Archive of Our Own

It’s spring in England, and the skies have opened up to dump as much water as possible onto the streets where Tommy lives. He’s on his way home from school when the downpour starts, quickly turning the pavement into a river.

He’s got his rain jacket wrapped around his backpack to protect his laptop so the best he can do is cover his forehead with his hands and squint. 

It’s almost a miracle he spotted the lump in the road.

He’s just a street away from the covered bus stop when a dark spot in the middle of one of the white dashes. Sure, it could’ve been a leaf or a trash bag, but something compels Tommy to run over to it.

The lump turns out to be a frog and a dumb one at that. It jumps away when Tommy gets close to grab it, and instead of heading to the curb it just moves closer to oncoming traffic.

Tommy waves his hands wildly at the cars, hoping they’ll see him in the rain, and dashes after the frog.

It takes a few tries, but Tommy’s able to scoop the frog up before a car comes barreling into them both. Someone a few lanes over honks and Tommy flips them off before running to the curb.

Panting, he glances at the stop. There’s only one other person there, thankfully, so at least he won’t pass out from the unexpected physical exercise. 

Tommy collapses on the bench beside the stranger, clutching the frog in his hands. It’s wiggling furiously, no doubt trying to escape back into the street just to get run over, so Tommy tucks it against his chest.

“Awwww, look at you!” he coos, “you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

The frog, unsurprisingly, keeps attempting to escape. A few drops of water fall from Tommy’s hair onto its back, mixing into whatever slime-covered its skin and now Tommy’s hands.

“Look,” Tommy says, “just stay still for the bus ride and I’ll get you to a nice river, how does that sound? There’s a little creek behind my house, you’ll love it.”

The frog stops wiggling and tilts its head upwards almost as if it was listening to Tommy.

Tommy blinks. 

“Um, thank you, my friend. I’m going to pretend like that didn’t happen for my sanity, alright?”

Tommy pats the top of its head, and, thankfully, it seems content to sit in his other palm without fuss. All of a sudden, he can feel someone looking at him, and he glances up to see the stranger staring at him. To be fair, Tommy did just stop traffic to save a random frog that may or may not be able to understand him, so he can’t blame the man.

“Hello?” Tommy says.

The stranger looks at the frog in Tommy’s hands. “That’s a beautiful Rana temporaria.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

They grin like they’ve told a joke Tommy doesn’t understand. “Rana temporaria. It’s the scientific name for the common frog.” They gesture to the frog. “It’s got beautiful patterning.”

Tommy looks down at the frog. It’s that weird sort of shade in between green and brown, and there are a few dark splotches scattered across its back. One of them looks a bit like a dick.

He holds the frog out for the stranger to see and smiles. “It’s got cock and balls on its back.”

The person looks stunned for a second and then bursts into laughter. They slap their knee like people used to do on old sitcoms and double over on themselves, still giggling.

“Do frogs even have dicks?” Tommy muses, keeping his face straight for the bit. “I reckon it’d be the size of a toothpick.”

Beside him, the stranger sucks in a breath between laughs and tries to collect themself.

Tommy looks back down at the frog. “Harold— can I call you Harold?— care to explain why it looks like someone spray-painted a penis on your back?”

The stranger clutches their stomach and manages to say, “You named it?” before glancing at the phallic spot and dissolving into laughs again.

“I’m not about to ask a frog about his genitals without knowing his name, I’m not a fucking wrong’un.” Tommy lets his serious facade slip and grins at the man.

They wipe their eyes and let out a breath. “Oh, but you can talk about them to someone who doesn’t know yours?”

It’s an obvious segway, but Tommy doesn’t mind. The stranger looks a bit eccentric, dressed in a tattered brown coat that looks older than them both, but he laughed at Tommy’s dick joke so he can’t be all that bad.

“I’m Tommy,” he says, “I would shake your hand but it has frog slime on it.”

The stranger holds out their hand anyway. “Call me Wilbur.” Tommy takes it, cringing at the feeling of goo between their skin. “Is Tommy a nickname?”

Tommy groans. “Yeah, for fucking Thomas. How uncool is that?”

Wilbur shrugs, a faint smile resting on his lips. “I don’t know, it’s not too bad.”

“Says someone named Wilbur. That’s an awful name. Makes you sound like someone that goes around talking about frog penises.”

“They don’t have penises!” Wilbur says, exasperated, “That’s not even a thing!”

Tommy frowns. “Really? Then how do they do the do?”

“They’ve just got a,” Wilbur gestures, “hole. The eggs are fertilized outside the female’s body so there’s no need for any… penetration.”

Tommy snickers.

“Oi, shut the fuck up.”

“How do you even know that shit? Who wants to learn about frog dick?”

Wilbur pinches the bridge of his nose. “They don’t— you’re such a child.”

“Bitch.”

The frog ribbits, startling them both. 

“Harold says you’re a pussy, and Harold never lies,” Tommy says.

“You just met him five minutes ago!” Wilbur exclaims.

Tommy nods. “Yeah, but you can see it in his eyes, he’s an honest man.” He holds the frog up to Wilbur’s eye level.

Before Wilbur can say anything, a bus comes rolling to a stop in front of them and the door opens. The driver stares at them, and Tommy can only wonder what they’re thinking.

Tommy lowers the frog back to his chest and stands up. Wilbur stays sitting.

“Are you coming?” Tommy asks.

Wilbur’s smile flickers. “No, this, uh, isn’t my bus.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Tommy steps onto the bus, glancing back at Wilbur.

“See you around, Tommy.”

The doors close, and Tommy, still dripping rain and holding a frog in his hands, stands there feeling a bit lost.

He zones out for most of the ride, finding his way back into his body as he approaches his house. Instead of heading for the front door like normal, Tommy walks around back. Right behind his yard is a little man-made creek built for runoff, but it’s old enough that the wildlife and plants have moved in comfortably. 

There’s a section that runs a bit deeper than the rest, complete with a little footbridge, where Tommy has seen plenty of frogs before. There’s plenty of tall grass for Harold to hide from predators and a section of stagnant water that will attract a feast of mosquitoes. It’s perfect.

Tommy lowers his hands to the ground by the bank and lets Harold hop out. The frog seems a bit hesitant after staying with Tommy for so long, but as soon as it sees the water it jumps in. The splash startles Tommy, but after a second the creek stills, and Harold is long gone.

He stands up with a smile and heads home.

It’s always bittersweet to release the animals he finds. Tommy knows they’ll have a better life outside rather than hidden in his bedroom, but there’s no denying that he gets attached quickly. He just hopes Harold finds a few wives and dies old, fat, and happy.

Tommy slips his keys into his front door and heads inside with little fanfare. There was only one car in the driveway which meant his dad was still at work, and the sound of the tv tells him that his mother is in the living room.

“Hi mum, I’m home!” he calls. There’s no reply.

