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Tubbo catches him right as he's hurriedly twisting a hand around his vines. He woke up to them loosely curled around his waist and fumbled around to get them off without making them longer or adding rainforest flowers to them by accident (which happened once and had his mom all wide-eyed as she tried to figure out how to get them into her living room without them dying.) Now, he's trying to do the exact opposite- getting the vines out on the lawn before anyone wakes.
"Tommy? What are you doing?"
Tommy stops and looks up.
Tubbo is watching him, frowning. He must’ve woken up way before Tommy thought he did, because he doesn’t even look rumpled from sleep, just confused and maybe even a bit concerned. Tommy shifts awkwardly. "Um- just- I don't know. Cleaning up."
Tubbo drifts closer, puts a hand on the glass door handle, and closes it on Tommy gently. He reaches down and brushes a slow hand over Tommy's vines.
"Cleaning up? Why?" He asks. "This is your magic. You don't have to hide it or put it away."
"I just- it's a bit...much, innit?"
"No." Tubbo says, like it's simple. "It's you."
...
Turns out Tommy was right about Ranboo's sleep habits being more than jet lag. He's been in the UK for a month now, most of that with consistent streaming and vlogging, so his jet should be done lagging by now. When Tommy points this out at breakfast, Ranboo huffs amusedly.
"My magic," Ranboo explains, stretching a hand out and opening so his palm is up. There is a soft white glow held there, "is strongest at night. Like Tubbo's is during the day. So all my energy goes to the night, leaving me a bit- lethargic when the sun is out."
Tommy reaches forward and tries to touch the glow. All he ends up feeling is Ranboo's palm lines. When he pulls back the glow is still there, like a muted star, just a bobbing light.
"Wow." Tommy gasps. "That's so cool."
"Am I going to do all the cooking in this fucking house or are one of you going to help?" Tubbo yells from the kitchen.
"You're the one with the kitchen magic!" Tommy yells back. Ranboo grins. "What the hell could we do?"
"Offer moral support!"
Tommy groans and Ranboo closes his fist, letting the light get snuffed out. "My moral isn't feeling very supportive Ranboo- more so destructive."
"What does that even mean?" Ranboo asks, Tommy shakes his head and lets Ranboo pull him into the kitchen against his will. "Come on, before Tubbo outs poison into our pancakes."
...
Their moral support comes in the form of Tubbo teaching them how to infuse a spell into a loaf of baked bread. They watch him shift flour, hands glowing, and measure sugar, eyes shining. They watch him knead the bread gently but firmly, with all his attention.
"Imagine the people you're making it for," he says softly, eyes on the dough. "Imagine the way it feels to have them in your life. Appreciate them for what they bring you."
They make bread together, Tommy laughing and tossing flour at Tubbo and Tubbo leaping across Ranboo to knock Tommy in the gut. Ranboo halfheartedly holds Tubbo back, while making pitying noises at Tommy, who is doubled over, wheezing.
They get their bread in the oven, and all sit on the floor in front of it, legs tangled together, waiting for the ticking timer to end. Being next to Tubbo and pressed up against the oven is like being swallowed by warmth- but somehow it isn't unbearable. It's just comfortable, safe.
"Tell me about your magic," Ranboo says. "I don't understand it."
Tommy, about to tease Tubbo for the fact that they just genuinely baked bread like this was minecraft, stalls. "You- what?"
"I want to know about your magic," Ranboo repeats, "if you- you know- if you felt comfortable telling us."
"Yeah, you've kept it hidden pretty well, boss man," Tubbo says, and Tommy knows him well enough to hear the thread of anger in his voice. He's steady though, because he can tell it's not directed at him. "All I know is that you can grow plants and we've been friends almost two years now."
Tommy guesses that's fair. He's never been much for talking about magic, mainly because no one he's ever been around wanted to or found it interesting enough. He also knew the second he mentioned anything freakish or unnatural, he'd get his clock cleaned by the dickheads at school.
He shrugs. "Not much to tell- I got me plants and I like the outside. Not much more complicated than that."
Tubbo leans closer. "Okay, but, look, Tommy, I can make it warmer or cooler. But, when I focus on the heat of a fire, I can grow it or shrink it. Like, fucking Avatar: The Last Airbender or some crap- it's pretty cool."
"What the hell is an Avatar?" Tommy squints.
"You're joking."
"No?"
"Oh my god," Tubbo says, "I know what we're doing tonight."
