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Tommy never could fly.
His wings were too weak, too brittle, too small to allow him to take flight unlike the other people around him. Even when he explored other lands, found himself in the middle of a new land, flowers bursting from the greenery, rivers flowing with life, those around him were able to fly with ease. He didn’t mind it really, it was fine, it was just the way things were. They were able to fly, to touch the night sky he dreamed of, to explore the heavens as if they were welcomed to it, while he was chained to the ground, shackles of his own misshapen body dragging him down, forever to remain among the insects and cows.
He could live like this. He could build his house, ugly as it was, on the highest mountain, staring at the clouds, getting greedier by the day, as he spent his days watching his garden grow, filling with life, in a way he was jealous of. How could he be jealous of a plant? It was stupid and ridiculous so that’s why he kept it inside his head for no one to hear. They didn’t need to know how pathetic he felt, how envious he was of the way they were able to take off into the skies without a problem. It’s not like they could fix it, rearrange the broken parts as if they were puzzle pieces, and make it right again, not that he ever was right in the first place.
He could do that, he was good at that. No one could see past the colorful language that fell past his mouth or even begin to think that the stupid grin he plastered on his face like a mask was fake, was a facade, it was good, it was fine.
“Well, well,” A voice called out and his neck snapped around to catch sight of the annoying bastard. He twists around on his heels, his basket of carefully-collected wheat held in his hands, searching for him. “If it isn’t the child.”
Anger manifests within in the matter of seconds when he’s around this idiot.
His eyes search all over, around the fence of his chicken coop, around his home, but suddenly there’s hands grasping his shoulders from behind. His eyes glance back and like some sort of apparition, he fades into color, with a grin plastered on his stupid face that annoys Tommy day in and day out.
“Boo,” He says, looking so pleased with himself.
“Just because you’re a phantom, Wilbur, doesn’t mean you have to act like a ghost,” He shrugs Wilbur’s hands off, they’re cold, and nudges him softly in his torso.
“Well, what’s the fun in that?” Wilbur threw up his hands up, smiling like an idiot and he was convinced he was an idiot.
When he first found himself here, he knew of Wilbur but they never actually spoke. They were in the same area, it happens, he kept getting glances of him. His skin was almost transparent, an eerie shade of blue, and his wings were so much different than Tommy’s, different than anyone’s. They looked closer to some kind of leather, instead of having feathers like Phil, and they were larger than Tommy’s with sharper edges.
One day, it happened by chance really, they were in the same spot, at the same time, and those dark eyes turned his way, lighting up with something he couldn’t explain. He walked over towards him, on the edge of the Pub where he stood with Phil, bickering something with the old man he hardly remembers now, and Wilbur flashed his stupid shit-eating grin.
It should have started at Hello first, instead, it started with Wilbur kicking him off the ledge of the Pub.
Phil’s first reaction was shock, eyes going wide, his wings shooting up, twitching with the desperate need to fly, until he remembered Tommy was an avian and could in fact just float down, slowly, to the ground with no trouble really. His next reaction was to scream Wilbur! and near horrified laughter spilled from his throat as he watched Tommy float down to safety on a nearby cliff.
He may have been fine, but since that moment on, he’s hated Wilbur’s guts and he certainly hates that stupid smile of his. The way confidence glints in his eyes, the way his happiness seems to be overflowing, as if he can’t contain it, and he certainly hates him for his large wings that expand over him and let him take flight, to explore the air and laugh at the common folk stuck on the ground, chained to the grass and the dirt.
Yet he always seemed so keen on making Tommy’s life harder than it had to be, nominating him a child with that self-egregious tongue of his. Sure, he was younger than everyone else, and yes he was sixteen so he was a teenager, but did he have to announce it to the world like that, eyes gleaming and a smirk on his face? What gave him the right to laugh in Tommy’s face and burst with joy at the seams from the way his nose scrunched up when he called him that?
Wilbur annoyed the hell out of him, but there was an odd charm to him, weird as it was.
He disliked Wilbur, he really did! He was annoying, a know-it-all, always speaking with these big fancy words he couldn’t wrap his head around, babbling on about some new fixation he got on the stars or planets, but his chest shifted with the weight of his words. It felt pulled to him and he didn’t know how to explain it. Even when Wilbur wasn’t talking to him, when they both happened to be at the Pub and Wilbur was going on and on about nebulas and some nerdy shit that Tommy didn’t want to know, he couldn’t stop himself from listening in, taking in every word as if it was gospel.
