when he replied, “you like me when I’m wet?”
”George.” Wilbur opened his eyes to pout up at him, the expression falling as soon as he realized how much closer George had gotten. He was close enough for Wilbur to make out every faint freckle and blemish on his face, the individual hairs of his stubble, and the notch in his eyebrow. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hey.” George’s lips twitched like it was a struggle to only keep on a small smile. “You look nice too, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Wilbur breathed. Without thinking, his hands came up to cradle George’s face, damp skin pressing uncomfortably against damp skin. George pressed into the touch regardless like a spoiled cat. “We probably look like absolute lunatics out here.”
“You usually look like a lunatic,” George said cheerfully and Wilbur rolled his eyes. He pulled him ever closer, drinking in the warmth of his skin and the feeling of his breath against Wilbur’s lips. George turned even redder and Wilbur thought, idly, that his skin should be burning under Wilbur’s hands. George’s eyes fluttered shut and he tilted his head to the side, clearly expecting a kiss. Wilbur blinked slowly, taking in the pretty sight.
“What did you wear today?” Wilbur asked, voice deep and low, and George let out an annoyed sigh. The air played delectably across Wilbur’s skin.
“Same thing as you did, I’m sure. Why even ask?” George’s eyes were still closed, though his eyebrows furrowed. “I wore a navy polo, and you already know I wore a black sweatshirt and black jeans. I already know that you’re wearing a black rain jacket and black slacks. Now, let me guess, you’re wearing a navy button-up?”
“Technically, it’s dark blue,” Wilbur corrected.
“Just fucking kiss me.”
Wilbur dragged him in the last few centimeters, finally letting his eyes fall closed as they kissed. The rain still fell onto them and a deep chill was settling into Wilbur’s back, but George’s body on top of his was warm, grounding him in reality. George kissed aggressively, more so than Wilbur would’ve expected, and he let the other lead the kiss. His hands slipped up into George’s hair, gentle where his fingers pressed through the strands. George clutched onto Wilbur’s jacket, much rougher than Wilbur’s delicate touch, and Wilbur reveled in how utterly unpredictable George was to him.
After what felt like both seconds and years, George sat up, pulling their lips apart. Wilbur stared up at him, dazed.
“You are so oblivious,” George said with a sigh, panting. Wilbur blinked then laughed, equally breathless.
“Funny. I thought the same thing about you.”