Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy had gotten used to being alone. Alone at school. Alone at home. Always alone. Except in his head—ironically enough, the one place he wished he would be left alone. Instead, he remained stranded, thoughts swirling around him like a tornado sucking up all the oxygen until he suffocated. 

Tommy couldn’t remember a time that his head hadn’t been full, bustling with so many words and ideas, he never knew what to do with them. It made him loud and talkative. Maybe he was just trying to give a voice to the things in his head. Or maybe it was that he was trying to silence them with his noise—to speak so loud he couldn’t hear them anymore. But it wasn’t until recently that the thoughts became permanently tinged in darkness. 

It had been nearly four years since he had last spoken to his brothers, twice that since he had last seen them. Wilbur and Technoblade were twins, but sometimes it seemed as though they couldn’t be further from identical—actually, they were fraternal, but that’s not the point. 

Tommy’s older brothers were polar opposites, a complete contrast to one another. One emotional and aggressive, the other reserved and passive. Not to mention, they looked nothing alike, save for their brown eyes and pale skin. 

Wilbur had short curly brown hair, wore round silver-rimmed glasses, and was built like a musician: lanky and tall—he stood a head taller than his twin—and fingers calloused from years spent mastering instruments. Technoblade had long straight pink-dyed hair, wore a permanent expression of indifference, and made up for the lack of height in stature: broad shoulders and arms made strong from years of fencing. 

Seeing them, one wouldn’t even consider them related. But growing up with them, Tommy understood what it meant when people said twins had a special kind of bond. Like they could read each other’s minds. Two halves of a whole. 

For the first five years of his life, Tommy’s life had been perfect. His brothers hadn’t yet started to make him feel like a third wheel. His father had spent time with him. And his mother had been alive. Technoblade and Philza hadn’t been home much to begin with—Techno spending weekdays at fencing practice and weekends at tournaments, Phil spending weekdays at work and weekends driving his eldest to said tournaments. 

But they gave Tommy attention whenever they could. Phil would carry him around on his shoulders as the toddler pretended he was a knight riding horseback. Techno would pretend swordfight with him in the backyard, acting wounded and falling to the ground so Tommy could declare himself the champion. His eldest brother had even been the one to name him. 

An eight-year-old Techno, deep into his obsession with Greek mythology, jumped at the opportunity to name his baby brother when their parents offered him the responsibility. For days, he scoured through the picture books of Greek heroes until he found the perfect one. Running to his mother’s bedside where his father rocked the newborn to sleep, he pushed an open page into their faces, pointing at a word: Theseus. Philza had been hesitant, but Kristin thought it fitting, as silly as it might seem. And so, Theseus was named.

Wilbur, on the other hand, had been Tommy’s best friend. He spent every waking moment that he wasn’t at school with the kid. Even his piano lessons with an at-home tutor. Tommy would sneak into the living room and settle into one of the corners, watching his brother and trying to memorize every note and lyric. He had been the one to remind Tommy to brush his teeth every night, to walk him to the bathroom because he was too scared to go alone, to comfort him after nightmares that left him crying. Especially when Kristin had gotten sick. 

The first year had been okay. She only felt a bit more tired than usual and resorted to sleeping longer. It wasn’t until the second year that things got bad. Coughing fits became frequent and the common cold diagnosis was tossed aside as soon as she started coughing up blood. After collapsing and being rushed to the hospital, Kristin had been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. 

She remained bedridden after that and nothing was ever the same. Phil started working longer hours to pay for the medical bills, leaving Wilbur at home to take care of his baby brother. It wasn’t much more than he was used to doing, so Wilbur didn’t mind it. At least, not at first. Besides, Tommy was just as much Wilbur’s best friend as he was Tommy’s. 

“Why am I always stuck watching him ?” 

Tommy was used to the screaming matches between his brother and father; he often tried to ignore them and focus on whatever else he had on hand. Today, it was his math homework: a worksheet on long division. But the way Wilbur had said that word had Tommy stalling his pencil, head tilting ever so slightly to point an ear toward the voices. 

“Wilbur! I know Tommy can be a lot sometimes, but he’s still your brother.”

“Exactly! He’s my brother not my child, so why don’t you just start acting like a father for once!”

Tommy held his breath. Even from where he sat, he could sense the silent seething from his father. 

“I have more important things to be dealing with than your immature whining, Wilbur.”

“More important than your own sons?! You do remember that you have three of them right?”

Tommy bit his lip. He could feel the argument escalating. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of those that ended with the sound of plates shattering.

“Of course I do! Why do you think I work so much?”

Wilbur released a low laugh, dry of any humor. “Why? So that the only time you have left you’ll spend taking Techno to his tournaments. It’s like he’s the only one you care about!”

Phil sighed. “You know that’s not true.”

“How could I? The only time you talk to me is when we fight. Besides, how would you know what I think.”

With that, the argument was over and the sound of retreating stomps up the stairs echoed through the otherwise quiet house. The distant slam of a door made Tommy flinch and he heard a small snap. Looking down, he realized he had been pressing his pencil into his paper so hard it broke. The metallic taste of blood on his tongue reminded him to release his lip. 

That night, Tommy got into bed and pulled the covers over his head with the hope that his makeshift cave would help him pretend his family wasn’t falling apart a little more every day. By the time he fell asleep, his pillow was wet with tears and snot dripped from his nose.

By the time Tommy was ten, both his brothers were out of his life and Tommy learned to be alone. When the time came, Wilbur tried his hand at community college and as soon as he could, transferred to a university in England to study music. Techno, on the other hand, had been admitted to an Ivy League as an English major on a full-ride fencing scholarship straight out of high school and leapt at the opportunity without a second thought. 

By the time Tommy started high school, Wilbur had decided to permanently stay in England to try to make a career out of a band he had started with a few friends and Technoblade had been admitted to some prestigious graduate school on the East Coast to pursue a Masters in Classics. And so, Tommy spent the next three years trying to survive his teenage years alone. Or as alone as he could be with two best friends who did their best to never let him forget his worth.

He had met Tubbo in his freshman year biology class and the two immediately clicked. Tommy had long come to the realization that the humanities were his calling, and even then he struggled to concentrate on anything. Really, he was just hoping to pass the class to avoid summer school. 

Thankfully, after new seating assignments for the following quarter, he was sat next to the short, curly-haired brunette with an affinity for all things STEM. With someone willing to sit and explain things to him in words he understood—to be patient with him in his inability to focus, and body buzzing with energy released through bouncing legs and tapping fingers—it seemed that Tommy would pass the class with higher than a C. 

In return, Tommy helped Tubbo with his reading. The boy had dyslexia, but Tommy didn’t mind doing this for him. After all, Tubbo was the reason he would go on to be a sophomore without any issues on his permanent record.

Ranboo, on the other hand, had been introduced to him by Tubbo their sophomore year. The two had met in a class they shared and the friendship was quick to form. However, Tommy was a bit harder to win over. 

Ranboo stood nearly a head taller than him, but despite their size difference, he remained generally reserved and passive in contrast to Tommy’s outward aggression toward him. Maybe it was because the boy with heterochromia and split-dyed hair could sense that this angry blond boy was hurting and thus, lashing out at everyone around him, but they wouldn’t allow Tommy’s incessant cursing to scare him off. Soon enough, Tommy realized Ranboo wasn’t going anywhere and gave in, allowing the anxious, constantly-apologizing sophomore to make their duo a trio. 

By the time they became juniors, the three boys were inseparable. 

Sometime into the beginning of his junior year, Tommy’s AP U.S. History teacher, Mr. Nook—or Sam as he preferred to be called, although students added a “Mr.” in front of that, too—asked him to stay after class one day. 

With the amount of lunch periods Tommy had spent in this classroom—free snacks and a quiet space away from everyone was hard not to take advantage of—Mr. Sam had quickly become his favorite teacher ever and possibly adult, too. And although Mr. Sam had been the only teacher not to treat Tommy as an annoyance, the anxiety clawed up his throat as he approached the teacher’s desk, making it hard to swallow. Perhaps his hyperactivity had finally become too much.

Mr. Sam seemed to notice Tommy’s nervousness as he glanced up at the boy from the papers in front of him because he immediately reassured, “Don’t worry, Tommy. You’re not in trouble.”

Tommy inwardly sagged with relief, but then why did Mr. Sam ask to speak to him?

As if reading his mind, the teacher responded, “I just wanted to share something with you that I thought you might be interested in.” The young man—only slightly older than his brothers—offered him a flyer with a small smile.

Tommy took it, confusion still written all over his face as he scanned the colored paper. It presented details about a free contemporary dance class on Saturday. Tomorrow. The blond glanced up to meet the eyes of his teacher. The confusion hadn’t cleared his face.

Mr. Sam pursed his lips as if trying not to spook him. “An old friend of mine runs the studio and is hosting this free class as a recruitment of sorts. I figured you could use an outlet for all of that pent up energy you always have.”

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a few seconds to find the right words. When he finally did, he winced at the way his voice lilted with uncertainty. “But…I’m not a dancer?”

Mr. Sam chuckled softy, nodding. “Maybe not, but I think you might surprise yourself.” When Tommy didn’t seem convinced, he added. “Listen, it’s not a commitment, just a single class. If you decide to go, it’s just to try it out and if you like it, you can keep going. If not, you forget about it and no harm done.”

Tommy bit his lip, glancing back down at the flyer. Mr. Sam certainly had a lot more faith in him than he himself did. And the last thing he wanted was to disappoint the person who’s class he actually looked forward to. His grip tightened almost out of determination, wrinkling the edges around his fingers. “...I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied with that answer, Mr. Sam sent him a kind smile and wished him a good rest of his day. History was Tommy’s final class of the day and unlike his two best friends, he didn’t have an extracurricular to attend, so he made his way to the bus stop, staring at the flyer the entire way. It was a mix of muscle memory and luck that got him there without causing an accident or missing the bus and having to wait a whole half hour for the next one.

It was Saturday morning and Tommy stood staring at the pile of clothes he had shoveled out of his closet onto his bed—not that his room wasn’t already covered in discarded clothing from throughout the week. What does one even wear to a dance class? Tommy groaned, throwing his head back. Maybe this was the universe telling him not to go. But then he remembered the promise he made to his two best friends in their call last night.

“I think you should do it,” Tubbo declared without hesitation.

Tommy spluttered. “What?! Really?”

Ranboo hummed in agreement. “Having a consistent extracurricular can really help give you a routine and it creates a better school-life balance.”

Tommy would argue, but he knew the two were only trying to help. He couldn’t blame them, really. They had found their callings in extracurriculars. Tubbo, the STEM nerd he was, had both Science Bowl and Robotics. Ranboo, who had an affinity for talking himself out of anything and a special interest in law—they wanted to be a lawyer, if you can imagine—had Mock Trial. 

Tommy was the odd one out. He wasn’t great at Academics, which you would only know from the hours he spent studying every night or getting tutored by his best friend. And he certainly wasn’t athletic, at least not in the way that all the sports at school required. Once, he tried his hand at art but couldn’t paint for shit and his sculptures all came out looking like blobs. So he gave up trying to find his “thing”. 

Unless…what if this was it? There had to be a reason Mr. Sam told him about this opportunity instead of someone else, right?

“Okay…”

“Really?” Ranboo asked doubtfully.

“Yes. I’ll try it out.”

“Promise?” Tubbo demanded.

Tommy rolled his eyes, but knew better than to go against his stubborn—and scary—best friend. “Yeah, sure. I promise.”

Tommy lowered his head, stubborn determination etched into his face. Digging through the pile, he plucked out a clean pair of white sweatpants and a loose red t-shirt. He just needed something he could move freely in. At last, Tommy stuffed a backpack full of everything he might possibly need and hurried out the door to catch the bus. 

Unfortunately, the studio wasn’t within walking distance, but Tommy didn’t mind buses. He’d mastered them after years of being left to figure out how to get places on his own. He’d stopped asking his father for rides when he realized that waiting at school for an hour to get picked up wasn’t Phil just running late. The man wasn’t home enough to even know where Tommy would go off to, so he didn’t bother mentioning the class in the first place.

A thirty minute bus ride later and the bus dropped him off at the corner of the block. Checking the time, he was thankful to see he still had twenty minutes to spare. Tommy could see the studio a few buildings down, decently sized with a white neon sign spelling out: SMP Studio. 

After a little bit of research, Tommy had found that SMP stood for Success Means Practice. A little on-the-nose for him, but all the reviews and ratings had proven to be good ones, so he figured they must be doing something right. He walked up to the black-painted, one-story building and with a deep breath, pulled the door open. 

The inside of the building was designed to look incredibly modern and professional. Black-and-white striped wallpaper met black-tiled floors, silver chairs lined one wall and a white desk stood facing him. Behind the desk, a young man not quite the age of his brothers clicked away at some monitors. He had jet black hair and the build of an athlete. Gold jewelry adorned his neck and fingers.

Hesitantly, Tommy approached the desk, tightly gripping the flyer in hand. The man noticed him, meeting his eyes. With an easy smile, he asked, “Can I help you with something?”

“Hi, uh, yeah,” Tommy said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as the other raised up the flyer to present to the man. “I’m here about the free contemporary class at noon?”

The man’s eyes widened in recognition and he nodded. “Of course! I’m guessing this is your first time here?”

Tommy shrunk at the comment, biting his lip nervously. “How’d you know?”

The man chuckled. “You don’t have to check in for the free classes, you can just walk right in.”

Tommy’s mouth shaped into an inaudible “Oh.”

“I can show you the way if you want? We have a bunch of different rooms and the hallways can get confusing,” he offered, raising his eyebrows.

The teen nodded, sending the man a shy smile of gratitude.

“I’m Foolish, by the way,” he said, clicking out of some tabs and standing up. “I work here part-time and teach the occasional hip hop class, if you’re ever interested.” The man moved toward a door behind him, nodding for Tommy to follow.

The blond hurried to catch up, replying, “I’m Tommy. I’ve never really taken a dance class before, so I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here.”

Foolish nodded in understanding. “I grew up surrounded by this stuff, so it’s all pretty normal to me, but I get that it can be nerve-wracking. Just try to remember that this is a judgment-free zone and everyone is only ever gonna try to lift you up.”

Tommy chewed on his lip, nodding along. He sure hoped so because he was certain he was about to embarrass himself to no end. He tried to pay attention to the route they were taking. Straight down the hall, take a left, then a right, and the room is on your right. Tommy noticed that some rooms were occupied with already-started classes. Two rooms in particular caught his attention. 

The first was in the main hallway. A clean room with light wooden floors and white-painted walls. A full-length mirror lined the entirety of one wall while the opposite wall had a wooden bar running along the remaining three walls. Dancers in tights, leotards and ballet shoes stood in a line on one side of the room before leaping across to the other with such precision it seemed like they were clones. 