Wilbur, for every frustrating aspect of him, was interesting. He wanted to know more about him, he wanted to learn every jaded shape of his heart, he wanted to know how Wilbur was able to smile so easily, to live with joy like it was made for you, to live for yourself and only yourself and to be happy with that.
Wilbur was so happy and confident in a way Tommy could never be. He yearned to be like that, he wanted to be like Wilbur. Ever helpful, ever kind, ever happy in himself and others.
Maybe that’s why whenever Wilbur popped up out of the blue, his eyes set on the sight of hanging out and being around Tommy, he couldn’t help but give in.
“What do you want this time, you freak?” He huffed out, going to one of his chests he designated for his crops, opening it up. He carefully placed down the stalk of wheat for later on inside of it, next to his bundles of carrots and potatoes he recently harvested.
“I am not a freak.”
“You’re literally a phantom, you go invisible and shit. If that isn’t weird, I don’t know what is.”
“This is coming from the person who has a chicken plushie on their bed.”
“What the—” Warmth floods his face and he’s glad the basket was empty when he picked it up because it falls from his grasp, hands curling, ready to punch Wilbur’s stupid face in as it lands against the soft grass of his yard. “How do you even know that?! What are you—fucking Edward Cullen?”
“You’re telling me you read the Twilight books?” Wilbur cocks his head to the side, smiling.
“No!” Tommy finds himself huffing out, pinching the bridge of his nose. This guy always gives him trouble, goddamn his curiosity, it’s killing him. “I watched the movies with Techno, thank you very much.”
“Techno is a Twilight fan?” Wilbur’s nose scrunches up at the thought.
“You’re deflecting, how the hell do you even know about Hetta?”
Wilbur snorts.
“You named your stuffie, Hetta?”
“I don’t want to hear it from the fuck who named his guitar, Charlotte.”
“It’s a good name, don’t talk bad about her!” Wilbur gapes, his hands grasping the center of his chest dramatically like the annoying bitch he is. “And since you’re so forgetful, might I remind you, we played monopoly at your place last week!”
Oh shit.
They did.
It was a horrible shitshow really. He wasn’t sure what Phil exactly expected to happen when he suggested that, the old board game in his hands when he brought it up. Techno had already been at his place, they like to watch human movies sometimes with hot cocoa and they make dinner together. It’s stupid and childish, grilled cheese and roasted tomato soup, but something about cooking together with Techno and spending time with him has always eased his heart.
Tommy’s always been good at hiding and lying but when he’s with Techno, something changes and shifts within him, like he can’t fake it around him, or even worse, being around him makes him feel like he can be genuine. He can be tired, he can lean on his shoulder and stop talking a mile an hour in order to keep everyone’s attention.
He’s chained to the ground, kept poorly like a cracked statue, but when he’s around Techno, one of the stupidly softest people he’s ever met despite his scary stern stare, he doesn’t mind it so much.
“Oh yeah, I won, didn’t I?”
“Huh?” Wilbur’s joy quickly fades and transforms into irritation. “I was the one who won.”
“Nuh-uh, I did, Phil said so.”
“That’s ‘cause Phil is a quack who bends to anyone who gives him puppy eyes!”
Tommy grins at him, “And this puppy won.”
“You’re not even a dog, you’re a chicken, stop trying to be something you’re not, idiot.”
“You were the person who called me it first??”
Wilbur rolled his eyes instead of searching desperately for a witty retort. He probably knew he would lose anyways.
“Well, whatever, what are you doing?”
“Gardening? What the hell does it look like?”
Wilbur looked miffed, serves him right. “You don’t need to do that, Phil makes plenty of stuff for all of us. You know he always has non-meat stuff stored away for you.”
“Not all of us can be embarrassing as you and call for ‘Mama Bird’ or whatever cringey shit you called Phil that one day.”
“What—I can’t help it! I get fatigued a lot, I need sustenance!”
“Not all of us can just rely on Phil forever,” He huffed, shutting the chest and clicking it close with the lock.
“Why not?” Wilbur smiled down at him. “It’s more fun that way. Let the old man do all the hard work.”
“You’re insufferable, I hope you know that.” Tommy found himself shaking his head. Wilbur was always so carefree, he wondered how he did it.
He walked freely, roaming both the sky and the ground, creating and destroying in a matter of moments, changing his decision with the way the wind blew as if it was nothing. He was so clearly free and Tommy wanted that. He was desperate for it, for the way Wilbur lived, but he’d rather die than ask how in the world does Wilbur manage to be so happy and free with nothing shackling him.
