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There’s an odd beauty that comes with existing during December; peeling your eyes open to the snow falling outside and the window in your bedroom frosted over from the freezing cold air.
Sometimes, there’s Christmas music playing downstairs or in a room next door and bubbling voices chatting away.
Tommy loved Christmas for these reasons. He loved how safe it felt, how his duty was none other than getting his family as many Christmas presents as he could fit in one basket, or making something out of construction paper and yarn and nothing other than love.
The tiny digital clock in the corner of his room read 4:16 AM and despite the note on the fridge saying his parents wouldn’t be home until 5, Tommy worked tirelessly under the dim light of his television. He had to get the Christmas tree decorated.
Finally, after two years of missed Christmas’, his parents would be home to open presents on time, instead of having extra grocery money sent his way with a one-word apology.
Finally, after two years, his Christmas tree would be up. It didn’t matter if it was Christmas morning, it mattered that it was up at all.
He had tried decorating it on his own but the hope he held out that his parents would walk through the door suddenly deciding to love him again was stronger than any childlike excitement.
Now, he refused to let his parents walk into their home without it being decked out in red and greens.
Maybe to anyone else it would’ve been obvious how little his parents actually cared about him, at least by the way they had never bought an ornament or tree themselves. Tommy had been forced to buy that all himself, using every last bit of his savings on a fake and scrawny tree and a box of plastic ornaments.
With it being up and decorated, as Tommy stepped back from his work and brushed the glitter from his hands onto his pyjama pants, the tree looked ten times worse than the picture on the box. That didn’t matter though, because this was his and he had worked so hard on it.
This ugly Christmas tree with fraying branches that hurt to touch was a perfect representation of his own life.
“It’s perfect,” Tommy smiled to himself, leaning down slightly to pet one of his sleeping dogs curled up at his feet.
The motion of bending down in such an uncomfortable angle just to pet Betty had quickly gotten exhausting and before he knew it, Tommy was slumping onto the floor beside his dog.
“They’ll be home soon, girl, don’t worry,” he mustered up the biggest smile of reassurance as he could. It wasn’t so much to his dog, but to himself. If he reminded himself that his parents said they were coming home enough, surely it would stick and they would actually show up for once.
(Deep down, Tommy knew it wasn’t true. His parents had broken this promise countless times before and he was left to his own accord on far too many family holidays.)
Construction paper shreds littered the rug below him as he scratched a spot behind Betty’s ear. She seemed so comfortable and there was an odd sense of jealousy that rushed through Tommy at the way both of his dogs could survive without his parents, yet he would sulk in their absence forever.
Whether it was the anticipating fear that pulsed through his veins or how truly exhausted he was, Tommy leaned down to rest his forehead against Betty’s back, watching as Walter pranced in from the kitchen and curled up at his feet.
It wasn’t the warmth of his mother’s hugs or his father’s hair ruffles, but it was something, and that was enough for him.
His eyes fell shut unwillingly with the weight of how utterly tired he was rising through him.
He couldn’t sleep for long—-and really, he shouldn’t sleep at all. There was still so much to get done—-because the radiator hadn’t been turned on yet and it was already snowing outside. Leaving it off the rest of the night and into the morning would surely get him sick.
However, he had thirty minutes until his parents said they’d be home. That meant they could turn on the radiator themselves and wake him up afterwards.
Yeah. That sounded like a good plan.
Tommy was asleep before he could convince himself otherwise.
—
Tommy woke slowly. It wasn’t a quick realisation of the cold nipping at his nose or the way he almost shivered under his mountain of blankets, because at first, he just laid there.
Still, quiet, calm.
The silence besides his own breathing was almost frightening. The sun gleaming through the blinds told him it was far past five in the morning, meaning his parents should have been home by now.
Then, there was the feeling of Betty still asleep under his cheek and Walter still curled up at his feet. It was comforting at first, knowing they had stayed with him the entire time he was asleep, and then it wasn’t. If his parents had come home, his dogs would have jumped up at the door opening and barked until Tommy woke up.
They were still here, and Tommy had woken up on his own.
