Chapter Text
The neon cinema lights illuminated her white cast with rays of red and yellow. Her friend was supposed to meet her there ten minutes ago, and especially in this rain, she didn't appreciate having to wait outside. Not to mention the time, which was more than slightly outrageous. 10 pm is a normal time for a late-night movie, and was also the normal time for a bunch of middle-aged post-pub men to be wandering about. It wasn’t exactly the safest place to be alone, not by a long shot.
She looked at her phone again, checking for any texts. Nothing. She looked up, squeezed her eyes together, exhaled deeply, and tried her best not to get frustrated.
Sage is just late, they’re not bailing. they’re just late, not bailing.
Sage, her best friend and notorious plan-canceller, had a nasty habit of not showing up to things but sending no warning. So, the poor girl stood in front of the theatre just wanted a night out with her best friend, nothing complicated. It wasn’t a surprise that Sage wasn’t here. It did sting, though.
”Um, sorry,” a deep voice sounded from in front of her. “You alright?”
She looked up, and stood there was the tallest man she’d ever met in her life. He had a tuft of curly brown hair poking out of a beanie, and a pair of circle glasses perched on his nose, which reflected the flashing matinee lights. It was stunning.
“Me?” She stammered. “Oh, I’m alright. Just uh, waiting for a friend. They probably won’t show up, but what’s new?” She let out a strained laugh to ease her own tension.
The man looked concerned. “So, your friend left you in the rain, with a broken arm, alone outside a cinema at 10 on a Saturday night?” He had a sweet voice, like the kind you hear on indie singers; fresh and full of emotion. He looked like the quiet type, but he approached her regardless. To her, it was positively intriguing. “Sounds like a bad start to a date if I ever heard one.” The man maneuvered himself to lean on the wall next to her. This was the time all the drunk guys came pouring out, but this man seemed perfectly sober. Perfect in general, really.
”You could say that.” She sighed. He was still standing there, looking worried. Like a puppy waiting for a treat after successfully completing a command. “What? Do you want to keep me company instead?” She was half-joking, but the man seemed keen on taking her up on her offer.
“If you’ll have me, I’d be delighted.” He smiled and moved his hand like he was tipping an imaginary hat.
“Okay discord admin,” she joked.
The man looked faux upset, clutching a hand over his heart. “My dear, I’m a discord owner, not an admin.” The way he said ‘dear’ seemed to roll off his tongue the way she’s never heard before aside from actors or faceless voices in songs. She knew he meant it jokingly, but it was still oddly comforting. She didn’t even think to question the “owner” bit.
“Okay then, discord owner. Congratulations, I have absolutely no idea who you are but you’re my new date.” She extended her left hand to him — her non-dominant one but it was the one not in a sling.
He took her hand, fingers sliding over her cold palm. They were warm, and it felt nice after standing in the cold for so long.
”Wilbur,” he introduced, “Now we’re not strangers anymore, see?”
★ ☆ ★
Sage was a horror movie fanatic. It probably came with the territory of being a raging edgelord. A lovable one, but still an edgelord nonetheless. They had been pestering her for days to go see the newest slasher gorefest with them, and although she was scared of horror movies, she agreed.
Wilbur, she found, just liked movies. Or “films” as he called them. Apparently, he studied film in school. He was the artsy creative type, obviously, but he didn’t seem like a prick about it, he just seemed genuinely interested in the art form.
”I just like stories,” he had declared in a hushed tone during the previews. “Consuming stories, telling stories, I love it.” He drew out the “l” in love rather long for dramatic effect. It made her stifle a small laugh.
“Well, what’s your story, mister story man?” She nudged him slightly with her elbow. “Why are you hanging out with a perfect stranger in the middle of the damn night when you probably have a lot better things to do?”
He just shrugged and stuffed another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “Was just getting my flatmate a pack of cigarettes, and this sounded more fun.”
She couldn’t disagree with that.
”Fair ‘nuff.”
“Besides, I couldn’t leave a damsel in distress alone with an unused movie ticket, now could I?” He looked at her and smirked. “Would be a waste of money. Pass the M&M’s?”
She rolled her eyes and passed the small box to him. Their fingers touched once again, and she could already feel the tinge of heat rising to the tips of her ears.
“Sorry for making you carry the snacks, by the way,” she whispered again. “I feel bad.”
”What for? You've only got one working arm.” Wilbur replied, nudging her cast.
On the looming screen before them, the previews had faded out, and the customary cinema chain specific “the movie is starting now, also don’t forget to buy stuff and give us money” message began rolling.
”Ah, that’s our cue to shut up, innit?”
She remembered quite quickly how much she hated horror movies. She had forgotten since it had been so long since she’d last sat through one, and she had since convinced herself that that aren’t as bad as she thought. Not as scary as she thought.
