Oh why can’t he just bore me to death?
Summary: In which you and wilbur live in the same apartment building and one day your boyfriend complains that he can’t sleep due to the noise through the thin walls. Reluctantly, you go over to tell them to quiet down. It’s then that you meet wilbur for the first time. Inspired by Maybe I was Boring By Wilbur Soot & Oh Yeah You Gonna Cry? By Lovejoy
parings: musicianbur x fem!reader, fem!reader x boyfriend.
note on text: I have had this idea lying around in my drafts since about December 2022! (I know, it’s been so fucking long) it’s kinda set around when lovejoy first started doing shows, man i miss those days. it was originally going to be a series but I really wanted to write it so i shortened it to one fic. I genuinely love the idea, sorry if it’s kinda fast paced, messy, and long but i really hope you guys like it!
warnings: the reader is in a toxic unhappy relationship, cheating, angst, fluff, flirting, swearing, emotional, kissing, Im like super self projecting with this one so bare with me lol. unedited!
"If that wanker across the hall doesn’t stop I swear-"
Your boyfriend, Jared, complains for what seems like the 100th time this week. Honestly, the noise didn't bother you at all. You had gotten used to it. Living in this apartment building for the past year, you’ve come to realize the neighbor across the hall was in a band, and they would practice three times a week. But the thing was with this old building was that the walls were so thin. Hence the noise.
Having moved in with you just a month ago, your boyfriend wasn't thrilled about it. He needs to wake up early for his accounting job, and sometimes the late-night activities of the neighbors band practice kept him up for hours. You however loved it. It felt like having a personal concert in your own home, and you couldn't complain about that.
Jared sighs exasperatedly next to you in bed, tossing and turning. You were curled up with the book you were currently reading, and you peered at him from the corner of your eye.
"Jare, could you try and relax, please," you ask calmly. "Im sure they will be done soon."
He continues his rant, ignoring your words. Huffing and puffing.
"You should go over there before I do." he grits.
You frown. Knowing that you'll never hear the end of this and being in no mood to argue, you let out a tired sigh. You place your bookmark between the pages of your book and set it on your nightstand. Then, you pull the covers off your body, carefully maneuver out of bed, slip on your slippers, and exit the bedroom.
Jared just gives a dismissive noise and rolls over.
You walk to your front door, open it, and step out into the fluorescent-lit hallway. Instantly, the sound of guitars mixed with a cajon becomes louder. You pause for a moment to listen. You get lost in the music, but then quickly remember that you were supposed to ask them to quiet down. Leaving your door ajar, you step over to the adjacent door and reluctantly press the doorbell a couple of times so they can hear it. Standing there with your arms crossed over your chest, you wait.
The sounds suddenly cease, and you catch snippets of incoherent chatter from the other side. Footsteps approach the door, and after a moment, it swings open. A man with a thick beard stands before you, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of you at the door.
"Are you a neighbour?" he asks, leaning against the threshold.
"I live across the hall," you nod.
He turns back around and shouts for someone, then turns back to you.
"Sorry, I don't live here, Im Joe." he introduces.
Before you can introduce yourself, a tall man with glasses perched on his nose approaches. He glances at you before switching places with Joe. After stepping away from the threshold, he goes back inside and informs the man that you are a neighbor.
"What can I do you for?" The stranger who you assumed was your actual neighbour questions.
He gazes down at you and suddenly, you're very aware you are standing in the middle of the hallway in just your shorts and tank top, and you feel a bit awkward.
"Do you think you could tone the noise down?" you ask politely shrinking into yourself.
God you sound like an old lady.
He crosses his arms with a teasing smile appearing on his lips.
"And why should I do that, darling?" he drawls, leaning against the doorframe.
A warm rush spreads across your cheeks at the name. It lingers in the air, the way it flowed from his lips, wrapped in a charming accent that made your heart race for a fleeting moment. As you blink away the surprise, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself to regain your focus.
"My boyfriend is trying to sleep, and I would really appreciate it if you could," you say.
You see the expression falter on his face for a moment. You try not to think anything of it, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, so you both stand there in awkward silence.
"Look, I really don't mind it. I've been living here for a year listening to you guys, and I think you sound amazing-"
"You think so?" he implores with a smile.
"Well, thank you darling. It's nice to know someone appreciates the music." he says, probably referring to the several noise complaints he most likely gets nightly.
"-But he's driving me mad with his complaining," you sigh.
