Hyacinths

Patchwork and Paisey

  "I don't know if I can do this..." Alex muttered.

  Wilbur froze and looked down once again, "I understand..."

  "But I love you, Wilbur, and I don't think I can just leave you... I need time Wilbur..." Alex contained. His own words felt like a knife directly in his gut.

  Different emotions waged wars in his head and he knew this was the best he could do. This would give him time to think, time to weigh his options, and time to let it all sink in.

  "Okay," Wilbur said, nodding his head, "okay," he repeated, this time in a softer tone.

  Wilbur stood up.

  Part of Alex ached to tell him to sit back down, to tell him to stay, to run over and hug him and simply never let go.

  But, Alex stayed silent and still.

  "I'm gonna go now, and I'm not gonna come back, or even come near you..." Wilbur cut himself off. He gulped and closed his eyes.

  "Unless," he said, "you want me to."

  With that, he turned and left the café, not looking back.

  Wilbur bolted up, breathing heavily. He looked down, saw that all the blankets were on the floor, and sighed. That had been the fifth time this week, and he still hadn't gotten any better at handling it.

  The clock blaring three AM, he stood up. Wilbur stumbled into the bathroom and splashed his face with cool water, running a hand through his tangled hair.

  He glanced at the mirror. What stared back was a tired, sad man, hair a mess with sagging bags under his red eyes. Fuck, he really couldn't keep doing this, could he?

  He sighed, turning off the bathroom light and staggering back to bed. Wilbur stared up at the ceiling, no longer feeling tired but knowing it was far too early for him to get up and do anything.

  So, he stared at the ceiling until the sun rose, the same way he had all week.

~

  Once the sun finally rose and his optimistically set alarm began to blare with a familiar screech, Wilbur groaned. He hadn't slept at all last night, but at this point, he was used to it. Pulling on a pair of gray sweats, he grumbled as he sat up and pulled himself out of bed, walking down the hallway.

  Honestly, Wilbur wished Alex would just get out of his head already. Those big brown eyes, beautiful smile, and every other little thing about him was stuck in his head, 24/7-

  Wilbur stopped and hit his head against the wall.

  He sighed heavily, maybe giving himself a concussion wasn't the best way to forget his ex. One moment he would be cussing Alex, trying to shove all the blame onto him as possible, wanting to hurt him, and an hour later Wilbur would be staring up at the ceiling, hands splayed, and all he would be thinking about was Alex's hands. Alex's voice, Alex's lips, every inch of him singing to touch and hold and kiss Alex, but ultimately failing.

  He continued to the kitchen, resisting the urge to hit his head against the counter. He fished a box of pancake mix from the cupboard and a whisk and bowl from the drawer. Grabbing all other necessary ingredients he tried his best to mix the batter without creating a massive mess... and only somewhat succeeded.

  Wilbur was not an amazing cook by any means. Hell, he'd lost track of the number of times he almost set his apartment aflame by forgetting water in the mac & cheese cups. But, he had gotten better, pancakes out of a box were something he was capable of. Barely, but capable.

  Techno on the other hand was an amazing baker. He often stopped by and gave Wilbur containers full of whatever the hell he had made that day. He usually would give it to him when he dropped Tommy off.

  Ever since their father had left them, Techno and Wilbur took turns watching Tommy. But Tommy slept at Wilbur's place almost every night, since not only did Wilbur not really have much to do unlike Techno, Wilbur also had a spare bedroom for Tommy. Plus Techno's roommate really isn't good with kids.

  Wilbur perked up when he heard a door creaking open and footsteps slowly approaching. Speak of the devil,

  He smiled sweetly when Tommy came into view, still dressed in pajamas and still looking very tired.

  "Hey, Toms! How'd you sleep?" Wilbur asked, beaming brightly at the boy.

  "Fine," Tommy grumbled, "Why were you up last night?"

  Wilbur felt a pang of guilt. He really didn't mean to wake Tommy.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Wilbur tried his best to keep his smile, "Just had a bad dream last night, nothing to worry about!" He fabricated.

  "But you've been up every night," Tommy whined.

  'Fuck, dammit Wilbur you idiot,' Wilbur cursed himself out within his own thoughts.

  "Don't worry about it Toms, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake up," Wilbur apologized.

  Before Wilbur knew it, there were tiny arms wrapped around his torso, and Tommy's head was buried in Wilbur's shirt.

  He tried his best to maintain his composure, but it didn't take long for him to begin tearing up.

  He slowly brought his arms up around Tommy too, leaning into the hug.

  "Thanks, Toms," Wilbur muttered, fighting back tears he loosened his grip before letting go completely.

  It had taken him a second to realize that Tommy wasn't responding, and that he hadn't let go of Wilbur. Then another second to realize Tommy had fallen asleep on him. Chuckling slightly he scooped Tommy up, carrying him into the living room with a smile on his face.

  He gently deposited Tommy on the couch and returned to making the pancakes. One step at a time, Wilbur. He told himself. One step at a time.

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Word count-987