Tommy had just recently moved homes. The one he left was one full of memories. Not good ones, but not necessarily bad ones, either.
He didn't have much to live for at his old home, so he moved in hope of starting over and meeting new people. He had...
Wilbur knew he was asleep. He wanted to wake up, though. It was a blank sleep; no dreams, nothing.
He felt himself being slightly shook from his shoulder by a hands that he didn't think he knew.
"Wake up, Wilbur." A voice said quietly.
Wilbur shot up, pulling his shoulder away from the hand, who he now saw was the shorter of his supposed dads.
"Oh- I'm sorry, I know you didn't want to be touched, but I didn't know how else to wake you." He said. Wilbur's eyes scanned him for a few moments before he nodded. "It's- It's fine." He swallowed, looking away and grabbing his bag.
The others backed up so Wilbur could get out of the car, which he did, and then the four of them went inside the house.
When Wilbur looked around, he sort of felt like he knew the place, but he also had no memories of ever being there. Like deja vu, but maybe a little different.
"Uhm...so what do I call you three? I don't think I've picked up on your names." Wilbur said. "Oh, uhm...I'm- I'm Quackity...and this is Schlatt and Charlie." Quackity replied.
Wilbur nodded. He felt bad, really. These people were his family who thought he had been dead for years, and he didn't even know their names.
"Alright, Wilbur..! Do you...want us to show you to your room?" Quackity asked. "I have a room?" Wilbur questioned. "Well of course you have a room, we haven't touched it since you disappeared." Schlatt replied. "Oh, yeah...I forgot about that." Wilbur whispered to himself.
"Well, if you'll just follow me, I can take you there." Quackity said, beginning to walk away, so Wilbur followed him.
They walked down a narrow hallway, coming to a door at the very end.
Quackity opened the door, revealing a very brown-colored, but still nice room. The walls were beige, the bedding was a nice brown color, and there were fake vines and plants everywhere, and some things hanging from the ceiling. There were also half-burnt candles everywhere, and a strip of turned-off LED lights going around the ceiling.
This but without the candles burning and add LED lights
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The bed wasn't even made.
Quackity wasn't lying when he said they hadn't touched the room.
"I think the batteries for the lights may be dead, so if they are, feel free to ask for some batteries, I'm sure we have some somewhere." He said. "Ok, thanks." Wilbur nodded. "Alright, I'll leave you be for now. It's pretty late so you should probably sleep."
Then Quackity left, closing the door behind him.
Wilbur looked around the room, walking over to a small-ish desk on one side of the room. He sat his bag down in the desk chair and turned around, seeing a guitar in the corner next to the door, sitting in a stand.
After Wilbur told Phil his name and age after he woke up that day, he also mentioned his guitar. He had been told by Phil that during the accident that made Wilbur loose his memories, that his guitar got destroyed, and that they didn't have the money for another.
And, of course, Wilbur believed it.
He assumed that "the accident" was a car crash or something, because Phil never specified what it was.
Wilbur walked over and picked at one of the strings, and it made an awful noise. It hadn't been tuned in so long that the string actually felt loose and the pitch was unbelievably low.
Wilbur cringed and backed away from the instrument. He would definitely tune it later.
He walked around the room, opening the closet to see a bunch of clothes that were honestly such an aesthetic. He then spotted a box in the floor of the closet that had a lock on it. Wilbur scrunched his eyebrows, being over and picking up the box.
He went over and sat it down on the desk, holding the lock in his hands. It had one of those four-digit number codes on it, and quite frankly, Wilbur had no idea what the code could have been.
But on the lid of the box, carved out with what was probably a small knife, were the words "Thought Box," which Wilbur found interesting. He guessed this was something that younger him used to write stuff down and then put away, like a diary, but box.
He left the box there and walked over, sitting down on the bed.
Tiredness overcame Wilbur. He leaned back slightly, forgetting to take his shoes off, and was sleeping within seconds, not even realizing he was ever falling asleep.
