#wilbuh

If you were ever scared or worried to ask if you could touch his hair, he would grab your hand softly and run your hand through his hair

After a shower, he would come out with wet hair and all you could do was stare at it. So one night, he came out with a towel, his hair freshly wet, and let you dry it for him

Would definitely get into haircare or styling his hair to accentuate his curls so when you played with his hair, it bounced

If you ever fell asleep with your hand or hands in his hair and he had to readjust himself, he'd love the little pout on your lips when your hands lost contact with his hair

Would definitely let you brush it, wash it, style it, annoy him with your habits

And a follow up to this, you would get all excited and bouncy if his hair poofed up when you brushed it (my fellow curly haired people, pls relate)

You would subconsciously tug at his hair sometimes when you're distracted and you need stimulation in your hand, and you always get confused when little grunts leave him, always asking if he's alright, and he never mentions your tugs

He would do anything to have your hands in his hair

Sitting down? His head is in your lap

Trying to fall asleep? He's against your torso

Cooking dinner? Good luck doing that one-handed

If he was ever at band rehearsal, on tour, or away for a little bit, he knew you would immediately want your hand in his hair, so he would always drop everything to let you have that experience

"Hey, Sweetheart!" He exclaims as he walks through the door after band rehearsal. "Hello. How did it go?" You said, only wanting to run your hands through his hair. As soon as he had his jacket off, the keys placed down, his guitar against the wall and his shoes off, you were already on the couch with him with your fingers threading through his locks.

His little hums of satisfaction when you play with his hair always warm your heart knowing that it feels good for him

He would either talk to you about his day in great detail or hum a song to comfort you if needed.

He began humming 'Since I Saw Vienna' knowing it made you sleepy, and because it was 2 am and he wanted to sleep. "Darling, I'm going to fall asleep if you continue". "But I want sleep" He pouted. "Okay fine" And you both fell asleep cuddled close together.

You love playing with his hair so much that you made a playlist for when it's late at night and you're running your hand through his hair.

He was just so soft when he found out this fact from Tommy, because the boy is a snitch ;)

There was a lot of things that you loved about Wilbur. Of course there was, the two of you had been together since university, nearing on 5 years. Knowing for someone that long, though, and there were obviously aspects of your boyfriend that you were less than fond of. There weren’t a lot, but the main one was the fact that he was a major workaholic. 

You were completely understanding of how important his job was to him. He had been doing it longer than you’d even known each other and you’d never want to do anything to make it seem like you were anything less than supportive. 

But the last couple of weeks had been driving you crazy. 

He’d be out all day filming for twenty different videos or in the studio - that was fine, you had your own work and hobbies to keep you occupied. But then he’d get home and it was straight to editing, or writing, or meetings for merch, album art, new videos. It had gotten to the point where you hadn’t even seen him in two days. You knew he’d been home, you vaguely heard the shower running while you were asleep, so tired you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head. Clothes had been added to the laundry hamper, and water glasses had been added to the sink. He’d messaged you, of course. You were high on his list of priorities, it being a no-brainer that whenever he got a free minute he was texting you to let you know where he was going, promising that he’d be home soon.

When you got home from work, you were pleasantly surprised to find his docs at the front door, neatly kicked to the side so they were out of the way along with the rest of your collective pile. You put your stuff down and practically floated around the house, searching for your boyfriend. Not in the kitchen, though the dishes had been done for you, left to dry. Not in the living room, though there was a coat draped over the back of the couch that you picked up and deposited in the bedroom (also empty, but his side of the bed was rumpled like he’d fallen straight on top of the blankets). 

You were walking down the hallway when you finally heard him. He was talking softly, not outside of the norm for him. His office wasn’t soundproof, and you often heard him through the walls as you went about your day, whether that was laughing loudly as he streamed, or the muffled sound of him strumming his guitar, trying to write a new song. He was being quiet, probably editing a video. You knew he had his own room in the group office, just for him to edit, but he liked to bring them home sometimes. 

You went back into the kitchen to dry the dishes for Wilbur and you noted that there weren’t any new plates added to the pile. You knew that Wilbur had eaten while he was gone, he’d texted you every time they ordered food, but you also knew that it had been a couple of days since his last home cooked meal. You, admittedly didn’t have much in the pantry, but it was made with love, which was the thought that counts. 

That was the thought on the tip of your tongue as you knocked gently on the door, a plate of mac and cheese and a glass of water in hand, smile breaking out at the sight of your boyfriend at his desk. 

