Not a Fan (Wilbur Soot)

Futile

It was finally happening. Rori was inside his apartment, sitting on his sectional, wrapped up in a blanket he used every day. 

She didn't seem to have any trouble making herself at home, sprawling across the couch and pulling all the throw pillows around her. The same throw pillows Wilbur often tossed to the floor when he laid on the couch finally had a purpose. 

How ironic, a stranger in his home was able to find comfort instantaneously, yet he had never felt more uncomfortable. He wished he had invited her over for any other reason. He looked over to her, pretending to retune his guitar one last time. 

She had changed her clothes, returning to her usual attire of 'could be pajamas but could run out to the store'. Rori had taken her makeup off too, the faint teary smudges of black under her eyes replaced with slight dark circles. The day had been long for both of them. 

"Okay, this is, um, Internet Ruined Me." Wilbur mumbled, watching as she continued to adjust on the couch. Her eyes were watching him with so much anticipation, expectations he could only dream of fulfilling. 

"My keyboard's like my heart, it shines in RGB and it's full of blood. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I'm scared, pissed off and lonely. I have trouble speaking to women, unless they're 2D or high definition. Spend all my time on social media- this is the state that I'm in." Wilbur sang with less confidence than he was aiming for, his voice wavering off pitch occasionally. 

He didn't dare look over to her. Was she enjoying it? Was she laughing? Was she regretting giving him the time of day? Wilbur repeated the interlude between the versus, doing his best to buy time before singing again. At least he hadn't messed up any chords. 

Wilbur caved in, looking over to her before singing the second verse. Maybe he was doing better than he thought, maybe she would smile at him for encouragement. 

She was asleep- and my god, did she look like an angel.

Her head was resting against her shoulder, a pillow pulled to her chest, her short legs didn't even go halfway down the longer portion of the sofa. 

Wilbur set down his guitar as quietly as he could, not ready to wake her just yet. Was it wrong to watch her sleep? Probably. Was it creepy and invasive? Definitely. Could he stop? Absolutely not. 

He didn't realize how tense she must constantly be now that he could see her face fully relaxed. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyebrows resting lower on her face, her full cheek pressed against her shoulder. 

Rori was beautiful in her most effortless form. She had looked stunning with the addition of makeup earlier, even if it had become messy from teary eyes, but seeing her like this- it was spectacular. 

What was the worst that could happen if he just went upstairs for the night? He could leave a note next to her, saying she had fallen asleep and he didn't have the heart to wake her. 

Would he wake up to find her in his bed, a note left on his table reading 'couch cold. bed warm' ? Maybe he would wake up to the smell of her cooking some kind of sugary American breakfast, like pancakes.

There was also the thought that she could wake up feeling extremely distressed, finding herself alone in an unfamiliar setting with a stranger sleeping in the room above her. Would she feel embarrassed for falling asleep, putting them back at square one? 

Wilbur stood from his desk chair again, quietly making his way to where she was sleeping. Although he wanted nothing more than to enjoy her presence for a moment longer, he figured it would be the safer option to wake her, leaving no confusion for the morning.