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Wilbur sat on his favorite street corner strumming his guitar lightly, the side of his foot rocking against the uneven cobblestone path. There weren’t many people around yet, by his guess it was only about 4 oclock so most weren’t out of work yet.
Daylight had become a rarity in the coming cold days and Wilbur decided to relish in it while he still could, the breeze was chilling but the aforementioned sunlight warmed his skin and made his fingers less stiff as he mentally flipped through his arsenal of songs. Despite the fact that it wasn’t good for ‘business’ he adored this time of day where he could just play and sing without a care in the world.
He had been trying to pick up a few other jobs but most had turned him away this week apparently not needing his help. He had gotten a decent amount in his guitar case today but he had been hoping to make more so he could get something nice for Techno, a book or something from the bakery Niki worked at because he hadn’t been himself recently.
It had been a few days after a duel and he had seemed… lethargic. His movements were slow and he always looked like he was wrapped up in a haze and Wilbur wanted to do something nice for him.
He still had some time before he needed to get home so it wasn’t too late and after another moment of deliberation decided on one of his own songs that he had written and memorized, it was one of his favorites- one of Techno’s too.
He even remembered writing it, he had broken into Techno and Phil’s room after becoming bored in his and sat on Phil’s desk as he worked out the lyrics with Techno laying on his bed reading. After a while Techno had sat up, like he was paying more attention, head bobbing along with the beat and slowly humming with the parts Wilbur had already written and played a million times over.
The sun had been setting, a melody of colors seeping through the sky, the summer breeze was warm and light and reminded Wilbur of running through the fields near his old house to greet his dad.
It felt familiar, grounding.
It had been silent, they barely spoke but Wilbur thought about it every time he played it, the memory was ingrained in his mind. It was comforting and made him feel warm.
He started to play it, fingers running up and down and plucking at the guitar expertly, his voice was low and deep, mixing with his lyrics like honey as he lost himself in the song. He sang freely, not very loudly, but still confidently.
Wilbur was so into his music that he hadn’t even heard the sharp clicking of shoes against the pavement.
“That’s an interesting song.” Wilbur looked up and saw a sharply dressed man standing over him. His greasy dark hair was slicked back over pale skin and he looked down at Wilbur with brilliant amber eyes that bore into his soul.
He adjusted his tie with a hand, “I’ve never heard it before but I like it.”
Wilbur smiled uneasily, trying to be friendly, “Thank you, I wrote it myself.”
“That is wonderful.” The man’s grin looked more like a grimace, “You must be a very intelligent young man.”
Wilbur just tried to keep his smile up and keep his jaw clamped shut. He could feel the condescending tone sticking to his skin, it made him uncomfortable.
“I’d be willing to buy it from you.”
That piqued Wilbur’s interest and he sat up straighter, “Really?”
Being a musician was always one of Wilbur’s biggest dreams, some people wanted to touch the stars but his fingers had always been dotted with ink and creased from his guitar strings. He knew it wasn’t really feasible but hey, he could at least dream.
“Of course, a song like that is worth it.”
“You’d be willing to sign me a contact?” Wilbur asked eagerly, his smile continued to grow, heart soaring, head spinning with a million thoughts. This could help out his family so much-
They all disappeared when the man made a face, “Well, not exactly.”
Wilbur’s shoulders drooped, “Oh...then what are you offering?”
“I’d be willing to buy the song from you,” He clarified, “$35 dollars.”
Wilbur shook his head, “No, that’s not fair and even then that's nowhere near enough.”
The man tsked, slowly shaking his head, “You drive a hard bargain, how about $45?”
“No.” He said firmly, getting to his feet, “It’s not for sale.”
“Come on now son,” The man said, face becoming more serious, he looked Wilbur up and down, “Are you really in a position to be turning me down?”
Wilbur felt his face heat up, “Excuse me?”
“Come on now kid, no hard feelings.” The man said, a grin slowly starting to spread across his face, like he was so proud of himself for ‘figuring Wilbur out’, “I’m not trying to be cruel but you’re playing on the side of the road in a rich part of town, dressed like you just walked out of a thrift shop.”