Fear ate at his gut. It sliced him open and left him on display.
But there wasn’t a promise that his parents hadn’t just… come through the back door or that Betty and Walter somehow knew it was his parents and decided not to budge.
Still, Tommy was on his feet before he could fully come to his senses, stumbling over his own feet and too-big sweatpants pooling at his ankles.
Maybe his parents had just come home after he fell asleep, maybe they hadn’t wanted to wake him.
Tommy rushed down the hall and up the stairs, pulling himself up with the railing as he was reminded how little sleep he had gotten.
His mother and father’s room was right across the hall from his own, so he, being as careful and quiet as he could, turned the doorknob and pushed it open. This door specifically had been the only one in the entire house to not creak when it was opened, but after so many weeks left unopened, it began to creak just as much as every other door.
The thought alone was enough to nearly sweep him off his feet in sadness.
“Mom? Dad?” Tommy called into the dark and cold room.
There was no response.
He tiptoed further inside, narrowing his eyes to see if the lump on the bed was a person or-
A pillow. It was a pillow.
Still, though he knew he should have, Tommy mustered up the strength to wring out his freezing cold knuckles and scrunch up his nose. Huffing out a puff of air, he could’ve sworn he saw his own breath.
Quickly, he exited his parents room and didn’t bother to shut the door behind him. There was a chance they were in there and he just hadn’t spotted them, so if he left the door open, they’d yell at him to come and close it. Being yelled at wouldn’t feel good but it would tell him that they had actually come home.
His next stop was the driveway. Tommy bustled down the stairs and flicked on the radiator on his way down.
As he stuffed his feet into his sneakers, Tommy was reminded how much he had grown since last Christmas.
These sneakers were a size too small and a gift given to him as an apology by his parents three days after Christmas the year before. He had taken the apology head on and reiterated that he didn’t mind, that he was just happy they were there at all.
Now, standing at his front door and sliding his arms into his coat, Tommy understood that they hadn’t really cared.
He unlocked both locks on the door—-one which he had saved up to get installed at only fourteen years old. By that point, he had been staying home alone for days at a time but the thought of only having one lock in not the best part of town was terrifying to him. So, he worked with what he could—-and swung it open out in front of him.
Running in the snow probably wasn’t the best idea but he was eager. So, he listened to the crunching of his shoes in the few inches of snow that had gone up exponentially overnight.
Once he reached his driveway, he didn’t react.
Instead, Tommy just stood there in silence. Blinking and calm.
There was no car in the driveway and no tire marks to indicate that there had been one in the first place.
It took everything in Tommy to get himself back inside.
It was moments like these, locking the door behind himself and kicking off his shoes and coat, that Tommy understood grief. He knew betrayal like the back of his hand and yet, he still allowed himself to get his hopes up time and time again.
The air was cold, a family had been shattered, and Tommy refused to let himself cry.
—
The doorbell rang sometime around noon. In truth, Tommy hadn’t moved since he realised his parents wouldn’t be home.
This time, he didn’t let himself get excited.
Instead, Tommy pulled himself to his feet, ignoring his aching limbs, and made his way to the front door.
If he had any regard for his safety, he would’ve checked the peep hole before opening it, but of course, he didn’t. And the last person he expected to see upon pulling it open was Wilbur.
“Merry Christmas, Tommy!” The man smiled, cheeks red from the cold air outside. “I got you a present!”
Tommy, still shocked at the fact Wilbur was even here to begin with, stepped aside wordlessly to let him inside. Sure, he was confused, but he wasn’t a monster. The last thing he wanted was to leave Wilbur out there in the snow to freeze to death.
Well, that was a bit dramatic but so was Wilbur, so it balanced out.
Wilbur stepped inside with a small nod of thanks and began to slip his coat off upon entering. “Man, it’s so cold out there. I haven’t seen it this cold in years.”
“You’re here,” Tommy whispered, mostly to himself. “You’re- why are you here?”
Wilbur frowned at this. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just didn’t see a car in your driveway so I assumed you hadn’t started getting too busy yet.”
