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Tommy's talked himself out of it multiple times, telling himself that he's not touch-starved, he's just uncomfortable in his body like every other teenage boy going through puberty. It's not like he's not given physical affection, his mother sometimes wraps him in hugs after depressing things happened, like when his great grandma passed, or when she found him having a panic attack on his bed because of recent drama on Twitter. She's not the type to random pepper kisses onto his cheeks and to wrap his shoulders with her slim arm and to sway them to whatever music is being played in the kitchen. His dad is similar in that way; he’s more occasional hair ruffles and shoulder squeezes, and he never holds onto him for long, so regularly Tommy feels guilt building in his stomach because he wants more. Tommy wants hugs almost every day, to be wrapped up in a warm blanket while kisses are peppered onto his forehead, legs placed on laps and reassuring hand squeezes, and most embarrassingly he just wants to be held, and he hates how much shame bubbles violently in his stomach because of this want. His parents are enough, he knows that, they tell him they love him and give him presents occasionally and let him see his friends even if they're a group of middle-aged streamers. They tell him all the time they adore him, that they're proud of him, but he can't help but feel doubt in the absence of a side-hug or a kiss on the temple.
He shouldn't be asking that of them, to change how they show their love to accommodate for the selfish part of him that loves hugs and kisses and stays awake at night thinking about why he's so broken, why he needs that more to survive, to feel okay; to feel loved. His parents don't need it, so why should he?
For a while he pushed it down, hiding that he desperately wanted to reach out and hug Freddie, to cuddle into Eryn's side during a movie night, and it was even worse when he initially met Wilbur, a man he had only known for a number of months but he trusted implicitly, and Tommy had gotten emotionally attached so quickly that he couldn't stop referring to the taller man as his brother when he talked about him with Toby after their first few streams of SMPEarth together, after they became the server authority together; after he sat with him as he continued to gussy up his land bridge. He just made Tommy feel comfortable, protected in the way he so desperately wanted, and if he sometimes spent nights thinking about what hugging him felt like, his long arms wrapping around Tommy and his chin on-top of the boy's head as his button nose is pushed against the older man's neck; that's for him to know and nobody else to ever find out. He tried to hide it when they interacted, that he wanted that affection, that he desperately wants to be with Wilbur and to feel what it’s like for him to chuckle into his ear, wrapped underneath his arm as they watch a movie together, to lean against him when he’s tired, to scream along to music in Wilbur’s car; that he wanted to be someone more to Wilbur than just a kid he streams with. Maybe it was just that he was bad at making friends, Toby being down south and sometimes Freddie and Eryn being busy with family things, Jack being far away as well, his parents being physically distant that sometimes he just needed someone to keep him distracted from that loneliness.
Wilbur was that person who he could call whenever, no matter how harsh the bit he had done in the day, he’d always answer a call with a soft, “Hello, Tommy,” and the boy could feel content with the way his older brother’s voice would cradle him into slumber, and how after a particularly stressful day he’d play Terraria with him, or they’d jump into a bedwars lobby together. Tommy was never particularly used to special treatment, especially with his peers, considering they were all kids of the same age, and they had other friends outside of him. That is to say, he’s not used to such blatant favoritism by an older figure; being an only child, he dealt with his parents adoration, but he was never a choice, he was just usually the only one. So, he didn’t understand how to deal with Wilbur’s actions, his positive words when he’s offline to other content creators, allowing him to join him in being an authority of the United Nations of SMPEarth, his “the world’s not ready for TommyInnit”, his joke about the glasses as they sat together at breakfast, his comparison to his favorite Pokémon and making a digital reminder of it in his friend discord server, his music that he would exclusively share with him instead of others, to right now when Wilbur was giving him little bits of positive affirmations about the rides when the camera was off.
Tommy had to hide how happy it made him, how much he loved being the center of Wilbur’s attention, because while almost two years of friendship and he was still the one he chose above others. The fact made him proud, his chest warm and fuzzy, and he was so happy, but trying to push down the pieces of him that jumped whenever they knock against each other because he wants to reach out and touch him, to be held by his brother because the rides were so terrifying. Wilbur wasn’t good about such touches, moving away so quickly like it burnt him in the past, and maybe today it was different, because almost two years of build up culminated when Wilbur finally hugged him, and a part of him is angry it was for a fucking stupid bit in a vlog.