He gestured to Wilbur, “You and whole-” he paused as he tried to find the words, “demeanor screams the fact that you don’t belong here.”
Wilbur gritted his teeth as the man continued, the sugary condescending tone was back in full swing. He leaned in closer, amber eyes cool and sharp as glass.
“I think this is the best deal you’re going to get,” He said, “How about $50?”
Wilbur wrinkled his nose, “I said no.” He glared at the man, “It’s not for sale.”
The man took a step back, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, I understand.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a card and a few bills and tossed them into Wilbur’s guitar case.
“You know how to reach me if you change your mind.” Then he walked off, leaving Wilbur to glare holes into his back as he did.
With his mood soured and his face still burning he packed up his things, making sure to store the money safely in his pocket. He left the card in his case, hoping his guitar crushed it, then set off for home, anger from the conversation and disappointment from the meager amount of earnings in his pocket clung to him like a burr hung to fur.
He didn’t pay attention to much as he strode through the rings, he just wanted to get home and shower off the shame he felt.
He wanted to contribute more.
Wilbur had been trying to get a full time job but was never able to, only getting a few one off jobs here and there- even his music was more consistent than that and that was saying something.
Techno and Phil did most of the heavy lifting and ever since he had joined them he felt like a burden. They never said anything but in his mind he wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t working hard enough.
His mother always used to call him a dreamer and his father would tease back saying that ‘dreams don’t pay the bills.’ and he had brushed it off then but they were right. His passions and his goals weren’t enough to sustain them.
He forced the thoughts from his head as he approached their building and made his way up the rusty stairs, they creaked and cried like they always had as Wilbur dug around in his pocket for his key.
He slipped off his shoes and set down his guitar case on the table, Techno was in the kitchen standing in front of the sink, shoulders slumped as he slowly scrubbed the dishes.
“Hey,” He put a hand in greeting as he slid into a chair, leaning back and stretching his arms.
“Hullo,” Techno said, barely glancing over at Wilbur, their eyes barely caught each other but through the haze and fog in Techno’s eyes he could see a hint of their usual warmth.
“How goes the housework?” He teased, a grin pulling at the side of his mouth.
“Pretty good asshole,” He said, twisting his head to try and move his hair from his face without using his hands, “How did the street begging go?”
“Bitch,” Wilbur said, “It went pretty well but some dude tried to scam me though.”
“Really?” Techno asked, raising an eyebrow, “What’d he try to do?”
“He tried to undersell me for a song then basically called me broke.” Wilbur explained, gesturing weakly with his hands, “I don’t know because- it- it wasn’t a good deal- at all.” He pushed the chair out more and leaned forwards, arm resting on his legs, head ducked down, “It was a horrible deal but- I don’t know- part of me feels like I should have taken it.”
“Don’t sell the rights to your music,” Techno said, voice wavering slightly, Wilbur didn’t see his grip tighten on the edge of the counter, “It’s yours- you made that.”
“Yeah but, we could use the money and it’s…” He trailed off for a moment, “It’s not like I do much with it anyways.”
“So? It’s still yours- we should be fine.” Techno’s breathing started to sound labored, “You shouldn’t have to give it up if you don’t want to.”
“Techno, you good man?” Wilbur asked, looking up to see Techno braced against the counter, hands gripping the edge tightly, his head hanging down, arm shaking.
Techno didn’t respond and Wilbur got to his feet, “Techno are you okay?”
Then lurched forward to catch him as Techno started to stumble, his hands wrapping around his waist as he tried to keep him upright.
Techno seemed to spark back to life, gasping and trying to shove Wilbur away while steadying himself the best he could. He managed to knock Wilbur’s chin, making his jaw ache.
“Techno!”
“It’s fine- ‘m fine-” He said, a hand weakly pressed against Wilbur's chest.
“You’re clearly not-” He cut himself off when he noticed a growing red patch on Techno’s side, “Oh my god!”
“Shit.” Techno grumbled, pushing Wilbur’s hand away and pressing his own on the spot, hissing as he did.
“Techno what the fuck-” Wilbur’s hands hovering around him nervously, he didn’t want to touch him anywhere else out of fear of hurting him.