“No, no!” Tommy interrupted quickly. “You weren’t intruding at all! My parents aren’t here right now, they ran to the store.”
He knew it was a lie. Tommy absolutely hated lying to Wilbur of all people, but telling him the truth would make everything ten times worse so he stuck with the latter.
Wilbur hummed approvingly, “Good, that means you have time to open this.” His smile stayed put as he rocked forwards on his heels in excitement.
It was sweet, to Tommy at least, seeing Wilbur so excited over something so small.
He grabbed the box wrapped in bright red wrapping papers from Wilbur’s hands and waited for a nod in approval before ripping into it. He spared no mercy on the beautiful wrapping job that he was fairly certain Wilbur’s father had done, not Wilbur himself.
Once the wrapping paper was off, he tore open the box and dropped it to his side.
Tommy rolled his eyes as he picked up a flat rectangle wrapped in even more paper from inside the box. “How many times did you wrap this thing?”
“Just open it,” Wilbur rushed, leaning over to see the present better.
“You’re so pushy, you know?” Though Tommy had already begun to carefully unwrap the thing.
He flipped it over a few times as the paper encasing fell to his lap.
It was… a picture frame. Which, Tommy wasn’t complaining. He was happy to have any gift at all, but it was still a bit confusing.
Flipping it over once more, however, Tommy felt the tears welling in his eyes. There, in a white frame with gold accents, was a picture of Wilbur and himself in a field of flowers that he knew all too well. It was the same field they passed through everyday while Wilbur walked him home from school, and it was the same field that Tommy had broken his arm in after rolling down the hill too fast.
The memories that came with that spot were overwhelming and Tommy forced himself to swallow the lump that had been growing more and more apparent all morning.
“Thank you,” he whispered, fighting to keep the tears burning in the corner of his eyes down.
In one swift motion, he was being pulled into Wilbur’s chest by a pair of sturdy arms that he knew would keep him standing if needed.
He knew it, yet…
“Of course, Tom. I’m glad you like it.” Wilbur’s smile was apparent from the way he buried his nose into Tommy’s curls, resting his face on Tommy’s head.
I love it, he wanted to say. I love it but I’m afraid. I’m so, so afraid.
Before he could let himself fall apart, Tommy pulled away from Wilbur’s hold and wiped his eyes with the wrists of his sleeves, clearing his throat as he did so. “I got you something too. Well, I made it, but it’s something.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Wilbur smiled again, this time without his teeth. It was that same big and cheesy smile that reached the corners of his eyes and made his eyes scrunch up that Tommy could’ve sworn was reserved for him specifically. It felt like a warm hug that Tommy wasn’t ashamed to say he loved.
“It’s in my room, stay here, I’ll be right back.”
Once it was out of his mouth, Tommy realised how much that stay here sounded like a plead more than anything else, but it was already out in the air and couldn’t be taken back.
Either way, Wilbur nodded and lowered himself back onto the couch to wait.
Tommy didn’t wait a second longer, spinning around on his heels and sprinting up the stairs. He was more than aware how much of a wild animal he probably looked in that moment, but nothing stopped his stride to his room.
Not even embarrassment that flashed his cheeks red.
He wasn’t even sure why he was still so embarrassed when he made a fool of himself around Wilbur. Maybe it was the way he felt he needed to show off, or how he still—-though he would rather die than admit it—-admired the man and everything he did.
Wilbur was, to put it easily, so fucking cool. He played guitar, he sang and wrote his own songs, he had such a kind family that treated Tommy like their own, and he was just… fun to be around.
Never in his small life had Tommy known someone that made him feel so appreciated.
So wanted.
He used the side of his body to practically slam into his bedroom door, swinging it open under him and having to stabilise himself before he could fall over with the sudden change in pressure. Then, he rushed in and pulled the unwrapped awfully knitted mittens off his desk- which, fuck. He hadn’t even wrapped Wilbur’s gift.
In the midst of his own self pity and trying his best to clean up what he could just in case his family decided to show up, he had completely forgotten to wrap any presents.
Sure, Wilbur wouldn’t mind, but the mittens were already ugly as all hell and the lack of wrapping paper around them didn’t help much.
