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The two brothers were out on a shopping day, looking at cool knick-knacks and clothes in random shops. Throughout the day, Wilbur kept on picking out new sweaters for Tommy to try. He said the red t-shirt was getting worn out and small, and Tommy agreed it was getting a bit old. In one store, Wilbur found a retro teal-colored sweater among the masses of vintage sweaters. After a little bit of banter, he finally convinced Tommy to try it out. Tommy pulled it on, looking at the mirror. He furrowed his eyebrows. This “Sunday Club” sweater looked like it would be Wilbur’s style, not his.
Wilbur stood behind him, grinning like he was dressing up a little toy.
“Awee darling, it fits you perfectly.”
Tommy blinked up at Wilbur, craning his head so he could look the older brother in the eye. Wilbur was wearing a vintage sweater, too. The “Prairie Cow” one. He always felt like Wilbur’s sweaters were soft and warm. He liked to lean into them and bury his face. But he never imagined wearing one himself. He just never felt good enough to pull off something that stylish.
“I don’t know, do you think I’d- you know, be cool enough to wear this?”
While Tommy was still speaking, he felt arms wrapping around him in a hug, a head resting atop his. A short kiss was pressed on his hair, before he felt Wilbur murmuring something into it. Even if he couldn’t hear what Wilbur was saying, he knew Wilbur enough to know he was probably gushing over its sunny gold hue again.
His face flushed, pink dusting his cheeks like mist. Wilbur cooed further, kissing his cheek and nuzzling it.
“Aweeeee my little Tommy.”
Tommy huffed. Then turned and nuzzled Wilbur by the nose in return.
“Okayyy, I’ll buy it,” he whined playfully. “So you can stop cooing.”
Wilbur chuckled, then kissed his forehead, making Tommy's knees feel like jelly.
“It’s perfect for you Tommy. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
—----
Wilbur seriously wouldn’t stop hugging Tommy that day.
Whether they were walking down Brighton, waiting at a crosswalk, or sitting in a bus, Wilbur continued to squeeze Tommy like a stuffed toy. At points, Tommy huffed, trying to wriggle free or snap Wilbur out of it. None of it worked. Wilbur seemed to find so much satisfaction in dressing his little brother like himself. A little clone.
Eventually, though, Tommy did give in. He had been walking all day and his feet ached. On the bus, he ended up falling asleep on Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur tugged him closer, and decided that Tommy will sleep in his flat tonight, since it was closer and it would mean Tommy would get to sleep in a warm, cozy bed sooner.
When they arrived at his stop, Wilbur gave Tommy a light kiss on his forehead, a soft whisper into his ear telling him they had arrived. Tommy groggily shifted, still half-asleep as he walked off the bus leaning most of his weight on Wilbur. Wilbur kept an arm around him to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly fall down, and the two exited the bus.
It was a quick walk down a couple blocks to Wilbur’s flat, but when they finally made it, Wilbur cautioned he was going to let go for a second to grab his key. Tommy nodded sleepily, but as Wilbur released him, he fell backwards. Wilbur yelped, pulling him back and somehow managing to grab his key with his arm still wrapped around Tommy.
“You rat,” he muttered fondly. “You didn’t even listen to a word I said.”
“Just bring me home, Wilbur.”
“I’m gonna have you sleep in my flat tonight. I don’t want to have you go another hour in the bus alone and asleep, dear.”
“What do you mean ‘my flat?’” Tommy was a little more awake this time. He looked into Wilbur's eyes with those same blue eyes that always looked at Wilbur with adoration. “This is home.”
Wilbur cooed. He felt as if his heart was about to explode. Not only was his Tommy wearing clothes in his style, but now he was calling his flat “home.”
“What are you staring at?” Tommy spat weakly. “Open the door. I’m cold.”
Wilbur huffed fondly, turning the key and the knob. They entered the dark flat together and Tommy leaned against the wall as Wilbur took off his coat. Then Wilbur hastily lifted Tommy up, going straight to his room. Once they made it to the guest bed, Wilbur laid Tommy down and pulled a blanket up. He wiped away a stray curl before giving one more goodnight kiss to his hair, then stepped away.
“Wilbur?”
Wilbur turned around, hand on the door.
“Yes, Toms?”
“I’m still cold.”
Wilbur blinked into the dark, barely seeing the shape of the child in the shadows. “Do.. do you want an extra blanket or something? I’ve got more.”
He could see the child shifting in the dark. “It’s not enough. I’m used to sleeping with Walter, Wilbur. He’s warm, and his fur is soft.”
“I- stars, child, I don’t have any stuffed toys.”
“I don’t need a toy, Wilbur!” Tommy finally hissed. “You don’t get it. I want.. you.”
“Oh.”
And with that, that complete dependency on his older brother, Wilbur melted like snow in the sun. He stepped over to Tommy and snuggled in. He faced the wall, away from Tommy, and closed his eyes so he could fall asleep. He was tired, and wanted to sleep fast.
Then he felt an arm drape around him, then pulling him closer. He felt a face buried in his hair, breathing in and out. He opened his mouth to curse at Tommy to give him some personal space, but realized the child was already asleep. Instantly, like magic.
Wilbur closed his eyes, focusing on Tommy’s slow breathing. Peaceful and at ease. He felt Tommy’s tiny heart thumping against his back, happy and well. Knowing that the child was safe in his own place made Wilbur feel at rest, assured.
Then, just as Wilbur was about to fall asleep, he heard a little mumble from above him.
“I think big brothers are warmer than dogs, Wilby.”
“Really?” Wilbur whispered back.
“Mhmm.” Tommy snuggled further. “You smell nicer too.”
