【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第二章(7)
“Wilbur?”
“Yes, Father?”
Father leaned against his hand as he considered Wilbur. “Do you want me to be there for you tomorrow?”
Wilbur scoffed halfheartedly. “I’m not a child, Father.”
“Of course,” Father said. “But Technoblade is still a stranger to you.”
Wilbur pursed his lips as he thought about his father’s words. “Do you trust him?”
“Yes,” Father replied at once.
Wilbur nodded. “Then I trust him.”
Father stared at him for a long minute, and then nodded. There was nothing else to say, it seemed, and so Wilbur left, leaving his father to the quiet.
Tommy’s door was firmly shut by the time Wilbur arrived at their sleeping quarters. Wilbur’s own door stood ajar, waiting. Moonlight spilled from the arched windows, painting everything in silver: the bed littered with half-finished books, and the desk bearing scars from Wilbur’s manifold frustrations in writing music for the guitar that sat discarded on the floor. Mother had given him that guitar for his tenth birthday. He used to play lullabies (or spooky songs, when he was in the mood for older-brother mischief) for Tommy, before Tommy decided he was a big man, and moved out to the bedroom across the hall.
“Yes, Father?”
Father leaned against his hand as he considered Wilbur. “Do you want me to be there for you tomorrow?”
Wilbur scoffed halfheartedly. “I’m not a child, Father.”
“Of course,” Father said. “But Technoblade is still a stranger to you.”
Wilbur pursed his lips as he thought about his father’s words. “Do you trust him?”
“Yes,” Father replied at once.
Wilbur nodded. “Then I trust him.”
Father stared at him for a long minute, and then nodded. There was nothing else to say, it seemed, and so Wilbur left, leaving his father to the quiet.
Tommy’s door was firmly shut by the time Wilbur arrived at their sleeping quarters. Wilbur’s own door stood ajar, waiting. Moonlight spilled from the arched windows, painting everything in silver: the bed littered with half-finished books, and the desk bearing scars from Wilbur’s manifold frustrations in writing music for the guitar that sat discarded on the floor. Mother had given him that guitar for his tenth birthday. He used to play lullabies (or spooky songs, when he was in the mood for older-brother mischief) for Tommy, before Tommy decided he was a big man, and moved out to the bedroom across the hall.
步重华吴雩肉在第几章