He toes his shoes off and drops his bag by the door. His dad will probably yell at him for getting the entranceway covered in rain, but Tommy’s too tired from school to care.

There’s some mind-numbing reality show on when Tommy enters the living room, and it looks like his mom is barely watching. She’s scrolling on her phone with one hand and snacking on crisps with the other.

Tommy hovers on the edge of her line of sight. “What’s for dinner tonight?” he asks.

For a moment, Tommy thinks she won’t respond. She doesn’t even look up at him when she says, “Grab something from the fridge.”

There’s nothing in the fridge. Tommy knows this because that’s what she said yesterday and he had to grab a microwave meal from the cupboard. He doesn’t know when the last time she went grocery shopping was, and he’s not dumb enough to take any of the snacks that aren’t labelled as hers but are treated as such.

Tommy makes his way to the kitchen, but pauses when he hears, “Thomas.”

He pokes his head back into the living room, something churning in his gut.

“Yeah?”

“The trash needs to be taken out.”

Tommy ignores the disappointment rising in him. “Okay.” 

He heads back into the kitchen.

As he grabs the plastic tray of almost inedible food and shoves it in the microwave, Tommy looks out the window. It’s in need of a good clean, but he can see a bit of the creek from here. He wonders what Harold is doing with his newfound freedom.

Tommy can’t help but feel a little jealous.

-

Tommy’s sitting at the bus stop a few days later when a body settles on the seat beside him. He glances up and sees a familiar face smiling at him.

“Wilbur!” Tommy exclaims, “Funny seeing you round here!”

Wilbur glances at Tommy’s hands like he’s missing something. “Where’s Harold?”

“Uh, I let him go by the creek when I got him, haven’t seen him since. Why?”

Some fleeting emotion crosses Wilbur’s face. “I thought you might keep him.”

“Nah, he was a free spirit.”

Wilbur nods. “You did a good thing, saving him. I’m not sure many people would go to such measures to help a frog.”

Tommy shrugs. “I like helping animals.” It’s true, his mother used to tell stories from when he was a child and attempted to make friends with all the little creatures in the backyard. Even spiders and bugs were sacred in his eyes.

“I’m sure the animals appreciate it,” Wilbur says, “If they could speak, they’d thank you.”

“Don’t even mention them understanding me,” Tommy grumbles, “I swear my heart stopped when Harold looked at me like that.”

Wilbur laughs, and again, it sounds like he’s heard a joke that Tommy didn’t tell. While Wilbur’s eyes are squeezed shut from laughter, Tommy takes a second to stare at him. He’s wearing the same dirty coat as last time, and the rest of his clothes look like they were taken from a high school theater’s costume bin. Tommy doesn’t think he’s seen a better example of anachronism. 

There’s something vaguely… off about Wilbur but not in the way that makes Tommy want to run away screaming. Rather, he’s intrigued. 

“Do you live ‘round here?” Tommy asks, forgetting that he’s probably not supposed to ask total strangers where they live. “I’ve been taking this route for years, and I’ve never seen you before.”

Wilbur shakes his head. “I live a bit of a ways away past the city borders.”

“Oh,” Tommy tries not to sound disappointed. “So I probably won’t see you around much.”

Wilbur looks at him, and for a second, Tommy feels a bit like a bug under a microscope. Something deep inside of him screams DANGER, but then Wilbur blinks and it’s gone.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Wilbur replies.

“Alright,” Tommy says awkwardly, attempting to push his stomach back down his throat, “what are you doing in the city then?”

Wilbur shrugs. “Just thought I’d spend the day a bit differently. Shop a bit, walk around, see the sights— you know how it is.”

Tommy, in fact, did not know how it was. He’d grown up in this city so to think that anyone could “sight-see” the streets where he learned how to ride a bike was a bit weird. He nods anyway.

“Any recommendations?”

“The sandwich shop on main is pretty good, that’s where I used to go with my mates.”

“Used to?”

Tommy looks away. “I don’t really hang out with anyone anymore. I’m more of a homebody,” he lies.

“You don’t seem like an introvert,” Wilbur presses.

“I’m not, I’m just…” Tommy trails off.

Tommy expects Wilbur to drop it like anyone else would when encountering an awkward topic with an almost-stranger, but Wilbur doesn’t let up, asking, “You’re still in school, right? You must have friends there.”

Tommy shrugs. “I have friends, but they’re not the kind you seek out.”

“I was like that when I was younger,” Wilbur says, nodding in sympathy, “teenage boys are the most interesting conversationalists.”

Tommy cracks a grin. “But I am?”

“You’re different,” Wilbur says, and he looks at Tommy without an ounce of humor on his face.

Tommy can feel his gut churn with the compliment. He swallows uncomfortably and fixates his eyes on some random point across the street. “What changed?” he says, dodging whatever Wilbur was trying to say.

“Hmm?”

“You said you were like that, what changed?”

“Oh! My family helped, honestly. I’ve got a brother, Techno—” Tommy ignores the sharp pang of want that he always feels when others mention their siblings, “— he pulled my head out of my ass and told me to stop being an idiot. And my dad gives good hugs. They’re good people.”

“And what, they’re your friends now?”

Wilbur looks at him like he’s asked a weird question. “They’ve always been my friends— but in that weird familial way, y’know?” Tommy, again, doesn’t know. “I think just having that support system let me realize I didn’t have to settle.”

“Settle?”

“For friends I didn’t like, a life I didn’t enjoy. They taught me that I deserved more than I was giving myself.”

Tommy mulls over Wilbur’s words, wondering how he got into such a deep conversation with someone he’d met once prior. He doesn’t care, though, especially when Wilbur’s words seem to pry him open and expose his fragile insides in a way no one has before.

“What do you do when you don’t have a family like that?” Tommy asks. He’s quieter than before, almost nervous to admit that his home life is less than stellar. 

“Find a better one.”

Tommy looks up to laugh at Wilbur’s joke, but he looks completely serious. The sound dies in his throat.

“You’ll find people who appreciate you for yourself,’ Wilbur says.

“You think?” 

Wilbur nods. “I’m sure of it.”

The bus pulls up to the stop and the door opens. He’s almost… sad? to have to stop talking to Wilbur.

“See you later, Tommy,” Wilbur says as Tommy steps onto the bus. He gives him a little smile, one of those where just one corner of his mouth quirks up. Tommy is quickly learning that it’s Wilbur’s signature grin.

Tommy waves goodbye as the bus pulls away.

-

Tommy has just left his house to get to the bus and already feels like giving up and curling up in someone’s bush to take a nap. He’s been awake for… some amount of hours, and his whole body feels like it’s hot and cold at the same time, not to mention the migraine he can feel building behind his right eye.

He had debated skipping for the day, but his dad had the day off, and Tommy preferred fever-roasting his brain over staying in a house with him for longer than necessary. 

Considering his dad won’t care if Tommy skips— if he even picks up the call from school, Tommy is considering just collapsing on the sidewalk. The only thing that keeps him going is the possibility of Wilbur waiting for him at the bus stop.

