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Tommy really doesn't know how he's gotten himself here in life.
He glances up from his phone at the sound of the bell that hangs off of the door ringing, raising an eyebrow for a brief second over at his coworker. Said coworker, his name tag says "Tubbo", just raises one back at him, smiling in a way that means he knows he's being a bitch. Tommy groans, shoving his phone in his pocket, moving to the front of the counter, leaning on it just ever so slightly. Not enough to make it look like he's being lazy, no. Phil's already yelled at him for that more than enough, and Tommy really doesn't need a fifth lecture in an hour. The man is tall, way taller than any regular human being really should be, and he looks like he's been hit by multiple trucks on the way here.
To be fair, Tommy thinks, anyone who comes to this coffee shop has a death wish. He puts on his best smile, though it pains him to do so, and slips out a notebook from his shirt pocket. Tommy clicks his pen a couple times, a few more times than necessary, judging by the way Tubbo glares at him, and offers the guy a slightly wider smile. "Hey," Tommy bites back the bitter, snarky remarks he wants to make. He knows that, if he wants his paycheck, he has to be formal and nice and not an asshole, as Phil put it. But it's difficult, it's so difficult, and Tommy hates it. He doesn't even know why he decided that doing something involving customer service would be a good idea, considering how unbelievably unfiltered he is. "What can I get you today?"
The man beams at him, pushing his hair back with one hand. Judging by the backpack on his shoulder and the bags under his eyes, Tommy's fairly certain he's a university student, which would make sense. Only university students wander to this specific shop, anyways. "Mocha latte," the man tells him, and Tommy really can't help but grin at the accent. Even though everyone he works with, save for that one Dream fellow, is British, it's still nice to hear a familiar accent every now and then. Makes him a little less homesick. "Are you- are you new here?" The man asks, raising an eyebrow far higher than he probably has to. "I don't recognise you."
Tommy resists the urge to roll his eyes, he resists the urge to complain, though he does so internally. He doesn't fucking know why this dumbfuck of uni student has to make small talk, but whatever, it's fine. Tommy keeps his mind on his paycheck, which is more than enough to power through this shitty interaction with some shitty man the size of a lamppost. "Yeah, just got hired. What's your name?" Tommy asks, ready to scribble down the guy's name and get the conversation over with.
But the guy's not saying anything. Tommy wants to punch him in the throat. Why does Tommy have to get the most shit customers?
"Guess." He grins, his eyes sparkling.
"Guess?" Tommy scowls at him, ready to drop the facade and punch him in the throat. "I'm not going to guess, I need your nam-"
"Guess," the man insists. "Guess."
Tommy sighs, biting back every single swear he wants to say. "Okay, fine," he turns away, scribbling down BITCHBOY in his notes, though he hastily adds a "1" after it, just in case there are more people like him. There probably will be. Tommy has never had to deal with a customer who wanted him to guess their fucking name, but whatever, he can deal with it, not a big deal. He has to do it for that paycheck, he thinks. "Tubbo," Tommy shoves his notepad at his coworker. "Can you make this for me? Please?" Tubbo sighs, but he takes the notepad without saying a word, turning away. "Thank you!" Tommy calls after him, but Tubbo just sighs again, this time louder. It really doesn't take that long before Tubbo hands him a drink, and Tommy nearly burns his fucking hand grabbing it.
He clicks his pen a few times, scribbling out BITCHBOY1 onto the cup without hesitation. If he gets fired for this, he's going to be furious. Surely Phil would understand that he had to do something like this, surely. Bitchboy1 has made it very hard to tolerate him, and Tommy has met him once, for three minutes. "Hey, bitchboy!" Tommy calls out, thankful that that man is the only one in the shop. "Latte's done, as-" he bites back the word, figuring that he doesn't need to dig himself a deeper hole. The man raises an eyebrow, locking eyes with him from across the room. "Yeah, you, bitchboy."
Bitchboy grins at him, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Tommy wonders why his favourite pastime is bullying kids in coffee shops, but he's not going to throw away his paycheck by asking. "That's a very lovely name," the man beams, taking the cup of coffee from his hands, looking like he's genuinely happy. Tommy wants to beat him to death. "Thank you very much.." the man pauses. "Tommy..Innit."