“Well, this insufferable brat,” Wilbur grins. He’s self-aware and he knows he’s an annoying shit, go figure. “Is inviting you to hang out with me.”
“No thanks.” He snorts.
“Yeah, no, I didn’t hear that—” Wilbur says before he feels himself having the shirt of his collar being pulled back, like the back scruff of a kitten, “You’re coming with me.”
“What the—I just said no, Wilbur!” Tommy scowls at him. “Fuck off!”
“Hmm, no, that doesn’t work for me,” Wilbur grins. “I’m kidnapping you.”
“What the fuck!”
Wilbur just flashed his stupid smile at him and Tommy hated the way his chest fluttered with warmth, spreading through him like goosebumps.
“Put me down!”
“Nope, you’re being kidnapped, now c’mon—”
Wilbur says, like he has a choice to do anything but go with this bastard.
He’s so freaking annoying.
Wilbur does this a lot really, he’s known for it even.
He’ll take one look at Tommy, grin like he’s up to no good (when is he ever up to not tormenting Tommy?), and snatch him up before he can even get a word in. His collar is yanked, he’s being pulled into Wilbur’s arms, and before he knows his feet are off the ground and Wilbur’s laughter reverberates warmth in his ears. It’s frustrating the way this guy has managed to worm his way into Tommy’s heart like it was nothing, like his blinding heat is something Tommy should’ve never been without.
He hated the way he almost looked up to Wilbur and envied him for everything he yearned to be, but in the same way, it was nice.
He felt like a constant contradiction, his own feelings swirling inside his chest, ever changing and difficult, like some kind of vortex.
“Do you want to fly?” Wilbur asked, like it was the easiest thing in the world, as if Tommy hadn’t spent days and nights agonizing over that very idea, of leaving the ground where he was forced to remain, and exploring the endless skies with secrets privy to no one but those who could take flight. He wanted to know the stars, if clouds were really as soft as they looked, to go higher than anyone, to feel the air fill his lungs.
Yet, his heart stilled.
He wondered how he should ask that, even as Wilbur already had his hold on his collar, and was grinning like he knew the answer Tommy would give. Would it really matter if Tommy said no? Wilbur always does like dragging people into new places with no chance to catch your breath. What was different now?
There was that gleam in his eyes and that smirk lit something inside him. It was supposed to be a mediocre flame, one that burned but never got out of control, one that remained dormant deep inside of him, but he was getting greedy and for once, he didn’t want to be chained anymore.
He was so sick of living with what he couldn’t do on his own. Who cares if he needed help to see the skies, to bask in its atmosphere, to breathe in its air? Who could judge him while he’s up so far? There would be no one but him and Wilbur there and for all of Wilbur’s annoying habits, Tommy can say with certainty, Wilbur’s never looked down on him, has never judged him, has never made him feel smaller than he already knew he was.
If anything, Wilbur was the one pouring the gasoline, making the flame come back to life, and telling him to burn away, to destroy every stupid wall he built for himself for the sake of remaining both safe and sane.
Wilbur was a dork at the end of the day who made Tommy feel seen, feel free, despite all the fear that rushed through his veins with every step he took.
He grasped Wilbur’s ugly sweater collar in his head and smirked up at him, “Take me to the skies, you bastard.”
Wilbur was never trying to douse his flame, he lived to invigorate it, to bring chaos everywhere he went, and Tommy was here for the show.
His wings expanded above him, stretching out, and the way the sun glistened off them caught Tommy’s eyes as Wilbur’s arms dove underneath his frame, grasping his weight in his arms that were surprisingly strong for how frail he seemed at times. It was only a moment of utter silence, of his own heartbeat racing in his ears, and then before he knew it, the air was racing through his curls and the sound of distant birds high up in the sky were getting closer to him.
And the sun, for all its shine, burned on his skin closer than it ever had before, and it hurt his eyes, with how blinding it was, but he lived for it.
There was something about the unknown skies that drew him in, maybe it was the way he couldn’t do what others could do, maybe it was the way it called him, something deep inside of him yearning for it but all he knew in an instant was one thing—he adored the skies.
“Look at you,” Wilbur said, suddenly out of nowhere, the rush of the wind against his ears had been the only sound for a good moment. He snapped his gaze over towards him, despite the way the air rushed against him, the way it made his hair more messy than it already was, and the sight was something he didn’t know he was allowed. Wilbur’s gleaming smile, warmer than anything he knew on his own, “You’re shining, Tommy.”
