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"If that kid goes up on stage with you, he's gonna steal all your light," Mark says – not meanly, just – a fact. He will. Tommy has a habit of that. Swallowing up all the light in the room. Bringing it around with him everywhere he goes, as if the Sun itself fell down onto him and decided yeah, this kid is the perfect fit for my glow.
Wilbur's always loved it – always liked how well it cut against his own darkness. How it makes him warm from the inside.
"I don't mind," Wilbur says softly, eyes flickering over to the corner, where Tommy was lighting up even the dark, shadowy backstage with his hands flying and his smile beaming. "Honestly? With him? I don't think I ever will."
Tommy's always been a little piece of sun. Even before Wilbur knew about the magic, and the glowing hands, and the cleared skies, Tommy meant so much more than just Tommy to him.
He was life-giving. Soul-reviving. Spirit-living. He was reincarnation and defying and everything just seemed so easy in his hands. When Tommy repeated Wilbur's problems back to him, they disappeared. When Tommy interrupted his day, it felt as if every moment previous had simply been leading up to it. When Tommy gave, it felt like all of him.
Tommy poured himself into Wilbur like it was nothing and – and it was overwhelming. It was a lot for him – just a sliver of darkness in Tommy's shine – to take.
Have you ever looked at someone and known that you weren't what they deserved? Have you ever looked at someone and known that you were all that they wanted?
Have you ever chased sunlight?
"Wilbur," Tommy says, and Wilbur's gaze picks up from where it had drifted downwards. Tommy's image is too bright for their shitty discord connection, and too bright for Wilbur's shitty dark apartment. "Wil. You've got that wrinkle again."
Wilbur makes a noise: questioning but lazy. That's all he really is nowadays. Confused and tired and done.
"You're thinking too much," Tommy continues, his bottom lip tugging downward in a bit of a frown. Wilbur hates that look on him. Hates that he's the reason for it. Hates that he doesn't have the proper drive to repair it. This is Tommy, Wilbur's brain snaps, this is Tommy– if you ruin him like you ruin everything else then–
Thankfully, Tommy's expression brightens on its own. "I know – let's play Minecraft, Wil. How does that sound? No thinking needed. Let's try beating the game together, okay?"
Wilbur wants to cry. Tommy's tone is the perfect mix of easy and fun while still being gentle and careful. His voice feels like it's cradling Wilbur, running sun-warm palms through his hair, coating him in a warmth he can't explain in words.
"Okay," Wilbur manages. His words come out choppy and curled, but Tommy's eyes merely brighten as if proud.
Wilbur doesn't deserve it. Not yet. And he has no idea if he'll
ever
deserve it. But it's nice. It's really, really nice. He hopes he has it forever.
Ash's camera keeps swinging all the way around the room to where Tommy is seated at the keyboard, and honestly, Wilbur can't blame him.
He's quiet today, Tommy is. He's dim. Not frighteningly so, just…enough. He's just soft. And gentle. His hands trace the piano keys before he plays, like he's making an important decision. When he walked in today, it was with a half-smile, like he meant to smile in full, but got distracted halfway through. When he sat down, it was by the window, not in the center of the room where he normally drifts to.
Tommy, Wilbur's found, thrives on attention. Of course he does – what would a sun be without the people to shine on? But not today. Today he's on the edges, in a bubble of his own, thinking thoughts that are big and cloudy.
"Go on," Ash whispers, nudging Wilbur, his camera down now. Mark and Joe, busy in conversation, haven't taken notice yet. It will only take a moment before they do, though, and then Tommy will begin to pretend to be himself so as to assuage their worries. "He needs you."
Wilbur highly doubts that, but he stands anyway, because Tommy's pull is futile to fight.
"Hi Tommy," Wilbur says, curling up in the warm window-seat, getting full view of the way Tommy blinks like he's just come back to life. "Hey. Are you thinking about playing?"
"Huh?" Tommy looks down like he just remembered he was at the keyboard. "Oh. Oh. No. I just –" he blinks again, long and slow. "I'm…here."
"That you are, king," Wilbur says, almost teasing, if he wasn't feeling so affectionate. He watches Tommy for a moment. The way he's moving, the way he's blinking. Like he's lost. "Are you tired, Toms?"
"No," Tommy protests almost immediately. He seems affronted, cheeks going pink. "No, I'm– no, I'm just–"
"Tired," Wilbur concludes. He can see all sides of Tommy quite easily. The truth is the one thing he's good at. "You should nap."
"The sun is out," He complains, as if that's any excuse. Wilbur stays quiet, listening. "I mean – I just don't like sleeping alone, that's all."
Wilbur's brows furrow. "What do you mean? You live alone, Tommy." It bothers Wilbur when he thinks about it too long, but Tommy's much more independent than a lot of people think. And he can't possibly keep Tommy in his apartment, hold such a brilliant piece of sun away from the entire world. Tommy burns too brightly to hold sometimes. Wilbur can't be the reason he doesn't get everything he deserves.
"No, I know, I know. I mean that I don't like to sleep when others aren't." He explains. "I'm not – I can feel it when people are up, Wil. When I'm missing something. I don't like it. Makes me restless."
Wilbur's quiet for a moment, eyes tracing over the image of Tommy's lax hands on the keys. He's quiet for so long that Tommy sighs heavily and curses, going forget I said anything, really, like he's embarrassed, but –
"Well, then I'll nap too." Wilbur decides. Tommy's mouth closes.
"What?"
"So you're not alone." He explains. "I'll sleep by your side. That way, when you reach out, all you'll feel is me and you can rest."
Tommy seems to consider that, and then nods slowly, as if sheepish to accept. Wilbur reaches out and taps one of Tommy's sun-born freckles. No shame, he thinks.
