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Schlatt hums when he's focusing on something, usually some pop song that Wilbur recognizes. He always denies doing it, claims that Wilbur must be hearing things, but he's doing it right now, and Wilbur doesn't recognize it.
"What song is that?" Wilbur asks quietly. It's late at night, at least for him, and they're on a FaceTime call. Wilbur's propped his phone on his desk and he's editing thumbnails, mostly just basking in Schlatt's presence.
"What?" Schlatt looks at his phone instead of his screen (it's propped on his desk like Wilbur's). He's been quietly typing for the past half hour, not really speaking except for the occasional quip about his work.
"The song you were humming. Sorry, I just didn't recognize it, was wondering what it was."
"It's, um, it's called Mr. Moon. You'd like it, loverboy."
"Why do you keep calling me that?"
"Calling you what?"
"'Loverboy'."
"Cause that's what you are."
"What do you mean? I'm certainly not your loverboy, so why do you say it?"
"You're a lover, Wil. Maybe not to me, at least not yet," that phrase makes Wilbur's cheeks flush, "but you're the kind of person who tries so desperately hard to love the world no matter how hard it bites you in the ass."
"I am not!" Wilbur protests.
"You are, Wil, and you can't deny it. All your songs are about your desire to love all the messed-up shit in the world, and maybe in some of them, you're singing about how much it's hurt you, but that's because you fought so hard so it wouldn't. It's one of the things I like about you, actually. Behind that hard, gloomy exterior is an optimist begging to be let out of his shell and taste the good in the world again."
Wilbur feels breathless all of the sudden because it sort of feels like Schlatt just confessed his love. His cheeks are hot and a million thoughts are racing through his head.
"That was really... um, thank you." Wilbur tries to ground himself again, tries hard to not take Schlatt's words as close to heart as he already has.
"If you're looking for 'profound', I've got that in me sometimes. You bring poetic stuff out of me, Wil, and I'm not sure why." Schlatt looks calm as ever, typing away at his computer, but there's a gentle smile across his lips that wasn't there before.
"I didn't realize you- that you noticed."
"I like noticing you."
"Come on, Schlatt, you can't drop something like that on me."
"What, the truth? Come on, loverboy, I wouldn't lie to you."
Wilbur bites his lip, thinking for a moment. "You know, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it, I have an image to maintain."
It's late at night and Schlatt's voice is gentler than it usually is, almost kinder. For a man who's known for screaming and yelling, it's rare to get him at such a soft moment, and Wilbur almost feels lucky to witness it.
"You know, if you don't want me to call you that, I can stop."
"What? No, no, don't stop!" At first Wilbur feels panic about Schlatt stopping calling him that, and then he feels panic at what just came out of his mouth. He continues, though, because he has no dignity left. "I like it, actually."
"You do?"
"I do."
They're dancing on an invisible boundary, Wilbur can feel it in his chest, but it's a good feeling that he could get addicted to if he wanted.
A yawn escapes Wilbur and Schlatt once again glances to his phone, gentle smile still on his lips.
The back of Wilbur's mind wonders what it would be like to be there, sitting in the same room as Schlatt.
The front of it reminds him that he's tired and not thinking clearly.
It's not late enough to indulge in those thoughts yet.
"You should sleep," Schlatt says, and it's almost a murmur, low and quiet through the speakers on Wilbur's phone.
"No, I'd rather stay here."
"I'm not sleep-calling with you, if that's what you're asking for. Too cheesy."
"You call me loverboy, say some profound shit about my character and personality, then won't even sleep-call? Schlatt, I'm hurt."
"Fine, I won't sleep-call with you yet. Give it a few weeks, then maybe I'll do it."
"You'd do something like that for me?"
"I said maybe, Wil, don't push your luck. Now come on, hang up on me and get to bed. It's what, 4 in the morning for you there?"
"'m not tired."
"You need your beauty rest, loverboy." Usually when Schlatt calls it Wilbur's 'beauty rest', it's sarcastically, but there's no malice, no sarcasm behind it.
Huh.
"Fine, fine." Another yawn, this one closing his eyes fully and making his whole body tense in the duration. "You should have a nickname."
"Yeah? And what do you have in mind for that?"
"Mmmmm, I don't know. Something nice, like 'pretty boy' or something that."
"Pretty boy and loverboy? Those sound horrible together. Figure something out in the morning, Wil, now go to sleep."
"Or, I can call you my pretty princess again."
Schlatt rolls his eyes. It's too dark to see, but Wilbur wonders (hopes) there's a blush on his cheeks. "Go to sleep, Wil."
"Fine. You sure you won't be lonely?"
"I'll have thoughts of you to keep me company." There's the sarcasm, there's the sharp-edged Schlatt Wilbur is used to, but there's still a hint of something that's not quite joking in there.
"Good! Goodnight, princess."
"Night, loverboy."
Wilbur hangs up, gently pushes the button on his phone, sees that they've been on the call for nearly four hours.
It doesn't feel like it was four hours.
He misses Schlatt's company immediately.
Wilbur thinks he can get used to this.
Gentle words exchanged when they're alone.
The softer side of his companion that he likes so much.
Yeah, he can get used to this.