The second was in the following hallway. It had a more rustic feel to it with the walls made entirely of brick except for the one that was just a mirror. The floor was the same light wood as the first room, but the lighting was more dim. Dancers in baggy clothes and hair down scattered the room, bouncing on their toes before joining into a collective dance. They weren’t in perfect sync but their quality of movement made up for it. 

Soon enough, they arrived in front of the final room and Foolish gestured to the door. “This is it. They’re probably stretching on their own, but I’m sure there’ll be a class warmup. Have fun, kid.”

Tommy thanked him and, with a small wave, Foolish was on his way. For the second time today, Tommy took a deep breath and pulled open the door. 

Upon first glance, there was a lot to take in. The floors were the same light wood, but the three walls outside of the mirror were painted a deep red. The lighting was similar to the brick room, dim and casting shadows across the many bodies scattered along the edges of the room. 

Dancers varied in age from early teens to mid-to-late twenties. Their attire consisted of mostly loose clothing, leggings and sports bras so Tommy didn’t stand out too much. Just as Foolish had said, most were keeping to themselves, stretching quietly. Those that seemed to know each other were quietly chatting as they sat in the splits. He was nowhere near as flexible as most of the people here. 

Suddenly, he felt extremely out of place. Tommy took a shaky breath as he glanced around the room for an available spot to set down his stuff. 

Along the closest wall, he caught an empty space beside a young woman with long dark hair slipped into two French braids and bright blue eyes. She wore black leggings and a loose, white long-sleeved crop top with roses embroidered up the sleeves. 

Swallowing his nerves, Tommy walked over and set down his backpack. Looking around, he noticed that half the room wore socks while the remaining half were barefoot. He slipped off his ratty white converse covered in sharpie scribbles and doodles by Tubbo and Ranboo. 

If he looked hard enough, Tommy could still make out the outline of a penis on his right toe tip put there by his short, surprisingly vulgar best friend. As soon as he saw what was happening, he had forced Tubbo to scribble over it with new shapes until the penis wasn’t noticeable anymore. 

The woman looked over at him from where she had been settling down and smiled. It was the kind of wide, toothy smile Tommy wasn’t used to receiving. “Hi! I’m Hannah,” she said.

“Hello, I’m Tommy.” He sent her a shy smile in return.

“This must be your first time taking a class here, huh?”

Tommy’s eyes widened, brows flying up his forehead. “How does everyone know that? Is it written on my forehead?” He groaned, facepalming.

Hannah just chuckled softly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “When you’ve been coming here for years, it’s not hard to tell the newbies apart from the veterans.”

Tommy looked up at her, smiling nervously. “Well, I’m definitely a newbie. This is my first dance class ever .”

This time she widened her eyes in shock, but within seconds she was giving him a quick run-down of what to expect and any pointers she could think of. A few minutes later, a woman strode into the room with a warm smile and an excited twinkle in her eyes. Her long curly hair was split-dyed brown and white and pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore black biker shorts and a red sports bra. 

“Hello, everyone! For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Puffy! I’m excited to get started today, but I’ve got to connect to the speaker first. While I do that, please find a spot on the floor.” 

She turned to the large speaker at the front of the room and fiddled with it and her phone for a moment as the dancers organized themselves into windows—Hannah had explained it as standing in horizontal lines like checkers so you were in the window between the two people in the line in front of you. Tommy had ended up in the middle of the room beside Hannah. Within a few minutes, the speaker made the little dinging sound that meant it had been connected.

Puffy turned around and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Alright, class. We’ll spend thirty minutes on warming up and another thirty minutes on conditioning and across the floors. The remaining hour of the class will be focused on learning and performing a short combo. Sound good?”

She was met with a chorus of “yes”’s and satisfied, she pressed play on her phone and began leading the warmup. The music was mostly pop with solid beats easy to count to and the occasional top hit would excite some of the dancers. 

Tommy easily slipped into the rhythm of the songs, counting along in his head as he followed along the basic stretches. That had always come easy to him, whether he was listening to music in his headphones or watching his brother play piano and guitar. 

By the end of the warmup, Tommy felt the loosest he can remember feeling and realized just how much tension his body had been harboring. The teen had also discovered that he wasn’t nearly as inflexible as he presumed to be—he couldn’t quite do the splits yet, but there wasn’t much resistance in the basic stretches like touching his toes or clasping his fingers behind his back. But he met his match during conditioning. 

It took Tommy all of five minutes to understand he lacked strength. By the end of the session, his arms trembled under his weight and he could barely stand. But no one seemed to mind. In fact, the entire workout was full of encouragement and shouts of “You got this!” and “Almost there!”. Tommy had never been surrounded by such sheer positivity and support. 

Across the floors weren’t any easier. In fact, all the different steps and arm placements to keep track of made his head spin. Thankfully, Hannah helped explain each move before it was his turn without hesitation and Tommy may have successfully avoided making a fool of himself in front of a room full of experienced dancers. Once he got the technique down, the rest seemed to come to him naturally and he was floating across the floor before he knew it—although, he could definitely use a lesson in adding some grace to his movements. 

After the first hour mark, Puffy gifted them a water break as she prepared to teach the combo. Even as he dragged his tired body to his water bottle, Tommy couldn’t stop smiling. He was having so much fun . 

“It’s the best feeling once you get the hang of it and your body moves with the music,” Hannah said after a few gulps from her own bottle. A bright smile creased her lips as she dabbed away the sweat lining her forehead and tried to catch her breath. 

Tommy returned the smile, no longer timid and unsure, but wide and full of joy. “It’s fuckin’ unreal, man.”

Hannah laughed at his cursing and raised her bottle toward him. “I’ll cheers to that.”

Tommy clinked his aluminum bottle against hers, still giddy with adrenaline. Soon enough, Puffy was calling everyone back to the floor and Hannah stood, holding her hand out to Tommy. He took it and she pulled him up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Now the real fun starts.”

“Before I get into teaching, I want to show you guys the combo. I think it helps give you a better understanding of the movements and the meaning behind them,” she said, turning away. “Or maybe I just want to show off a little for you guys,” she added over her shoulder with a wink. 

The class buzzed with laughter before settling down. Tommy waited in anticipation. He had seen dance performances before, but only in passing and he never really cared enough to stop and actually see . She pressed play and the song started from somewhere in the middle. After a few seconds, Tommy recognized it, but he couldn’t name it. Puffy settled into a pose, waiting for her cue. He noted the lyrics she started on.

They say, “You’re a little much for me. Her body shifted out of the pose, creating shapes with each word.

You’re a liability. You’re a little much for me. She flowed from one move to the next, her body as fluid as water.

So they pull back, make other plans. I understand… Puffy sped up to match the rise in tempo. 

I’m a liability. Get you wild, make you leave. With the lyrics, her dancing grew powerful and aggressive. Waves in an ocean.

I’m a little much for e-a-na-na-na-na, everyone. And suddenly, she slowed and her body grew smaller like a river flowing into a creek. Her movement faded as the song came to an end, but it was like the whole room was holding their breath. It wasn’t until she stepped out of it to pause the song before the last two lines of lyrics could be heard that the breath was released in the form of clapter and cheering.

Tommy had to remind himself to breathe, too. Maybe it was the way her movements captured the emotions of the lyrics so perfectly. Or maybe it was that the lyrics were so familiar to him. Words he had heard over and over again. Words that didn’t hurt less no matter how many times they were said. That was the moment Tommy understood what it meant to truly move someone. That was the moment Tommy fell in love with dance.

Chapter Text

Summer had never felt so long. Two weeks in and Tommy was ready to go back to school. It wasn’t that he particularly liked high school—in fact, these were probably the hardest years of his life. But he missed seeing his best friends every day and he’d rather spend as little time as possible in this hauntingly empty house. 

That being said, the teen tried his absolute hardest to spend every possible minute at the studio. Over the past six months, he had devoted all of his free time to taking classes and getting into shape at home. Trying out a couple different styles—he even persuaded (annoyed) Tubbo into taking a beginner’s ballroom class with him for the hell of it—helped him discover he preferred three in particular: contemporary, ballet, and hip hop (in that order). 

Hip hop had started out as a way to strengthen his body control and maybe let out some pent-up anger, but Tommy soon realized it was actually pretty fun and he wasn’t all that bad at it. Ballet had mostly been a way for him to push his limits and become more disciplined. Turns out Tommy thrived on the challenge of combining strict technique with elegance. 

And contemporary…well, it crawled its way into his heart and made a home there from the first moment he watched Puffy perform the combo that started it all. No other style had succeeded in even coming close to his love for it. The freedom it allowed and the powerful emotional connection were unmatched.

Unfortunately, it was Sunday and the studio was closed on Sundays. That meant Tommy was stuck at home, alone except for the thoughts crowding his head that he so desperately tried to avoid. 

It was days like this—when he’d lie in bed all day so he wouldn’t have to walk past empty bedrooms and unused family rooms, when he’d go the whole day eating nothing because no one had ever taught him how to cook, when he’d ignore the thread of texts practically threatening him for any sign of life, when he’d curl up on his bathroom floor pulling out hair if only to make it all go quiet—that Tommy dreaded the most. And maybe sometimes he would allow himself to wonder if facing it was worth it, if it wouldn’t just be so much easier to stop feeling at all. 

It’s only a matter of time before Tubbo and Ranboo leave you, too.

Tommy swallowed the lump before it could lodge itself in his throat, blinking away the burning behind his eyes. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes traced shapes between the water stains and notches of chipped paint he’d memorized as if he didn’t already know it wouldn’t make the voice in his head go away.

No one stays because you’re not worth staying for.

Tommy bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. He couldn’t remember when he’d realized pain was the only thing that worked.

Everyone else is gone. Now it’s your turn.

Tommy dug his nails into his palm, hard enough to leave crescent shapes where bone met skin. 

Silence. 

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. But with the rush of air out of his lungs and a deep breath in, he found that the darkness at the edges of his vision faded away. He almost couldn’t bring himself to care.

Tommy groaned, raising his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could rub away the thoughts behind them. Tommy scooted toward the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth as he rose to his feet. Stumbling to the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

His once bright blue eyes had long dulled to a watery grey, emphasized by the bags underneath them. Despite his acquired muscle since taking up a sport, sunken cheeks and prominent ribs exposed his poor eating habits—or lack of any. Tommy didn’t think too much on it as he pulled open the door, socked-feet padding down the stairs toward the kitchen for a glass of water. 

Soon enough he was sipping on the cool liquid, relishing how it glided down his throat and refreshed him from the inside out. He nearly choked when the tired, deep voice of his father startled him from the living room. When had he gotten home?

“Tuesday? What time?” He asked whoever was on the other side of the phone.

Tommy figured it was work-related and set the now-empty glass down before moving toward the staircase.

“Techno, too?”

Tommy froze. Slowly, he turned and slinked silently to the living room.

“And you’re staying the whole summer?”

Tommy’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead as his eyes widened. His brothers were coming home for the summer?

“Yeah, I’ll bring Tommy. Alright, see you then, Wil.”

The teen sputtered to himself as Phil ended the call and pocketed his phone. As if he could sense Tommy’s panic, he glanced up and made eye contact with the boy. He flattened his lips into a line and Tommy took it as a sign to move closer. Phil adjusted his face into a reassuring smile—at least, Tommy thought that was what he was doing.

“Hey there, mate. Wilbur and Techno are flying in tomorrow night, so we’ve got to pick them up from the airport Tuesday morning.”

Tommy wanted to run to his room and pretend he hadn’t heard any of that. He wanted to tell his father he couldn’t go, but that was a lie. He didn’t have class until the evening on Tuesdays. Besides, he couldn’t use that as an excuse. His father knew nothing of his new lifestyle and he planned to keep it that way. 

So instead, Tommy bit his lip and nodded. Without another word, the two parted ways and Tommy was left to wallow in his misery in the comfort of his bed. 

And wallow he did. 

Before he knew it, pinks and oranges flooded the sky as night trickled into dawn. It took a short glance at the clock on his nightstand, at the blinking green numbers, for Tommy to force himself into a fitful sleep. He had long since outgrown crying himself to sleep. Or maybe he had simply run out of tears to shed. No matter the case, the teen knew he wouldn’t survive the day without, at the least, a nap.

For the first time all summer, Tommy wished time would slow down. Monday had come around far too quickly for his liking considering he’d gotten a measly two and a half hours of sleep. Mondays meant early mornings—Tommy thought it cruel and unusual punishment—because Mondays were ballet. Well, sort of. 

The studio held all weekday dancing classes in the evenings because most of the attendees were full- or part-time students, junior high through grad school. However, summer allowed for a variety of extra classes, general and style-specific alike. One such class being Technique. 

Every extra class was open to all members, but Technique was specifically geared towards the technical dancers i.e. contemporary, ballet and jazz. This lovely class—as much as Tommy complained, he did truly love it—was held twice a week: Monday and Wednesday mornings, the former focusing on ballet technique specifically and the latter on jazz technique. Ballet itself was Monday evenings, hence, the full day of ballet. 

Unfortunately for Tommy, ballet held the number one spot for most physically demanding of his three danced styles. Today was gonna suck.

Despite almost missing the bus, Tommy managed to be one of the first dancers to enter the ballet room and begin warming up. Although it was common practice at the studio for classes to partake in class warmups, it never hurt to stretch out particularly sore or injury-prone muscles. 

Across the room, Tommy recognized a young man as Dream. Same age as his brothers if he had to guess. He wore a skin-tight green tee tucked into black tights. His normally fluffy golden hair was gelled out of his face, allowing clear sight of his face as he stretched his toes. Intelligent green eyes scanned the room, catching Tommy’s and holding them. 

As unreadable as ever, the teen shifted his gaze and instead focused on getting his own feet warmed up. His left ankle had been giving him problems recently. If he wasn’t careful, Tommy could end up with a sprain—something he definitely could not afford. At best, it would cost him a week of full-out practice. 

Almost subconsciously, he massaged his thumb into the spot holding pain with one hand while he grabbed his pointe shoes out of his backpack with the other. They were a sorry sight, but one of Tommy’s prized possessions. 

After weeks of dancing in a ratty, too-big pair he found at a local thrift store, he had saved up enough money to get himself a brand new, perfectly-fitted pair from a proper dancewear store. Months of use had worn them down and broken them in, but they did the job so Tommy couldn’t ask for anything more. 

Tommy glanced up to find Dream still watching him. He squirmed under the gaze of the older. They had spoken on several occasions, but Tommy barely knew the man and wouldn’t call them friends. To be completely honest, Dream intimidated the shit out of him. 

His two styles, hip hop and ballet, just so happened to overlap with Tommy, meaning they often saw one another in classes and around the studio. That being said, Tommy had seen Dream dance and it felt like air coming to life. Whether it be a hip hop flip or ballet leap, the man moved with the weight of a feather, lighter on his toes than any cat Tommy had ever seen. And he could only ever hope to be as good of a dancer one day. 