"Yeah, yeah," Tommy scoffs, turning away. "Go sit the fuck down or whatever, I don't have to deal with you anymore. Not my problem anymore."
"Tommy!" Tubbo hisses at him, narrowing his eyes.
"What?" Tommy holds up his hands, glaring at the man. "He's the- he's instigating, Tubbo! He's fucking instigating!"
"You are going to get fired," Tubbo tells him. "I'm very sorry about him, sir, I-"
The man shrugs, raising the cup of coffee to his lips, though it doesn't even look like he drinks any. "Not a problem at all," he grins. "I think it's sort of endearing that he tried his best to not swear at me for a total of three minutes."
"Ohh," Tommy is about to jump over the counter and beat this man to fucking death. "Go fuck yourself, bitch," he scowls, keeping his hands firmly at his sides. While Tommy technically knows that he isn't going to actually maul this guy, he really wants to. "You are the fucking worst person I have ever met, and I meet a lot of people, especially women, and you are the worst one out of all of them, you fucking dickhead." The guy grins so wide that it has to hurt, and Tommy really, really wants to punch him in the throat.
"Thank you, TommyInnit," he beams, waving a hand. "Great talking to you!" And then he's out of the shop, and Tommy has to resist the urge to hunt him down like a feral animal and murder him.
Tommy sighs, narrowing his eyes at the door. "If that bitch ever comes back, I'm gonna kill him," he promises Tubbo. "I swear to god, that fucker will die by my hands." Tubbo just sighs along with him, and Tommy wonders if his coworker will stop him or not.
Not like it matters, Tommy decides. He'll murder him anyways.
Bitchboy comes back every day, and every single time he comes back, he orders something new. He orders something weird and fucking difficult as hell to make, he makes it as specific as possible each time, and Tommy really, honest to god, wants to strangle him to death. Tommy learns a few new things about the man each day that he comes in, like how he likes to be an asshole on purpose. He's probably an acting major, or whatever the fuck it's called. He brings his laptop in and sits at the back with his coffee, but he never even drinks it, so Tommy is convinced that he only shows up to be a bitch.
Which Tommy thinks he's right about, since that's the only thing that really makes sense. He works in the shop for about three hour intervals and never breaks his streak of showing up every day.
He also never tells Tommy his name, which is fucking annoying, but whatever. Tommy listens to Bitchboy type away at his computer, humming softly to himself. It's a song or a tune or whatever that Tommy has never heard before, not like he really cares. "Hey, Tommy," Bitchboy looks up from his computer, a grin spreading across his face as soon as he locks eyes with him. Tommy really would love nothing more than to beat this motherfucker to death, but he knows that if he wants his paycheck, he's not allowed to do that. Tommy isn't all that concerned with the law, but what he is concerned about is getting his paycheck, so he'll keep himself firmly planted behind this counter and only fantasize about beating Bitchboy to death. "Do you have any orange dye?"
"Orange dye?" Tommy asks. "No, I don't have any fucking orange dye. Why the fuck would I have orange dye? What's wrong with you?"
"Do you want the list in alphabetical order?" The man asks, quirking up an eyebrow. Tommy glares at him, narrowing his eyes as sharply as he can. He hopes that his rage is clearly shown, and judging by the way that Bitchboy grins at him, he's sure that it is. "I mean, I think that the customer is always right. I'll pay you if you go to the store for me and buy orange dye."
Tommy closes his eyes, making a soft noise of pain. He doesn't understand this man. Tommy thinks that there's no way he's being serious. He quickly wipes his mind of those thoughts when Bitchboy pulls out his wallet and sets a twenty pound note on the table, beaming at him with a stupid look in his eyes. "I'm not running your fucking errands for you," Tommy glares at the man, crossing his arms against his chest. "Why the fuck do you even want orange dye?"
"Why don't you?" Bitchboy asks, a stupid grin on his face. He's always got a stupid grin on his face, other than when he's working. And even then, he still looks stupid, Tommy decides. "Orange dye is good for the soul, Tommy. I think that.." the man pauses, grinning a little wider. Tommy sort of wants to punch him in the face even more the more than he grins. "I feel like drinking orange dye would be cool as fuck."
