Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. giving gifts 

Tommy has never fancied extravagant events, contrary to popular belief. Everyone expects a loud, bumbling teenager much like himself to like such things, but it was actually quite the opposite for him. He much preferred the cozy, homely things, the stolen moments between him and his closest friends and the genuineness the little things held. He liked sentiment.

Declining Sneeg’s invitation hadn’t been with ill-intent; he loved the guy, but he was turning eighteen. A wedding party would’ve been fun on the occasion that Tommy didn’t want to celebrate for himself, so he stayed home while half of his best friends went to America.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy his birthday—he’d gone out with friends, most of whom he’s known since he was still in school. He tried alcohol even, which was unfortunately not anything like everyone made it out to be. 

Tommy had a good time—he just missed his friends a little, that was all.

Now, it was nearing eleven at night and Tommy was laying on his bed, flat on his back. He’d returned home to his quiet apartment barely twenty minutes ago, not bothering to change.

He’s scrolling through Twitter to let his mind rest a bit when the screen lights up with a phone call that he doesn’t hesitate answering.

“Tommy!” Wilbur all but shouts into the speaker and Tommy smiles. “Happy birthday!”

“Why yes, now that you’ve called,” Tommy says cheekily, turning his nose up. “Took you long enough, fake fan.”

Wilbur had actually already texted him earlier in the day of course; this should’ve been expected.

“How has it been? Surely horrible if I’m not there to grace you with my presence.” Wilbur speaks animatedly.

“Oh, it’s awful, Wil. I have no emotional support, freakishly tall bastard here to cling to me like a starfish.” Wilbur makes a noise of protest and Tommy laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a wedding right now?”

“The reception just started,” Wilbur affirms above the distant chatter and music in the background. “But I wanted to talk to you so I stepped out.”

The admittance is simple, Wilbur says it so casually, but Tommy gets that familiar light feeling all throughout his body—the same one he gets every time Wilbur says things like that with such ease. Like he knows it’s normal for them, too.

“Oh,” Tommy says, thinly veiling the awe in his voice. His undoubtedly wide grin betrays him. “Well, what do you wanna hear, big man?”

Wilbur’s voice is bright when he says, “Everything about your day.”

So Tommy does, chattering along where Wilbur chimes in with a comment every now and then, or laughing at something Tommy says. It carries on for longer than it probably should, but Wilbur doesn’t stop him.

“And beer is fucking disgusting, by the way,” Tommy feels the need to include about ten minutes into their conversation. 

“Yeah?” Wilbur asks teasingly.

“Yeah!” he exclaims dramatically. “I don’t understand how people get drunk off that shit.”

There’s a lull in the conversation after that; nothing awkward, just a mere moment of silence they sometimes run into when Tommy seems to finally run out of breath after talking and talking, figuring out what to say next.

It’s Wilbur who breaks the silence this time, though. 

“You know how I mentioned that big surprise I had for you a few weeks ago?”

Tommy repositions himself so he’s sitting at the edge of his bed. “Oh yeah,” he grins, enticed. “Will I be getting that soon?”

Wilbur hums and hesitates, like he has to ground himself first or else risk everything he has to say tumbling out in one mess. 

“Right now, actually.”

Tommy furrows his brow. “Uh, not to burst your bubble or anything, Wil, but you’re kind of, like…across the ocean right now.”

“No shit,” Wilbur scoffs lightheartedly. “I have it planned, idiot. Has been for a while, I just didn’t tell you.”

Wilbur sounds rather proud of himself when he says this; he knows how bad the man is at keeping surprises an actual surprise.

Tommy narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What are you on about?”

“I need you to go down to the pier.”

Tommy pauses. Blinks. Stares at his phone like Wilbur is crazy, and it wouldn’t be for the first time.

“Wil, I’m not sure if America has already fucked up your sense of time zones, but—”

“Yes, I know, Toms,” Wilbur interrupts, a note of excitement in his voice that Tommy just barely catches. “I need you to trust me on this one.”

“Trust what exactly..?” Tommy asks, skepticism lining his features. He stands up to grab his jacket nonetheless.

Wilbur brushes off Tommy’s apprehension easily. “Just go down to the boardwalk. You know where we go when you visit?”

Tommy sighs, setting his phone down so he can pull on his shoes. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this right now. “Yeah, yeah. This better be good, Wilbur.”

“It iiis, Tommy, I promise.” Wilbur drags out his syllables like a child. “I know it’s last minute, but that’s the whole point of the surprise part!”

Tommy, despite Wilbur being a little bit ridiculous, decides to trust the man’s judgement. Will it be a mistake? Maybe. But there’s only one way to find out.

“I hope you know it’s fucking freezing,” Tommy shivers. He’s nearly reached the beach he and Wilbur often visit; it’s only about a ten minute walk from his flat, but that doesn’t make the trip any less frigid. “I might get shanked out here, in the cold dark, all by myself, because my stupid brother wanted me to go to the beach at eleven at night.”

Wilbur only chuckles at the blond’s rant, tone going soft around the edges. “You are not going to get shanked, love, stop being dramatic.”