Besides, Dream generally kept to himself—the only meaningful interactions he seemed to have were with Puffy and Foolish (her son, if you can believe it). And Tommy respected that; he wasn’t a hypocrite, after all. 

Other than the two aforementioned, Tommy really only had three friends at the studio: Hannah, Niki and Jack. After that free class, Hannah had continued to show him the ropes anytime their paths crossed in classes or studio time. 

Niki and Jack, on the other hand, had been a completely different story. Ballroom partners since childhood, the two were good enough to help out at the beginner’s ballroom class he and Tubbo had spontaneously taken. 

The four immediately clicked and became fast friends, occasionally going out to get lunch together—eventually Ranboo started tagging along. Tommy only really saw Jack at those since he stuck to ballroom and jazz. Niki, however, was quite the ballerina herself so they often ran into each other. 

The click of the door caught Tommy’s attention. Niki strode into the ballet room, dressed in her signature pastel pink leotard and tights, pointe shoes in hand and blonde hair pulled up into a bun displaying the light pink ends. When she met Tommy’s eyes across the room, a kind smile settled on her lips. She waved, moving toward him until she set her things down in the space beside him.

“Hey, Niki.”

“Hello, Tommy,” she said, smiling kindly at him. “How’s your morning been?”

“Absolutely dreadful, as a matter of fact,” he deadpanned.

Niki chuckled, but he noticed the concern in her eyes. “Not a morning person?”

“Not even close.”

She nodded, settling into a sitting stretch. After a few moments of silence, Tommy considered bringing up the reason he’d had such a hard morning, but he quickly pushed away the thought. 

He avoided discussing his family if he could help it and all of his friends knew it. Only Tubbo and Ranboo knew any details and even then it was whatever they could gather through jokes and going over to his house. Besides, Niki had no reason to care about his home life. So, he started up some more small talk to kill the time until their instructor arrived to start the class. 

Mr. Halo, or Bad, was an interesting man, for sure. Outside of the studio, Tommy had never met a kinder soul—except for he had a strict qualm against cursing and would constantly shout “Language!” at Tommy. 

In the studio, however, he could be quite hellish. Even more so when his fiance, Skeppy, would pop by a class to say hello or drop off a coffee. Disruptions were a big no-no, but Skeppy loved testing his patience. 

When Bad walked into the room, he appeared to be in a good mood. Must be nice, Tommy thought. He wore his usual all-black attire, rummaging through his bag with glasses riding low on his nose. A few minutes later, he was walking over to the front of the room, nudging his glasses back up his nose. 

“Hello, everyone! I’m thrilled you’ve decided to join my class this morning and I promise I’ll make it a worthwhile experience. Now, if everyone would please find a spot on the floor, we’ll do a quick stretch before moving to the barre.”

Twenty minutes later, the dancers lined up along the wall, waiting in first position for their next instruction. At the end of the hour, Bad released them for a short water break before asking the class to organize themselves into two lines at one side of the room to begin across the floors. 

This had always been Tommy’s favorite part of technique classes. He naturally kept a good rhythm and, to be completely honest, found it really fuckin’ fun. Niki and Dream ended up as the two line leaders with Tommy right behind Dream. 

After describing the movements and demonstrating them once, Bad motioned for them to begin and clapped them in. Tommy watched the two dancers before him, both beautiful in their own ways. While Niki exemplified grace, Dream had a particular strength and control to him that made it difficult to tear your eyes away. 

Soon enough, Bad clapped in the next two and Tommy was off. As he flowed from one move to the next, he couldn’t help but notice Dream’s gaze on him. It felt almost as if he was being judged, but no expression cracked through the stoic mask the older blond kept on to give Tommy any idea how he’d scored. 

Half an hour later, Bad dismissed them for a water break and to put on their arm and leg weights. This was the part of technique classes Tommy dreaded the most. Just because he had spent months working to get into shape and develop the necessary muscles for his sport, didn’t mean he enjoyed conditioning. 

After tightening each two pound weight in place, he returned to his original spot at the barre and waited for further instruction. The next thirty minutes of class flew by surprisingly quickly, but Tommy couldn’t be happier to remove the weights and relish the lightness of his limbs. 

The remaining hour of class was definitely easier on him. Thirty minutes spent working on turns—Tommy had never been the best at leaps, but he excelled at turning—and thirty minutes of flexibility i.e. stretching oversplits and the back, and practicing tricks/skills. By the end of the class, Tommy definitely needed the couple hours to rejuvenate before his evening ballet class. 

It was only noon, though, and Tommy had five hours to kill. Thankfully, he knew the perfect place. On the outside, Kinoko’s didn’t seem like much. Located behind the studio, the quaint bookstore-cafe remained hidden from anyone who didn’t seek it out or know someone that had been before. That meant it was never too crowded. 

The interior, however, felt like stepping into a different dimension. Entirely made of Mahogany wood, it oozed an atmosphere of comfort. The warm-toned fairylights and uncovered light bulbs that ran across the ceiling and walls only added to its cozy feel. Bookshelves lined the walls, organized alphabetically by genre and author. Round wooden tables scattered the open floor space while a set of plush green couches sat in a corner designated for reading. A countertop with high chairs lined the glass window beside the front door. The cafe itself could be found at the back with a blackboard menu covering the wall behind the counter. An assortment of pastries filled glass shelves on one side of the counter. 

Niki had been the one to introduce Tommy to Kinoko’s. She owned the bakery that supplied the cafe’s pastries and was longtime friends with the cafe’s owner, Karl. When they had nowhere in particular to go for lunch, Kinoko’s held the default choice. The breakfast sandwiches were surprisingly filling. 

Tommy strolled through the black-painted door, paying no attention to the jingling noise it produced upon opening. He easily spotted Karl’s multicolored hoodie behind the counter as he moved about making drinks. The blond, still gripping the straps of his red backpack, made a bee-line towards the owner. As soon as he stepped into Karl’s line of sight, the thin man spun around to greet him. 

A pair of steampunk goggles sat in his fluffy brown hair. His gray eyes twinkled with their usual playfulness and an animated smile split his face. Karl was always buzzing with excited energy and his forgetfulness shone through casual conversation. When Tommy had first met the man, he had thought him slightly manic. After months of knowing him, Tommy still hadn’t changed his mind about that. But Karl was perfectly harmless and nothing less than obstinately friendly. 

“Hiya, Tommy! How’re Boo ‘n Bo?”

“Hi, Karl. They’re good. Ranboo just got a job at a gelato shop and Tubbo has this internship at a tech company.”

“Whoa, that’s so awesome! The usual?”

“Yes, please.”

The older grinned, shooting him a quick thumbs up before starting on his drink. Despite his forgetful tendencies, Karl had a knack for remembering orders after the first time making them (and he was damn good at making them, too). Being known for its specialty drinks, Tommy had spent a week trying them all until he found his favorite. The Radiant Rosé—sweet iced coffee topped with rose cream—had quickly become his comfort drink and he couldn’t leave Kinoko’s without ordering one. 

Within minutes, Karl was handing Tommy his drink and a biodegradable straw. Tommy thanked him before walking over to sit in a high chair beside the window. The couches were a “No Food or Drink” zone—he wouldn’t dare risk ruining a book by reading with fingers wet from condensation, anyway. Besides, he enjoyed watching the oblivious outside world going through their day (and he tried to leave the round tables for groups). 

Once he sipped the last of his drink, Tommy uncapped it and made work of the ice. Tubbo had once suggested his ice-chewing habit might stem from an iron deficiency to which Ranboo had countered with the possibility of an oral fixation—a common symptom for people with ADHD. Tommy was pretty sure he wasn’t anemic, so it must’ve been the latter. Not that he would ever tell Ranboo they were right.

Soon enough, the ice had disappeared and Tommy stood to throw his cup away before heading towards the Mythology section. He skipped over the other pantheons, eyes immediately catching the various collections of Greek myths. At this point, Tommy had read each of them at least once—except for the single collection on one particular hero he couldn’t bring himself to touch. Sighing, Tommy resigned to reread the epic of Jason and the Argonauts. 

Removing the book from its place on the shelf, Tommy walked over to the couches, plopping down at the edge of one and leaning against the arm of it. The heroes had just arrived at Lemnos when Tommy felt something soft brush against his legs. Glancing down, he met bright yellow eyes. Smiling, the blond patted the spot on the couch beside him and after a soft thud, he was running one hand over the fluffy coat of a gray cat. 

“Hi, Grey. How are you today?” Tommy asked the cat in a soft voice. Grey simply purred in response, resting its head on his thigh. “I missed you, too,” Tommy chuckled.

Tommy had always thought himself a dog person, but there was something about the quiet companionship of a cat that had warmth blossoming in his chest. Grey was one of Karl’s two cats that he allowed to roam around Kinoko’s while he worked. The other had golden fur and was named Buffy. Both cats were surprisingly sociable and incredibly well-behaved, so it had never been a problem. Tommy spent the next few hours perfectly content on a couch in Kinoko’s. 

At four thirty, he begrudgingly closed the book. Grey stirred from its slumber, yawning. With a short glance at Tommy and a soft meow, the cat hopped to the floor and padded away. After returning the book to its home on the shelf, Tommy bid Karl goodbye and exited Kinoko’s. 

By four fourty, he had settled down in the ballet room and began stretching. Although Tommy normally looked forward to evening classes because he got to learn a combo, he was feeling particularly drained today. Maybe it was because of what awaited him in the morning. Maybe it was because he had barely gotten a lick of sleep last night. Or maybe it was because he had forgotten to eat again. Whoops.

Halfway through practice, the combination of low energy, a cramping stomach, and a slowly worsening headache had Tommy asking to get some air. Bad must’ve noticed his semi-ill state because he nodded, telling Tommy to let him know if he needed anything. Acknowledging him with a weak smile, Tommy stumbled out the door and toward the bathroom. If he hadn’t been feeling like absolute shit, the teen moight’ve noticed the green-clad blond eyeing his exit carefully with a small frown.

Once he stood before a sink, Tommy ran his hands under cold water for a moment before splashing his face. The cooling liquid helped bring his energy back up a bit, but did nothing for his stomach or head pains. The blond observed himself through the mirror, watching droplets roll down his tired, pale face. Dull grey eyes were a familiar sight yet Tommy struggled to recognize himself. When was the last time he had looked in a mirror and knew the boy that stared back?

Wiping the wetness away with his shirt, Tommy dragged himself out the bathroom, down the hall, and out the front door. He was glad to see that Foolish had momentarily left the front desk unattended. He would rather not explain himself to someone who had better things to do than unnecessarily worry about some kid he’d met less than a year ago.

Tommy settled down on the curb, not caring that all of his belongings were still inside the studio, including his phone. He closed his eyes, resting his head on his knees as he tried to massage away the migraine. The summer air, still a slave to the unset sun, only made him feel worse. 

How do you expect to handle your brothers tomorrow if you can’t even handle yourself.

Tommy squeezed his eyes tightly shut, the pulsing in his head growing.

You’re weak. Grow up, Theseus.

His breath caught in his throat, fingers beginning to tremble as his heartbeat grew frantic. The clawing hunger in his stomach had long been replaced by swirling nausea.

Stop acting like such an annoying brat. 

Tommy’s fingers clutched at his hair, pulling. His breaths grew quicker and shallower. He was gasping.

Faraway, someone called, “Tommy?”

Tommy couldn’t move. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t breathe .

“Hey, hey, breathe with me. In and out. In and out.” Somehow, Tommy heard the gentle voice over the buzzing in his head. He inhaled and exhaled with it. “That’s it. In and out. You’re gonna be okay, kid.”

Tommy continued to breathe with the person beside him. Only when his lungs worked steadily and his heartrate returned to normal did he dare open his eyes. Crouched in front of him in the quiet street was Dream.

The older blond watched him, his critical gaze unflinching. Concern etched itself in the downward tilt of his lips and slight crease between his brows. 

Tommy licked his dry lips, swallowing. “I, um…why…what- what are you doing here?”

Dream dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. It took Tommy a moment to realize Dream was embarrassed. 

“Class is almost over. I asked to leave early.” The man raised his head to look at Tommy again. It took another moment for Dream’s words to process. 

Oh. Oh . Dream had left to check on him. Tommy’s face flushed with embarrassment and… something else. Something unfamiliar. Something warm.

“Um, thanks, big man, but you didn’t need to do that.” Tommy bit his lip, his fingers subconsciously moving to click his fingernails against each other.

“I know.” There was no hesitation in Dream’s voice when he said it. No indignation or pity either. Only a firm confidence. It made Tommy squirm.

After a beat of awkward silence, Dream stretched his right hand forward, gripping Tommy’s red backpack and converse in it. Tommy blinked at him.

“I didn’t think you were gonna come back for the end of class, so I grabbed your stuff for you.”

Tommy nodded, silently taking his things from Dream. “Thanks,” he muttered. Dream nodded as Tommy switched out his pointe shoes for converse.

“You got somewhere to be tonight?” 

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, but shook his head nonetheless.

“How do you feel about In-N-Out?” Tommy raised his eyebrows, blinking at Dream.

Five minutes later, Tommy found himself in the passenger seat of Dream’s car on the way to the closest drive-through of the burger chain. Soft music played from the speakers, easing his headache and allowing him to block out the noise in his head as he stared out the window. The setting sun spilled pinks and oranges across the darkening sky. Nature could be so beautiful.

Fifteen minutes later, they were in the parking lot of In-N-Out, each a burger down and working on their fries. 

“C’mon now, you’re telling me you’ve never tried it?” Dream sighed, false disappointment coating his expression.

“No! It’s weird,” Tommy grumbled.

Dream simply tsked, taking one of his fries and dipping it into his chocolate milkshake before popping it into his mouth.

Tommy watched in slight horror.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, kid,” Dream said pointedly.

Tommy rolled his eyes, huffing. Hesitantly, he grabbed a fry, dipping it into his vanilla shake and taking a bite. He grimaced, ready to hate it, but holy shit, this was the best thing he had ever tasted.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he chewed. “What the fuck, that’s actually good.”

Dream grinned triumphantly. “See, I told you!”

The younger rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. The voice in his head tried to make itself apparent, but Tommy pushed it to the back of his mind, focusing instead on how good he felt right now. The entire car ride, Dream hadn’t once asked for an explanation or tried to get him to talk. Their conversations and quips came naturally, creating an easy atmosphere with space for comfortable silence. For the first time in a long time, Tommy felt like a kid again.

That night, he fell asleep with a smile on his face and a mostly quiet head.

Chapter Text

The cheerful tune of “Able Sisters” stirred Tommy from his peaceful slumber. With a groan, he dismissed his alarm, blinking bleary eyes open. The sky was barely starting to lighten outside his window as the sun rose. His brothers weren’t even home yet and they were already making his life hell. 