"The point that I think Tubbo was trying to make is that his magic branches out into other places," Ranboo explains patiently. "Like mine- star readings and moon phases which tells me a lot about people and their state of emotion, but also old ritualistic magic from books. Runes and carvings."
"Like the kinds with the candles and shit?"
Ranboo nods, half smiling. "If I want to."
"Well I don't do any of that, uh," Tommy pulls his knees to his chest, trying to think. He's never had the space or time to practice his magic, really. He's only ever really done it in his bedroom, or in the greenhouse in secondary school after most people went home for the day. "Um… I'm friends with the wind?"
"The wind?" Tubbo asks, eyes wide. "Wait, really?"
Tommy nods. "Yeah, she's a right prick sometimes too. Real nosy. And worries, like, all of the time. She's like my mum, but she's a gust of wind. Mother wind."
"Mother wind- you- I-" Ranboo blinks. "I don't even think that's a part of your magic. I think you just might have made friends with a God."
Tommy looks up. Tilts his head. "Huh." He grins. "Poggers."
. ..
Before Tommy leaves for the weekend, Tubbo basically makes him curl vines on the wall, and bloom sunflowers through the wood, and unfurl moonblooms on their stream table.
He says, "we'll miss you when you're gone-" then presses his forehead against Tommy's chest. Warmth spreads from the point of contact- a mini sunspot. "Let us have your magic around until you get back."
Ranboo tugs at his shirt as he's growing ferns and ivy and asks for some lavender to help him sleep. And Tubbo directs him to the main house garden to see if he can do anything for the rose bushes. It's thrilling, being able to practice this much magic, and having people who genuinely want him to do it.
Before he leaves, they pull their bread from the oven- Tubbo's is all golden brown, light and fluffy, a buttered loaf of sourdough, while Ranboo's is dark brown, dense and long, evenly crusted all throughout. Tommy's is the odd one out- his brown being speckled with dots of green where he added in fresh rosemary and parsley and thyme.
"Mine's a little fucked." Tommy blurts, cheeks red. "I tried to- I don't know. Do something different."
Tubbo tilts his head, breathes in. "It smells good- like garlic."
"I like garlic," Ranboo goes, leaning over, "Let's cut into it."
Tommy watches warily as they slice the bread and bite into it. There's a pause as they chew thoughtfully, and Tommy's leg jumps up and down nervously.
"O' my god, Tom'y," Tubbo says, mouth full of bread. "T'is is good. S'very tasty."
Ranboo, unlike Tubbo, swallows first before talking. "Tubbo's right- Tommy this is amazing! It tastes like- like- I don't know-"
"Like your magic." Tubbo supplies. "It tastes like the earth and growth and life."
Tommy blinks, feels like he might cry a little. "Sounds like shit, big man."
Tubbo reaches for another slice, shoves it in his mouth. "So f'cking shit. Ranboo, eat another."
…
Tommy goes home glowing happily, with Ranboo's molded rocks tucked in the back of his bag and the feeling like the sun shining directly on him the whole way back.
Only a few days later does Wilbur spam message him with texts asking him to come over soon.
wilbur soot: tommy
wilbur soot: tommy tommy tommy
wilbur soot: TOMMY
tommyinnit: what the fuck
wilbur soot: ask your parents to let you come over
wilbur soot: do it, do it , do it
tommyinnit: what if I said no
wilbur soot: CHILD.
wilbur soot: guess you'll miss the lovejoy rehearsal then
tommyinnit: OKAY IM GOING TO ASK NOW FUCKIN HELL
wilbur soot: :)
That weekend, Tommy is hopping off the train and running at Wilbur, pushed along by the slightly laughing wind into his open arms.
"Wilbur," Tommy crows when Wilbur catches him. He squeezes, grinning into Wil’s army jacket, and Wilbur squeezes back. “Wilbur Soot!”
“[email protected],” Wilbur lets him go, smiling a mile wide. “You made it- was it a good train ride?”
Tommy pulls at the straps of his backpack, rocking on his toes, the wind curving around him. “Yeah, it was pog.” Actually, it was just alright, but not for a reason that he could explain. Tommy’s always preferred car rides, being able to roll down the window and taste the air, see the greenery go by, catch sight of the occasional deer or bird. Trains were closed up tubes of metal- they made Tommy feel a bit trapped after a while. “Are we heading back to yours?”
“We can,” Wilbur starts walking out, weaving through people and Tommy follows close behind. “Or we could stop and get something to eat- maybe some ice cream too.”
Tommy squints. “Are you buttering me up or something?”
