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Tommy hated him on sight.
He wasn't really sure why. Maybe it was the way the boy wore his hair, or the way his clothes were clean and spotless while Tommy's were mangled with mud.
It might’ve been how he was sitting: completely at ease, like he’d never been hurt a day in his life.
But honestly, Tommy thought most of it had to do with the eyes. They were large, blue and shockingly deep, like he had the entire universe locked behind him.
It really didn’t matter. The point was that the moment Tommy set foot into the park and locked eyes with the kid, he disliked him.
“Hi,” the boy said, completely oblivious. He was seated on the swings. He looked to be about Tommy's age, his face soft and kind.
But Tommy knew better than to trust appearances.
“I'm Tubbo,” the boy continued, offering his name immediately. He stood from his perch, extending his hand like it was some formal event.
Tommy scoffed as he crossed over. “Piss off,” he snapped, eyeing Tubbo's clean, scratch-less fingernails. They were quite different from his own dirty, muddy ones, and something pained inside of him. Ke shoved it away.
Tubbo blinked his big eyes in surprise and slight alarm. He dropped his hand awkwardly, kind of flushing.
Tommy forced away the guilt that suddenly swelled.
He knew didn't have anything to feel guilty about. He was well aware from experience that nice people were putting on a front. It was a mask, one they were waiting to tear off the moment you slipped up so that they could drop their act and pounce.
It had happened to him too many times to count.
He wasn't going to let it happen again.
So when Tubbo tried to speak away the hurt flashing in his eyes, Tommy held up his hand to stop him. He glared, hard, and said, “Get out of here.”
Tubbo recoiled the smallest bit. His nose scrunched, the confusion clear. There was something else there, a kind of surprise. “Are you serious?”
Tommy could feel his checks flush a little bit at the question. He knew he looked ridiculous, a literal playground bully, but Tubbo had to go. Tommy was planning to sleep here tonight, and it was already late evening, and he couldn't have the stupid boy with the annoyingly large blue eyes blinking at him the entire time.
Plus…something told him Tubbo would ask a lot of questions if he saw Tommy settling for bed here, and he did not want to deal with that.
“Yes, I'm serious,” Tommy told him, puffing his chest, making fists at the sides of him. “Get lost.”
Something sparked in Tubbo's eyes, a tiny little fire, and for a moment, Tommy expected the boy to fight back. Argue, scream, yell. Tommy expected it, maybe even craved it.
Fighting, to him, was normal. It happened all the time, and it was a routine he knew well. Throwing a left hook was about as comforting as a hug, and there was something satisfying in smashing your fist against some jerk’s face.
Tommy, though, he wasn’t stupid. He knew what it was.
Routine. It was something that had happened many times before, so he expected it, told himself he wanted it to happen even if part of him curled up at the raise of a hand.
Even still, he was expecting the boy to at least say something rude back. And he was preparing himself for it, too.
But Tubbo…he didn't do that.
Instead, he just heaved a deep breath and gave Tommy a onceover, his eyes roaming, hands at his sides.
Self consciousness tugged at Tommy. He knew what he looked like: dirty clothes, tangled hair, bruised knuckles. His body was thinner than it should be, and his shoes were falling apart on his feet, a result from all the moving he did on a daily basis.
He looked like he was homeless.
(He was. He wore it like dented armor.)
Tommy tilted his head up. He returned the favour, eyeing Tubbo down.
They were opposites in every way, right down to their eye colour.
Tommy swallowed and tried to force himself not to be embarrassed. To force himself to meet Tubbo's crooked gaze with a glare of his own, crossing his arms to hide his chest.
He was dirty and ratty and gross. But he wanted Tubbo to know that he still bit, he still clawed his way around.
They were both animals, but he was rabid.
“Fine,” Tubbo said after a moment, and Tommy felt sharp surprise slice through him. He dropped his arms. “You get the park to yourself. Go nuts.”
And then the boy just…walked away. Literally, he turned on his heel without waiting for a response, blue hair waving gently as he exited the playground.
Tommy blinked, standing there stupidly. The surprise wound through him; he really thought Tubbo was sizing him up for a fight.
Maybe he had been unrealistic.
Tommy sighed, a sudden loneliness carving into him. He forced away the part of himself that felt a little remorse about kicking the boy out.
It was late evening, the sunset a backdrop to his rage, and he hadn't slept in well over a day. He didn’t have time to feel guilty.
Tommy nodded to himself. Yeah.
It was fine.
Everything was–everything was fine.
*******
When Tommy saw Tubbo again the next morning, he thought he might be dreaming.