"Want to head home? Or sleep here?"
"Can – can I stay?" Tommy asks. Wilbur nods immediately. "I just –" his eyes flicker over to the rest of the guys, and Wilbur suddenly understands. " – don't really want to leave, you know?"
"Of course," Wilbur reaches out, and Tommy slides a tentative palm into his. Wilbur hums happily at the warmth, then carefully stands and pulls Tommy up.
"We're going to take a nap," Wilbur announces to the room. Ash's camera lowers. Mark and Joe both look at each other, then look at him, and then Tommy, a bit behind Wilbur.
"Can we come?" Mark asks, and Wilbur's smile widens.
Tommy curls his arms around Wilbur's waist. Wilbur waits, listening to his breathing deepen. He's fragile like this, small, and Wilbur feels himself grow three sizes, like a bear with a small cub. He has to protect this small patch of sun while it rests.
"No one is taking him from you," Joe murmurs. He's smiling a bit, turning over and pulling a blanket with him, making Ash grumble from his other side.
"I know," Wilbur says, but he doesn't loosen his hold. Tommy doesn't either. Even in sleep he tucks and holds like this is his perfect hiding place. Like Wilbur is something safe for him. "I just -" he can't find the word. "You know?"
Joe smiles. Nods. Reaches out to pet the back of Tommy's curls. "Yeah. I know."
"Wilbur." Tommy's voice goes. "Wilbur. Wilbur."
Wilbur, engrossed in his phone, does not expect it when he's hit upside the head. He blinks, then looks over to the perpetrator to see Tommy looking pointedly in the other direction, whistling like he's ever whistled before in his life.
Wilbur squints, then drops his phone and leans over, reaching and curling his hands around Tommy's ankles and pulling him close sharply, making him shriek in laughter.
"Alright, twerp, what do you want now?" He's grinning, and it only widens when Tommy squirms, trying to get away. His feet fly, kicking and making Wilbur duck. "Tommy!"
"Get off of me," Tommy giggles, twisting. Wilbur lets go, but the second he's free, Tommy is throwing himself back on Wilbur and smushing him into the couch.
"Tommy!" Wilbur yelps, voice muffled by Tommy's palm on his face. The kid's knee jabs his gut and he groans, deciding to just lay there, prone, letting himself meet his fate. Eventually Tommy slumps, settling, like a cat that's found a warm spot – except, really, it's the other way around, in that Wilbur immediately feels a wave of pleasant exhaustion pass over him because Tommy is very warm and just the perfect amount of heaviness. "Why are you on top of me?"
"You were stressed out," Tommy says, nudging his head until he's securely tucked it under Wilbur's chin. Wilbur curls an arm around Tommy, choked on gratitude and love for half a second. Tommy turns his head a bit. "Look, see? Now you're making the happy lights."
Wilbur flushes. "Ah." When he's happy, or content, or experiencing any sort of positive emotion, scattered dots of light begin to glow all over his face, trailing down his neck and arms and back. He doesn't try too hard to hide them, because mainly they already are hidden, drowned out by the sun, or stage lights, or his own stream set up.
But for some reason, Tommy always sees them. No matter how bright he glows. No matter how dim Wilbur is. Tommy always notices them.
Tommy wiggles a bit, freeing an arm and tapping one of the dots on his cheek gently. No shame.
"Yeah," Wilbur tightens his arms around Tommy. "I'm making the happy lights." He sighs. He wonders whether Tommy knows that he didn't used to make them as much as he does now. That before he met Tommy, he was worse than dim, he was dark.
But now.
"Thank you, Tommy," Wilbur murmurs into Tommy's sunlight curls. He's saying thanks for way more than just the hug. "Thank you."
"Mh," Tommy buries his face into Wilbur's collarbone. "Always."
"What?" Tommy says, and his tone is half panicked and half downright frightened, like when Wilbur calls him in the middle of the night because the moon is keeping him awake. He sounds like he's worried for Wilbur's health; for all of their health: Mark, who's beaming so hard that it looks like it hurts, and Joe, who's stepping to the side to let him through, and Ash, who's waving Tommy closer, eyes glinting in the darkness.
Wilbur tugs, pulling a dazed Tommy to center stage.
He enters the light – or the light enters him – and the crowd erupts. Tommy's eyes eclipse. Wilbur chuckles watching the way light curls off his shoulders and frames his body, making him stand out. The magic knows that he's in the spotlight, that he's meant for it, to share Wilbur's little circle of moonlight – it's just Tommy that can't process it.
"Surprise sunshine," Wilbur whispers, grinning, gently pushing his brother over to the mic. "It's time for you to sing."
Tommy stumbles, but doesn't fall, mouth open just a hint. He blindly curls a hand around the mic stand, eyes twinkling with wonder. There the light goes, narrowing in on him, leaving Wilbur in the dark, all the attention in the room holding him up.
Wilbur can only stare at him, love burning a hole in his chest.
And then Tommy turns, and reaches out and grabs Wilbur's hand, tugging him close. The circle of sun widens, and Tommy brushes a thumb over the little starry dots on the back of Wilbur's hand.
"Sing with me," Tommy pleads. "Don't leave me here on my own."
Oh.
Suddenly Wilbur realizes. Tommy calling his name over call, worried and nervous, Tommy sleeping soundly at his side, arms clinging around his waist like he needs Wilbur there. Maybe, just maybe, he's just as important to Tommy as Tommy is to him. Maybe Wilbur's chasing sunlight just the same way that Tommy is chasing some kind of darkness, some kind of safety. And maybe he's found that in Wilbur.
Why should he doubt why Tommy loves him? Does it really matter? All that matters is that he does.
"I won't," Wilbur says. Vows. "We can sing together."
And so, they do.