“Or something,” Wilbur shrugs, eyes mischievous. “Maybe a good something, but it’s a something nonetheless.”
“Something can’t be none, the, or less.” Tommy says, nose wrinkling. “It can be good though. Just not maybe.”
Wilbur pauses. “...My fucking brain hurts from trying to disipher that sentence. How about I get you chicken nuggets and ice cream and then take you to rehearsal and then I’ll tell you what the something is on the way?”
“Hm...deal.”
…
"No fucking way," Tommy says through a mouthful of chicken nugget. "There's no way I'm doing that."
Wilbur, with his eyes fixed on the road, pulls out a little to try and turn. "Tommy, it would be fun!"
Tommy rolls his eyes and mentally debates throwing a fry at Wilbur stupid face. "No, it would not. A magic museum does not seem fun. Those things are literal money traps. You are paying for scams. I doubt they'll have any type of actual magical history there."
"Okay, well, how would you know- you're like twelve." Wilbur argues.
Tommy splutters. "I'm seventeen! And what does age have to do with it? I know this just the same way I know the magic infused biscuits that I ate on Jack’s stream weren’t real.”
“You’ve eaten real magic infused food before?” Wilbur asks, raising an eyebrow at Tommy.
Tommy hesitates, thinking of the golden sweet coldness of a summer day’s ice cream, of the richness of steaming soup, of the fresh crunch of a fluffy slice of buttered bread. He thinks of Tubbo’s hands curling around a warmed metal spoon and the way chocolate smears on Ranboo’s cheeks as he eats cookies. He thinks of closing his eyes and folding dough as he holds fast to the love he has of the people he’s come to trust.
“I- I think so,” He says, hoping Wilbur doesn’t ask for details.
“Yeah? Dude, that’s fucking cool,” Wilbur sighs, “I’d love to try some magic- I bet it tastes spicy. Or, no, I heard that it tastes different to everyone, doesn’t it? Depending on how you’re feeling.”
“Well..." Tommy starts hesitantly. "From what I've heard, it’s like, based on the spell used, right? So some of them make the food as sweet as the person who’s eating it, some make it keep someone’s health intact, some can make a person feel woozy or sleepy. It all depends on what the person cooking wants to see."
“Huh,” Wilbur says, glancing at Tommy. He doesn't seem perturbed by Tommy rambling,- in fact, he seems even more interested than before. “You know a lot about this stuff. Are your parents or grandparents magic?”
Tommy can’t help the way his nose wrinkles. His grandparents would turn inside out before engaging in anything magic related. “No, I- I just know things. I’m fucking smart.”
Wilbur huffs a laugh. “Yeah, yeah you are. Okay Toms. Little knowledge boy."
Tommy reaches across the console and hits Wilbur.
…
Lovejoy is exactly that- love and joy.
Tommy sits on the carpet with his legs folded and hands tucked firmly under his thighs, looking up at Wilbur, Joe, Mark and Ash. They’re not even being too serious - Wilbur keeps laughing in the middle of lyrics and Ash bounces around as he adds on to their normal basslines- it’s like an improvisation, they’re having fun. It’s a wonder to sit near, to watch unfold before his eyes.
The music makes Tommy’s heart jump, makes him want to get up and spin, makes him feel like flying. It is magic - even if it isn’t. The museum couldn’t possibly hold a candle to this.
“Come on now,” Joe says teasingly when Wilbur skips a couple of notes because he’s laughing too much, “we’re supposed to be giving Tommy a bit of a show.”
Tommy wants to say, this is a show. This is more than enough of a show. It feels like laughter ripping at your insides and jumping up and down because you're too excited to stand still. It feels like tripping and pulling your best friend down with you or running faster than you thought you ever could. It's wonderful and awe-inspiring and almost too much to sit in the presence of.
Wilbur looks down at him, sees the way Tommy is looking up- eyes shining, expression bright like sunflowers- and something in his face turns into cotton. “Tommy’s private concert? Yeah. Alright then- from the top, Taunt. Are you ready?”
…
After the rehearsal, they head down to the park and Wilbur brings his guitar. Ash, Tommy's secret favorite, buys Tommy funnel cake and Wilbur complains, saying that Tommy on sugar is basically comparable to Tommy on speed. To which Ash has to ask, "Wil, you've given Tommy speed before?"
Wilbur splutters incredulously and Tommy laughs so hard the noise echoes off the trees.
