did i write fluff? without being forced to? impossible :O
based on song above ^ dw its actually kinda cute :>

A pale hand passed through the door, the man huffing as it passed right through.

"I, heh, I forgot," he mumbled to himself, clipped British accent sticking out, as bold as black on white. "Again." He sighed, reaching through and trying to float through.

It was like swimming, but instead of going around things, you went through them. There was no water, nothing touching you, not when you're dead. And, for you, no gravity either.

But, somehow, it was harder than it seemed.

"Wilbur?" The voice rang out behind him, shaky, yet authoritative.

"Oh? Well, if it isn't J 'jackass' Schlatt," Will teased, turning around a tad too quick, and continued to spin, until the other ghost reached out and steadied him. It reminded him of when he was alive, able to swivel on his spinny chair for hours on end.

"Shut up, Will-i-am."

"That's not how you pronounce it."

"I know, but it's growing on me." Schlatt's words slid off his tongue, slurred slightly with his American accent.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, floating outside the door. "How's your deathday? It is today, right?"

"How can I have only one deathday when I've always been dead inside?" he deadpanned.

"Well, that explains why you were so emotionless," Will replied, snuggling into his golden yellow sweatshirt that covered his pale grey skin. He was glad that, as a spirit, he could change his appearance. His old trench coat was getting a tad bit uncomfortable, with its ugly blood stains.

It seemed that Schlatt had done the same, changing out of his normally pristine suit, and donning a soft blue sweater instead.
"It's been so long since I've seen you wear that," he nodded at the sweater, flipping over in the air, like an otter playing in kelp.

"It made me look soft," Schlatt muttered.

"It makes you look cute," Will corrected.

"Exactly."

Will readjusted the beanie atop his fluffy umber hair, 'walking' outside, feet not moving the grass any more than the wind did. After all, he was just a faded memory, like an old blanket, frayed at the edges.

"So... I want to know- how did it feel getting stabbed?" Schlatt asked.

"Well... you know how I said I only remember happy things? I remember that. I think that says enough about the experience." And he remembered how he had to leave his two brothers and father because of that.
He frowned, hearing his voice, which was strained, sounding like a broken record, replayed from the past, and remixed by this new person his soul was stuck in.
"I don't want to remember what else 'alive Wilbur' did. I know he did some wrong things-" Schlatt opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off. "-But I don't want to know."

Hold my hand tight, we'll make it another night. I still get a little scared of something new.

Schlatt sat down beside the other spirit, looking sullen. "You died in such an exciting way, you know that?" He paused. "I drank myself to death," he spat.

"Sounds lovely."

"Isn't it? Well, technically, I died from a heart attack, or a stroke or some shit, but the alcohol caused it."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say. Was he supposed to remember something about Schlatt's death? It definitely felt important. But Schlatt just waved it off, turning back to the plateau in front of them.

I forgot my name again, I think that's something worth remembering.

"Don't be sorry, it's my fault for getting too drunk."

The land stretched out in front of them, and in the distance, a small town spreading across the country.

Fireweed reached upwards, grasping at the sun, and dancing in the light. Wilbur smiled, knowing that the only reason those plants were growing there was because of him. He caused the war that overturned the land, that burnt everything down to the roots, making room for a beautiful plant that overtook the battlefield.

Ferns waved at the duo cheerfully, their pinna spread out like fingers on a hand would.

The sun slowly inched its way down to the ground, bathing them in gold and heat.

The sunshine gets a little dimmer, now.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he breathed out, sitting cross legged in the grass. Schlatt looked at him confusedly, turning out to field again.

"You're so emotional, Will."

"I'm a singer, that's my only excuse." He paused, thinking to himself, "I wish I could play my guitar."

"You could sing," Schlatt asked quietly, looking down. But Will just smiled, "Alrighty."

"How do you feel so proud..?" he started, voice a bit more gravelly than the soft tune that would've fit the scenario.
"Everytime I close my eyes, the colours fade and change inside my mouth."
There it was. The beautiful voice, so full of emotion, soft like melted chocolate to Schlatt's ears. Kind enough to make you think twice about exiling them. "It's all too loud..."
"Devil town is colder in the summertime, I'll lose my mind at least another thousand times.
"But I feel safer when I'm with you. Falling doesn't feel so bad when I know you've fallen this way too." He chuckled awkwardly at the end, reaching over and ruffling the younger's brown hair.

"I can't believe us. We're ghosts, with the ability to do basically whatever we want, yet here we are, not even haunting anyone!" Schlatt pouted, shoving Will's hand away from his head. "I mean, can't I have the tiniest bit over revenge?"

"Boo hoo, you poor ghost."

"Boo hoo is right," he grumbled. "Except for the hoo part. Just boo. Boo!"

"You're not even remotely scary."

"Aw... boo hoo."

Devil town is colder in the summertime...

fluff with a bittersweet ending? why the hell not

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