In his defense, it was incredibly early. Like, the sun had only just crested the horizon, early. The grass was still slick with dew.
Tommy had slept curled up in a little tunnel that connected two slides on either side of the park. It was surprisingly comfortable, especially compared to other places he’d stayed before. He liked the way the tunnel offered some form of protection, however small it might have been.
It was…nice.
Or, it was, until someone outside it suddenly exclaimed, “Hello?”
Now, Tommy was normally a heavy sleeper, but that was under normal circumstances. A bed, a cover, a pillow. Not when he was sleeping on the hard plastic of a tunnel made for three year olds. So when the person spoke, his eyes popped open and he launched into a sitting position, hitting his head.
He winced as he rubbed the spot, glancing around in alarm. It was common that homeless people fought for territory. Tommy himself had gotten into fights over good, clean spaces, supplies, et cetera.
Another part of routine.
So it wasn’t a huge surprise that upon hearing that weirdly familiar voice, his first thought was Danger.
Swallowing thickly, Tommy shifted himself down the tunnel. His heart felt like it was beating too fast. He tried to peek out the air holes, but it was hard to see anything.
Slowly, he made his way to the end of it, finally seeing the opening and the conjoined side. Carefully, he peeked his head out…
And then he froze.
Because standing there, blinking up at him with surprise written on his face like a book, was Tubbo.
They stared at each other for what felt like eternity. Tommy couldn't comprehend what he was seeing; his brain kept stuttering as it tried to make sense of it. What in the–
Tubbo seemed just as out of his depth. He had a bag slung over his shoulders, his clothes disgustingly clean and pressed. His eyes flashed brightly in the rising sun.
“Were you…did you sleep in there?” Tubbo finally asked, slowly, gesturing to the tunnel.
Tommy wrinkled his nose and fought his embarrassment away. For some reason, he hated the way Tubbo spoke. “None of your beeswax," he snarled.
He could feel a flush dusting his cheeks and hated himself for it.
Tubbo regarded him with a perplexed, sickeningly soft expression. He tilted his head slightly to the side, and for a moment, Tommy was reminded of a dog. “You did, didn't you?” he finally said. His voice was weirdly soft and Tommy recoiled.
“Shut up.” The words were brisk and fast and Tommy could feel himself falling away.
Normally, Tommy didn't care much about people judging him, didn't mind the rumours and the insults and the names. But…something about the way Tubbo's blue eyes were all engulfing, staring, made Tommy feel like he was falling into them. He noticed his body was tense, expecting a fight, and he forced himself to loosen a bit.
It was hard, but he made himself stop shaking, climb down from the playground. It was far earlier than he would have liked to be awake, but there was no way he was going back to bed, now. “What are you doing here?” he asked Tubbo, changing the subject like his life depended on it as his shoes landed on the rough wood chips.
Tubbo took a long time to answer, regarding Tommy with a look that was impossible to read. “I woke up early to take a walk…” he said after a moment. “I thought I saw movement in the tunnel while I was passing by. Through the little holes.”
It was a question disguised as a statement, but Tommy didn't take the bait. “So you thought it would be a good idea to just yell out?”
Tommy felt a spark of pleasure course through him when Tubbo's face darkened with flush. Finally, he'd managed to throw the other boy off his game. “I j-just wanted to check,” Tubbo defended himself, crossing his arms.
Tommy smirked. “Well, that was stupid.”
“I'm not the one sleeping at a playground,” Tubbo snapped. “If anyone here is stupid, it's you.”
Tommy scrunched his nose. All things considered, it wasn't a very bad insult, but still. The spark of frustration that went through him was real, and he welcomed it. “Some of us have nowhere else to go,” he shot back, glaring.
The regret was instant as he watched Tubbo's face morph from frustration to shock. His eyes were wide, concerned, filling with a hundred different emotions as he stood there gaping at the accidental confession.
Tommy cringed, hunching in on himself. His own stomach twisted painfully and he looked away, seething.
He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't meant to–
“I'm sorry,” Tubbo murmured after a moment. His face was still flushed, but for an entirely different reason now.
Tommy turned his glare harder. “Go away.”
He watched the hesitation work through Tubbo's eyes. The other boy tightened his hands on his backpack straps, looking unsure, faltering as his endless gaze searched Tommy.
Tommy kept his scowl trained on Tubbo as he waited. He knew he looked pathetic, like a kicked dog, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. “Go!”
Tubbo flinched back a step. Tommy could hear him breathing heavily.
And then he turned around and ran and was gone.
