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Regret. It is to feel sad, repentant, or disappointed over something. More often used when someone missed an opportunity that had already been in their reach.
Wilbur feels regret over hundreds of things, but never had he felt much more of it now.
He meets eyes with the boy who had been there from the start. The boy who looked up at him with stars in his eyes, a toothy grin, so young and innocent. Unaware of what lay ahead of him when he took Wilbur’s hand to stand up from the ground the man found him on.
Unaware of the utter mistake he had made to ever meet the older man.
Wilbur thinks the punch that Tommy threw into his gut was well deserved. The burning resentment in his eyes, his scowl of fury at his audacity to come back to life.
“I coped for fucking years without you and you suddenly come back?” Tommy yells, pushing him to the ground. Wilbur accepts it. “Come to ruin my life again? Haven’t you done that enough?”
“I’ve come back because I was revived, Tommy,” Wilbur says, tone soft, like he was talking to a lover after being reunited. “I have another chance at life. I can fix everything now-”
“Wil, when you broke everything there was no repairing it,” Tommy snapped. “Your country, the nation we built? It just kept getting blown up. Like some toy to test your bombs out on. No one cared anymore.”
“I’m here now! I care! I can fix this and we can go back to before! I’ve been given another chance, Toms. Let me use it.”
Tommy doesn’t do anything to help him back up. He frowns at the older man, eyes cold and blank of any pity or forgiveness. “Use your ‘chance’ however the hell you want. Keep me out of it.”
If it meant slow forgiveness, if it meant having his heart again, Wilbur stays in his place on the ground he was thrown on. If it meant he had a chance to repair all the damage he caused.
Wilbur did everything in his power to try and convince Tommy he had changed. That he was not the man who went insane, but the man who came back to make up for his mistakes. He was the man who was willing to do anything to earn Tommy’s trust again.
His efforts are pointless, they’re all futile, as Tommy avoids him like the plague.
Their eyes would meet across the room for a few moments before Tommy leaves, dragging a confused Tubbo and Ranboo with him, as it seemed they’ve decided to accompany Tommy everywhere he goes.
Wilbur never once complains or says anything. He deserves this. He will take it all. For him.
This must be his new purpose. The real reason he was given another chance at life. His new drive, what leaves him determined. This seemed fitting.
The line between unadulterated love and obsession was clear and thick, vivid. Wilbur doesn’t care how much he crosses it to stand in the between, where no one ever should.
His old fixation has come back, and he’s going to die a thousand more times before it goes away again.
Touch starved. Deprived of touch, physical affection. Tommy hated this phrase, knowing he identified with it. Knowing he craved someone to hold him dearly, but at the same time, he was repulsed by it. The deep need to be pulled into someone’s chest as they let him sob his worries. The violent urge to push anyone who wanted to go near him away, even if their intentions were clear and innocent. Even more so if their intentions were clear and innocent.
He lies down on his bed, staring at the star filled ceiling. They weren’t real stars, they were like little lights that Tubbo had stuck up there for him.
He knows Tubbo and Ranboo were more than willing to hold him dearly, to hold him close. He knows they wanted to give him that comfort he desperately craved. He’s so very aware of the longing looks they sent him when he was on the verge of breaking down, knowing Tommy would only push them away.
He wants to let them. He wants them to hold him close. He wants to feel loved by his best friends but it would feel so incredibly wrong.
Tommy isn’t blind. He’s also aware of their feelings for him. Feelings that were borderline romantic.
The way their voices soften when talking to him, the adoring looks. Every little complement of how pretty he was. The soft eyes that are on him and only him when he plays with Michael and Shroud, like the smile that graced his face was worth everything and above. Every time they took each of his hands and held them when going out together for air, cherishing moments he would let them touch, even by a bit.
He didn’t feel the same way. And he wasn’t selfish enough to give them false hope.
