Don't Know How to Feel.

43. Late Night Concerns

Love, returned or not, was still one of the most confusing things in the world.

Wilbur came here to apologise, to get the two of them back into enjoying each other's company because two weeks was long enough. But they ended up arguing instead. He ended up getting a punch in the face. Must've made him hate Quackity, right? Boil with anger? And it did, he didn't deny how much he opposed Quackity during those few moments. But then an actual talk followed after, and so did love.

The bruise on his face is a reminder of his visit. So is the coldness he felt, walking back to his place without someone. It was his choice anyway, Quackity was starting to offer some very late night dinner- but Wilbur refused. Because he sure did love to let himself ponder alone- let himself sink into his thoughts for a great while.

But he was not alone when he opened the door, keys jingling as he fumbles for a second. He locked the door, being greeted by his roommate- or more so, by his brother with the way Tommy greeted him.

A pat on the shoulder and a small shove with a grin and Tommy welcomed him into the house. "Welcome back, king. Returned late in the night and looking stunning still."

"Thanks, Tommy." Wilbur shook his head with a smile that Tommy couldn't see due to his back facing him. He whipped round, shoving his keys in his pocket. "What have you been up to?"

"Not much." Tommy started as Wilbur walked by, nodding along. But then Tommy stopped, making Wilbur spare a small glance over at him before returning to walking into the kitchen.

"What the fuck happened?" Tommy was still standing there, looking at Wilbur with slightly widened eyes. And Tommy didn't get the answer when Wilbur just shrugged. So Tommy asked again, making his way over.

"How the hell did you get that?" He was pointing at Wilbur's face now, only frowning when he saw the bruise was a bit bigger than he first saw due to the poor lighting, and then the cut on Wilbur's lip.

Wilbur turned away, rummaging through the fridge. "It's nothing, Tommy."

"Yes, it is." Tommy raised his voice a bit, throwing his hands to the side. "You've got a big fuckin' bruise that has been spreading on your face Wil. There's dried-up blood on it too. That's not nothing."

"Tommy, have you ate yet? Because I haven't, so I'm gonna make some food."

Tommy only shook his head. "You're not changing the topic on me, big man. Not today. Tell me what happened." Tommy slumped against the counter. "Please, Wil? You can't just show up late in the night lookin' like that man. You would be the same if it was me and guess what? I would give you an answer. So you should really give me one."

Wilbur furrowed his brows for only a second and huffed, because heck, Tommy was right. He really should give some sort of explanation and he really would be all up on Tommy if he arrived late in the night with a bulging bruise on his face. With a nudge of his elbow, the fridge was closed and he was facing Tommy.

"The bruise is a result of a good punch in the face, Tommy," he said, pointing at his injury with a half smile. But Tommy drew his lips into a thin line, a deadpan expression on his face.

"Yea, no way. Dipshit. You also got a pretty decent cut on your lip, Wilbur." he pointed out, arms crossed with a disappointed frown. "You weren't hurt anywhere else, were you?"

Wilbur shrugged Tommy away, making him repeat the question.

"Just a knee in the stomach and a good collision of the back of my head on the floor. Neither of which hurt anymore, Tommy. I'm fine." Wilbur explained, placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder and giving the most reassuring smile he could in this situation. Tommy looked Wilbur up and down, seemingly looking for any other sign of injury.