Tommy slumped the moment he was alone. His mind was reeling, a mess of a hundred different emotions. Distantly, he was aware that he was hungry, that he had a headache, but it was hard to focus on those things.
Some of us have nowhere else to go.
Tommy winced. He should not have said that. He imagined Tubbo sprinting home to whatever mansion he lived at, spouting out how he'd met a dirty homeless boy. Tommy could even imagine the way the word would be said, like a slur, like a swear word.
He hated it.
But…there was nothing he could do.
Tommy sighed, turning on his heel, too. He couldn't wallow and only think about his feelings right now. He had to scavenge today, actually do some work. Find food if he could.
And so he shoved his thoughts away and that's what he did. He spent the entire rest of the day, from then to noon to night, searching for money and asking for handouts. His pride was strong, and he didn't want to ask people for help, but he knew how to play his cards. Tilt his head, hold a hand to his stomach…some old couple fell for it every time.
When darkness rolled around, Tommy had actually eaten a bit that day. At least, more than usual.
For a while, he wandered the streets, thinking about where to spend the night. He had a few set places that he liked, but after a long time, he decided to go back to the playground; it was a nice enough spot, away from the usual homeless territories. It was quiet.
When he arrived back at the park, he crawled into his little pipe, mind wandering as he settled himself down until it eventually landed on Tubbo.
Something squeezed in Tommy's heart at the thought of the other boy.
…Would the little rat call the police on him? He knew Tommy was homeless. Maybe he’d tell an adult, a teacher at school, and then they’d come to the park and, and–
Maybe staying here wasn't a good idea after all. He didn't want to go back to the foster homes.
He couldn’t go back there.
But even as this thought popped into his head, he shoved it away, replacing it with something hardened by storm and tribulation.
Let them come. He'd bare his teeth and growl and snap and fight. He'd make them leave him alone, and if he couldn’t, he’d run the first chance he got.
Or he’d die trying.
This thought cemented in his mind as he rolled over, yawning.
Sleep came easy.
*******
For the next week or so, Tommy saw Tubbo on a regular basis.
It was weird. Everyday, the other boy seemed to find some sort of excuse to be at the park. Whether it was a walk to clear his head, or just because he enjoyed being there, Tubbo always showed up one way or another, school backpack slung on his shoulders depending on the time of day.
By the start of the fourth day, Tommy realised he'd actually started to expect the little rat.
It was a weird feeling, a weird sort of routine. Tommy knew he could put a stop to it at any time. Move sleeping spots, move across town. Never see Tubbo again.
That was probably what he should have done.
But…it was harder than that. A large, incredibly needy part of Tommy was lonely. He had–he didn’t have anyone.
And Tubbo just kept coming. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to enjoy the other’s company, for just a little while. Just until Tubbo got bored and stopped coming around.
He cemented this idea into his head and told himself not to get attached, not to talk too much or be too nice. But it was hard. Tubbo talked a lot, and sometimes responding was just too easy. Their dialogue just…flowed.
It wasn’t always simple, though. Tubbo…he liked to ask questions and Tommy liked to deflect them, so talking between them was more like a dance than a conversation. They were both experts at changing the subject, weaving around parts of themselves that were too personal.
For Tommy, that meant virtually every area.
But Tubbo was a bit different. He liked to talk about his life when he had the right prompts. Tommy slowly learned things about him over the week; things he had never known about anyone else before.
He learned that Tubbo liked bees; he was obsessed with them, actually. He learned that Tubbo lived with a man called Phil, and that his parents had died when he was young. Tubbo was exactly his age, but he was a couple months older, and he went to the school across town.
It was strange, having all this meaningless information about someone. Tommy knew he couldn't barter it or trade it with another person, or even use it as leverage.
It was just…things to know.
In return, Tommy offered very little about himself during these conversations. Everything he did give up was calculated and meticulously thought about, for one reason only.
He didn't trust Tubbo. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But on that seventh morning, everything changed.
Tommy woke later than he had in a while. It must've been past ten, considering how high the sun was.
He got up and spent longer than he would like to admit to see if Tubbo would come around. When the boy didn’t, Tommy left the park and spent quite a bit of the day scavenging for food. His supply was dangerously low, and he hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before.
But it was a bad day. Almost no one was willing to offer anything, and while Tommy had no qualms about stealing from the food stands lining the roads, the idea of the police catching him made him freeze up.
He couldn't go back.
So instead he returned to the park, defeated and hungrier than when he had left. It had been a warm day, but it was about five in the evening and the heart of the sun was starting to fade. There was a slight wind that was noticeable only in small bursts, and it tousled Tommy’s hair as he walked.