Tommy pushed back the covers, sitting up so his feet rested on cold wood. He shuffled into the bathroom across the hall, half-asleep and shivering. After lazily brushing his teeth and splashing cold water over his face—it only somewhat helped wake him up—he trodded back into his bedroom, throwing on black sweatpants and pulling a pale blue hoodie over his head. He slipped into his ratty white converse, lacing them mechanically. A quick glance at his phone told him it was five twenty, meaning he had ten minutes to eat breakfast and get in the car.

The blond descended the stairs, feet barely making any noise. Years of hiding from arguments and sneaking to the kitchen while his father slept had trained him to move without being noticed.

Philza stood by the kitchen island, nursing a cup of coffee as he looked over some files.

Working. Always working. 

The man didn’t even look up as Tommy silently maneouvered around him to make himself a bowl of cereal. To be completely honest, he lacked an appetite entirely this early, but the airport was an hour’s drive each way in traffic and he didn’t want to deal with a grumbling stomach during. Besides, breakfast held the title of Tommy’s favorite meal and the only one he rarely missed. 

Minutes later, the teen was setting his bowl in the sink and the man followed suit with his newly emptied mug. After a  few muttered exchanges, the pair settled into Philza’s car and set off for the airport. Tommy slipped his earphones into his ears and shuffled his chill playlist, turning up the sound before leaning against the window and closing his eyes. 

Tommy woke up to angry honking as impatient cars rushed to pull up among the frenzy of patrons removing suitcases from open trunks. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, rubbing them when that didn’t work and pulled the headphones from his ears. Philza slipped between two cars, hastily putting the car in park.

“Help me with their bags, mate.”

He was out the door before the teen could respond. Once the words processed, he unbuckled his belt and slipped out of the passenger seat with practiced grace. Only when he stood on the concrete did Tommy actually take in his surroundings. Stood before him, hands resting on the handles of their suitcases, were his brothers. 

At first glance, they appeared pretty much the same as Tommy remembered the twins. After a minute or so of observing them, he noted the signs of aging. Skin stretched tighter over cheekbones, stubble dusting jaws and neck, eyes tired and full of knowledge. Where Wilbur greeted him with a smile, Techno met him with a straight face and a nod. Tommy returned neither. The twins faces both fell into small frowns.

Philza hurried to grab two of their bags and handed them off to Tommy. The young blond tossed them into the open trunk without much of a struggle. His months of work hadn’t been for nothing. 

“Alright, looks like we’ll need to use the front seat for the other two bags. Think you boys can squeeze into the back?”

The twins hummed in confirmation. Phil didn’t wait for Tommy’s response before he tossed the remaining luggage onto the passenger seat. Before he knew it, the teen had slipped into the middle seat with his older brothers on either side of him. No one said anything as Phil maneouvered from the drop-off/pick-up area back onto the streets. 

As soon as the chaotic airport shrunk in the rearview, their father was asking them how their flights had been. Both twins expressed average experiences of small delays and lack of proper sleep. Tommy had taken that opportunity to slip his earphones in again, shrinking in on himself so as to not brush shoulders with Wilbur and Technoblade. He could feel their gazes on him, as if they wanted to say something. When they didn’t, he imagined it was because they didn’t know where to start. What do you say to a brother you haven’t spoken to in years?

Tommy wasn’t one to complain, though. It wasn’t like he knew any better than they did. Tommy shut his eyes, allowing the songs to swallow him until all he could do was choreograph dances in his head. He didn’t notice the flash of concern exchanged between twins before they closed their own eyes, succumbing to the jet lag.

When the car pulled into the driveway, Tommy was itching to get out. Unfortunately, his still-sleeping estranged brothers trapped him on either side. Tommy bit his lip, glancing cautiously between the two. 

Which bear to poke with a stick?

Before he could make his decision, Phil announced, “Boys, we’re home.”

The twins stirred, slowly gathering their bearings as Tommy waited with his head hung low. He stared at his fidgeting hands blankly, trying not to cringe at the intense shaking of his leg. He needed to get out. He needed to be outside and not trapped in a car with three people he no longer knew how to talk to. He needed to breathe .

When neither had yet made a move to exit the car and he could feel his heartrate pick up, Tommy muttered, “Can you get out, already?” He wasn’t sure if he meant for it to come out that harsh. 

Ironic choice of first words.

Both brothers turned to him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the strange look on Wilbur’s face and the scrutinizing squint in Techno’s eyes. For a horrifying moment, he thought they might ask him to repeat himself. Then, without a word, Techno opened his door and slipped out, allowing Tommy to scramble after him. No surprise there. His pink-haired brother had always been the more observant of the twins and must’ve sensed Tommy’s anxiety.

Phil joined them and soon, it was just Wilbur left in the car with that weird look still on his face. Tommy glanced down, returning his attention to his fingers. 

“Wil, you coming, mate?”

The brunet startled out of his trance, hurrying to unbuckle and exit the car. 

Phil moved around Tommy and Techno to get to the trunk. Tommy moved to follow him as his father called, “Tommy, help Wil with the bags in the front.”

The teen stopped mid-step, blinking. He nodded, although Phil couldn’t see it, and went around the front to meet his brother by the passenger seat. The musician had already opened the door, pulling out the top bag. Tommy reached his hand out towards his brother, meeting Wilbur’s eyes as the suitcase was exchanged. In the deep brown swirled uncertainty, concern, and a smidge of pain. Tommy shifted his gaze before he could feel bad. 

“Thanks, Toms.”

The blond’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t been called that since…well, since his brothers left. It brought up memories he didn’t want to think of right now. 

What right does Wilbur have to use that nickname? 

Tommy didn’t allow himself to dwell on it for long as he muttered a quiet “sure” in response, though the strain was clear in his voice. With that, he hauled the bag into the house that Phil and Technoblade had already entered, leaving Wilbur alone once more. 

The teen approached the stairs as his father descended from them, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he passed the boy on his way back out to the car, as if it was the most normal thing he could’ve done. As if Tommy could remember the last time he had received anything of the sort from the man.

Tommy’s steps stuttered before he found his footing and clambored up the stairs. Being the first room in the hall, the blond could see through the open door that his oldest brother had already started to unpack his two suitcases. Tommy set the suitcase down and began rolling it towards Wilbur’s room conveniently located across the hall from his twin’s. 

It rolled to a stop in front of the closed white door. 

Tommy froze, though he didn’t dare enter. The last time he had been in there, he still believed his older brothers would come back for him, save him from this empty house.

Swallowing, the teen turned to walk toward his own bedroom just past Techno’s. He caught the eyes of his pink-haired brother as he passed the open room. Although he easily beat out Wilbur for keeping his emotions in check, Techno’s cognac-colored eyes—that sometimes seemed as though they glowed red—betrayed the same uncertainty and concern. Tommy ignored it as he continued toward his room.

Only once the teen had entered it and shut the door behind him did he allow himself time to actually process what had happened. Tommy slumped against the white-painted wood and slid to the floor, leaning his head against it. He gritted his teeth as if it would stop his body from reacting in the way he knew it would.

Heart pounding, pulse in the tips of his shaking fingers. Chest rising faster, tightness squeezing his lungs. 

Tommy clenched his fists, trying to force himself to take deeper breaths. When he finally calmed down, the teen bit down on his tongue to stop from shouting curses. How would he survive a whole summer if one measly interaction was enough to trigger a panic attack?

You’re weak, Tommy. Get it together.

He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, digging his nails further into his palms. 

The sound of heavy footsteps—Wilbur’s combat boots—caught his attention as they approached. The opening of a door and drag of a suitcase eased Tommy’s nerves as he realized the man wasn’t coming to his room. 

Distantly, he heard Phil shout, “I’m off to work. I’ll see you boys tonight.” A door slammed shut immediately after. Tommy didn’t have it in him to care. It’s not like he wasn’t used to it. 

Twenty minutes later when Tommy went to the bathroom, he noticed both the silence and the two closed bedroom doors. He couldn’t help the way his body sagged in relief. Hopefully, the twins stayed sleeping until after he left for class today. He really did not want to deal with explaining where he was going at four o’clock on a Tuesday. 

Tommy both dreaded and eagerly awaited the moment he stepped into the studio. Up until today, Tuesdays had always been his favorite because Tuesdays meant contemporary and lord knows it’s the perfect outlet for pent up emotions. That being said, all those emotions had left the young teen drained in all senses of the word and he longed for his bed. 

As soon as he sat down next to Hannah at their usual spot in the contemporary room, she could immediately tell something was wrong. She shot him a quizzical look, asking for an explanation, but Tommy just shook his head and relaxed his face into blank neutrality. The brunette frowned, but didn’t push. Tommy was thankful. He didn’t have the energy for that conversation right now. 

Soon enough, Puffy strolled into the room, just as enthusiastic as he remembered her from that first class. Once she set her things down and connected to the speaker, she called, “Alright, guys. Find a spot on the floor.”

A thirty minute warmup, thirty minute workout, and water break later, Tommy had completely forgotten about the day’s earlier troubles, hiding them in the back of his mind. As the dancers trickled back onto the floor, Puffy clapped her hands together, grinning widely.

“We’re gonna switch things up a bit, today. The next hour of class, we’re gonna work on some improv! We’ll get into the combo for the last hour.”

Tommy could feel the shift in atmosphere as their instructor spoke. Uncertainty and nerves buzzed through the room, leaving dancers shifting on their feet and biting their lips. Despite this, Tommy wasn’t fazed. He, for one, loved improv. It had taken him a few months to grow out of his initial self-consciousness, but upon allowing himself to truly commit, he had realized just how good it felt to get everything out without worrying about remembering the choreo.

“I’m gonna give you some prompts throughout the song to guide you. We’ll use this one as a warmup before we get into groups.”

Suddenly, a familiar melody echoed through the room and Tommy closed his eyes. he breathed. Then, he let himself go and allowed the music to lead him through his movements. Every so often, Puffy would call out phrases such as “move like you’re in water,” “keep one hand on the wall,” and “get on the floor.”

Tommy cleared his mind, forcing his body to move with the music rather than thinking of what to do before he did it. 

The song faded to an end, and Tommy slowed to a stop with it. His chest heaved in an effort to catch his breath, but Tommy reveled in the looseness coating his muscles.

As all the dancers attempted to slow their heart rates with deep breaths, Puffy smiled in satisfaction. “That was wonderful, class. Now, if I can have the room split in half. This side,” she pointed to the left,” will be Group 1. And this side,” she pointed to the right where Tommy stood, “will be Group 2. Group 2 take a seat along the wall. Group 1 spread out on the floor.”

Within minutes, Puffy had shuffled another song and lead Group 1 through more prompts. Tommy’s eyes bounced between dancers, noting those that seemed more comfortable or shy and internalizing movements that awed him or that he wanted to try later. Soon enough, Group 2 took Group 1’s place as the tired dancers sat along the opposite wall. 

Tommy rolled out his joints, doing some last minute stretching as he waited for a song to start. When it did, he startled at the familiarity of it, a snort nearly leaving his mouth.

How fitting.

He pushed away the thought as he initiated his movements. Tommy couldn’t help focusing on the lyrics.

Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve..?

“Initiate your movements from your knees.”

Tommy sunk, grounding himself as he swiveled, knee leading his body to the side. The drums started with the chorus, urging jerkier motions out of him. Tommy allowed his body to fall forward as his knee pulled and caught him. 

You let your feet run wild…

Tommy did just that, stepping with the beats as lines of the verse played on.

Do you dare to look him right in the eyes..?

“Close your eyes.”

And so he did. 

Oh, ‘cause they will run you down, down ‘til the dark…

The pre-chorus initiated a rise in tempo and the boy gave himself permission to thrash a bit—enough for the emotion but not enough to hit those around him.

Yeah, so you can’t crawl no more…

“Open your eyes and go to the floor.”

Tommy’s eyes blinked open and he sunk to the ground, drowning in the tone of the lyrics.

And way down we go…

He finally gave in completely, allowing his own pain and anger to surround him as he played off the cool hardwood, using it as a partner in his dance. He rolled and slid and crawled until the world fell away. Until he was alone in this room with all the shit he’d been bottling up since waking up. And finally, Tommy felt . He breathed his emotions into every move until they no longer suffocated him.

Way down we go .

As Tommy inched toward his house from the bus stop, his nerves started buzzing. The closer he got, the worse they buzzed and he couldn’t figure out why. Until he noticed the lights. Tommy blinked, his tired brain struggling to catch up.

Then it hit him. Someone was home—no, not just someone. His brothers. And they were awake . 

The blond cursed under his breath. 

He was seriously hoping to avoid as many conversations with them as possible. A small part of Tommy nursed the idea that the jet lag would never go away and they’d sleep through the summer. But he knew better than to hope.

He sighed and unlocked the front door, stepping inside and leaving his shoes by the door. The pairs of black and white converse and brown boots startled him. Tommy wasn’t used to seeing a pair other than his own in the space. The teen padded through the living room and up the stairs, making more than the usual effort to keep quiet. If he could just make it to his bedroom without alerting the twins…

Just as Tommy grabbed his door handle, Wilbur’s door opened. Tommy froze, glancing across the hall. 

The tallest Watson stepped out, still in pajamas but not seeming to have just woken up. Over his shoulder, Tommy could see he had been unpacking. Wilbur rubbed his eyes before replacing his glasses. As soon as he noticed his younger brother, the older froze, furrowing his eyebrows. The brunet glanced at Tommy’s backpack, confusion written all over his face. 

“Did you go somewhere?”

Tommy bit his lip. His hopes that his brothers didn’t care about what he did were crushed as the blond tried to come up with an alternative to admitting he took classes at a dance studio.

“Uh, yeah, I was at a friend’s.” Tommy nearly winced at the hesitancy of his voice. 

“Oh.”

Tommy nodded, waiting a beat for any other comments, but was met with awkward silence. Wilbur stared at him, frowning, as if he couldn’t figure out why Tommy wasn’t saying anything.

It was because Tommy had nothing to say (but of course, he wouldn’t say that).

Instead, he opened his door and ducked into his bedroom before his older brother could change his mind and ask more questions. The teen dropped his backpack and stumbled to his bed, plopping down face first into the red sheets with a low groan. Tommy knew he had to figure out a better excuse for his weekly outings, but right now, he just wanted a shower and some sleep.

That night, he hoped his brain would give him a break. And maybe the universe pitied him for he was out like a light the second his head hit the pillow.

Tommy dreamt of lullabies. Of gentle tunes when he wasn’t quite ready to go to bed. Of a soft voice soothing him to sleep after nightmares. Tommy dreamt of a time when his big brother was still his best friend.

So it took him a minute to realize he was awake when a familiar melody sounded from across the hall. The muffling from the walls made it quiet enough that he thought he was imagining it. Blinking bleary eyes open, Tommy glanced at his phone. It read “4:27”. 

Wilbur still hadn’t fixed his sleep schedule. Figures. And of course, Tommy was suffering because of it. Double figures.

Tommy sighed. He needed to be up in three hours. 