He wishes he can return their feelings. Maybe then he can accept their affection without guilt. Maybe he can be content in their arms and they can be a happy family and Tommy can get his happy ending.
But he stays here, feelings for them completely different, stuck inside a chapter with the next page being blank, yet to be filled with words to continue his story.
He sighs and sits up, stretching slightly. He couldn’t sleep. Thoughts were too much of a bother.
He got up from his bed and grabbed his blue cardigan that he left on the chair beside his bed, in front of his drawer. He puts it on and leaves two at the top unbuttoned. He grabs a black hair tie on the desk and puts his shoulder length hair into a low ponytail.
Tommy doesn’t bother to fix his bed, figuring he’d come back in an hour or two. Maybe only thirty minutes. He just needed to walk. Cool off.
The walk is silent, which is understandable. He was alone with no one to talk to. No one to ramble to so he could be distracted from unpleasant thoughts swarming his head. It was just him and his brain that seemed to dislike him.
The walk is also slow, as he takes his sweet time. He observes the path, ears picking up the soft sounds of crickets and birds. The wind is light, only blowing his shirt and cardigan forward by a little, bringing a small smile to his face.
He walks absentmindedly, not really paying real attention to where he went. If he ever got farther than he intended, he knew the SMP well enough to find his way back. And, if by rare chance he really was lost, Tubbo had made him wear a custom weird compass looking thingy so he and Ranboo knew where to find him when he was lost. All he needed to do was click the small black button at the bottom and it would send a message to the husbands’ communicators, informing them he was lost and where he could be found. He appreciated the effort and worry.
His lips thin when he sees the moon being directly above. It is midnight. He left his home around quarter to eleven. He considers going back home, before he decides otherwise and continues.
He notices he was now in a snow biome, and not in Snowchester. He would have seen the very top of the Beloved Husbands’ mansion from how much of a mansion it really was if this was Snowchester.
He finally figures out where he landed himself in when he sees a familiar blue themed flag caught his eyes, waving proudly and posing next to a base like house.
“Tommy?”
He flinches, jumping away from the hand that patted his shoulder to gain his attention. He feels his heart pace when he sees who it was, considering clicking the button on his compass and getting his friends to get him out of here.
But he didn’t.
He wasn’t lost, and technically he wasn’t in danger. It would be a waste. He opted for letting his friends sleep and have some peace.
“Hullo,” Tommy mutters, straining to run for it. For some reason, he can’t. His legs refuse to start working again, and regretfully he knows why.
He’s been avoiding confrontation with Wilbur for so long. Avoiding having a civil conversation and finally coming to terms on how to handle their rocky relationship.
Tommy knows he can hold it for a while longer. Grief, or whatever the fuck he feels, doesn’t have a limit. But he feels like he should. Now or never.
He silently curses whichever god had led him here. Drista, maybe. She was always assertive about getting what she wants, and from the shit load of dreams he had gotten of her telling him to talk to Wilbur, he thinks him being here is her doing.
“It’s midnight, what are you doing here?” Tommy doesn’t fail to catch the subtle hint of hope in Wilbur’s voice. His shoulders slump, pulling lightly at the end of his cardigan, staring back at the older man who observed him.
“Went for a walk. Wasn’t paying attention and ended up here.”
They stare at each other again, and it’s a game of deciding who would say the first word.
Wilbur opens his mouth, but Tommy cuts him off. “I’m sorry.”
Silence again. Another staring contest. It seems to be endless at this point.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a chance to make it up to me,” Tommy mumbles, loud enough for Wilbur to hear. “But I’ll have you know I’m not obligated to ever forgive you for the crap your bullshit put me through.”
Wilbur frowns. “You shouldn’t be sorry for not being ready, you shouldn’t be sorry for not wanting to be ready. You’re right, you’re not obligated to forgive me.”
“I just hope you find it in yourself to let me make it up to you.”
