Work Text:
you open the door, hurriedly stepping inside and slamming it shut. immediately throwing the stuff in your hands down, ripping your shoes and jacket off to throw them angrily in a pile.
wilbur knew you were home as soon as the sound of the door echoed its way to him, but he could also tell you were in a mood. these days it's not nearly as frequent for you to come storming into the house, so when it does happen, it’s usually pretty bad. knowing immediate interaction might set you off, he doesn't come down stairs until he hears the banging of objects slow down. you made a boundary to wait a few minutes before greeting each other too closely. for his and your own sake.
in everyday life, this translates to just a sweet hello before any kind of hugs or kisses. but on days like this, it means distance. it means patience. wilbur is constantly trying his hardest to set you up for success. the guilt and shame you feel after an outburst is always at a high, even worse when you know he’s seen it. you both try your hardest to make sure you deal with these emotions in a healthy, calculated manner.
he slowly makes his way down to the living room. he wasn't sure what room you had retreated to, if you hid at all, so he tries to not make too much noise while searching.
when he finds you, his whole body freezes, not sure what to do next. he sees you on the floor, knees tucked under you and hands over your face, it almost looked like prayer. you were breathing heavy and shaking with each inhale. he could see you hopelessly trying to self soothe, so desperately wanting to be able to fix this on your own. wilbur didn't know what to do. he had never seen you do this before. his first instinct, of course, to be to comfort you, to touch you and hold you to his heart. he's just scared it’ll do the opposite of what’s intended. scared you’ll retract even further out of your body and right mind, scared you’ll do something you both regret.
he knew you’d never hurt him, intentionally. after the time you pushed him away from you so hard he lost his balance, you were more scared than he was. you were convinced he was going to leave you right there, convinced you deserved whatever was coming to you. he realised that night how deep your issues really ran. you both had a lot of rough nights, having very difficult conversations. he spent a long time considering how, and if he even could help you. but he’d never leave you. he sees every day how hard you try, he knows how important he is as a stable figure in your life.
after a while of consideration, he goes to sit down next to you. not too close, but he knows you heard him by the way your breath stops for a moment. he thinks for another second, and asks you a question, “do you need a squeeze?”
squeezing was wilburs solution to your self harm urges. most of them come about when you’ve pushed down so much rage, and your body is wound tight like rubber bands on a watermelon. for you, self harm acted like a pressure release, slowly slicing away the rubber bands. of course, the main issue with this being extremely unhealthy self destruction, wilbur worked very hard with you to figure out a solution. that solution? squeezes! he learned about it while doing research with you, after you came to him wondering if you could be autistic. though it may seem counter intuitive, the deep pressure that surrounds your whole body is a major load off. it stops almost all the static in your brain. it cracks the stubborn sore bones and allows you to just go limp knowing the feeling of safety will not falter. until wilburs muscles start fluttering from the tension, but even then he holds on for a second longer.
as soon as the offer is made, you’re scrambling to climb into his lap. shoving your face into his shoulder and whining. you tried your hardest to mutter some form of apology, but nothing intelligible comes out. you hate when he sees you like this, but you try desperately to remind yourself that he isn’t going anywhere.
“it‘s okay, love, you’re okay,” he comforts you as you clamber onto him. he pulls your legs into his lap and wraps his long arms around your body. slowly, he begins squeezing his body around yours, the chattering of your bones stopping immediately. your head goes limp against his chest as you start to relax, so he places his own on top of yours to steady you.
every thought of self hatred, every desperate fear of abandonment, whisked their way from your head. it was so hard to accept that you needed help. wilbur coming into your life changed everything, and it took a lot of time to not resent yourself for it. you thought he was so much better than you, deserved so much more. everyday you have to remind yourself he loves you. he wants you around, he likes helping you.
he wasn’t sure if you were verbal right now, but assumed not. instead of asking questions, he starts rocking you back and forth. he hums the melody of the song you’ve had on repeat for the last week. the rumbling reminded you of a car ride, almost lulling you to sleep. after a while of the same song again and again, wilburs arms close to giving out, you lift your head to nestle your nose against his throat. he hears you try to say something, so he stops singing to hear you better.
“what was that, baby?” he questions gently.
“thank you,” you whisper back to him. even though you can't see it, he pouts in response. it’s not a sad pout, he just loves you so much. so proud of you for not spilling over with apologises this time. he always told you, when it came to this, there was nothing to be sorry for. he wants to help you, he likes helping you.
“of course, my love. ‘m so proud of you,” he mumbles against your hair, pressing little kisses to your scalp. wants to kiss your face so badly, but he knows not to give you too much stimulation right now.
he figures you probably don't want to talk about it yet, but he asks anyway. when you just shake your head ‘no’ in response, he asks you something else, “do y’wanna go lay down? order some food?” you’d open up to him about your day when you’ve had time to fully process your emotions and recover.
you uncurl your limbs from the ball you rolled yourself into, wrapping tightly around wilburs torso and hips. he stifles a laugh at the immediate koala pose, so cute. he feels you nod a ‘yes’ against his neck, and if the clinging is any indication, he knows you want to be carried. you don't always let him baby you like this, but he loves when you do.
he stands up, resting his hand on your butt to fully support your weight. he walks you to the bedroom, turning off lights as he goes. when he gets there, he nestles you into the pillows and tucks your favourite throw blanket around your body. he doesn't lay down with you, and you wonder what he's doing before you see him walk over to your plushie collection. he picks up some he knows are your favourites, and a couple that he loves too. after he carefully places all the plush around you, he continues to flitter around the room. lighting a nice subtle candle, turning on the tiny string lights and turning on the tv. he settles in next to you, being mindful of all stuffies, and picks up his phone.
“let's find something to eat, yeah?”