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Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur had the house to themselves, and upon asking Phil for permission, had decided to invite a couple of people over to fill the silence. A few phone calls were made, and a couple of texts were sent, and soon people started to show up at the front step. The house was full, but comfortably so. Not to the point where it became stressful, but to the point where it was simply happy.
Tommy enjoyed nights like these. He enjoyed the laughter and happiness that came from their group of friends. Sure, it became overwhelming sometimes, but he still loved it.
The group had decided they’d all finish wrapping gifts together, so as people arrived, so did rolls of bright wrapping paper, boxes, bags, tissue paper, tape, and anything else you could imagine needing to wrap gifts. Soon the living room looked like a disaster area, like Santa’s workshop had exploded.
And Tommy thought it was great.
He and Tubbo were sitting back to back, in the corner by the Christmas tree. They were wrapping each other’s gift, and didn’t want the other to see. So they talked and laughed as they both resisted the increasingly difficult urge to glance back at what the other was holding.
It was then that Tommy started to notice something was off. He had been fighting a small headache all day, and had figured it would simply fade off on its own eventually, but now that there were loud noises and Wilbur and a couple of his friends were making snacks in the kitchen that had some sort of overwhelming aroma, Tommy could feel the beginnings of an overload coming on.
He had been getting sensory overload for a couple years. It sucked, and he hated it with a fiery passion, but he had tried to downplay it so he didn’t bother his dad or brothers. He was fine. Just in a bit of pain. It was fine though.
“-mmy? Toms?” Tubbo’s voice suddenly rang loud and sharp in Tommy’s ears. He flinched slightly.
“Sorry, what’d you say?” He responded, his voice quieter than normal.
“I was just asking if you were okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. My head just hurts a little.” Tommy gave a small smile, and looked back down to the box he was wrapping. Each crinkle of wrapping paper echoing in his ears, making it hard to focus on the task at hand. Why was it so loud?
He eventually finished, and with his best handwriting, and a sharpie, Tommy addressed the wrapped box to Tubbo before hearing Quackity laugh loudly, it made Tommy’s head practically explode. Black and white flecks danced across his vision as he quickly stood to his feet.
“Hold on, Tubbo, I’ve gotta use the bathroom.” He muttered, rushing off.
Turns out, Tommy really did run into the bathroom, slightly surprising himself. Normally he hid in his bedroom closet. The boy shut and locked the door, keeping the lights off and sitting on the floor in the blessed dark. All his senses were going haywire, and Tommy couldn’t figure out why. Normally this happened when he was stressed, or exhausted or something. But he wasn’t. He had been having a good time! He had been laughing, and talking with his friends, but now the thought of anyone talking to him forced the boy to bite back tears.
What was wrong with him?
Why couldn’t he just have a simple night with his friends?
His thoughts were cut off as someone shouted something about a wrapping paper fight, and screaming followed suit. Tommy nearly sobbed. What the heck was a wrapping paper fight? Why did they have to be so loud? What was that atrocious smell? Why was there light creeping in from under the door-frame?
As he thought about those things, he realized that his shirt itched. Like, it really, really itched. He was pretty sure he was having some sort of reaction to something in the fabric. He needed to get the shirt off. Now.
He ripped it off, throwing it across the room and curling his now bare torso around his legs. The jeans he was wearing were bothering him too, but nowhere near as bad as the shirt did. He could live with the jeans.
He just needed to breathe, and the shirt was suffocating him.
Tommy sat there for a while, hiding from everything. He didn’t want anyone to think anything was wrong though, so eventually he slipped the shirt back on, grimacing and feeling a couple frustrated tears well in his eyes. It was just so uncomfortable. It was so awful to wear the clothing on his back.
Nevertheless, Tommy left the bathroom, gingerly stepping out into the light that irritated his eyes, making his head scream in protest. He was going to go downstairs, and he was going to get some water, and he was going to say everything was fine. That was his plan. He knew how to stick to plans.
