Chapter Text
Tommy was late. Tommy was so incredibly late, and if he didn’t get to the trolley he would be fucked. Then Ranboo would kill him for missing another interview and Tubbo would sell his kidneys for rent money. Tommy ran faster, sprinting through the city. Worn shoes hit the sidewalk as Tommy pushed his body faster. The messenger back on his side threatened to fly off him and take Tommy’s coat with it.
“Wait!” the blonde boy yelled, rushing towards the trolley beginning to depart. “Wait!” he yelled, his voice mingling with the chaos of the city. The engine started with a hiss. “Wait! Please!” he called out, gripping the frayed strap of his bag. The trolley stalled, and Tommy almost cried. Thank the fucking gods, he thought. His sprint slowed to a jog and Tommy ran to the trolley door. The driver watched at him with an impatient gaze, eyeing the wind-robbed boy balefully.
Tommy climbed inside, eternally grateful.
“Thank…you,” he wheezed. The driver shrugged, she was used to his shenanigans.
“You gotta get better time-management skills, hun,” she sighed. Tommy nodded, not daring to disagree with the woman that was saving him from running five miles and missing his newest job interview.
“Will…work on…that,” he managed through labored breaths. She rolled her eyes. They both knew he was lying. She only motioned for him to grab a seat as an electric hiss signaled the trolley starting again.
Tommy collapsed on a vinyl seat, letting his aching body savor a few strained breaths, relaxing against the seat. The city was a bustle of noise, bright, loud, and lively, and Tommy loved it. He loved it so much. The bright wind by the docks, the market at the plaza, the festivals that would shut down the streets. L’manburg was gold and orange and pink and yellow and sky blue with emerald green cutting through it.
It was great. It was the best place Tommy had ever lived. It was expensive.
And Tommy was a student. They were all students—Tubbo, Ranboo, and him. Tubbo started online classes to manage working at an auto shop and academics, and Ranboo, with his ungodly sleep schedule, balanced night school and worked at a local boba place. But Tommy was determined to stay at his university. But he still needed a job, one that would last longer than a month. He’d tried working at restaurants closer to home but Tommy didn’t work well with snotty customers and had a hard time holding his tongue. It became a cycle, Tommy was hired, had one too many ‘incidents’, and he’d get fired. He hated it.
Hate didn’t mean he didn’t need the money. Tubbo and Ranboo were both paid above the average minimum wage; it wasn't enough. When the three were all in college they split a dorm, one down payment at the beginning of the year and they were fine. However, loud neighbors made it hard to do anything requiring concentration. Too many burnt meals, failed tests, and shitty nights sent them packing.
They got an apartment. Ranboo was mainly in charge of tracking their checkbooks, and when Tubbo and Ranboo’s parents pulled out of their deal to support them after both boys changed majors when they moved house, they all got jobs.
It was fine, they were fine. Living from check to check, but fine. That’s what Tommy needed for this to work. He couldn’t be late. He couldn’t miss another interview. Tubbo would kill him, they'd be homeless and Tommy would lose everything he worked so hard for.
He gripped his bag closer to his chest, examining its restitched seams. He would make this work. He just needed to nail this interview, get the job and everything would be fine.
Tommy pushed further into his seat, blonde locks pressing against vinyl. He could make this work. He could do it. He started out the window watching quaint brick houses zip by as the trolly sped down the track. Metal wheels squealed against the rails, itching Tommy’s brain in a way he couldn’t help but smile at. He watched the business packed onto city blocks, with residential buildings stacked on top of the stores. Restaurants, dessert parlors, those bohemian clothing stores Tommy could never see himself entering, and other little odd businesses.
Tommy watched the buildings, breathing slowly at the sunlight warm on his face. He bit his lip, while his leg bounced against the trolley’s wooden floor. This was one interview, Tommy had done dozens of interviews. Why was this one making him so nervous? Puffy had even put in a good word to the owner for him.
Tommy breathed out. He could do it. He just needed to breathe.
