𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

7

❝ And if we paint a perfect picture, we can make it last forever ❞

{《☆》}

There are purple flowers pushed up to your cheeks, ones you like to think was either a balloon flower or a petunia. You were too lazy to push them away from your face, letting them brush against your face like it was tracing imaginary lines.

You closed your eyes, imagining your Songbird's hands tracing the same lines, fingertips pressing gentle circles into your cheek and leaving the phantom feeling of his warmth. His lips would leave a stain on your lips, a million different shades of himself for you to remember him by when you wake up. The taste of roasted chicken lingering on your lips whenever your tongue swipped over them, always too cold until his lips met yours again.

When you open your eyes, it's to your Songbird walking closer. He is smiling, soft and serene, with his hair fluffed at the front, long enough to fall a bit in front of his eyes. "Hey Mockingbird."

"Songbird!" You say way too loudly, shooting to a stand, flowers pushing you forward. You take his hands in yours, searching the pixels that glitch, torn between showing you the gentle features that grace your Songbird or sticking to the rules. "I haven't seen you in ages."

He opens his mouth, tongue pressed to his teeth—

"Would you like to explain what's happening right now, Tommy?" The voice says, emotions curled tightly around the words. An order, not a question.

You look up, (e/c) eyes hardened, rebellion at the tip of your tongue as Tommy starts pulling away. But your eyes meet his and the world shifts. He reels back, eyes wide and lips parted in silent shock.

"You," It's a gasp, a call for air that has been knocked out of your lungs. Your stomach twists, exhaling the pressure that has built. Something shifts in your chest, like your ribs have moved to make room for something you didn't know was missing. Your heart beats harder. Air comes easier. "Songbird, my Songbird. You—!"

Your Songbird falls to his knees in front of you, saving your legs the trouble. He reaches up to your face, holding it likes it is something precious, an art piece to be revered, a photo he had to memorize. "Mockingbird," his voice is a rasp, trembling with something soft. "You found me."

You reach up desperate hands, holding delicate wrists in a loose grip. You laugh, feeling hysterical with joy, love, happiness. "I found you."

"What the fuck is happening?" Songbird glances over at Tommy as if just remembering he's there. Fair considering you forgot as well. "You two... know each other?"

"Tommy," Songbird starts, hands falling to his sides. "This is my soulmate." He looks back at you, softening. "My Mockingbird."

"Y/N is your soulmate?" Tommy gaped. His nose bunched up, "Wilbur is your soulmate?"

"Stop saying it like that," Songbird— Wilbur protested. He brushed a hand through your hair, "They're perfect for me!"

"Y/N is cool," Tommy agrees, "Too good for you."

"Oh fuck right off," Wilbur scowls half-heartedly. He pulls away from you, taking a stand and holding a hand out to you. You take it, feeling a little more than light-headed. You were expecting such a rush of emotions to wash over you.

"So," Tommy says, a tad bit awkward. "Do you need me to go while you..." His nose wrinkles in disgust. "Talk about your emotions."

"You're literally such a child," Wilbur rolls his eyes, smiling when Tommy bats at his arm before walking away. He turns to you, face bright as he looks over your face again, like he can't get enough of it.