pierre ; wilbur soot

ғє𝓔Ĺ Łⓘкᵉ Ŝυ𝕄𝓶ε𝔯 Ａภ∂ ᶤ ｄØ𝔫'ｔ ฬᵃŇᑎａ 𝐦𝐈𝔰𝐒 ƳỖù

♣️
'Underground Tavern Society'
[UTS]

card no. 8
♣️
VIII. King of Clubs
—Ranboo

Meet him outside my house, Sunday, 2:32 in the morning. If I don't show up, he'll know where we stand.

I felt my consciousness awaken, i could feel the hot air that gently grazed my skin, the thin cotton in which I laid under, and the mild breeze that rushes through my window.

But I could also feel weight; an invisible force pulling me down to my bed, not letting me out. It was hot— it was too hot. My breathing pattern was rigid and choppy, my mind being unable to keep up.

I was overcome with fatigue that I couldn't begin to breach. I was drowning in a river of stress, stemming from the same source.

I was anxious regarding Wilbur Soot.

William Gold.

Only God knows how many other hidden identities this man has buried down. Everything I think I know about him could be false. He's illusionary, just an altered vision of what he wants us to believe.

Wilbur Soot, I wonder why you're like this. I wonder if you've always been like this. I wonder if something happened before you allegedly fled to Brighton.

Gradually, I broke free from this trance, as if I were learning how to move again. I regained access to my wrists, and then my forearms, up until I could move each and every joint again. It hurt like hell, like I had been under a heavy boulder for hours on end.

I forced out a cough to clear my throat. It felt cloudy down there in a way. It was a mistake to have downed all that vodka, especially when the strongest I would be willing to have was nothing more than some ice cold fizzing beer in a glass mug.

God have mercy.

My eyes were still adapting to the setting, but despite my distorted vision I could faintly make out the time from the other side of the room. It was already 12:00 PM, the optimal time for brunch.

Strangely enough, it felt like if I consumed anything that moment, I'd end up puking it all out anyways.

It was some sort of nervousness that prevented me from feeling alright. I'd try to diverge my attention to anything else, yet I could still see his face even when I close my eyes.

I didn't want to admit it, but a part of me is longing to be held the way he held me. A part of me is longing to be passionately kissed, told how beautiful I am. A part of me doesn't want to admit that maybe he was just someone to fill the void, and that I truly just miss... him.

No... not Wilbur... but him. It's been too long long, I've almost forgotten his face, his laugh, his smile...

No...