They'd just gotten off the phone with Sarah, his friend from college who was down to be in one of his videos, and they hadn't really discussed what would happen after she said her lines, but Tommy knew how to play up the desolate reaction, but he didn't realize Wilbur would drape himself over him, holding him loosely in his warm arms, and he closes his eyes and feels years of want, guilt, shame, and longing wash over him like a tsunami, and he almost starts crying as Wilbur holds him, and he has to close his eyes, scrunching them tightly to stop the tears from falling, and he can barely hear Phil laugh, congratulating them on a good take, because Wilbur is still holding him and Tommy can't find it in himself to move, to pull away from the smell of campfire wood, of laundry detergent and a small dash of cologne. If he were to attempt to separate from the warmth that's starting to settle over him as they stay there, attached to each other like they've finally realized what's been building for months since the first meetup on Brighton beach, since they saw each other at Vikk's and spent the rest of the day watching movies; that he'd feel that slow cracking become a crescendo of destruction that with cause tears and snot and to brokenly sob into Wilbur. "Mate, are you guys good?" Phil's voice finally interrupts the bubble that had quickly replaced the air around them, and Tommy pulls away quickly, wiping any of the tears that escaped through his shut eyes and ignores the frown that plays across Wilbur's lips. He can't bear to look at them, without feeling that same burning start to boil in his stomach; telling him he messed up, Wilbur's not like him, he doesn't want the hugs and cuddling and the hand-holding that Tommy desperately craves; Tommy was stupid and took a bit too far. He wanted that more that he’s been deprived of his whole entire life, but Wilbur didn’t need that.
"Let's just leave," he says, turning towards the entrance path and starts to stomp down the cobbled road and ignoring that they had to practically chase him down, and they have the quick trip to Wilbur's car through the parking lot, the streetlamp number emblazoned in Tommy's mind, and he taps his foot, waiting for Wilbur to unlock the car so they could go back to the hotel and forget that this ever happened, that he felt content to stay in Wilbur's arms for the rest of his life, to let the contentedness sit over him as he finally was getting a fraction of what he desired, of what he longed for.
He slips into the back of Wilbur's car, slamming the door shut and instead busying himself with his phone, watching a random live stream from one of their friends through the shitty tangled headphones he found in his pocket, and ignoring the look Wilbur and Phil share as they look back at him for a moment, "I'll talk to him," Wilbur says, not meeting Phil's eyes, and the older man sighs, "You need to work it out, but it won't be too hard the kid loves you more than everyone," and he studies his friend, "It's not just him to fix something," and Wilbur scoffs, "What's that supposed to mean, Phil?" He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to glare at Phil, "Mate, you were both crying," he reasons, trying to not push the man further, noticing the white of his knuckles on the grip of the wheel. Wilbur sighs, moving back his left hand to scratch his cheek for a moment before returning it to the leather exterior of the metal circle, "I- I just- he's too good for me, y'know? He deals with my bullshit constantly, he-" Wilbur stops, the traffic light turns green and he pushes his foot onto the gas, not finishing his statement, instead taking to tapping the wheel intermittently and never meeting Phil’s gaze.
They car is tense, the kid in the back trying desperately to ignore that he blamed himself for ruining the day with his feelings, and he needed to slip back into his streaming persona, but he just couldn’t after knowing what it’s like to be held by Wilbur, to know that what he had thought about was so utterly correct. His brother was warm, shoulders just broad enough to be able to allow his arms to surround him in the simmering nerves of his stomach because he doesn’t know if it’s okay for him to enjoy the physical touch. Wilbur was always an enigma about that sort of thing, openly hugging Phil but not anyone else; dragging David by the forearm, but never touching Charlie. Tommy was confused about where he stood, about if it would be okay to ask him for that more; for hugs and forehead kisses and holding him tightly and allowing him to use his chest as a pillow and his lap as a footrest. He doesn’t know if Wilbur would be okay with it, no matter how much Tommy is his favorite.
