Stay Here | Wilbur Soot

v

"No," That's where the conversation ends as he invites himself further in, sitting down on my couch without much care for privacy or personal space.

I look around slowly to see there isn't really anything valuable around the space. You know, just in case he's in the mood to steal and run.

After deciding nothing is worth taking, a small inner battle ensues, and I ultimately choose to go grab some clothes from my room. "I'm gonna shower; the fridge has drinks and some food in it, help yourself."

He doesn't respond, kinda just sits there looking at his thin pale hands, eyes searching over their scrappy design.

I let him be and grab my clothes from the dresser, shutting myself into the bathroom while locking the door behind me— just in case.

"Am I really trusting him in my house alone? He might not even be Wilbur..." I shake my head at the left portion of my brain trying to talk some sense into me, setting the new change of clothes on the back of the toilet so I could strip down.

I take my shirt off first, stretching a bit after being freed from the clothing piece as I move to my pants.

The second the fabric is off me, I see it... a string of shaky writing spelled out across my thigh in bright blue writing.

"How the fuck do you know who I am..." I read out loud, eyes widening slowly as I begin to register exactly who said those words to me earlier today. "You've gotta be kidding me."

My finger traces over the letters loosely, not knowing how exactly to react toward what this writing meant for me and the weirdo outside that I barely knew. There's no spark; no love at first sight, like with Cinderella at the ball.

"Fuck!" I suddenly scream out, not realizing just how loud I am within the thin walls of my apartment. "This is bullshit!"

It's rather quick that I hear a knock on the door, startling me. "Why are you yelling?"

This time, when I hear Wilburs British-accented voice, I don't freeze. Instead, I feel butterflies within my stomach, his tone turning from unbothered and cruel to worried and soft within seconds inside of my mind.

And I hate it.

I don't like him. He's weird, an abnormality in society that doesn't belong. And to top it off, someone who blew up a country about three hours ago.

"It's nothing! Just... go back to the living room," I yell through the door so he can hear me, looking away from the marking as if to pretend it didn't even exist.

No further words are exchanged as Wilbur goes to do whatever it is he was doing, which I hope is just sitting on the couch.

Meanwhile, I take the rest of my clothes off and turn the shower on, waiting a few minutes for it to warm up before stepping in.

While cleaning myself, I can't help but offer small glances down at my thigh, the image not going anywhere.

Would this... be a reason for someone to rip their marking off? Is this how those people feel? Like their soulmate is someone so impossible for them that they don't even want to believe it.

I mean, mine is literally impossible, because he isn't real. And even if he were, he isn't the best at first introductions.

Wilburs cold, his walls are up and he's only willing to give out small pieces of himself. I get a strange feeling no ones been able to see the full picture of him yet either.

A small laugh escapes at my thoughts, finding it humerus how my mind was trying to convince me that Wilbur would be a fun challenge to try and beat.

To try and fall in love with.

☁︎︎

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We'll look at that! Who saw that coming? I mean I didn't thats like... too predictable.