“How do I know you’re not just doing this to get me on your side again?” Tommy curls his lip, almost like a scowl, but too soft to hold any true anger. He was too tired to fight. “How do I know you haven’t gotten yourself into trouble and you’re trying to get me to back you up? Never again, Wil.”
The resentment is burning in his gut, but he can’t find it in himself to genuinely keep being mad. He feels tired, rather. He wants to go back home to his bed and sleep, preferably never waking up again.
He ignores the urge to comfort Wilbur when he sees the hurt flash in his eyes. The hurt at his distrust. Tommy was not a naive little boy. Not anymore.
“I’m not,” Wilbur says, which isn’t a lot. “I’m doing this, all the gestures, helping you renovate, because I love you. I’m not expecting you to accept my apologies, but I will keep on hoping even when it’s futile. Because I love you.”
Tommy doesn’t know what took over him. He doesn’t know what possessed him, because suddenly he ran at the man at full speed and shoved his face into his chest, breaking down as he let out a heart wrenching sob he’s been holding back ever since Wilbur got revived.
Arms wrap around his form easily, rubbing his back and threading through his hair. Wilbur ignores Tommy’s desperate mantra of “I hate you,” humming lightly in an attempt to comfort him. The hands that clutch desperately at his coat, afraid to let go. The boy hiding himself, his face, ashamed he was so easy.
Tommy gives out all his weight and they fall, Wilbur being sat down as Tommy curls into him, and suddenly it was just like before.
Before, when it was only the two of them. Tommy hid from Phil because had done something oh so terrible-- he had stolen three cookies from the freshly baked batch after promising he’d wait for everyone-- Tommy clutching at Wilbur’s shirt, jokingly threatening him and telling him he’d kick Wilbur where the sun doesn’t shine if he snitched.
Before, when Wilbur had gotten frustrated over lyrics of a song he was working on, and Tommy climbed into his lap and held his face like he was the world, telling him to man up and start over if he was truly determined. Telling him that anger issues were for pussies and Wilbur was not a pussy.
Before, when Tommy cried into his chest after confessing his fears about the war, the desperate kiss he and the boy shared with the threat of permanent death awaiting them.
Before, when they were each other’s worlds.
Now in Wilbur’s arms was a boy he barely knew anymore, overdone by time, kicked and punched in the dust to pay for the consequences of ever being associated, for ever having loved what most thought was a long dead man.
Now in his arms was a boy he failed to protect, one he held a broken promise to, still curled into him like he was Tommy’s lifeline, like he wasn’t the reason for everything bad that happened to him.
Now in his arms was a boy that was still his world, broken down and desperate for any sign that even after everything, he was still loved so deeply. That even after everything, every chapter of his story, someone still held him in their heart.
The words that spill out of Tommy’s mouth, trying to convince himself to let go, don’t matter to Wilbur as he cradles him. The hoarse and repetitive words of “please” and “I hate you” were like a broken record Wilbur didn’t bother to repair, like the record was nostalgia.
He wants to stay here forever, because here is before. Here is home. Here is his world. And who would want to leave their world, the very thing that keeps them determined to go on? Their muse, their love, their symphony and everything else?
It doesn’t matter to Wilbur that he was no longer Tommy’s world. It doesn’t matter to him that he no longer has his heart and can no longer hold it close. It doesn’t matter to him because he is here now. Tommy is here. It doesn’t matter if he gets to stay for just a little longer.
Their conversation wasn’t enough to reconcile, to confirm what they would do about the burning tension. Not even by a little.
But here, now, the present and no further, is what mattered to Wilbur. What mattered to him was holding Tommy again. What mattered to him is cherishing this moment before it inevitably has to end, before Tommy pulls away and screams at him again.
Because he would have deserved it. He does deserve it. He will take whatever hurtful word Tommy throws because he is at fault for everything. He will take the frustrated yells and bursts because this is his consequence.
He hums a simple tune as Tommy continues crying in his hold. For him, he will bleed himself dry, until there was nothing more to give, and nothing more to lose.