There were birds singing a tune he didn’t even know, and the air was so much different than it was on the ground, but here was Wilbur looking at him instead of the marvelous sight Tommy had always sought for. It was almost like Wilbur was more happy with Tommy in the air with him than he was on his own.
Wilbur was so strange like that; inviting him places he had no right being, shoving him forth with no warning, but never leaving, never letting Tommy wither in fear and abandonment.
“I’ve never seen you so happy before,” Wilbur smiled, so genuinely, and Tommy’s chest couldn’t handle it. “You should always smile like this.”
Wilbur was careless with his words. They were never sharp or inconsiderate, no, not him, but they were kind. Even in the smallest gestures, the simplest of questions, they held a certain tenderness to them that he didn’t know how to handle.
“You’re—an idiot.” He said instead of handling them and Wilbur laughed, loud and proud, with his shoulders shaking and his smile never fading. It only worsened the burning on his face more.
“What, Toms? Can’t handle a little affection?”
“I’ll kill you.”
Wilbur, like a jerk he was and will always be, smiled, all knowingly, and replied, “Mhm, I’m sure of that.”
He really wanted to punch that stupid smirk of his but considering the fact Wilbur was the one keeping him afloat (even avians had their limits), he decided not to.
Just this once.
“I hate this.”
“No you don’t, you love me.” Wilbur smiles and he hates that stupid smile. How many times can he say that before he begins to sound like a broken record? "Plus, it was fun, wasn't it?"
As much as he wanted to retort, say it was anything but that, he couldn't. It was fun. It was so much more than anything he thought it could be. Chasing the skies had always been a pipe dream yet Wilbur had scooped him up, not caring for the empty threats and guilt-ridden answers he threw at him, and took him there, amidst the clouds and the blinding sun.
It was so much more fun than he thought it would be, it was like a dream come true, for that moment, he was undeniably happy.
"It was…fun."
Wilbur smirked. "Come on, you can say it. You had fun with me."
He glared daggers at the phantom, his mind running a mile a minute, thinking of all the blatant curses and insults he could spit towards him. He hated being embarrassed, above all things, and something about Wilbur made him that all the time. Scared but with fleeting joy, desperate to fall in and ruthlessly vulnerable; he wasn't like this with the others. He could make jokes, laugh things off, make a joke out of every flaw they would make of him, but Wilbur? It could never be that easy, could it?
Wilbur snorted, his shoulders slacking. "Well, I had fun with you, Tommy."
And see—there it was: embarrassment flooding his face like a bad sunburn.
"It was nice to hang out with you, you're always holed up in your own little bubble. Sometimes you go to the pub or Phil's but…"
He could talk for miles, everyone knew he could, he could make jokes that earned him mediocre laughter or worse, dead silence, but the one thing he couldn't do was be available. Wilbur was the complete opposite, it was like he basked in the attention, like some sort of weird extrovert.
"I wish I was more like you," He admitted, despite the pain in his chest. "You're so—so much better at this than me. You make friendly with everyone, you can fly and escape everything, you can feel like this all the time but I—"
I struggle with the first step, his mind supplies but the words are stuck in his throat, I don't know how to fit myself into your world, to have a space of my own, to know myself around you.
Wilbur blinked.
When I'm around you, I feel like a little kid, like the world isn't so heavy, like there's someone else to count on. His heart clutched, secrets held up on his chest cavity. Like I don't have to count on just myself, I don't have to know all the answers.
None of those words were leaked but Wilbur smiled and seemed to understand them nonetheless, it only made his face flush more.
"You're pretty great too y'know."
That made him snap his neck up.
"You work hard, despite everything, and you continue moving forward," Wilbur said, words of kindness falling from his lips like it was easy, like it was the truth. "You're ever-changing and you should be allowed to grow and change and develop and you are. Isn't that great? You have a bigger impact on others than you give yourself credit for."
"What even possible—"
"Are we just going to ignore Phil? And how soft he is towards you, ready to give you anything he asks?" Wilbur huffs, a soft chuckle falling from his lips. "Or how about Ranboo, who sticks to you like glue? Constantly searching for you, clinging to you, you guys are practically brothers, c'mon now."
Amber sparkled, he learned, from the way Wilbur's lips were upturned and how he basked in the sun.
"I'm not…good at this."
"What, expressing your emotions? Accepting affection?" Wilbur snorted, "I couldn't tell."
"What the—I'm being serious here!"
"Hi, I'm being serious here, I'm Wilbur." The cocky shit replied.
"I'm seriously going to kill you one of these days."
Wilbur only flashed a smile.
"I'm honored."
One of these days, he was seriously going to punch that stupid grin off his face.