“I’m fine- I’m fine.” Techno said, waving a hand as he righted himself up, a thin sheet of sweat coated his forehead, “It’s nothing.”
“That’s not nothing!” Wilbur snapped, nudging him towards the table, “Sit down you dumbass!”
Techno fought him a bit but slumped down in Wilbur’s chair, “What the hell is that? What happened?” Wilbur asked, hovering nervously around him, gaze never leaving his side.
“Just a little gift from someone during one of the duels,” Techno said casually, “It’s nothing too bad.”
“I refuse to believe that.” Wilbur said pointedly and Techno shrugged;
“Eh, you’re probably right. It wasn’t too bad a few days ago- it was probably made worse by my attempt to stitch it back up.”
Wilbur cringed, “Your attempt to what?” He asked with a grimace.
Techno just stared at him, “I tried to fix it and I guess you can tell by now- it did not go well.” He was trying to joke around and lighten the mood but Wilbur was having none of it.
“Let me see.” He said, he put a hand on his hip.
“What?”
“Let me see it.” He repeated, “I want to know how bad it is.”
They stared at each other for a moment and Techno must’ve realized that Wilbur wasn’t going to back down because he put up his hands.
“Okay, but don’t freak out,” He said, a hand hovering at the edge of his shirt, “Because it’s not that bad.”
Wilbur didn’t respond, he just waited. Techno sighed and pulled up the edge of his shirt and Wilbur almost screamed- almost.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to slap Techno upside the head or try to get him to the nearest hospital. He had a long bloody gash that stretched across his side and closer up to his ribs, a few stitches were messily scattered along it and were coming undone. The gash was deep and oozing blood, area around it was red and inflamed, he could feel heat coming off of it.
Wilbur wasn’t a doctor but he wasn’t a dumbass either- he knew an infection when he saw one.
“Techno!”
“It’s just a scratch!”
“You,” Wilbur put a hand on Techno’s chest and pushed him back into the chair, “are an idiot and are going to wait there until Phil gets home and can deal with that.”
He shuffled back towards the kitchen, “And I will start on dinner.”
“Wilbur- I can do that.” He heard the chair squeak against the floor and he whipped around.
“Don’t move.” He said, then his face softened, “Just rest Tech.”
Techno flopped back in the seat and rested his head against the table, watching Wilbur through foggy eyes as he shuffled around the kitchen. Wilbur didn’t know what he was going to make, he started on rice and figured they had some chicken and a vegetable in the fridge that he could put together for something quick and easy.
“This sucks.”
“Mhm.” Wilbur nodded in agreement.
“Worse part is it happened during the first match,” Techno said, “Means I didn’t get to do much and made a lot less than usual.”
“It’s okay Techno, you said it you’re, we’ll pull through.” Wilbur tried to reason but deep down they both knew it was cold comfort and Wilbur settled on trying to focus on making dinner.
He sort of knew how to cook, he had helped Techno and Phil in the kitchen a few times and knew his way around it and at the very least knew how long to cook meat for so they all didn’t get sick.
He was interrupted from his cooking when he heard Techno scrambling behind him, the chair scratching at the floor. He turned onto to see Techno run at their trash can across the room, gripping the rim of it tightly he retched and Wilbur flinched.
Wordlessly he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. Techno’s shoulders were shaking as he leaned over the edge of the trash can, hair curtaining his face.
Wilbur, with his free hand, reached over and pulled it back out of his face and passed him the cup of water. He didn’t know what to say.
“Thanks.” Techno rasped, taking the cup though he didn’t drink it yet. Wilbur nodded, still trying to find the words when the door opened.
Phil stepped inside, putting his coat on one of the hooks by the door, he stopped when he noticed the two in front of him.
He sighed, long and hard, “What did you guys do?”
“Techno got hurt and didn’t tell anyone!” Wilbur filled in immediately and Techno groaned.
“You sound like a five year old-”
“You’re the one that hid the giant cut on their side!”
“I’m fine!”
“No you’re not! Shut up!”
