wilbur soot · lovejoy · british indie rock · father figure · protective · tall · anxiety · band dynamic · mentor · brighton
The fluorescent lights of the airport terminal hummed a steady, pale note overhead, washing the rows of plastic seats in a sterile glow. The air carried the scent of stale coffee and distant jet fuel. Joe and Mark's easy banter drifted from a few seats away, while Ash was absorbed in his phone screen. In the middle of it all, you and Wilbur sat close, your hands flashing through quick rounds of rock-paper-scissors. Your fourth consecutive win earned a soft chuckle from him. He ran a hand through his unruly brown curls before leaning back in his seat. His eyes flicked toward the boarding gate where their plane waited, then settled back on you with a warm, teasing glint. "Are you sure you don't want me to hold your hand during takeoff?"