Lately, Jared has transformed significantly since he moved in with you, and the shift in your relationship has been stark. In the early days, he was charming and affectionate, and that made your heart feel light. However, over the past month, something has changed; he now exhibits a troubling combination of laziness, indifference, and emotional distance. The vibrant spark that once defined your connection had dimmed. Leaving you feeling confused. You find yourself questioning whether you said or did something to provoke this change in him. Despite your relentless support and deep empathy. You don't see how any of that could change his behavior towards you.
He looks you in the eye, and you can tell the gears are shifting in his brain as he tilts his chin up.
"Well, what's in this for me?" he teases.
You stand there, momentarily speechless, as a whirlwind of thoughts fills your mind. Your heart races, caught in confusion and intrigue. A guilt tugs at you for even finding this stranger attractive, yet there’s an undeniable charm about him that makes it hard to dismiss your feelings. His smile holds a magnetic allure, and the warmth of his brown eyes draws you in despite the nagging thought that it might be wrong. You remind yourself that you have a boyfriend, but the tension between attraction and loyalty leaves you feeling conflicted.
"Couldn't you just do it for the sake of being neighborly?" you wondered, trying to shake your thoughts.
The man hums, like he’s lost in a thought before he peers down at you through the top of his glasses.
"Tell you what, you come to our next gig, and I'll promise to keep practice to a minimum so your boyfriend can get his beauty sleep," he vows.
You flashed a grateful smile at the stranger, a wave of relief flooding through you as you realized you wouldn’t have to engage in a conflict. The tension that had coiled tightly in your chest began to loosen, replaced by a sense of calm.
"Thank you!” You clasped your hands together. "and yeah, I'd love to!"
"Great! Let me give you my number, and I'll text you the details."
He was giving you his phone number. He’s your neighbor and is just being nice. There's no harm in that, right?
Realizing you had left your phone by the bedside, you decided to put your number in his phone instead. You entered your digits into his contacts while feeling his gaze on you with every click of the keyboard. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an unwanted stare; it made you feel a wave of butterflies. Once you finished, you handed the device back to him.
His eyes scanned over the contact name, and you almost swear you see his eyes light up.
"Well, it's lovely to finally meet you, y/n," he says. "Im Wilbur, or Will, you can call me what you like."
"Nice to meet you, Will," you reply.
With that, you both step back into your apartments, still lingering in the air. As you gently close the door behind you, a smile spreads across your face that makes your cheeks hurt. The sound of the latch clicking echoed in the quiet hallway.
As you paced back to your bedroom, thoughts of Jared filled your mind, and you quickly wiped the giddy expression off your face. He was already snoring, sprawled out on the bed. You sighed and climbed back into your side, pulling the covers up around you. Just as you were about to close your eyes, a soft ping sounded from your phone on the nightstand. You picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number, but deep down, you already knew who it was.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
You giggled and quickly added the contact to your list. With that, you shot a quick next of 'night' you drifted off into sleep.
Two weeks later, after becoming friends with Will across the hall. You both had a habit of running into each other. Whether it was one of you coming home and the other leaving or vice versa. You both ended up chatting more and more.
You were starting to form a little crush on him. You knew it was unacceptable, but he was nice to you compared to the way you had been treated lately. It felt good to have someone who could be considered a friend.
One day, as you were about to enter your apartment after a long day at work, you struggled to find your keys in your purse while juggling two bags of groceries. Just then, Wilbur stepped out of his door and noticed your predicament, greeting you with a warm smile.
You turn around from scouring inside your bag and smile at the familiar voice.
Noticing his attire you can’t help but think how nice he looks. A navy blue pullover, adored with black pants and Doc Martens, and his round glasses sitting on his nose. His curly hair was a little messy as he ran a hand through it.
“what’s up Will,” you say.
He walks over to you and takes the grocery bag from your arm, noticing that you’re struggling. You thank him while finally retrieving your silly frog keychain attached to your set of keys. You let out a victorious "yes" under your breath, which makes Wilbur chuckle.
“No problem darling,” he murmurs.
You turn the lock and step inside, placing your bag on the kitchen counter. You turn back to take your grocery bag from Wilbur when he asks you a question.
“So I was wondering, if you aren’t busy tonight, would you want to come to the pier with me and the band?”