There was nothing Tommy could do, however, because Wilbur was already downstairs and waiting. He left his room and shut the door behind him with the gift in hand.
“I know it’s not the prettiest thing ever but I didn’t have the money to buy gifts this year, so…” Tommy warned as he headed down the stairs, skipping two at a time as he went.
Wilbur rolled his eyes at this—-fondly, of course. “It doesn’t matter what you got me, Toms. I don’t even expect a gift at all from you, but anything you give me I’ll cherish.”
And honestly? Fuck Wilbur Soot. He was the world’s most massive prick ever for making Tommy falter in his steps with how much he loved Tommy for Tommy. Absolutely nothing else.
That same warmth that came with Wilbur’s proud smiles washed over Tommy again and he had to suck in a break so as to not cry right then and there. Spending Christmas alone like this had fucked with his emotions in a way he wasn’t used to.
“Yeah, yeah. Shut up prick,” the mittens were thrown onto Wilbur’s lap from halfway across the room. Partly because Tommy didn’t want to walk all that way just to walk right back to the edge of the couch, and partly because he needed an excuse to not look at Wilbur’s expression.
Fuck his family never being home, Tommy was sure the worst heartbreak in the world would come from seeing his pseudo big brother disappointed in him.
He avoided Wilbur’s face completely, instead focusing on the few shreds of wrapping paper that he hadn’t had the chance to clean up in time. That was another thing added to his mental checklist. After Wilbur left—-which, of course he would. Tommy couldn’t expect the man to leave his entire family behind just to spend the day with a random kid he met at school—-he would go about his day like usual. Chores, walk the dogs, do some homework, make dinner, sleep.
If he tried hard enough, he could push the fact that it was Christmas at all into the back of his mind and forget today ever happened.
“They’re perfect!” Tommy’s thoughts were abruptly scattered as Wilbur cheered, raising his hands up to show off the mittens that were in fact a perfect fit.
Honestly, Tommy was pretty proud of himself.
Wilbur rubbed his gloved hands together quickly and looked them over once before slipping them off again. “I‘ve been needing a new pair of mittens, how’d you know?”
Carefully, the two pieces of red material were folded on top of each other and placed on the table with a sort of delicacy that Tommy had never seen before.
“You don’t-“ he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “They’re just mittens, I didn’t think you’d like them that much.”
Tommy’s tone was one of genuine confusion, and if it weren’t for Wilbur knowing every one of Tommy’s next moves, the question would surely be taken as something mean or too harsh.
That wasn’t the case, never with Wilbur. “I mean, I wouldn’t like them this much if they were just from the store but because you made them, it’s like a little piece of you I can carry around with me.”
And that was that. Wilbur worded it so simply that it almost, almost, made sense in Tommy’s head. He still wasn’t used to the idea of being loved but it made him happy either way.
“Oh,” he whispered in response.
“Yeah, oh.” And because Wilbur was Wilbur, and he always had been, he pushed on. “Why do you seem so shocked by that? Aren’t kids supposed to make their parents presents instead of buying them for that reason?”
Tommy stayed silent.
Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t find the right words to say that wouldn’t give everything he was trying so hard to hide away.
The quietness must’ve been obvious in a way Wilbur wasn’t used to, because it only took twenty minutes from him walking in the door to now before he had cracked Tommy in two. “Tommy, your parents aren’t actually at the store, are they?”
Silence.
Then, and slowly so, a small shake of his head.
“Where are your parents actually, Tom?”
Wordlessly, Tommy shrugged, refusing to break the intense eye contact he held with his lap. Anything he could’ve said to defend himself died out on his tongue almost immediately and he found himself, once again, defenceless.
There was no point anyway, Wilbur had a way of figuring out everything somehow. Tommy had just thought he would be able to keep this secret this time around.
He heard Wilbur shift and, quicker than he could register, the couch dipped in with an added weight beside him. Not too close, but enough for Tommy to reach out and grab Wilbur if he needed.
“Hey,” Wilbur ducked down slightly to be within Tommy’s line of sight, “look at me.”
