Shooting Star 🌟 Wilbur Soot x Oc 🌟

5

"We're like fireworks and symphonies exploding in the sky, with you I'm alive" -- We the Kings

Two nights later Wilbur stares blankly at the papers in front of him, scattered across his desk. Then all of a sudden there's a faint brush of wind and the papers rustle. He turns, wondering faintly if he had left the balcony doors open. However, the doors tucked behind the deep green curtains are closed. The only other two windows in the room are closed.

Frowning, Wilbur turns back around only to nearly scream and wake the whole palace as he makes eye contact with warm hazel eyes that are just as panicked and confused as he is.

"What—?" He stammers out, the sentence failing to form as his breathing returns to normal. Realistically he should call out for someone, this random person somehow got into the palace and then into his study without alerting a single guard. But he doesn't. And he isn't too sure why.

She opens her mouth to say something but words fail her and she sinks to the ground, slowly collapsing to the ground, pale as a sheet. Wilbur is on his feet in seconds, racing to her side, but failing to get there before her head hits the wooden floorboards though slowed by her hands that try to catch her but crumple under her weight.

He hesitates before reaching out, gently rolling her onto her back. Her eyes are closed now, her breathing slightly uneven but not something he's concerned about. Dark hair splays out around her head like a crown, skin paler than it was a couple days ago and rather unhealthy looking.

"Hello?" He asks, shaking her shoulder a bit, concern filling his chest and his expression likely mirroring that feeling.

She stirs slightly but doesn't wake and Wilbur looks around desperately. Does he call out for someone? That would require trying to explain who she was though, and even he doesn't know who she is quite yet. It's a goal. It's on the list. Does he keep her here or move her? The couch in here isn't exactly comfortable to sleep on, it's plenty long enough, he's slept on it before but woke up with a crick in his neck and an uncomfortable stiffness to his limbs. Should he take her to the hospital wing? He would face questions from Niki and Rio though.

Why was she even here? He hadn't seen her in two days, it was nearly midnight, and she looked sick. Thoughts were swirling around too fast in his brain and it was starting to give him a headache. So, making a vague decision, he carefully scoops her up into his arms so that she's leaning against his chest so that she doesn't fall, and his arms are tucked under her knees and against the small of her back. Then he, with difficulty, maneuvers out of the study, down the hall as quiet as possible, and then into the spare rooms next to his, left empty for a partner if he so desired.

Unwilling to care that he was letting her use rooms that were traditionally not meant for anyone besides a lover, he set her on the bed, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed up and over her shifting form as she tries to get comfortable again.

Then he paces. Because what else are you supposed to do when some half stranger appears in your study with no clear way of how she got inside and then promptly collapses without saying anything, looking just as confused and scared as you are.

Should he go get something from the hospital wing, or food from the kitchens? What does he do for this? Or maybe— books. He had a book on treating various illnesses. It was kind of out of date but it was better than nothing.

He crosses through the adjoining door into his own room, going directly to the vast bookshelf and crouching to the last shelf, reading title after title, searching them for the desired book. Some of the titles are too small for him to see in the shadow of the shelf and he leans closer to see them when there's a sharp three knocks that rap against his door, startling him so bad that he jumps and smacks his head against the shelf.