wipe the blood off your face (it may stain)

Then Your Burdens Will Be Lighter

"What's the deal with you and Hamilton?" Tubbo asked out of nowhere.

Wilbur blinked at the sudden question.

He had been minding his business, watching Hamilton, until Tubbo came into the living room and just sat down watching the show with him.

Hm.

A little strange. It felt too simple for them and their strange dynamic with each other. They weren't enemies or anything, but after the accusations Wilbur along with the rest of his family had thrown at him, it still felt uncomfortable talking to the hybrid, even after spending more time together. Tommy used to be a good buffer to remove that awkwardness, but after discovering that he was Crimson, it only added more tenseness if anything.

But Tubbo just plopped down on the couch and watched Hamilton with him like they were friends.

Maybe they were. It was a little hard to put their relationship in one sort of box.

"Uh," Wilbur started, not really knowing how truthful he should be. "I just like the songs. It's entertaining."

"But you're British."

Wilbur snorted, the bluntness Tubbo always had reminded him of Techno in a weird way. "That doesn't mean that I can't enjoy a good musical."

"A musical that conspires against your kind?"

"You're British too," Wilbur pointed out.

Tubbo shrugged. "But I'm not the one watching a musical about the American Revolution."

"Touché."

What Wilbur said to Tubbo wasn't a lie. Hamilton was by far his favourite musical. But the real reason he had been watching Hamilton was simply because he had frankly too much time on his hands and had been spending perhaps an unhealthy amount of time watching musicals.

While in hindsight Wilbur knew it wasn't a big deal. Tubbo, out of anyone, couldn't care less, and that it was no secret that he had too much time on his hands – because so did everyone else. Yet, it still made him feel icky. He didn't like how much time he had. He felt like he was an embarrassment for using his time doing useless things like playing guitar or watching musicals when he could be repairing the world from his mistakes.

Nobody else was doing anything really worthwhile, he had to remind himself, and he knew that. It didn't make any logical sense to blame himself for not spending his time doing more helpful things, but he did anyways.

And he didn't want to admit to himself that he was partly watching musicals was for nostalgic reasons. How he yearned and mourned for the time he had months ago, when everything sucked, but it didn't suck as much as it did now.

That was the funny thing about nostalgia; it always had a weird way of romanticizing the past.

He even managed to find a way to romanticize his life in the Hero Tower, when his life was up in flames. When he felt isolated and hated and he desired people to love him, but they never did because assumed he was a Villain.

He hated his life. But at least it was interesting. At least he didn't have blood on his hands. At least he could still say that he wasn't a Villain, nor would he ever be.

But it didn't matter. In the future, he would probably find a way to yearn the life he had now, despite knowing how horrible it was.

Maybe he was just destined to be unhappy, though. Always yearning for something unreachable.

Yeah. He didn't want to open the can of worms of his need to watch musicals. On surface level, it was because he simply enjoyed them. He would stick to that.