#wilson utopia

Wilson wasn’t used to attention being focused on him. His entire life, he had learned circumstances were best when he remained unseen. In his younger and lonelier years, he had resented that fact. His peers thought he was strange for his intelligence and interest in the oncoming doom of society that he foresaw. In his adulthood, Wilson decided his invisibility was his greatest strength. He was underestimated, and he believed that whatever force was bringing the illness that would strain the population, he, with his preparations, would go unseen, protecting his family with him.

Having the attention of that force he had spent so long envisioning and preparing for suddenly thrust upon him, personified in the creepily stiff and performative Thomas Christie, made him uncomfortable. The weight of his betrayal to Jessica Hyde and the people who had given him another home after he lost his parents, although he hadn’t quite known he had lost them, had not yet fully begun to settle upon him as the consequences of such were still up in the air, undecided.

He shifted under Thomas’ unsubtle gaze, his fingers knitted together tensely. The two were located in a rather ornate apartment, owned by the Christie Corporation. However, Wilson felt much like a caged animal, Thomas a predator waiting to find a reason to see him as expendable.

Wilson opened his mouth to speak but the words died on his tongue. His hesitation blossomed from fear that if he spoke of ideas Thomas did not approve of, he’d have the authority to splatter him across the wall. In an attempt to try and take any independent action in his confined situation, he convinced himself that Thomas wasn’t that intimidating. That he could apprehend him with his superior physical prowess and training if he tried, although part of him didn’t believe it. In a final push, he forced the words out of his mouth before he could doubt himself back into silence.

“...How much longer are you going to keep me here?” Wilson snapped, breaking free of his hesitation. Thomas’ movements were smooth as if every motion had been carefully choreographed to imitate a human. Every step was perfectly distanced from the last, every shift of his eyes as he glanced judgingly at Wilson, and every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed seemed deliberate. 

“As long as we need. You’ll be… under our jurisdiction until Jessica Hyde has been terminated.” Thomas explained truthfully and yet all too vaguely. He was holding his phone in one gloved hand, pacing the apartment while Wilson sat on the couch uneasily.

“Damnit…” Wilson cursed.

“What?” Thomas smugly began, voice goading. “It's not like you have anything to rush back to anymore, right?” he said sarcastically. 

“Shut up!” Wilson shouted back. He could still hardly bring himself to believe his family, nearly everyone of significance he had ever known, was gone– had been gone– all without him knowing, for so long. It still felt like they were just off on a vacation and would return soon. That feeling of expectancy never seemed to wane. Thomas, however, was not phased by his outburst. 

“You seem the type to function based on practicality. You wouldn’t have made the choice you did if you weren’t.” Wilson’s eyes cast down in shame. Logically, he was certain he made the correct decision, but he still felt what he deemed an irrational guilt regardless. “So I’m sure you’ll understand what’s best for you now… and that is to not try anything.” Thomas slowly approached Wilson, his lanky height imposing on the other man.

“I just don’t think you have to terminate them,” Wilson argued weakly.

“You’ve done enough thinking.” Thomas leaned down slightly, caging Wiston in his shadow as he blocked the ceiling light. “Stop.”  

Wilson fell quiet and evaded his eyes. Thomas’ gaze weighed upon him, heavy with judgement. Thomas sensed his aversion and took a step back, and yet his presence never seemed to shift from focusing on Wilson. Physically, Thomas abandoned the other to stew in his own guilt while Thomas himself departed to the kitchen, giving him space to adjust to the new situation.

After a long period of silence, Thomas figured they were overdue for another attempt at nurturing a newfound loyalty to the corporation in Wilson via an emotional human connection.

“So, Wilson…” Thomas said, his voice shattering the thick silence. “It's five in the evening. I’ll prepare dinner. We have a few options.” Thomas spoke lightly, ignoring the heavy tension that mildewed the air. The action felt as though it was inclined by the purpose of meeting a supposed standard for how the interaction was supposed to go rather than for the sake of actual discussion.

Wilson knew how valuable a resource he was to Doctor Christie and his goal, and while he was sure his extermination wouldn’t be avoided if he didn’t play along, the organization clearly saw value in earning his loyalty. Such a fact offered an explanation behind why they bothered with attempting to make him something akin to comfortable and assigning Thomas to monitor him, rather than locking him in a cell of some sort. Wilson did not make the mistake of questioning if he was being held captive or not– he knew he had no choice but to stay.

“Very great options!” Thomas added stiffly as he opened the fridge and emptied a set of containers. “Hell yeah, raspberry crumble, am I right?” Thomas’ conversational tone was met with silence. At the absence of response, he glanced over to Wilson to gauge his reaction. He smiled like Wilson replied, regardless of what he had or had not said. “Heh,” he laughed robotically, “Yeah, I know I am.”

“Quit that,” Wilson suddenly shouted. “You’re freaking me out…” He murmured.

“What?” Thomas maintained a smug demeanor. To him, he was everything logical at all times, while Wilson was simply misguided like a concussed bird.