Wilbur’s viewers had always been aware that he had a girlfriend. He mentioned you for the first time after you guys had been together for a year, and since then you were a sporadic presence in his online life, maybe a mention every couple of weeks or months. They didn’t know anything else though, not even your name. His viewers, over the past couple of years had developed their own nicknames for you. It started from one of the first streams you were mentioned in, someone in chat asked if you were Wilbur’s wife. He’d laughed, said no, and then tried to say you were not his wife, and instead pronounced it “wiff.” It got slightly out of hand over the years, with most people lovingly referring to you online as wiffleball. Wilbur had apologised profusely for the slip up, but you found it too funny to actually care. It was definitely weird for you to see, though, the phrase ‘Wiffleball’ randomly trending every couple of months. 

So, they didn’t know your name, and they definitely didn’t know your face. Wilbur was usually on high alert for even your footsteps outside the door, let alone you wanting to come inside. He’d yell that he was live, and you’d wait dutifully at the door for him to come outside. It was more for your sake than his, but he cared just as much about your right to privacy as you did. But today, he was so preoccupied with the fact that he hadn’t seen you in nearly three days that he completely forgot to. 

The monitor with his own face in it was tilted away from the door, and you were so entranced by the smile on his face that you didn’t notice until it was too late. He was standing to meet you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hi, lovely, I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Wil,” Your hands were on his arms the second you placed the food down, and you were right about to kiss him properly when you saw a fast movement out the corner of your eye. His chat was whizzing by so fast that you almost couldn’t read it. You backed out of frame immediately, almost out of instinct, wide eyes meeting Wilbur’s. “You’re streaming?”

“Fuck,” Wilbur made sure that you were definitely out of the frame before putting his stream back on the loading screen and going back to check on you.

Your breathing was much faster than usual and he could all but see your heart jumping out of your chest. “I am so sorry, darling, I was too busy being happy to see you that I completely forgot that I was even streaming. Are you okay?”

Your hands found Wilbur’s shirt, clenching it between your fists and burying your face in the fabric across his chest. His hands were securely on your back as he held you while you calmed your breathing. You weren’t crying no, he could tell you just needed to slow your breaths down and you’d be alright. He was whispering reassurances in your ear and within a few minutes your heart had calmed down. “I’m alright.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur launched immediately into apologies again but your vice grip on his shirt stopped him.

“I’m alright, Wilbur.” You strangely were alright. What you could see on the chat were all nice things, they were all so excited to see you. “Never want to go back on your stream again, but I’m okay with them seeing me.”

“You don’t have to be okay, love, if you’re not. I’ll get the VOD taken down when I’m done and edit you out and say something about not circulating the video, I am so sorry-”

“I’m fine, Wilbur.” You pulled the fabric closer to your chest, the movement effectively silencing him. “Like I said. I am still good not showing up on your streams and stuff, but you can leave the video up. I’m alright with it, I promise.”

He softened at your determined face. “I love you,” he said in place of another apology. “I love you, and I am still sorry that I forgot to tell you. No more until you say so, I promise.”

“Thank you,” you said earnestly, loosening your grip on his shirt. “I’ll let you finish up now, do you think you’ll be a while?”

you were wearing his favourite jumper. it was yours - he’d swear on it - but you were adamant that it belonged to him. it had, originally, as most of your jumpers were, been his. but he’d given it to you months ago, and you were still promising that you were going to return it one day. he hoped you didn’t.

you’d been stealing his clothes for as long as you two had been together, for the last four years he had bought every single shirt, jumper, jacket, with the knowledge that you would steal it. it made sense, in your earliest days, when the two of you were long distance. you’d arrive at his flat for a week with a half-packed suitcase, and you’d leave with nearly a drawer full of his sweaters. but even now that you lived ten minutes away, you still had a habit of nabbing his sweaters. he didn’t mind in the slightest, and most of the time he would offer up suggestions for articles of clothing you could take. you guys had been together for nearly five years, it felt weird for him to be territorial on his clothes, especially because you’d return them whenever he asked, the scent of your perfume mingling on the fabric. he absolutely loved seeing you so happy, and if you stealing a shirt or two did that then he was more than willing to comply.