"I hope you die from it."
Bitchboy laughs, throwing his head back and clapping his hands. He always does that whenever he laughs, it's sort of his thing. Tommy wonders when he started to notice that, and he realises that he just does not give a singular shit. "Death isn't an option for me, Tommy. I've never died before, so that just means that I never can. You know, my favourite thing about this place is the death threats that come along with it," Bitchboy pauses, sitting up a little straighter, going quiet for a second. "Customer, Tommy." He points his finger to the door, and a second later, Tommy hears the signature bell ring that alerts him to the presence of another person.
The man that walks in has pink hair and looks like he would rather be anywhere but here, which Tommy can very easily relate to. He looks exhausted, like he's simultaneously just woken up from a ten year nap and hasn't slept in fifty years. The man wanders over to the counter, and Tommy swears to god that he nearly collapses onto the ground. "What..can I get you?" Tommy asks, trying his best to stand a little taller, trying to keep the slight concern out of his voice. He doesn't really care that much, but if someone dies in the shop, then he's going to have to deal with it. He really doesn't want to deal with that. He's really not paid enough for that.
"Black coffee," the man drones, closing his eyes for a second. "Twenty espresso shots."
Tommy might not know that much about coffee, but he knows that twenty fucking espresso shots would be the same as getting shot thirty times in the chest.
Give or take.
"I think that's actually illegal," Tommy blinks, raising an eyebrow. "I don't think I can legally, like, give you twenty espresso shots. I'm pretty sure that I might, like.." he pauses, tapping his foot against the ground, a little more concerned now than he was a few seconds ago. "I think I'd get fired from that? 'Cause I think that's enough to kill a full grown bear, dude."
The man stares at him. "Customer is always right."
Tommy looks back at him, leaning back on his heels. "I'm convinced that you will die," Tommy tells the man, narrowing his eyes. "And then I will get fired, and then I don't get my paycheck. How about..three? Can we settle for three?" The man closes his eyes, looking genuinely sad that Tommy isn't going to let him practically fucking die from coffee.
"Five."
"That's.." Tommy breathes out, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. That's fifteen less than the original request, and Tommy's fairly certain that that's the best he's going to get. "Fine, five. Name?"
"Don't have one, just need coffee."
And that makes two people who refuse to tell Tommy their fucking names. He doesn't understand why it's so goddamn difficult to just give up a name, even a fake one, but whatever. Whatever, he doesn't get paid enough for this fucking bullshit, he really doesn't. He turns away from the man, who he has labeled as "Pleasegethelp", wondering if he'll be able to tell if Tommy puts in five espresso shots or not. Maybe Tommy should just give him the original amount.
It really would make his life so much easier, he thinks.
With a sigh, Tommy turns away to go and do his job. Though he thinks he would prefer any other job over this one. "Don't forget the orange dye!" Bitchboy calls out to him, his voice fading as Tommy moves further away. Tommy narrows his eyes, resisting the urge to turn back around and beat the everloving shit out of the first man. One day, Tommy thinks to himself, he'll stop caring about his paycheck and go absolutely feral. God, he hates customer service so much. He hasn't even had a stereotypical awful person, he's just had two people who are entirely different breeds of human beings. It's bullshit, he thinks, it's such bullshit. Tommy looks over his shoulder, locking eyes with Bitchboy, who grins so widely at him that Tommy wants to punch him in the throat even more. Bitchboy raises two fingers to his forehead and mock salutes, and Tommy wonders why the fuck he hasn't gotten a raise yet.
"Tubbo," Tommy complains, locking eyes with his coworker. "I am going to beat two people to death very soon," he informs his friend, motioning vaguely back over to where Bitchboy and Pleasegethelp stand. "This fucker asked for twenty espresso shots, Tubbo. Twenty! Am I even legally allowed to give him that much?" Tommy throws his head back, wishing to god that he'd get his paycheck sooner. "I swear to god, Tubbo, I am going to quit this job and become a hitman, and once I become a hitman, Tubbo, you don't want to know what I'm gonna do."
Tubbo sighs, sounding tired. "What did he order?"