The rational part of him that knew he had practice in the morning insisted he hide under the covers and try to get the much-needed sleep. The irrational part of him that missed hearing his brother play begged him to stay awake a bit longer. And yet, despite the grief that curled its fist around his heart and squeezed, Tommy flopped onto his back and listened. He certainly couldn’t climb into Wilbur’s bed like he used to, but this was fine. Walls and distance between them. Just like he was used to.

Wilbur played the tune with practised ease, muscle memory overtaking his fingers. Halfway through the song, when Wilbur played the wrong note and Tommy immediately recognised the mistake, he froze. A sharp inhale, breath caught in his throat. It was then that the blond realized he had been humming along, lyrics hiding in the back of his mind. 

Wilbur must’ve realized his mistake as well because the strumming stopped. In the silence, Tommy blinked, releasing a shaky breath. And just like that, the melody continued from right before the blunder, this time flowing through correctly. Something soft and sad, an appropriate sound to match the atmosphere. Each pluck of a string tugged at a memory lodged in the depths of his busy brain. Tommy pushed back. And it worked. Until it didn’t. The dam broke and the memory all but flooded him. 

And Tommy, alone in his bedroom at 4am had nothing to keep him afloat. So down he went. Tommy was drowning . 

…

Wilbur sat on his unmade bed, leaned against the headboard. His guitar rested in his lap as he plucked a few notes before leaning down to scribble in his leather-bound songbook. Tommy lay next to him, snuggled under the covers and curled up into his brother’s side.

It was way past the four-year-old’s bedtime, but Wilbur knew better than to argue with his ever-so-stubborn baby brother. Besides, Tommy knew the brunet didn’t mind his company. Of course, he didn’t. Tommy was his best friend . 

And so, the pair had spent the past two nights like this. Wilbur working on a new song as Tommy listened silently next to him—this was the only time the boy was ever quiet— trying not to fall asleep. 

“That’s it, it’s done!” Wilbur exclaimed, startling Tommy awake from his dozing off. 

“Hmm?” The boy hummed, rubbing his eyes.

“I finished the song, Toms! You wanna hear it?”

Tommy nodded, a sleepy smile crossing his face. He felt Wilbur shift next to him before clearing his throat. A gentle rhythm of plucking began, the pattern of it both lulling the boy back to sleep and capturing his attention enough to resist falling unconscious. 

“The cute bomber jacket you’ve had since sixth form,” Wilbur sung. “Adorned with patches of places you’ve been.”

Tommy sighed contently. His brother’s voice was so nice. He wanted to spend the rest of his life just listening to Wilbur play. That would make him happier than anything. He forced himself to stay awake through the entire song, up to the last couple of notes after the singing stopped.

“Wilby?” Tommy asked, feeling sleep tugging at him.

“Yeah, Toms?” Wilbur answered, fondness clear in his voice.

“‘S’one’s m’favori…” The boy slurred, unconscious finally claiming him before he could finish his last word.

Tommy would never know of the proud smile on Wilbur’s face as tears gathered in his eyes. He rubbed them away quickly before leaning over to kiss his brother’s forehead.

…

The first sob rose up his throat and spluttered out of his mouth before he could think to do anything. He shoved the back of his hand against his mouth in an attempt to silence his cries. Tears streamed down his cheeks at an alarming rate, staining his pillow a deep maroon. Tommy bit down on his tongue. Hard. Anything to stop this. He didn’t taste the blood.

Suddenly something in his chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. Tears blurred his vision, so he clamped his eyes shut. Hard. Tommy gasped, trying to get air into his screaming lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Stop being dramatic, Tommy.

Tommy fisted his shirt, pulling the material away from his neck. Clawing at it. Trying to catch his breath. 

Get it together. You’re such a baby.

He clawed at his chest, nails scraping skin through his pajama shirt. The marks would be there in the morning. He didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe . Because Tommy was drowning . And there was no one there to save him.

So Tommy sobbed and gasped and clawed until he couldn’t anymore. Until darkness licked at the edges of his vision and unconsciousness finally dragged him under.

Chapter Text

Wilbur sighed, resting his guitar against its stand before rubbing his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of sleepiness. He was determined to fix his sleep schedule through the only foolproof method: pull an all-nighter. A lazy glance at the clock told him… nothing. Wilbur wasn’t wearing his glasses. He squinted for a moment before deciding—given the pinks and oranges streaked through the sky—that it was somewhere around five thirty.

The brunet sighed again, plopping down to sit on his bed and allowing his body to fall backwards until he was staring at the ceiling, careful to keep his eyes open or he’d immediately crash. Wilbur sighed again, deeper this time. He needed something to do to stay awake. The musician had already spent just over three hours mindlessly playing some of his old songs—they were written acoustic and in this very bedroom—before boredom set in.

Only two more hours until he could bug Techno into entertaining him. His twin hadn’t struggled in the slightest in fixing his own sleep schedule—granted, he faced a mere three-hour difference instead of an eight-hour one. Not to mention, Techno hadn’t struggled with schedules at any point in his perfectly routine life. Wilbur yanked a pillow from beside him, clutching it tightly against his face to muffle the groan resounding deep in his throat. 

The brunet pushed the pillow off, resuming his blank staring at the ceiling. With nothing better to do, his mind drifted back to his awkward interaction with Tommy earlier that night. Tommy, who was… different , in every sense of the word. Of course, Wilbur recognized he’d grown up;  the twins left when he was ten. But…there was something else. He hadn’t just gotten older, he’d changed . 

Where was the loudmouth kid with thoughts that couldn’t go unsaid and a temper that rivaled his own? Where was the bright child with a smile that lit up the room and the most contagious laugh of anyone he’d ever known? Where had his baby brother gone, his baby brother that followed him around like a puppy since the moment he learned to walk? All of these questions and more floated through his mind and Wilbur was at a loss. Sure, they’d been gone for nearly half of Tommy’s life, but there had to be more to it. He was missing something and Wilbur wasn’t going to stop until he figured out what it was. Until he fixed this and got his baby brother back.

So what had happened in those seven years that changed his Tommy into someone he couldn’t recognize?

Wilbur huffed, going over the interaction in his head, trying to find anything that could help him understand. When Tommy had seen him, he’d looked almost…scared. Like Wilbur was the last person he wanted to be speaking to. His stomach curled at the thought. His answers had been concise and lacking detail, as if Tommy didn’t want Wilbur knowing anything about him, about his friends. As if he was hiding his life from them. 

And Wilbur could respect that. He could understand wanting to have some privacy and independence. In fact, that’s all he’d wanted when he was Tommy’s age. So maybe he should just give the boy some space, let him warm up and come to Wilbur on his own. But Wilbur also knew that teenage boys liked to get into trouble and do things they didn’t want their families finding out about. Uneasiness swirled in his stomach. Wilbur was afraid, beyond anything, that his baby brother—the person that had once been the light of his life—had grown up to be just like him.

Techno had long accepted that he would never completely understand his twin. He was too quick to emotional outbursts and, despite how clever he could be, his heart tended to cloud his head. The fencer knew this about his brother and yet, couldn’t imagine life without him. For the seven years that they had been apart, they hadn’t gone more than a day without talking and Techno couldn’t remember a time where he’d been struggling and Wilbur hadn’t been there for him. 

There was a particular experience where he’d been invited to a party by one of his fencing teammates and nearly had a panic attack about the whole thing—Wilbur had been on the phone with him for an hour after that calming him down. It was only fair that he try to do the same for his twin. And when Wilbur almost gave up his music career because he didn’t think he was good enough, Techno had listed him all of the reasons why he shouldn’t quit and Wilbur went on to start a band. 

So when his other half knocked on his door at seven thirty in the morning, Techno simply opened the door with a sigh and watched knowingly as Wilbur—he looked a complete mess, dark bags under his eyes pink with lack of sleep, hair sticking up in places from being run through so many times—dragged himself over to the bed and face-planted into it. 

He said nothing, moving over to his spinny chair and plopping down, turning to face his twin who clearly was not having a good time. He waited.

“Mrmhmm mrm mm mmhm,” Wilbur said, muffled by the neatly made covers of his twin’s bed. 

“Wil, I know we’re twins ‘n all, but I can’t actually read your mind,” Techno deadpanned. 

The brunet begrudgingly lifted his head, repeating “I said, ‘Something’s up with Tommy,’” before promptly dropping it again.

Techno rolled his eyes at Wilbur’s dramatics. But a small frown settled on his lips. His twin wasn’t wrong. There was something going on with their little brother (who wasn’t quite so little anymore). 

“I mean, we’ve been out of his life for seven years. He’s grown.”

Wilbur twisted his head to the right to look at his pink-haired counterpart. A deep frown etched itself into his forehead. “No, that’s not what I mean. He’s different . Something’s wrong.”

Despite the slight worry gathering at the pit of his stomach, Techno shrugged, resting his head on his hand.

“He’s just- he’s not- he-” Wilbur cut himself off with a groan, sitting up. “He’s not our Tommy. It’s like we’re strangers! Something’s happened and we need to fix it.”

Techno raised an eyebrow at this. “Wil, he’s seventeen . He’s going into his senior year. He’s allowed to want his space and of course he’s acting distant. We haven’t seen him in seven years .” He crossed his arms, sending his twin a pointed look.

Wilbur grumbled, running a hand down his face. “I know that. But- Tech, you didn’t see him yesterday. It’s like he was afraid of me or something!”

Techno’s frown deepened. His mind flashed to that moment in the car when they had just gotten home from the airport. Tommy had looked like a caged animal. Like he was trapped and would chew his own leg off to get out. Techno was familiar with that feeling. Anxiety had ruled the majority of his life.

Techno sighed, removing his hair from the simple braid he normally slept in and running his fingers through the knots. “So what are you suggesting? We can’t just corner him and ask him what’s going on.”

Wilbur’s gaze was locked onto the loose piece of thread of blanket he was playing with. “Yeah, I’m working on that. I think he’s hiding something. I’m not sure what it is yet, but there’s definitely something he doesn’t want us knowing,” Wilbur said. Quietly—Techno almost missed it—he added, “I just hope it’s nothing like I used to do.”

Techno huffed, “So…what? We find out what he’s hiding? Then what?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we should just let him tell us when he’s comfortable…”

Wilbur lifted his head, eyes meeting his twin’s. There was so much fear in his eyes that it made Techno’s breath catch in his throat. 

“But what if he never does? Or it’s something bad and he thinks he can’t? Tech, I… I don’t wanna lose him.”

For a moment, the two just stared at each other in frozen silence. Then, Techno stood and moved to his bed, plopping down in front of his twin and wrapping him in a hug. It was times like these, when the only thing either of them could do was be there for each other, that they truly felt like twins.

“I know, Wil. I know,” he whispered, squeezing the man a little tighter.

The brunet slumped into his twin, exhaustion taking hold of him.

“It’ll be okay.”

Techno prayed to whatever was listening that it would be.

Tommy woke up with a gasp. It took him a good minute to process where he was and another for the headache to set in. There was a deep pounding behind his eyes and pressure around his crown as if someone was holding it and squeezing. Everything was fuzzy and too much . The sunlight was too bright and his alarm was too loud and his head hurt so bad . 

With a groan he fumbled for his phone, shutting off the blaring tune of “Able Sisters” and raised his hands to massage his temples. He didn’t feel well-rested in the slightest and overall, his morning was off to a shitty start. A small part of him debated staying home today, but was immediately vetoed by the much larger part of him that did not want to be stuck at home with his brothers all day. 

Wednesdays were usually his break day, in that he had Technique from nine ‘til twelve before meeting up with Tubbo and Ranboo for lunch. Then, the trio would head over to Tommy’s house to hang out for the rest of the day—clearly, that was not an option anymore. It was all very similar to Saturdays, except instead of Technique class, he would use open-studio time for himself in the mornings.

As the teen stumbled out of bed, he could hear muffled voices coming from the room next door. The twins were awake. Ignoring it (Tommy simply could not be bothered to deal with that right now), he dragged himself to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he was dressed and making his way down the stairs. His headache hadn’t eased up and he felt slightly nauseous, so Tommy didn’t bother making himself cereal. Instead, he grabbed a granola bar and tossed it into his backpack in case he got hungry later. 

Tommy walked over to the door, slipping on his converse and lacing them with practiced speed. He couldn’t believe his luck that both twins were up and he hadn’t run into either of them. But the blond did not want to jinx himself and hurried out of the house towards the bus stop. The ride there was worse than usual because Tommy was having sensory overload and his head still felt like it was going to explode.

He trudged into the studio, probably looking like death itself. The jingle of the door alerted Foolish into looking up and upon realizing who it was, smiled brightly. His smile quickly faded into a frown. Tommy tried not to wince at the confirmation of his unsightly appearance.

“Hey, Tommy. You doin’ okay?” The genuine concern in the man’s voice made his chest tighten as warmth spread through him.

Tommy nodded, immediately regretting the decision when the pounding in his head intensified. “Uh, yeah, I just have a killer headache.”

Foolish nodded sympathetically, wishing him a quick recovery. Tommy thanked him before heading to the contemporary room. He set his stuff down, not bothering to try and locate Hannah since she worked in the mornings and never made it to Technique class. 

He settled into an easy stretch, trying to warm up without worsening his headache. He should probably talk to Puffy about that before class started. Speaking of, the door opened and in she strolled, immediately heading to the instructor area to set her stuff down. The blond slowly stood up, gritting his teeth against the pain, and walked over to Puffy who had just finished setting up the speaker. 

“Tommy, hello! What’s up?” She cheerfully greeted upon noticing him—though, he didn’t miss the concern that flashed through her eyes.

The teen winced at her volume, rubbing his arm nervously. “Hey, uh, so I woke up with a really bad headache and it hasn’t gone away yet, but I wanted to warn you ‘cause I can’t move around too much or it’ll make it worse.”

Puffy nodded sympathetically (like mother like son), smiling softly at him. “Sorry to hear that, bud. Do whatever you need to, alright? Don’t be scared to sit anything out.”

“Thank you,” Tommy answered gratefully. She hummed dismissively and he turned to leave, but she gasped as if remembering something. He looked back at her, confused, and she chuckled. “Come talk to me after class? I’ve got something to discuss with you. Nothing bad, I promise.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows at that. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Puffy grinned, waving him off before beginning the class.

Three hours later—Tommy had made sure to take it easy and ended up sitting out during turns training, much to his dismay—and dancers were trickling out of the room within minutes of Puffy ending class. Tommy packed up his belongings, putting his shoes back on and heading over to Puffy.

She disconnected the speaker, packing away some things as the final dancers exited the room. Standing up, Puffy smiled warmly at him, clapping her hands together excitedly. Tommy’s headache had improved significantly since this morning, so he could resist flinching at the noise. 

“Okay, so Skeppy-,” she paused. “You know Skeppy, right?” 

The teen nodded and she continued. 