“You’re not fooling me. Everything you say is a coordinated attack! Meant to make me feel a certain way! Totally corporate.” He pointed his finger at Thomas accusingly. He gathered his courage to bring his eyes to level with Thomas’ own that Wilson felt could pierce past every facade and wall he had constructed. Thomas did not react, staring blankly.

“I don’t have a clue what you could mean,” Thomas replied, voice void of emotion.

“You talk about home and food like some kind of robot because you know those are the few things every human has in common!” Wilson snapped. “You’re trying to act like you know me, but you don’t,” he argued. Petulance painted his voice as frustration began to simmer beneath the surface of his calculating mind.

“...But I do know you, Wilson.” Thomas deserted the activity in the kitchen and took slow steps approaching the other man. His voice was eerily calm.

“No you don’t,” Wilson denied.

“Your full name is Wilson Wilson. Your birthday is September twenty fifth. You’re thirty six years and forty days old. You were born to your father Richard Wilson and–” Wilson flinched at the mention of his parents but grew frustrated with Thomas’ misunderstanding.

“What’s my favorite eye patch?” he snapped. Thomas’ lecture lapsed. He tilted his head slightly, and let out a performative snicker, punctuating what he believed to be a ridiculous question.

“What a stupid concept,” Thomas replied. “Why would that be important?” He condescended.

“Exactly. You don’t know me.” Wilson crossed his arms, feeling as if he made his point. “But I think I know everything I need to know about you.” Wilson was attempting to change the circumstances. All control had been stripped of him when he had been taken by The Harvest, but perhaps he had a chance to regain footing that he never quite had.

“Do you?” Thomas repeated as if the sentiment was ridiculous. He smirked. “Go ahead, then,” Thomas urged. “Who am I?”

“A nobody,” Wilson stated. If he was able to convince Thomas that he was the same as himself, then perhaps he could earn his affections enough to alter his situation to a more favorable variant. “Evidently, if you were important, they wouldn’t have left you here to watch me.” Wilson’s diagnosis fell on deaf ears as Thomas replied quickly.

“I was assigned to monitor you because I am the only one trusted enough to do so,” he corrected. Thomas adjusted his suit, a harsh contrast to Wilson’s worn and tattered garments, Thomas treating such as proof of his point. “Evident with Arby’s recent defection and– even worse… failures of agents. I have a purpose to fulfill. Everything I do is for Christie Corp, The Harvest– my family.”

“Do you really believe that?” Wilson questioned.

“Don’t you?” Thomas shot back.

“I agree with what you’re doing in…” He hesitated as shame washed over him once more, “...some ways. But we seem to be on very different pages for why.”

“It’s not my fault you're the only one of your group of fumbling idiots that could understand.” The statement confused Wilson more than anything.

“You’re speaking highly of me…” He said suspiciously.

“Because you made the right choice,” Thomas replied.

Wilson didn’t find that context believable. Thomas didn’t speak highly of the choice, he spoke of respect to Wilson. It was another item added to the list of newfound experiences that he didn’t know how to react to. His mind and body responded with thinly veiled panic and restlessness at the definitive praise. 

“I had to do what I had to. Even if it meant betraying them…” He said, stuffing down his flustered emotion. 

“You did. It was predictable and expected, due to how obviously sensible the choice was. However, it was…” Thomas paused and let a smile twitch onto his lips, a gentle curve that was out of his place amongst his sharp features. “...exquisite to see.” 

“...You think so?” 

“I do. I can’t imagine abandoning the only bonds and resources I had access to…” He said with admitted reverence at the concept. His smile quickly soured. “I mean,” he began to rephrase, “I never would have to, as I am on the correct side of our conflict.”

“You’re going about solving this issue incorrectly,” Wilson criticized. He glanced at Thomas with his previous statement in mind. Was Thomas afraid of what would remain of him if he were to lose the corporation? His family? “Why do you stay loyal to this organization?” Wilson asked.

“I’m going to have to take my fathers place, one day. My father has led Christie Corp and then I will. It’s my purpose.” Thomas spoke like his life was a mathematical equation. Different variables would all mount to the necessary and unchangeable conclusion of his supposed purpose. Wilson could identify the reliance on that purpose, so what would happen if he called it into question? He wasn’t keen on upsetting Thomas, but Wilson was growing restless and needed to give himself room to control at least some variables in the unpredictable situation he had gotten himself into.

“How do you plan on doing that? Because from what I see, you don’t do anything but follow his orders like… like…” His confidence wavered as Thomas stared at him expectantly. Wilson was starting to question if he had ever even seen the man blink. He shook off the unnerving thought and raked together shreds of confidence. “A lap dog,” he concluded harshly.

The shift in Thomas’ previously untouchable demeanor was instant. He inhaled deeply and his shoulders tensed before he bit down on his lip slightly.

“I am more than capable of making my own decisions. I know my purpose,” he reiterated.

“Your ‘purpose’ is a glorified mandate,” Wilson insulted.

“Well, I’m not a sell-out like you…” Thomas was desperate to find a way to prove Wilson’s assertion incorrect; although it was more to himself than anyone else. “Your group was a stockpile of certifiable idiots, but at least they’re loyal idiots.”

