𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

and i thought, there's no such thing as luck [s.w]

fuck yeah schlattbur...... secksie

had this concept in my head for a while and just now got around to writing it

also apologies if the lyrics to the songs i used are off a lil, i wrote em mainly from memory lmfao

title is from fiji water - owl city

cw for mentions of biphobia/being kicked out bc of sexuality + mentions of toxic friends

prompt; "im a homeless broke musician who plays in the subway station and you walk by and give me more money than anyone else does,, i wink at you bc i want to acknowledge you somehow, but one day youre late and come with food instead of cash bc youve left your wallet somewhere."

final word count; 3.8k

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wilbur sighs, opening his guitar case and removing the instrument, leaving the case open. this is the fourth time he's had to do this - 'this' being sitting in an old subway station, playing his guitar and singing. he doesn't necessarily dislike it, he needs the money and playing has always been a favourite hobby of his, he'd just prefer his job and apartment back and not have to wash his hair in a mcdonalds sink every night with their shitty foaming soap. 

he strums his guitar, tunes it a little, and starts playing, figuring he'll go with where is my mind by pixies this time. it's a good song, yes, a little depressing, but then again, wilbur's existence is depressing at the moment, so why the fuck not?

"with your feet on the air and your head on the ground, try this trick and spin it, yeah," he sings softly, eyes focused on his guitar. he doesn't react when he hears the familiar sound of coins dropping into his guitar case, though he is silently thankful for the donation and raises his voice a little. the person walks off and he continues. "where is my mind? way out in the water, see it swimmin'," 

more people pass by, some staying to listen to him sing for a moment, others preferring to drop money into his guitar case and leave. "i was swimming in the caribbean, animals were hiding behind the rock.. except the little fish, but he told me, he swears, tryin' to talk to me, koi koy," 

a minute or so and a few donations later he's almost through with the song, and as he strums his guitar and sings he becomes acutely aware of the feeling of eyes watching him. he finishes the last of the song and looks up, locking eyes with a man in an extremely crisp business suit, shrinking back self-consciously. he looks a little tired, and although his gaze isn't necessarily judgy, wilbur still feels a little awkward.

"sorry if it's not much, but here you go." the businessman hands wilbur a stack of bills, and the brit takes it with a swallow. the first thing he notices about the american's voice is the accent - slightly new york-ish, he believes, a little rough around the edges but it fits him, surprisingly. he's being completely serious when he hands wilbur the money, and wilbur looks up at him again, subtly pinching himself to make sure he isn't dreaming. the american cocks an eyebrow and snickers, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "did you just fucking pinch yourself?"

ah, so he wasn't that subtle. "are you sure? what do you mean, not much? this is- this is more than i've gotten in four days combined!" the musician exclaims, and the businessman frowns a bit. "seriously, thank you so much." wilbur stands, going in for a hug, pausing, then holding out his hand for a handshake. the american shakes his hands, grip firm yet loose, hand bigger than wilbur's. "my name is wilbur," he introduces himself, "wilbur soot." 

"schlatt," the american replies, and wilbur nods. "i'll try and come by again tomorrow if you're goin' to be here." schlatt tells him, and he shrugs.