Chapter Text
Wilbur has always wanted a normal life.
Which is understandable, especially from where he is coming from.
Five years ago, he started a band. It was supposed to be a fun project for him and his friends.
Now Lovejoy is the most well-known band around. And Wilbur’s no longer very sure about all the attention.
He can hardly walk on the streets without someone screaming his name, begging for a photo and autograph. He has to wear a scarf around half his face so no one would recognize him anymore.
Joe, Mark, and Ash still manage to have a normal life. But because Wilbur’s the lead everyone recognizes him in a heartbeat.
Now don’t get him wrong, he loves his fans. He’s glad that people enjoy his art, and that his art has sometimes even helped people through difficult times. He just wished he could have some privacy. A life separate from his persona as the lead singer of Lovejoy who wears round glasses and a navy blue sweater.
One day, he decided to take a walk. Try some new shops he’s never tried before. He wore a Pebble Brain sweater because he was in the mood at the time. Wilbur always wore clothes that reflected his current mood. So today he was feeling quite optimistic. Something good was going to happen today. He had no idea what, but something.
He came across a small record shop. It looked cozy and small, shelves and shelves of records. Wilbur wondered why he never noticed this shop before. Intrigued, he walked in.
A tiny bell rang above him and he heard a voice calling from the corner of the shop. A boy ran out. He had sunny blond hair and striking blue eyes. The wide, welcoming grin on his face made Wilbur smile too from under his scarf.
“Hello,” the boy greeted. “Can I help you today?”
Wilbur surveyed the record shop. It was a little messier than he expected. Records sprawled on the floor, stacks of unsorted discs on the check-out counter, and a half-empty coke sitting on a random shelf. After surveying the store, his eyes landed on the boy again.
Oh stars. He’s just a child.
The boy blinked at Wilbur, as if waiting for an answer. “Are you looking for a specific genre? Or a band?”
Wilbur was still standing there, forming sentences in his brain. The boy narrowed his eyes at Wilbur’s sweater, which was partially hidden by his scarf.
His eyes lit up, his smile radiant. “Oh! Is that a Pebble Brain sweater?”
Wilbur nodded, amused by the young fan.
“So you’re a Lovejoy fan! That’s so cool. Me too! I’ve always wanted a Lovejoy sweater. Can’t really afford it though.”
There was a small stab at Wilbur’s heart. It was obvious the kid was too young to be working, not only that, but he was hinting that he was struggling financially. Wilbur wanted to help him in some way but he didn’t know how.
It was getting stuffy under his scarf, and he had to get away.
“Um, I’m just looking. Thank you!”
The boy tilted his head to the side, which Wilbur thought was quite adorable. “Okay! Let me know if you need any help!”
Wilbur wandered to the corner of the store, so he could remove his scarf. He gave out a “huh” as he realized he was in the indie section. He strolled around, seeing all the bands displayed, some with more attention than others.
Then he came across Lovejoy. He laughed as he saw Lovejoy had its own shelf. Every single record ever released was displayed. Posters hung on the wall, all the way to the first published poster. The boy must be a really big fan, and an original one too.
Without warning, the boy walked in with a large box of records. Wilbur gasped. He didn’t have time to put his disguise back on. The boy glanced up, and let his box down. He smiled as he bounced over to the Lovejoy shelf, looking up at his stock.
“Ah! So you found the Lovejoy shelf! Sorry I have so much in stock. I’m just a really huge fan.”
Wilbur knitted his eyebrows. The boy didn’t scream, faint, or beg for an autograph. Did he not recognize him?
The boy noticed his silence and his face fell. “Oh, sorry. I’ll be quiet. I know my fanboying can be annoying a lot of times.”
“Oh, no no,” Wilbur tried to pretend. “I love the band too! They’re pretty cool.”
The boy’s blue eyes lit up again. “I know, right? What’s your favorite song?”
Wilbur released a whistle. “Oh stars, I don’t know. Usually right after I write-” he bit his tongue, then cleared his throat. “I mean, when Wil writes a song, he says he starts to hate it almost immediately. My favorite song would be whatever Wil’s favorite song is, because that means he feels like that’s his best one and the one he’s most proud of.”
“Wow, that’s deep.” The boy blinked again. His blinking reminded Wilbur of a goldfish, and it made him smile even more. “My favorite song is Perfume. You know, he almost scrapped that song, but I sent a letter to him begging him to keep it. I didn’t think he would actually see it but he did! And now..” He grinned and pointed to “Perfume” on the Pebble Brain discography. He squealed. “We have Perfume and it’s all because of me! It’s my song!”
“Wait, that was you?” Wilbur exclaimed. His heart raced and he tried not to sound more shocked than he really was. “So you.. you’re Tommy Simons!”
Tommy’s eyes widened, his mouth gaped. “H-how do you know my name? I thought he said he wouldn’t tell.”
“Oh, er-” Wilbur tugged at his collar. “Well, I’m kind of.. friends with Lovejoy? I’m pretty close to Wil Soot.”
“You are?” Tommy squealed again, jumping up and down so his golden curls flopped like a bird’s feathers. “That’s so cool! Tell him I said ‘hi!’”
Wilbur chuckled, warmth filling him at the sight of the enthusiastic child. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear from you again.”
Tommy shifted his feet. "You.. really think so?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"I- I haven't really had the money to write to him lately."
