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“Remind me once more,” said Magiore, in a weary sort of voice, “why exactly you’re following me?”

He had gone out to get some groceries - namely a bag of vegetables and some broth - for soup for the evening, a process that he took quite seriously for a man who spent most of his time draining civilians and fighting against Order senshi. He and Durumi took turns getting food, and Magiore, in spite of himself, enjoyed cooking for his wife and sometimes their roommate.

He had not, however, appreciated running into Wilbur of all people. Mostly because Wilbur had disappeared into a void for the last several years and Magiore was feeling extra annoyed.

He threw the man a disgruntled glance, waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change with his hands tucked into his pockets. “And what are you wearing?”

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”Because I’d follow you anywhere, bossman “ Wilbur insisted cheerfully, and not for the first time. Magoire could be so silly, honestly. “You haven’t started The Haunting of Hill House yet and we’re about to rectify that and enjoy some of the amazing soup you’re making yet since we haven’t hung out in forever - which, to be fair, is my fault - “ and he felt more than a little bit guilty for running out on his bossman.

True, he’d been following the calling of his true passion of acting, and he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done it again given the chance… but it wouldn’t have killed him to call. Especially considering they went ahead and stole his phone. And his cards. And his money. Would’ve probably been good for someone to know where he was. Might’ve saved him a little trouble.

Details. Water under the bridge. “But I’ll make up for it now! Do you have sugar and flour at your place? I could make you cookies and - oh, my outfit, “ and he laughed cheerfully, prodding at the cereal box on his head. It set the rubber axe bobbing precariously. “It’s my costume! Well, one of a few. Got to mix it up, you know. I’m a cereal killer! Get it? Isn’t it great?”

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The long sigh that preceded the pronouncement of cereal killer possibly lasted longer than Magiore’s own lifespan.

“Since when did we decide that you were coming over?” he asked, as the light changed to green, and he started his way across the street. “And stop calling me bossman. I’ll have you know I was bringing these groceries home to make food for Durumi. My wife,” he added pointedly, but also because it still felt surreal to be able to call her that, a small thrill thrumming through him. “We didn’t expect guests.”

Not that that ever would have stopped WIlbur. Ever. In this lifetime or the next.

“Why are you making cookies?” Magiore asked suspiciously, stepping onto the curb on the opposite side of the crosswalk. A car zipped past, clearly having been waiting impatiently for the pedestrians to all exit the walkway faster. “They’re not going to poison anyone, are they?”

He studiously did not comment on the Halloween costume.

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Wilbur looked at Magiore, puzzled, tilting his head to a side like an inquisitive dog. Then he just sort of smiled. “Come on. We’re adults. Who ‘decides’ things like that? - I haven’t asked permission since I was in high school!” And he laughed, like Magioire was the one being silly.

Then, he immediately brightened, like he hadn’t even heard the first part of what his makeshift companion was saying. “Oh, Durumi! I’m so excited to meet her! - I can’t believe I missed your wedding, “ and he gave a sad huff, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking down. “I’m really sorry. I’ll have a good wedding present for you soon, promise - I’ve got some really great ideas, I just need a little time.”

What a question though. “The better question is why NOT cookies, and the answer would be nothing, because everything is inevitably better with fresh cookies.” It was just the truth. Everyone liked cookies. People who didn’t obviously hadn’t met the right cookie yet. “I happen to make the best cookies in the world, you know. Granny’s recipe.”

There was a clap, clap, clap of what sounded like heeled shoes against the pavement behind them. Wilbur wasn’t especially concerned; it was a sidewalk. People tended to walk there, and his best friend had his full attention.

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Magiore looked at Wilbur, opened his mouth, and then promptly shut it again, because he had no answer to that, and something told him that regardless, Wilbur would come up with some ridiculous reason anyway and he didn’t want to be told ridiculous things.

“It was just a small wedding,” Magiore said with a sigh. “It wasn’t like we had an entire celebration or anything. Family and close friends. I’m sure you were off doing…” He waved a hand vaguely in Wilbur’s direction, “whatever it was that you were doing. Miming or loafing around or being an oddball or something.”

Because Wilbur was Wilbur. And also who named their kid Wilbur, anyway.

He was vaguely concerned about what constitutes a “really great wedding present,” Magiore giving Wilbur a suspicious look as he said, “What exactly do you put into these cookies to make them the best cookies in the world? Please tell me it’s something edible.”

There was the sound of footsteps behind them as they rounded another corner. Magiore shifted automatically sideways without looking in order to make room for whoever it was to pass by them.

