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

the cruel beast / i am seen

wilbur's apartment is quiet.

it is about three in the morning, or it was the last time wilbur had checked his phone. he couldn't tell how long it's been but if he was right, he had about four more hours before his alarm went off. sighing heavily and blinking his eyes open, staring at his ceiling. he couldn't figure out for the life of him why he was awake when more than ever he needed his eight hours.

he figured it had to do with your performance tomorrow. his clothes had been picked out. sitting in a folded pile on his chair in the corner and collecting dust for the past two and a half days. he didn't know what to do after that. what else was there? he already met with the band, practiced with them until his fingers threatened to fall off, even meeting with quackity other than you. he couldn't practice anymore, his fingers needed to be attached to his hand to play.

and really, it was just the one song. but still, it rocked his nerves to no end. even if the band had more songs than he'd ever recorded by himself, even if he knew the one song like the back of his hand. it didn't matter.

what matters is that these next two days have to run smoothly.

for your sake.

which means he needs to go to sleep, he thinks to himself and then rolls onto his side, counting his attempts at steady breaths. counting the sheep behind his eye. lose himself in his bedtime daydreams, stories that he'd known since birth.

the one he built from birth is the one where the main character had been born in space and committed insane amounts of crime, currently the subplot is about how they're emotionally unavailable and can't contribute to their team of thieves, which leads to one of those scenarios called one bed.

yet.

that daydream wasn't working its magic.

sitting up, he leans over and grabs his phone off the charger, covering his eyes as he turned it on. letting his eyes adjust, he groans as he leans forward, the back of his elbows digging into the meaty part of his knees.

it's 3:19.

his mind is racing faster than it should be right now, he needs his fucking sleep.

but he can't sleep like this, it isn't going to work. shoving his blankets off, he slides his laptop underneath his armpit, minding the bits of furniture and the walls as he heads to the dining table.

on the other side of the table is a candle from one of techno's friends, a late gift of some kind. squinting at the side of the candle, it's the 'welcome home' scent. interesting. he doesn't light it at first, having sat down and opened his laptop up, scrolling through assorted blogs and ikea furniture. after a while though, he does get up and fiddle with the matches sitting next to the candle. once the flame flares up in a burst of light, he does the job quickly, watching for a second as the three wicks burn the wax.

for the first time since he woke up in a fit of frenzied breathing and ice-cold sweating, his mind is quiet.

there's something poetic about it, but it hardly stays in his mind for long, moving on from the candle and back to his laptop.

twenty minutes after the candle is lit, three minutes into scrolling through wikipedia's random pages, techno wakes up, grumbling about the time, his sensitive nose, and something else that wilbur is not sure he'd like to repeat.

techno will be fine, he doesn't have anything planned for today or tomorrow, what a nice brother, he hums to himself, glancing at the towering figure disappearing into his room for the toilet. watching as he glared into the mirror from the light, he confirms. what a nice brother.