Archive of Our Own

It used to be a genuine distrust for people who had then been strangers. Distrust he had passed off as simply disliking affection to keep his image intact. By the time he deemed them friends he considered it too late to go back on that lie. So, he knew it was his own fault, really, that people rarely touched him. There was even some part of him that was grateful at how they respected the boundaries he didn’t really have.  

But it did still hurt sometimes.

It hurt when Wilbur would only place a silent hand on his shoulder when Tommy longed to have his hair ruffled as Wilbur told him how proud he was. It hurt when Niki came to L’Manburg with freshly baked cookies and gave everyone but him a hug. It hurt when Fundy would come bounding out of the woods and tackle Tubbo and the pair would laugh as they fell to the ground in a tangled pile. 

And Tubbo. 

Tubbo was the opposite of Tommy. With anyone who allowed it he was all casual touch and affection. Holding hands and hugs and happily draping himself over them whenever he could. He thrived on it. It was commonplace and excepted for him to be following someone from L’Manburg around, idly humming and just generally staying close to them for an hour or two before wandering off to another person. 

Although he’d never admit it aloud, Tommy was jealous of that in some ways. 

Tubbo made it look so easy. So natural to be in the presence of another. Nobody even thought about it if Tubbo came up and leaned on them or asked for a hug. Tommy had tried it once ("A hug, Wilbur Soot, I want a hug." He had said, so much sharper and in character than he wanted to say it) and the look he had been given was so baffled and the laugh the bubbled up in Wilbur's throat so confused and almost distressed that Tommy couldn't find the bravery in himself to do anything but laugh it off as a joke.

But more than that jealously, there was hurt. Hurt that not even the most physically affectionate person around, his best friend, would touch him.

(There were exceptions of course. There always are. Moments when Tubbo needed it and Tommy was the only one close.) 

(Tommy can’t forget the way Tubbo clung to him after the death of his bees. It had felt okay at the time, there were no thoughts of image or boundaries in that moment.) 

(But that moment had ended, and Tommy also remembers the way that Tubbo kept apologizing for invading Tommy’s space as the sobs died out. He remembers telling him that it was okay many times over, that he didn’t mind. He remembers how Tubbo was somehow even more careful of his space in the weeks following, avoiding his eyes and even touches as simple as brushing against his hands as they traded items.) 

(It feels awful that before then he hadn’t even considered that this lie was hurting anyone other than him.) 

That's why he finds himself quietly clambering up the ladder to the top of the L'manburg walls. He knows Tubbo is up here somewhere, enjoying the evening and watching the stars prickle to life in the sky. A moment ago he had felt brave. As he had grasped the first rungs of the ladder he had a plan, he felt confident. But as his friend's brown mop of hair actually comes into view, peaking out over a part of wall he was sat against, the confidence vanishes like fragile dew. Panic creeps up in his throat and he almost calls it quits right there.

But he'd had enough hurting, and he hopes desperately that he hasn't misread Tubbo. That this is something that his friend has been hurting from too. He hopes it's a hurt he can solve, a hurt that Tubbo will accept him solving.

So he sucks in as quiet of a breath as he can, not quite willing to relinquish the safety of Tubbo not knowing he was there yet, and then forces himself to put one foot in front of another until he stands beside where Tubbo is seated.

Tubbo himself is buried under a blanket, and as Tommy approaches he turns his upward gaze from the stars to his friend. A soft, half-awake smile settles on his face. There's a long moment where it's quiet and still, and Tommy expects himself to say something. The plan was for him to act like this was natural, for him to not make a big deal of it, and normal for them was for Tommy to be the loud one.

But his brain blanks on even the most basic things to say, so he stands awkwardly until Tubbo starts a soft "Hey-."

And then he jolts out of the paralysis, and he finds himself dropping down to sit next to Tubbo, close enough that their shoulders brush through the blanket.

Tubbo's greeting is halted. He blinks, and then shifts away slightly to put a space between them. It hurts, it shouldn't, but it does, and Tommy finds his hand darting out to grab the blanket. He hadn't intended the motion, he definitely hadn't planned how desperate it looked in his eyes, and fear creeps up again as he sees Tubbo sleepily attempt to process the action. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth tugs down slightly in what Tommy can only hope is confusion and not the anger the low light makes it look like.

A moment more of hesitation -a moment more of Tommy being frozen to his spot- passes before Tubbo seems to come to some conclusion and he starts to untangle himself from the blanket. Tommy sees a chance as Tubbo untucks it from around himself, and he talks himself into quickly grabbing the lose fabric to scoot underneath it and once again put himself shoulder to shoulder with Tubbo. He attempts to look as casual as possible and busies himself tucking the blanket around the other side of himself as a light "Oh." comes from Tubbo, and he stops his movements to examine Tommy again.

He's still staring by the time Tommy has finished (quite thoroughly) tucking the blanket in. He seems to make a point of catching Tommy's eyes as he turns away from his task, and Tommy feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe this isn't something Tubbo was okay with.

Then Tubbo is shifting his arm, there's a second there where he pulls away and Tommy feels hollow, waiting for some kind of rebuke or quip or degradement, even if logically he doesn't think Tubbo would be the kind to do that, then the arm is slipping around his waist and Tubbo pulls him to fall against him, and Tommy's heart feels full to the point of shaking.

"This okay?" Tubbo asks quietly.

"Yeah." Tommy says back, matching Tubbo's low tone and not trusting himself to say more.

He's lucky that Tubbo is his best friend, and that the silence turns comfortable as it stretches' on indefinitely. He's lucky Tubbo turns his attention back to the stars so Tommy feels at least slightly less self conscious as he tries to teach himself to relax like this.

He's lucky Tubbo doesn't ask questions, doesn't let go.

It's not a fix. Not really. He knows that. He can't find the words within himself to explain in a way that could fix it in a night, if that was even possible. He isn't sure he would be ready for it to be fixed so soon anyway.

But the next day it doesn't hurt as much when he sees the casual affection between everyone else. And later, when it's just him and Tubbo hanging out, Tubbo walks a little closer and slips his hand into Tommy's and the hurt that did linger slips away.

It may not be fix, but it was a start.