They sit in the grass in a little circle and at first Tommy is hesitant but Wilbur starts strumming and Tommy sways closer, laying back in the blades. Wilbur pauses to reach over and brush powdered sugar off Tommy's cheek and the movement is so fond and affectionate that Tommy can't help the way clovers spring up at Wilbur's feet. Thankfully, no one sees them, too busy trying to guess what song Wilbur is back to playing.
The evening is warm and there are crickets chirping and eventually it gets just dark enough for the fireflies to start blinking. Tommy lets his eyes close, eased by the comfortable company and gentle music.
He's tettering on sleep when something pokes at his cheek. Tommy thinks it's Wilbur, but then there's another poke and a tiny chirp. He cracks an eye open, but closes it when he just sees a small sparrow hopping around him. He's resting- not trying to make any friends right now.
The bird doesn't seem to take his dismissive nature to heart, poking at Tommy's curls and then settling there, in his hair, like it's a nest. Oh fine, Tommy thinks, halfheartedly annoyed. Use me as a bed. We'll sleep together then.
"Oh my God," Mark says, "look, Wilbur, look."
The strumming stops and there's pause before Wilbur is gasping lightly, and shuffling, fumbling and then there's a familiar snap- a camera going off. Tommy's eyes squint open at that to see all of Lovejoy watching him with various wide eyed, adoring gazes.
"Wil?" Tommy yawns, "What's wrong?"
"Toms, there's a bird in your hair."
He pauses. This could go...poorly. "Yeah," he says. "I know."
Wilbur blinks. The bird chips- the avian equivalent of sticking his tongue out.
"It's just- like, sitting there man," Joe says slowly. "It's not even bothered."
Tommy gets that feeling again- those nerves, that out-of-place strangeness, that apprehension that is only a step away from fear- he’s on the edge of being caught and he needs to pull it back. He’s been too relaxed, too at ease. People can still be dangerous, even when they’re supposed to love you, Tommy knows that better than anyone.
But then a smile grows over Wilbur’s face. “Tommyinnit, a real life disney princess. Who fucking knew?”
And the moment passes.
Wilbur continues to strum, Ash starts to hum and Tommy sits up, the sparrow fluttering down to perch on his shoulder. Joe steals Wilbur’s phone and takes a couple more pictures, and Mark leans over to offer a finger for the sparrow to peck at. Everything feels hazy- happy, beautiful, soft-edged. It feels...safe here. Almost the way it feels to be tucked between Ranboo and Tubbo on the lawn, or to have Ranboo fall asleep on his shoulder in the warmth of Tubbo’s glow.
Joe prys the guitar from Wilbur and Tommy, in that split second, decides- okay. He scoots over to press closer to Wilbur’s side. Wilbur looks down, grin melting, and curls an arm around his shoulders, tucking him in. Tommy hesitates, then lays his head on Wil’s shoulder. Nothing could touch him here.
“Wil?”
Wilbur hums, content, questioning.
“You remember how you said all you wanted was to meet someone who was magic?” He asks, voice hushed.
“Yeah?”
“Well-” Tommy looks up at his best friend, unable to help giving a cheeky grin. “Hi Wilbur Soot. My name’s Tommy. Tommyinnit.”
Wilbur's brows furrow and he squints. "What? What do you mean?"
"Me," Tommy says less confident now, "I'm- I'm magic."
"You-" Wilbur pauses, then pulls his arm back, dislodging Tommy. Tommy falters a little, nervous. Almost nervous enough to reach back out and grab that arm- beg Wilbur to forget that Tommy's said anything- but all Wilbur does is put the slightest bit of space between them so he can look Tommy in the eyes. "You're magic? Really?"
His tone is excited, still hushed so the rest of his mates can't hear, but the smile that's forming at the mere thought of Tommy being magic makes Tommy feel silly for ever being afraid.
"I am," Tommy nods.
"This isn't some type of bit," Wilbur clarifies, back to squinting suspiciously, causing Tommy to shake his head.
"No bits," Tommy says, "also, this would be a pretty shit bit if it was, so-"
"Oh my God Tommy," Wilbur him off, but it's okay because he's got that look on his face- all wide eyes and smile too big for his cheeks, emanating giddiness and excitement. "Tommy, you're- holy shit."
His excitement is infectious and Tommy swallows down thrilled laughs. "Look, look, let me show you- can I show you?"
"Fuck yeah, yes."
By now, the rest of Lovejoy has definitely caught on to their conversation, and are watching and listening, but Tommy finds that he doesn't mind so much. He knows that Wilbur loves him, and more than that, loves him still- now that he knows what Tommy is. He knows he'll be safe here.
