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"Look who's digging their own grave, that is what they all say, you'll drink yourself to death…"
A split second of irritation was all Tommy could muster, a moment in which Wilbur's singing drew him out of his thoughts, distracting him from what he was doing - or rather, trying to do. But it didn't take him very long to actually register what was happening, and his irritation didn't linger. He had missed Wilbur far too much. He had missed the sound of his voice, he had missed those blinding bright grins and that twinkle in his eye, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the sound of his laughter when he was happy. He had missed his singing, rare as it was these days; Wilbur was breaking out into song lately more and more as of late, however, ever since that day they were home alone. Tommy had missed his singing. He'd missed Wilbur.
"Look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it, and what will you have left?" Wilbur sang, sprawling out on his back across the floor. Tommy recognized this song, it was one of many Wilbur had sung in Pogtopia. That moment, specifically, had been… it had been bad. Wilbur singing in Pogtopia in general was usually a cause for alarm - Tommy had long learned to associate the sound of him singing with an explosion, because Wilbur had these moments, these phases, for quite some time, where he would go into this weird zoned-out state and just…
He would just sing. He would sing, and pace, and it didn't matter what anyone did, it didn't matter who or how hard someone tried to get his attention, he just wouldn't fucking snap out of it. It had resulted in many an explosion, many a traumatic event. Techno had even been worried about Wilbur back then, to put it lightly. Extremely fucking worried about Wilbur. They both were.
But this wasn't Pogtopia. Wilbur was singing, and it was calm, and soft, and not zoned-out.
"Out on the front doorstep, drinking from a paper cup, you won't remember this." Wilbur crossed his arms under his head. They were both in Tommy's room, the door cracked open a little bit. As far as Tommy knew, everyone else who lived there - Ranboo, Puffy and Ghostbur, currently - were there as well; Wilbur had been… rather clingy with him ever since the incident when they were home alone, spending more time with him, trailing around the cottage after him like a kicked puppy. Like he felt guilty, like he was trying to apologize. Tommy wished he knew how to tell him that there was nothing to apologize for, that this was just how his stupid brain worked ever since Dream… ever since exile. Saying so didn't seem to stick with his big brother, though.
Oh well. It wasn't like Tommy minded, he had invited Wilbur into his room in the first place. The man was close to Bloom's little area, with his head resting in the grass. She was curled up near him in the corner, tail swishing lightly back and forth as he sang, almost as if she were dancing.
"Living beyond your years, acting out all their fears, you feel it in your chest…" Wilbur breathed in, breathed out, and sighed. "Your hands protect the flames… from the wild wind around you…"
Tommy's only complaint was that he couldn't focus on this letter. He had put this specific one off for almost a week now, because Dream was practically begging him to come visit. And Tommy still didn't want to upset him, he was still trying not to piss him off - but he couldn't just tell him that he was going to come visit and not do it. But it was pretty much impossible to avoid the discussion at this point, Dream had made sure of that. Tommy focused back on the paper in front of him and sighed, drawing his eyebrows together slightly. This shouldn't be so difficult. This was supposed to be helping him, giving him closure. But now it felt like it was just… worse.
"Icarus is flying too close to the sun…" Wilbur continued, rapping his knuckles against the wall lightly as he sang. Tommy found himself tapping his foot to the beat, resting his head in his hand and struggling to focus. This was getting frustrating - not Wilbur, not the singing, but the letters. He couldn't keep putting this off, though. Or maybe he could. Maybe it could wait a little longer. He breathed in and sighed again, dropping his head forward a bit and twisting his mouth slightly.
"And Icarus' life, it has only just begun," Wilbur hummed, and paused, rolling his head in Tommy's direction abruptly. Tommy looked up briefly, then back down. "Hey. You okay, Tommy?"
"Relatively," Tommy muttered, blowing his hair out of his face. "... I just dunno what to tell him."
Wilbur blinked back at him, silent for a moment, before saying solemnly, "tell him 'fuck off'."