“So Skeppy owns an advertising company and has offered to set up a promo shoot for our studio next weekend.” 

Tommy’s eyes widened at this and Puffy chuckled. 

“The plan is to have a scene for every style of dance we do, with select dancers doing short combos or freestyling for that section.” 

He  nodded along, though his confusion was clear.

Puffy grinned. “I’ve chosen you as the representative for contemporary! Only, if you’re interested, of course. I was thinking you could do a thirty second improv section.”

Tommy blinked at her, at a complete loss for words. Finally, he stuttered, “Wha…you- you want me to do it?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes, Tommy, you . You’re one of my best dancers and your performance during improv yesterday showed me all I needed to see,” she said sincerely.

A strange warmth blossomed at his chest and his eyes burned. He blinked away any tears threatening to spill before choking out a soft, “Thanks, um, yeah, I’ll do it.”

Puffy bounced on her toes, happy to hear that. Before he could say anything else, she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Tommy stiffened, unused to the touch. He relaxed, awkwardly raising his hands to return the hug before Puffy pulled away.

“Start thinking about what song you wanna use. I’ll send you the details for the shoot soon. Have a great rest of your day, Tommy!”

Tommy returned the farewell before turning and heading out of the room, still in shock. Ranboo and Tubbo were going to have a field day over this.

The three teens met in front of Kinoko’s, already having decided to get lunch there. Tommy only ended up waiting five minutes for Ranboo’s car to pull into the studio’s parking lot (thanks to their anxiety). The tallest of the trio was the only one with a driver’s license—Tubbo totaled his parent’s car while learning and was forbidden from driving ‘til the age of eighteen and Tommy…well, he never had anyone to teach him.

“Took you long enough,” Tommy deadpanned.

Ranboo frowned. “You just got out of practice?”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond. Instead, he grabbed his best friends’ arms and tugged them into the café after him. The familiar chime of the bell hung in the background as Tubbo dragged them right up to the counter. 

Karl glanced up at the noise, gray eyes widening in amusement. The barista stifled a giggle with his hoodie sleeve before leaning his elbows on the counter and shooting the group a bright smile.

“Hello, boys! What’ll it be, today?” 

“Hey, Karl!” Tubbo greeted, grinning as he released the other two. Tommy pouted, crossing his arms while Ranboo just shuffled his weight nervously. “I’ll have an iced passionfruit rasberry tea with honey, please.”

Karl nodded, turning his gaze to Ranboo. “Uh, can I get a vanilla bean frappuchino with whip at the bottom?” They said, sending Karl a small smile. Karl returned it, finally turning to Tommy.

“The usual for me, big man.” He grinned, winking at the man. Karl giggled, shaking his head. He gave them each their totals and they handed him cash in return, dropping the change into the tip jar. “Alright, it’ll just be a minute.”

The three nodded, heading over to sit at a nearby round table. 

“Do we wanna just hang here for the rest of the day?” Ranboo asked, resting his head on his hand.

“It’s not like we can go to mine,” Tommy huffed, slumping down to lay his head against his arms on the table.

Sometime in the blur of his depressive episode, Tommy had managed to text the group chat a weak apology for disappearing and drop the news about his brothers coming home. Considering he had had less than two day’s notice himself, his best friends hadn’t held it against him.

Tubbo hummed, frowning. “Dad’s in some important business call meeting thing today, so he basically told me to not be home today and to definitely not bring anyone over.”

“My parents are in their reorganizing arc so everything’s a mess, including them. Don’t think anyone would appreciate being at my house during that.” Ranboo shrugged.

Tommy sighed. “Looks like Kinoko’s it is. At least we have Buffy and Grey to keep us company.” He glanced around, trying to spot either of his two favorite cats.

His best friends followed suite, everyone pouting when neither could be found. Three shouts of their names in quick succession startled the trio out of their sadness. Tommy walked over, grabbing their drinks and thanking Karl before returning to the table; Ranboo was too anxious and Tubbo was too short (not actually, but he would one hundred percent be bullied about it).

Just as they were about to start on their drinks, Tubbo facepalmed. “Guys, we forgot to order food.”

Ranboo chuckled as Tommy blinked at him before sighing dramatically and pushing his chair back. He stood up, holding out his hand as the pair gave him some cash before walking back over to the counter. Karl immediately noticed him and turned around from where he was working on someone’s order. He sent Tommy a quizzical look and Tommy smiled sheepishly. 

“Can I get three breakfast sandwiches, please?” 

Karl rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Within a few minutes, the barista had taken the cash and slipped three sandwiches into the toaster oven to heat up. Tommy waited silently until Karl popped up behind the counter and slid him three warm paper bags. Tommy thanked him for the second time and returned to the table.

Ranboo smiled at him with a thumbs up while Tubbo just sent him a two-finger salute. Tommy rolled his eyes, slumping into his chair in exasperation and muttering a few choice words about his best friends.

The trio dug in, scarfing up the sandwiches—they really were good breakfast sandwiches—in minutes and moving onto their drinks. 

“Boys,” Tommy announced, pausing to sip his iced coffee. “I have some news to share.”

Tubbo groaned, “Is it bad? Like worse than your brothers being home, bad?”

Tommy screwed up his face at that while Ranboo swatted Tubbo’s arm. “Dude, don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, Tubbo , don’t be rude,” the blond mocked, smirking. The short brunet squinted at him, leaning forward as if to attack. Ranboo recognized this and promptly pulled him back into his seat by his shoulders, shooting him a Disappointed Parent™ look (Tommy still didn’t know how they did it).

“As a matter of fact, it is quite the opposite. Pogchamp level of good.”

Ranboo sighed. “You have got to stop using that word, Tommy,” they said.

“Fuck you, Ranboob , I’ll say whatever the fuck I want.”

This time, Tommy was the subject of their Disappointed Parent™ look. The blond couldn’t help but wither under the gaze.

“Well, what’s the news, boss man?” Tubbo questioned, swirling his straw around his tea.

“Skeppy is organizing a promo shoot for the studio and Puffy asked me to be the contemporary section representative,” Tommy revealed, biting his lip nervously.

“Yo, that’s so sick!” The shorter brunet shouted at the same time that the taller exclaimed, “That’s awesome, Tommy! Congrats.”

The young dancer broke into a grin, flushing slightly from the genuine excitement in both their voices. “Yeah?”

The pair nodded, reassuring him that they thought this was an incredible opportunity for him. 

“I’m proud of you, Tommy,” Tubbo said in complete earnest.

Tommy couldn’t explain why his chest tightened and a lump wedged itself in his throat at those words. 

“We both are,” Ranboo agreed.

Nor could he explain why warmth spread through him as he blinked back the burning behind his eyes.

Glancing down at his drink, he mumbled a soft, “Thanks, guys.”

Tommy chose to ignore it all, instead, finishing off his drink and popping the lid off to start working on the ice (but not before licking the leftover rose cream off the lid).

Tommy wasn’t ready to go home. Lately, that seemed to be a trend for him. 

After several hours of hanging out and talking at Kinoko’s, Tubbo and Ranboo decided they should be getting home soon before their parents start freaking out. So they bid Karl goodbye and hopped into Ranboo’s gray 2005 Toyata Avalon—the car was only slightly falling apart and the teen was only slightly too tall to get into or out of the driver’s seat comfortably. 

The car didn’t have an aux jack so Tubbo played music directly from his phone as Ranboo drove to Tommy’s first. Tommy begrudgingly climbed out of the backseat, closing the door and stepping onto the driveway.

“Let us know if you need anything, boss man.”

“We’re just a facetime call away.”

Tommy sent his best friends a small smile, stepping back from the car. He watched silently as Ranboo pulled out of the driveway and drove off. When he could no longer see the janky grey vehicle, the teen spun on his heel and trudged toward the front door.

The familiar vines of anxiety wrapped around his lungs and squeezed, leaving his chest tight and fingers trembling. He stared at the carved wooden door, unmoving. With a deep breath, Tommy pushed the door open and stepped inside, mindlessly unlacing and slipping off his converse. 

He padded across the living room, toward the stairs, praying to any god that he wouldn’t run into Wilbur again—or Techno, for that matter. Apparently, the gods hated him because sitting at the kitchen island were both of his brothers, chatting. At least, that’s what they had been doing before Tommy froze in the middle of the living room to stare at them.

The twins stared right back at him. Tommy blinked, not daring to be the first to speak. Wilbur glanced at Techno who’s gaze remained fixed on the young blond. A slight frown ghosted his face. Tommy could feel the buzzing in his body intensify and shoved his hands into his pockets in the hopes of concealing it. His pink-haired brother watched his every move carefully, the frown becoming more prominent.

“Hey, Toms,” Wilbur began unsurely.

And there it was again. That name. The one that no longer belonged to the lanky musician with thin-wired glasses and that ugly red beanie he always wore.

Something clawed at Tommy’s chest, something like pain and rage molded together. Something that did nothing to help the tightness he already felt there. 

“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, eyebrows furrowed in what must’ve been concern. Wilbur glanced at Techno again and, again, he remained locked onto Tommy. 

Fists clenched in pockets, nails digging into palms. Tommy looked between the twins frantically, but neither of them could help him. No, they were the reason he was in this mess. 

Hesitantly, Wilbur spoke up again, concern lacing his words. “Are you alright?” 

Tommy opened his mouth as if to answer, but nothing came out, so he closed it. It was getting hard to breathe. 

Stop being a baby. You’re so weak.

Not this. Not now. He clenched his fists tighter until a sharp stinging seared itself in the crescents littering his palms.

The pain grounded him, if only for a second, but it was enough to choke out, “I, um, I…” He tore his gaze away from the deeply concerned dark brown eyes and settled on the somewhat angry-seeming reddish brown ones. “...Gotta go.”

Tommy spun on his heel and raced up to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and slipping off his backpack. Lungs heaving for breath, he gasped. Stumbling forward, dropping to his knees, he gasped. Gasped and shook. Tommy was shaking , but no tears fell from his eyes.

Techno felt Wilbur’s eyes on him for the third time. Finally, he returned the gaze.

His twin had a look akin to horror on his face. Fear and worry churned in his eyes, just as it churned in Techno’s gut. For the first time since being home, he thought he finally understood exactly what his twin had meant that morning.

“I…wha…he-” Wilbur spluttered, turning to the empty space in front of them that their little brother had just been standing in. 

Techno grimaced, biting his lip. He thought he’d had an idea before, but…Tommy’s reaction had startled him to the core. The kid had been shaking . And if Techno didn’t know better, he would brush off the way Tommy had shoved his fists into his pockets and curled them. Techno hadn’t had an anxiety attack like that in…a long time.

Something about the interaction had set the kid off. Was it seeing them together? No, he hadn’t been affected to that extent after returning from the airport—though, Tommy definitely seemed to have anxiety around the twins, in general. Then what could it have been? 

Techno glanced at Wilbur. His twin had resorted to hiding his face in his hands, elbows resting on the island countertop. The brunet clearly had less of a clue about what was going on than he did. 

“You’re right, Wil,” Techno whispered. 

The man lifted his head to meet his twin’s eyes. 

“There’s something wrong with Tommy, and…” Techno closed his eyes, releasing a shaky breath. “And I think it might be our fault.” He opened his eyes, looking into a reflection of the pain he was certain could be seen on his own face. 

Wilbur stared at him, unblinking, mouth slightly agape and eyes glossed over with unshed tears. Techno bit his lip, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. 

How the fuck were they going to fix this?

Chapter Text

At three in the morning, Tommy lay in his bed, covers tossed aside, staring at the ceiling. When he had finally managed to calm himself down from his panic attack, the teen basically dragged himself into bed, too exhausted to even change into pajamas. He prayed that being so drained would guarantee him some sleep. The universe was not so kind. And neither was his mind.

Tommy was sent from one kind of suffocation to the next, choking on thoughts instead of air. Numbly, he traced shapes into his ceiling with bleary eyes yearning for the rest his mind wouldn’t allow. Bottom lip gnawed raw and bloody, crescents imbedded deep into palms and nearly piercing skin, hair pulled to the point of dull throbbing under his skull.

What are you gonna do? Cry to Mommy? 

Tommy had to stop himself from scoffing. Even for himself, the dig was a low blow. Besides, he never cried anymore. Not really.

You’re just a spoiled brat.

Despite how many times he’s heard those words, they’re the ones that hurt the most. All his life, all Tommy had ever been was a “spoiled brat”. To his brothers who got so fed up they left and didn’t return for seven years. To his father who did whatever he could to ignore his entire existence, as if he’d only ever had two sons.

No one’s here to save you, Theseus. 

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? His family couldn’t care less about him. His best friends were busy enough with their own lives; they didn’t have the time to constantly worry about him; they didn’t deserve that. He was alone . It seemed that was his place in the world.

You’re a burden, Tommy. That’s all you’ve ever been. To anyone.

This Tommy knew to be a fact. Or else why would his brother- no, his best friend have said that to him all those years ago? Better yet, why would everyone treat him as such?

They’re better off without you. We all are. 

For the first time that night, tears pricked his eyes, the bleariness made worse until he couldn’t see at all. With almost angry hands, Tommy pressed his palms into his eyes until the burning subsided and rubbed away the salty tears. He blinked the spots away, lazily shifting his gaze over to his clock. Blinking green digits read “4:04”. 

The blond reached over to his nightstand, grasping his phone and headphones, hastily slipping them in. Without much thought, he shuffled his playlist and turned up the volume. Be louder than the words and they can’t hurt you, right? As the beginning notes of “Twin Size Mattress” began, the teen allowed himself to hide behind the harsh sounds and harsher voices. 

A shaky inhale. The breath caught in his throat, lungs screaming for release. Tommy almost didn’t give it. A choked exhale.

When Tommy stumbled out of his room at noon, he wore joggers and an oversized t-shirt, phone and headphones stuffed in a pocket. His hip hop class wasn’t ‘til the evening, but, in his numbness, Tommy decided that he had better things to do than lie in bed all day (what that was, he couldn’t say). Almost as if on autopilot, he padded down the stairs, silent as ever, to the kitchen. His head felt fuzzy and everything around him seemed far away. Tommy’s brain simply was not processing anything at the moment. Not sleeping will do that to you.

So it was no surprise when a voice startled him into a practically fight-or-flight response. Tommy flinched at the presence making itself known to him, heart jumping into his throat and echoing the deafening pounding already in his head. The blond blinked, taking a breath to steady himself, and finally noticed the man in front of him. Actually, there were two, but only one had spoken.

Wilbur stared at him sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed about causing such a reaction. His mouth hung slightly open as if he had paused mid-sentence. Tommy couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t actually heard what the brunet had said. Techno sat across from his twin at the kitchen island, a plate of baked potatoes in front of him. The pink-haired twin watched the interaction silently, his gaze its usual level of scrutinizing. Tommy didn’t notice the fear and concern in his eyes, something mirrored on Wilbur’s face. Or maybe he did and he didn’t care .