Wilbur had started to show up fairly regularly at the stop for the past few weeks. He’d been apartment shopping in town recently, a fact Tommy still didn’t get considering he already lived with his family. Wilbur had said something about wanting to be closer to the city, but Tommy still couldn’t imagine giving up something as good as Wilbur had described his relationship with his brother and dad.

If Tommy had something like that, you’d have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

Speaking of cold hands, he was absolutely fucking freezing. It wasn’t even cold outside, but Tommy was shivering like crazy despite the winter coat wrapped around him.

He ignored all the obvious signs telling him he should have stayed at home and kept trudging towards the bus stop. Hopefully, the nurse would take pity on him and let him sleep in the office. 

Time passed like honey, warping and drizzling out of any hold Tommy tried to contain it in, and soon he was dropping his body on the bench next to Wilbur.

Normally, Tommy would greet Wilbur with some sort of quip, but he can’t summon the energy to do anything but rest his head on the glass barrier, close his eyes, and sigh.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Wilbur says, dead serious.

Tommy cracks his eyes open. “What?”

“You’re not going to school like that.”

“If you want to let me sleep the whole day away on this bench, go for it, I’m not complaining,” Tommy grumbles. 

Wilbur grabs his elbow and pulls Tommy to his feet. “C’mon, we’re going to my apartment.”

“You found an apartment?”

“That’s what you ask? Yes, I found an apartment, you child,” Wilbur says.

Tommy follows him without question, and when he stumbles on the ground, Wilbur wraps his arm around his shoulder. He’s too tired to pull his brain together to respond to whatever Wilbur had just said. He can’t— it’s hard to focus with the world melting like crayons under a hairdryer. 

Wilbur leads him through the streets until they pause in front of an inconspicuous apartment amongst hundreds of others on the block. They go up the front steps, and Tommy leans on Wilbur as he unlocks the door.

He’s guided up a set of stairs, into a small living room, and gently pushed onto the couch there. It’s one of the few pieces of furniture that Tommy can see, and there are a few boxes piled in the corner.

Hands slip his backpack off, and the absence of the weight on his shoulders practically turns Tommy boneless.

Wilbur tosses him a blanket. “I’m making you breakfast,” he says, and distantly Tommy wonders how he knows Tommy hasn’t eaten. “Don’t get up.”

Normally Tommy would actively disobey anything Wilbur told him, but his limbs feel awfully heavy, and Wilbur’s blanket smells really, really good. Tommy nestles into the couch and pulls the blanket up so the only thing visible are his eyes.

The faint sounds of someone cooking in the kitchen lull him to sleep.

Tommy wakes up and feels like someone has replaced all of his fat and muscles with cotton while somehow making his body weigh ten times heavier. 

He sits up, taking note of his surroundings. The lights in the apartment are all off, and it feels like he’s alone. There’s a note on the coffee table beside him. His shoes are on the floor, placed with care alongside his backpack, there are two more blankets on him, and someone has slid a pillow under his head while he slept.

Tommy gets his phone out, blinking at the bright light, and it takes a moment for his brain to understand the numbers on the display. 

2:21 pm

He’s almost slept through the entirety of school.

Tommy picks up the note off the coffee table, and the bottom half comes unfolded, dropping a key into his lap. Still slightly delirious, Tommy looks at the key and tries to remember if he dropped his house key on the way to Wilbur’s, but this one has blue tape wrapped around the base.

I had to leave, family semi-emergency, don’t worry about it. There’s food in the microwave. Use the key to lock up, you can keep it.

Tommy wonders if he’s hallucinating. Surely Wilbur didn’t actually do all of these things?

He staggers to his feet, pushing the blankets off himself, and makes his way to the kitchen. Sure enough, there’s a bowl of soup in the microwave, and it’s still slightly warm. There’s a box of crackers on the counter. Tommy blinks.

As if on autopilot, Tommy turns the microwave on and goes searching for a spoon. Most of the drawers are empty, but thankfully, there are a few packets of disposable utensils shoved in a bag next to the refrigerator. 

The microwave beeps, and Tommy brings his bowl of soup and crackers to the couch. He sits there for a moment and wonders, what the fuck is going on?

His body is hungry, though, so Tommy digs in. The soup is absolutely delicious, and Tommy wonders if Wilbur has laced it with drugs because that man does not look like he can cook, and there’s no way anything that good came from a can. 

The soup is gone in minutes, and Tommy realizes he’s forgotten entirely about the crackers. The plastic isn’t even broken, so Tommy just puts it back on the counter. He places his bowl in the sink and throws away the spoon.

The apartment is quiet.

It looks so… untouched that Tommy feels the need to tiptoe around and whisper— if he was talking at all. He feels the sudden need to hear his voice, hear anything, so he whispers, “Wilbur?”

No one answers, of course. 

Tommy folds the blankets and fluffs the pillows back up. He puts his shoes on and pulls his backpack back on. The apartment swallows any sound he makes.

With Wilbur’s key in hand, Tommy heads outside. When he slips the key into the lock he’s almost surprised it fits as if he thought Wilbur hadn’t actually given him a fucking key to his apartment of all things.

He slips the key into a pocket of his backpack and swears he can feel the added weight on his shoulders.

Tommy heads down the street and tries to pretend he’s on his way home from a normal day at school and not that his whole world has just been shifted a few degrees off its axis.

-

Tommy is in the middle of rifling through Wilbur’s things in a desperate search for a pen since his last one just died when he hears the door open. 

“Wilbur,” he calls, “where the fuck do you keep your pens? Better question, when are you gonna unpack all this shit?”

Footsteps pause at the entrance of the living room.

“Wil?” Tommy asks, and when he isn’t greeted with a response, he turns to face the person he is starting to think isn’t Wilbur.

There’s a stranger standing in Wilbur’s apartment that looks like he’s been whacked in the head with a bat. He’s got pink hair and is dressed oddly— is he in some Victorian cosplay? At a second glance, Tommy can see Wilbur’s nose and smile in the stranger’s, and he remembers the brother Wilbur had mentioned a few times previously.

“Techno?”

The person narrows their eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m, uh, Tommy?” He fishes the key out of his pocket and holds it up. “Wilbur said I could stop by whenever.”

He had. Once Tommy was feeling better enough to go back to school, he tried to give Wilbur back his key at the bus stop. Wilbur refused and stressed that Tommy should stop by if something like that ever happened again. 

His mom was hosting some dinner party tonight, and Tommy desperately wanted nothing to do with it, so he came to Wilbur’s after school.

“What are you doing in his stuff?” the stranger asks.

Tommy points to his abandoned notebook on the coffee table. “I was doing homework, and my pen died.”

The person doesn’t respond, they just keep looking at Tommy like there’s something written on his face. His hand twitches, and he has to keep himself from wiping at his skin.

