Willy Wonka Imagines

Mr. Blue Sky

"Willy..." I began, dragging out the words in a desperate plea for attention. I'd been sitting on one of the half chairs in his office for a while now, and honestly I'm entirely unsure as to why I wanted to join him at work today. I guess I thought we'd do a lot more walking around the factory, and a lot less filing for bankruptcy, or whatever he's doing. He's been diligently working on some papers for a few hours at least, and I was beginning to bore of doing nothing but watching my husband sign documents. 

But, I guess it's my own fault for coming with him. 

Without looking up from his desk, he hummed in questioning response. 

Not one hundred percent sure where to carry the conversation from there, but happy to know he wasn't in a trance, I murmured, "My hands are cold..."

Again without looking up, he replied, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

I huffed in agitation and fidgeted in my seat a bit. "Won't you help me?" I asked. 

"I really am sorry, but I just don't know how I could help." 

"You could..." I looked to the side, pretending I not to know exactly what I was about to suggest, "hold them?"

For the first time, he looked up at me. The shadow of a goofy smirk shown on his face. "Oh, so is that what this about?" He teased as he looked back down at his desk and swiveled his hand towards me. I placed mine in his palm, which earned a small chuckle from him. It was probably out of realization that my hands weren't cold at all, I just wanted to find an excuse to hold his.

 "What're you working on, anyhow?" I asked, leaning a bit to try and see the documents on his desk.

"I'm filing for bankruptcy." 

As soon as he said it, the atmosphere of the room became chilly, though his mood stayed just as warm. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't. I clutched on to his hand tighter. How didn't I know? Surely there were signs-

He must've sensed the weight his joke had produced, because he cut off my thoughts by laughing mildly and giving my hand a quick squeeze. "No, no. Not quite yet. I'm trying to sort out the legality of selling exploding candies in the U.S. The over regulations make it so hard to go through with my visions."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and ironically sympathized, "Oh, it must be so hard to not be able to let kids eat explosives."

We went on for the next few hours telling jokes, genuinely talking about how to get sugarcoated bombs on the American market, or just sitting in comfortable silence. 

At the end of the day, he filed away the papers and said, "You know, Y/n, you should join me at work more often. I swear I usually do much more exciting thing than sit here and write."

I tossed my hand dismissively, "With you, even filing for bankruptcy would be fun."