Chapter Text
Tommy took a breath. It was cold outside, and the storm had long since passed. He was shivering, his favorite hoodie, as dirty and torn as it was, had been drenched. Tommy was thoroughly soaked, leaving him defenseless to the winter air. “C’mon, man! Just a little further.” He muttered to himself.
See, Tommy was on his way to the building he called his home. It was really just a shitty apartment that had cheap rent, but it was the best he’d had in years. It had shitty water pressure and half-working heating and cooling, but it was home. The only reason he wasn’t at his apartment was because Ponk couldn’t make it to his shift that night, leaving Tommy as the only other barista to cover his shift. Sam had told him in the past how to close up, and Tommy was ever grateful that the man had written the directions down, or else Tommy would have been stuck walking home in the second wave of the coming storm.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Tommy had made it home. Looking at his shitty furniture, the teen couldn’t help but deflate. His raggedy old couch had a few new stains, no doubt from someone breaking in while he was gone. Some of his food was messily strewn about, and his bathroom door was wide open, revealing the torn shower curtain. “Who the hell even broke in this time?”
“This happens often, then?”
Tommy let out a very manly screech as he jumped, flailing his arms out when a stranger approached. “Who the fuck are you?!”
A man with brown hair in a red beanie stood before him. He wore a yellow sweater under a brown trench coat. The stranger rose a brow. “I’m the son of a landlord on the other side of town. We’ve been… looking for some new tenants.” he had looked around Tommy’s apartment at that, making a face at the sloppily broken window.
Tommy huffed, glaring at the man. “Yeah, I totally believe that.” He made a shooing motion, trying to get the man out of his house so he could finally rest before his next shift. “Now go, leave. I need sleep, bitch boy.”
The man scoffed, almost snarling at Tommy. “What the fuck did you just call me, child ?”
“I’m not a child, you fucker!” Tommy squawked, baring his teeth with a huff.
The brunette laughed loudly, earning a few shouts from the rooms around. “Okay, kid . Why are you even here anyway? Shouldn’t you be with, I dunno, your parents?”
“Why should I tell you, dickhead? I don’t even know you.”
The stranger’s eyes seemed to widen before he smiled easily. “Well then. I’m Wilbur! Wilbur Soot-Craft to be exact.”
“Uh-huh. Should I know who you are? Or…”
‘Wilbur’ had the audacity to look surprised for a moment before schooling his expression. The man smiled easily, leaning against Tommy’s doorframe like he owned the place. “My dad’s Philza Craft, y’know, that big shot hero over in Essempi?”
Tommy rolled his eyes, deciding to work on cleaning his apartment while Wilbur talked. “Dude, I live in Logsted. We don’t even get news of heroes over here.” He picked up a now empty cereal box, oblivious to Wilburs expression. “You’d have more luck asking someone in L’manburg or Snow Chester, maybe even Pogtopia before you’d find someone who cares around here.”
“Really, now? And why’s that?”
Tommy turned to give Wilbur a bewildered expression. “You-You know what Logsted is , right?”
Wilbur shook his head, and Tommy felt like he was the smartest person in the room for once. Turning back to his almost empty pantry, Tommy began explaining. “Logsted is the absolute worst place to live. You only come here for a few things. Money, sex, drugs, to disappear, or all of the above. You don’t come here to see heroes, you don’t come here to live comfortably, you don’t come here to have a life. You come here to escape, to leave, to die if you’re lucky enough. We have enough crimes in a day to last us weeks! Yet you never see any heroes here.” Tommy scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. “And people wonder why we never live long.”
Tommy threw away a moldy loaf of bread, silently mourning the money he had wasted on it. “You understand now, mister hero guy?” Tommy turned back to Wilbur, taking note of his almost devastated look. “I quite literally don’t care if your dad is a god or whatever, cause it has never and will never help me. But, I will ask you again. What are you doing in my apartment?”
Wilbur frowned, looking away nervously. “I wasn’t… lying per se when I said my dad was looking for tenants. He wanted me to go out in the outer districts and find kids, or people like you, who… needed help.”
Tommy scoffed, glaring at Wilbur. “I don’t need you or your dads’ fucking pity. I have a job and a high school degree. That’s good enough to keep me alive for another year or two.”
“That’s what I mean!” Wilbur threw up his hands, oblivious to Tommy’s flinch. “You shouldn’t have to depend on that! You look so– so small! I could practically break you if I push you over!” Tommy growled under his breath at that comment.
“Oh fuck off, you prick! You don’t even know me! Why the hell do you care!” Tommy stalked up to Wilbur, grabbing the elder’s coat with a sneer. “Are you being paid to do this or some shit?!”
Wilbur was silent, and that was all the answers Tommy needed.
“You mother fucker .”
“No-no, wait, please! I can explain!”
Tommy scoffed, pushing the man out of his apartment. “Hell no! You break into my goddamn apartment and expect me to listen to you after you admit to being paid to do this?! You can fuck right off with that logic!”
Slamming the door had never felt so rewarding, and hearing Wilburs stutters through the thin wood was a plus. Running a hand through his greasy hair, Tommy grabbed a rag from the corner of the kitchen. Brushing off whatever first was on it, he ran the cloth under some cold water and started scrubbing at the newest stains. They smelled like alcohol, but not any that Tommy owned. That was good. That meant his stash was still safe from the jackasses next door.
He finished cleaning, deciding to leave his bathroom a mess for now. He didn’t have the money for a new shower curtain, so he’d just have to wait a little while. Entering his small bedroom, Tommy couldn’t help but smile softly. Tubbo was curled up, hogging one of the few good blankets they had here. “I’m back.”
Tubbo groaned, opening his one working eye. “Hey, bossman. How was work?”
Tommy hummed, slipping off his shoes and climbing on the mattress, curing into his friends’ side. “It was okay. Should be getting more money for working overtime too.”
The brunette nodded, running his scarred and calloused fingers through Tommy’s tangled hair. “That’ll help us pay for a few more things, yeah?”
Nodding, Tommy closed his eyes. “I’mma sleep now.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Tubs.”
“I love you too, Toms.”