"she plays guitar?" wilbur soot x reader

uncovering scars

tw: sh

I wake up to an incredible light in my eyes. Oh, fuck no. No way I'm still in the fucking hospital! I open my eyes and I am indeed in the fucking hospital. I still hate hospitals. I'm completely awake as I look around. I see Tom and Will signing some papers. Will notices me first.

"Y/n! Holy shit, we were worried!" he says as he walks over to my bed and hugs me. There goes the butterflies. I feel a headache jam into my forehead. "FOR FUCKS SAKE!" I yell out at the sudden pain. Will jumps up and widens his eyes. "Shit, sorry Will. I just got a very intense and sudden headache." I say apologetically.

"The doctors said that would likely happen. Here, drink this." he says with a smile. I grab the medicine he brought me and swallow it. I see that he also has a cup of water for me. I chuckle a bit and so does he. Tom has been smiling at me the whole time. He looks very pleased by my awakening.

"So, Y/n, do you know what might've caused the panic attack?" Tom asks. Wilbur clearly hasn't told him. I look at Will and he gives me a look I can very well read. "Mhm. I actually know the exact reason. My foundation came off my arm and Will saw it. I got extremely panicked to the point of shivering." I say in a way too casual tone.

"Uhh... yeah..." Will says looking at me. I look down at my arm and look back up at Tom. "Do you think you could bring me some makeup wipes and a jacket, please? It feels horrid having this much makeup on my arm." I say. Tom looks at me for a second before getting up and hugging me.

"I'm proud of you, Y/n." he says with a smile I can't see, but can definitely hear. I hug him back. After he pulls away from the hug, he grabs his and Will's paperwork and heads out. "You raised him well, you know?" Will says looking at me. I look back at him and my stomach fills with butterflies. He's staring through my eyes to my soul... again.

"I do, in fact. It's one of the only things I praise myself of." I say, looking back at him with the same intensity. He smiles, both of us now staring into each other's souls. He tilts his head looking a bit like a dog. I chuckle at the sight. He softly smiles and so do I. We haven't broken our eye contact at all.

I've never wanted to stay in one moment forever, but if I would have to choose, this would be it.

We're interrupted by Tom, who's carrying a box of makeup wipes and a jacket. "Where did you get that?" I ask, seeing the jacket isn't mine. "Oh, It's Wilbur's. He lives near here so I broke into his office just like old times and stole it. I'm sure he doesn't mind, do you William?" Tom asks mockingly.

"For fucks sake Tommy, but yes, I don't mind at all." Will says, his cheeks dusted with a shade of pink. Hmm... interesting. I grab the wipes from Tom and look at the both of them. "Well... could you please?" I ask, not wanting them to stay while I take it off.

"No, actually. I'm worried about you hurting yourself again." Tom says as serious as ever. "Alright... no point in either of you leaving then." I say as I start cleaning off my shoulder. Will seems surprised at the placement of my cleaning, until he sees what's underneath.

"I don't remember there being that many when you came home, Y/n. Did you relapse again?" Tom asks, looking devastated. "I actually didn't. Believe me or not, I'm telling the truth." I say, knowing what I'm saying isn't true. I had a relapse. A minor one, but I did.

"Came home from Germany?" Will asks, confused. Oh, he doesn't know. I don't want him to either, though. "No, it was... Y/n?" Tom says. Well, too late now. "It was after I went to the bathroom... in the cafe... I wasn't planning on oversharing and I really regretted it. I was also... contemplating taking my own life when I first came back to the UK... so..."

Tom didn't know this.

Neither did Will.

"What?" Tom says.

"You were?" Will asks.

I continue cleaning my arm as fast as possible. They stare at me, mostly my scars, in disbelief. I don't think Tom remembered how many there were, and I don't think Will expected there to be this many. They were overlapping a bit, no skin left un-cut, except for the inner elbow and some of the inner upper arm.

"Y/n..." Will says. He's crying.

"I'm sorry Will. I'm sorry Tom." I say as I grab the 4th makeup wipe from the box.

I never stopped contemplating suicide.

I've been contemplating it since I was 8.

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