•When the rose blooms [Dream SMP × Bnha]•

|8.2|

“How’s your little flower?” Jared attempts to skip another rock, it sinks.

“My little flower.” Wilbur echoes, a long-forgotten memory back from his subconscious.

“Yeah, your kid?” Jared gives Wilbur an incredulous look before throwing another rock.

It skips once.

Wilbur picks at his nails, his old and never-healed wounds ache, “Well, I suppose he’s–”

“He?” Jared stops midway through his next throw, “You had another kid?” Jared looks confused and worried.

The trees rustle, an unspoken question held in the wind.

“No,” says Wilbur, “Fundy– my kid– decided he’d rather not be my little flower anymore.”

Jared nodded, perceptions and ideas changing in his head, “Fundy, huh?” He stares at one of the rocks in his hand, “Suites him.”

“It does,” Wilbur watches the next rock skip once.

“What do you–” the rock skips twice, “think made Fundy realise that?”

If Jared had asked him a few years before limbo, Wilbur wouldn't have had an answer, but with 13 years wasted away, churning and thinking about the past as he feeds the white and orange cat the pieces of his skin that refused to rot, each day that he scraped another number down while his bone and muscle become more exposed as time went by, he came up with many answers to his unspoken questions.

“Tommy,” he says.

Jared thinks the reply over as he stares into the water, “I’d understand why, they’re pretty similar in age, aren't they?”

No matter how long he thinks that fact over, it never feels right to admit, “I just don't remember them interacting much.”

“Tommy was always around you, wasn't he?” The rock skips thrice, and a small grin forms on Jared’s face, finally getting into the swing, “And you–”

“–I always around Fundy.” only in his youth.

The rock skips four times, “Yeah, fuck, it took me four years to even convince you to get you to sit on your front porch without him on your hip.”

“Yeah,” Wilbur whispers, sorrow forming in his voice, “I became a really shitty father after those years.”

Jared’s arms fall to his sides and he titles his head to the side, “Don’t say that,” he turns, putting his hand on his hip while making wild gestures, “It's not like you has a good example to go off of.”

Wilbur laughs and shakes his head, “Phil is a good dad, don't insult him like that.”

“Don't lie,” Jared flicks the rock up and down, catching it and repeating, “I’ve been your friend since we were twelve, and I hadn’t seen him once and that’s after considering the fact Y/N permanently kept a mattress in the living room floor for how much I came over.”

Wilbur knows very well what Jared means, “You weren't always there.”

Jared crosses his arms, “I was there often enough to know that he didn't even once meet Fundy for at least an entire six years.”

Wilbur wished it was a lie, “Nine,” he uncrosses his legs, wounds still burning, “It was more than nine years.”

Jared frowns, his point being proven, “And how–”

“We’ve gotten quite off track haven't we?” Wilbur panics, knowing where the rest of the conversation might go.

Jared unmistakenly frowns and rubs his neck, “We have, haven't we?”