Wilson was quickly suffocated with a vision of a bullet firing through Samantha’s head, her blood painting the floor before her body even hit the ground. However, it was quickly followed by memories of his friends that remained beside one another in conditions that would have dissolved bonds between any weaker people, nor did they ever forget Samantha or disgrace her memory. The death had gone down easier with others than it did with Wilson, but they had treated her with respect.

“What do you know about loyalty? You’re going to be loyal to your dad?” Wilson questioned. “Sure, you can pull the Bentley around to pick him up, but what happens when everyone else can see he was a better leader than you?” Wilson snarkily declared. “Because it’s clear to me you don’t know right from wrong, just what he wants to see and what he doesn’t.”

“I am very aware of what is well aligned and what’s not. I can choose to do whatever I please, regardless of my fathers opinions.” Thomas’ facade began to crumble as he replied with a sense of urgency to disprove Wilson.

“Prove it,” Wilson simply stated. He threw his hands up in resolution of the statement. “What choice? One damn thing.” The circumstances became a satirical inversion of where they began as Wilson awaited a response while Thomas shifted hesitantly, searching for evidence to cite.

“For instance…” Thomas’ eyes remained glued to the floor, dashing along the lines of the modernistic tilling like he had dropped something. “Admitting my admiration for your rebellion…” He recomposed himself, confidently locking eyes with Wilson as he would sooner be willing to put his loyalty in jeopardy than his ego. “For you…” he admitted, “would be more than wrong. It would be a disgrace to my purpose, my name, my family…” His voice trailed off.

“I knew I wasn’t crazy!” Wilson snapped triumphantly. “I knew you liked me!” He pointed to the other.

“Quiet!” Thomas spat. “My point remains. I know exactly what right and wrong is. And I can choose to do whatever I want. I choose to do what is correct. Just as you chose to do so, despite the disapproval of one Jessica Hyde.” Wilson withered at the threatening reminder. “Who will certainly be coming for your head, you know.” Thomas placed himself on the couch beside Wilson as he pointed his manicured finger at Wilson’s throat. “If I don’t take it first.” 

“Yeah right.” Wilson responded sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Thomas’ confession of adoration and calculating behavior made Wilson doubtful of the idea that he’d kill him on a whim.

“I can choose to do what would be disapproved of if I so desired,” Thomas proclaimed. Wilson leaned in closer to Thomas, mimicking the behavior Thomas had exhibited throughout the night. The space between the two grew scarce.

“Prove it to me,” Wilson, with a rare confidence, heralded. 

Thomas leaned in and Wilson’s hand naturally found its way to holding the side of Thomas’ face, their lips connecting in the apex of a mutual yearning reaching a passionate spark. At the onset, the connection was harsh on both sides, fighting for the space next to each other like they were in competition to earn that expanse with every other part of the world. When that intimate existence, so new and uncharted to both parties, was settled in, the kiss blossomed with warmth. Wilson’s grizzled and untrusting demeanor seemed to melt against the affection he had never yet experienced but wordlessly yearned for. 

Thomas had every aspect of his life micro-managed to align with his purpose and his goals. Every characteristic, even his “humorous quirks,” were designed for nothing but to paint himself as confident and improve his role as a leader. Thomas had accepted that his self expression was nothing more than a tool to control those around him. 

But this– Wilson and him, what they had was Thomas’ own. Wilson was his liberty from the puppet strings that bound his arms and the hooks that burrowed into his skin, violently yanking him to The Harvests every whim.

Just as Wilson betrayed his friends for The Harvest, Thomas paralleled through his romantic indulgence in Wilson. The parts of Thomas that he was more proud of scolded himself or was violently disgusted with the behavior, but the human parts of him didn’t care.

The two only separated to breathe, but it didn’t take long for both parties to realize how they didn’t want the experience to conclude. Wilson would stay in the horrible man’s arms for all eternity if time would let him. Thomas leaned closer, straddling Wilson, his knees on either side of the other man's thighs as he pressed their mouths together once more. Wilson’s hand became tangled in Thomas’ previously neat ebony hair. The embrace was sloppy and uncharacteristically uncalculated, as neither particularly knew what they were doing.

When the kiss concluded, both were left breathing heavily in tandem. Thomas and Wilson enjoyed the unison of their exhausted breaths.

“And you said I’m the sell-out?” Wilson teased through huffs. 

“Both of us are simply… ambitious.” Thomas smirked.

Thomas was ready to accept that as his new purpose. Then he’d be fit as a leader. Wilson was his first step towards that. The thought of Thomas allowing himself to be a person and not the personification of his goal brought an intense sensation of panic through his mind and body. He had taken action in a way that was not stamped with approval and it was exhilarating.

Wilson shut his eyes and leaned in to continue their union but Thomas smiled and pressed a finger to Wilson’s lips. His eyes opened, startled at the motion.

“Ah-ah-ah…” Thomas shook his head playfully. “We have work to do. I think you and I have a great future ahead of us.” 

-