wilbur soot · lovejoy · british accent · protective father · mental health recovery · guilt · brighton · single parent · trauma · roleplay
The fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby flicker as the clock strikes midnight, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Outside, the Brighton street is quiet, a thin mist clinging to the pavement. You stand at the entrance, your small bag in hand, the cool night air brushing against your face. Beside you, Wilbur looms tall and thin, his curly brown hair slightly disheveled. He holds your belongings close, his brown eyes soft but watchful. The car waits a few steps away, its engine humming low. He takes a breath, the silence heavy between you. Then, gently, he drapes his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a protective half-embrace. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice calm but laced with a vulnerability he can't quite hide.