“One interview,” he muttered, trying to calm himself. “It’s just one interview.” He still couldn’t stop shaking. He shifted his mind, changing his thoughts from a desperately needed job to his upcoming exams. He had a biology test coming up. They were to study plants and different cycles occurring throughout plant life. Surprisingly, photosynthesis was more interesting than he thought, and Tommy remembered more than the mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell.
So hey, maybe this job might actually work. Photosynthesis was vaguely interesting and Tommy’s interview was with a flower shop. Tommy’s brain short-circuited. Why the fuck was he interviewing with a flower shop? What did Puffy get him into this time?
Shit, he was thinking about the interview again, fuck. He scrambled to think about something else. Tubbo? his brain suggested. Tommy took it. Tubbo! Tubbo, his roommate! His lovely roommate who had nothing to do with Tommy’s interview at the flower shop except for the fact that Tubbo loved bees, and bees pollinated flowers, and Tommy was going to a flower shop for his interview, the interview he was probably going to fail and he couldn’t do anything about-
“Kid? You alright?” a voice asked. Tommy turned, head whipping, to find a tall brown-haired man staring at him. “Are you okay?” The man leaned against one of the trolley’s many poles. He was smiling at Tommy in a soft cautious way, the way one would greet a stranger. Because that’s what this man was doing, he was greeting a strange child he didn’t know.
Tommy glanced at the other people in the trolley car, none of them paid attention to the interaction happening. Tommy forced a smile.
“I’m great,” he lied. “I’m doing fine.” Customer service voice, his brain supplied.
“Oh, okay,” the man said. He seemed caught off-guard by the boy’s drastic behavior switch. “I was just wondering cause you look a breath away from a heart attack.” The joke made Tommy drop his false smile. He shrugged and ran an anxious hand through his hair, fighting the urge to pick at his fingernails. Ranboo had been begging him to drop the habit for months.
“I’m alright, just Mondays am I right?” Tommy laughed painfully at his misery. Was it even Monday?
“It’s Saturday.”
“Ah.” Tommy nodded awkwardly. Inside his brain every bell and whistle had gone off, his anxiety was already on hyperdrive, but now he was fucking up the most basic of human interactions. Goddammit, Innit! Tommy thought.
The man shifted against the pole adjusting the sleeves of his mustard-colored sweater. The collar of a white button-up stuck out from beneath the plush-looking fabric. He looked like one of those bitches who would shop at the bohemian stores Tommy hated.
“I just wanted to see if you’re okay, it’s not every day you see a kid half your age about to cry into his bag.” Tommy squeezed the strap of his bag. He pushed against the vinyl chair, weighing his options. Let the man awkwardly exit the conversation or vent to a random stranger about life shit and get a little bit of the tension filling his bones.
“I’m just a bit stressed,” Tommy sighed reluctantly.
“Oh?” the man stood up straighter. He shook some of his hair out of his eyes.
“I’ve got a job interview, and I really need it to work out. I’ve also got college exams coming up, and rent’s due in a week, so, there’s been a lot going on for me right now,” Tommy sighed. The man blinked, brown eyes going wide. Sure it was a lot of shit to unload on a stranger, but Tommy didn’t care, it wasn’t like he was gonna end up meeting this guy ever again.
“Rent and job interview? Those are adult problems.” The man said incredulously. Tommy shrugged.
“Life’s weird,” he replied bluntly.
“Wait, how old are you?”
Tommy sat up straighter. “Eighteen.”
“What?” the man gasped. “I thought you were like a child. Fourteen at most. You’re eighteen?”
“Yeah,” Tommy laughed awkwardly.
“Shit,” the man muttered, “I just insulted myself.” Tommy’s mind flashed back to the man’s comment about Tommy being half his age.
“So you’re not…” he thought about it, “thirty-six?”
“What? No! Gods no!"
“Really,” Tommy said, with feigned shock. “I thought you were being generous and saying half, most people say I look older than I am.” No one said that.
“What! I am not being generous!”
