Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s digging in the cupboard, desperately searching for something they can eat, when Tommy asks the question.

“Who is this?”

“Huh?” Wilbur mumbles, voice muffled by the wood of the cupboard, head half in as he tries to reach further.

“In this picture. It’s a nice picture of you two.”

Wilbur gives up on finding any real food in his barren kitchen. He’s been putting off getting groceries for weeks. They can just get takeout tonight.

“Think we’ll just do takeout. Which picture is it?”

He walks up to Tommy and comes to a stop. He is standing by the little table against the wall where a few photos rest. He knows what photo Tommy is asking about; he placed it there when he first moved in. For what reason, he doesn’t know. A sense of obligation maybe? He never looks at it when he’s in here, tunes it out because he sees it every day.

“Oh.”

He doesn’t think it comes out particularly sad or affected, but Tommy still turns a little too quickly to look him in the face. There’s another question in the way his eyebrow raises slightly. Unspoken, maybe so Wilbur can back out if he wants. He doesn’t want to. Not really. Still he freezes for a moment, gaze jumping between Tommy’s eyes, his raised eyebrow, the picture, his own fidgety hands, then back to Tommy, looking just between his eyes at his nose bridge.

“Erm… yeah. That’s my brother. I’ve mentioned him to you.”

“Yeah. You have,” Tommy speaks slowly, hesitant for once in his life. The kid’s very confident, but this is new territory. He gets to watch expressions cross Tommy’s face, rapid-fire, one after another. They’re all indecipherable to Wilbur. He feels a surge of affection, warm in his chest.

“Tommy I don’t care if you’re blunt. Just ask whatever you want to ask. I don’t mind if it’s you.”

That snaps Tommy out of it. He straightens his back a little, looks over at the picture again.

“You uh,” Tommy makes a little aborted movement with his hand. Probably about to chew his fingernails; he does it when he’s nervous. Wilbur almost chuckles despite himself. “You never talk about him much.”

“No.”

The pause is maybe too long. Oops. Say something.

“I don’t.”

Wilbur is aware that he still hasn’t said much of anything. He’s not sure what he can say; how can he explain he and his brother’s strained relationship, the years of stilted conversations.

“We don’t talk a lot anymore.”

His voice comes out quieter than he expects it to. It’s like he’s hearing himself from far away.

“I don’t- I don’t even know why we don’t talk. It’s not like we had some big fight. Things just kind of went sour. Little things added up. When we do talk we don’t really say anything.”

Tommy reaches up and puts his hand on Wilbur’s arm, awkward and comforting.

“I’m sorry, man. Do you- do you want to talk about it? Him?”

“Um-”

“It’s just!” Tommy interrupts, “It doesn’t really seem like you. To just let that happen. You seem so… good. At feelings and stuff.”

That makes Wilbur pause. Fuck, does Tommy have a lot of faith in him. It’s very sweet. And humbling. And only sometimes does he feel like he deserves it.

“You flatter me Tommy.”

“No, but it’s true though. And I know if it was me you’d be telling me to just talk to him. So why aren’t you?” Tommy has hit his stride again in the conversation.

“Tommy I’m-” embarrassingly, Wilbur whimpers a little bit, hands scrunching up the edge of his jumper in tight fists. “I’m scared. What if he doesn’t want to talk? I could just fuck it up more and- and-”

“And- and what?”

“I miss him. A lot. And I feel guilty every time we talk ‘cause I know I’m just- I’m not saying what I want to. And I’m angry. I’m mad at him and I don’t know why.”

Tommy’s brow is furrowed.

“You’re going to be alright, Big Man. But… I do think you should talk to him. Like properly talk to him.”

Wilbur sighs.

“You’re right. I know you are.”

“I am going to hug you now.”

At that Wilbur laughs, leaning forward and accepting the hug, pressing his face into Tommy’s hair. Smart cookie, this one is.

Chapter Text

The next day he gets up extra early and grabs a granola bar and a banana. He leaves a note for Tommy and heads out.

The sun isn’t up yet and the sky is still grey; the early morning light seems to cast a dusty film over everything. All colors are washed-out and grainy. He walks around Brighton for what must be an hour as the sky slowly lightens, sunshine hitting the sides of buildings. Some people are out, but it’s still very quiet. People are setting up shops for the day, riding bikes, some few just wandering like him. He goes to the beach, looks out at the water, a lovely shade of blue.

When he gets back home he slips off his shoes, puts on the kettle, and then when he’s standing in the middle of his living room he slowly unlocks his phone and opens up his contacts.

Jamie Gold.

His finger hovers over the call button. Is he ready to do this? He doesn’t have a plan for what he’s going to say. He should write it down, make a script. Instead he finds himself lowering his finger and pressing the button.

It almost startles him to see the screen change, his brother’s name in big font across the top. It’s not like they’re really estranged. They do talk. Sometimes. Every few months. It’s still a shock to him that he actually called his brother. Can’t take it back now. He quickly moves the phone up to his ear.

The ringing buzzes in his ear, drawn out and foreboding. It rings and rings and he thinks for a moment that it will ring out. Then maybe he can let this go, wake Tommy up, they can go get a proper breakfast. He made the effort right? It won’t be on him to fix anymore. And then Jamie picks up.

“Will?”

Oh fuck.

“Hello? Will? You don’t usually just call me.”

He sounds confused, not annoyed. Thank god.

“Jamie. You’re right. I usually don’t just call like this…”

The call is silent for a few seconds. There’s a rustling sound on the other end. Wilbur looks around at the walls of the living room, at the ugly tiled ceiling, trying to steel himself. Here he goes.

“I know we don’t talk a lot. And I haven’t- well- okay, I’ve done a bad job at communicating with you. And we’ve held each other at an arm's length I think. Like, I don’t want to blame you, it was definitely me. And you. Both of us.”

Wilbur feels like he’s talking too fast now, can’t stop.

“I guess- hm. It hurts not to know what’s going on in your life,” he rushes out. “And you’re important to me. And I wanted to ask if maybe we could try to talk more. Better. And more.”

“Holy shit Will, no preamble or anything,” Jamie says, and it sounds like he’s teasing but his voice is flat where it should be animated. Wilbur holds his breath, prays to the ceiling tiles. Come on Jamie, give him something to work with. Anything.

“Yeah Will,” Jamie finally sighs out, “we can. We can- we can do that.”