“But I might. Then what will you do?” Tommy huffs, his breaths coming out in little clouds of white, only visible under the streetlights along the boardwalk. “Okay, I’m here, dipshit. I don’t see anything.”

“Give it a moment,” Wilbur urges. He then sends a FaceTime call request that Tommy presses to accept even with his slightly stiff fingers. Wilbur’s cheeky smile appears on his phone. “Hi there.

Tommy sighs, blowing at his hair on his forehead. “Is this it? Wilbur, I swear to—”

A loud pop startles Tommy into silence. He snaps his head in the direction of the noise and—

Fireworks. There were fireworks going off above the water, red, yellow, green and orange. He’s not sure how he missed the telltale whistle of it flying into the air, with how they’re littering the sky all at once in colorful, glittering light. 

Tommy closes his mouth, not sure when it fell open. “Wil, what—” he glances back at his phone, at Wilbur’s face, bright and childlike. “I didn’t know you were being serious when you mentioned it.”

Wilbur’s smile is wide and excited. “Yeah, I was being serious. Do you like it?”

Tommy splutters. “Wh- yes, I love it!” 

He looks back up to the sky where there are still dozens of little explosions going off like shooting stars. There’s no one else out here with him, with them, to witness this little piece of magic. It’s one after another in a constant stream of color and it’s so perfect.

“Holy shit!” Tommy breathes in disbelief and clear, almost childish glee. “This is so cool, how did you do it?” He squints out at the water in search of a boat of some sort, but it’s too dark to tell.

“I know people,” Wilbur replies nonchalantly and Tommy has to lean a little closer in order to hear him over the loud bangs. “And I simply have the best ideas.”

“Yeah, whatever…” Tommy trails off, letting his gaze crawl upward again. The night sky continues to light up in every hue and Tommy is suddenly hit with the not so startling revelation that he is loved.

“Oh, I’m so showing Techno and Phil that one,” Wilbur murmurs, capturing Tommy’s attention once more. He’s just in time to look down and see the small pop up in the middle of his screen, notifying him that Wilbur has just taken a screenshot.

“Hey, fuck you!” Tommy curses, not an ounce of real anger in his voice. “That was non-consensual!”

“But your face is all lit up, Toms!” Wilbur protests, face melted with adoration. “How could you possibly expect me not to?”

Well, that certainly is the thing—Tommy does expect him to. Not that he particularly minds, despite the way he acts playfully bothered. Wilbur makes him feel special in a way no one else has been able to accomplish. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. The fireworks had since begun to slow their rapid fire. “Maybe you could try being normal.”

Wilbur shakes his head seriously. “No way, not as TommyInnit’s number one fan.”

“I’ll hang up on you.”

“No, no, wait!” Wilbur scrambles between breathy laughs. “I’ll stop teasing.”

A pause. 

“I’m keeping the picture though.”

Tommy glares at the man with no real heat while he continues to smile innocently, the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth and something else. 

“Happy birthday, Tommy,” Wilbur repeats, eyes growing softer, which Tommy didn’t know was possible. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

Tommy shrugs, minding the small pang in his chest that still wishes he could hug the man right now, after all this. “‘S okay. It was my choice. Besides,” Tommy angles the camera towards the now dark bay and points to it. “That was so fucking awesome.”

Wilbur grins. “I’m glad you thought so. We’re doing something together when I come back, though, got it?”

“There’s more?” Tommy gasps. 

“Yeah!” Wilbur exclaims with a smirk. “I’m gonna frame that picture and mail it to Technoblade.”

Tommy frowns, but his eyes are smiling. “Hanging up now.”

“No, wait, Tommy, I was kidding, c’mon—”

2. quality time

“We’re supposed to leave it simmering for five minutes, right?”

“Steeping,” Wilbur corrects without taking his attention away from the guitar settled in his lap. “It depends, but I usually leave it for about seven or eight.”

Tommy makes a sound of recognition in the back of his throat. “Why so long?”

Wilbur does look up this time, a smile on his lips. “Has more flavor.”

Tommy snorts, turning back to the steaming pot in front of him. Wilbur insisted on using actual mint leaves in his tea since it gave him the ‘real deal’, much to Tommy’s tea-making skills’ dismay. He didn’t really even prefer peppermint tea, but it was Wilbur’s favorite and Tommy’s gone to further extents for the man before. 

“You are an ancient, old man, Wil,” Tommy teases, turning the heat down on the stove. “You and your spiritual teas.”

Wilbur scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. “How original. What does that make Phil, then?”

“Why, that man is a fossil,” Tommy giggles, as if they haven’t had this exact conversation dozens of times already. “A dinosaur.”

Wilbur only huffs out a laugh through his nose, grinning from ear to ear as he focuses back on his task, and Tommy’s heart soars.

It was times like these that Tommy so especially loved; Wilbur’s flat was warm from the open window above the sink in his kitchen, allowing the breezy spring air to brush golden curls across Tommy’s forehead like gentle hands. The scent of peppermint swathed the room in a homely aroma under yellow rays and Wilbur sat on his sofa in the midst of it, a well-loved forest green sweater hanging loosely around his shoulders. He cradled his guitar closely like that of a parent to their baby, and it wasn’t a far-fetched analogy. 