"Okay, okay, um-" Tommy looks around, eyes the sparrow from before, which is currently picking at the last bits of Tommy and Ash's funnel cake. "Here- this bird, I can kind of communicate with them- uh animals, that is, yeah? Hey there buddy."
The bird hops to turn and face him, head cocked. Hi. It hops closer, wings working until it's perched on Tommy's knee. Hi , hi.
"Yes, hello," Tommy snorts. "You're so excited. I think you're the one who's had too much sugar tonight."
Good, the bird chirps. Good. Yummy.
"Holy shit," Wilbur says again, laughing, astonished. "Holy shit."
"Does this mean what I think it means?" Ash asks slowly and Tommy looks up, half preoccupied by Robin the sparrow still hopping up to the top of Tommy's head to get back to nesting.
Tommy thinks he'll say something about Tommy being magic- something about the old stereotypes of witches like salt pyres or evil spells, or maybe he'll say the word magic with a sneer the way his grandparents do, like it's a work of the devil. He's vaguely apprehensive and can see Wilbur out the corner of his eye gearing up to protect.
But-
"Does this mean I gave a bird a sugar high?"
Tommy snorts, nearly choking, hackles lowering.
Later, they're leaving and it's just Tommy and Wilbur. Tommy is practically floating, so happy that it all went well, that he was able to unfold his hands and let fireflies come to him, that he could touch his fingertips to Wilbur's forehead and bloom marigolds in a crown on his curls, that he was able to have Robin the sparrow flap around in circles over their heads with the promise of more funnel cake as a reward.
They're heading to Wilbur's car, but Wilbur stops him before he hops in the passenger seat.
"Hey," He says softly. "Thank you for telling me, Toms. For trusting me. And all my mates. I know you didn't have to, and I know you were nervous- don't try to deny it, I know you- but yeah. I just- thank you."
Tommy flushes and shrugs once, eyes dropping to the curb in embarrassment. "Thank you for not hating me for it."
"I would never." Wilbur says firmly, and Tommy looks back up at him, awed by the fierce love in his eyes. "I would never." Then that ferocity eases into pride. "Tommyinnit, full of magic."
"Earth magic," Tommy clarifies, grinning. "Much better than a Disney princess."
Wilbur makes a face, then walks over to the other side of the car, unlocking it. "Eh, maybe a little."
"What do you mean?" Tommy huffs, pulling the door open. "I am a million times better than a Disney princess!"
Wilbur gives him a look.
"You- well, can a Disney princess fly?"
His eyes widen. "Tommy, you can fly ?
Tommy hesitates. "Um. Enough? One time I hit a fence post in my backyard and knocked a tooth loose though."
"Fucking hell. Okay, so in the interest of keeping you safe, you can't fly."
Tommy pouts.
"Aw, don't worry Toms," Wilbur reaches over and pats Tommy's head. "You're still just a bit better than a disney princess.”
…
They still end up going to the magic museum, mainly now because Wilbur thinks it’s funny how Tommy gets so rightfully miffed when they portray magic as all coming from heavy dusty books with emblems on them and little trinkets blessed by some wizard.
"This is actually kinda right," Tommy says, pointing down at an exhibition plaque that reads, the origin of most magic is thought to have some correlation with the celestial bodies and the way they cycle though human lives. Wilbur leans in to squint at the words. "Most magic that I've ever interacted with has been a gift from a higher cosmic form. And well-"
Tommy catches Wilbur's eye, sees the way he's soaking all it in like it's the most important knowledge to ever know. "I- I mean, there are other people who know more shit than me, so if you're looking for definitive facts you should probably-"
"Yeah, I don't care about what other people know or think." Wilbur rolls his eyes, smiling. "I wanna hear what you think. I mean- I'm sure you're used to talking about it right? Your college-mates and family must be interested, yeah? I mean, besides your grandparents and such."
Tommy winces. "Not- not really. I mean, my mum and dad, they know all about my magic and such, but uh- they don't know anyone else who uses magic. Nottingham is pretty, uh, iffy about the treatment of magic users. So I didn’t exactly talk about it with my classmates on the weekends.”
“Oh.” Wilbur hesitates. "Well, I'd love to talk to you about it, Toms. You know I do."
Tommy's gaze flickers away from the plaque and to Wilbur's sincere smiling face- warm and open and honest.
"Okay," Tommy allows, swallowing. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."