“So are you Techno? Cause this would be really awkward if you weren’t.”

They roll their eyes and finally relax, heading into the kitchen. “Yes, I’m Techno. Wilbur told you about me?” Techno opens the refrigerator and starts to rummage through it.

“A few things, uh— there should be some leftover lasagna in there if you want, I wasn’t going to eat it.”

Techno freezes and looks back at Tommy. “Wilbur made you lasagna?”

“Uh, yes?” Tommy wonders if every conversation with Techno feels like playing chess two steps behind your opponent while blindfolded or if he’s just particularly dumb. 

Techno stares at Tommy for a few more seconds, boring straight through him, and then goes back to looking in the fridge. He pulls out a carton of strawberries and closes the door with a well-aimed kick.

Tommy watches in half-amusement, half-confusion as Techno plops himself down on the couch and starts to eat the strawberries, leaves and all.

“Hungry?” Tommy asks, and his voice sounds strangled even to himself.

Techno doesn’t even look up. “Mhm.”

“Alright,” Tommy squeaks, “glad you’re enjoying that. Uh, Wilbur isn’t here, obviously. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“He’s on his way,” Techno grunts.

Tommy settles on the couch next to him. Wordlessly, Techno hands him a strawberry. Tommy accepts, hesitating a moment before he pops the whole thing into his mouth. Honestly, the leaves aren’t even bad, and the strawberries are so juicy he almost drools.

“I think these might be the best strawberries on the whole planet, ever,” Tommy mumbles between mashed strawberry.

Techno hands him another one. “They’re from our home.”

“You have a farm?”

“Sureee,” Techno drawls, and Tommy doesn’t call him out for whatever he’s not saying because, honestly, Techno kind of scares him.

Techno takes another strawberry, but after one bite he tosses it back into the carton. “There’s something wrong with them,” he grumbles and stands up before Tommy can protest. The strawberries are unceremoniously dumped in the bin.

“Oh,” Tommy says weakly, “I could’ve finished those.”

“They tasted like dirt.”

“I like dirt?”

Techno’s mouth twitches on one side, and Tommy thinks he may have gotten a smile from the weirdest person he’s ever met. 

“You haven’t met Phil, right?” Techno asks.

Tommy shakes his head.

“He’s our dad,” Techno explains, “he’d like you.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

Tommy is saved from another suffocatingly awkward moment of silence by the sound of the front door being opened.

“Told you,” Techno says, and then Wilbur is walking in.

“Tommy!” Wilbur exclaims, “I didn’t know you were coming over!”

Tommy shrugs. “The house is pretty busy right now.” He doesn’t elaborate, but Wilbur doesn’t seem to mind.

“I hope Techno didn’t spook you too much?” Wilbur reaches for Techno’s head like he’s going to play with his hair, but Techno slaps his hand away without even flinching. “He’s just a big softy under all that forced stoicism,” Wilbur teases.

“I’m not stoic,” Techno says.

“Damn right you aren’t, I saw you cry when the baby bunnies were born last spring.”

Techno’s face pinches. “It was an emotionally taxing event, and crying is a normal biological reaction to stress.”

Wilbur drapes himself across Techno’s shoulders and leans his head forward so it’s parallel to Techno’s. “Are you sure it wasn’t because the baby bunnies were just too cute? Did you want to pinch their chubby wubby cheeks?”

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Techno dips out from under Wilbur and heads for the door.

“I’m sorry, wittle brother!” Wilbur calls after him, and there’s a wicked sharp grin on his face, “I promise I won’t make you talk about your deep love for small, fluffy animals!”

The sound of the door slamming fills the room, and Tommy flinches.

“Is he okay?” Tommy asks, feeling a bit like someone has pulled a carpet out from underneath his feet.

“Hm?” Wilbur says, “Oh, yeah, Techno’s just like that, don’t worry.” He, just like Techno, heads for the fridge. Tommy just stares.

“What happened to the strawberries?” Wilbur asks.

Tommy can only point to the bin.

-

“Can I braid your hair?” Wilbur asks.

Tommy sits up from where he is leaning on Wilbur’s chest and looks at his face. He looks sincere, soft even, so Tommy relaxes back into his hold.

“Sure,” he says, “I don’t have much to braid.”

“It’s fine.” Tommy can feel every word vibrate through Wilbur’s chest and into his own. The bus stop bench isn’t exactly comfortable to sit on, but he’ll take hard plastic digging into his legs and butt if it means being this close to Wilbur.

Hands rake through his hair, and Tommy automatically lets his head drop onto Wilbur’s shoulder.

He can feel more than hear Wilbur chuckle. “Child, I can’t reach your head if you let it flop on me like that.”

“Deal with it,” Tommy grumbles.

Wilbur laughs again, and Tommy thinks he’ll keep talking, keep making jokes like that till his voice dies if it means feeling that again.

Wilbur’s hands shift to a piece of hair above his ear and start twisting. It’s a small braid, but Wilbur seems to be working in other pieces into an intricate design that Tommy can’t keep up with.

“Where’d you learn how to braid?”

“It’s a family thing,” Wilbur says. Tommy’s breath hitches just slightly, and he wonders if Wilbur felt it.

Wilbur continues with the braid, and despite how relaxing it is, Tommy keeps himself awake. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

After a few minutes of silence, Wilbur asks “You know you can come to me whenever about anything, right?”

The question catches Tommy off-guard. He’s known Wilbur for less than a year, but he’s Tommy’s closest friend by far. He would trust Wilbur with anything.

But would he go to Wilbur for help?

Wilbur must sense his inner turmoil because he pulls Tommy closer and rests his chin on Tommy’s head. “Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“That if you’re ever in danger, if you’re ever hurt— emotionally or physically, if you ever just need someone, you’ll tell me, okay?”

Tommy flicks Wilbur’s arm in annoyance. “You don’t even have a phone, how am I supposed to do that?”

“Just say my name, okay? I’ll hear you. Promise?”

“I don’t even know your last name,” Tommy says.

Wilbur stills behind Tommy, just enough that Tommy thinks he’s said something wrong until Wilbur leans in and whispers, “My name is Wilbur Soot.”

The hairs on Tommy’s neck stand up as something in the air shifts. He burrows farther into Wilbur and ignores it.

Tommy snorts, attempting to keep the tone light. “Your last name is Soot?”

“Promise me, Tommy,” Wilbur says, uncharacteristically serious.

“I promise.”

Wilbur squeezes him. “Thank you.”

Tommy worms his way out of Wilbur’s grip. “You’re being extra clingy today.”

“Shut up. Do you want to see your braid?”

Tommy’s heart jumps. “You’re finished?” He twists around to look at Wilbur.

“Yup, pull your phone out and look.”

Tommy does as told, opening up the camera app and switching it to the front camera. There, tucked behind his ear, is a delicate braid done in a style he’s never seen before. It starts in front of his ear and curls around it, somehow staying together despite his hair’s length. The tail end tucks behind his ear and ties itself off. Tommy brushes his fingers against it gently.

