Stop Calling me That (mcyt + ftm reader) -Book 1/2-

-35.5- (..oops)

((Another flashback style Wil chapter, oops! He's around 18/19 in this one. I've separated the warnings into chunks since, again, this is a long one. It's got a lot of heavy themes, please stay safe and read all of the warnings))

((There is NO SHAME in skipping some/all of this chapter!!))

((Warnings: minor warning for ed, smoking. I think that's it for this first chunk, though do be aware it's quite gay))

Just one time, just this once. That's where things had started. But of course, that's where they always started, wasn't it? That was until 'just one' became 'just two,' or 'just one more,' until it spiraled completely out of control.

But it's ok, because he'll stop tomorrow. Just one last time.

If he were to look back and be completely honest with himself, Wilbur had known it would never be 'just one time.' He had been through it before, time and time again, and this would be far from the last time he made such a mistake. He had been picking up bad habits for years like a sick parody of Pokémon. Coffee and nothing else for three days, I choose you!

He ran a hand through his hair, messy and longer than he would've liked it, allowing his gaze to wander over the empty neighborhood. It was cold, he thought bitterly. He couldn't remember what it was that sent him outside at this ungodly hour in the middle of winter. Whether it be restlessness, the lack of sleep, or if he was searching for something he couldn't quite place. Regardless, it didn't matter now. Not now that he was standing just off of a stranger's driveway, his only company rolling grey skies, far too cloud-coated to allow any starlight to pass through. The only thing that made it past was the light snow which seemed to almost dance its way through the air.

Tired, anxious eyes scanned the street once more, taking in that very snow as it made itself known atop each car, rooftop, and driveway. It lay as of yet undisturbed, save for his own footprints. By morning they'd be gone, as if they'd never been, the only trace of his presence gone with it.

He shivered, pulling his sleeves over his hands. He could see the faint fog of his own breath in the leftover light from a lamppost reflecting off of the snow. The misty grey of the distant sky made the atmosphere lighter than it usually would be at such an hour, and he found himself wondering if it was the first hints of the sunrise or just a trick of the weather.

He grew aware of another sound. Not as if it'd just started, but as if it was previously too quiet for him to notice. Scraping shoes and crunching snow; he wasn't alone. There. A figure a few blocks down the street, hardly a silhouette through the veil of snow, but quickly becoming clearer as he approached. He must've been around Wilbur's age, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his heavy winter coat. Wilbur envied him then, standing there in his oversized shirt and sweatpants he hadn't washed in well over a week. He really should have brought a coat.

He hadn't realized he was staring until said staring was suddenly met, the two separated by no more than 10 feet of sidewalk. He averted his eyes, stepping to the side and waiting for him to pass. But of course, he didn't.

"Don't think I've seen you around before," his voice was uneven but not unkind, not having quite outgrown cracking yet. He had an accent which suggested he shouldn't have been in the area himself, but Wilbur assumed he must've moved a while back.

"I'm not usually around here," he replied, his own voice coming across quieter than he'd expected.

The stranger hummed, pulling his hood back and away from his face. His poorly dyed short black hair fell in front of his eyes, the first bits of snow already speckled in it.