“You sure? I thought you were easily forty or fifty. All the other creepy dudes on trollies are geezers.”
“I am not creepy! And I am not forty!”
Tommy made a face in response. “I wouldn’t bet money on either of those statements,” he smiled smugly.
“You’re the one who looks like a fucking five-year-old,” the man swore. Tommy gaped.
“I do not look like a five-year-old!”
The man watched him for a moment, cocking his head as he looked Tommy up and down. Just before Tommy call him a creep, the man cut him off.
“Child,” he stated.
“Fuck you, you old fucking bitch! I bet you were around before the fungi even learned to decompose trees you fucking fossil!” Tommy burst, irritation from his already messy day, spiking.
The man took a sudden step back, clearly caught off guard by the sharpness of Tommy’s outburst. Fuck, Tommy thought. He needed to start thinking before he spoke. He ruined the conversation, he was bound to ruin his job interview. Tommy turned away, staring down at the bag on his lap. Tears welled somewhere far back in his eyes, Tommy pushed down the sensation, pushing his face into his hands.
Fuck, he thought. I’m an idiot, who Tubbo and Ranboo are gonna kick out if I don't get this job. He was on his last leg, this couldn’t keep messing up. He sniffled, sharply.
“Hey, hey,” the voice said again. He was still here. Tommy held back a swear. He let teary eyes fall on the man. “Are you alright?”
“You should go back to whatever you were doing, I’m sorry for bothering you,” Tommy said.
“Not if you’re not alright. My friend used to have panic attacks growing up, I know a lot about them. Do you want to talk about it? I understand if you don’t, but in my experience, it tends to help a little bit.”
Tommy sniffled and rubbed his eyes. Mindlessly he scooted over in his chair, moving closer to the window. There was a pause before the man sat down beside him, leaving a good amount of space between the stranger and the boy.
“I’m going to a job interview right now,” Tommy started, “and I need this job. My roommates and I, we’re all students and we share an apartment. And trying to make ends meet has been…” Tommy took a shaky breath, “tough. I can’t fail this interview because if I fuck it up…I don’t even know. ”
“Oh, shit,” the man breathed. Tommy let out a bitter laugh.
“Yeah.”
He focused on his breathing, the feeling of vinyl against his palms anchoring him to reality.
“Aren’t you a bit young to have to worry about that? Don’t your parents take care of that stuff?” Tommy didn’t respond.
“My aunt was originally helping me, but then my grandmother got into a car accident after college started and my aunt couldn’t pay for both of us.” Tommy breathed. “I told her I could handle my shit and that she should take care of my grandma.”
“Oh,” the man said again. Fucking eloquent bastard, something in his brain hissed. Tommy batted the thought away. “I’m sorry,” the stranger replied.
“Yeah.” There wasn’t much to say.
They sat in silence for a bit. Tommy, weighed down by his misery, and the stranger, by the shock of how awful Tommy’s situation was.
“Would you like advice for your interview?” the curly-haired man asked. Tommy shrugged, with all the interviews he’s gone to there was no advice he hadn’t heard. His trouble wasn’t getting the job, it was keeping it.
“Sure,” Tommy said, mainly as a way to keep the conversation going. His eyes were still trained on the floor.
“What are you applying for?”
“Flower shop towards the end of Prismarine Drive.” The store wasn’t too far from the coast, Tommy could probably walk to the docks if he wanted.
“Crafting Gardenias?” the stranger asked. Tommy blinked. How did he know it by name?
“…yeah.”
The man caught Tommy’s skeptical expression. “Sorry, I have a friend who works there.”
Tommy nodded, tempted to make another creep joke but the anxiety eating at his nerves killed any laughter.
“Well, tell him to put in a good word for me,” Tommy joked. The brown-eyed man nodded, smiling a bit more. His grin was contagious, as a matching one slowly crept onto Tommy’s face.
“I can do that. Do you have a name?”
Tommy rolled his eyes. He played along though, if this stranger was going to pretend to help him, Tommy would let him live out his humanitarian daydream. Of course, Tommy wasn’t going to be the first to give out his name.
