for context on descriptions, david is the oldest and the glasses wearer, charlie is the youngest and the shortest

wilbur hated having what the soothouse called 'bed days'. he hated the realization that on those days, he knew he wasn't going to be able to get up, making him a burden. he hated emotions. he hated feeling in general.

it was a dumb concept. the emotions he feels towards people, he means.

get attached to stuff, no, people that always end up leaving. that's why he left his one goal in life to make sure none of his friends felt the way that he always did. alone, sad, the outcast. if you asked him if he would take a bullet for his friends, he wouldn't hesitate to say yes.

when he woke up that morning, he knew he wasn't going to leave his room. that was fine. he sits in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, not even able to will himself to get up and take care of himself. and oh- oh, he comes to the realization it's one of those days.

he doesn't know how much time passes. maybe it's the afternoon? he knows he should be streaming by now.

he just feels so weak.

five texts, he hears in a row. maybe he should check that, but wilbur can't muster the strength to pick up his phone. another few minutes in silence and he rubs his eyes, not wanting to fall back asleep, rolling over and grabbing his phone.

five new discord notifications, all from a familiar icon. charlie.

.

sootcharlie

will

willlllll r u alive

wilbursoot

willlburrr

i will go in there

.

he blinks at his screen and sets his phone down. he doesn't care enough to respond.

another notification.

.

sootcharlie

i saw ur icon pop up i know ur awake

---

phone put back down on the dresser and he sighs. it's not like he hates charlie or anything, no, he cares for the guy a lot. he just can't respond, because then he'd show weakness, and he doesn't want them to worry about him. because wilbur soot is okay.

except he really can't convince himself he is.

he tried to get up, he really did. he thought about it, even got lost in thought about getting up for the day, but he couldn't seem to will his body to do it. his friends have never seen him in this type of state before, and he doesn't want them to. he curls his knees up to his chest and pulls the collar of his shirt up to his mouth, biting down to muffle any cries.

the shirt has more holes in the collar than it normally should from how hard he bites down on the fibers, but at this moment it was all too overwhelming to care.

he drew more into the ball formation he turned to on his bed, body shaking with nothing but one emotion. sadness. and- those are tears falling down his face. fuck. this isn't good. charlie could be coming up any minute and-

wilbur only lets out more of a sob at the thought of that. he didn't want them to worry about them, they were already stressed enough.

nobody would help him. he was alone, and so, so very cold. and then-

"WILL!" he heard charlie shout from behind his door, and he immediately spit out what he had of the shirt and shakily rubbed at his eyes. this was bad. this is bad. panic. panic. fear. burdening charlie.

"if you don't open this door i'm coming in." charlie said, with a slight tone of... what wilbur could piece out to be concern in the other males voice. god.

after a minute with no response, he heard another knock on the door, and another voice.

"wil if you don't open the door i can open it myself." and still, he gives no response. he doesn't feel like he's worthy of giving one, knowing his voice will only break.

he's so aloneburdeningthemruiningtheirlivesworryingthemworryingthemworryi

he hears his door gently open, but he doesn't look up. the musician keeps his gaze down at his hands that are shaking, and for what fucking reason, he's shaking and crying and-

"wilbur?" charlie asks, with worry in his voice, seeing his usually bubbly friend curled up on the bed.

"will, are you alright?" david says, trying to coax the guitarist to look up, but there's no response. he opened his mouth to respond, but immediately covered his mouth to muffle another sob that left him. the two of them immediately rushed up to him, charlie putting his hand on the mans shoulder and david getting on the bed, putting a hand on his knee.

"i...i'm sorry.." it was quiet, hoarse from a lack of talking that day.

david wrapped his arms around wilbur, looking over at charlie. the youngest raised his arm at first, hesitating, not knowing if he should join, but the two in the embrace scooted over, and the oldest patted the space next to him in the bed. charlie got on and joined in the hug.

"what's wrong?" the oldest asked, gently patting his head.

a sad hum and the shake of his head in response.

"one of those days?"

a nod. his breathing was shaky. they stayed like that for what felt like hours. things weren't going to magically get better, but the three of them knew this was a start.