“It should stay in for a while,” Wilbur says, “I made it to last. But I can always re-do it for you.”

“Thank you,” Tommy whispers, still focused on his braid. 

Wilbur smiles, and it’s the second-best thing Tommy’s seen all day.

-

The lunchroom is getting louder and louder by the minute, and Tommy is tempted to just up and leave, but he knows he’ll get caught by a teacher. Besides, he’s skipped enough school that his mom is actually getting on his case. He can’t tell if he’s happy or upset about that.

Tommy bites into his sandwich. It tastes like shit, but he keeps eating it.

A hand claps Tommy’s shoulder, and Jack Manifold slips into the seat beside him.

“Tommy!” he says, upbeat like always, “I’m gathering the boys to hang out at mine this weekend, you in?”

Normally, Tommy would have said yes. Jack was one of the few friends he had left that he could tolerate and wasn’t an asshole, but Wilbur had already asked him to come over that Saturday so he could teach Tommy to cook.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans,” Tommy says.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Plans? Like date plans?”

Tommy almost chokes. “Fuck no, like I’m hanging out with another friend plans, fuck, Jack.”

“Sorry, mate,” Jack says, laughing, “who’re you hanging out with?”

“My friend, Wilbur.”

“Wilbur? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

Tommy shrugs. “We met on the bus. He’s got an apartment near the library, one of those tiny ones all shoved together, y’know?”

“Apartment?” Jack asks, “How old is this guy?”

“Uh, I’m not sure?” Tommy realizes how bad that sounds as it leaves his mouth. “He’s not a wrong’un or anything.”

“Right. He’s just a random guy you met on the bus of all places that invites you to his apartment alone, I’m guessing?”

Tommy considers rescinding his comment about Jack not being an asshole. “He’s teaching me how to cook, you prick, since my shitty parents won’t bother making dinner anymore.”

Jack’s eyes widen. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Tommy says, “he’s just been really helpful lately— like an older brother figure. He even gave me a key to his apartment.”

“Really?”

Tommy fishes it out of his backpack and shows Jack. “Yeah, I didn’t believe it myself at first.”

Jack takes the key and fiddles with the tape that’s slowly falling off the metal. “Seems like a strange guy.”

“You should see the way he dresses, it’s like someone randomized the clothes on a Sim. And he calls animals by their scientific name like a nerd— oh! and he refuses to use silverware like a normal person, says plastic just feels better. I swear there’s something wrong with him,” Tommy jokes.

“You said you met him at your bus stop? The library isn’t even near that line.”

Tommy nods. “Yeah, the first few times we ran into each other he said he was waiting for a different bus, now I think he just shows up to hang out.”

Jack pauses. “Tommy, your bus stop only has one line.”

“What?”

“You get on by the Sainsbury’s by the park, right? That only has one bus line, if he was getting on it wouldn’t matter what bus came by, they’re all on the same route,” Jack explains.

Something deep in Tommy’s gut loosens into freefall.

“He’s unfamiliar with the area,” Tommy defends.

Jack looks at him, really looks at him like he’s scanning for something on Tommy’s body or face. “Are you alright?”

Tommy bites back his automatic angry response. “I’m fine, why?”

“You’ve been awfully quiet lately, and I know this Wilbur guy means a lot to you, but he sounds like trouble to me. Something’s not adding up,” Jack says.

Bitter hate races through Tommy and stiffens his jaw. “It’s not like you’ve been around to really know how I act.”

Jack looks at him with something that Tommy thinks might be pity. “I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

“Fuck off.” Tommy shoves his lunch into his bag and storms away from the table.

He finds an empty stall to sit in while he eats the rest of his food, but Jack’s words keep echoing through his head as much as he tries to forget them. Even with his earbuds jammed in so far they feel like they’re touching his brain and his music on high, Tommy can still hear him.

I’d stay away from him.

Sounds like trouble.

Strange guy.

Are you okay?

Tommy knocks the side of his head against the concrete wall, just wishing that the sick, rotting feeling in his stomach would go away. Why did he feel like absolute shit?

The rest of the day goes by in a haze, and in a blink Tommy finds himself walking toward the bus. Wilbur never meets him after school, but he can still feel dread filling the space between his organs and slowing his feet as he approaches the stop.

There is something very, very wrong.

Tommy climbs onto the bus, feeling a bit like he might throw up, and pauses by the driver’s seat.

“Ma’am,” he starts, “there aren’t any lines that come to this stop, right?”

The driver frowns. “Not that I know of. Why, are you trying to get somewhere?”

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “Thank you, though.” He heads to the back of the bus and tries to collect the thoughts whirling around his head like papers in a hurricane.

“This isn’t my bus,” Wilbur had said, and Tommy hadn’t even thought twice about it. He’d been taking that route to school for years, and not once had another bus come through. Tommy’s so fucking naive. One person comes along and pays attention to him and suddenly he’s ignoring his common sense.

The bus lurches into drive, and Tommy is on his feet before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Wait! Sorry, I need to get off!” He rushes his way to the front and gives the driver a breathless “thank you!” before taking off down the street.

Wilbur’s hiding something, and Tommy wants to know what it is because frankly he feels a little bit manipulated and maybe even used.

His feet pound on the pavement, anger in every stride, and all Tommy can think about is how nice it was to have Wilbur’s attention on him.

Tommy makes it to Wilbur’s apartment in record time. He pulls out the key that Wilbur had given him so easily like it hadn’t even meant anything— fuck, how many signs had Tommy brushed off just because he was a needy child?

The door creaks open, and Tommy slips inside. All at once, the anger drains out of him and leaves something hollow in its place. Does he want to be mad at Wilbur? What if there’s more to this than Tommy can see on the surface? Is he safe here, alone and isolated in an apartment that’s not his?

Tommy sneaks up the stairs and hears voices drifting through the hallway. He stops outside the door to the kitchen and tries to slow his breathing enough to listen inside.

“—invite him over soon,” Wilbur says, and he sounds excited. “Dad keeps being fussy, but I think it’ll be fine, right?”

There’s a pause. “Wilbur,” Techno starts, “I think Phil might be right about this one.”

“You need to understand, you just haven’t seen him like I have!”

Techno sighs. “Tommy is a very nice person, I know, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to take this well.”

Tommy’s heart drops to his feet. Something in his brain is screaming at him to get out, to run, but foolishly he stays. He needs to know what they’re saying.

“There’s no evidence to say he won’t,” Wilbur shoots back, and oh, he’s getting defensive.

“Wilbur—”

“I’m telling you now, I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Have you been to his house? Felt the coldness that seeps out of its foundation?” Wilbur scoffs. “It’s unacceptable for anyone, let alone Tommy.”

When had Wilbur been to Tommy’s house? 

There’s a pause, and Tommy has to hold his breath to keep himself quiet.

