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It’s four AM and Tommy is cold.
And isn’t that a total understatement—his entire body is covered in goosebumps under his clothes (his pyjamas, much like literally else he owns, are packed away in the apartment he can’t currently get into) and he can’t stop shivering, shaking violently on the spare mattress on the floor.
There’s no way he can get back to sleep like this; he pulls his hoodie sleeves down over his hands and draws the strings real tight to hopefully warm his face a little, but it does next to nothing in terms of offering any relief.
After a few minutes of tossing and turning, he sits up on the mattress, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and grumbling to himself. Why the fuck does it have to be so cold? Why does there have to be carbon monoxide in his apartment? None of this is fair in the least and he lets out a frustrated whine, getting up and getting his coat before lying back down and draping it over himself like a pathetic excuse for a blanket.
Tommy curls up beneath the jacket, tucking his legs up against his stomach and crossing his arms over his chest, making himself small so that all of him is covered. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing sleep to take pity on him, but between the unbearable cold and his racing thoughts, it turns out to be a fruitless effort.
He’s at Wilbur’s, the person who always offers him the most comfort; just being close to him should be enough to make him feel safe, but the distance between them feels vast and endless despite him only being a few rooms away, and Tommy is riddled with insecurities. Maybe I shouldn’t have moved out here after all, he thinks, trying to chase the doubts from his head. It’s okay, Wilbur’s here, you’re with Wilbur he repeats to himself, hugging himself tightly in his own arms, trembling from the cold.
Being strong should be easy now; he’s almost an adult after all, and all of this misfortune is really nothing when he stops to think about it logically, but that doesn’t put an end to the feeling of dread that’s settled in his stomach, weighing him down. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this small, this vulnerable, and everything around him feels so expansive and all too fast, like it’s all closing in on him, about to crush him.
He whimpers softly to himself, feeling pathetic and weak, tucking his head beneath the coat as well as he can manage, trying to picture Wilbur asleep in his bedroom, peaceful and quiet, but it only makes him ache more, feeling horribly empty and alone. He sits up again, coat wrapped around his shoulders as his eyes adjust to the darkness, trying to talk himself out of what he’s about to do.
“You’re childish,” he whispers to himself, scolding. “Wilbur will think you’re pathetic.” It all sounds right to his own ears, but he can’t help the longing inside of him, the need to be close. Sighing deeply, he gets up off the mattress, discarding his coat and making his way towards Wilbur’s door, pushing it open as gently as he can manage, not wanting to wake him.
He’s asleep, as expected (though how he can manage to in this frigid environment, Tommy has absolutely no idea), and just the sight of him calms Tommy down a little, the knot in his stomach loosening just a bit. You saw him, he tells himself, you saw him and it made you feel better, now just go back to bed; everything is going to be okay.
Ignoring the voice in his head, Tommy takes a step closer to Wilbur’s bed. He feels creepy, basically stood in the older man’s bedroom watching him sleep, but the waves of comfort that wash over him from being this close to Wilbur are like their own kind of warmth, addicting and soft, and he continues to approach, as if drawn to him from some invisible force.
When his legs hit the side of the bed, he steels himself, as if being shaken out of some kind of trance. He lays his hands on the bedcovers, the part of them undisturbed by Wilbur, and takes a deep breath, knowing that he should turn around and go back now, that he’s already gone too far.
Tommy gets into bed beside Wilbur.
He can feel his whole body relax as he snuggles under the covers; there’s only one pillow and it’s currently beneath Wilbur’s head, but he doesn’t mind, content to lie on the mattress directly. It’s still cold even when wrapped in the blanket over him, but Tommy finds he doesn’t mind as much; he feels a warmth spreading out from his heart down to the tips of his toes, and for just a moment it feels like nothing is wrong in the world.
“Tommy…?” Wilbur mumbles sleepily, and Tommy’s heart stops in his chest. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”
He won’t, can’t look at Wilbur, so he keeps his body turned towards the other side, facing the door. “It’s fucking freezing in here you asshole, and you didn’t give me any blankets.”
“Oh, grow up, Tommy,” Wilbur murmurs under his breath, but he reaches out for the boy, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him closer—Tommy’s heart stops again; Wilbur is close enough that he can feel every breath he exhales, and the realisation makes him dizzy. Without listening to the thoughts racing through his head, he snuggles as close to Wilbur as is physically possible, as though trying to absorb his warmth into his skin.
Wilbur laughs, his voice still thick with sleep, and the sound rings out in Tommy’s head; he’d be content to drown in it. Wilbur doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he doesn’t push Tommy away either, just holding him in his arms and for just a moment, Tommy can pretend.
“What’s really bothering you,” Wilbur asks then, and, like always, it’s like he can see directly into his mind. Tommy has never been able to hide anything from Wilbur, and it’s a blessing and a curse. “Is it your apartment?”
It takes Tommy a moment to reply; he’s simply too comfortable to speak, and his eyelids flutter closed as he lays his head on Wilbur’s chest. “S’everything, I guess,” he offers noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders in his hold. “Everything kinda sucks.”
“No it doesn’t,” Wilbur argues, and because it’s Wilbur, Tommy almost believes him just like that, without any further explanation. “It just feels like that because all of this is new. Don’t be a baby.”
Tommy scowls, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, but he knows Wilbur is right, as he always is. “I guess,” he sighs, nuzzling the top of his head into the crook of Wilbur’s neck. The words they’re saying seem so inconsequential, almost hollow in comparison to the fact that they’re literally wrapped up in each other right now; Tommy almost forgets to breathe. “You’re the one place that feels like home,” he whispers, and the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to regret them. Despite the darkness, he can feel Wilbur’s eyes on him, and he turns his face inwards, hiding against Wilbur, cowering a little.
“Of course you’d say something like that.” Wilbur punctuates his thought with another laugh, and Tommy tries not to feel ashamed; Wilbur runs a hand through his hair and the touch makes him shiver, but this time it’s not from the cold.
He’s about to take it back, to take the cowards way out, but Wilbur doesn’t give him a chance to; he lifts an arm to grab hold of Tommy’s chin, tilting his head upwards and pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.
Tommy’s heart is in his throat; he feels like he’s suffocating as he barely manages to kiss back—he’s just starting to figure out where to put his lips when Wilbur pulls away, breathing softly onto his lips, leaving him wide-eyed and gasping.
“Are you going to let me sleep now?” Wilbur teases, pressing a soft kiss onto Tommy’s forehead. Tommy’s entire body flushes, and sleeping is about the farthest thing from his mind right now, but he nods anyway, and Wilbur hums his satisfaction, continuing to hold him close.
Everything is still, soft, and Tommy mumbles a “goodnight, Wilbur” into the skin of his neck, and then adds, tone mischievous, “next time you want to get me into your bed you can just ask; no need to passive-aggressively shut the heating off.”
Wilbur slaps him lightly on the arm, not saying anything in response, but that’s okay; the silence is comfortable. The minutes tick by, and Tommy isn’t sure whether Wilbur is asleep or awake; his breathing is soft, relaxed, and he feels like he could lie here and listen to it forever.
For the rest of the night, Tommy feels warm.