"Black coffee with twenty espresso shots," Tommy relays. "I convinced him to go down to five, but that's only 'cause of my extremely charming personality. I am very charismatic. People love me. Every single person I have ever met ever very often tells me how cool and charming and convincing I am," Tommy tells him, being entirely honest. "Including you. But you don't say it often enough, which I think is just bullshit considering that I am just so cool and charming and convincing, and I think you should tell me more because if you don't I might just get rage married, and you really don't want to know what happens when I get rage married, Tubbo. Bad things happen when I get rage married. Very, very bad th-" Tommy pauses when Tubbo holds a cup in front of his face. "That took way longer than it should have."
"Fuck off," Tubbo laughs, waving a hand. "Go and bother someone else, I've got homework to do." So Tommy fucks off, wandering back out to the counter. He spots the other man, raising an eyebrow at him. He locks eyes with Pleasegethelp, setting his cup of coffee on the counter.
"I'm not going over there to give you your fucking coffee," Tommy informs him, crossing his arms. "You can either come here, or I'm going to start sayin' shit. Up to you."
Pleasegethelp smiles at him, just a little, and Tommy watches as he stands up and shuffles over to the front desk, setting the money on the counter. "Mm," the man nods at him, taking his coffee. "Thanks." Then he's gone, wandering out the door, still looking exhausted.
Tommy sighs, wondering why the fuck he puts up with this.
For the paycheck, he reminds himself. For the paycheck.
It turns out that Bitchboy and Pleasegethelp have names.
It turns out that those names are Wilbur Soot and Technoblade.
Tommy thinks that he prefers Bitchboy and Pleasegethelp. He'd like to think that he's got a real talent for nicknames.
Wilbur is a theatre kid, he's learnt that much. He's a theatre kid who doesn't even seem to touch his fucking coffee half of the time that he comes here, which just makes Tommy confused. He's loud and annoying and Tommy wishes to god that he could just start beating the shit out of him, but he knows that he'd be fired, so he holds himself back. Wilbur taunts him nearly constantly, his tone always mocking, his eyes always bright. He's a fucking prick, and Tommy really does wish that he could just start punching him, but then he wouldn't be paid, and Tommy really only does it for the paycheck, anyways. As much as he hates to admit it, and he'll only ever admit it in the confines on his mind, Wilbur is funny. He's snarky and a smartass with good comebacks and a grin that's contagious, a laugh that's even more so.
Tommy still hates him. Tommy still really does want to punch him in the throat. But Tommy can want to kill him and also think that some of his jokes aren't complete shit, those are two things that can coexist, he's decided. And since he's the one who's decided it, that very obviously makes it right. Obviously.
Technoblade, otherwise known as just Techno, is constantly exhausted and he doesn't bother to even try and hide it. He's an English major or something dumb like that, who the fuck pays thousands of dollars to be forced to read Shakespeare?, and he's only recently started to become a regular. Techno drinks black coffee and black coffee only, and every single time that that motherfucker leaves the shop, Tommy has to tell Tubbo that they're out of sugar, creamer, and every other fucking thing. Techno tends to pour as much sugar as he can into his coffee, which is all of it, and then he just leaves, which is bullshit. Techno still hasn't stopped asking him for multiple shots of espresso, even though Tommy has made up twenty different laws explaining how it's illegal, he just does not stop. Which Tommy would be impressed by, had he not been so stubborn with no one else but Tommy. Tommy doesn't know what it is about him or his personality that attracts people to him like fucking moths, but it's something.
Wilbur and Techno are regulars, and they have been for about a month now, give or take. Tommy hasn't really been paying attention - time is a concept and a myth and entirely unimportant, anyways. He's noticed that they've started to talk to each other, which he hates more than he thinks he could ever actually articulate. Two of his worst nightmares are starting to communicate, and Tommy swears to god that they're just doing it to make him nervous. The more that they talk to each other, the more that they might get the idea in their heads that they can make Tommy's already difficult job even worse, and he swears to god that if they do that, he's just going to give himself thirty espresso shots and wait.