“Do you? I’m not giving my identity to a stranger,” he asked.
“Even one that can help you get your job?”
“Especially one that plans to tell my future employer about me. You could say horrible things, and then I’ll be fired, again.” He’d meant the last word to be funny, instead took his horrible reality and slapped him in the face with it. The man pretended not to notice Tommy’s broken tone.
“Fine, my name is Wilbur, Wilbur Soot.” Wilbur stuck out a hand, gesturing for Tommy to take it.
“Weird name for a weird dude. What, are you an arsonist or something?” Tommy quipped.
“Just shake my hand,” Wilbur groaned. Tommy smiled.
“Innit, Thomas Innit, but you can call me, Tommy.” He took Wilbur’s palm, giving it a good shake before falling back against his seat. Tommy watched the man pull a phone from his pocket and sent a text.
“Hire, Thomas Innit, a.k.a. Tommy,” he mumbled.
“Wait, I thought you were joking!” Tommy said, sitting up straighter in his seat. The trolley began to slow to a stop again. The gentle screech of brakes, wormed into his ears, biting at the back of his mind. Passengers began loading on and off again. Tommy’s stop was after this one. Then he’d walk down towards the flower shop.
“Nope,” Wilbur said. He stood, giving Tommy a bright smile as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.
“It was very nice to meet you, Tommy,” the man said, grinning brightly. “Unfortunately this is my stop, but it was great talking to you.” He stepped into the main aisle as Tommy watched frozen in shock and confusion. “Good luck with the interview, I imagine if you act like you’re yourself, you’ll be just fine.” He gave the boy a little wave that Tommy barely managed to return and left the trolley.
Tommy watched him dazedly through the window and the tall figure snaked through the streets heading back into a store just out of view from Tommy’s window. The engine started up with a hiss and Tommy stared forward reeling.
What the fuck just happened?
⚘ ❀ ⚘
Tommy’s hand shook anxiously. He rubbed his sweaty palms against the fabric of his trousers, trying to summon back whatever bit of calm he had when he climbed out of the trolley. Tommy stared at the door to the flower shop, eyes stuck on the name painted on the glass. Crafting Gardenias. He rocked on his heels, biting his lip slightly. Tommy needed to pull himself together. He was a Big Man™. He could handle a job interview.
The reassurance felt like a lie. Tommy felt like running. Racing to the trolley stop and getting on the next train out of there. But he was outside the flower shop. He could do this. He had to do this.
“Fucking breathe, Tommy,” he hissed to himself. He sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re doing this for Tubbo,” he reminded himself. “For Tubbo, and Ranboo, and yourself. So you can have a place to live. You can do it, just breathe.”
Closed his eyes, gripping the bag on his shoulder tighter. A slow breath exited him. Blue eyes opened, lined with a new determined look. He could do this. Tommy grabbed the door handle open and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit him was the heat. Inside the flower shop, the air was warm, wrapping around him comfortingly, while the door behind him closed with a bell ringing softly in his ears. Next was the smell, the soft flowery scent flooded his senses, throwing him off-guard for a moment. It wasn’t overwhelming though, the smell anchored him to the moment. Rooting him firmly in reality, Tommy savored the feeling.
It was bright inside the store. Bright green stems and pink and yellow petals stuck out to him. A symphony of color, beautifully arranged inside the pistachio-colored shop.
The bell twinkled the more the door slid back into its frame. Tommy hesitantly stepped further into the shop. He decided to wait, explore more of the rows and rows of flowers, and let the owners come to him. As the boy’s shuffling feet made their way around the store, Tommy’s heartbeat slowed, going from a thunderous slam against his rib cage to a steady calmed rhythm.
He ran calloused fingers to the green-painted wooden shelves. Tommy touched the edges of the wrapping paper encompassing the flowers, breathing softly when it crumpled lightly under his touch. He walked towards a bundle of orchids, on a shelf. His left hand still gripped the strap of his messenger bag. The brown fabric worn from his constant touch.