The question catches you off guard. You weren't expecting an invitation to hang out with your neighbor, whom you had known for only a couple of weeks. You weren't really used to people wanting to spend time with you, but you could tell that Wilbur was a genuine person who wanted to get to know you better. During your many encounters in the hallway, you always sensed that he wanted to say something more, but you weren't sure what that might be.
Even though you wanted to go out, make new friends, and enjoy yourself after a stressful week at work, you had to politely decline. You couldn’t just leave without saying anything to Jared, who would likely be home soon.
“oh, I would really like to but, i’m making dinner for me and Jared tonight.” you said somberly.
Wilbur's smile faded, and for a moment, disappointment showed on his face before he regained his composure and nodded.
“It’s alright, well I’ll see you around then,” he waves and trudges down the hall towards the stairs and out of sight.
You sigh and throw your keys on the counter, kicking the door closed. Resting your elbows on the counter, you lean forward with your head in your hands, rubbing your temples.
You regretted declining Wilbur’s offer to hang out. He was being nice, you liked him, and wanted to get to know him more. Who knows what time Jared will be home tonight. He had been at work late all week, leaving you to eat dinner alone until he’d come home in the late hours.
You’d be half asleep when he’d come walking through the door at twelve am, stench of alcohol on his breath and muttering drunkly to himself.
You couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Not when he’d be out all night, not telling you where he had been.
You knew this would just be another night in alone.
Without thinking much, you quickly went to your bedroom and put together an outfit. It was the middle of October and quite cold, so you opted for a cozy sweater, a pair of jeans, and your white high-top Converse. After fixing your hair in the vanity mirror, you grabbed your purse and keys from the kitchen counter, ignoring the groceries left behind, and left your apartment.
Locking the door once again, you thought about quickly shooting a text to Jared to your whereabouts, but fuck him. He was acting like a dick lately and it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine of giving you anxiety.
You rushed down the stairway in an attempt to catch up with Wilbur. To your relief, he hadn't even made it a block past your apartment building. You called out to him, and he abruptly turned around when he heard his name.
He smiles wide when he realizes it’s you running towards him to catch up. “Change your mind?” he muses.
“yeah sorry, is that okay?” you asked anxiously.
He nods and gestures for you to follow him.
Upon arriving at Brighton Pier, the sun had set and the air grew chilly as you got closer to the ocean. Inhaling the smell of salt, you sniffled as your nose was starting to run. You were glad you put on a sweater before heading out.
Wilbur walked alongside you, making sure to take small strides seeing as he was taller than you, and listening intently. He had asked you about your job, and you were enthusiastically sharing your passion for photography. You explained that you worked for a travel company, where you both edited and took photographs.
You realize you've been rambling too much. Sometimes your thoughts got carried away and you’d have to catch yourself.
"Im sorry, im totally rambling to you, im sure you don't find it that interesting." You apologize.
Wilbur shakes his head, showing that he disagrees at your statement.
"No, no, I’m listening,” he reassures. “I love hearing other people talk about their passions, ramble on," he encouraged.
Your heart fluttered as you continued your speech about what initially sparked your interest in photography. Wilbur listened so attentively that you almost forgot you were supposed to meet his bandmates until someone called out his name interrupting you.
A group of three guys sat on a bench looking out onto the sea and waved at the pair of you. One of them you recognized as Joe, who was just about to put out a cigarette.
“Will you made it!” one of the guys with blonde hair greeted you with a big smile. “Hey nice to meet you, i’m Mark,”
He held out his hand, you took it and shake it in greeting.
“Hi, I’m y/n,” you replied.
A chorus of ‘hey’s’ mix from the trio.
“So this is the famous y/n,” the third man you didn’t know, with longer hair and glasses spoke knowingly. “Wills told us a lot about you.”
You look at Wilbur, eyebrows lifting in surprise, but his eyes go comically wide at the comment. For a second, he looks like a deer in headlights. He glances at you, fast, like he’s trying to wordlessly undo the moment, to silently beg you not to read too much into it. But the damage is already done. Your lips twitch, trying and failing to fight off a grin.
You press your knuckles to your mouth, muffling your laugh at his flustered state.
Wilbur mutters something under his breath a dramatic “oh my god” — before dragging a hand down his face, and you swear you can see the tips of his ears turning red.
“C’mon, Ash, don’t tease the poor lad,” Joe chuckles, elbowing the long-haired one with a grin. He turns to you next. “Don’t worry, it’s all good things. Painfully good, honestly.”