It was hard not to think about food, but Tommy forced himself not to. He decided that maybe he’d read a book he’d found earlier that week, then go to bed early, rest a while. Start fresh in the morning.
Sleep through the hunger.
But that plan went out the window. He stopped short when he came up to the park, freezing.
Because there was Tubbo, seated on the edge of a left twin slide, a lunch box on his lap.
“Hello,” he greeted when he saw Tommy, lifting his head and offering a low smile.
Tommy nodded slowly; he had definitely gotten less hostile with Tubbo as the days went on, but it was impossible not to be hesitant. “Hi.”
“I brought you something,” Tubbo said. He patted the connected slide next to him and Tommy faltered a moment before finally sitting.
It was silent for a few awkward moments as Tommy tried to think of what to say. He was good at pushing people away, arguing, yelling and screaming. But the actual communicating part, the being polite part? Well, that was an area he regularly struggled with.
Finally, he forced his lips to move. “What is it?”
He wasn’t particularly surprised Tubbo had brought him something. Over the past week, the other boy had gifted him a notebook, a blanket, and other various small things to entertain him. Even a little bag to keep his things in.
Tommy always refused the stuff at first before ultimately his will to survive surged and he gave in. The backpack he used as a pillow, the cover overtop of him when he settled into the tunnel for the night.
The first time he used both of them was the best he’d slept in a long, long time.
But, today, he didn’t see anything noticeable on Tubbo. Just his small lunch box and nothing else, so it was hard not to be a little confused. And definitely surprised.
But everything made sense when Tubbo answered a moment later. “I brought you some dinner,” the boy told him, opening the box up.
Tommy blinked. A smell wafted up at him, a warm scent. It was…a homecooked meal.
For some strange reason, his eyes started burning. He couldn't remember his last home cooked meal. Everything he ate was rotten or pity processed food from rich strangers.
Nothing…nothing like this.
“Tubbo,” Tommy murmured, and for some reason his voice sounded a little bit choked. Against his will, his stomach growled.
“I’ve seen how hungry you are,” Tubbo said, slowly, producing utensils from somewhere inside the box. “I asked Phil if I could take you some of the dinner we made.”
Tommy nodded because it was the only thing he could do. It was hard to speak; his throat felt closed up.
His mind kept getting caught on Phil. It was weird that an adult would willingly make food for a kid he didn’t know, but Tommy guessed that was expected from the man. He didn’t know Phil, but based on what Tubbo had said about him…
He was a good guy.
(Tommy tried not to be jealous.)
“You didn’t have to do this,” he told Tubbo. The old desiree to shove the kindness away, to force Tubbo to take the food home, welled up in him again.
Tubbo shook his head, something in his eyes. “I know, dummy. I wanted to.”
Tommy hesitated, hands spasming for a moment. Something about the way Tubbo said that, the way it was more endearing than malicious, made his heart stutter a bit. “What is it?”
Tubbo passed Tommy the fork and the box, and Tommy peaked inside. It was a thin piece of something that looked like dessert. “You guys eat pie for dinner?” he asked, confused.
Tubbo laughed. It was a loud, bright sound, and Tommy felt his own lips lifting as he listened to it. He knew it was bad, he knew he shouldn’t trust Tubbo or get attached, but in that moment, it was hard not to.
Tubbo kept chuckling even as he formed an answer. “No, no. It’s Shephard’s pie. It has corn and potatoes and meat and stuff. It’s good.”
Tommy nodded slowly. He frowned, using the tong of his fork to poke the food.
For some reason, Tubbo’s smile faded at that. His voice lowered as he asked, “You’ve never had this before, huh?”
It wasn't really a question, so Tommy didn’t answer. He just kept his gaze trained on the food, staring. His stomach growled loudly.
“Eat,” Tubbo urged. The word was gentle, a soft prompt. “You need to.”
Tommy nodded slowly. He was hungry, it was just…he hated the idea of basically stealing someone’s food. It was different when he went into the store and did it. This was an actual personal meal.
He felt like an intruder.
Tommy had learned that Tubbo was observant, but he was shocked that the boy somehow picked up on his discomfort. “Don’t worry,” he told him, kindly. “Phil and I already ate, and this is extra. We have plenty still at home. We wanted you to have it.”
Tommy swallowed thickly. The care was weird, a foreign thing he didn’t know how to touch, didn’t quite understand how to navigate through. He knew his food was getting cold and he should just take advantage of the moment, eat it, but he hesitated. “Why?”
“Why, what?” Tubbo asked. He looked confused, his nose scrunching.