Wilbur’s heart was on the edge of bursting into a million pieces. Sleepy Tommy was really the sweetest, his breathing was slower, voice lower and slightly cracked. Wilbur hummed as he felt Tommy’s fingers idly playing with the brown curls in his hair, light touches so gentle he never knew were possible coming from such an energetic and lively child.
Wilbur slowly raised up a hand to intertwine his fingers with the ones dancing on his head. Tommy’s fingers locked in, strength dying as Tommy slipped into unconsciousness.
Wilbur pressed a slow kiss to the boy’s knuckles. “Sweet dreams, sweet one,” he whispered before drifting off into his own.
—----
Tommy woke up that morning with a tiny sneeze directed into Wilbur’s hair. He was glad Wilbur wasn’t awake yet, because he probably wouldn’t appreciate him sneezing on him. Tommy’s throat was a little dry so he decided he would try to get up and find some water. Rolling over to get up, he heard Wilbur shift and whine a little.
“Clingy rat,” Tommy muttered.
His feet landed on the plush carpet underneath and he tip-toed his way out. Before leaving, his eyes drifted to Wilbur’s closet. Curious, Tommy opened it, displaying all of Wilbur’s sweaters. He didn’t even have to think twice before he slipped off his new teal sweater and grabbed Wilbur’s “Knife Goose” sweater lying on the floor and pulled it on. It was softer, a knitted one. Much more comfortable and cozy.
The oversized sweater that clearly wasn’t his size, but Wilbur’s swallowed him whole. It felt like Wilbur was giving him a hug himself, but light and airy. Tommy buried his nose in the sweater, letting Wilbur’s smell comfort him like a blanket. He almost immediately felt better after.
He walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. He was still bleary-eyed, but internally he felt much more well rested. He hadn’t slept that deep in a while.
As Tommy wandered in Wilbur’s flat, he found a red beanie lying on the floor. He put it on as well, and felt even warmer. What? He’s cold.
He didn’t remember when or where he found Wilbur’s glasses either, but before he knew it, he was wearing round glasses too.
That’s when Tommy found Wilbur’s guitar. He picked it up and started fiddling on it a little. Maybe he can figure out how to play Jubilee Line or something. He didn’t know how to play the guitar, but he’s been around Wilbur enough to know the basics just from osmosis. At one point Tommy figured out the beginning melody, so he began singing. He was so distracted while figuring out the guitar that he didn’t notice Wilbur coming in.
—----
Wilbur’s eyes shot open as he realized he didn’t feel the child pressed against him anymore.
He twisted around in the bed, and saw the covers were already thrown off. He assumed Tommy must already be awake.
Shush no! He wasn’t worried someone kidnapped him! That would be overreacting.
Despite how much he tried to ignore it, Wilbur couldn’t deny his fast beating heart when he saw Tommy’s sweater left on the ground.
He ran out the door, on the verge of screaming Tommy’s name when he heard a soft guitar. He stopped, stepping towards the music. It was his song. He knew Jubilee Line anywhere, despite how many wrong notes were being played.
Then Wilbur saw a little version of himself. Sitting on the couch, wearing his goose sweater that was obviously much too big for him, a beanie falling off his head, and round glasses that slid down his nose.
“Tommy?” he whispered.
Tommy didn’t hear him. He began singing. It was sweet and gentle. Wilbur’s breath hitched. He never heard Tommy genuinely sing seriously before. His voice was actually really beautiful. When he hit the high notes Wilbur’s heart sang with him. Tears sprung up in his eyes.
Wow. Tommy really, truly, did look up to him.
It was amazing for Wilbur, to see a young teen actually admire him in such a way that he wanted to be like him. Wilbur had gone through a lot. From high anxiety to ruining things so many times. He began to feel awful about himself and felt like he was probably the most messed up person in the world.
Then came in Tommy, who always treated him like he was the world.
And now Tommy was adopting every little thing about Wilbur.
“Oh stars, Tommy,” Wilbur cried softly. “I don’t deserve you, you deserve the world.”
Tommy seemed to have heard that, because he stopped. He looked up, eyes wide in surprise. He jumped up, scrambling to put the guitar away. Tommy was about to yank off the beanie when Wilbur stopped him, holding his wrist in the air.
“Shoot, I’m sorry, Wilbur,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t be touching your stuff. I-I’ll put these back!”
Wilbur’s grip loosened, lowering the wrist so that their fingers intertwined instead.
“Now why would I make you do that?”
“Because..” Tommy’s round blue eyes blinked behind Wilbur’s glasses, magnifying them and making them so large and cute it hurt not to squeal. “They’re your things?”
A small smile crept up on Wilbur’s face. He rubbed a calloused thumb across Tommy’s palms.
“You’re my brother. Why wouldn’t I let you touch my stuff?”
Tommy’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you mean?”
“Tommy. You buy a sweater because I tell you to, then you call my flat your ‘home,’ then you sleep in my room, then you play my guitar, while singing my song and wearing my hat and glasses.” He laughed, pulling Tommy into a tight embrace, swinging him from side-to-side. “My little brother! My little brother! My baby brother!”
Tommy huffed from Wilbur’s chest, but Wilbur knew it was because he was just hiding his joy. He looked down to see the beanie sliding down again and adjusted it, like a father fixing his son’s tie. Tommy stayed there in his arms a little longer, laughing at himself- the best Wilbur Soot impersonator.
“Wilbur?” his tiny voice squeaked through Wilbur’s sweater.
“Hm?”
“Can you teach me to play your guitar?” His head shifted, soft curls pressed against the wool. “And recommend me more sweaters?”
Wilbur chuckled, squeezing Tommy impossibly closer.
“Well, which would you rather do first?”