“Joe,” Wilbur groans, somewhere between a warning and a whine. “You’re actually going to kill me.”
“No, no, let’s not kill him. He’s far too entertaining like this,” Ash says with mock-seriousness, pushing his glasses up with a smirk. “It’s rare to see him malfunction.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Malfunction?”
Wilbur shoots you a look — playful, exasperated. “This is why I didn’t want to bring you around them yet.”
“Oh?” you tease, enjoying every second. “Because you knew they’d tell me everything?”
“Because I knew you’d like them too much,” he says, looking at you.
The group laughs, a warm kind of laughter that bubbles into the space. For a moment, it feels like you’ve always belonged here. Into the rhythm of their jokes, and it feels nice.
“Anyway,” Joe says, clapping his hands once like he’s shifting the scene forward, “we’re grabbing drinks. You two coming?”
Wilbur looks to you, still red-cheeked but a little more composed now. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, like a quiet invitation.
You nod, smiling. “Lead the way, malfunctioning boy.”
When the others start walking ahead, he hangs back just a little. Just close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. His voice drops into a low tone.
“I swear I didn’t tell them that much.”
You glance up at him. “No?”
“No.” He looks forward, then down at his feet, then cautiously, with that sweet hesitation back at you. “Just… enough.”
You bump into him slightly, just to make him smile. And he does bashfully.
“You look really nice by the way,” he confesses.
Before you can reply, Mark is grabbing his attention and you’re left once again blushing like a teenager.
The pub is warm and alive, packed shoulder to shoulder with voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of a guitar from the corner where a band is setting up.
You sit wedged in a booth between Wilbur and the wall, his knee brushing yours every time he shifts. His arm is slung behind you across the booth and you can’t help but want it to be around your shoulders pulling you closer to his side.
Across from you, Joe is halfway through an animated story, using his pint to gesture wildly, while Ash provides sarcastic commentary with impeccable timing.
You’ve already had quite a few to drink and you’re starting to feel floaty. Just enjoying the new company around you.
You’re not entirely sure what the story is about anymore something about Wilbur, a train station, and an unfortunate hat but it hardly matters. You’re laughing, really laughing, enjoying yourself for once and Wilbur keeps sneaking glances like he’s watching you instead of listening to any of it.
At one point Ash asks you something, a teasing “So how do you put up with him?” he says. “being neighbors and running into each other has got to be getting old,” and before you can respond, Wilbur cuts in dryly.
“She doesn’t. She merely tolerates my presence like one might tolerate a recurring rash.”
You snort into your wine. “A tall string bean rash with an accent.”
The boys howl with laughter.
Wilbur clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me darling. AND in front of my own friends.”
You lean in, smiling behind the rim of your glass. “You love it.”
And he looks at you, really looks at you, a glimmer in his eye and says, “Yeah. Maybe I do.”
Just like that, the noise around you softens, even though nothing actually gets quieter. You feel it in your chest. Something unspoken stirring. The others go back to their stories. Wilbur doesn’t look away.
You think, maybe, neither of you wants this night to end.
It’s nearly midnight by the time you step out into the street, The air settles in when the city starts to sleep and it feels almost haunted. You and Wilbur peel off from the group naturally, saying goodbyes with lazy waves and sleepy grins. The others tease a little more — something about “don’t get lost on the way back” —
The walk is quiet. Peaceful. Comfortable. All night that was how you felt beside Wilbur.
Maybe it was because you were getting to know him more and in just a few mere hours you felt like you’ve known each other since forever. Making jokes and being more comfortable around each other.
Your shoes tap softly against the pavement. A breeze rolls in from the ocean, ruffling Wilbur’s curls and making him tug his coat tighter. You hug your own sleeves around you.
“I’m glad you came,” he says after a beat.
You glance at him. His voice is soft like something he’s not sure he’s allowed to say out loud.
“I’m glad you invited me,” you reply, just as quietly.
He nods, looking ahead. The streetlamps cast long shadows that stretch across the ground.
“They like you, I could tell with the way they welcomed you right away.” he says.
It felt good to be accepted for once. You didn’t have any friends. Jared was the only person you had and you weren’t sure you even had him anymore. Now, with him everything felt disconnected and numb.
“Joes’ known me forever,” he continues. “I’ve only known Ash and Mark for a couple years now but they’ve all seen me through so many versions of myself. Even the really shitty ones.”
You hum gently, urging him to go on.
