BITTERSWEET !
— author's note! i know wilbur said that his birthday isn't on september 14th but for this birthday chapter, it'll be set on that date! happy reading :]
IT'S BEEN A week and a half since Wilbur's window visit to Cynthia's house. Tommy mentioned that Wilbur's birthday was coming up so she was on her way to his house. Her brain nagged about how she's visiting once again.
Cynthia glanced at the small bag sitting in the passenger seat, neatly wrapped with a box sitting inside of it. She tapped the steering wheel anxiously and ignored the lingering thoughts floating in her head.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Cynthia pulled up to Wilbur's house at around four in the afternoon and exited the car. She grabbed the small bag and pulled out her phone, filming a small clip before heading up the pavement.
She knocked on the door a few times and waited, looking downward and tapping her feet together. Then, someone opened the door.
"Cynthia?"
The blonde-haired woman looked up and smiled, holding up the bag. "Happy birthday, Wilbur Soot. I've brought a present."
!
"YOU DIDN'T HAVE to come," Wilbur said while he watched Cynthia take off her boots and gingerly hand him the gift.
"Oh, but I did," she said, a small smile still plastered on her face. "Just to show you that I know how to use a door," Cynthia joked, looking at Wilbur with a smug look.
He just scoffed and made a gesture for her to follow him, which she did. They walked to his room and Wilbur held up the bag. "Am I allowed to open it?"
"Not yet," she replied and walked in after Wilbur. "I was thinking we'd go to the beach, seeing as that's sort-of the first place we met."
Wilbur raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Fine with me."
Cynthia sat politely at the edge of his bed and watched him bounce from room corner to room corner. "Is something up?" she asked, "Oh, did you have plans with your friends. Shit, I'm sor—"
"No, no," Wilbur interrupted, shaking his head and sitting down at his desk. "I just didn't expect you to be over. My birthday's not entirely a big thing so," he waved an anxious hand. "It's just nice to see you again."
Cynthia smiled and nodded. "Right back at you, Soot."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? That again?"
"What do you prefer?" She asked, genuinely interested. "Wilbur? Will? Scoot?"
"Wha—" Wilbur laughed. "Where'd that come from?"
"Wilby Scoot," Cynthia said simply. "Or, Mr. Foot? What abou—"
"Will is just fine," he interrupted, thinking about Cynthia calling him Mr. Foot was the final line.
"Alright then, Will," she said.
"And you?" asked Wilbur. "Any nicknames I don't know about? Oh, what does Tommy call you? Cyn, right?"
Cynthia nodded slowly. "Right, but only my family members call me that...I don't know," she admitted. "Anything works."
He nodded and got up from his desk, stretching briefly. "Well," Wilbur glanced sideways at Cynthia, "are we gonna go to the beach or what?"
!
"LOVELY," SHE SAID sarcastically, holding Wilbur's guitar in her lap. "You're giving it to me as if I know how to play."
Wilbur laughed and took out his phone. "Let me take a picture," he said and took a few steps away from Cynthia. "Smile!"
Her mouth curved into a smile and Wilbur snapped a photo, walking back to her side. Wilbur briefly showed her the photo before sending it to her, as she asked.
Cynthia soon published it to Twitter without a caption. Fans soon found out that it was Wilbur's guitar in her hands and went crazy.
"You can open your present now," she said, shutting off her phone and turning to him. "I hope you like it."
Wilbur grabbed the bag and ripped the tape holding it together, exposing a small box bound together with a clip. A small letter was attached to it and he held it up. "Do you want me to read it out loud?"
She shook her head. "Read it however you like."
"'Dear Wilbur,'" he started, "'I'm aware we've only known each other for a month or two but I thought I'd get you a present. I'm not entirely sure if you're an accessory-type-of-guy, but it's worth a shot. Happy birthday, Wilbur. Love, Cynthia.'"
Wilbur looked up at her and she returned his smile. She loosely gestured with her hands, saying, "Open your present already."
He grabbed the small box and unclipped it, revealing a leather-stringed bracelet with a 2D silver arcade cabinet trinket attached to it. Wilbur stared in awe and slipped it onto his wrist, tightening it to the perfect size.
"Holy shit," he mumbled. "This is... amazing. Thank you."
Cynthia smiled and rubbed the back of her neck, giving him a meek smile. "We met at an arcade, so I thought it would only make sense to get you that," she explained, "I had a friend make it for me."
"It's amazing," Wilbur repeated, looking closely at the trinket. "I love it."
"I'm glad," said Cynthia, smiling.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Wilbur grabbed his guitar. "I'll play you something," he said. "Pick a song."
"Oh?" She asked, looking sideways at Wilbur as plucked the guitar strings. "What about...one of your songs?"
"Really? I give you the opportunity to pick any song and you want me to sing one of my own?"
Cynthia nodded. "Of course. You can pick a song if you want," she countered, leaning back on her palms.
"I asked you," Wilbur replied. "Well? What song?"
"Losing face," she said without missing a beat.
He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Cynthia nodded. "Really."
Wilbur sighed and re-tuned his guitar, plucking the strings before sitting up. She pulled out her phone and began recording.
"First and foremost," he sang, "oh, let it be said, my dear, I was gonna wait for you. So this is not an act of spite—"
Wilbur sang through the song, to the very end. "As long as you're happy," he ended, "I don't...care."
Cynthia ended her recording and clapped politely, smiling widely. "Oh, that was great," she said, and thanked him.
"No big deal," he said, glancing at his phone. "Crap. It's already five."
"Shit, are you serious?" Cynthia asked, turning on her phone and seeing the time. "Oh, you're right."
She huffed and got up, holding out her hand to Wilbur. "Would you say it's too embarrassing to dance out here or are you willing?"
!
"THERE'S BARELY ANYONE out here," Cynthia said, "what're you so embarrassed about?"
It wasn't the people that Wilbur was nervous about. It was dancing with Cynthia again. "Nothing, nothing," he said, trying to reassure her. "Choose a song."
Cynthia picked up her phone and glanced around the beach. She was right, barely anyone was out. Maybe a couple of people were walking around but they weren't paying attention to her or Wilbur.
She shuffled her playlist and Ophelia by The Lumineers began playing, making her smile. "Well, there we go."
Cynthia linked her hands with Wilbur's and butterflies seemed to come alive in her stomach. When did I get so confident? She asked herself, cursing under her breath.
They danced like they did at Cynthia's house; a jumble of slow-dancing and very, very amateur moves. "Hey," she whispered into Wilbur's chest, "remember last time?"
Wilbur flushed and nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled back, "what about it?"
Cynthia looked up and gave a half-smiled. "You can't be that stupid," she said, letting go of his right hand and grabbing the front of his sweater, bringing him to eye-level.
They stared at each other for a moment before their lips met. It was short and sweet but felt like eternity for the two of them. "Strawberry?" Wilbur whispered against her lips.
Cynthia nodded slowly before breaking away, shifting her glance before letting go of him. He let his arm slowly fall to his side and he stared at her, confused.
"What's wrong?"
She hung her head and turned away from Wilbur, snatching her phone off the ground. "I think I should go," she mumbled under her breath.
"Cynthi—"
Cynthia just shook her head, holding up a hand. "Happy birthday, Will."
He stood on the rocks, watching her drive away, and clenched his fist. His lips were still tinted with her strawberry chapstick and he cursed, kicking a rock or two.
"What did you do this time, Wilbur?" He asked himself, slowly sitting on the rocks.