Chapter Text
"What are you doing here?” The sentence is cold and quiet, an unenthusiastic murmur against the wind. It's possibly the worst greeting Wilbur has ever given.
"Well, hello to you too! Always the charmer, Wilbur Soot," Tommy exclaims with a cheeky grin. Wilbur can't bring himself to return the energy because it's cold and also nine at night. The small amount of energy Wilbur possesses seeps out of him around lunch time at the latest. After several awkward phone calls with relatives he barely knows and a few anxiety-inducing face times he didn’t get a say in, Wilbur wasn't prepared to have to talk to anyone else today. "Um, may I come in, big man? It's a little chilly out here, and, uh," Tommy shuffles where he's standing, rearranging the box in his arms, and Wilbur knows what horrors are in that box. He wishes he didn't. "My arms are getting a little tired here..."
"Right. Of course, Toms. Sorry, you just took me by surprise. But, um, come in." Tommy bounces past him as Wilbur shuts and locks the door once more.
"I'm just putting this in the kitchen!" The blond calls out. Wilbur gives himself a moment to lean back against the wood and close his eyes. It's just a few hours. He only has to stay awake and lively for a few more hours, and then he can usher Tommy off to bed and have him leave (hopefully) early in the morning.
Eventually, Wilbur manages to pull himself away from the solitude of his hallway. He finds Tommy in the lounge flicking through the television channels. He jumps up at the sight of Wilbur, who has to stumble back as a body is thrown against his own.
"Happy birthday Wil! I wanted to hug you at the door, but, well, my hands were kind of full." Wilbur lets out a startled laugh and wraps his arms around Tommy.
"Thank you," he mutters into blond hair, sighing as he allows himself a moment to enjoy the contact. Wilbur doesn’t notice the way Tommy rubs his hand up and down the older’s back and how that hand pauses moments later. He is too close in proximity to notice how the shine in Tommy's eyes goes from delight to concern as his hand settles on a sharp, too-prominent spine. "How'd you get here, by the way?" Wilbur questions as they pull away, sitting down next to the blond and handing him back the remote to continue his search.
"Train," Tommy says rather nonchalantly. He's quick to expand when Wilbur's mouth falls open in disbelief, and his eyebrows draw together in worry. "I know it's late! But my parents were completely comfortable with it, and I haven't been able to get in touch with you today-" Wilbur winces at that, and Tommy smack him before he can apologise. "Which is fine, Wil. You're allowed to step away from your phone on your birthday. I'm sure you had plenty of conversations with the people you did see, yeah?" Wilbur decides not to mention to Tommy that the only person he has actually seen today is the cashier at the convenience store where he buys his gum and energy drinks. "I didn't mind waiting. Well," Tommy chuckles sheepishly, finally settling on a channel and leaning back to glance at Wilbur's sceptical expression. "I truly didn't until I just got this feeling that I really had to see you. I mean, it's your birthday, man! You drove all the way down to see me on mine, and I know you don't like driving. It's the least I could do." Wilbur smiles as the boy rambles, and he can't help the fond look his face adopts. He's said on stream several times that he can't drive, and while that's not entirely untrue, it's also a bit of a lie. Wilbur has his full, and he has a car, but several doctors and his common sense have made it clear that his fainting episodes and unpredictable dizzy spells leave him too dangerous to drive. Specifically on months when he's fasting, but, well, Wilbur hasn't exactly told his doctor about those.
"It's really sweet that you're here. Mean's a lot to me," Wilbur says. He throws an arm around Tommy and misses the wince as his ribs dig into the younger's side. They sit there for a couple of hours, just offering meaningless bits of chatter and half an ear to the easy-watch television show playing in front of them. Tommy seems to have picked up that this was a quiet night for Wilbur relatively fast, and his volume barely peaks above Wilbur's soft mumbles.
- - -
It hits 11:30, and Wilbur is just about to begin coaxing Tommy into going to bed when the blond shoots up, almost smacking his head into Wilbur's jaw in the process. "I got you cake!" He cries out, eyes wide with realisation. Tommy's on his feet before Wilbur can get a word out and is pulling at his arm.
"Tommy, I- Toms, it's almost midnight!" Wilbur calls out as he's dragged hand first into the kitchen. He tries not to think about how Tommy's fingers fit entirely around his wrist.
"And what, big man? It's your birthday. You deserve a treat! I really want you to try it." Once in the kitchen, Wilbur is ushered into a stool as Tommy bustles about the kitchen, finding two clean (and probably dusty) plates without much struggle. His next search appears to be a little less successful. However, if the many puzzled sounds the boy lets out are anything to go by.
"D'you need something?" He questions, leaning his elbows on the counter as he watches Tommy.
"Forks! I... seem to have forgotten where you leave your forks, Wil." Wilbur wordlessly gestures to a draw behind Tommy, and he's springing into action once more. Wilbur's heart warms in his chest when he notices Tommy come back around to the counter with one big and one small fork. It's such a small thing to remember. Wilbur doesn't even recall telling Tommy that he doesn't eat with anything but small cutlery. Tommy then unwraps the beautiful ribbon around the cake and fails to mask his proud, bashful grin as he opens the box. "Voila!" Wilbur's small smile only grows at the sight of the cake in front of him.
"Tommy... did you make this?" His little brother's signature baking style is unmistakable. Tommy has spent many nights telling Wilbur about his newest creation from the kitchen, sending photos and describing in detail all of the delicious flavours he'd managed to incorporate.
"I did! It's what I spent most of today doing. It was a rest day, and you know how jittery I get on those if I don't give myself something to do."
"It looks lovely, man," Wilbur says with a supportive grin. Tommy absolutely glows at the tiny bit of praise.