“I don’t let many people in anymore. Not like that. Not like…” He hesitates. “Not like I want to let you in…”
He doesn’t know what it is about you. But there’s something he can’t shake. Ever since you knocked on his door of the late hours asking him to quiet down. He wants to know you.
Your heart thuds, loud. Like it wants to escape your chest. You stop walking. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the loneliness and unhappiness you had been feeling lately. Something inside of you felt like it wanted to let him in too.
He takes another step before realizing you’re not beside him anymore. When he turns around, his expression is open, unguarded in a way.
You take a breath and exhale, the condensation puffing around your face in the cold air.
“Could we go somewhere?” you ask, your voice barely above the wind.
Wilbur doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Of course.”
The two of you make your way down dimly lit streets until the buildings thin out and the sound of the sea grows louder, like it’s been waiting. His pace matches yours steadily as your steps echo through the streets of brighton.
The beach is completely empty. Just a stretch of wet sand mixed with crushed shells and rocks. The moon glows silver reflecting off the water’s surface. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore bring you at ease.
You both kick off your shoes near a rock wall, and without saying anything, you sink down into the sand. Wilbur joins you, you both don’t speak. You sit shoulder to shoulder. Your hands rest between you, just barely touching.
The waves crash in slow rhythm. Wind rushes past your ears. And you don’t look at him when you speak.
“My boyfriend,” the word sits heavy in your mouth. You’re not even sure you’d call him that anymore. “Jared, lately he’s been acting so different.” you begin.
Wilbur doesn’t speak. He just turns slightly, giving you his full attention, like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing than listening to you try and find the right words.
You pick up an almost fully infected shell and roll it between your fingers. “It’s like… he’s still him, technically. He still says the right things sometimes. Still calls me ‘angel’ when he remembers. But it’s like he’s checked out. Like he’s doing an impression of a boyfriend, and I’m the only one still clinging to nothing.”
The words feel thick in your mouth. You’ve been holding onto them for too long.
“I keep asking myself if I’m imagining it. If I’m being too sensitive again. He always says I am. He says I read too far into things.”
Wilbur’s jaw twitches at that, but he stays quiet, letting you lead.
You look down at your lap. “He doesn’t… look at me the way he used to. Not with warmth. It’s more like—like I annoy him. Like I’m a test he’s tired of taking. I feel like I’m always saying sorry for something.”
You breathe in. Out. Trying to regain your emotions.
“And the worst part is that Sometimes I miss him. I miss the way he made me laugh when we first started dating. I miss how he used to bring me little things—like my favorite candy when I was having a bad day, or how it would feel when he’d say nice things…”
Your voice cracks slightly. You hate that it does.
“I miss the version of him I thought was real.”
Your eyes blur with tears. You blink them away, embarrassed.
“Two days ago I brought up the fact that he’d been going out late all night for the past two weeks, He said I was being dramatic about his late night work meetings. But I knew it was much more than that.”
You weren’t expecting to let all of this spill out. To make this big confession-rant to, practically a stranger. But something made you feel comfortable enough to tell him all of this.
“He’s been fucking someone else…”
You barely say it above a whisper. Like if you say it too loud then it’ll be true. You feel sick.
You don’t see it but Wilbur’s other hand balls into a fist at his side until his knuckles are white. Rage fills him, he wishes he could find Jared and punch him so hard that his nose bleeds from the blunt force. But he looks at you tenderly with empathy and feels his heart ache for you.
“And I was so scared that if I let go of him, there’d be no one else. Like I was too messy, too broken. I kept shrinking myself just to make it easier to be around me. So he wouldn’t leave. But he already has.”
You’re shaking now. All the pent up emotions getting the better of you.
“I want to leave him but i’m scared.” you whisper, not even hearing yourself but he hears you.
Wilbur’s hand moves then, not quickly, not dramatically. Just slow and steady, like the tide coming in. He places it gently over yours, warming your fingers where you didn’t even realize they’d gone numb.
“Listen to me y/n, please look at me,” he begs, your eyes meet his through the dark. by they’re genuine and soft as he speaks lowly. “He does not deserve you. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner. You’re lovely, kind, caring and beautiful. He’s obviously a fucking dumbass prick who doesn’t know what an amazing person he has.” he continues and peers down at you. “Anyone who makes you feel smaller than you are doesn’t deserve to see you, let alone be close to you.”
