☁︎︎• 𝐿𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑇𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑏𝑢𝑟 𝑆𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑥 𝑜𝑐 • ☁︎︎

43

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."
― Plato

~~~~~~~~~~~

arriving home from work, i see wil splayed out like a cat on the couch. 

"i think i'm sick lav, feel my forehead" he groans wearily. i walk up and place the back of my hand on his forehead, he was only a little bit warm, but still warm.

"well" i said walking over to the thermostat, "it is 74 degrees in here, let me crack a window for you." i said, walking to the window across from the couch and opening it about 5 inches. 

"thanks lav" wil said, taking off his shirt and throwing it across the room.

"but what if i am sick. i mean i really do think im sick." he said again

"well wilbur, you're probably not feeling too good because you haven't eaten." i replied.

"i dont want to risk it. what if i throw up again? when i ate the other day i threw up." he said, starting to get more anxious as he picks at his nails.

"here, i'll make a light dinner tonight, you can just lay on the couch and i'll bring it to you, and you can take as much time as u need, okay?" i said. wil nodded in silence. 

i pursed my lips and started laying out produce and washing it for dinner. 

~time skip~

as the sky grew darker and darker, and the time got later and later, i sweat, more and more. tomorrow was my wedding day. the day where i get married to wilbur "soot". it almost seems unreal sometimes. to think that at the beginning of this year i had to watch my figure, not eat too many calories, be home before 11, not dress provocatively out because if i did i was a "slut" but if i dressed down i was "unladylike" and oh god forbid jack be seen with a woman that was any less of that, a woman who occasionally skipped shaving her armpits, and a women who had stomach fat. god forbid. 

now, i was getting married to a man who takes me out to restaurants weekly, doesn't "make" me pay the bills, runs to give me massages and food whenever i say that i had a "stressful day", and who if we go out, and i say that i dont really like my hair or makeup, he'll mess up his hair or do something to make himself look "worse" than me so we'd both look bad. 

thinking about wil made me realize how much i miss him, even with him laying 15 feet away on the other side of a wall. waddling out of bed, i shimmied out to the living room, where i carefully laid next to wil on the couch, tucking myself into his chest, making sure not to hurt him. 

we laid there for about 15 minutes before i tugged on his pinky and sat up.

"wanna dance?" i asked 

wil smiled softly and got up, taking my hands lightly in his. he pulled me to his chest and we slowly danced, swaying side to side, making our way around the living room. every once in a while, i couldn't help but glance over at the untouched plate of food sitting on the coffee table. i let out a deep breath, pulled closer to his chest, and closed my eyes.