Just the thought of having a conversation with the twins had Tommy’s entire body on edge, fingers grasping at his shirt for something to fidget with. Suddenly, the teen was cursing himself for making the inevitably poor decision to leave his bedroom. 

Techno slid the plate of potatoes toward Tommy, raising an eyebrow. “Made us lunch. Want some?”

Something registered in the blond’s brain and he struggled to hide a grimace. Us , Techno had said. As if Tommy having a homecooked meal with his brothers was nothing unusual. As if Techno had expected to eat lunch with him. 

Tommy’s stomach swirled with newly set nausea as he glanced between the food and the pink-haired fencer. “Not hungry,” he mumbled.

Techno grunted disappointedly, the corners of his lips twitching down into a subtle frown. 

The teen had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. After a beat of awkward silence, he made to leave, but Wilbur stopped him, calling out, “Tommy!” 

Dull gray met lively brown. Wilbur blinked, surprised at the attention, as if he thought Tommy would ignore him. The young blond raised an unimpressed eyebrow, though his brother’s wariness caught him off guard. The musician was always so self-assured and confident in the way he spoke, opinions rarely anything but loud and clear.

Wilbur cleared his throat, choking out a hesitant, “Uh…how are you doing?” 

Well, that was a loaded question. Not pog. Pretty shit. Quite unwell, actually. These were all things he wanted to say out loud, but that was not what happened. Instead, Tommy froze up as his brain caught up with the fact he was expected to actually answer the question. 

So, like any mentally stable person, he blinked twice before bee-lining for the front door. The twins watched him, stunned into silence, as he haphazardly slipped into his converse. Straightening up, he called, “I’m actually late to meet up with a friend. Gotta go, bye!” before rushing out the door.

Tommy was on the move. To where, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he needed to get away from this house and the two people who had snatched his life up and tossed it on its head. So he walked.

A creaking startled Tommy into awareness. His head snapped towards the noise—well, as much as it could given how the world lagged (actually, that might’ve just been him). When his eyes focused, they were met with an empty swingset, swaying gently in the warm summer wind. 

He blinked, brain racing to catch up. Glancing around, Tommy realized he had stumbled into a park. When had he gotten here? He had just left the house…right? Tommy remebered needing some fresh air to clear his head and running out the front door, leaving his brothers in the dust. He was trying to sort through the jumbled mess of thoughts clouded by a tired haze and then he was…here.

Another scan around allowed him to notice the red playground surrounded by patches of bright green grass (Tommy didn’t understand that; they were in the middle of a drought) and some wooden tables and benches within a perimeter of trees and chainlink fencing. It was all quite small, surprisingly clean, and…disturbingly empty. Considering it was the middle of June, shouldn’t this place have been filled? Teenagers messing around and little kids running about while their parents watched them nearby. 

The thought set something off and Tommy’s nerves lit up. Fingers tingling, heart racing, chest tightening. Suddenly, he was fisting his shirt, tugging down the neckline, eyes frantically searching for something- anything to make it stop. Through the blur, he caught sight of the swings once more and the gears in his head clicked into place.

…

Tommy gripped the chains loosely, relishing the rush of air against his face as he soared forward through the air and tightened his grip as he started to drop, his stomach following suit a second later. Warm hands rested on his back, easing away before pushing against him, strong yet gentle. The little boy swung high, giggling the whole way until he returned to the hands of his father.

It was Tommy’s fifth birthday. This year, it had fallen on a Saturday, so the family decided a day trip to their local park was the best course of action. Wilbur and Techno were chasing each other around the playground, Philza was pushing Tommy on the swings, and Kristin sat on a bench directly in eyesight, watching the blonds with a loving smile. Sometimes, she made silly faces at him, sending her youngest into a fit of laughter. It may not have been anything special, but his family was with him, so Tommy was happy.

“Dad, push me higher! I wanna be taller than the trees,” the five-year-old demanded. 

The man behind him chuckled. “Whatever you want, mate. It’s yours,” he promised, and Tommy had no doubt in the world that he meant every word. Phil swung his son the highest he had yet and Tommy shrieked gleefully as his body flew just above the tree line.

If he could have this every year for the rest of his life, he’d be happy. He didn’t need a cake or presents or a big party. His family was enough for him. They were perfect and they were his .

When he came back down, his father lifted his body from the swing and hugged him tight, twirling him around. Tommy shrieked with laughter as the world spun before his eyes. It slowed to a stop and the arms tightened around him. From behind, Philza’s voice whispered, “I love you, Toms,” before soft lips placed a gentle kiss to the side of his head. 

…

Tommy gasped, the air struggling to make it into his lungs. His hands clung no longer to his shirt but to his hair as he tugged. A trivial effort at expelling the memory from his mind. The flash of pain did, however, manage to shock him into enough awareness to notice the group of kids walking into the park. 

Run, Theseus. Run from your problems like the coward you are.

And despite how desperately he always tried to drown out the incessant voice in his head, Tommy listened. He listened and he ran . In the opposite direction, towards the back fence where a chain and padlock held the gate locked. As he approached it, the teen noted the small gap of space between the fencing from the chain being too loose. Just wide enough for him to slip through. He ducked through the trees and wedged through the gap, emerging on the other side panting and breathless, heart pounding in his chest.

The teen waited with bated breath, every nerve in his body running on overdrive. Only after silence greeted him, did Tommy allow himself to relax. Clenched muscles released, deep breaths slowing his heartrate to a steady pace. 

With a somewhat clear mind, it registered that he had no idea where he was. A single scan around suggested the young blond had stumbled upon a compound with giant metal shipping containers in a limited selection of colors. At first glance, he worried he might get in trouble for trespassing after running into someone. Then, he realized the place must’ve been abandoned.

All of the metal appeared rusted to various degrees, graffiti painted the sides of the majority of containers, and a few were left opened and empty. 

He ran a hand through his tangled mess of blond waves, wincing when his fingers caught in a knot. Tommy desperately needed a haircut—the front fell in his eyes, the sides tickled his ears, and the back left the bottom of his neck itchy—but he’d rather suffer than talk to Phil about that. Not to mention, his default cut may or may not have been the same as one brunet twin he knew and the mere thought of looking like Wilbur left a sour taste in his mouth.

Wilbur, who had left his life in ruins all those years ago just to come back and- and what? Try to piece it back together? Cold fury flowed through his veins. Long gone was the red hot rage fueled by a short temper and too much care, in its stead the cold blue of numbness and nothing left to lose. And everyone knows, ice can burn just as bad as fire.

Tommy grimaced, clenching his fists. As his eyes scanned over the compound once more, he noticed an area of stacked containers organized diagonally like steps, starting with one and reaching a height of five. A sudden urge pulled his body forward before he could name it and as he approached the single container at the bottom, Tommy noted that the top of it couldn’t be much more than two feet above him. 

Before he could even think about it, he had taken a few steps back for a running start and, suddenly, he was in the air, arms reaching. Fingers grasped the edge of the metal box and he caught himself with a foot against the side, swiftly using the momentum to pull his body up as he walked his feet up the surprisingly frictioned metal wall. As soon as his chest rose above the edge, he shifted his weight forward and pushed up until he could rest a knee on the top, the other following suit. 

Tommy immediately stood, surprised at how not tired his muscles were. Maybe it was the sheer adrenaline that thrummed through his veins, leaving his whole body buzzing. Without a second’s hesitation, he was running at the shipping container in front of him, using the same technique to climb it. And again, with the next level. This time, he took a second to look around after standing up. The ground already looked so far away and he could see above the tree line into the park. It wasn’t enough.

The teen huffed, turning and running at the next container, climbing it with slight difficulty. He took a minute to catch his breath and shake out his arms before doing the same with the final level. He almost didn’t get himself up, but something inside him wouldn’t stop until he was standing atop a platform five shipping containers high. 

Chest heaving, arms trembling, and mind racing, Tommy walked across the platform of metal until he reached the end. For a moment, he was frozen. The sun blared down on him, but a slight breeze wafted through his overgrown hair. Looking out over the several other stacks of shipping containers, a freeway brushed against the opposite end of the compound with a background of multi-storied buildings and patches of residential housing.

Finally, the young blond glanced down. The toes of his shoes just barely brushed against the corner of the container. On the other side, a straight shot down onto concrete (about four stories, he figured). 

Tommy blinked. Shouldn’t he be afraid, right now? That he was one step away from death’s door?

You know it’s the right choice, don’t you?

He wasn’t. He couldn’t feel anything, actually. The realization washed over him like a gentle wave.

It would be better for everyone if you did it.

A ratty white converse slid forward until it hovered halfway over air. 

Nobody wants you here.

All he had to do was lean. 

Your family doesn’t need you. You’re a burden, Tommy.

Some part of him, bigger than he’d like to admit, wanted it. Wanted to tip his weight forward, to race the wind and feel weightless, if only for a moment. Wanted to stop thinking, stop wanting, stop hurting, stop existing. Wanted to see his mother. 

And that realization hit him like a truck. 

He stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet until he was a few feet from the edge. His chest ached and the oh-so familiar sensation had him biting his lip. Everything squeezed. His lungs, his throat, his head. Suddenly, Tommy’s vision was spinning and a wave of nausea swept over him. He leaned over his knees, gasping, heaving , trying to get a grip. He gagged, nothing coming up as his eyes watered. Hugging his arms around his stomach, Tommy dropped to his knees. He didn’t notice the burn of sun-heated metal on his skin.

Stop being so weak, Theseus.

A strangled cry crawled out of his throat, vision still blurred by unshed tears. A series of whines left his mouth and he bit his lip in an attempt to silence them. Everything was squeezing and he couldn’t breathe. Tommy gasped again and again, each one becoming wetter until he was sobbing, the taste of salt fresh on his lips. 

He curled in on himself until his forehead rested on the burning metal. The flash of searing heat grounded him, but sobs still tried to claw their way up his throat. Tommy slid one arm out from under himself, slamming a heavy fist into the top of the container. A dull throbbing pooled outwards from his knuckles and a shaky breath urged away any remaining cries. 

For a moment, he didn’t move, simply trying to even out his breathing and blinking away the last of the tears. With a raspy groan, he lifted his body up, releasing his torso to rub his face. Pinkish purple ghosted over the knuckles of his right hand. A dull pounding echoed his heartbeat behind his eyes. Tommy sighed, inhaling deeply through his nose to clear it and spluttering out a short cough.

The teen’s gaze shifted up until he stared at the edge of the shipping container. Within a second, he was scootching his body towards it, legs too shaky to actually stand up yet. When he reached the end, Tommy swung his legs over the edge before pulling his phone and earphones out of his pocket. With practiced ease, he untangled the cord and slipped the buds in. A thread of notifications from his best friends lit up the lock screen. He ignored them.

Opening Spotify, he shuffled the playlist he’d had on loop for the past week, pocketing his phone and staring out at the city in front of him. The city that hadn’t stopped this whole time, not even for a second. Tommy thought that fitting.

When he walked into the studio at seven fourty-five, Tommy wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. His brain had been on autopilot since he left the compound and he was just so tired . 

He walked straight past the unmanned front desk, muscle memory taking him to the hip hop room. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he thanked the universe that he didn’t need his backpack for this class (though having his towel would’ve been nice). 

The blond slipped into the room with his usual level of quiet but none of the awareness. He missed Dream’s small smile and Foolish’s cheerful hello, making his way to his usual spot, head angled slightly downwards and eyes mostly unfocused. Maybe if he’d had the energy to think, he’d care a bit more about how absolutely awful he looked. But alas, the teen was barely standing. 

It must’ve shown because not two seconds later, the brunet leading today’s class stood beside him, warm hand resting on his shoulder. The young blond didn’t even flinch, instead, glancing between the hand—surpsisingly gentle despite how strong the grip was—and its owner. He blinked blankly at Foolish, barely registering the obvious concern on his face. A pit deep in his stomach clenched with the guilt of worrying someone who had known him for less than a year.

Brows furrowed and visibly growing, the man asked, “Hey, kid, you doin’ okay?” 

Tommy blinked. The words were so similar to those he’d heard this morning, but different in the way that it had been asked. There was no obligation here, no blood connecting them. This was just a person who cared enough to worry about him when he had no reason to. And Tommy had no idea what to do with that. 

He opened his mouth and started, “Yeah-” wincing at the way his raspy voice cracked. Hours of not speaking after his breakdown had left his throat hoarse and scratchy. Hurriedly, he cleared it and tried again, “Yeah, fine, big man,” annoyed that he only sounded slightly less like he was dying.

Foolish clearly was not convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he nodded hesitantly, lips tilting into a lopsided frown. “Just…let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Once Tommy nodded, shooting him a grateful smile, Foolish squeezed his shoulder and returned to the front of the room to set up the speaker. The teen’s shoulder burned, reminded of the foreign touch he’d received just two days ago. Yet he yearned to feel the weight of it again. He gnawed at his lip, trying to rid the thought from his mind. 

It didn’t work. 

Dream frowned, watchful gaze glued to the teen as he sat with his back against the wall, arms draped over bended knees, dull gray eyes trained on fidgeting fingers. A deep pit in his stomach clenched tightly as he took the boy in.

Windswept, tangled blond hair did a poor job of hiding sunken eyes decorated by some of the worst eye bags he’d ever seen. As the boy’s hands shifted, Dream caught sight of fresh bruises across one of his knuckles.

His initial shock immediately transformed into a mix of worry and anger. He didn’t want to imagine the reasons the kid was in the state he was, especially when it was so familiar to him. Years of taking hits, nose drowning in the stench of alcohol, before he built up the strength and courage to hit back. He was sixteen the last time his father laid a hand on him. He was eighteen when the man finally drank himself to death. 

Dream’s interest in the teen had started a little while ago, but it wasn’t until this week that he’d wanted to do something about it. The kid was insanely talented, but he clearly didn’t see it in himself—Dream would be the first to admit he knew the feeling. He obviously had something going on and no one to help him through it (unless they were just doing a shit job). 

For some reason, he felt responsible to take up that role. Maybe it was because of the way his heart clenched when he’d helped the kid through a panic attack. Or the way he’d so easily slipped into comfortable silence with him. Or the way Tommy made him laugh like only his best friends could without even trying. Or maybe…maybe he just saw himself in the seventeen-year-old dancer who was so clearly hurting . 

Whatever it was, Dream was determined to help as much as the kid would let him, even if it took forever to do it. 

When class ended, Dream didn’t stop to revel in the looseness of his body as he tried to catch his breath. Instead, he rushed to pack up his things before scanning around for a particular teen. He caught sight of blond hair and red shirt slipping past the door. Hurriedly, Dream crossed the room towards the door, shooting Foolish a short goodbye and dapping him up as he passed the coach’s area. 

The blond man strode out the door, pushing his way through people until he stood outside the studio’s entrance. He spotted Tommy just to the left, halted as he lazily untangled his headphones. Before he could slip them in, Dream made his way over and tapped on the teen’s shoulder. 