“Both of you stop it,” Phil said, stepping towards them, “How bad is it?”
“It is definitely infected.” Wilbur said
“Infected is such a strong word,” Techno said, “I prefer… ‘Not doing so well’.”
Wilbur put his hand in front of the other's face.
“I can tell it's definitely infected.” He said again.
Phil put a hand on his temple, “Alright, let me look at it.”
Wilbur went back to his work in the kitchen, trying very hard to ignore the other two as they dealt with the wound. It involved a lot of cussing and nervous rambling.
“Dear god Techno!”
“Tis but a scratch.”
“What did I tell you about saying that?”
“Listen, it’s not my fault you don’t get the reference.”
When they had finished Phil was pushing Techno towards their room, “Go lay down and rest, we’ll bring you some food when it's ready.”
“I told you I’m fine-”
“You are running a fever and fighting off an infection- go rest or so help me I will lock you in that room.”
Techno rolled his eyes, “Okay fine, old man.” And went back into their room and hopefully was resting. Wilbur finished up dinner and filled up three bowls, passing one to Phil and setting his on the table. He took the final bowl and went into Techno and Phil’s room.
“Here,” He set it on the table between their two beds, “If you feel like eating.”
Techno nodded, mumbling a ‘thank you’, but made no move to get the food.
Dinner was short, Wilbur was hungry but couldn’t bring himself to eat much, Phil was stressed because it was the end of the month and ate quickly so he could get started on his work.
Wilbur offered to clean up from dinner, doing the dishes, packing up any leftovers and sealing them away. Phil was still at the table when he finished, a hand jammed in his hair, the bags under his eyes more prominent than usual.
“What’s wrong?” He asked ,coming over to stand across from him.
a nervous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
Phil sighed, “We’re gonna be short on rent.”
Wilbur grimaced, their landlord was very insistent when it came to paying on time, he didn’t seem to care what they did as long as they got everything in on time.
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure but don’t worry- I’ll figure it out.” Phil said but Wilbur already knew what he had to do.
He went back into his room and dug around in his guitar case, pulling out the plasticy business card and checking the address. After making sure he knew how to get there he sat at his desk, writing down the song, lyrics and notes in all as nicely and cleanly as he could.
He folded the papers together and grabbed the business card, he headed towards the door, forcing his shoes and coat back on.
“I’ll be right back.” He said to Phil, going without waiting for an answer. The sun had already set, leaving the sky dark and dull without it. Wilbur walked briskly back to the second ring, he tried not to think about it, he knew he had to do this. They were already stretched thin as it is, there was no way either of the other two would be able to make ends meet.
Besides, Techno and Phil worked tirelessly, constantly making sacrifices and cutting corners- in his mind it was Wilbur’s turn to make one.
Weak light emanated from the buildings, shadows dancing in the windows, the streets started to become cleaner, more well kept as he entered the second ring. He started scanning for the address that was on the card as he walked down street after street of shops and businesses.
After a few minutes of wandering he found it, a two story building with the dumbest sign Wilbur had ever seen hanging out front, it looked close to falling off completely and he was half tempted to finish the job but stopped himself. He had to be presentable to these people.
Wilbur looked at the card once more, checking the address, before jamming it back in his pocket. He took a deep breath and walked inside, the music sheets in his pocket weighted down on him like stones.
He asked someone at the front desk for the man, Mr.Madden, as his business card said anyways. He stood nervously by the desk, the whole building felt like it was taken out of a book, it was too clean- Wilbur felt like he might ruin something if he touched anything. There was a long nasty green rug that led to the stairwell, the hall was lined with doors, their windows fogged and covered with little signs just to make sure you couldn’t see inside.
The wall was adored with random paintings and pictures, spotless tables against the ends of the room, only sporting small vases of fake flowers. After what felt like hours the man popped out from the stairwell.
The man seemed to recongize him instantly and the stupid greasy grin spread back across his face.
“Hello again,” He said, walking right up to Wilbur, looking him up and down with a gaze so scrutinizing Wilbur had to fight the urge to duck away and or punch him.
“Hello sir,” He forced out, trying his best to sound cordial.