Your throat tightens. You look down at your hands trying not to meet his eyes out of fear of possibly bursting into tears right then. His thumb now tracing gently over your knuckles calms you but makes your heart pound in your ears all at once.
A wave crashes louder than the rest. Somewhere, a gull calls out into the night. But here on this patch of cold sand, you finally feel still.
Slowly, wordlessly, you lean your head onto his shoulder.
He doesn’t move, except to rest his cheek lightly against your hair.
Tears flow down your cheeks silently. Thankful for him. Thankful for whoever let you find him.
“I know we don’t know each other that well yet,” he pauses. “but if you ever need a friend or a shoulder to cry on. I’ll be here.”
“Thank you Wilbur.” you sniff.
he doesn’t hesitate with his next word. “Always.”
“Sooo,” you drag out. “You think I’m beautiful?” you tease, peering up at him, head still resting on his shoulder.
Your voice is playful, but it carries something real beneath it. Like you’re hoping he means it.
Wilbur turns his head just slightly, looking down at you.
“Painfully beautiful,” he breathes, like the words are being pulled from the center of his chest. “Like… it actually hurts to look at you sometimes.”
You blink up at him, the teasing edge melting into something quieter, more stunned.
You both go comfortably quiet again, and the silence doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like safety.
That night Wilbur walked you both back home. Both of you bidding one another goodnight retreated to your respective apartment.
You went to bed with a smile that made your cheeks hurt.
The days leading after that are well, The happiest you’d felt in a while.
You had been avoiding Jared like the plague. When he’d stumble through the door at the late hours of the night you’d already be asleep. The next morning he’d already been gone when you woke up.
He had barely texted during the day, only saying things like ‘gonna be late again tonight angel’ the pet name made you sick to your stomach now.
Now you would spend your time with Wilbur. Nothing was going on. He had become someone you could confide in. That was somthing that you hadn’t had in a long time.
You fall into a rhythm with him without really trying. It starts the morning after that night on the beach. He texts you at 11:03 AM:
You’re required by law to get coffee with me today. Not taking no for answer Sorry, I don’t make the rules. (only if you want to)- will
You can’t help the smile that creeps across your lips that makes your cheeks hurt as you get ready to meet him.
You meet him outside the little café in town. His hair is tucked messily under a beanie, and he’s holding two coffees. He had asked you what your order was, seeing as he was already there. He hands it to you, but not before holding it out of your reach teasing you as you try to reach his tall height. It’s almost like you’re both so familiar with each other already. it’s like second nature. You roll your eyes at his antics but you’re fond of it.
You sit outside, knees bumping under the table, talking about everything and nothing. He tells you about the setlist for the upcoming show. You tease him about the fact that he’ll have a rock star persona once he steps out on stage.
“Everyone has a stage presence,” you say matter of factly. Sipping your hot beverage. “I can’t wait to see Divabur,”
Your days with him are mostly like this now. Quiet, simple, and strangely sacred. The kind of time that slips by unnoticed because it’s so easy, so natural. You hang out, talk, laugh, exist next to each other without needing to impress or perform. It never felt like this with Jared. It was so strange. You’ve become so close in such a short amount of time that the time doesn’t matter anymore. How right it feels.
You sit in his apartment during band practice, curled up on his couch while he runs through melodies and lyrics with the others. You just watch him. How determined and focused he is. The way he talks when he’s passionate about how the song is going, alive in what he loves.
On other days, you walk for hours down by the pier, through the quieter parts of the city. He tells you geography facts like they’re secrets meant just for you, his voice animated as he explains certain architecture in France or why he hates a certain country’s flag design with his whole chest.
And you listen. Not because you care about flags, or France, but because you care about him. Because watching someone light up like that feels like watching a candle catch flame in the dark. And Wilbur listens to you too. He listens like it matters. like you matter. For once you feel it in the way he looks at you. He just sees you and you see him.
Somehow, in the middle of all the walks, the music, the rants, and the laughter. He becomes your safe space.
The night of the show you’re right at the barricade, exactly where Wilbur said he wanted you. Front row, dead center.
The venue hums with anticipation, buzzing with voices and the low throb of the speakers warming up. The lights are dimmed to a moody blue, and the stage glows just enough to make the equipment shimmer.
Now the crowd around you presses closer, the lights drop fully, and cheers erupt as the band walks onstage.
The band come out one by one grabbing their respective instruments and testing the sound.
