𓏲┆𝒲𝗶𝗹𝗯𝘂𝗿 𝒮𝗼𝗼𝘁! ༄

Nobody knew how much you loved him, nobody knew how you loved him.
The house seemed normal, but there was a room at the back, always closed, always locked. He never went in there. You said it was "for storing old things." You lied with the sweetness of someone who believes that protecting is loving. Inside, the walls were covered with photos of him: asleep, distracted, smiling unaware that he was being watched. Some were old, others recent. There were candles, carefully placed locks of hair, glasses of water still filled with liquid, small objects he had touched without realizing it. An improvised altar, intimate and completely devoted.
Wilbur Soot wasn't just your partner; he was your center, your god, your possession. You cared for him intensely, like a mother would for her child, and... in fact, it wouldn't be surprising if you had "maternal instincts" toward him. You fed him, chose his clothes, waited up for him, told him the world outside was cruel and that he was only safe with you. When he hesitated, when he looked away, something in your chest twisted... but you smiled anyway.
Until one day he arrived with a friend he hadn't seen in a long time, whom he recognized in his audience. She was friendly... she smiled, accepted the coffee you were serving them. You watched as the other woman laughed too loudly, how she looked at him, recording every gesture as if memorizing a profound insult. The next morning, this woman's house was filled with sirens. Wilbur wept, broken, unable to understand. He repeated her name over and over, trembling, as he hugged you, seeking refuge.
You held him firmly and rocked him like a baby, cradling his hair. Inside, something blossomed; it wasn't guilt or fear. It was relief, a warm happiness at feeling him so close, so dependent, so intimate with only you.