Tommy stepped closer, blue eyes wide with intrigue. He lifted a hand towards the plant marveling at its beauty.
“I don’t recommend touching it,” a voice called out behind him. Tommy spun around. A pink-haired man stared at him from across the store, coming out of the side area Tommy didn’t notice. He pulled his ponytail tighter and flashed Tommy a partial smile. “The oils from your hands can kill the plant.”
“Oh,” Tommy responded. “Sorry.”
The pink-haired man shrugged, stepping out of the alcove and walking towards the back counter. Shit, Tommy thought. He works here, there goes a good first impression. Tommy lingered for a moment, watching the man get situated behind the counter. He pulled out a mason jar labeled Tips and another labled Bouquet Surprise, filled with paper slips. The man gave him a casual look. Tommy wanted to leave. He wanted to leave so badly.
“Is there anything I can help you with today?”
But Tommy needed this interview. Puffy had already gone out of her way to put in a good word for him, to dip out now would just be rude. And Wilbur, something reminded him, Wilbur said he’d help. Tommy steeled his nerves.
“Yes,” he said, voice wavering a bit. “I’m Thomas Innit, I’m here for the job interview.” Ranboo would be so proud of him. He didn’t even swear, and he ended the statement without it sounding like a question. Maybe this wouldn’t be awful.
“You’re the new hiree?” the man asked. He didn’t seem skeptical, that was good. Tommy nodded. “Cool.” The man drummed his fingers on the counter for a moment, thinking. “Uh…give me one second.” With that, he pushed off the counter and leaned into the open door behind the back counter.
“PHIL!” the pink-haired man shouted. Tommy’s eyes widened. “PUFFY’S KID IS HERE!”
Puffy’s kid?
A voice called out from the other side of the door, muffled by distance, but Tommy heard footsteps. A blonde man came out of the door, face bright with a wide smile on his face that contrasted the pink-haired man’s subtle grin. Unlike the latter, the blonde’s joy didn’t seem reserved for himself.
“Hi, mate,” he grinned. “You must be Thomas.”
Tommy nodded and crossed the shop until he was standing in front of the counter. The older blonde stuck his hand out. Formalities, Tommy thought. Tommy shook his hand.
“I’m Phil,” he said once Tommy let go. “I’ll be the one conducting your interview.” Wow, that felt formal. Conducting his interview? Who was conducting anything other than an orchestra? Oh, gods, Tommy was fucked. He had to be. He plastered a customer service smile on his face.
“Great,” his voice cracked. Shit. Phil gave him a sympathetic smile while his pink-haired companion slipped behind the door behind Phil and disappeared into the backroom.
“Don’t be worried, I promise this won’t kill you, plus Puffy already told me great things about you.” Right, Puffy was the one who pushed him to try here instead of the bookstore closer to home. They said he was Puffy’s kid. He could do this.
“Okay,” Tommy said slowly.
“How about we get started?” Tommy nodded, not trusting his voice. You’re doing this for Tubbo and Ranboo. You’re doing this for Tubbo and Ranboo, his brain repeated as he followed the blonde man. Also for himself, but mainly Tubbo and Ranboo.
The man had a clipboard with him as Tommy trailed after him. They snaked through the store examining, the older man examining racks of flowers and cracked plant potters, the younger anxiously following him.
“I like to do my interviews while standing,” Phil eventually said. “Walking around keeps the brain working, right?”
Tommy missed his playful tone. He looked up to see the man smiling at him. Tommy smiled back, clenching and unclenching his hands. Phil paused in front of a bouquet of daffodils, he tucked the clipboard under his arm and lifted the bouquet, looking into the cone of water it was held in. He sighed and shifted the flowers in his hand.
“TECHNO!” Phil shouted abruptly. Tommy praised himself for not jumping. “F-12 A NEEDS WATER REPLACEMENT!” There was a pause. From the backroom, Tommy heard a muffled yet loud “Yep!”