The day is one of the most fun Tommy’s had in a while- taking Wilbur round, explaining sirens and familiars, not caring about the times that he blunders because he doesn’t know. Wilbur’s eyes are like shining stars, grin never dimming once.
He talks about transferable magic- when people are so gifted that they can channel energy through their craft- and emotional magic- empaths and cupids and the like. After they’ve finished going around all the floors and checking out all the exhibits, Wilbur pulls Tommy into the gift shop and buys him a floppy black witch’s hat because he thinks it’s funny, and Tommy gets him a glow-in-the-dark stone set so he can pretend to be magical like a seven year old. It’s meant to be backhanded- to make fun of Wilbur jokingly, but he pulls Tommy into a tight hug, knocking the fake witches hat off his head, and all the way to the parking lot Wilbur turns the glow stones over each other in his hand.
“My lucky stones,” Wilbur says cheerily, “blessed by my magical Tommy."
Tommy flushes, pushing the man slightly, and the wind- kiss up - curls around him, not letting him fall.
…
He’s back at Tubbo’s next week, and Tubbo greets him by running at him and tackling him to the ground right there on the lawn. Tommy shrieks as he goes down on the grass and Ranboo, more sensible in every way, just watches as they roll around like excitable puppies.
“Am I going to need to help you up?” Ranboo asks when they end up in an exhausted heap, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
Tommy reaches up a hand, “No, come down here you tall fucker. Sun’s almost gone- we’ll stay out?”
Ranboo takes it, and sits, stretching his legs out in front of himself, not even flinching when Tommy throws himself across them.
“How was it?” Tubbo asks, brushing flower petals off Tommy’s sweatshirt. “Being home?”
“Good,” Tommy says, not yet willing to admit that this- Ranboo and Tubbo and the feel of their magic tangling with his- feels more home than his house ever did. “Pog. I hung out a bit with Wil.”
“Wilbur?” Ranboo blinks.
“And you didn’t invite us?”
“We didn’t vlog,” Tommy reaches over to the grass and picks up a pebble and presses it into Ranboo’s hand. Ranboo hums and folds his fingers around the stone. “We just kinda- hung, I guess. I saw a Lovejoy rehearsal.”
“Oo!” Tubbo makes grabby hands for Ranboo’s stone, but Ranboo hisses and tucks it in his pocket pointedly. Tubbo pouts. “New album soon, yeah? How did they sound?”
“You know already Tubs,” Tommy scans the grass, looking for a stone fit for Tubbo, “they smashed it. They sound fucking magical. But you know me, I always think that.”
“What else did you guys do?” Ranboo prompts. And Tommy has to grin, cause Ranboo always knows.
“Uh, well, we went to a magic museum.”
Both Tubbo and Ranboo stop. And stare. Tommy sits up, scoots back a little, curling his fingers in the dirt.
“A magic museum?” Tubbo gasps. “But that means- did you-”
“Tommy,” Ranboo laughs and Tommy ducks his head to hide his sheepish grin, grass blades curling up around his fingers like little handholds. “Tommy! ”
“Holy shit, you told him, you did it!” Tubbo cheers. “Ranboo, move I’m going to hug my best friend.”
“Not if i hug him first,”
“He’s my best friend.”
He’s mine too.”
“You- well, he’s my soulmate.”
“I feel like we’ll be running into the same problem there.”
Tommy giggles, then leans forward and curls two arms around both of his best friends, both of his soulmates. They immediately stop squabbling and hug him back, squeezing him safely between them. Ranboo leans against Tommy’s shoulder and Tubbo presses his face into Tommy’s chest.
“We’re proud of you Tommy,” Ranboo says softly. “And very happy for you.”
“It was just Wilbur,” Tommy protests, turning red, hiding his face in Ranboo’s stupid hair.
“Yeah, but he still counts.”
Tubbo reaches up blindly, smacking a hand over Ranboo’s mouth. “Hush, I'm going to take a nap.”
Tommy peeks up at the sky, the sun is setting. Tubbo is snuggling in, curling a hand around the end of Tommy’s shirt.
“We are proud, you know.” Tubbo manages, voice muffled but warm and honeyed. “So much. And Wilbur is just the start. Soon you"ll be so annoyingly loud about every part of yourself. I can't wait. But for now just hush and be a good pillow. We missed you.”
Tommy ends up falling asleep there, with Tubbo and Ranboo, and when he wakes up a little while later, with his vines twisted around them all, he hesitates, before leaving them be.
It's his magic. Tubbo is right, he doesn't have to hide it away. The people he's surrounded by love him for it. And they always will.