In these moments, Tommy is filled to the brim with emotion that's almost too much for his teenaged body to handle. Wilbur was always advising him that it’s normal to feel so much at such a young age since he was still processing it, therefore he should just let himself feel— but he was so certain that no one was capable of feeling the way he did when he was with his friends, his brother.

It was times like these that all Tommy knew was love love love. 

Tommy doesn’t bother biting back a small smile while he pours the steaming beverage into two mugs. The sharp scent of mint wafts into his senses and Tommy wrinkles his nose. 

“You better not be doing anything to mine,” Wilbur warns halfheartedly. 

“I’m not doing shit to your tea, Wil, calm down.” Tommy rolls his eyes, grabbing the mugs with both hands and padding across the tile into the living room. “Here, take your completely un-poisoned old man tea.”

Wilbur eyes the mug Tommy hands him suspiciously, but takes it nonetheless. He feigns a close inspection of the drink, eyeing it closely, and Tommy laughs. 

“I said it’s fine, you prick!” he exclaims, settling down into the spot next to Wilbur, purposefully letting their knees press against one another in a way of affection.

“It’s good tea! It helps with being calm.” Wilbur uses his free hand to poke Tommy’s side, to which Tommy bats away. “Maybe it’ll help with all that anger you seem to have bottled up in there—”

“I am not angry, I’m just expressive,” Tommy insists with a flourish. He takes a sip from his tea and immediately grimaces, both at the temperature and taste.

Wilbur watches him with an amusedly fond look, poorly concealing his grin. “You know you don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it, darling, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

“But you like it,” Tommy explains like it’s obvious. “So I want to drink it.”

Wilbur says nothing for a moment, staring a bit blankly at the boy next to him for a mere five seconds until his expression practically melts.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are going to kill me one day,” Wilbur mutters breathlessly, looking two seconds away from pouncing on the blond. “How can you just say that and not expect a man to keel over and die?”

“That was kind of the point.” Tommy scoots the few inches left between them until he’s pressed into Wilbur’s shoulder, nudging an arm around his shoulders. “Plus, it’s just true.”

Wilbur groans, tilting his head onto the top of Tommy’s. “You’re such a horrible child. The worst.” 

Tommy snickers, not even bothering to hide it, nor deny the statement. 

Wilbur squeezes him once before releasing Tommy once more and sets his tea down on the side table. His hands settle back around his guitar, fingers resting on the strings.

“What first?” Wilbur asks, watching Tommy for a response. 

Tommy tucks his legs up onto the couch, sitting cross-legged. “One of yours.”

“One of mine?” Wilbur raises an eyebrow at the boy, a small smile gracing his lips, like he expected the answer.

“Yeah, surprise me.”

Wilbur hums thoughtfully, glancing up at the ceiling while he thinks. He must come to a conclusion after a few moments when he turns his attention back to the instrument and strums the first chords effortlessly.

Tommy immediately recognizes the song, of course he does—though it had been a while since he listened to Wilbur sing it organically, he could identify his brother’s music like the back of his own hand.

The starting notes of Jubilee Line float past Tommy’s ears to envelop the entire room in its melody. He relaxes instinctually as he lets the music wash over him, pulling him in like the tide.

Wilbur starts the first verse in a feather-light tone, Tommy humming along brightly. He’s never louder than the other man though, not without a voice like Wilbur’s; he’s perfectly content with just listening to what Wilbur has to offer.

They’re halfway through the song when the acoustics cut off suddenly and Tommy blinks open his eyes, confused. Wilbur is staring at him. 

“Why don’t you sing?” 

Tommy tilts his head to the side. “What?”

“You’re only humming.” Wilbur mirrors the blond. “Sing with me.”

Tommy goes a little pink. “Well- why? You sound good.”

Wilbur half-scoffs, half-laughs at this, leaning over to flick Tommy’s ear to which he utters a soft hey! 

“Glad you can hear, but there’s no spotlight, Toms,” Wilbur says a tad cheekily, but there is genuinity in his tone. “It’s not like I haven’t heard you sing before.”

That was true, but it hadn’t just been the two of them—Tommy would sing along at most of the Lovejoy rehearsals he attended every now and then. He’d belt and be loud and have fun because that’s what it was— fun. This felt different, though not in a bad way.

“Yeah, I know.” Tommy’s voice lilts a little higher in the way it does when he’s apprehensive. “But I like listening to you.” 

“Tommy, I’d talk all the time if I did it just to hear myself speak,” Wilbur sighs. He sounds faux exasperated, but Tommy can see the earnestness in his eyes. “I want you to sing with me, dear, is what I’m trying to say. This is for you and me only.”

Cheeks flushed, Tommy huffs stubbornly. “This isn’t very fair to me.”

Wilbur barks out a sudden laugh, causing some of Tommy’s already crumbling resolve to break away some more. 

“What about this is unfair?” Wilbur says between giggles.

“You’re saying all this soft shit to get what you want!”

Wilbur gasps, raising his eyebrows. “So it’s working?”