Shouting, he realized, was their main method of communication. Did that mean Tommy’s loud (sometimes destructive) nature might work in his favor here? Before he could properly answer the question, Phil laid the flowers down on a cart and motioned for Tommy to follow him to the front of the store.
“So, mate,” the man started. Tommy tensed. “Tell me about yourself?” Tommy had heard the questions a dozen times before. He knew what worked and what didn’t. He gave a practiced response.
“Well, I’m a student at Snowchester College, at the East end of the city. I’m studying botanical biology, entrepreneurship, and business.” He took a business class last semester for the credits, mainly because Tubbo bullied him into it. The class had been dry as fuck, but it made him sound educated, and like he was studying for an ‘actually useful degree’ as Tubbo put it. “I used to work at a restaurant. My job allowed me to tackle different aspects of customer service. I enjoyed the diversity of the environment and the challenges it provided. However, recently I’ve been wanting to work in something more aligned with my interest, so I’m really thankful Puffy recommended me for this opportunity.” The challenges his old job provided were awful hours, an incompetent manager, and shitty customers. He despised it all.
Phil scribbled down something on his clipboard and approached the window display where he poked and prodded at some bamboo threatening to outgrow its planter. Phil turned the pot around so a different half faced the sun.
“What’s a weakness of yours?” Phil asked. Tommy thought for a moment, sifting through weaknesses to determine which one would appease the blonde man. He flashed back to Wilbur, his soft comforting voice on the trolley anchoring Tommy during his spiral. If the man really did tell them about him, then he’d surely reported Tommy’s breakdown.
“I can get anxious when I’m confronting something new. To help prevent that, I always have a backup plan ready and I see whatever I’m dealing with from all angles, so I don’t feel unprepared. It alleviates the anxiety and if I'm brainstorming with a team, we can find multiple creative solutions.” His weakness, how to fix it, and the fix’s beneficial qualities. The perfect interview answer. Ranboo would be proud. He even mentioned his teamwork skills! Ranboo would be very proud.
Tommy tucked a satisfied smile back into his mind, focusing on the challenge in front of him. Phil was staring at Tommy in a way that made goosebumps rise on his skin. The man’s blue eyes pierced into Tommy’s like they were looking into his soul. Trying to see what was really going on with the boy. Tommy cracked a cautious smile, hoping to end the man’s…suspicion? The boy remained unsure about what the blonde man’s gaze searched for.
“Good answer. Alright, what are you passionate about outside of work?”
Good question, Tommy thought in response.
“Well, I love music. When I go on walks either around campus or around the town I love listening to music. Being able to hear what other people create is so inspiring and it makes me want to be good at things I’m interested in.” The answer felt flat, but it worked. Phil noted something else on his clipboard and looked back up to Tommy.
“Do you play an instrument?”
“Ah, no. I’ve always wanted to, but it’s just never been in the cards.”
“Really? Why?”
Tommy shrugged. He didn’t need to explain his constant financial issues to his employer. His clothing was a little older and ill-fitting because it was vintage. His inability to play an instrument despite it being one of his dreams was because he was a busy guy. Nothing else.
“Just never had the time,” he said. Broke-ass bitch, his brain responded. Tommy tried to not let the thought show on his face. He wasn’t broke. He was almost broke. There was a difference.
Phil made a little sound but continued pursuing the flowers, while Tommy tagged along behind him. The man was thinking, and his quiet inquisitive nature made Tommy bounce on his toes. What question was he going to be asked next? Would you ask Tommy why he got fired? What the teen thought his strengths were? What was his dream job? Tommy could never answer that question, he usually said some bullshit related to the job he interviewed for, but in actuality, he’d been leaning into the idea of owning his own business. A music store. Maybe he’d sell guitars or do lessons. Some real street-hipster-type shit. Not that he’d even be able to do it, but it was a nice thought.
“Alright last question,” Phil finally said. Tommy snapped back to his reality. Last question? Last question! He asked three questions! Interviews were supposed to be longer than that. Tommy tried not to swear. He’d fucked up in some way. He fucked himself over and he screwed himself out of the job. Shit. Tubbo was gonna kill him.
