and i'd give up forever to touch you || Wilbur x Reader

don't vandalize pianos propaganda

calling rosie's phone numerous times left them with voicemail after voicemail, and so after standing in the biting ac, you take his hand and lead him towards the main entrance, showing off the longest hallway he thinks he's seen this week.

lining the walls are all posters with music notes and clubs and openings in various groups. not to mention the many concert dates.

"this is sort of known as the music major building, but that's mostly because of all of the practice rooms, surprisingly large rooms for classes, and then of course, the auditoriums. there's a grand total of two and a half, the half being in a classroom." you inform him, making a left after walking down this ridiculously long hallway.

"and since rosie is probably eating all of the food in her car, where she's got the heater on probably that bastard, we're going to find ourselves a practice room," you began to whisper, taking a left and opening one door, showing off a stairwell.

he plants his feet in the ground, watching as his hand falls out of your grasp and you notice after you reach the third step. your facial expression softens, pulling your hands into your chest, wringing them as you step down. "oh, will, you can say if you don't want to go anywhere, i just suggested a practice room so you wouldn't have to deal with people."

it was a kind sentiment but it made him uncomfortable with the way his mind wouldn't stop with flashes of this morning, when you had changed right in front of the camera. he can remember every dip and curve of your skin, the way you had effortlessly pulled clothes on and off, and the way you stretched upwards, showing off every inch of skin that he could leave a mark on-

they were... thoughts that he shouldn't have about a friend, he knows, and it bothers him that he doesn't care as much as he did, at first.

"i'm-" he breathes in and then out before trying again, "would we even have access to any of them, i thought they kept the rooms locked?" or he would assume so.

"most of them are locked, it's just that during the competitive season such as now, during their classes they unlock most of the doors and don't lock them up until the last class. and the choir director loves me, so i get a free pass," you explain as you usually do, looking up and down the stairs before turning to him. "i think the rain has probably stopped now. if you want to try walking back to our dorm, or i could walk you to your car, we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

the air in the building is not kind to him, his wet clothes sticking like a second skin and keeping him cold, not in the mood to be making decisions, not when he felt like you were waiting on him. because you were.

when you had called the shots as if on instinct, he didn't not like it. but he hated following you without having a say in it.

he hated the way you moved like you knew what he was comfortable with. and he hated the way your voice turned soft on him and made him feel heard when you stopped and asked him if he was.

"is there any practice rooms on the first floor?" he asks, swallowing down any anxiety he had, biting down on the inside of his cheeks as you nod, opening the door for him. and he doesn't miss the way your hand reaches for him but jerks itself away as you stuff your hands into your pockets, reaching for warmth there.

turning to the last door on the right before two doors showed off the outside, showed off how the rain pounds against the concrete. you knock on the last door and waited for a brief second. "rooms are soundproof, mostly, if you listen close you could probably hear a little bit." you mumble to yourself, making eye contact with him.

he wonders if you could read his mind, and that's why you always answer his unspoken questions. not that he had that many, of course.

opening the door, you find yourself in a room with a worn down piano and the tiniest window in existence, showing the rain and the bush in the way of any beautiful scenery. a plastic chair that looked older than the piano was shoved in the corner with a music stand in front of it.