“You’re thinking of bringing him to the court,” Techno says, and it’s not a question. There’s something dangerous laced in his words, some meaning that Tommy doesn’t understand.

Something clatters against the counter. “I am! C’mon, we do it all the time! Don’t you dare say he doesn’t qualify, either, because he does! Besides, if Phil had been the one to meet him you wouldn’t be interrogating him like this.”

“It doesn’t matter, he’s almost an adult! By the time he’s ready there’ll be no point. And don’t make that argument, you know they aren’t the same. You just got attached and now you can’t deal with the consequences.”

“There won’t be any fucking consequences if you just let me take him home, for fuck’s sake!” Wilbur shouts. Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever heard Wilbur this loud.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me he’ll take it well when you tell him you’re fae. Tell me he won’t run.”

Tommy’s blood goes cold.

You’re fae.

Tommy had grown up with fairytales just like any other child, and when he’d gotten older he learned they were all myths— just like any other child. But Techno has just called Wilbur fae, and a few too many puzzle pieces are starting to come together.

It would be idiotic to believe. Tommy should stroll in there and laugh off whatever prank they’re playing on him and go on with his normal, human life. But the instincts that he’s been shoving down are screaming, and the small part of Tommy’s genetics that remembers being prey is cowering in fear.

Tell me he won’t run.

Tommy’s already scrambling down the steps when his brain catches up. He’s making a horrible amount of noise, he knows, but all he can think about is getting out of the tiny apartment with too-close walls and hiding in the darkest closet in his house.

“Tommy?” A voice calls, and Tommy has to bite his tongue to keep from responding. Whatever fucking fairy magic Wilbur had done to him makes him want, because Wilbur sounds afraid and Tommy wants to comfort him. His brain feels like it’s split in two.

He’s out the door and sprinting in seconds. There are thundering footsteps behind him, and Tommy wonders for a split second if it’s futile for him to run. Has he already been ensnared without hope of escape?

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouts, and Tommy refuses to respond. He grabs the apartment key in his pocket and chucks it behind him hoping that luck is on his side and it’ll smack one of them in the face.

His house is far away, far enough that Tommy knows he won’t be able to keep running for that long. He’s got to outsmart them.

Fairies. What do fairies not like? What’s the opposite of flowers and bugs and shit?

Tommy races down the street and doesn’t even apologize to the people he almost runs into, too afraid that any waste of breath will be the end of him.

He’s tempted to duck into a familiar shop and convince the owner to hide him, but Tommy has no clue who could be on Wilbur’s side or not. Could he use his magic to force them? Was it possible to take someone’s free will?

Had none of his choices been his own?

Across the street, a bus screeches to a halt, and Tommy almost sobs in relief.

Metal. Fairies don’t like metal, it’s why Wilbur hadn’t gotten on earlier! He can’t remember if it's just annoying or actually painful, but Wilbur avoided it earlier and that’s good enough for Tommy.

Tommy dashes across the street, narrowly avoiding a few cars, and flings himself onto the bus.

“Drive, please, DRIVE!” Tommy shouts, screams, almost, but the bus driver just sighs.

“I’m not about to have a fight on my bus because you got kicked out of the school yard.”

Tommy can see Wilbur and Techno crossing the street. He has five, maybe ten seconds before they get there.

“It’s not a fucking school fight, please!” 

There must be something in Tommy’s expression because the bus driver pulls the lever for the doors and they close.

Just as the bus takes off, Wilbur and Techno skid to a stop outside, narrowly avoiding running into the doors. Tommy can see Wilbur move to do something, but Techno grabs his shoulder and holds him back.

Tommy locks eyes with Wilbur through the window.

Wilbur looks pained, still shouting something that Tommy can’t hear, and for a moment Tommy feels guilty for hurting him.

And then the bus pulls away.

Tommy spends the ride vibrating with nerves, unable to keep his leg still. He can’t help but feel like he’s been led into a false sense of security. What was stopping Wilbur and Techno from waiting for him at his stop? Surely they could use their magic to teleport or some shit.

He’s in over his head.

When the bus pulls up to his stop, there’s no one waiting to snatch him, but Tommy doesn’t get out. He lets the bus go one stop further and walks the extra five minutes home, making sure to avoid his normal route. He takes backroads and alleyways, eyes up the entire time.

He doesn’t spot anyone unusual the whole way home. There’s something tickling at the back of his neck that tells him he’s being watched anyway.

As soon as Tommy gets home he locks the door behind him. His mom is in the living room like always, and the tv is loud enough to cover up his sobs as he sinks to the floor.

He’s shaking, all the adrenaline from the past hour draining out of him like ice cupped in his hands. God, he was terrified. 

Tommy hides his head in his knees and lets himself cry. A little part of him wishes his mom would hear and come to comfort him; the rest of him knows that’s just a fantasy. The only person who had hugged him in the last year was Wilbur.

Wilbur. Funny, protective, loving Wilbur. 

Tommy knocks his head against the door. Why couldn’t he just have one fucking thing? What had he done to make the universe hate him so much?

Eventually, once his body feels like it’s been battered against the rocks in an unforgiving sea, Tommy picks himself up off the floor and heads upstairs.

He opens his laptop, clicks on an incognito window just to be safe, and searches “what are the fae”.

Tommy clicks on the first result and starts reading.

He expects to need to dig to get any good information, but the third sentence just confirms his fears. “Fae can be violent, and they do not tend to see ‘good’ or ‘evil,’” the website reads. He keeps scrolling.

He gets to a section called “Fae Names” and almost starts crying again.

“Is Tommy a nickname?”

“Yeah, for fucking Thomas. How uncool is that?”

Wilbur had just been fishing for power, and Tommy had given away his name without even realizing it. Who knew what Wilbur could do— had already done with it.

Tommy feels a bit like he’s going to throw up, but he keeps reading. 

The site talks about fairy rings and something called a Seelie Court which partially explained what Techno was talking about. Wilbur had been planning to take Tommy to their world— for what reason, Tommy almost didn’t want to know.

As Tommy keeps reading, the more and more facts he finds that lead him to believe that Wilbur was doing something to him with magic. Tommy had eaten food that Wilbur had made— fae food, the article stressed, was extremely dangerous, and Wilbur had constantly fed Tommy food from his “farm”. Tommy had let Wilbur braid his hair, let Wilbur give him gifts, made promises he no longer wanted to keep. 

In some form of sick masochism, Tommy keeps reading.

“Fae only really care about themselves, but they will take an interest in humans if they believe there may be something curious about them.”

Tommy slams his laptop shut.

In a trance, he opens his desk drawer and pulls out a pair of scissors he’s had since primary school. They’re dotted with stickers and pencil markers, and the bright green he remembers them as is long faded.

Tommy fumbles for the braid behind his ear, the one Wilbur had re-done for the billionth time this morning, and pulls it away from his head.

He holds the scissors up and takes a deep breath.

