You’re putting your shoes on when Wilbur plops down next to you, legs folded like a baby giraffe.
“Where are you going?” He already knows.
“Babysitting again?”
You nod.
He leans closer. Smiles. "Take me with you.”
You blink at him. “Why?”
He shrugs, grinning. “I like chaos. Plus, your little cousin said I looked like the ‘tall guy from her dream’ last time. I feel like I have a responsibility now.”
You roll your eyes—but you don’t say no.
The kids scream when they see him.
Not you. Him.
Like he’s some returning war hero or a minor celebrity who once shared crackers with them on a Tuesday.
Your youngest cousin launches into a breathless monologue about a dream involving a dragon, a purple toothbrush, and Wilbur saving the day using friendship and spaghetti. Wilbur listens like it’s Shakespeare.
He gasps in the right places. Nods like the fate of the world depends on it. Eventually says, solemnly,
"That was the most important story I’ve ever heard.”
You think your heart’s going to explode.
Later, the chaos slows. One of them has a headache. One is tired but refuses to admit it. One is pouting under a blanket because someone else "breathed too loudly."
Wilbur navigates it like he was born for it.
He rubs their backs in circles. Softly hums a song you didn’t know he knew. Tucks them in like they’re fine china.
And then—because apparently the night wasn’t already emotionally destructive enough—one of the older ones whispers:
“You guys should kiss.”
You freeze.
Wilbur… does not freeze.
He gasps. Gasp-gasps.
“Oh god,” he stage-whispers. “They found us out.”
Your eyes widen. Your cheeks burn.
He leans toward the kid, dramatically:
"Don’t tell anyone, but I’m in big trouble. I think I’ve got a crush.”
You blink. Choke.
The kid grins, feral and evil. “I KNEW IT.”
You try to speak.
Wilbur winks. Still looking at the kid.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
A nod. A vigorous nod.
“And kind. And smart. And she lets me come to babysitting even though I’m very annoying.”
You just stand there. Warm-faced. Silent. Your heart lodged somewhere in your throat.
The kid squints at you both.
“Are you actually dating?”
Wilbur shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Not yet.”