Wilbur's heart ached. The poor child. He didn't even have enough money to send letters to people.
Tommy shook his head sadly. “Anyways, I have to get back to sorting these.”
He bent over and heaved the box again. Wilbur didn’t realize earlier how heavy the box was, but now that he was paying attention he noticed how much Tommy’s small arms were struggling. Tommy dropped the box, hissing as it fell on his foot. Wilbur yelped as he jumped in to help, carrying the box for him.
“Oh, no you don’t have to do that, sir,” Tommy apologized, reaching out his tiny grabby hands like a child asking for candy.
Wilbur shook his head. “No, please. Let me help.”
Tommy huffed. “Are you saying I’m weak?”
“I’m not saying you’re weak. I’m saying while I’m here I can help you with this box. I don’t want you to have to do it alone.”
Tommy softened, as if surprised by the sudden kindness of a stranger. He nodded, giving Wilbur permission to help.
Wilbur studied the records in the box. “So where would you like to put this?”
Tommy pointed to the far end, walking towards the back. “Over here.”
When they reached the corner, Wilbur nearly dropped the box, breathing out deeply. He couldn’t possibly imagine the child carrying this all by himself. He should at least be having an adult helping. As Tommy bent down to grab some records, he couldn’t help but notice his slim arms, bony cheeks, and fatigued eyes. Is the child even eating right?
“What are you doing here working so young?” Wilbur accidentally said aloud, clasping his mouth with his hand.
Tommy gave Wilbur a look. It wasn’t upset or angry. It was understanding, like he got this question often. He sighed, a sullen expression on his face.
“Well, I don’t have much choice. This was my mum’s record shop. I live alone, and need to fend for myself.”
Wilbur winced. “Oh, child.”
“I’m not a child.” Tommy weakly pursed his lips. “I’m seventeen. Practically an adult. I can handle this.”
“But Tommy, you need help around here. Why don’t you hire someone?”
Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get it do you? I can’t!”
Wilbur groaned at his own stupidity. Tommy can’t even afford to feed himself properly. Where would he even get the money to hire someone?
That explains the messy shop, the disorganized records. Tommy’s dark eyes and his fatigued slumps. Wilbur wished so much he could help. Anything to make his Tommy not have to suffer.
“Then let me help.”
“What?” Tommy jerked up. “No, no please, you really don’t have to. I can manage myself.”
“Tommy.” Wilbur’s voice was more serious this time. “Really. I don’t have much else useful to do in my free time. I want to help you.” He shrugged. “Lovejoy fans help each other, right?”
Tommy gave a slightly amused smile. “I guess. But I’ll have to tip you at least a little.”
“No really, Tommy. You don’t have to pay me at all.” Seeing the boy wasn’t convinced, Wilbur tried to compromise a different way. “How about this- I help you, and you give me a free record?”
Tommy thought for a while, humming. “Deal.”
“Okay!” Wilbur grinned, picking up a handful of records. “Now, where do these go?”
“You can sort by band!” Tommy picked up a record and placed it on a shelf. “Los Campesinos goes here.”
As he picked up the records from Wilbur’s handful, he seemed glad. Happy to have company, and happy to have help. And all he had to do was lose only a little money from a record that would probably never get sold anyway.
The thing Tommy didn’t know was that Wilbur would be slipping money into his tote bag and his sweater pocket every time he came, giving Tommy enough money to eat a proper meal everyday and hopefully, hopefully try to save enough for a matching Pebble Brain sweater.
—----
2:21 PM
Wil Soot: Any of you guys know if you can legally adopt a seventeen-year-old who’s already living by himself?
Joe Goldsmith: You’re kidding, Wil. Is this for another one of your stories?
Wil Soot: …
Joe Goldsmith: Oh stars
Ash Kabosu: Well yes, it is legally possible but why do you want to know?
Mark Boardman: Wil, you would literally be eight years older than the kid. You would be more like a brother to him
Wil Soot: I don’t care! I found the perfect kid- and he’s mine now >:D
Joe Goldsmith: What the fly Wil! Does he know this?
Wil Soot: Not really, but I’ll tell him eventually.
Mark Boardman: This has to be a joke.
Joe Goldsmith: He’s right. You’ve never been a parent before or even had a pet. How do you expect to know how to care for a child?? What makes you think he’s yours anyway?
Wil Soot: Well, he’s a Lovejoy fan! A huge one!
Joe Goldsmith: You’re so self absor-
Wil Soot: You remember Tommy?
Mark Boardman: Wait, that kid?? You mean the one you keep calling your “little right-hand man?”
Wil Soot: Exactly!
Mark Boardman: How did you know it was him??
Wil Soot: He said it himself. He doesn’t recognize me, though.
Ash Kabosu: Well that’s a first.
Wil Soot: I don’t know guys. He just.. he’s struggling and fighting to survive everyday. How am I supposed to see him like that and now help? He’s helped me before, why should I not help him? Okay, I might not adopt him- that was really just a joke. But can’t I still help him? He’s not just an ordinary fan. He’s Tommy Simons. The one who’s helped us and encouraged us in the beginning of all this. He deserves more than this. And if I have the chance to help him, I should.
3:47 PM
Joe Goldsmith: You’re right, Wil. Sorry we said those things to you.
4:33 PM
Joe Goldsmith: And go ahead and adopt him