Tommy groans, shoving away the brunet where he’d leaned over the boy. Wilbur only laughs again. “Stop it, dickhead! You’re manipulating me!”

“I am not,” Wilbur objects. He pauses to think. “Okay, how about this.”

Before Tommy can even blink, Wilbur’s guitar is being placed in his lap snugly against his thighs. Tommy’s eyes widen in surprise as he stares down at the instrument; Wilbur treated it so much like his own child that the thing was practically his namesake. 

“I don’t know how to play, though…” Tommy glances between Wilbur and his self-proclaimed baby skeptically. 

Wilbur nods. “I know. I’m going to teach you.”

Tommy’s mouth falls open. “Wh- Wilbur, for real?”

“Yes, for real,” Wilbur grins like he’s the happiest man alive. “You’ve been wanting to learn, yeah?”

“Yes, I’ve been wanting to learn, holy shit.” Tommy takes the guitar more securely in his hands and lets his eyes rove across the wood. He looks back up at Wilbur in amazement. “I only mentioned it, like, once.”

Wilbur shrugs nonchalantly and Tommy’s heart warms infinismally at the knowledge that he would remember such a small detail about him.

“Of course I remembered,” Wilbur reads his thoughts, face going all soft in the way it does when he’s feeling especially fond; all upturned brows and kind, brown eyes. 

“You’re even letting me use the Wilbur Soot guitar.” It’s less of a question and more of an awed statement, like he can’t quite believe it; fifteen-year-old Tommy would’ve been over the moon had he known he’d been offered this chance. 

“There are literal stars in your eyes, love, oh my god,” Wilbur coos, using his now free hands to wrap around Tommy’s shoulders, like he can’t contain himself waiting another second without physical contact. 

The neck of the guitar digs a little uncomfortably into Tommy’s side, but he’ll be damned if he moves from Wilbur’s hold. Tommy only angles himself to better access the man practically clinging to him, squishing his cheek into his neck.

Tommy breathes out a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, Wil, but I don’t think this is the most effective way to play guitar.”

“Shh, let me have my moment,” Wilbur shushes, patting Tommy’s head lightly.

So Tommy does, because there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for Wilbur, if not less what Wilbur would do for him, and only minutes later will he guide the blond’s fingers across the strings of which he loves almost as much as he loves Tommy. 

3. acts of service 

Tommy knows it’s going to be a gray day the moment he opens his eyes. It doesn’t even have to do with the fact that the weather was dreary, that was just an added negative to the list of reasons why he absolutely cannot get out of bed today. 

Days as such as these were far and few between, thankfully, but when they did decide to pay Tommy a friendly visit, it was with a vengeance. With barely an ounce of warning, it became an all-encompassing weight being forced upon his thoughts. Everything was bleak and he found it a whole lot harder to exist.

Just yesterday he’d been laughing uncontrollably at dumb jokes with Wilbur (that probably weren’t actually that funny, but he laughed at anything if he was with the right person) over blueberry scones at the new bakery they’d been wanting to try. It was a typical crimeboys hangout without any of the content-creating; just a day to them. 

The man in question was across the hall, sleeping soundly in Tommy’s tiny guest bedroom. Or maybe he was already awake, Tommy wasn’t sure of the time. He knew Wilbur, unlike Tommy himself, tended to be an early riser.

He breathes in deeply through his nose. The tight knot in his chest does not loosen, making it almost difficult to breathe.

Tommy knows he should probably tell Wilbur. He’d understand. Wilbur always understands, although asking for help was easier said than done when Tommy’s favorite pastime was insisting he didn’t need any. 

Like the universe itself was listening, there’s a soft knock on his bedroom door after a few minutes of pondering his choices.

“Tommy, you up?” Wilbur calls.

Tommy debates briefly whether speaking would require too much energy or not. His answer falls somewhere in the middle and he settles on a halfhearted noise of acknowledgment he isn’t even sure is audible.

Wilbur must tell something is up because then the door is opening slightly to reveal a head of brown, sleep-mussed hair. “Can I come in?” 

Tommy nods without really thinking about it, eyes following Wilbur’s form as he crosses the room over to his bed where he crouches to eye-level with the blond.

“Did I wake you?” Wilbur tilts his head in the way he does when he’s trying to figure something out.

Tommy shakes his head again, blinking slowly. 

Wilbur’s eyebrows crease together in mild concern. “Why haven’t you gotten up yet?”

“Don’t feel good,” Tommy mumbles into the sheets where he’s pressed his face.

Wilbur looks more concerned, pressing the back of his hand to Tommy’s forehead and then his cheek minutely. “Are you sick?”

Tommy frowns. Wilbur’s asking too many questions.

“Mm-mm,” Tommy hums. He lets his eyes fall closed.

“Oh, darling,” Wilbur worries, realization dawning. He threads his fingers through blond curls, brushing the hair back from Tommy’s forehead. “I’m sorry. Have you taken your meds yet?”

Tommy hesitates, but shakes his head once more. He hates to disappoint.

“Why don’t you get around to that and I’ll start breakfast, yeah?” Wilbur offers. Tommy cracks his eyes open tiredly to stare into his brother’s gentle, brown gaze.