“Why would you give this to me?” Tommy asked, as if the question was obvious. To him, it was. “I mean–what did I do to deserve it?”
He knew the answer to that. Nothing.
But Tubbo was shaking his head in bewilderment. “What? Tommy, you don’t have to do anything to deserve food. Or to deserve kindness.”
Tommy opened and closed his mouth, sputtering. How could Tubbo be so ignorant? Didn’t he understand the way the world worked? If you didn’t do good, you weren’t rewarded, simple as that. It didn’t matter if you technically didn’t do bad either; you still had to earn whatever was thrown your way.
Nothing was free. Everything in the world came with a price tag, hidden or not.
“Why?” Tommy asked again, leaning forward. The word was more desperate than he meant it to sound, but he didn’t take it back. He needed to know. He needed–he needed–
Tubbo made a noise in the back of his throat. His big blue eyes were even wider than they normally were as he stared at Tommy. “Because we’re friends,” he said, almost exasperatedly, throwing out his hands.
Tommy blinked, recoiling backwards.
Friends?
“Wha–when–” he couldn’t seem to form words. His face felt hot, and one look at Tubbo showed a flush to his cheeks, too. The wind picked up for a second, whistling, playing with their hair as they gasped and looked at each other for far too long. Their breaths mingled in the air.
Puff, puff.
Tommy finally got control of his tongue. “Friends?”
The word was tiny, small, but it held so much.
Tommy had never had a friend before.
“Yes,” Tubbo gasped out. He swallowed and nodded and when he spoke again, his voice came out clearer. “Yes, we’re friends.” Pause. “And I want to make sure you’re eating.”
Tommy blinked, looking down at the food so he didn’t have to make eye contact, didn’t have to show all the emotions he was sure were on his face. Really, the “shephard’s pie”, or whatever it was, smelled good. Tommy did want it.
“When did we become friends?” he asked, slowly, as he stabbed the pie with his fork. He didn’t take a bite yet, but he watched the steam rise from it and enter the air.
Tubbo shook his head, lying back on the slide. It was a moment before he answered. “I don’t know, dude. It just happened.”
“But how?” Tommy wasn’t trying to be annoying. In fact, this was one of the few times he was being genuine with Tubbo.
He just…he just actually didn’t understand. How did people become friends? He knew what they were, of course, but foster siblings never quite made the cut in his mind. He wasn’t sure how someone crossed that line without going too far.
Tubbo blew out a breath. “It just like–it just happens, man. I don’t know.”
Tommy took those words and turned them in his head. He forced himself to finally take a bite. It was hot, but the taste exploded in his mouth and he closed his eyes.
It was so nice to eat something warm.
He’d forgotten what that was like.
“Is it good?” Tubbo asked, leaning forward again. He sounded a little nervous.
Tommy nodded. “Yes,” he affirmed, mouth still full of food. Tubbo didn’t know half of it.
The other boy’s expression melted into something pleased, relieved. “Phil and I worked hard on it; I really wanted you to like it.”
Tommy felt his face flush, a feeling he didn’t quite recognise developing in his chest. They had made this for him, as best they could. The care was unlike anything he had ever had before, something tender and soft that he didn’t quite know how to handle.
But…but he wanted to.
“You really think we’re friends?” Tommy asked, slowly, as he readied another bite.
Tubbo nodded slowly. “If you want to be.” For some reason, his voice cracked a little and he looked away.
Tommy stilled for a moment. He considered the thought that maybe he wasn’t alone in this; maybe Tubbo also hadn’t had a friend before.
It was a weird thing to think about. To Tommy, Tubbo had everything. Clothes, shoes, a TV, food, school.
They were polar opposites, different in every way.
Except…no.
No, they weren’t. They each had a favourite animal and colour. They both had likes and dislikes, and they both enjoyed being outside, and they laughed and cried and–
They both wanted–needed–a friend.
“Okay,” Tommy said, slowly. “Okay. I guess…I guess we’re friends.”
Tubbo turned to him and looked, his lips slowly stretching into a wide, toothy grin. It was a gentle thing, soft, but it was filled with happiness and relief and Tommy mirrored the look on his own lips.
“Eat,” Tubbo ordered after a moment, smacking Tommy lightly in the arm. Normally, Tommy would hate that, but the action felt natural. Good. “The food’s going to get cold out here.”
Tommy laughed a little, surprised by the sound when it poured from his mouth. It had been a while since he’d laughed.
But it wasn’t unwelcome.
And as he turned back to the food, taking another warm bite while Tubbo launched into a story, for a moment, everything felt okay.
He was safe.
And he had a friend.