Scene: A Bustling Market in Autumn

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts and freshly baked pastries. You wandered through the market, eyes scanning the vibrant stalls, when something caught your attention—your favorite snack, sitting alone on the shelf. Just as you reached for it, another hand collided with yours.

"Oi, hands off, that’s mine," a voice drawled, tinged with a British accent.

You turned sharply, only to come face to face with a tall man, dark curls falling over his sharp eyes. Wilbur Soot. He arched a brow, his fingers still loosely curled around the snack, challenging you silently.

"I saw it first," you shot back, tightening your grip.

"Yeah? Well, I touched it first." He smirked, but you didn’t budge.

"You can touch all you want, but I want it more."

"Bold assumption. How do you know I don’t need it to survive?" He gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended. "What if this is the one thing keeping me from falling into utter despair?"

You scoffed. "Oh please, you’re a musician, you thrive on despair."

Wilbur chuckled, the sound annoyingly charming. "Fair point. But I’m still not giving it up."

The two of you stood there, fingers still locked around the snack, neither willing to let go. The market bustled around you, but in that moment, it felt like a stand-off.

"Tell you what," he finally said, leaning in slightly, voice softer now. "We could split it. Unless you’re too stubborn for that?"

You narrowed your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched. "...Fine. But only because I’m feeling generous."

He grinned. "Oh, of course. Your kindness is overwhelming."

As he handed over half, fingers brushing against yours, you realized something infuriating—he was kind of endearing. And much to your dismay, this was far from the last time you’d see him.