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Pogtopia was cold, but that was nothing new.
The stone walls that made up the ravine stretch high above Tommy's head and the faint dripping sound of water droplets hitting the hard floor. Rickety, crooked platforms and stairs are scattered around the walls to aid in travel, although Tommy wishes he could fix them and make them safer. Every he comes back from foraging, he almost falls off every single time. Tubbo and Technoblade also don't have much luck with it, but for some reason, Wilbur won't let them fix it.
Honestly, Wilbur hasn't been his favorite person recently. He's been so much more erratic and rude and just an overall jerk, not to mention the smoking habit he's picked up, much to Tommy's shagrin. Sometimes he'd apologize, but most of the time he doesn't. And unfortunately, Technoblade wasn't here right now to keep Wilbur in line.
Honestly, nowadays, Tommy just tries to avoid Wilbur as best as he can. He wishes things could still be how they were before all of this, that when he had a nightmare or needed some comfort, he could go to Wilbur and he'd hold him and sing for him until he felt safe again. But now, more often than not, it'll be Tommy comforting Wilbur (to the best of his abilities) when the man needed it.
Right now, Tommy was curled up against one of the cold walls underneath one of the lanterns hanging from the wall. He was shivering more than usual since he had washed himself in the nearby river and he was still damp despite doing his best to air dry in the sun. In his shaky hands he held a baked potato, which was also kind of cold, but it's not like he could really complain since it's the only thing they have to eat thanks to Techno's way-too-big potato farm.
As Tommy sat there spacing out, occasionally taking a bite of his food, he hears the sound of footsteps echo off of the walls and he finds himself tensing up a bit, knowing exactly whose footsteps those were. He glances up to see Wilbur emerging from the top of the ravine and making his way down the stairs, humming a little too happily for his taste.
"Ah, there you are, Toms! How are the potatoes?" He asks as he walks over to the nearby chests to grab himself one.
Tommy shrugs. "Kind of cold but it's food," He mutters.
Wilbur hums in acknowledgement as he pulls out a baked potato and sits down against the wall across from Tommy. The blonde is just grateful that he didn't sit down next to him. They eat in silence for a while, and if Tommy had his way, he would've left it like that. But unfortunately for him, Wilbur speaks up.
"Are you cold?" He asks, noticing that Tommy is shivering more than usual.
Tommy scoffs as he keeps his gaze on his potato. "So what? Why do you care?"
Wilbur stares at him before sighing. "Fine. Just trying to make conversation."
"You never care about making conversation anymore," Tommy whispers under his breath.
Wilbur's head shoots up, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "What was that?"
Tommy looks at him with a glare. "Nothing."
Wilbur stands up and folds his arms. "Why do you have such an attitude with me when I was literally just asking you a question?"
Tommy scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You're one to talk! Do you know the amount of times I would try to ask you a simple question and you'd blow up on me?? Don't dish it if you can't take it."
Wilbur rolls his eyes and tucks his hands into his trench coat pockets. "You're so sensitive. When are you gonna grow up, Tommy?" He asks while walking away.
Tommy glares at him harshly as the brunette heads back to where he came from. He finishes his potato before wrapping his arms around his knees which he pulls in close to his chest.
He hates this Wilbur so much.