Wilbur walks out last, he waves to the crowd with a wide silly grin and they all cheer. He slings his guitar over his shoulder and moves to the mic. His lips brushing the metal as he cups his hand over the top.
“How are we doing this evening?” he questions in a low tone, his accent flowing out making butterflies erupt.
The crowed responds so effectively to him. With ease the whole band flows into the first song.
The show is electric. The crowed is shouting the lyrics right back at Will, they dance around you and you can’t help but just feel the energy around you.
Between verses, between chords, even mid-lyric, his eyes always find you. Sometimes he’ll sing directly to you, the corners of his mouth twitching. He even points at you dramatically during a song with the most absurd dance move you’ve ever seen. You double over with laughter, clutching your stomach.
He’s alive up there. Absolutely burning with an unexplainable energy. You can’t help but admire him as the stage light hits his side profile just right. His eyes are closed in concentration as he sings a line and his curls falls down his forehead. You pull your phone from your back pocket and snap a quick photo. He looks absolutely ethereal.
You don’t want to fight the thoughts anymore. You can’t help the way you felt about him and you were fine with that.
The set ends with their loudest, most anthemic song. The one with the slow buildup and the chorus that sounds like a drum march. It gets you amped up. Wilbur throws his head back to scream the final line, sweat dripping down his temple, and the crowd screams with him. You cheer as the drum beat kicks in with every guitar note.
It ends with fanfare and then one last note and the lights go out.
The crowed is ramped up as the lights fade back on and the band bows in thanks.
“Thank you so much for coming out, we have been lovejoy!” Wilbur
The band throws out little souvenirs to the audience. Mark throws his drum sticks to either side of the crowd and blows a kiss before he joggs backstage. Joe gives someone in front row on his side the setlist.
Ash spots you in the front row, leans down near the edge of the stage, and extends a hand. Between his fingers sits a pick. You take it and it’s still warm from him playing. He tips his glasses and winks at you before moving back to center stage.
Wilbur watches the whole exchange and shoves Ash’s shoulder playfully with his hands raised like ‘what the fuck man’
Ash sticks his tounge out at Will as they begin to play fight on stage. Making your cheeks hurt from laughing so much.
Wilbur sends one last glance your way and winks before disappearing backstage with the others.
You fist the pick in your palm and your heart feels full.
Ash winked at you like you were in on a joke. Wilbur grinned at you like he was so grateful you were here. Joe waved at you during one of the songs, and Mark pointed at you with his stick after he did a cool flip with it.
And for once, you’re not just watching something from the outside. You feel like you belong in this chaotic group of friends.
You can’t remember the last time you felt this wanted. There’s found-family energy that feels too good to be real. Filled with jokes and chaotic laughter and teasing that never crosses a line. You don’t feel like you’re tolerated or a burden.
You stay at the barricade waiting for Wilbur to get you. The crowed around you slowly disperses and you feel a vibration from your jeans.
You’re still glowing, still riding the warmth of it all. Your hand drifts to your pocket. Your mind is still on Wilbur. On the way he looked at you like the rest of the room disappeared.
A message sits on your lockscreen
Jared. At a bar. His hands on some girl’s ass, her arms around his neck, his mouth on hers like he’s done it a thousand times.
Your stomach sinks. The weight in your chest feels heavy and your heart pounds in your ears. Tears brim in your eyes and burn.
You aren’t surprised. Knowing this was a long time coming. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even if you didn’t want him anymore still, the grief hits you all at once after so long. it still slices clean through you. Your suspension was true. The final nail in the coffin.
You blink at it for too long. Scanning the way he’s pulling her flush against him and the sickly smile on both of their faces. Her perfect blonde hair, legs, body, perfect everything. It boils your blood. The noise around you fades. You don’t even realize that someone is calling your name trying to break you out of the trance.
You look up fast and he’s jogging toward you. Quickly you whip the tears away and press the phone to your chest, keeping the image out of his sight. Hes changed out of the white button up he wore on stage into a sweater. Curls a mess, face still flushed from screaming his lungs out only a few minutes ago. Then he slows when he sees the look on your face.
He catches the way you clutch your phone, yours eyes red and wet.
“What’s wrong?” he asks tentatively.
“Nothing,” you replied, “let’s go yeah?”
He stops you, placing his hands on your shoulders. It’s not forceful, but soft as he looks you dead in the eyes. You feel his intense worried gaze and you immediately break down.