Tommy sighs softly as he leans against the counter, half slumped over, his knees nearly touching the ground. He rests his head on the counter, covering his face with his arms as he peers out at the two men who sit at the tables across from him. Tommy closes his eyes, letting himself just half-stand there, wondering why he decided that out of all things, getting a job at a coffee shop would be a good idea. He doesn't even fucking like coffee. The smell of it makes him want to throw up, and he isn't sure why the fuck he decided to do this in particular. Probably for the paycheck, he thinks to himself. Everything that he does is for his paycheck. "You're slacking on the job, TommyInnit."
"Fuck off, bitch," Tommy waves a hand, far too tired to actually give a shit about what Wilbur's telling him. Not like he gives a shit about what Wilbur tells him even when he isn't tired. "I'm going to kill you in your sleep."
"You don't even know where I live," Wilbur laughs, his laugh far too sing-songy for Tommy's liking. Wilbur is far too Wilbur for Tommy's liking. He doesn't think that there's an accurate word for Wilbur other than that he's just Wilbur. His personality is just Wilbur, and it just makes sense. Tommy hates that he's figured that out. He hates Wilbur even more. At least Techno doesn't constantly bother him all of the time. Even though Techno shows up nearly everyday and argues with him for two hundred shots of espresso, he's still not nearly as bad as Wilbur. Tommy really does think that no one can be as bad as Wilbur. "Come on then, gremlin child. Hunt me down," Tommy peers up at him, watching as Wilbur's face twists into a grin. "Little baby man."
Tommy blinks.
His paycheck is not worth the fact that he has to constantly hear Wilbur fucking open his stupid mouth and say shit. He sighs, burying his head in his arms, wondering if he'd still get paid even if he did kill one of their regulars.
Life, Tommy learns, gets both significantly easier and harder at the exact same time, and he really doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about that. Wilbur is annoying - he always is, he gets progressively worse over time. Techno is just exhausted, but that doesn't mean that he's not a fucking dickhead either way. Tommy gets used to it, he gets used to their stupid little routine that he thinks he hates more than anything else in the entire world, because it's such bullshit. Wilbur comes in every day and orders a coffee, which Tommy swears to god he doesn't even drink, sits down in his usual spot with his laptop, and then he'll start to torment Tommy after about three minutes. The more bored that Wilbur is, the more that Tommy mentally prepares himself to get bullied on that specific day. He wouldn't call it bullying, no - it's more like fucking purgatory, he thinks. Techno comes in on Wednesdays, Fridays, and over the weekends, and he always asks for thirty shots of espresso, every single time, without hesitation. At first, Tommy was reluctant, but now he thinks that he'd like to make Techno's coffees himself, just so he can put in those thirty shots.
It would be funny, Tommy thinks. It would be very funny.
It's even worse when the two of them are together - Techno enables Wilbur so fucking badly, and Wilbur doubles his energy for the both of them, since Techno always looks like he's about three steps away from literally dying. Techno is monotone in the way that he teases Tommy, not even blinking as he calls him a child, or tells him stupid jokes that aren't even funny. Wilbur is just loud and annoying, he's annoying in general, and has an extremely punchable face, but then Tommy wouldn't get his paycheck, and that's the only reason he's doing this still. Admittedly, there was this one time where Wilbur missed a day, and Techno missed that day, too, and Tommy was sort of concerned. But not really, it was a nice break from the normal purgatory he's put through every single day that he sees them, but it was still..different. A bit too calm, a bit too quiet. It wasn't lively, the entire shop felt silent and still, and Tommy didn't like that very much. He thinks that he's just gotten used to the constant tormenting taunts of Wilbur and Techno, and not hearing their stupid voices in his ears was just..weird. Different. Maybe a bad kind of different, he's not sure.
Tommy thinks, that if he ignores the way his head desperately tries to get him to not think it, that he considers Wilbur and Techno to be sort of like his older brothers. He narrows his eyes, scowling down at the ground as he clears his mind of those thoughts, focusing on his paycheck that he'll be getting at the end of the week instead. Tommy snaps his head up when he hears the bell ring, a faint smile on his lips when he sees Wilbur wander into the shop, his bag slung against his arm. "Morning, bitch," Tommy calls out, resting his head on his hand, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. It's far too early for him to be awake. He thinks he'd trade his left leg to be able to go back to sleep. "What the fuck do you want this time?" Wilbur laughs, bright and happy, just like he always does. Ever since Tommy met him, ever since Tommy sa that fucking bastard for the first time, the first thing he noticed was how Wilbur's nearly always smiling. He's nearly always happy and laughing, his eyes bright. It's admirable, sort of.