"You really think so? I was basically going out on a limb here because I realised I don't have any idea what kind of food you like. I know you can't taste much, but I made the icing really rich in hopes something gets through those dead taste-buds of yours." Wilbur chuckles at that and tries to squash down the guilt and fear that's rising in his gut. He knows what comes next. He knows what Tommy's expecting. "The texture should be nice too! I know you're a big texture man, and I ensured that the cake was super light and fluffy." Tommy lets out a little laugh, and Wilbur gives himself a moment to stare at the boy, simply in awe.
"You're incredible." He says simply before gesturing to the cake in front of him. "This is incredible. You never fail to amaze me, and I'm so honoured that you used your talents on little ol’ me." Wilbur speaks gently, grin widening at Tommy's flushed face as the boy attempts to avoid eye contact.
"Thank you, Wil. Uh.. yeah. Thank you," he says with a shy smile. Tommy then claps his hands together and straightens up, startling Wilbur slightly because they were just having a moment, and he wasn't expecting to be brought out of it so abruptly. Tommy takes a knife from the knife block and waltzes right back to his place in front of Wilbur. "So! How much do you want, big man?" Suddenly, there is dread weighing him down where he sits. Wilbur lowers his head to stare at the cake, at the sugar he swears he can see staring back at him. He doesn't lift his eyes when he speaks.
"I don't know. It's really late. I shouldn't have any."
"Oh, come on, man. It's just a bit of cake. You can have the smallest slice ever if you so please. Just look!" Tommy cuts a tiny, pathetic looking slither that stands no chance of remaining upright on its own. Wilbur watches in dismay as it flops over miserably on the plate. The plate that Tommy pushes his way with a hopeful, insistent expression. Wilbur stays still as Tommy cuts himself a slightly bigger piece, plating that one as well and coming to sit alongside Wilbur. "Well, go on, Wil. I want to see what you think!" Tommy exclaims in a hush, nudging Wilbur as he holds out the small fork for the older to take. Wilbur grabs the fork gently, staring at it in despair. "Oh, don't tell me that ones too big for you to eat with. It's the smallest in the drawer! How high are your standards on fork-size, Wil?" Tommy cackles slightly, but the laughter dies quickly when he sees how Wilbur doesn't move a muscle. "...Wilbur?" He taps the man on the shoulder three times. "You okay?" Wilbur jolts out of his reverie.
"Yeah! Yeah, I'm good, Tommy." Wilbur stabs into the food and lifts the fork back up, the thin layer of icing and cake drooping over his fork. It almost slips off from how bad he's shaking, and Tommy's glances towards him only make it worse. He knows the boy has tucked into his own slice, assuming Wilbur's just a slow eater and not wanting to wait any longer, but he can also feel the consistent, curious looks Tommy's throwing his way. He can't do this. The fork clatters to the plate, and Wilbur pushes the stool back, standing up quickly and wrapping his arms around himself. Tommy watches him in concern, setting his own fork down and swivelling in his chair to face Wilbur. "I'm not going to eat it." Wilbur hadn't intended to say that aloud because now there's a crushed and heartbroken expression on Tommy's face.
"Oh... What's wrong with it?" Wilbur despises how upset Tommy sounds because of him. After everything the kid has done for him tonight, all Wilbur can do is hurt him.
"Nothing! I swear. I just... I can't eat it. But, I'll try some tomorrow, I promise." Wilbur's words do nothing but disappoint the kind, selfless soul right in front of him. He hates himself for it.
"Not even a little? I have to head back early tomorrow, and I really wanted to see what you thought of it because-"
"I said no!" Wilbur snaps, blinking away any tears of frustration that threaten to rise. The lump in his throat makes it impossible for him to apologise.
"If you didn't want to try it, you could have just said," Tommy whispers. He hasn't moved from his seat, but his eyes are now set on Wilburs plate.
"Go to bed, Tommy." Wilbur doesn't mean to sound harsh. He wants, more than anything, to take a bite of the so lovingly prepared cake in front of him. To dive into his little brother's newest and possibly best piece of baking yet and shower the other in compliments and praise. But he can't. It's 12:15, Wilbur is tired, and he can't eat just before bed, and even if he was to break his fast, he can't do that with a cake because he'll be sick. And, if by some miracle, the sugary goodness doesn't make his stomach uneasy after being empty for so long, then when Wilbur vomits, it will be with fingers down his throat and humiliating shame in his veins. Wilbur leaves the kitchen as Tommy begins to pack up behind him. He goes to the hallway cupboard and takes out a couple of heavy blankets in case the ones on Tommy's bed aren't enough to fight back the Autumn chill. The door to the guest room is shut tight when he finally stops outside it with the bundle. Wilbur kneels slowly, places the blankets on the floor, and uses the wall to aid his standing again. He knocks twice softly and is acknowledged with only silence and dead air. "There's some extra blankets out here if you need them. I put a glass of water on the hall table if you get thirsty." Wilbur isn't expecting any response, but it still hurts. "Goodnight." He whispers through the wood, stepping back and leaving to lock himself away in his tomb of misery.
Neither of their pillows remained dry that night. Tommy was gone when Wilbur woke. Admittedly, hours after he was supposed to. A couple of hours later, he sends a text. It's a photo of a plate of crumbs and a dirtied fork with the caption ' delicious, Toms. thank you.' Tommy leaves him on read for the rest of the day. Until nine the following day, just before his college classes, Wilbur's pretty sure. He gets a simple message that does nothing but drive pain into his heart. please don't lie to me. you don't have to pretend.
They didn't speak of it again. After several days, they were back to talking animatedly every free second they got. Tommy acted as if nothing had happened. Wilbur didn't know if he felt grateful or terribly guilty.