Wilbur turns right into the parking lot of the hotel, "Let's just go inside." Tommy’s taken out of his head by the slow break into the parking spot, and he pulls out his headphones and winds them around his phone, getting out of the car and waiting for his older counterparts to do so as well.
It's an awkward few minutes as they walk up to their rooms, Tommy still giving them the cold shoulder, taking out his hotel keycard and swiping into his room before they can even wish him a goodnight, and Wilbur sulks into his and Phil's shared room, laying on his bed and staring at the door dividing their room from Tommy's. "Go talk to him," Phil ushers, and Wilbur stares at him for a moment, "But what if he doesn't-"
"He will," Phil interrupts, "He loves you, Will, this is just a short bump in the road." He nods, "Okay, I- I'll go talk to him," standing and facing the door, hand gripped on the knob, "Toms, can I come in?"
The boy doesn’t give him a big indicator of consent, but he can hear the lock click and the knob fully turns in. Tommy is sat on the edge of his bed, fluffy pajama pants covered in one of his bigger sweatshirts, and Wilbur feels his heart break in several pieces. His boy has tears falling down his cheeks, eyes slightly blood-shot, and he smiles. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, the pet name rolling off his tongue much easier than it should’ve, but he supposes it makes sense. He’s always viewed Tommy as his sort-of baby bird, a younger person he took under his wing as a fledgling and helped raise into greatness. Always his kin, always his Tommy. He sits down next the boy, keeping a small amount of distance between them as to not make his boy uncomfortable. “Do you wanna talk about what happened today?” He gets a head shake in response, “I know you probably don’t want to, sweetheart, but we should,” he inches his hand towards Tommy’s, slowly taking the smaller in his larger appendage, and he slowly starts to rub circles around his thumb joint. “We can stop when it gets too much, okay? We’ll watch some CaptainSparklez or Dream and decompress, yeah?”
Tommy nods, and Wilbur takes that as a go ahead for his first question, “Was the crying a good or bad thing?” His brother looks at him and shrugs, “Did I hurt you?” Tommy shakes his head vigorously, squeezing Wilbur’s hand as a way to soothe the growing anxiety in his chest. “Did I make you uncomfortable? I know we didn’t talk about it beforehand,” He asks, and he watches as his brother shakes his head again, and Wilbur is starting to build together the puzzle pieces. “Was that- No, uhm, when was the last time someone hugged you?”
It’s obviously not the question that Tommy was expecting, his blue eyes widening and tears slowly falling once again, “When- When my great grandma died,” his boy stutters out, looking at the ground in shame. “That was years ago, sweetheart,” Wilbur states, remembering Tommy telling him about it during one of their late night talks, because it was the reason his mother planted peonies in their garden. “Do you like hugs, baby?” Tommy nods, using his free hand to wipe the slick parts of his face. “Oh, babylove, you-“ he pauses, pulling Tommy into his side, moving the boy’s legs onto his lap, and he starts rocking them slightly. “Why am I like this, Wilby?” Tommy cries into his chest, voice cracking and a whine breaking into the end of his question.
“You’re touch-starved, sweetheart,” Wilbur answers into his hair, “You need that physical assurance of love, Tom, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I want it to stop, Bur, I can’t do anything- I want all of it so badly, but I can’t because they’re not like me, they don’t need it,” Tommy blubbers into his Wilbur’s shirt, gripping the back of the tan button-up and shaking intensely. “Tom, I’m just like you,” he says, nonchalantly, like he hasn’t just shifted Tommy’s world off it’s axis. “You-“ He squeaks, “You need- You-“
Wilbur just chuckles, brushing the hair off of Tommy’s forehead and leaving a small peck on his slightly sweaty skin, “I didn’t know if you were the same, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
His boy just shakes his head against Wilbur’s chest, “Never, Wilbs, I thought you wouldn’t want to...” he stops him, embarrassment flooding his body, shame sprouting deep in his stomach. “Aw, sweetheart, I promise you, I’d love to give you hugs, and forehead kisses, and to hold you, I just didn’t- I didn’t want to make you feel unsafe or discontent.” His brother just shakes his head again, “Never, ‘ilby, I want to, you make me feel nice, want to make sure you feel how much I love you, how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Wilbur just hums, “I love you, baby, so much.”