Wilbur catches you as you fall into him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders, pulling you close like he can shield you from everything. You bury your face in his chest, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as you sob. You cling onto him like a lifeline. You try and open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but hitched breaths. You hand him your phone and don’t say anything.
He looks at the photo on your screen.
“You’re fucking joking…” his voice is sharp.
His jaw clenches and his knuckles turn white. You feel his throat bob with a swallow. “Is this… now?”
You shake your head. “No idea. But… it doesn’t matter.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” he spites pulling away from you-
“no!” you cry. “don’t leave me, please.”
Wilbur pockets your phone and wraps his arms around you tighter. Burying your face into the fabric of his sweater, breathing in the laundry smell and him. It calmed you immensely.
“it’s worth it to me darling,” he says. “that prick deserves to feel nothing but pain after all the shit he’s put you through.”
Wilbur could feel the anger rising in him, sharp and unrelenting. For once, he didn’t care. Jared needed to suffer. He wanted him to feel more than a fraction of the pain he’d caused you. Because in Wilbur’s eyes, you were something rare and good. Something precious. And the thought of someone hurting you, breaking you down piece by piece, made him feel violent in a way he didn’t know he was capable of.
You didn’t deserve that kind of cruelty. Not you. Not someone so full of light.
“I should’ve been less needy, i should’ve- i should’ve-
Wilbur cups your cheeks in his palms looking deeply into your eyes.
“hey- this. is. not. your. fault.” he says every word firmly, trying to burn them into your brain. “okay?this was not your fault.”
he brushes the hair out of your face and catches the flowing tears with his thumbs.
“i’m sorry i ruined the night.” you stress.
“you didn’t ruin anything.” he murmurs. “don’t think that for one second.”
Wilbur holds you like he means it. Like he’s not going anywhere. Like he’d rip apart the whole world if it meant helping you feel whole again.
And when your breathing finally evens out, when your tears slow, he tilts your chin up.
“You deserve so much better.” he says. “You are better than what he gave you.“
Your lips part, like you want to say something. Without even another thought you’re leaning forward and enveloping your lips together. No hesitation, no warning, he doesn’t let go.
It’s everything he’s been holding back since the moment he met you. Everything he felt when he first saw you.
His hand slides down and his arm curls firmly around your waist, pulling you closer like he’s trying to erase every inch of space between you.
You kiss him back with just as much passion, if not more.
You grab the fabric of his sweater like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. His lips are warm and urgent, tasting like adrenaline and heartbreak and something sweeter like hope. Like home.
It’s messy and breathless and real.
When he finally pulls away, it’s only by an inch.
You both gasp quietly, foreheads pressed together, your hands still fisted in his clothes.
You don’t open your eyes. Just speak, voice small and nasally from your tears.
“I’ve wanted to do that since that night on the beach.” you confess.
Then he’s pulling you into another kiss. It’s fierce and makes your skin burn all over. You whine into his mouth as his tongue tangles with yours. Your bodies feel like they’re on auto pilot.
You both pull away agian due to lack of oxygen. Letting out soft broken laughs, and for a second it sounds like relief… Resting your foreheads together his fingers rub slow circles across your skin.
When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. Like the kiss pulled it from the deepest part of him.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says.
You close your eyes, letting your nose nudge his. “Then why didn’t you?”
He pauses. And when he answers, it’s not teasing. It’s honest.
“Because I didn’t want to ruin this. You were already with that asshole and i didn’t want to lose you. When you talked about the things he said, the terrible things he did to you I- I wanted you to realize that you deserved better.” he paused his speech. “That I could treat you the way you deserve.”
His thumb stills on your skin, and he looks at you again really looks at you.
“I care about you, y/n,” he says, voice rough with honesty. “I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy. I never want to see you miserable again. I would tear myself apart if it meant you’d never have to feel this way ever again.”
His hand finds yours, firm and steady. His eyes don’t leave your face.
“You deserve the world,” he continues, softer now. “And more. So much more. And if you let me… I want to give that to you.”
You don’t say anything. Breath caught in your throat.
Because he already knows.
Your gaze finds his, and your voice comes out quiet—barely more than a breath.
He knows you don’t mean back to your apartment. That place hasn’t felt like home in a long, long time.
Safety. Love. The feeling of being wanted without conditions.
And when he squeezes your hand in response, he leads you out of the venue and onto the streets of Bringhton on that cold fall night.
taglist: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et
