Chapter Text
Wilbur
7 days
Phil’s voice is warm and welcoming as he calls for Wilbur. The wind softens as he talks, as if nature wants to hear him too. Again, he calls, and again, Wilbur ignores him.
With his head in his arms, he holds back tears. Nearby, his father’s calls are getting irritated. Leaning against a tree in the midst of the orchard, Wilbur rests his head in the crook of his arm, tears dampening the fabric of his blouse.
“Wilbur?” Phil’s voice has grown nearer, much nearer. Hurriedly, Wilbur lifts his head and scrambles to his feet, wiping his eyes furiously. His pink cheeks and puffy eyes won’t recover in time, he’s going to be caught, he’ll be questioned. Wilbur’s grateful for the cover of the apple tree right now. The Apple tree. An idea pops into his head, and even if it’s stupid, he hasn’t got a choice.
Climbing wasn’t ever Wilbur’s strong suit, but this tree isn’t tall and it has plenty of low handholds. Reaching for the highest branch he can, Wilbur starts to climb, struggling to be quiet as twigs snap beneath him. He crouches in silence on the first branch that can gully support his weight.
“Where are you, Will?” Phil says as he walks around the tree. His outfit is so unnecessarily regal, with a long black cloak flying behind him as he walks. Wilbur holds his breath, not daring to move further into the tree. The king stalks around the orchard, moving away from Wilbur’s tree with another call.
As soon as he’s far enough, it’s time for the escape. Wilbur quickly clambers back down to the ground, wincing at the sound of the crunching leaves. He risks a glance backwards as he starts towards the castle, and catches a glimpse of his father, who is still looking the other way. The trees in the orchard provide good cover as he jogs away, until he reaches the flowerbeds, which are packed with alliums. A lone gardener works on them, his long pink hair flowing around his shoulders. Wilbur doesn’t recognise the man, but doesn’t think twice of it, instead speeding up as he nears the open castle doors. He’s made it, he can go to his room and hide forever-
“Will! There you are!” Phil’s voice rings out across the garden, any hint of comfort is now completely forced. Dread rises in Wilbur’s stomach as he slowly turns back to the garden. His mouth suddenly tastes of bile, his eyes are growing damp again. No. He won’t cry, not when his father is right there.
“Will, why didn’t you answer me? I was so worried about you, Wills.” God-damnit. How is Phil so good at smiling, all the fucking time? How can he pretend to care so easily, if he doesn’t?
“I’m sorry, father,” Wilbur says, his voice cracking. Instead of offering a comforting hug, Phil tuts loudly as soon as he’s next to Wilbur, reaching for his arm. For a moment, they stand there, a father and son who can’t meet each other’s gaze. Wordlessly, Phil turns towards the castle, dragging his son behind him. Wilbur struggles to hold back his tears, clinging onto the knowledge that he can cry later, in the security of his own chambers. He just has to make it through the next- what- hour?
Two hours. Wilbur sits in his father’s library for two hours. He doesn’t have anything against reading; he rather enjoys it. Except when it’s a punishment. The seconds drip by as he flips through the pages in a history book which he doesn’t care for, knowing that if he tries to leave, his punishment will worsen. Across from him, Phil sits in his armchair. He flips through a large, old-looking novel, seemingly invested in whatever he’s reading about. Wilbur turns back to his history book, blinking back tears with a sniff. He doesn’t care about the Antarctic Empire, or this Origin land. People don’t live in the Antarctic. People can’t have wings- they can’t turn into ghosts. It’s all stupid, and couldn’t have happened. Wilbur knows this, and his father knows it too. Having to learn about it is fucking ridicuous.
“You’re fidgeting, is that chair not comfortable enough?” Phil asks.
“I-,” Wilbur lifts his head, hesitating, “The chair is fine. I’m sorry.”
Phil sighs, and shuts his book. “It seems you aren’t interested in spending quality time with your father. That’s fine.” He leans forwards with a sly grin, his emerald earrings glinting in the light.
Wilbur follows suit, quickly placing the novel on the stool next to him. His father watches as he gets to his feet, making for the door.
“Thank you, father.”
Phil doesn’t respond, and Wilbur quickly escapes into the hallway.
Collapsing onto his bed has never been nicer. The soft light from the window shines on Wilbur’s face as he cries. He can’t be too loud, or someone will hear. But he can silently weep into his pillow for hours and hours on end. Sometimes Wilbur will stay up until everyone else has retired for the night, then, when he has no tears left to cry, he’ll open his window and climb out onto the roof. The stars shine comfortingly, they never judge his broken self. The wind plays with his hair in a way that his father never would. He stays out there until the first hints of dawn flood the horizon.
Now Wilbur lies, curled into a tight ball, his shoulder shaking. To have someone to hug him, to hold him, is too much to ask for. He knows that nobody is going to love him, everyone in his life wants him for whatever reason. Clinging onto other people is childish, but maybe at heart, Wilbur is still a child. An adult without a childhood isn’t truly an adult, at least in Wilbur’s case. Perhaps one day Wilbur will have someone who will truly love him, for who he is. It isn’t love if you’re being used- whether it be for power, image, money, or something else. All Wilbur wants is someone who really cares.
