Chapter Text
It’s a nice day out. There’s two boys on the beach. One of them was all lanky limbs and freckled skin. He lounges under an umbrella with another teen who looks overdressed for the weather in his jeans. The two seem to be having light conversation, sending Tommy furtive glances all the while. The one in the green jumper and jeans doesn’t seem to know how to whisper, and he’s heard the words ‘new kid’ and ‘stepson’ leave their lips so he knows for sure they’re talking about him.
It’s unsettling. Tommy stomps down the urge to run over to Phil. He glances over to where his father was eating ice cream with Kristin. As the woman offers her cheek for Phil to kiss, he looks away. Gross.
He looks back to the pair of teens and finds the brown-haired boy who caught his eye looking at him. He’s wearing sunglasses, but Tommy’s certain their eyes met. He gives the boy his best glare. To his satisfaction, the boy looks away and leans over to whisper something to his friend. The much shorter boy ducks comically when he turns to see Tommy, realising that the blond was looking.
He's suddenly startled by hands digging into his sides in a too-aggressive tickle.
“Wilbur!” he protests, trying to hit his brother back. The man dodges with a laugh and takes a seat beside him.
“What’s up, Tommy? Looking at girls~?”
The blond rolled his eyes at his older brother. “Fuck off Wil.”
Wilbur follows the direction of his gaze. “Ooh, are you looking at boys, Tommy?” he drawls, even more annoyingly.
“Ugh! No, Wil. They’re kids from school and they’re talking about me.”
“Yeah? What are they saying?”
“The one in the beanie said something about me being the ‘new kid from Britain’ and how I’m ‘Ms. Black’s stepson’. I feel like they might be talking shit.”
At the mention of Kristin, Wilbur huffs in that way where he thinks Tommy doesn’t notice, which the blond ignores in turn so his brother won’t think he’ll tell him off to Phil and prompt him to run away or something. Wilbur’s stupid like that. Why wouldn’t he like Kristin? She makes excellent sandwiches. He’s not sure about her son though. He’s only met Dave once and he almost pissed himself from the interaction.
It was the middle of the night and Tommy got up to use the toilet. He saw a silhouette in the kitchen and scared himself thinking it was a ghost thief, before remembering that his stepmum mentioned that her son Dave was returning from university that day.
“You’re Tommy?” the man—How is Kristin’s son so tall? He’s as old as Wilbur— had asked monotonously in this scary deep voice while unwrapping an ice lolly he got from the fridge. Tommy had stuttered out his assent and made himself scarce. Not his proudest moment, admittedly. It must have been a terrible first impression.
“Well they don’t look like they’re saying mean shit.” Wilbur nudges Tommy, pointing at something. He looks back to the umbrella and sees that the one in sunglasses has gotten up. “He’s coming this way, Toms.”
The tall boy was, indeed, coming this way. The closer he got to them, the more Tommy saw of the freckles dotting him everywhere. It’s the first thing the blond notices. The next thing is how hard it was to read his expression with his eyes gone squinty from the sun’s glare since he’d taken the sunglasses off. There’s just something about him, Tommy thinks, that has him rooted on the spot, staring.
Just as the boy is close enough that Tommy can better see his face and the stray strands of hair that escaped the ponytail tied at the base of his nape, the blond panics and he kicks up sand in his swiftly disappearing wake. Wilbur protests on the onslaught of grains hitting his face. The American boy watches as Tommy stumbles on the sand before hiding beside Kristin. “Tommy! Hey, you having fun?” asks his mother.
The blond nods. “Yeah!” he exclaims, voice high-pitched and frazzled. He cringes and clears his throat. “Yeah. Dad, can I go buy that lemonade now?”
“Sure thing mate, here you go.” Phil hands him a bill and Tommy gets the fuck out of that beach, not even giving his father a second glance. Phil squints, confused by his son’s behaviour. “What’s wrong with ‘im?”
Kristin shrugs. “I dunno. He seemed flustered, but I think he’ll be alright.”