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Tommy's been alive again for 4 months, 29 days, and 11 hours. Not that he's counting. There's nothing quite like dying to make one really take note of every day moving forward, and how significant they can be. It took him a little time to realize, but now he finds himself keeping track of every day and how he's spending them. He doesn't want to take living for granted like before.
In the last 4 months he's attempted self-run exposure therapy, which was a failure. Isolating, a failure thanks to Tubbo. Revenge, failure thanks to Dream. Actual therapy, tentative success. Puffy says you "can't win" at therapy, so he figures he should keep going.
In the last 3 weeks he's attempted rebuilding his home for the umpteenth time, a success to him. Tubbo said it looks like shit, but what does he know? Renovating the server, success in Tommy's eyes, a few people say otherwise. Telling Wilbur no, failure. No surprise there.
In the last 11 hours he's attempted getting bonding time with Tubbo, success. Ranboo took Michael to visit Phil and gave them some time alone. Talking about why he dropped in for a surprise visit, failure, but Puffy's told him some things take a few tries. Gardening, partial failure. He started out helping, but his knees ached and he decided to just sit back and watch Tubbo instead.
Which leads him to now. 4 months, 29 days, and 11 hours into his return to the world of the living, and he's spending it sitting on Tubbo's patio chair and listening to the ram ramble on about the flowers he's planting and what each of them will look like. He's trying to be good, to stay focused and take in this apparently important flower knowledge but something catches his eye.
Tubbo's hair is shining. At first Tommy thinks he's seeing things, wouldn't be the first time it's happened to him. He rubs his eyes, blinking hard before looking at the ram again. He thinks maybe he got rid of it, but then the sun catches Tubbo and there it is again. Sparkling, just in certain spots, but enough for Tommy to genuinely question if the other boy showered in glitter this morning.
"Tubs? What the fuck's going on with your hair?"
Tubbo turns to look at him, pausing in gardening to stare at his best friend. "Not sure what you mean, Tommy. Same as ever. Bit long I guess, but I've kind of been liking that." Tommy huffs, rolling his eyes and getting up from the patio chair to come over.
"Obviously I don't mean the length, I'm asking why it's fucking sparkling like you've got diamond dust sprinkled in it." Before Tubbo could retort he's got his hands in his hair, grabbing his horns and yanking the ram closer so he could inspect it. Tubbo whines in annoyance, the horn-grabbing a familiar habit of Tommy's for years, but he relents and stays still. Up close, nothing seems to be shimmering, so he lets go of one horn to ruffle a hand through the fluffy brown hair.
That's when he notices it. A glint of light catches, and he focuses enough to see... gray. Silvery gray hair. Hairs, technically, because now that he caught sight of one it's like they've all come into focus and he realizes there are tiny streaks of gray all throughout Tubbo's hair. "What the fuck?" He murmurs, Tubbo stiffening at the worried tone.
"What? What is it?" He asks, trying to move his head to look at Tommy's face but he's held still by the one hand still clutching his horn. Tommy's frozen, just staring in shock at the silver gray strands. He lets go after another moment, taking a step back to try and catch Tubbo in the light again, and he does. "Tommy, what?" Tubbo asks again, and Tommy has to focus hard to stop looking at his hair and focus on his face instead.
"You've gone gray, Tubbo! What the fuck is that about?"
"Oh, is that what you're on about?"
"Is that what I'm on about?! Of course it is, not every day you see a seventeen year old with gray hair!" He let out a little laugh of disbelief, running a hand through his own hair and being reminded of the white strip in it as the curls flop back into his face.
"Tommy, it's been like this for months."
The blond stills immediately, brows furrowing. "No it hasn't." He retorts, scowling, Tubbo fixing him with a withering look.
"Yes it has. Is this really the first time you noticed?"
Now he's thinking back, trying to think of a moment he maybe just forgot. There's no way it's been like this that long, it couldn't be. Sometimes he did think Tubbo was sparkling but he thought... Well, that's always been Tubbo to him. A ray of light, of warmth. When did he not shine, in some way?
"Since when?"
"I don't know when exactly, but I noticed it for the first time a little after... after I became president. I'd started growing it out then and it was the first time I'd seen my own hair in ages. Hard to ignore gray hairs when they're right in front of your eyes."
Tommy learned from Puffy not to follow his immediate instinct, which was to ask why Tubbo hadn't been looking at his hair. The pause he gave himself was enough time to put two and two together on his own, just like Puffy told him it would. He remembers how swollen and pink Tubbo's scars had been in the first month or two after Techno blew him up. He can't remember Tubbo looking in a mirror since that first night when he begged Tommy to show him how bad it was.
He wonders how many things Tubbo does to avoid things that remind him of his past, and how similar they are to what Tommy does. For instance, Tommy hasn't eaten potatoes in months. 4 months, 20 days, and some odd hours, to be exact. Not that he's counting. And he avoids the nether as much as possible, too much lava. And when he first noticed the white streak in his hair he'd tried to cut it all out but it just grew back and he learned to live with it. He guesses Tubbo's done the same.
"Fuck, Tubs, how did I not notice? You're aging rapidly before my eyes and I didn't even realize." He groans dramatically, crumpling to the ground to sit next to Tubbo who was still knelt by his flowerbeds. He hugs his knees to his chest, resting his chin on one as he watches Tubbo laugh and get back to what he was doing.
