MAKE YOU MINE !
IN AN EFFORT to get Tommy's warning out of her head, Cynthia cleaned her house; fixing and organizing her bedroom, washing the dishes, and more.
Though, it didn't do much.
She quietly wished Daisy was around to distract her and get her mind off this, but no matter what, her mind traveled back. Another thing Cynthia was doing was rehearsing what she'd say to him when he called.
Stupid? A little bit. But, at least it helped.
"I'm not going to come back to Brighton," she mumbled under her breath while putting the dishes back. "Sorry Wilbur, but I—"
She jumped when her phone started ringing. Cynthia cursed and got up, going to grab her phone.
The time was almost five in the evening when she picked up the phone. She exhaled heavily and opened her mouth. "Wi—"
"Cynthia."
She stopped, surprised. Her script seemed to crumble at the tip of her tongue, and forgetting how much she missed his voice—even though it was a few days since they'd last spoken. "What?" Cynthia managed to ask.
"Your window," he replied quickly and ended the call, leaving Cynthia standing in confusion.
Cynthia put down the plates and jogged up the stairs, turning abruptly for her room. She twisted the doorknob before walking over carefully to the window.
Then, someone was knocking on the window.
Along with an all too familiar voice.
Cynthia opened the curtains and what do you know. Wilbur fucking Soot was hanging outside her window, his guitar strapped around his back.
"You stupid—" she cursed and opened the window. Wilbur stumbled into her room, almost tripping over his own feet.
After he composes himself, Wilbur turns to her and smiles awkwardly. "Hey, Cynthia," he said, "how are you?"
!
THEY SAT IN an uncomfortable silence, Cynthia on her bed and Wilbur in a chair, debating who's going to talk first.
"Why'd you..." Cynthia gestured towards the window, "come through there?"
"Oh," Wilbur said, fiddling with the strap of his guitar, "I thought someone was home so I thought it'd be odd if I came through the front door so..."
"You—" Cynthia hesitated and fell silent. "Like I said you could've texted me. Daisy's at a friend's house."
The room was filled with another silence and Cynthia sighed, standing up. "I'm fed up," she announced and walked over to Wilbur. "You're here for a reason so," Cynthia stood in front of him, looking at him dead in the eyes, "what's up?"
He looked up at her, the same stubbornness from his drunk episode starting to come back. Cynthia kept her eyes on him, waiting for an answer.
Wilbur sighed, defeated. He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his gaze, and the corners of his mouth downturned. "Listen," he started, "I remember us talking a few days ago. And..." Wilbur paused, briefly being taken back into his memory bank.
He only really remembered her being angry and something about Brighton. Obviously, Wilbur knew he did something wrong but being drunk—he didn't remember.
"And, well, I was being an asshole, right?" He asked, looking up at Cynthia. "I'm sorry about that."
He held her gaze for a second before averting his eyes. Cynthia's mouth curved into a smile and she giggled. Wilbur looked at her, surprised. "What?" He asked, honestly bewildered.
"You're telling me," she started, running a hand through her hair, "you came here to apologize?"
Wilbur opened his mouth and closed it. "Well, when you put it like that..."
"I'm not wrong," she said, grinning.
"You're not," agreed Wilbur.
Cynthia swayed and leaned against the desk, tapping it. "I guess I forgive you," she decided, "I wasn't ever really angry in the first place."
"Oh."
"Don't 'oh' me," said Cynthia, lightly hitting his shoulder.
"You do that all the time!" He countered.
"Name one time I did that."
"Well—"
Cynthia waited while Wilbur thought. After a few moments, he still couldn't come up with anything. "Exactly," she said smugly.
"I dislike you so much right now," Wilbur said bitterly.
She chuckled and stepped away from the desk, standing in front of him. "I know you don't," Cynthia said with a smirk.
Wilbur flushed and looked away. "Yeah, alright," he said, scoffing.
Cynthia cast him an odd look before grabbing his arm and pulling him up from the chair. "C'mon then," she said, "let's go do something."
!
"WHEN YOU SAID let's do something, I did not think I would be helping you clean your kitchen."
Cynthia snorted and handed him the rest of the ceramic bowls. "You interrupted my cleaning time so you have to help out," she explained, putting back the utensils. "We're done anyway."
"I know but," Wilbur closed the cabinets and leaned against the counter, "I didn't expect to be hanging out in your kitchen."
"What's wrong with that?" She asked, genuinely confused.
Wilbur just shook his head and handed back the rags, which Cynthia promptly hung up. She reached up for the cabinet next to Wilbur, fingers just grazing the knob. He held back a laugh and opened it for her. "What did you need?" Wilbur asked, glancing at her briefly.
"Mug," she said simply. "The blue one, please."
He pointed at a blue mug that was seemingly littered with white specks and lines, raising an eyebrow. Cynthia nodded and held out her hand, and Wilbur handed it to her. "Do you want a drink too?" She asked, heading over to the coffee maker.
Wilbur shook his head. "I'm alright. Maybe a cup of water, or something."
Cynthia bobbed her head and waited for the coffee, leaning against the counter and looking skyward, closing her eyes and exhaling softly.
