KEEP A PLACE FOR ME // Wilbur Soot X Reader

10

You understood now why this new job was offering to pay so much. It was a lot. 

To be fair, you had already worked a pretty full schedule. You spent your 9-5 (really 7-6) at the office, doing a variety of journalism related things; interview calls and writing and gathering sources and answering millions of emails. After your work day though, you weren't quite done - you still had chores around the flat and personal things to do as well. Some days it felt like you hardly got any sleep, but such was the life of an adult. 

This new job was not just a 9-5. It was a 24/7. 

Of course, it made sense. Bigger magazine meant more people meant more things to be done meant strange hours, and the news never stopped. It was just that the phone calls at 10 at night were really starting to infringe on your sleep hours, and the extra expense on coffee was a little too much for your liking. 

Still, you kept telling yourself the payoff would be good. The pay would be worth it, and if  you did well enough, they might hire you on full time. 

You just had to really knock their socks off with your work. 

You sighed resting your head in your hands as you closed your eyes, letting them take a break from poring over your monitor. You were starting to get a headache from staring at the screen so long. You needed a break. 

You glanced up at the clock hung on your wall. You still had three hours before you could go home. And it was your turn to cook tonight. 

You groaned and leaned back in your chair. 

You could just get takeout. Jazzy did it all the time on her nights to cook, unless she was in a cooking mood. No one would blink an eye if you just brought home some Chinese or something. It was just that you liked cooking, and trying out new dishes on your roommates, and it was expected of you at this point, and even though you wouldn't be letting anyone down really, it felt like you would be. 

Why was being an adult so hard?

You took a long drink from your water bottle before you leaned forward in your seat again, returning to the half-finished article that you had been working on. It looked like you would need a few more sources - maybe another interview of some kind - to finish this one up. 

You sighed, and began sorting through the list of numbers that you had gathered, looking for someone who might be suitable for this kind of thing. 

No, you had already used him in a previous piece... maybe her, but she was notorious for going off on tangents... they looked good, maybe you should give them a call-

Something hit the wall of your office with a loud smack, making you jump and accidentally tip your chair over, sending you tumbling to the ground. Your jar of pencils came with you, spilling out onto the carpet.

You lay on the floor for a moment, looking up at the ceiling as your heart slowed down from the rapid spike of adrenaline. 

Goddamn Wilbur.

You heaved yourself up, checking your hands from where they had hit the floor. Your wrists had a bit of carpet burn, as they had taken most of the impact, and the skin was already irritated. You would have to put some cream on it when you got home. More importantly - your pens. They had flown to all corners of the room.

As you gathered them back into their cup, you grumbled to yourself. Fucking Wilbur and his carrying on... it was an office building, not a playground... what was he even doing in there anyway?... he probably didn't even care that he was being a massive prick... him and his stupid, fluffy hair and glasses and acoustic guitar... what an idiot...

You would give him a piece of your mind, that's what. He was lucky you didn't go complain to Oscar again. Although maybe you should.

You put the cup of pens back on your desk and brushed yourself off before storming out the door and into the hallway.

The hallway was empty - better, you thought, that no one would see your angry march to Wilbur's door. You came to a stop in front of the smooth wood and raised a hand, rapping your knuckles against it angrily. You weren't going to hold back on this one... you had been too nice before...

It took a moment before Wilbur opened the door, and even then just a crack. "Hello?"

You tried for your best authoritative voice. "Hello Wilbur."

He opened the door wider, choosing to lean on the frame. "Well hello." He said, an easy grin stretching over his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He had a very nice smile. 

No! No, that was not why you were here! You were fed up with his antics and you were going to tell him so!

"I didn't know songwriting required throwing things at the walls." You snarked.  

"Oh." Wilbur laughed. "I'm not exactly songwriting right now."

"Well then what are you doing?" You asked, folding your arms across your chest. "Because it's very disruptive, and I was trying to work, you know."

"Right, sorry." Wilbur said, looking genuinely apologetic. He glanced behind him, as if checking on something, before turning back to you. "It's kind of hard to explain."

You rolled your eyes. "You said that before-"

"Would you like to come see?"

You stopped, taken by surprise a bit. "What?"

"Well, you've asked a few times now, and if you have a minute, I could show you." He said. "If you'd like."

You paused. You were curious as to what he was doing in there. Of course you were - after putting up with all the loud bangs and screams and odd moans and the wailing, anyone would be. But, on the other hand, you really should be getting back to work...

You pursed your lips. "Fine. You're lucky I was about to take a break anyway."

Wilbur grinned and opened the door wider. "Come on in then."