You didn’t even know Wilbur knew.

You’d been so careful. So quiet. Deleting the texts. Hiding the notes. Plastering on that “I’m fine” smile whenever anyone asked. But somehow… somehow he knew. And now he’s lying in a hospital bed, lip split open and brow stitched, knuckles raw and red from breaking someone’s jaw.

You storm in before anyone can stop you.

“You idiot,” you snap, tears stinging your eyes. “You absolute dumbass, what were you thinking—?!”

Wilbur winces. Smiles anyway. “Thinking’s never really been my strong suit. Especially not when it comes to you.”

You want to scream. You want to hug him. You want to hit him, gently, right on the arm—like that would make any of this make sense.

“He was blackmailing you,” Wilbur murmurs, gaze dropping. “You thought I wouldn’t do anything?”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt—!”

He blinks slowly. Then grins like an idiot. “Still won though.”

“Wilbur.”

“I’d do it again.”

“You’re literally concussed.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just stares at you like he can’t believe you’re real. Like the pain doesn’t matter. Like none of it does.

Then he says it. Quiet. Croaky. Earnest:

“I think I’ve loved you since Year 8. When you helped me find my glasses in the rain. Remember?”

You stare at him, breath catching.

“I didn’t know you then,” you whisper.

“I know,” he nods, voice barely a breath. “But I knew you. I always wanted to.”

You leave the room in a daze.

Out in the hallway, one of Wilbur’s mates—quiet kid, always a shadow—leans against the wall and offers you a soda.

“He’s been doing this for a while,” he says gently. “Standing up for you. Long before you were friends.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Last year. There was this rumor going around. Real nasty stuff. Wilbur found the guy who started it. Talked to him once. Never heard the rumor again.”

He shrugs.

“I think he’s been loving you longer than either of you realize.”