or at least, he was usually. now, he was running late for a stream and he couldn’t find his grey jumper. he’d been tearing his bedroom apart piece by piece in an attempt to find it so he didn’t have to walk through the rain in just a t-shirt. he sighed and sat down on his bed, remembering that he gave it to you when he went over to your apartment earlier in the week. it had been five days since he’d seen you in person, and it was driving him crazy. he had planned to spend the night at your place after his stream though, and that was pulling him through. it was fine, he took a few deep breaths and went to go and find a jacket to wear, already pulling up twitter to post the stream would be ten or so minutes late. he remembered to tweet out about his late stream, but he hadn’t remembered to text you to tell you that he would be late coming over. you’d organised for seven, which gave him nearly three hours of streaming time, and he assured you that he wouldn’t be going for that long. he ended up jumping on a call with some other people while he played, though, and that completely distracted him. leaving the office at eight, he had his phone on speaker as he tried to order an uber and call you at the same time. he was exhausted, and of course he wanted to see you and spend time with his favourite girl, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to reach your house without falling asleep, and being more social sounded like torture.

his jacket was rough against his arms, and he remembered suddenly about the jumper. your call timed out and he finished ordering the uber for his own flat, moving to text you and tell you he didn’t feel up to hanging out.

he opened your message history, and was hit with a message from you from half-past six, over an hour and a half ago. hi wil, you’d opened with, and he softened, knowing his annoyance didn’t really mean anything. my neighbours are being really loud, so do you mind if we meet at your place? can’t wait to see you. there was another two, each sent half an hour apart, a second one apologising for messaging while he was streaming, and a third saying, hi i let myself in i hope that’s okay. are you almost home? your most recent message was nearing forty-five minutes ago, and he cursed under his breath, cancelling the uber knowing it would be faster for him to walk than wait.

he reached his apartment out of breath and cold, and he couldn’t wait to collapse into bed. he still got to see you, and hopefully your smile would be enough to rid himself of any residual annoyance he held towards you.

he dropped his guitar case on the floor in the living room, calling out your name. “lovely? you still here?”

he heard a crash from the kitchen and took his coat off, slinging it over the arm of the couch. “hang on!”

he had a headache, and he massaged his temple as he made his way into the kitchen. you brightened the second he arrived, all but running into his arms. “hi, darling,” he needed alone time. he loved you, of course he loved. you were one of the most important people in his entire life, he absolutely adored you. but right now, he craved being by himself. you were here though, so he wasn’t going to make that your problem.

“hi, wil! sorry about the mess!” you smiled up at him. “i thought i’d make food? are you hungry?”

he shook his head. “no, you’re alright. want any help?” this time it was you who shook your head, and he kissed your temple before going to sit down on the couch, closing his eyes. you’d eat, and then you guys would be able to go to bed, and when he woke up in the morning you would be there, and he’d get to take you out for breakfast and spend the entire day with you. he just needed rest.

there was something you needed, and it was on the top shelf. you didn’t want to bother wilbur, he’d just got home, you could do it yourself. wilbur was much taller than you, so to get to his top shelf you would have to climb up on the counter. you’d be alright, you didn’t need to stand up or anything, just kneeling on the bench would be fine. you got up there with ease, but wilbur came through the doorway right as you started reaching. “what are you doing?” he’d been too loud, he knew that instantly, you jumped, and he had to rush forward and stop you from falling off the counter. “what on earth are you on the counter for?”

“i was trying to reach the bowl,” you said quietly. he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“why didn’t you come get me?”

he helped you down. “i’m sorry, wil. didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. he felt a flash of annoyance, and then kicked himself for it. you were never a bother, not even when he was exhausted.

“you should have asked for help.” he said simply. “do you need anything else?”

you smiled up at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to return it. “do you wanna watch a movie? i’ve been hearing good things about this one new one, here let me-”

“stop,” he breathed out. “i’m exhausted, and i just want to be alone, and you’re here, in my kitchen crashing around and almost hurting yourself! i can’t do this right now?”

your smile ebbed, and you took a step back. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“because i didn’t want to upset you,” he sighed out, running a hand through his hair. “i just can’t do this tonight,”

“you invited me-”

“you invited yourself!” he wasn’t yelling, no, he had enough patience to not be yelling at you, but his voice was raised. “i didn’t invite you over to my house into my kitchen, to wear my sweaters.”

you’d been together for half a decade. neither of you needed an invitation, you both knew that. wilbur had given you a key because he wanted you to let yourself in whenever you needed. he’d spent entire days in your flat without you there while you were away. this had never been an issue before, and he made sure you knew that.

you stood still for a moment before reaching down and pulling off the jumper of his he’d been looking for, leaving you in a black long sleeved shirt underneath. you tossed it to him. “because you never thought to call me and let me know you’d be late. by over an hour.” you were quiet, quieter than you usually were. your voice was loud, and bright and he revelled in it, soaking up every little comment you made, every “i love you,” every giggle, he adored it.

