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Tommy couldn't stop smiling, not that he minded.
He had been dreaming of this for months and months, first shiny daydreams, and then waking up to slow tears at the realisation that it was all just a dream. But not anymore.
"Phil!" he shouted, jumping up from his bench. He'd been waiting in the Brighton train station for the older for nearly an hour, listening to train after train pull in only to slouch again when he realised it was not Phil's train.
The older looked around in confusion momentarily, smiling when his eyes met with Tommy's. Tommy all but sprinted at the man, throwing himself at him, gangly limbs clinging on for dear life. A whispered "Hi, mate", right by his ear, and Tommy knew he was home.
Then was Wilbur. Phil and Tommy had agreed to meet him in a cafe since the brunette had band practice and the sweet-smelling coffee shop would be the most convenient place to join up; close to the studio, close enough to the station, and "banging sandwiches". What was there to disagree with?
Tommy felt eyes on him the moment the little bell above the door rang, anxiety running rampant within him for a moment before he realised it was Wilbur. The brunette had been reading a book, round glasses perched on his nose bridge and his guitar case leaning against the wall behind his seat. The table looked almost petit with him sitting at it. He smiled warmly, bookmarking his page and standing to greet his friends.
Tommy didn't run through the coffee shop, even though he really wanted to. He took the white and black tiled floors at a quick walk, every footstep energised with the power of a lightning bolt. If he had it his way, he'd be jumping about like a looney. He'd have shouted his friend's name and laughed like there was no tomorrow.
Wilbur was taller than Phil, taller than Tommy, even. He'd had to bend down the slightest bit to hug him properly, the blonde relishing in the feel of the older's arms around him. At last. And for a moment, Tommy didn't want anything in the world to change.
They broke at the sound of a camera shuttering, both looking around nervously until they noticed Phil cheekily holding a camera. A brand new Polaroid pushed its way from the base of the camera, Phil gently collecting it and starting to fan it with a smile. Tommy took the picture from Phil behind Wilbur's back as the two hugged, staring down at it as it slowly began to develop. Wilbur introduced them to his table, the half-empty coffee cup beside the pebble-potted succulent and the newspaper that had been left there by a previous tenant. And Tommy had to admit, the sandwiches were really nice.
So was the ice cream at this place down by the beach, Wilbur informed him as the sun continued its descent through the sky outside. Tommy got a matching pair of giggles, seemingly out of nowhere. Between breaths, he learnt it was "the look on your face", apparently at the mention of ice cream. Wilbur insisted on paying, and when Phil and Tommy saw the smiles he sent the girl behind the counter, it was only too obvious why. They teased Wilbur when he returned to their table to a replying chorus of "shut up"'s. The two blondes snickered behind their hands when he waved to her as they left the shop, the bell ringing once more.
"What's it about?" Tommy asked, giving his tongue a chance to defrost. Once again, he had to admit that the strawberry flavour was really quite good. For a man who couldn't taste shit, Wilbur knew a thing or two about food in Brighton.
"Hm?" Wilbur looked up from his book. He'd gotten a considerably smaller scoop than Tommy—chocolate—and had therefore finished it a lot sooner too.
"Your book," Tommy gestured. "What's it about?"
"Adult things."
"I'm nearly an adult!" he replied, playfully indignant.
"Eh, you got 5 months."
"Pleassee?"
"Why do you want to know?" Wilbur asked, bookmarking his page again and flipping the book shut.
"Because it looks interesting."
The cover was blank, bar the title and author. Wilbur gave him a look.
"Oh, come on," Tommy playfully whined. "Phillll," he looked over at the eldest.
"Hm?"
"Will's not showing me his book."
"Why?"
Wilbur cut across Tommy before the blonde could even open his mouth. "It's about adult stuff and he is a child."
Phil snickered at the brunette's tone. "What kind of adult stuff, Will?"
"Taxes," he replied automatically, face and voice flat.
Phil laughed harder.
"Wilbur, pleassee?" Tommy tried again.
Wilbur contemplated, smiling, for a moment. "What will you give me in return?"
Tommy looked down at his hands. "A spoon of my ice cream."
Wilbur wrinkled his nose. "I don't like Tommy-spit. Or strawberry."
"Oi! What's wrong with strawberry?"
The back and forth continued sporadically all the way back to Wilbur's place, every other sentence that anyone had to say jutted into by Tommy linking it back to 'needing' to know what the book was about. The sun had literally set and yet Tommy stayed relentless.
"Why won't you just tell me, man?" Tommy asked as the brunette dug out his house key.
"Why won't you just stop asking?" The door opened into a dark hallway.
Wilbur led the way, flicking the light switch beside the doorway habitually. He set his guitar in the corner against a wall right beside the door. Tommy followed him inside, copying him in taking off his shoes and leaving them beneath a table ladened with all sorts of come-and-go bullshit along with his backpack. Phil pulled the door shut behind himself, twisting the lock. When Tommy looked around, Wilbur had wandered off deeper into his house, a trail of switched-on lights illuminating the way behind him.