Of course, because it was Wilbur, Tommy did so. He looked up from his lap and held his breath. Then:
“Have your parents been gone this whole time?”
That was all it took for Tommy’s world to come crumbling down.
It started with his lip wobbling and him biting it almost hard enough to draw blood in an attempt at stopping it, then the lump in his throat grew larger by the second, and finally, the tears.
Like a river pouring its soul out through heaves of water and a gushing stream, Tommy broke.
Everything happened so quick. In one moment, he was sitting upright with tears forming in his eyes, and in the next, he was bent forwards clutching his stomach as silent sobs wracked his body.
“Tommy,” Wilbur whispered, reaching out as fast as he could and pulling the mess of a kid in front of him into his arms. The tone was all pitiful and full of guilt and despite Tommy hating being pitied more than anything else, he held onto Wilbur’s sweater like a lifeline.
Fuck. He had been so alone. The past two weeks had been spent on nothing more than near frostbite for neighbours cash all to get his parents a gift, and they weren’t even here.
They never were, and it hurt so fucking much.
“Please,” he begged, “don’t leave. They always- everyone always leaves me and I just-“
Tommy was cut off by a sob tearing its way out of his throat sharply. All he could do is snap his mouth shut and shove his face further into Wilbur’s shoulder to stifle himself.
He knew he was being selfish and yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing everything would just go back to how it was when he was little.
When he was too young to be at home all alone.
In a childish way—-which had him reminding himself that he was still a child, he was still only 17—-Tommy wished for nothing more than to be eight years old and clambering down the stairs on Christmas morning to his parents sitting on the couch again. He would give anything to have his family love him again.
He must’ve stayed like that, crying his soul into the soft fabric of Wilbur’s sweater, for thirty minutes. Because by the time he could take in breaths that didn’t include hyperventilating, though still raggedy, Tommy was exhausted.
Wilbur continued to hold him tight even when he completely slumped into the man’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” Tommy managed, voice strained and scratchy after almost half an hour of nothing but tears. “You shouldn’t- it’s christmas, you should be with your family, not taking care of me.”
“The last thing I plan on doing is leaving you here alone. My family encouraged me to come see you, they didn’t mind waiting,” Wilbur assured. He ran a steady hand through the back of Tommy’s hair and down the nape of his neck.
Tommy sniffled and moved to pull away from the hug. “Your family’s never met me before, though?”
For what Tommy thought was his own comfort, Wilbur reached forwards and cupped his cheeks with the palms of his hands, wiping a few stray tears with one of his thumbs. “I know, but I talk about you so much to them that they’ve practically considered you a part of the family already.”
From the small smile on Wilbur’s lips, Tommy knew Wilbur hadn’t known how much… that, meant to him.
“Why?” Simple as that.
Wilbur, too, decided to be matter of fact. “Because you mean something to me. Just because your parents won’t show it doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of being loved.”
And Wilbur was right, wasn’t he? The amount of times Tubbo had told him family wasn’t always blood and that he was too young to be faulted for his parent’s always being gone? Well, that had turned out true.
There was nothing Tommy could say back to that, nothing he could make out in words that would equal how he felt.
“Get your coat and shoes, we can get back in time to have hot cocoa before dinner if we hurry,” Wilbur said matter-of-factly.
Then, that was that. There were questions left for Tommy to ask and words left to be said, but Wilbur cared, and he showed up far more than his own parents ever had.
He was quick to run to the door and grab his shoes from where they sat drying. When he almost toppled over from the sudden rush of motion, Wilbur was there to catch him and pull him back up by his arm.
Leaving his house this time, Tommy was far less afraid.
And when Tommy dozed off in the car on the way back to Wilbur’s, Wilbur turned down the radio and took the smoother route.
When Wilbur ushered Tommy into his family’s home with the kid at his side, Wilbur never let go of his hand.
When he was introduced to Wilbur’s father and brother, he was told they had heard so much about him and not once questioned his red rimmed eyes or tear stained cheeks.
And when Tommy’s mother texted him an apology for not turning up? Well, Tommy knew he was already home.