Snip.

Hair falls into his lap, quickly unraveling the braid. In a second, it’s gone. Tommy feels around his ear and undoes the rest of the pieces against his scalp. The newly cut hair prickles against his head.

Tommy brushes the hair off his lap and into his bin. He feels numb.

He sinks into his bed and curls around himself as tightly as possible. Hot tears are already running down his face and soaking his pillow, but Tommy can’t find it in himself to care.

It had all been a lie.

Everything.

Wilbur didn’t care about him, he was just curious as if Tommy was a toy for him to play with and eventually discard.

Tommy thinks of every hug, every teasing smile that he craved these past months and something bitter and painful settles behind his ribs.

Who was he to think that someone actually enjoyed his company?

He’s such a fucking idiot.

-

Tommy has school the next morning, and as much as he wants to hide in his room for the rest of his life, his mom will kill him if he skips anymore. Metaphorically, of course. Probably.

So, Tommy spends an hour in the morning gathering every single iron and steel item in his house. The internet seemed divided on whether steel was effective— not to mention half the discussions were talking about fictional books— but it can’t hurt to grab some of his silverware. Even if the steel isn’t effective he can always just stab Wilbur.

The cast-iron skillet takes up most of the room in his backpack, but Tommy figures he can worry about missing his math textbook when he isn’t in immediate danger.

Tommy sounds like a coin pouch clattering about with every step, but he’s already a block from home and no one has snatched him. Yet. He still has to make it to the bus stop.

The sky is clear of clouds, a drastic change from the weather when he met Wilbur. Tommy wonders how much of that first meeting was fabricated— had Wilbur been watching before that day? Was the frog in the road even by chance?

Tommy turns a corner and sees the bus stop across the road.

Wilbur is standing next to it, not sitting. In fact, he’s pacing in front of it, turning every few steps like he’s been confined to just that space. He hasn’t seen Tommy yet, too focused on the ground below him. 

Tommy sticks his hand in his pocket and grabs the handle of the knife he stashed. With a deep breath, he crosses the street.

Wilbur’s head snaps up when he hears Tommy’s footsteps, and the relief is clear on his face.

“Tommy! I am so, so—”

Wilbur shuts up when Tommy slips the knife out of his pocket and holds it loosely by his side. Something fractures in his expression, and he steps back.

“Right,” he nods, but it looks like he’s reassuring himself more than anything. Tommy wonders if he’s ever had his prey fight back. “That’s fair. I, uh— there’s no need for that, you know? If you’ll just listen to me I can—”

Tommy cuts him off silently, slipping earbuds in and hitting play on the loudest song he could think of earlier.

“I’m not listening to anything you have to say,” Tommy says, but he can’t even hear himself, only feel the vibrations in his throat. “I’m not letting you fucking charm me or something.”

Wilbur shakes his head and says something but Tommy just turns up his music so loud it hurts.

“Fuck off, Wilbur,” Tommy scowls.

The bus pulls up beside them, and Tommy gets one last glance at Wilbur’s face before he gets on. Something inside of him feels awful, but he shoves it down. 

-

The rest of the week goes by similarly. Wilbur shows up at the bus stop in the morning and tries to convince Tommy to listen to him, and Tommy ignores him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t do much other than that. He almost expected more… aggression? The website said that fairies didn’t take well to being insulted or ignored, and Tommy had basically broken every rule. On top of that, Wilbur has his name, or at least part of it. Doesn’t that give him the power to control Tommy?

Tommy takes the bus home on Friday, and something feels different, leaving his stomach churning. Somehow, he knows if he makes it home that something will change. Whatever is between Wilbur and him won’t ever be the same.

He steps off the bus, and for the first time, Wilbur is waiting for him. Tommy presses his arm against his pocket just to reassure himself that his knife is there. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Wilbur, his face shuttering immediately.

Tommy starts down the street, and Wilbur follows just a step behind like he’s afraid to get too close to Tommy. Good. He should be.

“Tommy, I know you don’t want to hear anything I have to say, but please, let me explain?” Wilbur sounds desperate.

Tommy doesn’t look behind him. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Wilbur stresses, “I don’t want something from you, do you understand that?”

“Not really,” Tommy bites. He keeps walking, pushing a brisk pace that’s just a hair away from running. 

“Me being what I am doesn’t change anything, okay? I was never trying to trick you.”

Tommy stops abruptly, enough that Wilbur almost runs into him. He has to keep his hands from flying out to steady Wilbur.

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Fae can’t lie!” Wilbur whispers, practically hisses.

Tommy rolls his eyes, bitter and burning. “Oh, sure, I’ll just take your word on that.” He starts walking again, gripping his backpack straps so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Tommy, look at me—”

“No!” Tommy roars, stopping again because he’s so fucking angry he can’t think about anything other than not punching the person behind him. He whips around to face Wilbur. “I owe you nothing. Not after you worked your magic on me— you’ve got my fucking name, for fuck’s sake!”

Wilbur’s eyes widen. “Your name— Tommy, you have my name.”

“What?”

“I can barely do anything with just a first name, but you’ve got my full name. Remember? The first time I braided your hair?” Wilbur’s eyes flick to Tommy’s ear, and Tommy knows he can see the ragged remnants of what he did.

“You made me promise,” Tommy murmurs, thinking back to the day.

“Yes, but what else?” Wilbur presses, “I told you to call for me, I told you my name. What did I say?”

“Wilbur Soot,” Tommy says, and a warmth fills him, swirling around his veins and pooling in his fingertips. It feels— it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced, not even Wilbur’s hugs could measure up to this. He feels like the sun itself.

Wilbur is smiling at him, relief and grief all mixed into one. “You could have me do anything with my name. Just say the word, I have to obey.”

“I could tell you to leave.”

“You could.”

Tommy glances down at his hands. They look entirely normal, but he can feel the magic humming just underneath his skin. “Why?” he asks.

“Why what?”

“Why did you tell me your name?”

Wilbur takes a step closer to Tommy and reaches his hand out slowly. Tommy keeps himself statue-still and lets Wilbur’s hand rest on the side of his cheek.

“Because I trust you,” Wilbur says simply, “Because we’re brothers, you and I.”

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, dodging the mess of feelings that came with that. “What about the food? The magic? And don’t lie.” He feels the command lock into place.

Wilbur frowns. “The food? I don’t know what you mean.”

“The— the fucking fae food! Techno told me those strawberries were from your home.”

Wilbur laughs, and it’s a bit pitiful. “I stripped the magic off anything I fed you, Tommy. If you had eaten any fae food you would’ve starved to death by now.”

Tommy’s stomach churns. “But, but the fucking magic spell you put on me, what was that about?”

“Tommy, I never used any of my magic on you, I was very careful about that.” Wilbur drops his hand to Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy shrugs him off. “But it felt like someone was ripping my heart out this whole week! And I wanted to listen to you even when I knew it was dangerous! Not to mention it feels like someone’s been watching me whenever I leave the house.”

