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Toby doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much. Honestly, he should just brush it off, drink the stupid drink, throw the can away, and move on. It does bother him though, and he’s sat with the unopened soft drink in his room for days now.
He’d stumbled across a vending machine while out getting food when he’d decided that he could use a drink. It was an innocent action that was repaid in the worst possible way. He’d spent a dollar in a machine just for it to spit out a can of Coke with the words ‘Share a Coke with Dad’ written across it. What kind of bullshit is that?
Now he’s sitting on his bedroom floor staring at it. It’s sitting on the floor across from him and he feels like they’re in an intense staring contest. Maybe he should just beat the shit out of it. One foul swoop with one of his axes would completely demolish it and he’d never have to look at it again. It doesn’t feel right though. Part of him, for some odd reason, feels like he shouldn’t. Like he’s not supposed to. Then again, he also let his mind convince him to burn his house down and run away with a faceless man in the woods, so maybe he shouldn’t listen.
Tim walks in at that exact moment.
Toby’s on the floor, sitting crisscrossed, a single can of coke two feet in front of him, and Tim’s looking at him with that blank look he always gives Toby when he wants to ask but isn’t sure how.
Toby, panicked, grabs the Coke and hides it behind his back, jumping to his feet. Tim raises an eyebrow now.
“I got a drink,” Toby blurts, and then trips over himself at the last second, “I mean us. You. I mean it says to share, but it’s just one can, so that’d be pretty weird. So just you probably. I got you a drink.”
Tim looks amused more than concerned now, which is probably a good thing. Toby, on the other hand, is very concerned. The more he thinks about what the can says, and what he’s just implied by saying it’s for Tim, the more it seems like that was the right decision. The only problem now is the utter embarrassment he’s going to feel the minute he hands the can over, even if he means it. He does mean it. Believe it or not, he does really, truly mean it.
He pushes the can out in front of him and it takes all of his willpower not to squeeze his eyes closed. Tim takes it and turns it over in his hand, reading it, and then visibly freezing. Toby wants to jump out the window.
Maybe he should, it wouldn’t hurt or anything.
Tim freezes but then, slowly, his face slips into a smile that Toby’s only seen a few times in the past. It’s his real, genuine smile, but not the one he has when he laughs at things. It’s the one he has when he’s reminiscing but in a good way. Tim looks back at Toby with that small, genuine smile on his face and nods, “Thanks. For the drink.”
Toby nods back slowly, “Yeah. No problem.”
“Do you mean it?” Tim asks, and then they’re just staring at each other while Toby thinks. Does he mean it? Of course he means it. Maybe it’s silly and embarrassing to admit out loud, but he’s meant it for a long time. Tim’s the only person Toby really has. How could he not mean it? He doesn’t say all of that out loud though, instead he just nods silently. Tim smiles a little wider then and nods again, “Okay. Good. There’s food downstairs, if Jeff and EJ haven’t devoured it all already. Eat something before you go to bed.”
“Okay, I will,” Toby replies, still feeling awkward but less so. Tim goes to leave the room but Toby catches him looking down at the soda can one last time, tosses it, catches it again, and smiles fully.
Maybe there was a reason that Toby got that specific can at the vending machine.