wilbur knows he has bad days sometimes as a ghost. it's been a cycle that he and david have come to realize. some days he'll be fine, ecstatic even, phasing through walls of the house and accepting his new life. other days, matt, rhianna, charlie, and david have to coax him out of his room, because even if he's a ghost, he still has to eat.

it's rare that he has days that he can't even get out of bed. those have only happened once or twice, and his roommates were there to experience it.

he remembers it clearly.

the fear in rhianna's eyes. the shock on charlie's face. the concern radiating off of matt. the guilt coming from david. inky black tears flowing from his eyes as his body glitched in and out of existence from the utter fear he felt.

he hated that feeling. it was like being ripped apart from the inside out, but you're still aware of your senses the entire time, and it's as if someone kept ripping and pulling chunks off your body, slapping them back on, and then doing the same thing as it somehow ended up with even more pain.

... when he opens his eyes and can't even muster up the strength to get up after an hour, he knows it's going to be a repeat of last time. he closes his eyes and curls back up into his blankets. fuck.

he knows what this feeling turns into. it turns from the sense of sadness to dread, when he realizes that he really is just a ghost and won't be normal again.

his thoughts are cut short at the sound of someone coming into his room.

"wil..?" he hears david ask, and his heart stops. he doesn't want david to see him like this, to worry about him again.

"here!" wilbur says, with a slight hint of panic in his voice as he changes forms again, to one that his friend could see clearly. david is looking at him with a hint of what appears to be concern, and wilbur has to hold back all he can from breaking. he was the one that did this, he worried david-

"hey, hey, you don't have to cry it's alright-" david calmly says as he walks up to the man, who didn't even realize he was crying if he was being honest. instead of providing a vocal response, he shuffles away from his friend, using another hand to wipe at his eyes. he pulled back his hand to see that stained black from the tears with a small sigh.

the hopeless look in his gaze met the concerned one of his friend, and he's glad that it caught on.

"one of those days, wil?" david asks, slowly moving to sit down by him. the ghost nodded, eyes looking anywhere but into familiar brown eyes, but he still froze when he felt a hand running through his hair, gently playing with the curls.

it was nice. the hand, he means. it brought him back to earth, gentle affirmations and the feeling of someone's hand in his hair barely able to leave him. (that may be a sign he was touch-starved, but he ignored it in turn for just enjoying the touch.)

time went by way too fast, but he still doesn't know if they've only been sitting there for minutes, or hours at that point.

all that mattered was that david was there by his side to comfort him.

"so, did anything cause this? or did you just.. wake up and feel like shit?" the question took a bit to process, being one that he wasn't really expecting. he doesn't really know what causes these days most of the time, it's just something that happens when he wakes up.

he'd always been told he wasn't okay when talking about his symptoms, but he always denied the offer for help, because in the end, wilbur soot was fine.

ghostbur, on the other hand, was not.

he doesn't know how long it took for his brain to even comprehend the question, but he lets out a quiet response, not knowing what much else to say.

"i just.. i woke up. nothing much." it was silent for a few moments, and he felt terrible, almost about to mutter an apology until david cleared his throat.

"that's fine. i'm glad i found you before a repeat of last time happened."

memories of last time flashed before his eyes. the floating. the crying. the immense pain.

"yeah. me too."