“Okay,” Tommy murmurs, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Wilbur smiles, soft and sad, and lets his hand linger in Tommy’s hair before he’s standing back up and leaving the room. 

Tommy eventually (begrudgingly) gets around to slinking out of bed just when he hears the first sizzle from his kitchen. He blinks through the brightness upon opening his door—Wilbur’s opened every damn window he could find, apparently, even with the shit weather. He trudges to his bathroom, flicking the switch and rummaging through a drawer for a moment before his fingers close around a familiar bottle. 

He remembers all those months ago when Wilbur had first recommended going on medication after seeking the man out during a particularly bad anxiety attack. His “episodes” had become more frequent at that point and Tommy hadn’t exactly thought twice about it. 

Shaking a capsule haphazardly into his palm, Tommy journeys into the kitchen where he finds Wilbur at the stove, back turned to the blond. It smells of bacon, explaining the loud sizzling he’d heard. Wilbur tilts his head from side to side to a silent rhythm while he cooks.

Tommy smiles just a little at the domesticity of the situation, wholly endeared, although he’d rather die than admit such a thing to Wilbur—he’d never let him live it down. 

Tommy crosses the short distance between them and taps the man’s shoulder. Wilbur jumps, whirling around to stare at Tommy incredulously, and Tommy has to bite back a smirk. 

“What the fuck?” he exclaims, eyes wide and holding a hand to his chest. “You can’t just do that when I have a pan full of hot grease, you gremlin!”

“I need a glass,” Tommy gestures vaguely at the cabinet behind Wilbur’s head, a little smug. “You’re in my way.”

“Well, pardon me,” Wilbur scoffs, but shimmies out of the way nonetheless. “Nearly gave me a damn heart attack…”

Tommy shrugs, opening the cupboard door. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes in good nature and they turn back to their tasks in companionable silence. Despite the heavy rain cloud that still seems indignant on following Tommy around like a lost puppy, it’s comforting. It’s doable. It’s them.

Tommy sits quietly at the table, feeling not quite right but not exactly out of place. It was at this point where he settled on the term existing rather than living— not quite crossing the line of being fine while also not knowing what to do with himself. 

Tommy is nearly dozing with his cheek rested on his propped up hand when a plate is placed in front of him. He glances up at Wilbur, who slides into the seat next to Tommy’s with his own plate.

“Thanks,” Tommy murmurs, although he’s lacking an appetite. The sentiment is nice. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

Wilbur hums an affirmative, taking a bite out of his toast. “Of course I did,” he says once he’s swallowed the food. “It wouldn’t be very big brotherly of me if I didn’t.”

Tommy smiles, small, but there. “And it wouldn’t be very little brotherly of me if I didn’t make it my ultimate life goal to scare you shitless twenty-four seven.”

Wilbur nudges a socked foot against Tommy’s under the table with a grin of his own. “Shut up.”

It goes on like that for the remainder of their meal. Wilbur finishes long before Tommy does, but it’s not deliberate. He doesn’t mention how long Tommy is taking, or keep bothering him about how little he’s eating. Wilbur doesn’t rush him or make him feel embarrassed about the fact he can barely finish half his plate right now.

He’s just there and it’s just them. Tommy didn’t have the same luxury with his parents, not that he doesn’t love them to death, but they don’t get it like Wilbur does. Wilbur’s presence is steady and calming and not at all overbearing. 

He says everything and nothing, but Tommy knows what he’s relaying— you’re okay. I’m here. You’re doing fine. I’m proud of you.

Wilbur gathers their dishes to deposit in the sink when they’re done, but Tommy grabs his sleeve. Wilbur looks down at him inquisitively.

“Uh, you don’t have to, Wil, seriously. I’ll get it,” Tommy protests halfheartedly, knowing damn well they’ll sit there with the rest of his dishes that have been building up into a collective pile for the next two to five business days. “Later.”

But, Wilbur is Wilbur, and he probably knows this too. 

“It’s fine, Tom. I’m insisting,” he assures without missing a beat. He adjusts the weight of the plates onto one hand so he can use the other to cup the side of Tommy’s face. Tommy does his best not to lean into the gentle touch, failing miserably. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a second.”

Tommy, not exactly having the energy or mental capacity to argue, complies and shuffles into the living room where he collapses onto the couch. Despite just having woken up not even a couple hours prior, he feels sleep tug at the fuzzy edges of his mind. It doesn’t take long for the sound of the running water to lull him into a doze.

He’s half-asleep when a blanket is thrown over his pliant body and Tommy pretends he isn’t awake to feel the feather-light kiss pressed atop his head. 

And so what if Tommy wakes up in a daze later, surrounded by a pair of arms and another warm body? And so what if, even after Wilbur is long gone, Tommy notices his bedroom and his office is cleaner than he’d left it that morning and Tommy feels his chest grow impossibly warm, no longer under an overwhelming weight? 

Well, that’s just for them to know. 

4. physical touch

It’s a nice day, probably the nicest one of the season so far, where the early summer air has decided to be mercifully warm. Which was not to say a lot, but Tommy became impossibly excited when days like these would roll around; the more common yellow days in Brighton as opposed to his hometown were spent outside where he’s free to feel the sun kissing his skin.

