Wilbur · Y/n story by @ryry

The apartment was dark except for the glow of a single lamp in the living room. The kind of darkness that felt heavy, familiar. The only sound was the hum of the old fridge in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Wilbur Soot

sitting on the floor, back against the sofa, knees pulled loosely up. His guitar rested across his thigh. His fingers moved slow over the strings, barely picking

His voice cracked, just slightly, on the next line.

Wilbur Soot

And I think I'd let you take everything, if it meant you stayed.

He didn’t strum after that. Just let the last note hang in the air, soft and raw, unfinished.