Snippets

all the time in the world- part 2

TW: sickness
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Wilbur isn't mentally present enough to ask who Phil is as the teenager leads him through the grassy field, down a dirt path, and towards a building.

Even as out of touch as he is, he still stops to gawk at the house before him.

It's a Victorian era house; he's sure of it. He's toured old Victorians before because there's a surprising amount of them still around even in the present day. The two story, rich emerald green house has all of the traditional elements of a Victorian, including the turrets, dormers, and the steep, gabled roofs. The extravagance almost reminds him of a church.

Except, this one's paint isn't fading or peeling. There aren't cobwebs hiding in the corners or missing boards or...

Tommy doesn't give him time for his jumbled brain to catch up before he's pulling him inside, promising to give him a tour of the whole house later and boasting about its size.

Once inside, Tommy leads him through a wide hallway with a painted ceiling and crown molding. He brings Wilbur into a room similar that Wilbur guesses is a living room, minus a television and with the addition of a piano in one of the corners.

Tommy sits Wilbur down on one of the couches and orders him to wait there, not that he's in much of a condition to go anywhere anyways. He leaves the room, and a few moments pass before he enters the room with another blond, this one older than him by at least twenty years.

"This is Wilbur," Tommy introduces. Under his breath, he adds, "See, I told you he dresses fucking weird! Look at his clothes, Dad! And he's acting all weird, like he's drunk."

Wilbur lifts his heavy head, not exactly sure when he let it rest against the back of the chair in the first place. The man with shoulder-length, blond hair is staring at him, like he's some sort of puzzle to solve. The man is dressed almost the same as Tommy, except for an emerald green cloak that adorns his shoulders.

Wilbur doesn't know whether it's the sickness or not, but he swears Phil looks familiar.

"Wilbur," Phil says, waiting until he has the brunette's attention to ask, "What's wrong?" He has a kind voice, one that makes Wilbur feel safe, although he knows nothing of where- or when- he is.

A sudden wave of nausea makes Wilbur clench his teeth. He shakes his head at Phil and rubs his hands up and down his thighs to distract himself as he fights down the bile rising in his throat. Primes, he really regrets that muffin now. Did the scientists say anything about not eating before time-traveling? He can't remember, but he wishes he paid more attention now.

"Nausea," he eventually manages to grit out. He leans forward and steadies himself with his hands on his knees. He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder comfortingly before moving to rub gentle circles on his upper back. It's a welcome distraction.

The episode passes, and Wilbur leans back in his chair. He's breathing deeper than he should be. He fights to keep his breaths even in hopes that the nausea won't return.

The second he doesn't look like he's about to lose his breakfast, Tommy begins to pester him with questions.

"Why are you dressed like that? Why do you talk so weird? How old are you? Where did you come from? How did you get here? Why are you here?" the boy asks, not giving Wilbur even a fraction of a second to get a word in.

"Thomas! Don't overwhelm the poor man. He will give you answers when he is good and ready. For now, let him rest," Phil says before standing up to shoo Tommy out of the door and ordering him to go bother his brother instead. He shuts the door behind the blond boy, cutting off the boy's protests with a click that resonates in the now-silent room. Wilbur watches with an amused smile. "My name is Philza, and I see you have met my son, Tommy. I hope he's not been too much of an annoyance."

"It's fine," Wilbur promises, laughing slightly. He lives alone in his apartment, and he doesn't have many friends, so the liveliness Tommy brings is a welcome change.

"I deeply apologize for his bombardment, but I, myself, am more than a little curious. What business have you here?"

"I'm, uhm, I-" Wilbur's eyes dart around the room, looking for something to save himself. He doesn't remember half of the rules he had been told by the scientists, but in every movie he's ever seen, the most important thing is to never tell anyone you're a time traveler. His eyes land on the piano, and he blurts out, "I'm a traveling musician." It's too late to think of a better lie, but Wilbur has made stupider excuses and been taken seriously.

"Is that so?" There's a glint of excitement in Phil's eye, and Wilbur thanks his mother for forcing him to learn piano when he was younger even though all he really wanted was to play the guitar. "Would you play me a piece? If you're well enough, that is."

Wilbur pushes off of the armrests, but the second he's on his feet, his knees give out. Phil is quick to guide him back into a sitting position on his chair.

"Perhaps later. May I ask why Tommy found you unconscious beneath his favorite tree?"

"I was napping," Wilbur lies. The excuse sounds stupid to even his own ears, but Phil only nods, like there's nothing weird about taking naps outside and on someone else's property. Wilbur supposes the societal rules would be different from his own time period. Either that, or Phil trusts strangers a stupid amount.

"For how long have you been ill?"

It takes Wilbur longer than it probably should to decipher Phil's question, but eventually he answers. "Just today. I think- I think I just got overheated during my nap or something. Since, you know..." He gestures at his thick, yellow sweater, nothing like the thin and flowy white shirt Phil wears. Wilbur finally realizes that he's literally sweating and that it's not just because he's sick. He pushes the sleeves up as high as he can, but it does little to help.

Phil seems to notice his discomfort. "That is a very, uhm, unique outfit you wear, mate. Do you want a change of clothes? Perhaps something more... suited for the climate here?"

"Yeah," Wilbur admits, like the request is embarrassing to him. Phil is all too happy to oblige. He returns a few minutes later with a white shirt similar to his and a pair of black trousers that loosely look like they'll fit Wilbur. They look a bit big, but Wilbur can't complain. If anything, it'll just make the clothes even more flowy and keep him cooler. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, mate." Phil gives him a soft smile, and Wilbur can't stop himself from smiling back.

Phil steps into the hallway to let Wilbur change in private.

When Wilbur stands this time, he manages to stay on his feet. He must be slowly regaining his strength because he can now stand for long enough to slip off his blue jeans and step into the black trousers. He's right about them being a little too big, so he takes his belt and uses it to cinch the trousers to fit his waist. He also has to fold the pant legs up quite a few times.

Even the simple job of changing his pants exhausts him. Starting to get light-headed, he decides not to push his luck and changes his shirt sitting down, peeling off his sweater, the yellow fabric sticking to his skin, and pulling on the white shirt. Instantly, he feels cooler. Sighing in relief, he tosses his sweater off to the side.

Wilbur melts into his chair and lets his eyes close. He promises to just rest them for a minute...
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(1347 words)
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A/N: I go back to school in two days, and I am in severe denial :,) Thanks so much for reading, and have a lovely day/ night <3