For the next few days, Wilbur found himself hungering for warmth.

And not the barely warm enough warmth of his thin bedsheets, not the mushy lukewarm soup he gets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

He hungers for Tommy's hand in his, Phil's finger on his cheek, Techno's squeeze on his shoulder before he said good night.

Wilbur had not spoken to Techno since that night, but he knew that he had been there because the blinds were always open.

He never seemed to catch him when he was awake.

But he wanted to, because he wanted to talk to him, even though words didn't come easy, he wanted to ask him about Phil, he wanted to ask him how he knew his name, things he didn't think of before.

He wanted to learn more about the stars.

And he hadn't seen Tommy either, even though he told him how to get up to the roof from his window, even when he waited for hours on top of the rooftop.

And he wanted to ask him too, why did you want to disappear, is it because you are like me? Why did you step off the precipice? Why did you take my hand?

And he wanted to ask himself why he reached out his hand, why he wanted to save him.

He wondered as he looked at the blank sky, touching danger with his fingertips.

And Wilbur Soot did it alone.

And he didn't realize before how cold it seemed all the time, now he had tasted just a touch on the tip of his tongue, he couldn't go back.

And Wilbur realized that he felt, what was that word again?

Lonely.

Wilbur felt lonely.

And he feared that he deserved it.

And he feared that he would have to face the cold for the rest of his life.

The next day, a folder is shoved across a desk, and Wilbur stares at it numbly.

And in it are pictures and words and text and numbers.

A man, a woman, and a boy.

And for the first time, Wilbur doesn't want to know about them, and he shoves the folder to the side of the white table and stares at it like it might open and swallow him whole.

But still, he puts on the chauffeur outfit, and he taps on the bedpost, and he repeats, repeats to himself.

I am a villain.

I am a villain.

I am a villain.

Like it would make anything better.

And he tries to tell himself again that they are just people.

But his mind, or maybe his heart, tells him that Tommy and Techno are just people too.

How much are you going to place on that just, villain?

But still.

Wilbur will regret miles of that but still.

But still, he lets guards lead him down, down, the elevators and through long halls of tiles and walls until he almost can feel nothing at all, and then they reach a parking garage and he sits in the driver's seat of a shiny black car, and he feels the power beneath his hands and underneath his feet.

Then Wilbur can see through the windows the overcast skies, and rain patters down on the roof and is wiped away rhythmically.

And he hears a giggle and a sprig of life slide into the car. The boy and his mother, their clothes sprinkled with water, letting cool air and water slide off the leather seats before slamming the door shut behind them.

Wilbur sees through a flash in the rearview mirror the picture of the young boy, brown hair spiked up with water, his cheeks splashed with speckled red and joy.

His father slides into the passenger seat.

"The Square please, mate." He says, pushing meaningless cash towards Wilbur. He turns towards the back as Wilbur pulls out of the hotel cul de sac.

"Whaddya think of the trip so far, Johnny?"

"Oh, can we pleaseeee go to the pool again, Dad?" The kid whines and Wilbur is immediately reminded of Tommy, but Wilbur can't, can't think of him right now, please.

"It's raining, John." The mother says softly, patting his hair back with her hand. "We'll go swimming later."

Wilbur didn't dare look at her in the rearview mirror.

"But I want to be the BEST swimmer in the WORLD, mum!" The kid peeps up. "I wanna go to the Olympics!"

Look straight ahead.

Feel the heavy weight next to your foot.

"Even Olympic champions take breaks, bud." The father laughs."Once Dad gets all his votes in, I promise we'll put a new pool in the backyard. You can practice all you want, how does that sound?"

Don't, don't look in the rearview mirror.

Don't.

Turn the corner.

"AWESOME! I'm gonna be the best swimmer in the whole UNIVERSE!"

Position your foot.

Don't look in the rearview mirror.

"Dad, will you be proud of me if I... don't become the best swimmer ever?"

Don't.

Don't.

Unlock the door.

Don't look.

"I'll be proud of you no matter what, John."

And Wilbur sees the boy's face light up with joy.

You looked.

And Wilbur swerved, shoving the weight on the accelerator, and he jumped.

He rolled on the slick street, and rain wets his skin as he runs 100, 200, 300 feet.

He watches explosions meet the rain in the sky, red and fiery, and they reflect off the streets.

They reflect off the windows and off of Wilbur's damp face and they bring color and flame and fury.

And Wilbur felt too human at that moment, lying on the wet street as rain flowed down the avenue.

He felt too human.

And without thinking, Wilbur's feet and hands bite into the rocky asphalt as he runs back to the wreckage of the car, to the glass and the smashed brick, but he stops himself.

The rain pours down his back and soaks his shirt through.

It is cold.

And the thunder cracks down and booms in his ears as if it is saying,

"Too human, too human, evil one. Too human."

And Wilbur feels so much, he feels the biting pain in his hands and his feet, he feels his body shivering, he feels the lick of dying flames, and he feels something crushing, crushing his chest.

And then he turns and walks away.

Back to the tunnels and the guards and the long white walls.

And he is back in his room, his hands still shaking, his shirt still soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead.

It is not warm in his room.

It is cold.

Techno's not there.

And Wilbur doesn't know why, but he opens the window, and the rain pitter-patters on the open pane.

He climbs up and up into the gray sky because he doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts, doesn't want to be alone.

Tommy was sitting on the ground.

Tommy was sitting on the rooftop, letting the rain soak him through.

Wilbur stares at him.

"You look like a fucking mess," Tommy says.

And Wilbur has a million things to say, and a million things to ask standing in the pouring rain, but all he blurts out is this:

"I killed someone." He says, the thought becoming tangible, real, and he clenches his fists as they shake.

"I killed someone."

And Tommy looks at him with an expression that Wilbur dreaded.

Fear.

And he scrambled off the ground, the gravel screeching beneath him.

"I- uhm." And Wilbur sees him struggle for a half-apology. "I need to go."

And Tommy left him, Tommy left him on top of that rooftop, and Wilbur watched him disappear.

Wilbur watched him disappear, and he never felt so cold, and his heart had never ached so much, so painful and emptying.

He can't breathe on that rooftop.

I am a villain, he thinks.

I am evil.

I serve the foundation.

Because I need to face my crimes.

My many many crimes.

Let them pile on me and spill over like the rain in the sky.

Let the universe give me what I deserve.

Let the world fuck me over till there's nothing left, because god, I deserve it. 

"Keep on feeling, Wilbur." Phil had said.

But he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep on feeling.

If it hurts as bad as it did on that rooftop.

Letting the heavens hate him for what he did.