Chapter Text
Wil finds himself by the water side more often now, Phil's intentness on training Wil, Technos expertise in every situation and Tommy's ever piercing voice were grating on his every bone. Tubbo is quiet and hides from Wil in his box, he doesn't often see him.
But, this older brother thing was getting a bit much, the expectation to become the next Technoblade even more so.
Wils notebook has three pages left in it. He thought about choosing his last words carefully, before impulsively scrawling the word of his recent musings large and in the centre of each page. Front and back.
Love, love, love, love, love, love.
He tears them out, laying them in front of him on the daisy patterned grass. Perhaps it's the contrast between the destruction of the page and the pretty flowers or the harsh lines and the words they write; but Wil feels inspired.
He should write letters. He decides then. Instead of another notebook, the same as the one before and the one before that; he will get personalised paper, each with his name stamped fancily in the top right corner. A space for the date and address. Little decorative leaves in the corners.
This new medium of writing will spark something great, Wil thinks. He knows.
And if it doesn't, it'll make avid reading for the fishes. He grins at that. A gallery of his long forgotten, half ashamed penning for only the fishes to appreciate. He scoffs, if his work was only seen by them, he's failed as an author.
That evening he returns home with lighter shoulders and another notebook cover to add to the growing collection under his bed. He smiles as he falls asleep, the curtains open so he can see the stars. Or they can see him.
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He writes to the village near their home, not close enough to walk. Requesting his paper. He draws an example on some old parchment, taking care to make his edges straight, spilling no ink. His leaves are less pretty than he would have liked, but he hopes they'll get the gist of what he was going for. He sends this away in secret, tying the scroll to his father's messenger crows.
They arrive at the door soon after, wrapped in brown paper and tied with red and white string. His name printed on the front, Mr. Wilbur Soot.
Philza doesn't even see the package, he's too busy in the back garden tending to potatoes side by side with Techno. Tommy does though, his little eyes wide with secrecy and mischief. Wilbur gives him the red and white string as compensation for his confidentiality, which he takes in his small hands happily.
Wil opens it carefully, the paper rustling under his fingers. He smooths it flat to the table then takes the first sheet of paper from the top of the pile. It's thicker than he's used to, higher quality. He holds it up to the window, as it shines through he can see the flecks and imperfections on the surface of the paper. To Wil though, it is perfect. The leaves, the printed name; exactly as he had imagined. He smiles wide.