“We’re not going to end up in the hospital are we like that time you decided that hot dogs needed a little spice?”




Wilbur actually looked more than a little sheepish when Magiore said that, idly reaching up and rubbing at the back of his neck. “I had an… “ It was like he was trying to come up with a good way to say it, even if Magiore hadn’t really exactly asked. But it had come close enough to asking, and it seemed like it was probably a good time to try and address, “... acting opportunity. It seemed like a pretty big deal at the time, but… it wasn’t really worth it.” Then, in the same breath, “Miming? - do you think I’d be a good mime?”

Who named their kid Wilbur, how many times had he asked himself that question. Seriously.

Then, he just grinned. “Where do you think all your missing mail goes?” Then he laughed, clapping Magiore on the shoulder heartily with a toothy grin. “Just kidding! I love you bossman, but some things gotta stay a secret!” And then Wilbur shifted to the side too, out of reflex, waving a finger in the air as he added, “And hey now, it’s not my fault that they sent me defunct peppers! I sent a strongly worded about that I’ll have you know!”



Magiore squinted suspiciously at him.

“An acting opportunity,” he repeated, brows furrowing. This was not the answer he had been expecting, on a multitude of levels. Though, thinking about it, and Wilbur’s ridiculously flighty self, it did actually make a small bit of sense that he would take off to the middle of nowhere in order to become a star.

If that was what he meant by acting, that was.

Talking with Wilbur was like getting whiplash. Magiore stared at him, then said, “Miming? Like...white face paint and red makeup kind of miming? Are you sure you could stop talking for that long?”

He would have made another sarcastic comment, but there was another sound of footsteps, and no one had yet passed. Magiore peered over Wilbur’s shoulder, frowning, wondering if he had misheard. Come to think of it, he probably had, fingers flexing a little on the plastic grocery bags he held.

“What secrets? You’re not supposed to keep secrets from me,” Magiore protested. “And there’s no such thing as defunct peppers, that was just all in your head.”




Was Wilbur actually blushing? Maybe a little. “I - yeah, “ although his grin was vibrant. “They offered me this major role in an indie flick, “ for investing it, “and we had a lot of hype, “ on the internet, on their own Twitter, on advertisements he’d hoped pay for, “but then some things fell through, “ he ran out of money, “and we had to shut down production. Then there was an incident with my phone, “ they stole it and ran, “and so long story short, my family was so proud, “ or mortified, “that they wanted to spend some more time with me before the next big thing came along and they didn’t have the chance, “ they had bailed him out of the credit card debt and gotten him a new phone in exchange for working for the family business, “but even if I love them, you know - a man’s got to stand on his own, so I came back.”

It was a little true. Like. Mostly true. It was true to him anyway.

Then, he tilted his head to a side. “I mean. It would be hard. But do you think I’d be good at it?” That was the real question here. “Maybe I’m really good as gesturing, you’d know better than I would.”

He glanced behind them when Magiore did, confused when he realized that no one was there. Maybe they’d ducked down an alley? - please don’t mug me, don’t need this right now it was fine, Magiore was here! And no one was there! He was probably just imagining it!

“Aww, you’re right - friends don’t keep secrets, “ and he was immediately delighted by that, but, “It’s less a secret secret and more a family legacy thing. I can promise it has nothing to do with spice, “ although he was winking which didn’t really bode well for anyone. “It wasn’t all in my head! It was all in my mouth and my stomach and my - “



There was something strangely unfamiliar about this Wilbur, talking about his acting opportunities with a seriousness and a dedication that Magiore wasn’t used to. Even if the story rambled on and he was relatively sure that at least a fourth of it was made up on the spot or at least exaggerated significantly, but still; it was a side of Wilbur that Magiore hadn’t seen before.

It was refreshing. Sort of.

Even if Magiore hastily pushed that aside because he was never going to admit that, ever.

“Well...even if didn’t work out,” he said, somewhat grudgingly. “You at least...made it there right? You did something. That’s….good, I suppose.”

He tried not to sigh.

He failed.

“I mean - yes. You are good at gesturing, but miming is more than that and - why am I even discussing this with you - “

Magiore broke off, glancing back around as more footsteps sounded, though they were still alone on the deserted sidewalk. He felt a creeping sense of unease prickle up his spine, a frown on his face as his hands curled more securely around the grocery bags he was carrying.

“I meant, as your superior you’re not supposed to - “ Magiore started, exasperated, and then said,

“Did you hear that?”