“because not everything i do has to do with you,” he was verging on cruel, and he knew it. “i had a long day at work, and i just want to be alone, but you’re here. so i have to cater to you.”

you didn’t reply, just brushing past him, with a soft “sorry” as your arm brushed his. you grabbed your stuff and left in silence, deciding on walking home.

he rested his forehead against the closest surface - the fridge - and swore under his breath. he was still holding your jumper, and he brought it up to his face, burying his nose in it. it smelled like lavender.

he fished his phone out to call you as he retook his place on the couch, cheek still pressing into the jumper. it was soft. he loved it. he loved you. he was such an asshole.

he called. you ignored him. he called again, three times. four times over the half an hour until he knew you were home and he knew you were ignoring him. his headache had increased, and all he wanted was for you to be resting in his lap, drinking you in while you watched your movie. he opened his phone again, not to call you this time, but instead to order an uber for your place. god, they were probably making so much money off him tonight but if he had to walk the entire way to your house, he’d collapse of exhaustion. he was there within fifteen minutes, thankfully this driver not getting him lost, and he payed with one hand as he bounded up the stairs with the other. he brought out his keys on autopilot and then remembered what he’d said, putting them down to knock on your door instead.

“darling!” this time he was yelling. he didn’t care though, he needed you to hear him. it took three more times knocking and five more yelled pet names before you opened the door. your eyes were red, and you had changed into softer clothes, these ones all belonging to you. “i’m so sorry,” the words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them. “i’m sorry i got angry, i’ve been so tired recently and that’s not your fault nor your problem, but i took it out on you and you don’t deserve that, lovely.”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. he took a step closer to you hesitantly, and when you didn’t step back he wrapped his arms around you.

“you’re never a bother,” he said, voice pouring with affection to make up for his thoughts betraying him earlier. “i love you more than anything. i’m sorry i didn’t show you that tonight,”

“i’m sorry for going in without you telling me,” you said.

he shook his head vehemently. “i gave you a key, lovely. i gave you a key because any space with you is better than one without.” he took your face in his hands and made you look at him as he spoke, trying to get you to absorb every word he was saying. “i want to spend the rest of my life with you, and i can’t do that if you can’t get into my house.”

you looked like you were about to start crying again, and he kissed you gently. “i’m sorry,”

“don’t be sorry,” he assured you. “just let me in? i want to watch a movie with you.” your smile came back, if only slightly, and he knew he was making progress. you brightened up every room you were in, and even if you were a little loud, and too bubbly, and you stole his sweaters, he wouldn’t want you to be any different. he kissed you again, slowly and gently and when he pulled back your eyes were sparkling. “lovely?” you hummed to show you were listening. “when we get a place together, promise you won’t climb on the counters?”

the room was massive. it was like a warehouse, but with seperate rooms off the main one, and way more people. you were in one of the separate rooms, carpeted and less crowded, a yellow card around your neck with your name written on it suspended by a lanyard. 

you weren’t a creator. you didn’t stream or make youtube videos or anything, you hardly even posted on instagram. the only reason you were attending vidcon was because of the man whose arm was wrapped around your shoulder as he chatted avidly to ranboo. 

they had a panel later, the first one since the pandemic had started. it had been somewhat of a surprise to you, when wilbur started getting so big as quickly, but you’d always know it was bound to happen. now, three years into your relationship, you were about to see your boyfriend in front of his first live audience.

one of the vidcon crew members arrived in the room as signalled everyone’s attention, everyone in your group falling silent. they’d all be leaving to go on stage soon. you wouldn’t be alone though, phil’s wife would be there in the audience with you. 

while wilbur got instructions from the crew member, another producer lead you, kristen, and a few other guests of creators into your seats, and you waited anxiously for your boyfriend to come out. 

the two of you had together since 2019. you had helped him move into his streaming office (and subsequently out of his streaming office after getting evicted), and had been there every single step of the way through his streaming career. his fans knew of you. they knew your name and what you looked like, and that you and wilbur had been dating for years, but not much more than that. 

you were as supportive of a partner as you physically could be, helping him out as much as you were able to. for his first ever vidcon, you’d been lucky enough to be able to take time off work to go to LA with him, and he’d let you know over and over how grateful he was for it. you’d held his hand across the atlantic ocean and let him go just in time for him to meet his adoring public. 

and adoring they were. it had been your first time ever truly seeing your partner’s fans in person aside from the odd chance meeting. this was extremely overwhelming. he stepped out of the wings and made eye contact with you immediately, waving at you subtly as he greeted the rest of the crowd. the featured creator hour went for, predictably, about an hour, and as your boyfriend and his friends left the stage, the audience was left to disperse on their own. you guys had saved seats for this one in advance, so you’d had a producer escort you into them, but this time it was just you and kristen in a sea of hundreds of teenagers.

