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Tommy had been carrying around the moss for weeks. He’d found it growing on some rocks, and ever since then Wilbur had hardly seen it leave his hand. And sure, Tommy had a lot of quirks, but this one was so completely random that it intrigued Wilbur. What could possibly be so special about this, admittedly large, piece of moss? Wilbur decided he was going to find out.
“So, Tommy. What’s with the moss?” Wilbur asked the next day. He’d decided the best first approach was transparency, something he was generally quite skilled at. If outright asking Tommy didn’t provide the information he wanted, then he would move on to other means.
“Uh, what do you mean?” Tommy asked, turning from where he’d been replanting wheat seeds.
“Just that you’ve been carrying around this moss for a while. Is there something special about it?”
“It’s me comfort moss, innit?” was all Tommy said, returning his focus to the crops.
“What does that even mean?” Wilbur prodded. Comfort moss? What on earth could possibly be comforting about moss?
“It’s moss. It comforts me. It’s my moss, so don’t try and steal it, Wilbur.”
“Why would I want your fucking moss,” Wilbur deadpanned. Tommy only scowled at him, eyes squinted and mouth twisted into a frown.
When Wilbur tried to ask Tommy another question, all he got was silence. Clearly, the moss was important, if he was this pissed about the failed banter.
Wilbur decided the next best course of action was to ask Tubbo and Ranboo what they knew. They were some of Tommy’s best friends.
“Hey, Tubbo!” Wilbur called out, popping out of the ground and returning to his soluble form.
“Hello, Wilbur. Been doing ghostly things?” Tubbo replied.
“Yeah, sure. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something, if you aren’t busy.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Do you know why Tommy carries around that piece of moss? He rarely leaves home without it.”
Tubbo chuckled at this, shrugging his shoulders.
“It’s his comfort moss. It comforts him. Something like that. I don’t know, why?”
“Well, it’s just odd, right? To carry around moss? It’s curious, and I want to know why he does it,” Wilbur said. It was silent for a moment, Tubbo pondering WIlbur’s words. Then,
“Does he really need a reason? I mean, I’m not sure even he knows why he does it. It just makes him feel calm, so he keeps it with him.” Tubbo nodded decisively at his own words. “Yeah, I think you’re reading too much into this, Wilbur.”
They exchanged goodbyes, and Wilbur was off to find Ranboo, his questions no closer to being answered than before.
Ranboo was easy enough to find. Walking down the path in the starlight, Wilbur ran right into him.
“Oh, Ranboo! I was just looking for you,” Wilbur exclaimed cheerfully.
“Hello, Wilbur. Do you need something?” Ranboo asked. The tall enderian looked tired, and Wilbur filed away that thought for later.
“I was just wondering if you knew anything about Tommy’s moss?”
“Tommy’s moss?”
“Oh, you know, his comfort moss. He carries it around all day every day, and then he gets home and puts it on a shelf for safe keeping.”
“Oh, that moss!” Ranboo said, eyes lighting up as he remembered. “Yeah, I don’t really know anything about that. It’s probably dirty though. That’s all I know. Goodnight, Wilbur.”
“...thanks?” Wilbur said, bewildered, as Ranboo walked off into the night. What a strange kid.
So Wilbur’s investigation wasn’t going well, it was fine. He’d seen Tommy get upset over someone taking or even touching his moss over the last few days. He was very possessive of it.
It shouldn’t bother Wilbur so much, the mystery of it all. It was a piece of moss, for crying out loud. But something in the back of his mind just needed to know, and so, Wilbur went to one more person. Phil.
Phil, though not an avian, was an elytrian, which was honestly close enough. He had similar bird-like instincts, so if anyone would be able to make an accurate straight up guess about the moss, it would be him.
“Phil, I have a very important question to ask you,” Wilbur started with. They were in their community pub, and Phil had been fixing some of the decorations while Wilbur watched.
“What’s that?” Phil asked.
“Do you have any idea why Tommy carries around that moss? He says it comforts him, but I don’t really know what could be comforting about moss.”
Phil bursted out laughing.
“What is funny?” Wilbur exclaimed.
“Oh, mate, I thought it was obvious. Maybe it just is to me because I can kind of relate?”
“Well, what is it? Tell me!”
“Alright,” Phil started, “Tommy’s an avian, you know? He’s got bird instincts. A big part of being an actual bird is building a nest, collecting the materials to do so very carefully. Among those materials is often moss.”
“So you’re saying it’s a bird instinct to find comfort in nature and such?” Wilbur asked.
“Yes, but since he isn’t, like, an actual bird, he doesn’t have the entirety of those instincts. He probably just saw the moss, thought it looked nice, and kept it. It’s like… you know how babies have a security blanket? And they’ll then grow up a bit, start carrying the thing around everywhere they go. It’s kind of like that.”
“Aw, Phil! That’s so cute! He’s like a little baby bird!” Wilbur said, burying his face in his hands. “I have to go find him.”
“Don’t make too much fun of him, mate. He can’t help it,” Phill called after him as Wilbur rushed out the door to make his way to Tommy’s home.
“Tommy! Tommy!” Wilbur called out when he reached the bridge that led to Tommy’s front door.
“What the fuck do you want, Will?” Tommy asked when he stepped outside. Sure enough, his moss was in his hand.
“You’re so cute! You’re like a little baby avian! A little baby bird,” Wilbur said, making his way to Tommy and ruffling his hand. Tommy dodged his hand at first, then accepted his fate with an annoyed look on his face.
“Did you want something? Or have you just come to call me a baby. And fucking, make fun of my moss or something.”
“Aw, Tommy! Look at you and your little bird instincts and you moss.” Wilbur pulled Tommy into his arms, ignoring the squirming the boy was doing. The protests were half-hearted, though, and Tommy soon stilled, though he was still frowning.
“You’re such a weirdo. What a loser, you are,” Tommy said.
“Baby bird!” WIlbur replied.