Questionable Choices [Yan!DSMP x Reader]

Chapter 13: Lmv wzb ^^

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T/W: Talk about several mental health problems, under which things such as self-harm and suicide.

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With your hands in your pockets, you stare Wilbur right in the eyes and he stares straight back. He inhales a bit of his cigarette and breathes out the smoke, all while you're just staring him down. And he doesn't even look away either.

"You're back," he eventually says.

"You're still here," you respond right after he speaks, and he simply looks at the road. He's hugging himself with his one arm while holding his cigarette with the other, so you come to the conclusion that he must be cold and have underestimated how cold the weather would be. So, you realize that maybe you should give him his.

"What are you doing?" he asks as soon as he sees you sitting next to him and putting your coat over his shoulders. You laugh.

"I'm giving you my jacket, you arsehole," you chuckle, "what else do you think? Your whole face has already turned to a tomato and I don't think you're of much use when your arms freeze off. You can't be dressed like this at eleven p.m. in the winter. That's just asking for a cold."

"But now you're getting cold," he protests, inhaling a bit of his cigarette again.

"Yeah, but I'm used to it. I don't sit in some fancy company building all day, you know," you joke and let out a sigh. "Besides, you really look like you need a friend right now."

Wilbur lets out a chuckle. "Well, I don't. You can just go home, if you want to. I'll find my way around this place."

"If you'd just find your way around this place, you wouldn't still be sitting here, Soot. Besides, you're the Wilbur Soot. Rich, successful, and handsome. I don't think you're that safe here if I'm not around." When he doesn't answer and looks away, you continue. "And you're vulnerable, which would be the sign to anyone here that you're an easy prey."

"I'm not vulnerable."

"Whatever you say, Willy Boy," you chuckle and a silence falls between the two. You look over at him, your eyes falling on the cigarette between his lips. "Are you an addict?" You don't think twice about asking the question. You just do it. Right after finishing the sentence, though, you wonder if it's a bit rude to do it. Wilbur looks at you confusedly, maybe even surprisedly, and it takes a bit of time for him to answer.

"Why do you think I'm an addict?" he chuckles nervously and you shrug, looking at the cloudy sky.

"I knew someone who smoked as well. A very close relationship we had. It was obvious to me how badly she wanted to stop smoking, but she could never stop. No matter how hard she tried." You look at Wilbur again. "But if you're not an addict, why do you smoke?"

"I don't know," he stutters, "because I like doing it?"

"It's a coping mechanism, isn't it?" you let out without second thought. However, as shocked as Wilbur is, you know that he can't deny it. "You once started it as a coping mechanism and now you can't stop doing it anymore. Do you even remember when you started?"

He remains silent. You can see how he's tightening his grip around himself and how he's trying to suppress the tears. For a moment, you feel bad about what you just did. But at the same time, he has to open up to someone about it. "Have you ever gone to a professional about it?"

"What? You want me to go to those assholes at Lemon Tree, don't you? Not going to happen. I don't need some stranger to tell me what I feel and what I go through. I know what I'm dealing with. I know what my problem is. I can deal with it just fine," he snarls at you and right away, you pull him into a hug. You can feel him freeze in your arms and you resist the urge to cough due to the smoke that enters your lungs. Do you like the fact that he called your therapist one of 'those assholes at Lemon Tree'? No. Of course not. But you're not here to argue with him.