Tommy nodded. A fake smile pressed into his cheeks. He couldn’t make the grin reach his eyes.
“What’s wrong with my plant?”
Oh. Tommy hadn’t been expecting this question, but it made sense. A flower shop interview should ask about flowers. Tommy followed where Phil pointed to. A large bird of paradise sat in a corner on the wall opposite him. It was next to the alcove the pink-haired employee came out of. Tommy didn’t notice much then, but now he could see the plant’s suffering. The leaves were wilting, and the stem bent over, leaning towards the floor. Tommy crossed the room to get a closer look.
“May I touch it?” he asked. He assumed he could, but some people were weird.
“Be my guest,” Phil answered. Tommy examined the leaves and the stems but found no sign of the plant’s malignancy until he reached the soil. The dirt was damp, damp enough for Tommy to press it into clumps with little force. A thin white film speckled parts of the soil.
“When was the last time you watered it?” the boy asked.
“3 days ago.”
“And before that?”
“I believe it gets water about twice a week.”
Tommy paused, leaning away from the plant. He’d researched birds of paradise a week ago for a project. They liked the light and preferred damp soil, not whatever sticky-wet combination this was. He’d seen this before when his professor talked about fungi and plants. It reminded him of when Ranboo killed his succulents.
“Root rot,” he said aloud. He turned to look into Phil’s somewhat piercing blue eyes. “It’s got root rot. You're overwatering your plant.” He watched Phil cock his head, eyes narrowing for a moment like he was analyzing Tommy. “You should remove the plant from its pot and let it dry. Replacing soil and watering it less frequently should fix most of your leaf discoloration. You can probably find the exact instructions online.”
Phil gave an approving nod, as Tommy got off the ground.
“How’d you even overwater it?” the boy couldn’t help but ask. “You’re a flower shop, aren't you taking care of plants your whole thing?” Phil made a noise and suddenly Tommy became aware of the sharpness of his words. Shit, his thoughts hissed. He needed to think before he spoke, that’s how he lost his last job. Fuck he was stupid. Phil met Tommy's eyes. “Not that you shouldn’t be a flower shop,” Tommy hurriedly backtracked. “Your flowers look great, all the plants in here look great. Except for that one, but it isn’t even that bad. I’m sure you aren’t bad at taking care of plants.” He continued fumbling over his words. “I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry.” Smooth, Innit, his brain hissed.
Phil cracked a smile.
“You’re fine mate, you don’t need to apologize. I get it though, it looks like shit.”
Tommy fought a snicker.
“Don’t worry though, I’m not the one who takes care of it. That’s my son’s he brought it for decor and immediately murdered it.” Tommy tried harder not to laugh. “I'll make sure to tell him to keep his hands off it. If you want though you can take over taking care of it. I like having it here, just not so…dead.” He handled the wilting leaves affectionately. Tommy blinked.
“Sorry?”
“You can take over caring for it, if you want.”
If you want. If you want? What did that mean? Did Tommy-
“I got the job?” he asked. He could barely breathe. Did he just get the job? The job he needed so desperately, the one he was only fifty percent sure Tubbo believed he would get.
Phil shrugged. “If you want it.”
Tommy tried to not lose his shit right there in the store. FUCK YOU, TUBBO! his thoughts yelled excitedly. Never doubt me, bitch! I told you I could do it! Tommy nodded, very fast, not trusting his mouth to come up with anything slander against his roommate. He smiled, nodded vigorously for way too long, then managed to pry his mouth out of his grin and exclaim, “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, so much, sir.”
Phil nodded. His kind smile sent warmth to Tommy’s core.
Time was a blur after that. Phil waved Tommy off, telling him to come back in three days to get started. Tommy threw the flower shop’s door open and raced out, zipping through L’manburg’s busy streets. Electricity burned his veins as excited yells flew from his lips. The boy expertly navigated the city, running to Puffy’s store with energy bubbling out of him.