“excuse me,” a small voice piped up, and you whirled around to see a young girl, no older than fourteen standing nervously behind you. she introduced herself nervously, and told you that she thought you had always seemed lovely, and asked for a photo. kristen took it for her, and she left with a beaming smile on her face as you felt your heart thrash against your ribcage. 

there were so many people here, and you were already incredibly overwhelmed by the noise, but now the knowledge that people were perceiving you, even if it was only one fourteen year old girl was just too much to handle. “hey!” you called out to kristen as you both reached the door, having to nearly yell over the noise. “bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

“do you want me to come with you?” her husband would be back in the creator lounge by now, you knew, so you shook your head. 

“no, i’ll be alright, you get back to phil. will you tell wilbur where i am though, please?” she nodded at you, and you took off towards the nearest bathroom. it was absolutely packed, so you skipped it and went straight outside to the carpark. it was hot, and you took a swig of your water bottle as you sat down on the concrete, back against the wall of the building. there were still somehow dozens of fans out here, but you didn’t care.

you needed to get better with this stuff. this was wilbur’s job, and you were his partner. if you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, then you’d need to be able to go to things like this and support him. 

he had so many people’s eyes on him, and you knew that all he wanted was yours. you couldn’t be there for him in the way you needed to. he deserved better. 

the internet was a cruel place. of course you’d seen hate of yourself. you’d seen wilbur shipped with any female friend he came into contact with, and you had always been okay about it. but maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if he dated someone from the industry. he was bound to find someone eventually, someone who loved him just as hard as you did and was able to be there to support him. 

you weren’t cut out for this. you needed wilbur.

he was beside you. “are you alright? what’s going on?” he was scanning the small scattering of fans around the carpark areas, hoping to find somewhere to get you away from prying eyes. “darling?”

“i’m okay,” your voice shook, and he helped you to your feet. “you should go back inside.”

“i am not going anywhere without you,” he said resolutely, hand securely wrapped around yours. 

“i’m such a shit girlfriend,” you tried to laugh, but their were anxious tears forming in your eyes. it was so bright that you had to squint to look at wilbur, who was shielding you from the LA sun. “i’m sorry.”

“what are you talking about?” he asked softly. “you’re not shit, darling. furthest from it, in fact. you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had.”

“i’d hope so considering we’re still dating,” you said quietly. “maybe we shouldn’t be, though.”

wilbur thought he couldn’t feel more anxious after the creator hour. existing in front of such a massive croud of people was something that had never felt real to him, but then he’d looked out into the audience and had seen you, and he knew that after he left he’d be able to pull you into his arms and kiss you, and that you would fix the pounding of his heart. and then he’d stepped back inside the lounge and been met with just kristen, he waited, ten, fifteen minutes, believing you when you’d said you’d gone to the bathroom, before he used the find my friends app on his phone to see where you were. but that sentence made earlier feel like the most calm he had ever felt. “you want to break up?”

his voice quivered, low and deep, and you shook your head frantically. “of course i don’t want to. i was just thinking that…”

“that we should.” he finished flatly. “why?”

his hands were still around yours, but this felt more for his sake than yours now. “i can’t do this, wilbur.” you breathed out. “i can’t do the crowds and the screaming and the hoards of people who know that i exist, i can’t do it.”

wilbur’s face crumpled with relief. “you don’t have to, darling. i promise. from now on, no more events or conventions or panels that you don’t want to go to. please, i love you so much, i’m not gonna lose you over this.”

“but you deserve to have someone there who can do these things!” you argued. “someone who gets it, who understands!”

“i don’t want someone who gets it.” wilbur shot back immediately, silencing you. “i want you. i love you so much, darling. i don’t care if you don’t like the crowds, or if you don’t feel comfortable with me talking about you on stream or posting photos on instagram. none of that means anything to me. the only important thing is you and only you.”

you were almost crying as you kissed him, having to close your eyes instinctively against the sun as his lips pushed against yours, his hands caressing your back comfortingly. “i’m sorry, wil.” you said softly, lips still on his. “i’m being silly.”