"Anything to drink?" he called from presumably the kitchen.
"Water please," Phil called back.
"Tommy?"
"Uh, I'm good, thank you." He ambled aimlessly, coming across the living room. Phil moved in front of him, collapsing onto the sofa with a groan. Tommy joined him on the other end of the sofa, eyelids fluttering for a moment.
"Here you go, Phil," Wilbur's voice pulled Tommy's eyes back open as he handed off the glass of water to the eldest.
Suddenly, a joy-con was tossed into Tommy's lap. He looked up as light filled the room, the tv's screen displaying Mario Kart. He smiled. "I'm going to wreck you guys."
Phil snorted. "Yeah? You sure about that?"
Tommy grinned, looking over at the older. "Yeah, I'm the best." Phil laughed.
Wilbur fell between the two of them on the sofa, but that didn't stop Tommy's retort: "Yeah, you're laughing now, but—"
"Tommy," Wilbur cut across him. "Pick your character."
The first race was one of the way-too-many—in Tommy's opinion—editions of Rainbow Road, the one that was just one long race instead of three laps. And he kept falling off the edge.
"Why can't they just put up some fuckin' barriers?"
Phil laughed as he crossed the finish line, Wilbur only a few seconds after him.
"No!" Wilbur shouted. "I was just going to beat you, Phil."
"Maybe next round."
"Guys, shut up," Tommy broke their moment, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to keep himself on the track. The older two laughed at his struggle. When he finally crossed the line, he dropped his joy-con into his lap. "This sucks."
"Aw, come on," Phil consoled as Wilbur navigated to the next round. "Maybe the next one will be easier."
The next race was one of the other Rainbow Roads. Tommy was not thrilled.
After a few go-arounds, the three were done with racing, content to let the screen idle as they talked, showing pictures they'd stolen of each other and the world around them that day. At one point, Wilbur suggested that Phil call Kristin. The blonde's phone was ringing—facetime—hardly seconds later. Tommy fought Wilbur for the spot on the sofa closer to Phil, the brunette wrestling him playfully until the call went through and he let the kid take his place.
"Hi, Kristin!" Tommy shouted before anyone could get a word in.
Kristin laughed, waving back. "Hi, guys! How's Brighton?" And the boys told her.
At some point, Wilbur nodded to Tommy and led him wordlessly up from the sofa, giving Phil some time alone with his wife. Tommy sat on one of the barstools and cradled his head in his arms atop the cool counter, Wilbur standing on the other side and watching as the younger yawned.
"You getting tired, Tommy?"
Tommy yawned again, wider, nodding his head thoughtlessly.
In his old daydreams, the ones he had when he was the most upset and lonely, Wilbur sang to him.
"Come, let me show you your room." So Tommy pulled himself off the countertop and ambled after the brunette again, making a quick stop for Tommy to grab his backpack before heading down a corridor, past a bathroom, and into a sweet little room with a simple bit of decorum.
Tommy flopped headfirst into the bed, a chuckle coming from behind him. "Call if you need anything." And with that, Tommy was alone once more, the door shutting gently. He rolled over, facing the ceiling, and sighed.
Sometime later, when Tommy was just ready to go to bed, he decided he'd get some water. He turned the corner to the kitchen and ran into both Phil and Wilbur.
"What's this, a cult?" He lazily joked, recovering from the slight jump.
Phil laughed too. "Nah, we all just happen to be doing the same thing, I guess."
"Great. Where are the cups?"
"Here," Wilbur answered, spinning on the spot and pulling open a cabinet door. He handed Tommy a cup to fill.
The three of them sat in semi-darkness in the kitchen—Tommy and Phil on the stools and Wilbur cross-legged atop his counter—and thought their own thoughts silently.
Phil left first, turning his phone off after noticing the time and wishing his friends goodnight. Wilbur would be second, Tommy knew, because he didn't want to be the one who chose to leave. Not now, when he finally had what he'd been craving: company.
And he was right. Wilbur swung his long legs down from the counter a few minutes later, refilling his cup before turning to Tommy who watched him in the darkness.
"You okay?" He asked softly, leaning forward against the counter.
"Yeah," Tommy replied, his voice nearly failing him from recent lack of use and maybe some emotion he wouldn't dare to look in the eye.
"You sure? You seem kind of..." A vague hand gesture.
"Yeah man, I'm fine," Tommy replied, suddenly feeling very far away. His words sounded hollow, even to him.
Wilbur said nothing for a moment. Tommy couldn't tell what he was thinking. Then the brunette sighed, abandoning his glass and walking around the table. Tommy stood on instinct, confused. Wilbur stopped right in front of him.
Before Tommy could muster a question, Wilbur's arms were around him, holding him close. And Tommy was holding him back. And there in the dark, Tommy felt unspeakably loved.