Wilbur didn’t apparently. Because the oldest had questioned if Tommy was okay practically the minute he had witnessed him reach the bottom step.
“Yeah, Wil. I’m alright.” Tommy brushed him off, trying to stick to the plan. Next was water. He just had to ignore the noise between him and the kitchen. He could do this.
“Tommy!” Schlatt had shouted, walking up to the boy. “How’ve you been? I haven’t talked with you in a bit.”
Tommy nearly cried right then and there. He found he had been doing that a lot that evening.
“I’m doing well, Schlatt. Thank you for asking. I’m just on my way to get some water.” He breathed out.
Schlatt’s face contorted into concern, “You okay, Tommy?”
A small groan of frustration was heard from the younger boy. “You and Wil have both asked me that in the span of literally a minute. I’m fine.”
“If you say so.” Schlatt was clearly not convinced, but left Tommy to do his own thing. Which the boy was eternally thankful for
Tommy lasted an entire hour around his brothers and friends. Each minute was agonizing, and he didn’t have a clue as to how he had managed to make it through 60 of them. He had decided to call it a night the minute Tubbo had to be picked up by his parents, and Tommy was ready to race under his covers to hopefully sleep off the rest of this episode.
However, the minute he stood, the room spun, his head throbbed and he made a quiet choking noise as nausea wracked through his body and he was forced to his knees.
“Whoa! Tommy, is everything alright?” Techno had said, at the youngest boy’s side in an instant.
“Yeah, Yeah. I’m fine, Big T. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.” Tommy leaned back on his heels, not saying a word when he found himself leaning into Techno’s chest.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Because you don’t seem okay.” Techno said, his voice drawing a whimper from Tommy’s lips.
The blond teen shook his head slowly, “everything’s real loud, Techno. I can’t get my eyes to focus and my head hurts so bad. Tech help me.” He stopped himself before he could continue whining, feeling stupid for his reaction.
“Oh.” Was all the older brother said for a minute, not making Tommy feel any better.
“Overload?” Techno asked a minute later, seemingly finished putting the pieces together.
“Yeah, think so.” Tommy’s breath was short as he responded.
“Alright.”
Techno’s voice had dropped to a steady whisper- which was a great blessing to Tommy’s ears- and the older brother had helped Tommy up to his feet.
“We’re gonna walk up to your room, okay? I’ll have Wilbur start sending people away and then we’ll figure out what to do next. That sound alright?”
Tommy shook his head, “no, no. ‘s okay. You don’t need to send everyone away for me.”
“Nonsense, Toms. They need to get out of my house soon anyway.” Techno cracked a small grin and Tommy returned it.
They trudge up the stairs, Tommy still seeing stars, as Wilbur said goodbye to everyone. They were all concerned for Tommy, but Wilbur had reassured them that everything was okay. Tommy just had a migraine.
And thankfully, everyone left after that. Leaving Tommy in a beautiful silence.
Techno and Wilbur worked to get everything mellowed out. Techno aired out the house, getting rid of extra smells, while Wilbur tried to clean up everything in the most quiet manner, cringing when the paper products crinkled. Tommy was laying in bed, up in his room, trying to focus on the senses that weren’t as overwhelming.
It had been working for a while, everything had subsided a bit. But Tommy’s hearing was still going off the rails. He could hear his heart “thump” over and over, getting louder and louder. Almost like Jamanji. Tommy could hear the way the cars drove down the road, the way the kitchen fan was running downstairs, the noise the heater made when it kicked on. He could hear everything.
And it was deafening. Tommy just needed one single thing he could focus on. Something that wasn’t blasting his eardrums with every second. Something that would stay steady, and quiet.
He needed Wilbur.
And eventually, Wilbur came.
Tommy had sent him a pitiful text, asking Wilbur to come upstairs and play a couple quiet songs on his guitar. The gentle, steady strumming, and Wilbur’s soft voice eventually lulled Tommy off to sleep.
And what a blissfully silent sleep it was.