"Pumpkin spice latte."
"It's the middle of fucking February."
Wilbur grins at him, beaming so widely that Tommy swears to god his face is going to stick like that. "Please? For me?" Tommy stares at him, entirely unimpressed with the man in front of him. "You're a bitch, TommyInnit. An absolute bitch," Wilbur heaves a sigh, running a hand through his hair, far too dramatically. "Fine. What's the least expensive thing?"
"For you to leave the shop and never come back," Tommy deadpans. "That's extremely cheap. Do it." Wilbur sighs.
"No. Can't do, Tommy. Can't do that. I'm actually legally obligated to come here every day," Wilbur grins at him. "Feel free to just get me something. Surprise me," he laughs, ducking his head. "I'll pay for it."
"I'm going to beat you to death and rob you of your money," Tommy tells him, turning away from the counter to go and bother Tubbo. "I swear to god, Wilby-"
The entire world seems to crash and burn around him as he realises what he's said, and it only gets worse when he realises that Wilbur's realised what he said.
Fuck.
Tommy really does, honest to god, think that the world is simply against him. It would make sense.
"Did you just- did you just call me Wilby?" Wilbur's voice is so bright, he sounds so happy, and Tommy wants nothing more than to punch him in the face. Repeatedly. With a knife. "Did you just call me Wilby, Tommy? You did, you called me Wilby!"
"I did not," Tommy argues, narrowing his eyes sharply at the man in front of him. "Fuck you, dickhead! I did not call you Wilby, I didn't call you Wilby! Wilby- fuck!" Tommy is going to do a lot of illegal things, crimes, and he's going to commit all of those crimes because of Wilbur, he swears it to fucking god. "Bitch! Bitch! Dickhead, dickhead! Prick, asshole, fucker, you-"
"It's okay, Tommy," Wilbur giggles, and Tommy finds himself slowly reaching for the nearest sharp object in sight. "You can call me Wilby if you want."
"I want you dead," Tommy says. "I am going to kill you and bury your body underneath the floorboards. Fuck you."
Wilbur beams at him. "Okay, Tommy. Love you, too. Anyways, I'm going to go sit down now," he jerks his thumb over to point where he normally sits. "Have fun figuring out what to poison me with this time."
And then he's strutting off to his normal spot, and Tommy finds himself smiling a little, beaming even more when he hears that stupid fucking bell ring at exactly 11:02, followed by a soft, shaky, bruh.
Maybe he does this stupid fucking job for just a little more than his paycheck. Maybe.
Tommy is going to quit his job, mostly just because he really, really needs time. He needs the time to go to university, and having a job is going to get in the way of that. He breathes out as he waits for Wilbur and Techno to show up, shifting back and forth on his feet as he nervously awaits to hear the bell ring above the door. Tommy glances over his shoulder, catching Tubbo's eye for a second. "You good over there, boss man?" Tubbo asks, raising an eyebrow up. "You look like shit."
"Thanks," Tommy snorts, a smile settling on his face. "I'm going to quit today. I don't have the time anymore, I want to go to uni," he sighs. "I'm sure you understand, Tubbster."
"Fuck off," Tubbo laughs, rolling his eyes at him. "Yeah, I get that. You gonna tell your older brothers that?"
Tommy pauses. "My whats? I'm an only child." Tubbo grins at him, looking back down at his phone a few seconds later.
"Sure, maybe legally or whatever. Wilbur and Techno, they're your older brothers. Not by blood, but they just are. No way you haven't figured that out," Tubbo looks back up at him. "They're your older brothers. You've got to say goodbye to them at least once."
"I'm not saying goodbye," Tommy tells him. "I'm going to get their security information and steal their money."
"Mm," Tubbo agrees, "good plan. I'd still say goodbye. Maybe get their Discords, or something like that? Speaking of that, fucking answer me back, prick. I've been waiting for an hour." Tommy snorts, grinning a little as he flips off Tubbo, leaning back on the counter in front of him, waiting for that stupid bell to ring. Waiting for those two stupid idiots to walk in through the door. He waits for what feels like years, and he's pretty fucking sure that he's going to just die of old age, but the bell does ring - twice.
