In Cold Blood (A Tntduo Fic)

VII "Florescent"

Tw dissociation, sensory overload,

...

The hot glare of the florescent lights pressed down uncomfortably. Wilbur strained against his jacket. It pulled right in all the wrong places, making it impossible for Wilbur to ignore the itch it caused. God, he hated these meetings.

As Wilbur squirmed and fidgeted, the chief sat opposite of him. Wilbur started to take notice to the choking fabric of the collar of his shirt.

"Take your coat off, Soot," the chief said, pausing between whatever she had been saying. Wilbur didn't know what she had said before that, "It's clearly bothering you."

Wilbur nodded, his mouth too dry for him to speak. He shrugged off his coat, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of him.

The glare of the lights still shined, though.

"As I was saying, we have a biannual check in coming up, so I want this place to be absolutely perfect when that comes," the chief continued. Callahan, who had sat to the right of Wilbur, signed something Wilbur didn't catch. He didn't hear the chiefs response either. How long had everything been fuzzy for? How much had he missed? And when would these damned lights stop shining and his shirt stop scratching and-

Wilbur felt a light tap on his shoulder. He came back to reality, feeling like he had just returned to his body.

"You okay?" Callahan signed. Wilbur nodded, feeling a bit numb.

"Yeah. Fine," he said, barely able to get the words out. He felt like he was watching himself though the lens of a movie. The lights still beamed down.

"Are you sure? You don't look so good," another officer said. Wilbur didn't know who, his mind was still too foggy to place the voice. "You've gone really pale."

Wilbur closed his eyes and pushed away from the table he sat at. "Feel sick. Leaving."

"Alright. You going home then?" The person asked. Wilbur thought their name was Conner. Wilbur shook his head. Before anyone else had the chance to respond, Wilbur stood up and walked out the door with his coat sling over one arm.

He walked down the hallway with his eyes glued to the ground. He felt like he was floating, like there was nothing holding him to the ground but nothing pulling him upwards either. When he got to his office, he didn't remember walking there, or opening the door and walking in.

He closed the door behind him, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He turned the lights off and closed the blinds on his windows. It wasn't completely dark, but it was better. He sat down at his desks, his coat falling to the hound beside him. He stared at the wooden desk, closely examining the way the wood swirled and mottled. He pulled a small piece of red fabric, twisting it in his hands. Through the middle of it ran a small line of boning, and around that grew a garden of embroidered flowers. A scarp from one of Techno's old corsets.

Breathe, he told himself, just breathe.

The door opened slowly, as if the person behind it was trying to be as quiet as possible.

"Soot?" Came a quiet voice. The chief. "Are you okay? Can I come in?"

"I'm fine. Yes," Wilbur said curtly. He had lied both times.

"You should go home."

"Can't," Wilbur said, still twisting the fabric as he stared at his desk. "Still work."

"You can barely speak. You need to go home," the chief said. "I know you probably don't like me right now, but anyone can tell that you're not doing well, and it should tell you something when everyone is telling you to go home."