Wilbur looks at him, one of those gazes where it looks more than surface-deep, and Tommy wonders if he’s seeing something different.

“I think those were just your feelings, Tommy,” Wilbur says.

Oh.

Oh.

“...feelings?” Tommy whispers.

“Heartbreak. Trust. Paranoia. I hear they’re all very human experiences.”

“But not fae.”

Wilbur pauses. “What makes you say that?”

“There was this fucking—” Tommy waves his hand wildly, “website, a guide to the fae or some shit. It said you only cared about yourself.”

Wilbur’s eyes darken. “I’m going to kill whatever miserable human wrote that.”

“So it’s not true?”

Wilbur pulls Tommy into a hug, gentle but firm. “Absolutely not. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. I love my brother and my dad, why can’t I love you?”

And just like that, most of Tommy’s problems wash away with ease. 

He feels a bit like an idiot. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I should have told you everything much sooner.”

Tommy laughs, pressing his face into Wilbur’s shoulder. “I don’t think that was the problem, king.” He can feel Wilbur’s smile in his hair.

“Well, you weren’t supposed to hear me arguing with Techno!”

Tommy stiffens. “Wilbur… what did he mean when he said you wanted to take me to the court?”

“You want the history lesson now? Okay, so there’s this—”

“No, I know about the Seelie shit, I mean why take me?” Tommy asks.

“Oh,” Wilbur starts, “well, the Court sometimes takes in children that aren’t in good families so they can be raised properly.”

“And when you said I qualified…?”

Wilbur pulls Tommy away from his chest so he can look him in the eyes. There’s something serious, something powerful floating deep beneath the brown that’s so often filled with humor. “Your parents are neglectful, Tommy. You deserve to live somewhere better.”

Tommy’s never had his situation so plainly stated that it stuns him. Sure, he knew his parents were the most attentive, but they didn’t hurt him, and they were physically there, but they weren’t present, were they?

“So you were going to make me live with the fae?”

Wilbur shakes his head. “I was going to offer, not force it. And you wouldn’t be living in the Court, the visit is just a formality thing, you’d stay with me.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s voice is small, and he feels a bit like a little kid again.

“Don’t make a decision just yet, you’ve had a long day,” Wilbur says, “Do you wanna come over to my place? Techno’s waiting there for me to come back sobbing, we could totally prank him.”

Tommy laughs, sniffling a bit, and nods.

“Come on, then.” Wilbur offers his arm.

Tommy goes to grab it but pauses. “Wait a second.” He digs his hands into his pockets and dumps all the silverware he’d been carrying onto the street. It clatters loudly, but Tommy doesn’t give a shit anymore.

Wilbur watches the whole spectacle with a half-amused, half-frightened look on his face. Tommy’s glad he left the cast iron skillet at home because that definitely would not have gone over well.

“Prepared, were you?”

Tommy shrugs. “I did genuinely think you might murder me.”

Wilbur pales even further. “Don’t say that.”

“What was I supposed to think? I thought you were gonna snatch me out of my fucking bed or something.”

Wilbur groans. “Why must humans villainize everything they don’t understand?”

“Here’s an idea, stop being as ominous as fuck. You radiate weirdo energy.”

Wilbur slings his arm around Tommy and pulls him close, walking him away from the bus stop and pile of silverware on the ground. “Your social standards change so quickly,” Wilbur complains, “how am I supposed to keep up?”

“Go outside?”

Wilbur dug his hand into Tommy’s side, making him squeal and try to pull away, but Wilbur just held him tighter.

“Stop!” Tommy wheezed, “STOP!”

“Apologize,” Wilbur said, still tickling Tommy.

“You’re a— a fuckin’ bastard!”

“Say you’re sorry!”

Tommy kicked Wilbur’s shin and slipped out and under his arm. “Never surrender!”

Before Wilbur could catch him again, Tommy took off toward Wilbur’s apartment. His feet dug into the pavement, reminiscent of just a week ago, but this time the adrenaline isn’t accompanied by fear, and Tommy can enjoy the breeze blowing against his face.

He almost body slams into Wilbur’s door, only avoiding becoming a Tommy pancake by tripping on the outside stairs. Wilbur can only be a few seconds behind, so Tommy picks himself up and scrambles into Wilbur’s apartment.

“Wilbur?” a voice calls.

“Techno!” Tommy screams, feeding a bit of panic into his voice because why not? If he was gonna be friends with the fae, he may as well start a prank war.

There’s a clatter upstairs as Tommy climbs the stairs. “Tommy?” Techno asks.

He dashes into the kitchen, grabbing Techno by the arms and spinning him so he blocks Tommy’s body from the entryway.

“He’s gonna kill me!” Tommy wheezes.

The door slams and Wilbur is in the kitchen in a blink. His hair is wild, still fluttering as if the breeze followed him into the apartment. Now that Tommy knows what to look for, he can see the glint in Wilbur’s eyes and the pointiness in his features that gives him away as fae.

“Tommy,” Wilbur croons, “be a good boy and let go of Techno, okay?”

“Fuck off,” Tommy bites, keeping his head behind Techno so that he can’t see Tommy’s shit-eating grin.

“Uh, I have no idea what’s happening here,” Techno deadpans, and Tommy loses it.

Wilbur dissolves into giggles alongside Tommy, letting his body drop to the floor without a care. “Techno!” he chokes out between laughs, “you should have seen your face!”

Tommy is too busy figuring out how to breathe to do anything more than lean his forehead on Techno’s shoulder and laugh.

“It went well, then?” Techno asks, and he still sounds genuinely unsure.

“No,” Tommy wheezes, “I hate you both.”

“Oh.”

Wilbur snorts. “He’s joking, Tech.”

“Oh.”

Tommy picks himself off the floor, and Wilbur and he stumble into the living room just to collapse on the couch and dissolve into laughter again.

Tommy hears Techno mutter, “Humans,” and head into Wilbur’s room. 

Wilbur pulls Tommy to lay across his chest, and Tommy follows without complaint. He doesn’t know how he lasted the whole week without anyone touching him, and now that Wilbur’s body warmth is practically surrounding him, he never wants to leave.

Hands drift to his hair, and Tommy closes his eyes, relishing the feeling.

They pause behind his ear.

Tommy tenses. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I… I didn’t know.”

Wilbur runs his hand through the cut strands. “It’s okay. Hair grows.” Tommy can still hear the edge of sadness in his voice.

“Did you mean it?”

“Hmm?”

Tommy closes his eyes. “You said the braid was a family thing, and then you called me your brother.”

The hand stills, resting on Tommy’s skull. “I did.” 

“Okay,” Tommy says, yawning. He’s exhausted from the stress of the week, and Wilbur is the perfect pillow.

“Okay?”

“Mhm,” Tommy mutters, “Now shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”

The hand resumes. “Goodnight, Tommy.”