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Tommy was shaking slightly as he cut his hair with an old dagger, white locks falling to the ground around him. It had just begun to grow into his vision, and he couldn’t deal with it. He couldn’t deal with the reminder that Dream had left him, the brand that was so clearly visible on his body. He was too focused on the task at hand to hear the footsteps until they were practically right behind him, the offender wrapping an arm around his shoulder loosely.
“Wilbur, what the fuck? I have a knife , don’t sneak up on me like that.” He had dropped it when Wilbur scared him, and was going to look for it when he noticed it in Wilbur’s hand, his brother twirling it around his fingers with a smile.
“Good evening to you as well Tommy. How’s the haircut going?” His voice had a teasing lilt, and Tommy huffed as he tried to steal the knife back. Wilbur, annoyingly, held it high above his head and out of Tommy's reach, giggling as the younger jumped around in his attempts to grab it.
“Calm down, Tommy, I just want to help you cut your hair. I did Techno’s all the time when we were younger, remember?” Tommy did remember, and he also remembered Techno’s jagged ends that he hid in braids. He sat down anyway, letting Wilbur play with his hair softly as the sounds of mobs filled the night. He winced as Wilbur’s fingers caught on a few snags, but eventually he started, more gentle than Tommy was.
It was nice, he would admit, being able to spend time with his brother again, not some imitation that stumbled over his words, consistently happy. It was more real to have a brother that yelled at him, that actually got passionate. Closing his eyes, Tommy leaned back into his brother's touch, humming as the other paused to run a hand through his hair.
“Feeling alright, Toms?” Wilbur asked, tentative as his little brother leaned back on him. He nodded, so he shrugged and got back to work. He knew he was playing with Tommy’s trust as he cut the other’s hair, and it warmed something inside of him as the soft snip of the scissors filled their silence. It was comfortable, familiar. There was a lot of silence back in Pogtopia, when speaking would run the risk of the dust entering your lungs, something neither of them was particularly fond of.
Wilbur didn’t know what happened to Tommy while he was in limbo, what changed him so harshly. He knew it had something to do with Dream and exile, but not much more than that. A selfish part of his soul wanted it to stay that way, to stay in blissful ignorance as the people around him suffered. But he was trying to change from what he was like… before , so he figured he would ask one of these days, when the skies were clear and Tommy’s mood steady.
Before he knew it he was done with Tommy’s hair, and set the scissors down with a soft clink as he looked Tommy up and down.
“Tommy, do you want to look at it?” Wilbur’s voice was soft, and he appreciated it as he nodded, looking around for a mirror. When he finally found one he let out a soft gasp, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was definitely a lot shorter, around the length of what it was at the beginning of L’manburg. It wasn’t perfect, jagged ends and all, but it was different, and that was all that mattered as Tommy set down the mirror and turned around, burying his face in Wilbur’s sweater.
“Thank you.” He whispered, shutting his eyes.
“Of course.”