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the first time wilbur had tried weed, he'd been 15. recently, he'd been taken under phil's wing, about a month before.
that, of course, gave him time to grow accustomed to the kids his age. kids who went to his school, in the same grade as him, and their friends who were usually drop-outs. which, of course, isn't a bad thing- lately, he'd been thinking of dropping out himself; back to the point. he'd been determined to be thrown out, undeserving of phil's love (he still was), and desperate to prove he was a problem. so when they dragged him to his first party, he'd tagged along, sneaking out of his window and figuring out some parkour-esque course to be able to jump down already outside the gate, and not still in the backyard.
they'd been smoking. someone had asked if he wanted a hit. he'd nodded, but given them fair warning he hadn't so much as smoked nicotine before. minx had been there. she'd smiled, and handed it to him, warning him it would hurt like hell the first time.
it burnt, and he spent a good minute coughing into his sleeve, but found himself still willing to smoke it anyway. with minx's help, by the end of the party, he could at least inhale a good amount into his lungs, and had stumbled home completely zooted. it was a miracle nobody had heard him stagger through the door, bumping into several things along the way to his room, nor commented about the way his sweater reeked of the stuff.
wilbur was seventeen now, bordering on eighteen, almost legally emancipated from phil- the thought was terrifying. so he coped by still going to parties with his friends, who'd loyally stuck by him for two shitty years. somewhere along the way, smoking had become less of a strategy to get himself kicked out, and more of a way to escape all the pressure that had suddenly been hoisted onto his shoulders. employment. college. moving out. phil assured him that there was no rush, and he could cross those bridges when he got to them, but his words never seemed to sink in anymore.
he'd meet minx at almost every single one, standing next to whichever table had the most booze. she'd get smashed, he'd take a sip. she'd only take one or two hits to chill out, he'd get high out of his mind. minx was good, he decided. he liked minx. she used to prefer weed over alcohol, until a night that she still won't fully describe to him, and ever since she'd stuck with liquor.
the feeling of smoke pouring down his throat and creeping into his lungs had long since become familiar, though never entirely unpleasant until he was too stoned to take much notice of it. tonight, though, he wasn't at a party. he was with minx, and another friend of theirs, schlatt. the guy said some things that were definitely a bit dodgy sometimes, but other than that, he was a laugh, and rich- enough to afford top shelf stuff. they'd smoke, minx would drink, and wilbur would find himself sneaking out of the house at five in the morning always wishing he'd gotten a ride.
schlatt lived fucking ages from them, and the winter months were just kicking in, bringing low temperatures with them. not even his notoriously too-big sweatshirts, that he'd always need to change when he got home anyway, would keep the chill out. they could never smoke at minx's place, which was closer, because one of her flatmates had asthma. that, and the other already berated her for drinking.
and they couldn't smoke at phil's either. for obvious reasons.
wilbur currently sits on one of the far too big couches at schlatt's house, colored a disorienting white, as he and minx yell at each other in the kitchen between laughing fits- hating each other was their whole 'thing', and they'd be at each other's throats whenever they had company. it was usually pretty entertaining, but tonight, wilbur finds himself lost in thought, thinking back to two years ago.
there's a sudden dip in the couch next to him, and he turns to see minx, peering at him through her glasses. he stares right back. her face is fuzzy. he'd left his glasses on the coffee table.
"when'm i gonna get to see your cute brothers again?" she asks, with a grin, and wilbur chuckles. "shut up. next halloween, probably. new years, maybe." minx whines as she faceplants into his shoulder, seemingly disappointed with his answer, and he stares blankly down at her faded purple hair, long and wavy, and thinks, she's got to be more careful with her glasses.
"next halloween is forever away," minx complains. "just tell your dad you're havin' us for new years. you're always goin' on about how nice he is."
wilbur decides to address the 'us' earlier, instead saying, "you'll get shitfaced off champagne. you're lucky you even have a chance." "what, is it an exclusive event?" schlatt scoffs as he suddenly appears next to will, on the couch. he pauses to take a hit, and clears his throat before continuing. "red carpet new years party with the thirteen-year-old that still likes minecraft, and the nineteen-year-old with pink hair."
"minecraft's cool," wilbur responds in a feeble attempt to defend his brother, his tone sounding much more defeated than he intended, which manages to make all three of them giggle. minx finally raises her head from will's shoulder, glasses sliding off of her face slightly. "yeah, fuckhead, minecraft's cool."
schlatt rolls his eyes. "fine, i take it back. minecraft is pretty cool." wordlessly, he hands the joint to wilbur, who takes a good deep mouthful. it pours down his throat, fills up his lungs, and leaves him feeling even more relaxed and easy than he had been previously.
"fuck," wilbur hums, smoke leaving his mouth as he speaks. "i forgot what good weed was actually like."
"come over more often, then." schlatt hums, shifting a little closer. "or just reply to my dms and i'll offer more." there's a pause, as minx takes a swig of fireball before setting the bottle on the table, next to wilbur's glasses and the ashtray. she's definitely left lipstick all over the orifice. "you know he's goin' through it, schlatt. sad boy hours an' all that." she shoots him a sympathetic look.
wilbur snickers, despite himself, and how touchy the subject usually is for him. "is that what you call depressive episodes in ireland?"
despite the dark joke, they all laugh. it feels like a weight lifted from his shoulders, if only temporarily, turning it into something silly. schlatt takes the joint from him, takes another hit, and sets it down in the ashtray. will had honestly forgotten he was holding it. "seriously, man," schlatt begins. "text me more. you're too funny to be ghosting me." wilbur smiles. "i will, if it means i get to smoke all your dope." schlatt cackles at that, before replying, "always." minx fake-gags.
as always, after that, they mess around and fall asleep on each other, splayed out across the couch. as always, wilbur wakes up before the sun rises, and is out of the house by five, walking home freezing cold. as always, he gets in the door by quarter to six, gets a glass of water from the kitchen, and tip-toes upstairs into his room after throwing whatever he had on over his shirt into the washing machine.
maybe he'd start texting schlatt more. and minx. to be fair, there were a lot of people he needed to start texting more, but for now, his comfort zone remains wherever the weed is readily available.