Wilbur walks in, immediately slams the door shut on Techno, and then skitters off to his spot, grinning and laughing like a dumbass. Techno sighs and opens the door, his eyes tired but bright, smiling as he follows after Wilbur, glancing up at Tommy with happy eyes.
God, they're so fucking dumb.
God, Tommy has two fucking dumb older brothers.
"Tommy!" Wilbur beams, clapping his hands together as he makes his way up to the counter, resting his arms on it. "I want the worst thing that you can make. I want it to be poisoned. Hi, Tubbo-"
"-hi, Wilbur-"
"-and I want it to kill me. And also, Technoblade wants the same thing." Techno sighs.
"He does not want the same thing."
"He should stop talking in the first person," Wilbur teases. "Also, I still want that orange dye. Pissed off that you haven't gotten me that," Wilbur grins at him. "Are we all set for today's poison?"
Tommy breathes in. "I'm quitting. Seriously, I'm- I'm being serious. I'm quitting."
Wilbur stares at him, his eyebrows furrowing together, concern very, very apparent on his face. Techno shifts on his feet next to him, mouth slightly agape.
"What? Why?"
"I want to go to uni," Tommy laughs, ducking his head. "But I'm not- I'm sort of like a cockroach, you know?" He grins, pulling out his phone from his pocket. "You guys got Discord, right?" Tommy can't believe the looks of relief that Techno and Wilbur give him, feeling a sort of warmth in his chest. "What? You really fucking thought you could shake me off? I'm like a goddamn cockroach! Cock of the roach, roach cock!" Wilbur sighs.
"Do not say that, you stupid, insolent child. Jesus fucking Christ," he's grinning while he says it, so Tommy isn't really all that concerned if he means it or not. "Which university are you going to? Have you decided?"
"Oh," Tommy shrugs, "just the one up on the hill past here, a little eas-"
Wilbur's face splits into a grin, and he watches as Techno's does the same.
"That's the university I go to."
"Same here," Techno grins. "I go there, too. That's my college."
Tommy blinks. "So I really just can't fucking escape you no matter what I do?" He grins, feeling even happier than he had a couple of seconds before. He trades Discords with Wilbur and Techno, getting both of their phone numbers too, just in case. "You know, I feel like this could have been a lot better for me if I just didn't tell you I was leaving."
"We would have found you," Wilbur tells him. "If you're going to the same uni as me and Techno, there's no way in hell we wouldn't have seen you. You're incredibly loud and awful and terrible and annoying and I hate you, so I think it would be pretty easy for me to scope you out."
"True," Techno agrees. "You're also very loud all of the time, and I think that everyone would know of your existence about three minutes into you bein' there. It would be hell, and it's goin' to be hell. I'm goin' to drop out and become a Minecraft youtuber, I think that's goin' to be my best bet."
Tommy grins, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, fuck all of you. I hope you all die," he laughs, moving past the counter. "I'll talk to you pricks later, alrigh-"
"What, you think you can get rid of me?" Wilbur snorts, moving with him to the door. "No way in hell. Come on, little baby man. I'll give you a tour of campus."
"I'm going to stab you in the fucking neck, Will." Wilbur beams at him.
"Okay, TommyInnit. Come on, Technoblade. I want to make Tommy's life a living hell for a couple of hours."
Tommy grins as he walks out the door with his two sort of older brothers, waving goodbye to Tubbo as he trails after Wilbur and Techno.
He's really, really glad that they got to meet each other. He's really, really happy that they managed to find each other and make a sort of shitty little family. It's nice.
Tommy thinks that maybe he wasn't really doing it for the paycheck.
Maybe he was just doing it for Wilbur and Techno.
And as he walks out into the open area with Wilbur and Techno by his side, Tommy knows that's the truth. He never really did it for the paycheck, he did it because he fucking loved seeing Wilbur and Techno, he loved talking with them, and he still does. Tommy smiles as he walks, happiness settling in his chest.
Things really are working out in the best possible way for him.