“just a little,” he admitted between kisses. “but so am i. i’m just glad you’re here. i love you, silly.”

“i’d say it back but i don’t feel like it anymore.”

he barked out a laugh. “fine! i’m sorry. i love you, darling. my serious girl.”

inspiration struck at odd times. you’d become well accustomed to that in the time you’d been dating wilbur, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a muffled guitar coming from the living room. 

you knew that music consumed wilbur’s thoughts daily. his routine consisted of wake up, think about music, think about you, write music, think about you, think about music and, if you were especially lucky, he’d think about you once more before bed. 

music was wilbur’s first love, you were more than aware. but he’d made sure you knew that you were his greatest, and that was all that mattered. 

the last few months of his life had been dedicated to that first love of music, and, unfortunately for his ‘greatest’ that meant wilbur had been forgoing certain self-care activities.

he was pressing gentle kisses on your cheeks, skirting around your lips as you giggled, trying to chase him. it had been a long week, and even getting to kiss you once had been a luxury with how busy you both had been, let alone getting to sit with you. your back pressed against the side of the couch, the rest of you a tangled mess with the rest of him as he relaxed into your hold for the first time in what felt like ages.

your palms were flush against his cheeks, feeling the warmth radiating out of his skin. wilbur went to press his forehead to yours but was interrupted by your spluttering coughs. 

he pulled away, concern pulling at his mouth. “you alright?”

you coughed, turning your face away from his, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. “this has gone too far,”

“what’s wrong?” wilbur sat back on his heels, taking your hands in his. “are you okay?”

“your hair is too long,” you said decidedly, standing up and pulling him along with you. “this is getting out of hand.”

wilbur laughed as you dragged him towards the kitchen. “what are you doing?”

you turned, running your thumbs over his knuckles. you let his fingers go just long enough to brush the excess hair out of his eyes. he softened under your touch and squeezed your hand, his free one coming up to rub the spot right beneath your ear. “i thought you liked my hair?”

you let him go, pulling a stool from the other side of the counter and dragging it beside the refrigerator. “i do,” you assured him, throwing him a look over your shoulder as you wandered down the hallway. wilbur waited dutifully in his assigned seat while you were out of the room, running a hand through his curls. they were truly getting unruly, he could understand why you wanted him to get a haircut. he shuffled, grabbing his phone out to book an appointment when you returned, his least favourite towel in your hand. “but, i like your face more.”

he nodded towards the towel. “finally getting rid of that thing?”

you hugged it close to your chest. “never. i’ll never understand your resentment towards it.”

“it scratches!”

“you just don’t understand it like i do.” you huffed, laughing gently. you noticed the phone in his hand, giving him a quizzical look. “what’s that for?”

“i was gonna call in, book myself a haircut,” he said, turning the phone around to show you.

you took it out of his hand, putting it face down on the bench. “no need!” you beamed at him, draping the towel over his shoulder and pulling the kitchen scissors out, giving them a snip for emphasis. “that’s what i’m here for.”

he gave you a nervous glance, squinting slightly. “are you a licensed professional?” he asked seriously, trying to ward off the smile breaking out over his face. 

“of course,” you said, offence laced in your tone. “i’ve got four year’s experience looking at your face. i know what it’s meant to look like.”

“so you know that it’s meant to be wound-free?” he clarified. you gave him a look and he conceded. “it’s not that i don’t trust you, darling, i just…” he sighed, finally letting the smile take over his face, swinging your connected hands back and forth. “this haircut is gonna be all over the internet for like, four to six months, so i just worry.”

“i cut my own hair all the time, wilbur.” you raised your eyebrows. if it really made him uncomfortable, then of course you’d let him go to a professional, but you couldn’t lie and say the idea of delving your hands into his hair wasn’t appealing. 

that seemed to convince him. “you do have lovely hair.”

you beamed down at him and suddenly it was a done deal, if it made you smile like that. 

the feeling of your hands in his hair made him close his eyes, his head resting on your leg as you, perched on the bench, worked on the other side of his head. it took nearly an hour - the guy had a lot of hair - but when you were done he smiled up at you. “how do i look?”

you considered him. “you’re okay with the camera only facing this side of you right?” you poked his cheek. he laughed loudly, taking the scissors out of your hand and dumping them in the kitchen sink. you hopped off the counter, kicking some loose hair up with your socked foot. “i’m sure we have glue somewhere, right?”

he pulled you closer by the hips as he stood up, planting a kiss on your forehead. you let the joke go, bringing your hands to ruffle his hair.