"Y'know that mug?" She asked, lazily gesturing towards the blue one.
"Mhm," Wilbur hummed. "What about it?"
"Tommy actually painted that," Cynthia explained, opening her eyes and glancing at the mug. "The stars, I mean. If you can even call them stars. He heard I liked astronomy and," she shrugged and smiled, "I came home and that was waiting for me. Kind of cute, right?"
Wilbur nodded, laughing softly. "I never knew Tommy had an...artistic side," he admitted, the image of Tommy becoming a painter briefly touched his mind, and gave a half-smile.
"I didn't either," Cynthia agreed. "I think it was a one time thing. He made it when he was like, seven."
Then, Wilbur imagined an even younger Tommy and shuddered. "Scary."
Cynthia laughed and took her mug, setting it aside for it to cool down. "A little but," she shrugged, "it's a nice gesture and I've kept the mug. So it's something."
"What's the painting supposed to be?" He asked, thinking of the white dots and crudely drawn lines.
"The Perseus constellation," Cynthia explained, smiling sheepishly, "It's my favorite constellation because of its relation to Greek Mythology."
"Greek Mythology?" He asked, tapping the counter. "You should talk to Techno about that, you two could talk for literal hours."
Cynthia nodded and took a sip from her mug. "Noted," she said, "maybe next time I'll ask him."
"Straight black? You must be crazy," Wilbur said, gesturing at her mug.
She shrugged and put the mug down, getting up from the counter and grabbing her phone, shuffling her playlist. Make You Mine by PUBLIC started playing and Cynthia put her phone down, smiling at Wilbur. "Good kitchen-dancing song?" She asked, holding out her hand.
He raised an eyebrow and grabbed her hand, getting pulled towards her. "Are we about to dance?"
Cynthia grinned and nodded. "You know it."
"Fair warning," he said, carefully holding Cynthia's hands, "I do not know how to dance. At all."
She snorted, squeezing his hands softly. "Not to worry, I don't either."
They danced as best as they could, swaying and moving as fluidly as their bodies would allow. It seemed to be a mixture of slow dancing and other random movements.
Cynthia leaned her head against Wilbur's chest and his eyebrows shot up, a crimson shade tinting his face. "Well, I have called you darlin', and I'll say it again,"Wilbur softly sang along.
"...so kiss me 'til I'm sorry, babe," Cynthia continued, "that you are gone and I'm a mess."
"And I'll hurt you."
"And you'll hurt me."
"And we'll say things we can't repeat..."
Cynthia looked up and her eyes briefly flickered down to Wilbur's chin, before she looked away and flushed. Wilbur hesitated and put a hand on her cheek, prompting her to look back at him.
His eyes dropped to her lips and he opened his mouth. For a moment, nothing would come out. Wilbur found his voice and asked, "Can I—"
"Cynthia!" Someone called from the doorway. "I'm back!"
The two jumped apart and Cynthia looked fretfully around her kitchen. Finally, she opened the pantry closet and ushered Wilbur inside, shutting it and quickly stopping the music before Daisy stumbled into the kitchen.
"Welcome back," greeted Cynthia, smiling and leaning leisurely against the counter. "I didn't think you'd be home so soon."
Daisy shrugged. "Felix had things to do. Anyway," she gestured at Cynthia's face, "what's up with you? Why are you so red?"
Cynthia just shook her head, brushing off Daisy's questions. "Did you have fun at Felix's?"
"Mhm," hummed Daisy. "Lots. We ac—" she stopped as something caught her eye.
Wilbur's guitar was leaned against the wall, just next to the oven.
"A guitar?" She asked, crouching down next to it. "I didn't know you had one," Daisy commented, giving her room mate an odd look.
"Oh!" Cynthia chuckled awkwardly. "While you were gone, a friend came by and dropped it off. I've uh—wanted to learn guitar lately and he said I could borrow it."
"He?"
Wilbur held his breath and leaned farther back into the pantry, listening to the girls' conversation.
"Uh—yeah. You know Oliver from the Book Attic," she explained, "that's him."
"Ohh!" Daisy nodded and got up, picking her bag up at the kitchen doorway. "Alright then. I'm gonna head upstairs and wash up."
"Mm'kay," said Cynthia. "See you in a few."
There were a few moments of silence before Cynthia opened the pantry door and Wilbur stumbled out, exhaling heavily. "You've gotta go," she said, "I can't hide you for much longer. You have a ride home, right?"
Wilbur nodded and walked over to his guitar, picking it up and slinging it over his shoulder. "I do, no worries. I'll...see you later?" Wilbur half-asked while he walked to the front door.
"Yeah, I'll text you or something," Cynthia said, following him to the door. "It was fun having you over and dancing—" she stopped, remembering what happened before Daisy came home. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Next time, warn me if you're coming over."
Wilbur chuckled and bobbed his head. "I will, I will. Anyway," he grabbed the door knob and twisted it, opening the door, "I'll talk to you later, Cynthia. Oh, and," Wilbur turned around, "we should dance again. Pick up what we started here."