#this is my wilbur as fleabg au lmao

[crimeboys]

🌹!

“No, we’re not a new restaurant,” Wilbur says into the phone. Most calls are people asking that same question because of the name, Name Pending, that Wilbur and Niki thought was fucking hilarious six years ago. Now, Wilbur wants to ring their quirky little necks. “The name is just an inside joke. Yes, we’re open. Until 6pm. Because we’re a bakery, sir.”

The bell rings as the door opens. Wilbur doesn’t really need the bell because he can see with 100% clarity when people come in, but he and Niki thought it would add that touch of authenticity. As the customer continues to rant about wanting cookies at 7pm, a grimy-looking man walks in. Well, his skin isn’t grimy but his clothes are. Wilbur wonders how one can conceivably get that many stains on a shirt.

Wilbur hangs up the phone despite the customer still speaking and says, “Welcome in. What can I get for you today?”

“A job,” the man says. “If you’ve got one, I need a job. Badly.” Wilbur can afford to keep this place running maybe two months more.

“Well, I’m sorry but you’d probably have better luck-”

“No!” The man shouts, and Wilbur straightens up a bit in his shock. “No, no, no because that's what the lady at the supermarket said.”

“You got rejected by the lady at the supermarket?” They’ve got terrible turnover there. And thieves. This guy’s resume must be shit.

“Yeah, then I went to the bookstore, then the arcade, then the fucking thrift. All of them said, you’ll have better luck down the street!”

“Well,” Wilbur says with a shrug. “London.”

“Oh, fuck London.” Wilbur agrees. “Look, I really just- I just need a job, alright?”

“Yes, but I haven’t got one to give you.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I just prefer to work alone.” A lie. Wilbur misses the loud mornings of baking and music, crooning and dancing with Niki as they laughed, Wilbur always stealing at least one cookie per batch. Mornings with himself are loud in the bad way.

“Okay. I prefer having a job, personally.” The man slaps a paper on the counter. Wilbur bends over to skim it. Oh, nevermind, there are hardly 20 words. It would be hard to skim any more than that.

RESUME:

Name: Tommy Innit Prior Job: ONLY Man Ever Expected Pay: 200 dollars per hour

“Right,” Wilbur says. He folds his hands on the counter. “I’m not giving you 200 dollars an hour.”

“We can negotiate. 199.99 isn’t terrible.”

“You ever heard of minimum wage?”

“Ever heard of knowing your worth?” Wilbur’s eye twitches.

“What could you even bring to the table? You have any skills? Anything that would amount to earning 200 dollars an hour?” Tommy squints, like this question has never occurred to him.

“Work.”

“But what can you do?”

“Work.”

“If you can’t even answer a simple question-”

“Just tell me what to do, I’ll do it! I don’t care what it is.”

“Have you ever baked? Have you ever cleaned?” 

“I can figure it out!”

“Sorry, was that a no on the cleaning thing?” Looking at Tommy’s clothes, Wilbur would wager so.

“Just give me a chance!” Wilbur is not at the fucking place he can just give people chances right now. He’s going out of business, he just got dumped by Dream for the upteenth fucking time, and his little brother had the audacity to offer him money not 24 hours ago. He does not want to garner another fucking loss.

“Why won’t anyone hire you?” Tommy groans.

“Fuck’s it matter?”

“Color me curious.”

“Fuckin’- not a lot of places take ex-cons.” Well, that’s certainly something. That should probably make Wilbur’s choice even easier. But Tommy looks determined, Wilbur might be a little manic right now, and he’s tired of eating burnt fucking cinnamon rolls.

- document titled "relationship scramble"