𝕻𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖘 - (Wilbur)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

A few days had passed and progress was made, they focussed more on the song and getting to know each other better. They had some ideas they were dead set on keeping and Inka was flattered by some of the things Wilbur wrote into his story. "I'll bring you daffodils, on a pretty string, but they won't flower like they did last spring." He sang along and she nodded, clapping as he played with the guitar. There was a moment before that he wanted to add, where he kept space. But nothing he knew made sense there.

He grew frustrated with the complicated syllables for what he wanted to say, "I'll take you to the flower field, where I could be your shield...? God that sounds so dumb!" He groaned and buried his hands in his face while Inka nodded.

"Plus you already talk about flowers." She pointed out and he scoffed,

"It can link," he brushed off and she too scoffed, chuckling into the cloudy day,

"Doesn't have to. Why not go to a flower field if it feels so necessary?" She pushed and stared at Wilbur, who looked up at the sky and shook his head.

"It's too cold." He excused and rested his face into the palm of his hand.

"I wouldn't know one if I tried." Inka agreed and looked up at the grey sky. The weather couldn't decide how it wanted to feel - just last week it felt like summer, but the weather was going through a depression.

"I would take you though, I care enough about you." Murmured Wilbur, with a gentle smile as he gazed into the paper wondrously.

"You would take me somewhere to show you care, but it's too cold? So much for caring." She chided and continued to blow imaginative bubbles of memories and ideas into the air from her pipe of inspiration.

There was a pause as Wilbur seemed to shut off. He did it often when he thought he had an idea and was trying to organise it or put it into words. It took some time but usually it turned out to be a success, so Inka waited patiently. It was silent for another increment, the smaller kind on a clock though the resolution of clocks wasn't exactly the most accurate.

"Inka I could kiss you!" He celebrated and wrote down the idea as Inka burst into a bubble of laughter. The thought of Wilbur kissing her was beyond her belief though she didn't think the idea sounded so bad. He ignored his accidental advance and picked up his guitar, strumming and singing along to the new first line and second line. On a whim, he added half of a third line and squealed with excitement as he wrote it down. Inka applauded him and smiled before he calmed down and happily looked at her, "what can I do to repay you?" He asked. It was a unique question and Inka hardly felt it was necessary, but she decided to take the offer since there wasn't a reason to say no.

"Hm... May I wear your glasses?" She asked and reached for his face. He closed his eyes and bent down so she could reach and she pulled them off, holding them delicately before resting them on her nose. She giggled at the change of scenery, the world was slightly more blurry and a bit more stretched out. But it wasn't so bad. She wondered how she looked with the glasses on, they were slightly too big for her and slipped past her nose often, so she was lifting them up delicately by the frames. There was the small collision between hinges she began growing fond of while wearing them and adjusting them, it was similar to the white noise of leaves rustling or the constant sounds of footsteps against pavement where she sat sometimes before her daily routine with Wilbur. Not once had she grown bored of being with Wilbur but it didn't mean she never missed the alone time she used to have.

When she turned to see Wilbur, she saw him staring at her warmly. A subtle smile rested against his lips which made her smile at him too - then he reached over and fondled the leaves in her hair. He didn't try pulling it off - and thank the stars because they were stuck to her as something she naturally grew. They wilted in the winter and revealed the crown of twigs which grew below however. So she took the initiative and held his wrist, pulling him down towards her. He seemed startled but didn't stop her gentle force as he sat on the grass with her, she then let go, picking a few leaves from the surrounding bushes and some which had naturally fallen from the trees, he watched as she threaded each leaf into the other, before she sat up and leaned closer to Wilbur, wrapping the leaves around his head until it sat perfectly. Then the process repeated as she did it two more times to the same length and with a few flowers (so many to the point some leaves couldn't be seen), she braided the chains until she was left with a floral crown of leaves. It was simple and she crawled away to pick some more colourful flowers, but Wilbur never let her go off too far, and admired her as she did the additional work before resting the weighted crown on his head. The concoction of colours, whites, greens and pinks, some yellows and the occasional pink and purple complimented Wilbur's warmer skin tone perfectly as he let her adjust the crown.