"Very helpful, Wil." Tommy shook his head and brushed his hair back again, setting his pencil down and slumping back in his chair. "No, that's not- that's not- I can't tell him that. I'm trying not to piss him off, that would kind of defeat the whole purpose. I just- he wants me to come visit the prison so badly, and- and I'm not ready, and I don't know how to tell him that. 'Cause I know what he's doing, I know he- he's trying to pressure me into visiting." It hurt to say, as it always did to admit anything remotely negative about Dream - but it was also incredibly freeing somehow. Wilbur was quiet, picking himself up off the floor as Tommy rambled. "But I don't want to. I'm not ready to. And I know if I try and tell him that, he's just going to get angry at me, and I-"
"I think," Wilbur interrupted, much closer now. Tommy jumped a little, startled, and snapped his gaze up to the man; Wilbur was standing beside his chair now, only briefly looking at his paper - not at all seeming interested in what Tommy had written (likely because Tommy had only actually written the words "Dear Dream"), and more interested in the boy himself. His gaze was warm, dark eyes filled with something like concern, but also humor. "You… should take a break."
"I know, but I've been putting this off for-"
"And get away," Wilbur interrupted, a sing-song tone seeping into his voice now, and Tommy was entirely unprepared for what the bastard did next, only able to utter a quiet, startled squeak.
Wilbur fucking picked him up. Scooped him up off of his chair like he was nothing and up into his arms. It was an awkward position at first, Tommy kind of slung over his shoulder and frozen in shock, but it wasn't long before Wilbur had shifted him into something more comfortable, holding him almost bridal-style as he carried him away from the desk. With literally nothing better to do, Tommy found himself clinging to him; he wasn't even thinking. He wasn't even thinking enough to be afraid, because he couldn't even think logically enough to believe this could be a dangerous situation he was in. He literally could not fucking think, his brain had stopped working. All he knew was that Wilbur was holding him, they were walking, and then he was just-
Then he was just on his bed, tossed down almost carelessly onto the mattress. It didn't hurt at all, it wasn't even jarring. Tommy just sat there, completely numb and shocked, and didn't even react when the bed moved again when Wilbur plopped down beside him. What the actual fuck?
"Much better," Wilbur declared. He then proceeded to throw one arm over Tommy and pull him closer to him, rolling over so that he could pull the blond into both arms completely. Tommy let out another startled noise, but he really didn't have it in him to do much else. He finally managed to focus on Wilbur again, though, and just kind of… stared at him, while Wilbur pulled them closer together and snuggled up to him. Just fucking casually. As if this was normal for them. And- it used to be, Tommy remembered. His big brother used to scoop him up like that all the time when he was little, when he was small enough to fit under one of Wilbur's arms, still. He would throw him onto the nearest, softest surface and then throw himself on top of him immediately afterwards, and the two of them would just spend the next several hours cuddling. This had stopped long before L'Manberg, and those days seemed so far away to Tommy now.
But this. This threw him right back. Right back to his childhood, squealing with laughter as his brother would fall down on top of him, crushing him into the many bean bags strewn across his room. Giggling as Wilbur pulled him close to his chest and kissed his head and laughed with him, as they got comfortable, snuggling closer and rambling on about how their day had gone. The memories, instead of making Tommy emotional… they caused something light and bubbly to explode in his chest, a laughter that he hadn't felt in so long, and he couldn't help but release it.
He laughed, loud and shrieking like he hadn't in so long. Wilbur grinned and snuggled closer, while Tommy laughed himself breathless and dizzy, until his ribs ached and his stomach twisted.
"What the fuck, Wil?" He wheezed out when he could, practically cackling. "What the fuck?!"
"What?" Wilbur asked innocently, grinning as he tucked his chin over Tommy's head. Tommy struggled to breathe in, managing to silence himself for all of three seconds before he started laughing again. And- oh fuck, it fucking hurt, and Tommy couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like this. Wilbur hummed softly, the two of them literally as close as they could physically get now, the sound reverberating through Tommy's chest, and mused, "I missed this."
That made Tommy fall silent. His laughter quieted, but his grin stayed, split so wide across his face that it hurt. He moved closer, still, burying his face into his brother's shoulder and inhaling. The scent took him back to his childhood, to happier, sweeter, kinder days, and he sighed softly.
"Me too," he mumbled, muffled, into the fabric of his brother's sweater. "Me too, Wil."