Subconsciously, as if trying to find the closest sage thing and hold onto it, she gently grabbed the sleeve of Wilbur’s jacket. He noticed quite quickly, turning to face her for a moment, but didn’t say anything. He just let her be, thinking she’d calm herself down after the first couple of scares. Turns out, she didn’t.
After maybe ten minutes, she was gripping tightly onto his arm, occasionally making muffled squeaking sounds. Ah, now was his time to step in.
“You alright, love?” He whispered as close to her ear as he could manage.
She nodded in response, eyes still glued to the screen in the way that only horror movies and car crashes could make someone stare. “‘m good. Don’t you worry.”
Wilbur just sighed. Instead of a proper response, he put his hand on her head, rubbing his thumb back and forth. It was an odd thing to do with someone you met less than an hour ago, but then again, this whole situation was odd.
Comfort arises from the most unlikely places. In this case, the comfort and odd security flows from the girl practically curled up at his side. A date with a random person off the street in the middle of Brighton. Never in a million years did Wilbur imagine himself here, and frankly, neither did she. Two introverts finding each other in a rare moment of social vulnerability — truly a rarity.
They continued similarly through the rest of the film. The girl clinging to his arm with occasional breaks of bravery, with Wilbur checking in on her and putting his hand on her reassuringly. They looked like a couple like that. If you were to walk into the theater and see them huddled up, you’d automatically assume they were young lovers on a date.
The film ended with Wilbur playing with her hair like a fidget toy, and the girl just letting it happen. The credits rolled, and they stayed still, watching the names cycle through the screen.
But then it stopped, and the lights fully came back on. The house lights had ruined their moment.
“Oh,” she mumbled. “It’s over.”
“That it is,” he replied, begrudgingly removing his hand. She immediately missed the weight of it. “Come on then, let’s get out before they make us.”
Wilbur stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and stood up beside him. After gathering their things, they left the theatre, hands still interlocked. It puzzled her just how much she dreaded letting go.
Falling in love at first sight (or whatever this was) with the first attractive man she saw wasn’t quite on her agenda for the day, but what could she say? She was attached to him already.
They stepped back out into the night air, the street much emptier than it had been, and also a lot chillier.
The pair stood there for a beat, neither quite fully sure how to proceed. But then Wilbur spoke.
”Is it weird that I don’t want to leave you quite yet?”
“Not at all.”
So, they found themselves at a bar nearby. Wilbur said it was close to his flat, and it was one he went to too often, but she had never been.
The promise of “just one more drink” turned into several more than planned. Neither of them were all that surprised, of course, nor were they upset. Propositions of “I’ll take another shot if you do” poured out of them just as fast as the bartender could fill their glasses. Each trying to prolong the night as long as they could, even if it meant drinking until the bar closed.
Wilbur had taken his beanie off at this point, letting his mess of cocoa curls free. She looked at him and two things came to mind. First, his attractiveness doubled without the hat — though that may have been because she hasn’t seen him without his hat until now. And secondly, he reminded her of a poodle. Hair all wet from the rain, curls multiplying.
“You look like my dog,” she told him.
”Your dog?”
She nodded. “She’s a Newfoundland. All uh, big and brown and fluffy.”
Wilbur looked slightly confused, at first. “Are you saying I’m big and fluffy?” Almost immediately after the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize. “I am fluffy, aren’t I? Oh God, I’m fluffy.”
She just nodded again, a grin plastered on her face. “You’re like a dog. A big fluffy dog.”
Wilbur looked upset, but not genuinely upset. Theatre kids, man. But then he put his elbows on the table and looked at her with soft eyes. “Am I a good boy, then?”
She put her hand on his head and ran her fingers through his hair. ”The best boy.”
That time came for the bar to close, of course, and the two — now both tired and drunk — found themselves back on the street.
She forgot most of what happened after that. The only thing that stuck was Wilbur singing “Cigarettes In The Theatre” to himself, his arm interlocked with hers. That, and a blanket being placed over her as she lay on something that felt like a bed but clearly wasn’t a bed. Couch, maybe? She was too tired to tell.
★ ☆ ★
”…ly shit! Will? Wilbur?”
Her eyes fluttered open to see an unfamiliar room and an even more unfamiliar person.
“Oh, hello there,” the person said. They appeared to be a man, with a short beard and messy hair, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. “Sorry to wake you, love.”
She was too hungover to put much thought into it, and just closed her eyes again, trying to go back to sleep.
The man continued. “Will? Why is there a girl on our couch?” His call was soon answered by the sound of footsteps and the velvety voice she recognized immediately as Wilbur’s.
“Girl? Oh, her. Sorry ‘bout that.”
The man asked again, “Will, why is there a stranger sleeping on our couch?”
Wilbur made a sound like he was trying to think, but all he could muster out was “It’s a long story.”