What better way to spend his time than annoying his favorite person?

“Sorry, Wil, but Ash is my new favorite.

“Hell yeah!” Ash exclaims, swinging an arm over Tommy’s shoulders and turns to smirk at an offended looking Wilbur. “I’m not sorry, though.”

“What can Ash do that I can’t?” Wilbur asks incredulously, throwing his hands up. 

Tommy shrugs. “Ash buys me what I want.” He shakes the bag clutched in his hand gently as they exit the shop they’d just spent the last half-hour in. 

Wilbur blinks at him, mouth falling open slightly. “I get you stuff all the time!” 

“You do have really bad immunity to his puppy eyes, Wil,” Ash agrees, grinning when Tommy glares at the man upon joining Wilbur’s side. 

“Exactly!” Wilbur admits. “It’s a fucking curse!”

Tommy keeps up his act, even if he wants to laugh. “Have you ever gotten me an antique duck bowl, Wilbur?” 

“I literally got you fireworks for your birthday..?”

Tommy gasps. “Do you see that, Ash? He’s trying to guilt trip me!” Tommy shakes the arm that isn’t holding him in place incessantly. 

“I see it, Tom, I see it.” The group comes to a stop at a crossroad and Ash pats Tommy’s hand that’s still gripping his arm consolingly. “Evil man,” he tuts.

“Brother thief,” Wilbur turns up his nose. “I’m the one being bullied here.”

Tommy rolls his eyes fondly and leans over to hook his arm through Wilbur’s. “Oh, come on, you man-child.”

“I should be calling you that,” Wilbur huffs, wrapping his arm more securely around Tommy’s. “You wouldn’t last thirty minutes without my affection.”

The red hand changes to a walking figure and they make their way across the road. “Lies,” Tommy sniffs. “That is simply fake news. That’s all you.”

“Mm-hm,” Wilbur hums, watching Tommy with a playfully raised eyebrow. “Would you like to test that theory?”

Tommy, because thinking before acting is not exactly his strong suit, nods and then Wilbur is pulling his arm free. He realizes what he's just agreed to a mere three seconds later.

He opens his mouth to complain, but he’s interrupted when Wilbur raises his hands by his head innocently. “You said yes!”

Wilbur begins walking backward with an expression of nonchalance and Tommy speeds ahead, leaving a snickering Ash behind. 

“Wait- no, Wilbur, my man, let’s talk about this—”

Wilbur, unsurprisingly, caves approximately nineteen minutes later. 

They’re in a sweet shop as Tommy is in the middle of whining about how cold his arm is without someone latching onto it for the fourth time when Wilbur does just that—startling Tommy in such a way he nearly knocks over a stand exhibiting various sour candies.

“What the fuck, you almost made me—” Tommy crows in a whisper-shout, but he doesn’t pull away as Wilbur snakes his arm around Tommy’s once more. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Wilbur says, sounding very un-sorry. “Are you warm now?”

“You’re such a loser,” Tommy mutters instead, obliging the man nonetheless.

“Only when I’m with you, dear.” Wilbur grins unabashed. “You just have that loser-ish effect, you know?”

Tommy isn’t given the time to dish out a loud retort before Ash is poking his head around the corner of the aisle. He takes one look at the two of them and smirks. 

“This is sad, truly,” he says amusedly, glancing from Wilbur to their linked arms. 

Wilbur frowns and flips Ash off with his free hand. “Fuck off. He likes me better anyway.”

“Yeah, and he has you wrapped right around his little finger, too,” Ash laughs. 

Tommy turns to Wilbur smugly as if he isn’t the exact same way. “Is that so, William?”

“And what if it is, Tomathy?” Wilbur narrows his eyes in a challenge. 

“If that’s so, then I expect all of your attention all the time,” Tommy demands hotly, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Great, so nothing will change,” Ash chimes in sarcastically.

“I don’t give my attention to him all the time,” Wilbur objects.

Ash gives him a deadpan stare that Wilbur chooses to ignore. 

“Well, you should. It would be great for the economy.” Wilbur barely lets out a confused what? before Tommy is shoving his bag of candy into the man’s chest. “Like buying me all these sweets. Then maybe you’ll be my favorite again.”

“…This feels like a scam.”

Tommy only smiles sweetly towards the brunet as if to say oh it is, and Tommy can tell Wilbur’s resolve is already breaking if Ash’s poorly concealed snickers are anything to go by. 

Alas, Wilbur ends up buying the candies after much (a little) convincing from Tommy himself (Tommy privilege, that’s what you have, Wilbur had said in his defense as he pulled out his wallet) and ends up leaving the store twelve pounds poorer.

“Ah, I do love indulging capitalism,” Tommy sighs as they walk along the storefronts, popping a hershey kiss into his mouth. 

“Tommy, you’re literally rich,” Wilbur mentions absentmindedly while he stares down at his phone. “We should check out that bookstore we heard about next.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, Tommy tugging Wilbur along like a small child from one attraction to the next. Ash watches them amusedly, keeping the blond entertained with conversation and lighthearted comments. 