There's silence, for a bit. Just the quiet sound of holes being dug and refilled once they were seeded. The gentle shift of soft dirt, and the methodical pat-pat-pat Tubbo gave each mound once it was refilled. He's got his spade shoved into the dirt, pausing in the middle of digging a new space. Tommy can tell he wants to say something, and a part of him aches to just tell him to spit it out. His inner Puffy reminds him that Tubbo's always been one to speak his mind, he might just need some patience. He stays quiet, and is rewarded when Tubbo continues to dig as he opens his mouth to speak.
"It's funny, in a way. You and Wilbur both have that bit of white hair when you died, and I got gray hair from... just living I guess."
Tommy's heart pangs, in the way only Tubbo seems to make it, and his frown deepens. "Can't decide which of us got the short end of that stick." He replies, only for Tubbo to scoff and cast him a sideways look.
"Stop, of course you did Tommy. You died, I've got nothing on that. A few grays is nothing in comparison to a life."
"Seventeen year old's don't just go gray for no reason, Tubbo! That's stress! That's trauma, anxiety, something! Not like graying early runs in the family, I mean Schlatt wasn't-" He slaps his hands over his mouth but it's too late. Tubbo's shoulders have tensed, and he's staring down at the dirt, mouth fixed in a tight frown. He knows better. He fucking knows better and here he is still fucking up, bringing up one of his best friend's deepest secrets and letting it fly without a second thought. "Tubbo," he starts, moving to crawl over, reaching a hand out as the ram jolts away from his touch. "Tubbo I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mention him."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not."
"I said it's fine, Tommy."
"And I can tell you're lying! Tubbo seriously I-"
"Fine! It's not fine. You're right. My own father worked me to death, literally . Then my adoptive brother blows up our country and leaves me in charge and then I send away the only person who still gave a shit about me because that stupid masked asshole convinced me it was my only choice. Then I worked myself near to death for a country full of people that all ended up deserting or betraying me and what do I have to show for it? A head full of gray hair, an ugly scar, and an adoptive father who finished the job his other son started because he thinks I needed to be taught a lesson."
Tubbo is breathing hard, worn out from yelling, it's not something he's used to doing. Not like Tommy. If he really tried, Tommy is sure he could count on one hand the amount of times he's heard Tubbo yell like that. He never tried counting his own shouts, but he reckons he would lose count within half a day. Tubbo rips off his gardening gloves, tossing them on the ground as he gets to his feet, letting out a heavy sigh.
"I need to use the bathroom." He offers as a half-assed excuse, hurrying into the mansion before Tommy can follow. The blond does anyways, though he's a few steps behind, and by the time he reaches the nearest bathroom Tubbo's already locked himself in. What a friend Tommy's been today. He turns around, putting his back to the door and sliding down to sit on the floor. Time. Puffy said sometimes people need a little time after admitting something hard.
Tommy's not sure how much time he has this life around, but he's willing to give Tubbo as much of it as he needs. He's sitting cross legged, fiddling with a small paper chain Puffy taught him how to make, folding and unfolding it in different ways to keep him busy. He has no clue how much time passes but it's been long enough to make him jump in surprise when he hears Tubbo call out to him. "You out there, Tommy?"
"Yeah. I'm here."
The door opens suddenly and Tommy falls backward, his weight no longer supported. The back of his head meets Tubbo's sock-covered feet and the ram sighs and rolls his eyes at him. "Get up already." There's no heat to his voice, and Tommy sits up fast, turning to see Tubbo sit on the edge of the tub, looking at him. He seems tired. More than he usually does.
"Sorry I blew up at you." The blond opens his mouth to interject but Tubbo holds a hand out to hush him. "No, I mean it. I know you didn't bring up Schlatt on purpose, and I know you weren't trying to push any buttons or whatever. I don't know why I said all that."
Tommy shrugs in reply, getting up and sitting next to the brunette, his hands still fidgeting with the paper. "I think you needed to say it. Seemed like something you'd been holding on to for a while. I get it. Kinda. Reminds me of the stuff I said to Puffy when I first started seeing her."
Tubbo huffed, leaning into Tommy, their shoulders flush to each other. He lays his head on the blonde's shoulder, careful of his horns. He's focused on Tommy's hands, watching as he folds and unfolds the little toy. "You talk about Puffy a lot these days, you know..."
A soft hum is the initial reply, fingers slowing as Tommy thinks of his response. "She's helped me a lot. We... We've been through a lot more than I think most kids our age have, Tubs. And we did most of it alone. She's the first adult I've met in a long time that says she wants to help me and actually is ."
He doesn't get a reply, and he starts fidgeting faster again, silence filling the room aside from the quiet sound of worn paper folding. They sit like that for a few minutes before Tubbo speaks again.
"Do you think she could help me?"
Tommy's hands still for just a moment, before moving again on instinct. He's tried bringing up therapy to Tubbo in different ways for the past couple months, with most of his attempts going ignored. It's the first time he's ever asked himself. Tubbo shifts slightly and Tommy realizes he still hasn't spoken, taking a deep breath as he tries to find the right words.
"I think she could help just about anyone. I could... ask for you? At my appointment next week, if you like?"
He gives Tubbo an out, but he prays he won't take it. Tubbo needs help too. He wants him to heal, for them to heal together.
"That sounds good, thanks."
Tommy replies with a soft 'mhm', not wanting to seem too excited, but the speed at which he's toying with his folding paper gives away his feelings anyways. He leans and lays his head on top of Tubbo’s which is still resting on his shoulder, avoiding his horns with the ease of someone who’s done this same movement hundreds of times before.
Tommy's been alive again for 4 months, 29 days, and 12 hours. Not that he's counting.
In the last hour he's attempted to bring up the idea of therapy to Tubbo.
Success.