“Have you had the chance to reconsider my offer?”
Wilbur swallowed, “Yes.”
The man grinned and clapped his hands together, “Wonderful! Come right-”
“One fifty.” He interrupted, the man paused.
“Excuse me?”
“I want $150 for the song.” He said, face burning, if he had to sell his song then he at least wanted to make sure he got enough to keep his family secure.
“Well, we’ll have to talk about the-”
“I have someone else interested, they said they’d pay me a hundred.” Wilbur interrupted again, he had bargained with people before- he just hoped this lie would get under the man's skin.
“What?”
“Someone else said they’d pay me $100 for the song- I figured I’d come back to you first though since you were so interested in my song.” Wilbur said, trying to sound more confident, more professional than he actually felt.
The man stared at him, his amber eyes darting around as he calculated and analyzed and for a split second Wilbur feared the man realized he was lying.
“$150, I can work with that.” He said curtly, adjusting his tie, he started back towards the stairs and waved for Wilbur to follow, “Come with me.”
Mutely, Wilbur followed him up to another long hallway, Mr.Madden ducked into one of the rooms and started bustling around with paperwork, he set out a pen and an official looking document on his desk.
“Do you have the music written out?” He asked and Wilbur nodded, pulling the folded up music sheets from his pocket, “Excellent.”
He pulled out a check and scribbled vaguely across it, “Just sign the paper and this is yours.”
Wilbur swallowed and slowly took the pen, with a heavy heart he signed his name across the line. He dropped the pen like it had burned him and dropped the music sheets on the desk.
The man’s smile seemed more malicious as he handed the check over to Wilbur, he looked it over, it seemed legitimate. He put it in his pocket, leaving his hand to rest over it and make sure it didn’t fall out.
He was not going to let himself lose it.
“It’s been a pleasure.” The man said, “Come back if you ever want to do business with me again.”
Wilbur turned on his heels and left, chest and face burning as he rushed out of the building. The air had turned cold and bit at his warm skin, shocking his body with a shiever but he ducked his head and walked faster. He just wanted to get home.
The streets were empty and lifeless, the faint light from the streetlamps flickered and fought to stay burning, the wind whipped at his hair and pulled at his coat.
He stumbled back up the stairs to their apartment, hand still laying over the check in his pocket. Phil was still sitting at the table when he entered, he took off his shoes and hung up his coat, carefully pulling the check from his pocket.
He set it next to Phil wordlessly and went into his room, Phil tried to call for him but Wilbur didn’t answer and flopped on his bed, staring at the ceiling, just trying not to think about anything and let himself float into oblivion.
-- -
A few hours later he crept out of his room, guitar in hand, he wanted to check on Techno but felt the need to hold onto his guitar- like he might lose it if he let it out of his sight. Phil was nodding off on the couch, a random show playing quietly in the background. Wilbur peeked into Techno’s room and saw him still awake, staring at the ceiling, eyes still clouded.
He walked in, going over to sit on Phil’s bed, he noticed the bowl still sat untouched on the bedside table.
“Hey,” He said as he sat down, Techno raised a hand lightly, “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Wilbur knew he just wasn’t talking about his wound.
“We’re okay this month- I know you’re worried but we got it covered.” He said softly, running his fingers up and down the guitar strings.
Techno swallowed, a thin sheet of sweat coated his forehead, “You sold your song, didn’t you?” He rasped after a moment.
Wilbur didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry.”
“Techno, it’s not your fault.” Wilbur said.
“I should’ve done more, fought more, earned more.” Techno muttered, “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“Techno,” Wilbur reached over, resting his hand overtop of Techno’s, “It’s okay, I promise, it’s not your fault.”
Techno stared back at him, eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn’t recognize. Wilbur leaned back, plucking at his guitar strings.
“I may have sold it but I still know it by heart.” He said, “And I know you liked it.” Softly started to play the beginning of the song.
He played it just the same, fingers flying and hands moving rhythmically but it also didn’t feel the same, knowing that someone else had it now- that even if he created it- it wasn’t truly his.
The lyrics tasted bittersweet as he watched Techno slowly fall asleep.