All the while, Tommy doesn’t leave Wilbur’s side (or maybe it’s the other way around, there's never a way to tell). It’s a lot of Tommy, leaning ever closer when he examines something Wilbur is holding intently. Tommy, titling his face slightly upwards to hook his chin over Wilbur’s shoulder. Tommy, grabbing at Wilbur’s sleeve whenever he beckons to him.

It isn’t until they’ve parted ways with Ash that Wilbur decides to call an Uber when Tommy pretty much becomes deadweight. The original plan was to walk back to Wilbur’s to eat dinner and watch a movie, but some things may have to be accommodated.

“Tired?” Wilbur chuckles quietly. It had been a bit of a challenge shuffling into the car with a half-wake teenage boy clinging to your arm, but Wilbur made it work. 

Tommy mutters something incoherent, probably something along the lines of no, whilst leaning his head onto the man’s shoulder. His cheek gets squished into the space between Wilbur’s collarbone and neck, and Tommy sighs in content. 

“Aw, sweetheart…” Wilbur murmurs, instantly laying his head atop blond curls. He rearranges himself so he can slip his hand into Tommy’s, interlacing their fingers where they’re settled on Wilbur’s lap. 

“You were awfully touchy today,” Wilbur says pointedly. He rubs the calloused pad of his thumb across Tommy’s knuckles, gentle and slow. The subtle ministrations make Tommy’s eyelids grow heavy. “More than usual, at least. Any reason?”

The way Wilbur says it is far from accusatory—he’s simply curious. 

“Jus’ ‘cause,” Tommy mumbles sleepily, eyes half-lidded. “Since you’re my third favorite ‘n all.”

“Who are the first two then?” Wilbur laughs, humoring him, and it sends a rumble through his chest. Tommy’s cheek tingles under the vibration. 

“Ranboo is first, of course, he’s everyone’s favorite…” Tommy tapers off while he thinks. 

“Ah yes, silly me. How could I forget?” Wilbur quips.

“And then it’s Techno, and then you- wait. No, there’s also Tubbo, he’s in third.” Tommy pauses. “Then there’s Phil, then—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Wilbur huffs fondly. “You don’t love me, I understand.”

“Hmm. Well that’s just not true,” Tommy says thoughtfully, easily. He begins mindlessly fiddling with the fingers still tangled with his own.

Wilbur coos, pressing his face further into Tommy’s hair. “You’re an angel, you know that?”

“‘M not.” Tommy hardly tries to sound offended. 

“You are,” Wilbur says simply. He clasps their hands tighter together and lifts them up so he can press a chaste kiss to the back of Tommy’s hand. It’s nothing more than a quick peck, but it has Tommy’s heart singing. 

“Maybe,” Tommy concludes stubbornly, eyes finally drifting closed. He snuggles a little closer into the familiar spot under Wilbur’s chin, letting the steady pulse of his heartbeat ground him. 

“Maybe,” Wilbur agrees, an apparent smile in his voice. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

Even though it’s barely a ten minute ride, Tommy takes up the offer anyway. He squeezes Wilbur’s hand twice before sagging completely onto the man. 

Wilbur squeezes back, two times. Tommy smiles.

5. words of affirmation

Laughter floats out from inside the house and into the humid evening air. The door had been left cracked open so Tommy could still tune in to what was going on while also having space between him and everyone else for a few minutes. 

He wasn’t avoiding them, of course not—his friends were a rather rambunctious bunch when they wanted to be, feeding off of one another’s energy, even when there wasn’t a camera watching their every move. Tommy fit right in on that accord and there was no other place he’d rather be; but he enjoyed the peacefulness that would sneak itself into the crevices of Tommy’s heart, when all he wanted was to sit in the calm quiet and just exist.

That kind of serenity was a rarity with a life like his, which was what made it so special to him. Tommy liked to use that time to rejuvenate. Recharge, in a sense.

Tommy hears the sliding glass door open from behind him and the laughter and chatter becomes significantly louder before the door closes again. 

“Tommy?”

Ah, Wilbur’s come to check on him. As expected. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy mimics his tone, glancing over his shoulder. 

Wilbur walks up to the porch swing Tommy is currently settled comfortably in, an easygoing smile gracing his features. Tommy decides he likes this look on Wilbur. 

“You alright? You’ve been out here for a bit,” he asks, brow wrinkled in curiosity and what is probably the lightest hint of worry because when is Wilbur not worried? 

Tommy shrugs. “Just taking a break, I guess.”

Wilbur’s face relaxes when he realizes nothing is seriously wrong. “It was getting a little loud in there, wasn’t it?”

“Kinda,” Tommy grins. “Am I missing much?”

“Well, Tubbo was attempting to lift Ranboo and then bets started being placed.” Wilbur shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “So yeah, you’re not missing a whole lot.”

They descend into a small fit of giggles that die down into a comfortable silence. Wilbur is giving Tommy this weird look he’s having a hard time recognizing; he narrows it down to a I wanna know what you’re thinking but I don’t want to push expression.

“You’re sure you’re good?” Wilbur asks again. 