Wilbur won’t get what he wants.
Tommy
6 days
“Toby?” Tommy grins as he spots his friend. “Look what I HAVE!”
Tubbo looks up, his face immediately lifting into a smile. Crossing the bakery, Tommy flings his bag at the table, ignoring Tubbo’s dirty look when it falls into his lap with a thud.
“Well? Are you going to look or not?”
“Yes, I’m going to look. Keep your hair on,” Tubbo says as he opens the bag. His eyes widen in surprise as he stares at Tommy’s handiwork. “How did you even…”
“Long story, I’ll tell you later when Purpled gets here!” Tommy excitedly takes a seat, running a hand through his messy hair. “So, what have you been up to while I was robbing The King?”
Tubbo rolls his eyes. “I was having a lovely day with Ran, until about twenty minutes ago. He’s in the back right now, helping Niki.”
“Niki’s here?” Tommy glances at the counter, scanning for Nihachu. She doesn’t work much anymore, it's rare to see her at the bakery.
Tubbo nods as Tommy turns back to him. “Went to grab more cherry twists.”
“Cherry twists?” Before Tubbo can stop him, Tommy is out of his chair and halfway to the door that is clearly restricted. He bursts through it, looking around for his friends. Instead, he meets the questioning gaze of Hbomb, who’s cat ears twitch in confusion.
“Tom?” The cat-maid raises an eyebrow. “Back so soon? Where did you go today?”
“Hey H, I went to The King’s Gardens, nothing too big. However, I have a spoon!”
“A spoon?” Someone asks from the ovens.
“Shovel, Ranboo, it’s a shovel.” Tubbo appears behind Tommy, holding the bag containing the stolen tool.
Hbomb’s ears twitch again as he speaks, “Want to annoy Fundy with me later? He’s in town.”
“Sure!” Tubbo says with a grin. “Foolish coming? Love the guy.”
“Maybe, he’s been busy-”
“Out! Out of the kitchen! I can’t even get past you!” Niki, holding a tray of pastries, struggles to make her way out of the door. Her face is lifted by a soft smile as she waves Tommy out in front of her. He, being the polite man he is, holds the door for her, before promptly shutting it on Tubbo. As Nihachu quickly places the fresh pastries onto the display, Tommy reaches out and grabs one, almost dropping it as it burns his fingertips.
“Fresh from the oven,” Niki giggles, sliding the rest of them off the tray with a single gloved hand.
“I know you just got here Tommy, but how does a walk sound? I’d quite like to stretch my legs,” Tubbo says as more of an order.
Tommy huffs and Niki rolls her eyes, heading back to the kitchens.
“I’d like to walk, too.” Ranboo places a cold hand on Tommy’s, and not-so-slyly takes the cherry twist, dancing out of Tommy’s desperate reach.
“This is blackmail. Blackmail, I tell you!” Tommy mutters as he starts after his friend, leaving Tubbo to grab his things from the table.
Ranboo has made it quite far from the bakery; he’s halfway down the road when Tommy reaches the door. Reluctantly, albeit desperate for his pastry, Tommy sprints down the road, struggling to stay upright as he skids along the cobbles. Ranboo seems to be getting closer- has Tommy gotten faster in the last few weeks? As he gains on Ranboo, it turns out that his tall friend isn’t running quickly. In fact, he’s not running at all. Not even walking.
“You okay, Ran?” Tommy calls as he slows to a walk. He takes his cherry twist out of his friend’s hand as soon as he can reach it, glad that its cooler now.
“I was waiting for you- idiot. You left Tubbo?”
Tommy frowns, glancing behind him. His short friend is jogging down the hill, grasping Tommy’s shovel in one hand and a coat in the other.
“Should we wait for him, or…” Tommy grins, earning himself a playful slap from Ranboo.
“Yes, we’re waiting for Tubbo.”
Tubbo appears a few moments later, complaining about his companions leaving him.
“I wouldn’t have stopped at all, but alas, this pussy didn’t want to leave you behind.” Tommy crosses his arms and glares pointedly at Ranboo.
“Dude- he has your things,” Ranboo rolls his eyes.
“Talking of which- here you fucking go.” Tubbo flings the shovel (spoon) at Tommy, who almost drops it in his desperation to catch it. It’s a pretty nice shovel- not one you would want to use for gardening. Not one you could resist stealing.
“Where’s Purpled meeting us?” Tommy asks, pocketing the shovel.
“I don’t know. Somewhere near the docks, we should head over there.”
Tubbo nods his agreement, and Tommy adds a monotone ‘sure’.
There isn’t much for the trio to talk about as they walk, of course Tommy wants to share his adventures, but he also wants to draw out the suspense as much as he can. Plus- retelling it to Purpled will take too long- Tommy has better things to be doing. Right now, however, he’s content with eating his pastry and walking with friends.
Vibes.