Chapter Text
After his interview with Puffy- if you could even call it an interview, she’d simply asked him about what work schedule would work best for him- she’d assigned Tommy to train him. And after an hour of being shot dirty looks from Tommy, Wilbur was regretting his decision to come here at all.
It was clear that Tommy didn’t like him, or people at all for that matter, and Wilbur hardly had the energy to come work this job, yet alone deal with a coworker that seemed to despise everyone and everything. So it was less than ideal to be standing here, listening as Tommy angrily explained the organization system for the vinyls sold at the shop, how exactly Tommy managed to explain that with such venom was beyond Wilbur.
Wilbur found himself just wanting to go home, at this point the suffocating silence of his house was better than constantly wondering what the fuck he did wrong to make Tommy hate him so quickly. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Tommy shoved his shoulder, glaring. “Hey dipshit, if Puffy’s making me teach you how to do your fucking job you better start paying attention.” he spat, and maybe in another lifetime, Wilbur would’ve laughed at Tommy’s childish anger, maybe he would’ve teased him, or brushed off his angry tone, but “What ifs?” were useless, this wasn’t some other timeline, so Wilbur recoiled at that.
If Tommy was going to be a dick, Wilbur wasn’t above being a bitch right back. “What’s your fucking problem? You think I want to be here, getting picked on by some snappy teenager? I would’ve just stayed at my fucking house if I knew my coworker was going to be a dick! I don’t need money badly enough that I’ll sit back and listen to you insult me for no fucking reason!” and Tommy? Tommy saw red at that. “That!” He snapped, jabbing a finger at Wilbur, “Is the fucking problem! You’re just one of those stuck up assholes who come to work at little shops like these just because you can! You just fucking admitted you don’t even need the money! But oh ‘ Puffy’s an old family friend’ so of course, you can just come in and easily get a job, unlike the other people who fucking fight tooth and nail to even put food on their table! Fuck you! Fuck everyone like you!”
And if Wilbur had stopped to think about what Tommy said, he might’ve put together the implications of what Tommy was saying, he might’ve realized that Tommy was basically spelling out. “Hey, I’m not doing okay, I have no one to look out for me!” But Wilbur wasn’t thinking. “Well fuck you too! You know nothing about me, you have no fucking idea about what’s going on in my life, or why I need this job! So you can shut the fuck up! I didn’t even do anything to you, and you’re acting like I murdered your dog or something!”
Tommy narrowed his eyes. “You can go fucking sweep or something, I’ll work at the counter, don’t talk to me again.” and with that he stormed off, leaving Wilbur standing alone in the middle of a music store. After a few heartbeats, he sighed and left to find the broom.