“Yes, mum, I’m fine,” Tommy huffs lightheartedly. Wilbur swats at Tommy’s head, causing the blond to call out. “I’m just thinking.”

Wilbur raises his eyebrows and he glances at the spot next to Tommy, a silent permission that Tommy grants with an eager nod. You can stay. You can always stay.

“Tell me more.” Wilbur sits, causing the swing to sway.

Tommy hums thoughtfully, crossing his legs. Wilbur was the wordsmith here, not him. “I’m not sure how to explain it.” 

Wilbur knocks their shoulders together. “That’s fine. No pressure or anything.”

“That makes me feel pressured.”

Wilbur laughs and it’s music to Tommy’s ears. “I’m serious!”

Tommy sighs, leaning onto the backrest. “I dunno. It’s not that I’m overwhelmed—I love being around everyone.” Tommy pointedly ignores the teasing aww Wilbur utters. “I really do. But sometimes sitting back is nice; like when I decide to stop begging for the spotlight and I notice all the quieter things. Take, uh…” Tommy thinks for a second before perking up and pointing out at the horizon. “Look! Like that!”

The sky is streaked with every shade of orange and pink and yellow to create a myriad of colors. It almost resembles that of a watercolor painting, like someone spent ample time on making sure each brushstroke was perfect. The sight never failed to steal the breath right from Tommy’s lungs.

Wilbur returns his gaze to the boy next to him, eyes filled with fondness and slight confusion, humoring Tommy nonetheless. “The sunset?”

“The sunset!” Tommy chirps. “It’s something everyone’s used to, but not particularly appreciated like it should be. I mean, look at it!”

Tommy gestures enthusiastically and Wilbur smiles. “I am, I am.”

But Wilbur isn’t. Even though Tommy continues to stare at the sky like it’s the most fascinating thing to exist, he can feel Wilbur’s eyes on him. Tommy always knows when Wilbur is watching him, secretly, even when it’s not so secret.

Tommy turns, meeting the other man’s gaze. “What?” He tilts his head to the side with an amused smile. 

“Nothing.” Wilbur looks soft, softer than usual, under the warm glow of dusk. “You’re just amazing.”

“Wh-” Tommy splutters, face growing warm. “That was- where did that come from?”

“Me,” Wilbur states a bit cheekily. “And it’s true. You’re just—” He motions vaguely towards the blond like he’s not sure if he wants to grab him and never let go or not. “You’re you. You’re perfect.”

Tommy has no idea what that means, but it makes his cheeks burn red. He can only hope the fading light makes it hard to tell.

“Stop that,” Tommy huffs, going for exasperated, though it comes out sounding helplessly fond. He turns to weakly attempt hiding his face, but Wilbur is having none of it.

“You’re so compassionate and sweet…” Wilbur drones on. “And you always know how to make me feel better—”

“Stoooop it,” Tommy groans, throwing his head back and he brings his hands up to cover his eyes. His skin is hot.

Tommy feels Wilbur lean closer, jostling the swing. “You’re the kindest, brightest person I know. Literal sunshine incarnate,” he sing-songs. Wilbur reaches up to take a hold of Tommy’s wrists and he gently lowers the hands pressed to the blond’s face. 

Wilbur’s eyes are soft, prominent crows' feet wrinkling at the corners. The look makes Tommy’s chest feel so light and warm with emotion that he can barely breathe; the overwhelming feeling of being loved so blatantly and unconditionally nearly has tears springing to his eyes. 

Wilbur, sensing this in that weird brotherly way of his, wraps his arm around Tommy’s shoulders to pull them closer together like he has countless times before.

“You’re so, so lovely. I love you more than words can describe,” Wilbur mumbles into his hair, leaving a kiss on Tommy’s temple and then he rests his chin on his head. “My everything. I just really need you to know that.”

Wilbur gives one final squeeze to the boy’s frame for emphasis before Tommy is pulling back to swipe at his eyes not so subtly. 

“Jeez, no need to make a man cry, Wil,” Tommy laughs wetly, using the heel of his palm to rub away the salty wetness under his eyes.

Wilbur only smiles, reaching up to brush his thumb across Tommy’s cheekbone in one swift motion. “Just gotta remind my dearest baby brother how important he is every now and then.”

“Fuck you, I’m not a baby,” Tommy objects and Wilbur laughs. 

“What, are those not tears in your eyes right now?” Wilbur leans into Tommy’s face in a teasing manner. “Seems a bit baby-ish to me.” He even goes as far as to pinch Tommy’s cheek. 

“Asshole!” Tommy shouts and Wilbur jumps up from the swing, falling into a bout of laughter. “Those were all lies!”

Wilbur forces himself to take a breath. He places a hand on top of Tommy’s head, grinning. “No I promise you they weren’t.”

“Mhm,” Tommy hums, following suit and standing with the other man. “You are so terrible to me, Wilbur Soot.”

“Mm, you love me.” Wilbur brushes their shoulders together as they make their way back to the door.

Tommy makes eye contact with Wilbur and, eyes sparkling, smiles; nothing has ever felt more right. 

“Yeah. I do.”