Work Text:
“This is ridiculous,” Tommy tells the closed door of his apartment.
The door doesn’t look very sympathetic but at least it doesn't argue.
Tommy loves his best friends. He is totally happy that they eventually got their shit together after he listened to their mutual pining for years but why couldn’t they have really loud sex somewhere, anywhere else? No, instead Tommy got kicked out of his own apartment on a Friday evening even though he could have really used the time for finishing his essay, thank you very much.
“Just fucking ridiculous,” he says again.
The door doesn’t seem to share his indignation.
“I don’t think it’s going to answer.”
Tommy turns around to find the guy from apartment No. 27 sitting on the floor and leaning against the closed door of the elevator that hasn’t been working for as long as Tommy can remember.
“But I’m positive you could tear it down with that impressing scowl of yours.”
Tommy frowns.
“Yeah, that one.” No. 27 grins crookedly and Tommy doesn’t know what to say about that.
“I should…call them,” he eventually settles on and gestures vaguely at the door. A moment later there is a thud and something that sounds suspiciously like a moan. “Or I should not do that.”
The other guy just smirks.
The next time it happens is only three days later.
Tubbo at least looked sorry for a moment and expressed his guilt by shoving a book from the shelf next to the front door in Tommy’s hand so he wouldn’t have to sit in the hallway all alone.
Only that Tommy is not alone in the hallway because he shares it with the guy from apartment No. 27 in semi-awkward silence.
It turns out the book only contains very detailed descriptions of insects every entomology student would be thrilled by but Tommy isn’t an entomology student so that’s not really an improvement.
Tommy starts to wonder what he did to deserve this.
“Nice socks,” No. 27 notes and Tommy only then realizes how he has to look like, in sweatpants he owned since he was seventeen, a too big t-shirt from Ranboo with a giant face of Nicola Tesla on it that he only wears because sometimes his mind seems to forget such trivial things as laundry, and a pair of very pink Hello-Kitty socks that definitely belong to Tubbo.
He can feel his cheeks heat up.
“They’re really soft.”
“Of course they are,” No. 27 says and smirks.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Tommy states when he finds himself locked out of his apartment for the fifth time in three weeks.
It’s not even 7pm yet, Christ.
“Can’t say I disagree, sunshine,” guy from apartment No. 27 says, already sitting on his usual spot by the elevator.
Tommy chooses to ignore the ‘sunshine’. Instead he looks at the other man for a moment.
A bouncy curl dances on his forehead as he breathes out against it. There’s an amused glint in his dark eyes that are a mixture of brown and gold as if they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to look like chocolate or amber.
“Have you eaten yet?” Tommy hears himself asking.
No. 27 looks surprised. “No?” he says and it sounds almost like a question.
“Alright, I’m hungry and I know a place where they have really good pizza.”
The other man doesn’t move.
Tommy frowns. “Are you coming? Or do you not like pizza?”
Slowly a smile spreads over his face. Then he stands up before extending a hand towards Tommy. There are calluses on his fingers.
“Who doesn’t like pizza?”
That evening Tommy learns that No. 27’s name is Wilbur.
He also learns that they have everything and nothing in common all at once.
All they do is bicker. About video games, the world, and pizza toppings.
Still Tommy doesn’t come home until four and a half hours later.
He isn’t even annoyed when he stumbles over Ranboo’s abandoned dress shirt in the dark living room.
The next time Tommy doesn’t even wait for Tubbo to shove him through the door.
He grabs his jacket and leaves before someone throws a pillow or a t-shirt at him.
In the hallway, Wilbur sits on the staircase, not by the elevator. When he sees Tommy he stands up and grins.
“Guess it’s my treat today.”
Tommy learns that Wilbur studies music composition. He also mentions almost shyly that he sings.
He doesn’t seem to believe in anything, not in humanity, religion or progress. He casually quotes Schopenhauer and Nietzsche and talks about Oscar Wilde like they’re old friends.
Still he smiles encouragingly at the new waitress who is so nervous that she almost messes up their order and when he starts to talk about his friends a genuinely fond expression spreads over his face and refuses to leave.
He’s infuriating.
He can eat with chopsticks and has tiny freckles all over his forearms.
It’s Friday evening and Tubbo is making dinner in the kitchen. No one is allowed in the kitchen when Tubbo cooks, especially not Tommy, because the only thing he can do without burning anything is coffee. He and Ranboo are discussing which movie to watch but all Tommy can think about is Wilbur who might be sitting alone in the cold hallway.
It’s not that cold.
It’s June, but anyway.
“Hey, would you two mind if I go out tonight?”
Tubbo pokes his head out of the kitchen. “You want to go out?"
“Uhm yes, you two can have a nice evening and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Tubbo tilts his head skin to the way a dog would. “We don’t mind you here, you can stay if you want to,” he says seriously but the impression falters a little because he’s wearing an apron and there’s something in his hair that looks like paprika.
“Yes, sure I know that. I just…I mean if you don’t mind I’d like to…”
“Oh, we don’t mind.” Ranboo interrupts him, “We won’t mind if you don’t mind.”
Tommy smiles because Tubbo is trying very hard to suppress a grin. “I don’t mind,” he says and grabs his jacket from the coat rack.
Tommy learns that Wilbur laughs often but there’s one reserved just for Tommy; it’s one of those full-body laughs and afterwards his cheeks are red and Tommy can’t stop grinning like an idiot.
One day about two weeks later Tommy is waiting in the hallway with a book in his lap when the door of apartment No. 27 opens. An older man pokes his head out, blond hair sticking into every direction and his eyes find Tommy sitting on floor. He smiles at him, he hears muffled voices and something that sounds suspiciously like, “Shh, Kristin,” then he closes the door again.
When Wilbur comes out ten minutes later his cheeks are slightly pink and Tommy’s heart leaps in his chest. He’s not even surprised. He’s gotten used to it over the past few weeks.
He stands up and Wilbur steps closer biting down on his lower lip like he’s nervous.
“My roommates aren't having sex right now,” he says.
Tommy can’t help but smile. “Mine aren't even at home.”
That evening Tommy learns that Wilbur kisses like he laughs. He bends down because Tommy is shorter than him, but his hand is a steady pressure on Tommy’s hip while the other one runs through his hair, and his lips move gently against Tommy’s as if he’s afraid to shatter the moment. He doesn’t because when Tommy kisses him back he can feel Wilbur’s smile on his lips, and his heart beats so hard that he’s certain Wilbur hears it. And he hopes he does.
Some weeks later Ranboo stands in the hallway with nothing but a pair of plaid pyjama pants, a t-shirt and a book about video editing pressed against his chest.
“What just happened?”
The closed door doesn’t answer but Tubbo won’t stop laughing for at least an hour.