He hadn't seen Wilson for a while, truth be told. So, naturally, the night he decided to go home-their home-and try and not be a jack ass, he was sent into the past. And if he had his years right (he was sure he did), he would be heading to a version of Wilson who was still in school. Great. He just wanted to talk things over with the man, try to make up after yet another separation, and this just threw a wrench in the works.
"Maybe this means I'm not in the dog house," Greg muttered to himself as he pulled up to the curb in front of their old apartment, having ended up here on his bike. He turned it off and pulled off his helmet, working his fingers back through his hair, something Wilson always fixed after he saw it, and something Greg missed when they were apart. It had been over a month since he had spoken with Wilson this time-not their longest, but still long-and he wanted to see him. Young or not.
Not to mention the whole Wilson being that much younger than him was really just amusing.
Getting to the door, he was glad to find it unlocked, as asked, and walked in, helmet under his arm.
"Honey, I'm home," He said, mashing his lips together after as he walked inside the house. Even his voice was older, gruffer. It had been through more. He looked around the front hall of the apartment and shook his head. It looked just like he remembered.