It's written on his arm. ✔

X: the brightest star in the sky.

Wilbur chuckled, allowing the room to fade into a comfortable silence. He knew that not everything had gone said that evening, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing. Sometimes, he realised, it isn't necessary to vocalise everything, and Wilbur found himself heading for the door.

'I can promise you something Tommy.' He said, pausing at the door and smiling when the teenager's attention was instantly captivated.

'What?'

'I promise that I won't hide anything that important from you.' The teenagers eyebrows rose, revealing surprise yet relief.

'Why?' Tommy asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes comedically. 'We both know that you're too stubborn to change your mind.'

'That's true,' Wilbur agreed, Phil's earlier phrase about that lingering on his mind. 'But you deserve to know. If you still want to go ahead with this-'

'I do.'

'- then you should know what's happening.' Wilbur finished, studying the teenagers facial expressions again.

'Thank you, Will.' Tommy whispered, light evident in his eyes. 'I'm glad Techno's your soulmate.'

'Yeah?'

'Hmm, Phil and Techno aren't assholes.' Wilbur took this as a rather good sign. 'I'm glad to see more of them.'

Well, that he wasn't expecting. Tommy wasn't one to express affection for others easily, tending to keep it to himself. Wilbur refused to let the teasing opportunity go to waste, not matter how much relief it gave him.

'Aww! Is someone going soft?'

'Shut the fuck up bitch!'

--

The stars were bright that evening.

Wilbur glanced at them as he walked, instantly looking for the brightest star that he could see. His attention spam was rather limited, however, and he'd quickly get distracted by the slightest crunch of guards behind him. Despite their presence, the night was at peace, and even the slight shiver of his hands wouldn't make him regret the decision to come here.

The graveyard was dimly lit, scattered yellow lamps straining under that pressure. Shadows suffocated the area, hoovering and flickering abruptly with the wind. The graves themselves were stubby, sticking out meaningfully beside the trampled path that weaved between them. He'd walked that path enough times to know each nook and cranny, watching the irregularity of it form had served reality of how much time had passed.

Wind brushed his hair as he stood still, staring at the words carved into the gravestone. The roses remained ahead of it; shrivelling and curling in on themselves like they were trying to hide from the bite of frost. The flowers were dying, and he didn't even bring anything to replace them with.

Wilbur could hear the hushed whispers behind him, able to imagine the bundle of guards that had to endure the sinister setting so late into the evening. A sensation akin to guilt began to build up in him as he looked over his shoulder, noticing the sliver of concern in their expressions. They all froze like deer in headlights, only one guard resuming movement to whisper something to the others. Wilbur didn't question anything when he noticed one of them leave, silently glad that one less would have to endure the English weather.