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Tommy has been jumping off the walls for the trip to the optician ever since the oppointment days ago; after an offhanded comment about how Tommy sometimes struggles with seeing the whiteboard from so far behind the class, Wilbur wasted no time rushing him to the nearest Ophthalmologist.
Right now, Wilbur is struggling really hard to tie Tommyʼs shoes when the eleven-year-old wonʼt stop jumping around. “Tommy.”
Wilbur had long gotten used to Tommyʼs enthusiasm; whenever Wilbur would tell him theyʼre both going out, the boy would be shaking with excitement, stars in his sonʼs eyes and a big smile, tugging on Wilburʼs shirt every two seconds, just to make sure his father wouldnʼt leave without him.
Tommy finally quiets down, sitting on the counter, trying to be as still as possible, while Wilbur finishes tying his white shoes. “Come on, come on!” Tommy giggles.
Wilbur rolls his eyes, picking up the blonde-haired boy from the counter and setting him down on the floor. “You ready?”
Tommy nods so fast Wilbur was afraid his head would fall off. But before Wilbur could step out of their doorway, Tommy pulled part of his coat back, looking at Wilbur with as much betrayal as a toddlerʼs body could fit.
Wilbur blinks. “What is it? Do you want to go to the bathroom one last time?”
He shakes his head. “You forgot something important.”
Wilbur checks through his pockets, mentally making a checklist of all he needs. Keys, wallet, the prescription—
“You promised youʼd hold my hand all the way there,” Tommy whispers, eyes cast down and on the verge of tears, while Wilbur stands there dumbfounded.
Itʼs not new for Wilbur to nod wordlessly to whatever his son would demand in lengthy rambles, whether that be extra candy before bed or—
Wilbur feels a rock drop in his gut.
Wilbur knew Tommy feels to much. He gives and he gives and Wilbur would be a fool to not give back.
Wilbur extends his hand out, ignoring how shaky it is, and Tommy immediately places his own tiny hand on Wilburʼs palm, squeezing tightly, not intent on letting go.
They finally step out onto the road, and Tommy swings their intertwined hands while they both make their way through the neighborhood, jumping on his feet as he talks Wilburʼs ear off about every golden leaf that falls from the shriveling trees and every squirrel that walks infront of them, already forgetting what happened not even two minutes ago.
Tommy quickly gets tired of that. “Are we there yet?” He pulls slightly on his fatherʼs arm.
The optician isnʼt that far. In fact, the store he frequents is just around the block. Their small neighborhood is painted with orange, red and golden, the autumn season forcing people to adorn heavy coats. Hell, Wilbur is wearing his own infamous brown coat, while Tommy is wearing a soft blue sweater, with sleeves a bit too big for his hand that Wilbur had to roll them up too many times before giving up and letting the sleeves dangle from Tommyʼs hand.
“weʼre almost there,” Wilbur says, while Tommy runs infront of him while still pulling on his hand.
“but I want us to be there now!” Tommy whines, tilting backwards while he tries urging him to move faster. “Youʼre so slow!”
“We just stepped out of the house.”
“That was like forever ago!”
Wilbur sighs fondly, and it goes on like that for the entire trip, until Tommy finally spots the store and runs ahead of him.
He stops just outside the store. Wilbur raises an eyebrow, but doesnʼt say anything, pushing through the door.
The store is fancy; displays of glasses extending through both walls, a wooden-designed floor and mirrors everywhere giving Wilbur a small headache. On the plus side, nobodyʼs here, the store ʼs entirely empty.
Meanwhile, Tommy looks like he stepped through the candy Isle. He marvels at everything, eyes moving from the glass displays to the mirrors to the accessories, a wide grin on his face. “This is awesome!”
Wilbur winces at how loud he is, and Tommy seems to understand that, hand on his mouth as he looks back at Wilbur with confused eyes.
He trails after his father as Wilbur makes his way to the counter, a small smile overtaking his face as Techno steps through the staff door right to the counter.
Wilbur is a semi-regular customer at Technoʼs, changing his prescription every half a year or so, so theyʼre both became pretty familiar with each other.
“Hey, Techno.”
“You look uglier today,” Techno says in lieu of greeting, and Wilbur scoffs jokingly. “You here for another change? Not even been six months yet.”
Tommy scrambles to reach the counter standing on his tippy toes wanting to be included in the conversation. “and who is this?”
Wilbur picks up Tommy like a cat, and Tommy clambers to rest both of his hands on the glass counter as support. “This is Tommy. Tommy, say hi to Technoblade.”
Tommy scrunches up his nose. “What kind of name is Technoblade?”
Techno lets out a chuckle, while Wilbur gasps loudly. “Tommy!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Tommy says, not sorry at all.
“Itʼs all good, kid.” Techno seems to be having the time of his life.
Wilbur sets Tommy down on one of the chairs, rummaging in his pockets and fishing for the prescription. “Itʼs for him, actually.”
Techno hums. “Not surprised, poor eyesight is pretty genetic.”
“Am I gonna have glasses like yours?” Tommy points at the golden ones perched on Wilburʼs nose.
“Probably not, those are for adults.” Techno places down the prescription. “You guys go on and pick a model.”
“Iʼm a big man!” Tommy huffs, but he goes after his wandering father anyways, looking at all the glasses there.
“Is there any one you like?” Wilbur points at a small section, the one for kids, and Tommy shakes his head vigorously.
“I want yours!”
Wilbur sighs. “Tommy, you canʼt have mine, your eyes wouldnʼt handle them.”
“Itʼs true, he has terrible eyesight. Donʼt subject yourself to that.” Techno yells from the counter.
Tommy crosses his arms and stomps his legs, looking at Wilbur pleadingly.
Oh no, Wilbur thinks, he pulled out Wilburʼs ultimate kryptonite.
Wilbur has problems saying no to his kid. Big ones. Itʼs honestly becoming concerning.
He begrudgingly takes his glasses off, placing them on Tommyʼs too small nose.
His eyes are enlarged in the glasses, and Wilbur can see every shade of blue in his eyes. Itʼs funny, in an endearing sort of way, the way his son blinks, getting used to the glasses.
Wilbur croons, floored by his son. Holy shit, they look adorable on them. He wants to gather him up and spin him around.
“How do you see in these?” Tommy exclaims, pushing the glasses back with his tiny hands.
“Told you.” Wilbur wipes the glasses with the corner of his eyes, blinking as he puts them back. “So, which one?”
Tommy spends the next hour trying every pair of glasses, and Wilbur has to hold back the urge everytime. After he chooses one theyʼre both satisfied with, Techno places the lenses in them, and hands them to Tommy like theyʼre some kind of crown.
He puts them on, and he does the same thing heʼs done before, blinking to get adjusted to the lenses. He turns around to his father. “How do I look?” he says nervously.
Wilbur thanks every god out there for not giving him a heart attack in this store, frankly, he would be embarrassed. “Perfect. You look perfect.”
Wilbur waves goodbye to Techno, and both of them make their way to their home in relative silence. Itʼs night by now, the moon shining on the father-son duo as Tommy scrunches his nose every two seconds, trying to balance his glasses. But, thereʼs still a permenant smile etched onto his cheeks.
He looks back at Wilbur, and whispers. “Now, I look just like you.”
Wilbur didnʼt hold back the urge this time, picking him up and spinning him around.
That day, Tommy went home to a movie night and extra candy before bed.