Random mcyt oneshots

What is wrong with me?

Genre: Angst and comfort

Main focus: Wilbur and Phil

CW: blood, i will mention Will cutting his palm by accident, description of a panic attack..yeah all that fun stuff

Words: 1943

Edit 9/1/2021: Um,,, This oneshot, now looking back at it, is so bad,,, what the fuck was i doing,,,, guys I promise there's better stuff,,,
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The tall brit was just lying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't say anything. He didn't do anything. Just stared.

His brothers and father were fast asleep by now and no wonder they were - it was 3 am and the musician was still up. He was too troubled by his thoughts to have a good, peaceful night. His mind didn't let him rest.

Wilbur sat up with a sigh. It was quite annoying as well. He couldn't even cry this misery out of him. One reason being he would feel weak if he did and he didn't want that. And the second being..He literally couldn't. Even if he tried, no tears would find their way out.
And he couldn't play his pain out on his guitar in the room, since everybody's been sleeping.

It was like hell. Thinking about it, even if he would feel stupid for crying, it would help him find relief. But instead all the suffering stays inside him and builds up slowly. Wilbur didn't know when he would reach his breaking point and honestly? He didn't want to know.

"This is so fucking stupid.. Why can't I feel anything besides this..this..misery inside of me?"

All this time the musician only could fake smiles at his family to not worry them and say he is fine, even though he wasn't. There were some close calls, where he almost let the others know about his suffering, but was lucky enough to play it off.

He wanted help, deep inside he was screaming for somebody to comfort him. But the voices in his head didn't let him reach out. He didn't deserve that. He would just worry his family and make them feel guilty, sad, anxious. He didn't want that, the only person who deserved to hurt was him.

Wilbur groaned, rubbing his eyes and standing up. He couldn't be in his room any longer, he needed some fresh air. He took his guitar and went downstairs. The brunette tried to be as quiet as he could be, but every now and then a loud creak could be heard from the floor, followed by quiet cursing. Lucky enough, nobody woke up.

Eventually he got to the door, placing his guitar down and putting on his jacket with fur on the hood over his sweater, careful not to push off his red beanie by his clumsy hands. He even had to wear glasses, since his eyes were quite tired and unfocused, so the only way to not have a blurry vision were his round glasses, which he put on shortly after the jacket.

When Wilbur was ready, he left the house with the musical intrument. It's been quite cold outside, which wasn't really a surprise considering it was the middle of November.

The sweater lover walked into the park not so far from the house, where he always went when he needed to pour his heart out late at night. The best thing about the place he lived in with his family was that nobody really went outside at night, so Wilbur could play all he wanted without anybody staring at him.

He sat on the bench right next to his favourite tree, where he usually played under on the grass when the weather was nice, and started strumming. Music always helped him forget about all his worries and dark thoughts.

As he sang and played, the brit noticed it..really wasn't helping. He still felt like a piece of shit if he was being honest. With a sigh he stopped playing.