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Tommy had to stop himself from bouncing off the walls of the small car his dad drove, clenching and unclenching his hands into the blanket draped over his lap.
He was going across the country, going to play the piano and get recorded for a song Wilbur Soot wrote, going to stay in Wilbur’s house, going to see Phil again.
After months of practicing the part, video calls with Wilbur critiquing him, and just the pure hype over both the song and trip, the time had finally arrived.
Holy shit. His life was so cool.
Tommy grinned behind a fist he pressed against his mouth and watched the landscape zoom by.
“Good to see you again, child,” Wilbur affectionately greeted.
“Hi Wilbur,” Tommy choked out.
When they hugged, tight and warm, neither mentioned the tears that dripped onto Wilbur’s shoulder.
Tommy had six days there. They had a schedule all planned out: the days to record the song, to hang out, and to stream as well.
Practice came first before the real deal.
“Oh my God,” Tommy whined, pressing the heels of his hands into the piano keys and sending a gross jangle of notes ringing out. He sat slouched on a piano bench, in front of Wilbur’s console piano that rested in the living room of his house.
“Tommy,” Wilbur started.
“Wilbur,” Tommy dragged out, glaring daggers at the music in front of him. “I had this part down when I practiced. I promise.”
Finally, he glanced over to Wilbur, who sat on a stool and smiled kindly. “You’re okay,” he said. “Just try again, and if you don’t get it, we’ll drop the tempo and go up from there. But-” he smirked- “if you miss that F sharp one more time, it’s all over.”
Tommy rolled his eyes, but turned back to the music.
(They’d talked about patience beforehand, knowing this process could easily turn into a nasty argument. So, they made a deal that during both virtual practice and in person, Wilbur would give him criticism when needed, and if Tommy wanted to slow down or take a break, he would let Wilbur know.
They’d had their bumps, of course, and still would. But it seemed to be working, because they hadn’t murdered each other. Yet.)
Wilbur turned the metronome on, and Tommy pressed the keys down once again.
Notes floated through the air, improvised and sweet; it was a little later, with the winter sun faded behind white curtains. Tommy still sat on the piano bench, but now Wilbur was beside him and pressed against his side, his fingers on the keys.
Tommy couldn’t really help it when he leaned further into Wilbur’s warmth and closed his eyes, about half a minute away from letting his entire body slouch and drop his head into the appealing pillow Wilbur’s shoulder and neck made.
“You’re really good at piano, Wilbur,” Tommy mumbled.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes narrowing in concentration as he lightly picked at higher notes.
Tommy’s first head-drop resulted in Wilbur stiffening, then smiling. “Tommy,” he practically cooed. “Are you sleepy?”
Tommy brought his head up, rubbing a fist into one eye. “No, fuck off.” A pause. “Maybe.”
He saw Wilbur press his lips into a curved line, probably to keep from “awwing” or something else very stupid. He shuffled away and said, “C’mon, let’s get up. You need to eat and get ready first before sleeping.”
Tommy whined at the loss of body heat, but still let himself get dragged off the piano bench. (It would be worth it in the long run; he was pretty confident he could get Wilbur to cuddle with him that night.)
(He did.)
Recording was terrifying.
Okay, it wasn’t awful. But everything was so professional and fancy, it felt like if Tommy touched one wrong thing, everything would come crashing down on him.
He kept his hands busy by fidgeting his sweatshirt strings as he watched Wilbur talk about to people that were there for something recording-related.
The morning was a blur, but was one that left him breathless and smiling once it was finished—not from physical exertion, but because that just happened.
Wilbur took him out for ice cream to celebrate; and lo and behold, Phil made his first appearance of the trip at the front of the shop.
Tommy launched himself into Phil’s open arms, smiling into his coat as the shorter man stumbled but quickly regained his balance and hugged back with a greeting.
Tommy finally stepped back, looking from Phil to Wilbur, grinning ear-to-ear. “I just played in a song.” He jumped up and down, once. “I just played a song!! Wilbur’s song!”
“You did!” Wilbur said. “He did good,” he told Phil.
Tommy laughed, briefly putting the backs of his hands against his burning cheeks. “Oh my God, Wilbur’s song is so cool though. Just wait til you hear it, Phil, it’s gonna be great.”
“I bet. And I’m proud of both of you.”
Wilbur and Tommy exchanged a smile between each other.
“Now come on,” Phil said, nudging Tommy’s arm with his elbow. “Ice cream’s on me.”
Wilbur looped his arm through Tommy’s, marching them after Phil. “You heard him, Tommy,” he loudly said. “We’re gonna get the most expensive thing on the menu.”
Phil’s laughter mixed nicely with the jingle of the door’s bell.
The rest of the trip was fantastic. Tommy spent time at both Wilbur and Phil’s house, enjoying meals with them and walking around town and anywhere else they wanted to. They even got to see the sunset by the waterfront(at 5pm this time; take that Wilbur).
On one of Tommy’s last nights there, he curled up on Wilbur’s long couch, pressed snugly between Wilbur and Phil. Techno was on facetime, the phone propped up on the coffee table. They were about to watch a movie, but it was delayed by whatever banter Techno and Wilbur had going on.
Tommy mostly ignored it and tightened his grip on the mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He then snuggled deeper into his blanket and a little closer into Phil’s side and made sure to inch his bare feet next to Wilbur so he could snap at him for it later. Phil tightened his arm around Tommy’s shoulder, cackling at some retort Techno said.
Tommy smiled into the mug’s rim and drank up every drop of the warmness surrounding him.
Tommy was back home.
He got to listen to the finished song with Wilbur, prior to its release. (And damn, his part sounded good if he said so himself.)
They’d decided Tommy wouldn’t make an appearance in the music video—of course, it’d be made clear he’d played piano for the song. But, Wilbur promised to put a little easter egg in the video for him; however much Tommy pestered him to find out what it was, he wouldn’t relent.
Well, he got to find out today.
Tommy sat grinning in front of a live camera, clicking away at his keyboard as he pulled up the newly-released Wilbur Soot song and music video to correspond. His discord call, of course, displayed Philza, Techno, and Tubbo.
He shifted in his chair, giggling out some nervous excitement. Right before Phil started the countdown for them to all individually start it, a new direct message from Wilbur appeared.
I’m proud of you.
Tommy smiled a little wider and pressed play.