The younger blond shifted his head to meet Dream’s gaze, moving almost in a lagging manner. The exhaustion and overall blankness of Tommy’s face made Dream want to punch whoever allowed him to reach this point. The rage gripped his jaw and he clenched it once before schooling his face into what he hoped was inviting and calm. 

“I’m heading over to Kinoko’s to meet up with some friends. Why don’t you come with, kid? Drinks are on me,” he said, hoping the incentive would be enough to convince him.

Tommy eyed him cautiously for a moment before nodding. Dream smiled, waiting for the boy to repocket his phone and headphones. They walked over to the cafe side-by-side, one with hands comfortably resting in the front pocket of his green hoodie and one with clenched fists shoved into the pockets of his black sweatpants. 

Within minutes, the familiar dark green exterior with white lettering spelling “Kinoko’s” stood before them. Dream inched forward, pulling the door open and holding it for Tommy to enter. The high-pitched jingling did nothing to alert the two men chatting over the counter of their arrival. 

The owner of the cafe, clad in his usual purple hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, flitted around behind the counter, rinsing things off before putting them away. His best friend leaned against the counter, white t-shirt over black hoodie and a white bandana around his head doing little to keep his long black hair out of his face. A smirk rested on his lips as he spoke to the fluffy-haired barista who giggled in response, cheeks tinting pink.

The blond pair walked up to them, Dream doing a quick onceover of the rest of the cafe. Outside of the four of them (and Grey and Buffy), Kinoko’s was empty and, given that midnight was in less than an hour, he wouldn’t be surprised if Karl closed early tonight. The dark-haired men finally noticed Dream and Tommy, Karl flashing them a bright smile as Sapnap nodded in greeting.

“Hey, guys,” Dream said, slinging an arm over Tommy’s shoulders. He didn’t miss the way the kid tensed before gradually relaxing (he thought he felt Tommy lean into the touch). “This is Tommy from the studio.”

Karl was the first to speak, gray eyes bright with fondness. “Hi, Tommy! Good to see you again.” 

Tommy smiled. “You too, Karl.”

Sapnap piped up, grinning wide at the boy. “Name’s Sapnap,” he began before gesturing at Karl. “That one’s my boyfriend,” he finished, sending a wink at said boyfriend.

Karl rolled his eyes, resting his elbows on the counter. “You guys want anything before I turn off the equipment? Anything from the bakery is free; I gotta get rid of what’s left anyway.”

Tommy bit his lip, glancing over the glass case before looking up at Dream. The latter nodded for him to go ahead and Tommy pursed his lips. “Can I get the usual and, ehm, a chocolate croissant?”

Karl shot him a thumbs up, turning to Dream.

“Large honey cinnamon latte and a chocolate chip cookie.”

“Coming right up,” the brunet said before moving to start on their drinks.

“So, Tommy, you still in school?” Sapnap asked, resting his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm. 

“Ehm, yeah. I’m a senior this year,” the teen said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Dream could sense his anxiety, but the teen had edged closer into his side so the man stayed right where he was. 

Sapnap nodded in acknowledgement, blowing a strand of hair away from where it fell in his green eyes (they were more blueish than Dream’s). “What kind of dancing do ya do?”

“Contemporary, ballet and hip hop.”

Sapnap’s eyes widened in recognition. “Yo, Dream does ballet and hip hop, too!” He exclaimed excitedly. 

Tommy chuckled as Dream rolled his eyes. “He knows, Sap. We have class together.”

The ravenette’s mouth formed an “O” shape as the words processed. Not a moment later, Karl popped back up behind the counter with their drinks and pastries. 

“That’ll be thirteen-seventy, please.” 

The older blond handed his friend a ten and a five. “Keep the change.” 

Karl smiled in thanks, slipping them into the register before turning off the machines and cleaning up the remaining few items. “I just gotta put the cats in the back room and lock up. I’ll meet you guys at the car.” He didn’t wait for a response before hurrying off. 

Dream knew Karl had a cat tree set up in the back as well as blankets and water bowls, so he didn’t doubt they’d be alright overnight. 

Sapnap moved first, walking over to the corner to grab his skateboard before heading out the door. The older blond followed suit, guiding the younger blond with an arm still around his shoulder. 

The trio circled around the back of Kinoko’s to the parking lot where a single car stood parked. They approached it, Sapnap walking over the driver’s side backseat without a word, leaving Tommy with shotgun. Dream unlocked the doors and climbed in, starting up the car as the group waited for their fourth member. 

As if on cue, Karl appeared from around the corner of the cafe, skateboard in hand. By the time he was seated, Dream had set up his bluetooth and shuffled his “night drives with friends” playlist. 

The beginning notes of “Remember When” by the Wallows sounded through the car, receiving small cheers from the two men in the backseat. Dream chuckled, turning to the teen in the passenger seat. The boy’s head bobbed to the beat and Dream’s lips tilted up. His smile only grew when the lyrics started and Tommy lip-synced along. 

“You gotta be home anytime soon, kid?” Dream asked, one hand on the steering wheel and another resting on the clutch. 

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. After a moment, he shook his head and Dream grinned. 

“How do you feel about a little nighttime adventure?”

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows at that, but a small smile ghosted his lips. Dream raised an eyebrow in question and the younger snorted playfully. “Sounds fun.”

Dream smirked, winking at him and Tommy responded by rolling his eyes before turning his head to look out the window. The older didn’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitched up. 

After driving around for a bit—the four of them spent the time singing along and cackling at each other’s stupid jokes—Dream turned into a multi-storied parking garage, circling up the floors to the roof. He was happy to see the place entirely empty, though he wasn’t surprised—the lot stood hidden behind some other large buildings and belonged to the unfrequented mall next door. 

The blond easily slid his car into a spot along the far wall, facing the open city. He put it in park and turned off the car, music cutting out with it.

“Race ya down to the bottom,” Karl said, hurrying to take off his seat belt. “Loser has dish duty for the rest of the week.”

“Oh, you’re so on.” Sapnap raced to undo his own seat belt and the pair exit the car, skateboards in hand.

Dream rolled his eyes fondly, spotting Tommy chuckling at them out of the corner of his eye. 

“Dream, come count us down!”

The man sighed, shooting Tommy an exasperated look before climbing out, the teen following suit. After locking the car, he walked over to where his two friends stand at the top of the ramp, one foot on their respective skateboards. 

“You guys are so dumb,” he huffed, smile ghosting his lips. The dark-haired pair eyed him expectantly. “Yeah, yeah, ok. On your marks. Ready…set…go!” And they were off, gathering speed as they approached the first turn and then they were out of sight.

Tommy had been watching the entire thing in silent amusement, a toothy grin plastered on his face. 

Dream nodded toward the edge of the roof where a white barrier enclosed the whole floor. “There’s a nice view if you wanna check it out.”

Tommy’s eyebrows quirked with interest and he caught pace with the man who was already walking over. They stood in front of the wall, looking out over the city lights that twinkled like stars.

“Whoa…” the teen breathed, eyes scanning to take it all in.

“Pretty cool, huh?” The older asked, leaning back against the hood of his car. Tommy simply nodded. A comfortable silence rested over them, nothing but the distant rush of cars and exhilerated shouts of two skaters to keep them company. Dream bit his lip, tapping his fingers lightly against the hood. He should ask now while they were alone.

“So, Tommy,” he began, pausing to clear his throat. “Y’know the promo shoot that’s happening next weekend?” 

The boy turned to face him, leaning back against the barrier and nodding.

“I, uh, I-,” he stuttered, huffing in annoyance before trying again. “So Puffy chose me for the hip hop section and she said I could choose one other person to join me…”

The man met the teen’s eyes cautiously, hoping he could see where this was going. It was clear he did when Tommy tilted his head, a puzzled expression coating his features.

“I was wondering if you wanted to?” He questioned, a hopeful lilt to his voice.

The young blond blinked at him, startled. After a few seconds, he whispered, “I mean, yeah, sure, but…I’m already doing the contemp section.” Behind the obvious self-doubt, Dream thought he could hear some disappointment.

He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head in confusion. It finally clicked that the teen thought he could only participate in a single section. Shaking his head, he said, “Oh, yeah, that’s not a problem. I’m also doing the ballet section with Niki, so, like, doing multiple isn’t an issue.”

Tommy widened his eyes at that, a slight flush tinting his cheeks. “Oh…”

Dream sent his a reassuring smile.

The boy bit his lip. “Um, in that case, yeah. I’ll join you.”

The man grinned, relieved, before an idea popped into his brain. “Oh! Here, let me give you my number so we can figure out logistics.” 

Tommy dug his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and opening a new contact before handing it to Dream. The older filled it out, immediately texting himself so he could save the number in his own phone and returned it to Tommy.

The pair settled into a comfortable silence once again, gazes locked onto the city lights. After a few minutes, Dream noticed Tommy shuffling his weight and fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“I never, ehm, got the chance to properly thank you for…Tuesday,” the boy muttered, eyes still locked forward. 

Dream blinked, momentarily confused, before he remembered what the teen was talking about.

“Don’t mention it, kid. I’ve had my fair share of bad days.” And he had. At nine when his mother died. At eleven when he’d cut his hands on pieces of broken glass for the first time. At thirteen when he’d been left to deal with a sprained wrist and broken rib by himself. At sixteen when his father had smashed an empty bottle over his head. He’d needed eight staples. He could still feel the ugly shape of lifted skin beneath his hair.

“That’s an understatement,” Tommy muttered, just barely loud enough for Dream to hear. And maybe the kid realized that because he took a deep breath through his nose and continued, “My brothers came home Tuesday morning.”

Dream didn’t know what that meant, but he knew it meant something. So he stayed quiet and listened.

“I haven’t seen or spoken to them since they left for college.” Dream tilted his head, able to understand but not relate to that feeling. “When I was ten.” His eyes widened as the words processed. Tommy’s brothers had been out of his life for seven years .

The teen let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the barrier with enough pressure to leave them white. “I just…I got so used to being alone and…they just walked back into my life like they never left in the first place. It’s like I’m living with strangers. Everything just got so- so messed up…And I- I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracked and the last sentence came out in a whisper, full of grief and fear and so much pain .

Dream’s heart clenched. His body burned, itching for a fight he couldn’t have. This boy was hurting . So so deeply. The man knew it. He saw it in the sunken face and tangled hair, the blank stare in eyes too troubled for someone so young. He saw it in clenched fists and gnawed lips and a bruised hand. He saw the little things that meant nothing to everyone else and everything to him. Of course, he did. Because once, that had been him.

Dream had been sixteen when the world became too much for him and the only way through was out. George was the one who found him. It took two weeks for him and Sapnap to trust leaving Dream alone. To this day, they send check-in texts to the group chat every morning.

Dream would never forget the feeling of utter hopelessness, of not seeing a future for himself. And as far as he could tell, Tommy was on his way. He only hoped the kid hadn’t already gotten there.

A sharp inhale. “It’s okay not to know. No one ever really knows anything.”

The teen finally glanced back at him. There was a glassiness to his eyes that wasn’t there before and tear tracks shone in the moonlight. Dream’s heart ached for him.

Hard green eyes locked onto dull blue ones. “And Tommy, it’s okay to need help. I wouldn’t be standing here if I went through life alone.” 

Tommy blinked, a silent tear falling from an eyelash. Dream softened, a sad smile coating his lips. 

“If you ever need, I’m just a text or call away.”

The young blond eyed him strangely, as if trying to determine whether the man was lying. After a moment, he nodded. And that was enough.

Tommy inhaled a deep, shaky breath and wiped at his eyes. A cold breeze bit at their skin, eliciting a shudder out of the kid.

Without hesitating, Dream pulled his hoodie over his head and stretched it towards the boy. “Here, kid. You’re gonna get sick.”

Tommy glances between the hoodie and the man holding it, face contorting with conflict. “I- what about you?”

The older blond shrugged dismissively. “I don’t get cold easily.”

With gentle and hesitant hands, the teen accepted the hoodie and pulled it over his head, flipping the hood down. It fit him slightly too big, the sleeves just barely hiding his hands. Warmth blossomed through Dream’s chest at the sight. 

“Keep it,” he’d say later that night when the kid tried to hand it back to him. “I have three of the same.” Tommy didn’t need to know he only had one and it was his favorite.

Chapter Text

The sound of the front door opening was quiet enough to miss. That is, if Wilbur wasn’t listening for it. The brunet straightened from where his head rested on his arms on the kitchen island. The sleepiness that had been clinging to him since midnight—the all-nighter had been a success—momentarily lifted. Taking advantage of the small burst of energy, Wilbur slid from the high chair and stumbled into the living room. The sight before him made his breath catch in his throat.

Tommy slipped off his shoes, a carefree grin plastered across his otherwise solemn face. A weariness Wilbur never used to associate with his baby brother followed him around like a shadow. Everything about it screamed wrong . And yet, seeing Tommy smiling had his mind going blank, all of the jumbled thoughts of anger and worry fizzling out. When was the last time he’d seen his brother with anything other than a frown coating his lips?

The blond seemed to finally notice another presence, head lifting until dark brown met dull blue. The recognition wasn’t immediate. Instead, the teen stared, his small smile slowly slipping until his features settled into something like indifference. Two boys, brothers only by blood, blinked at each other.

Wilbur’s heart clenched. Yet again, he was faced with a boy who looked like his brother but was not his brother. The thought had everything from before rushing back into his mind. All of his frustration and concern building up under his skin like a volcano about to burst.

“Where were you?” The words came out harsher than he meant them to. At least, that’s what Wilbur told himself.

Tommy’s fingers twitched, flexing once before curling into loose fists. The corners of his mouth tilted downwards as he tilted his head. “What does it matter to you?”

The response felt like a slap to the face. The brunet’s eyes widened, brows rising until hidden by the flop of hair hanging over his forehead. “What? Of course it matters!”

The teen scoffed, but stayed silent. The reaction only added to the building pressure in Wilbur’s body. “You’re off god knows where and don’t even think to text to let us know you’re safe?!”

Tommy said nothing, blinking impassively at his older brother, the only sign he’d even heard the words in the tightening of his fists.

His brother’s apathy fueled him as his emotions began bubbling over. “Where the fuck were you, Tommy?”

The boy shifted his feet, shoving clenched fists into the pocket of a green hoodie. “With friends.” 

“Doing what? Getting high? Drunk? Both?”

The frown on Tommy’s face deepened, lips curling into a scowl. He said nothing.

“Well, which is it?” Wilbur growled. “Or do you not even remember?”

The blond blinked at him, shooting the older a flat look. He let out a breath through his nose. “Why are you even still up, Wilbur?”

The man spluttered. “ Why? Maybe because I couldn’t sleep thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere!”

Once again, Tommy stayed quiet, not reacting outside of the slight furrowing of his brows.

“But no,” Wilbur continued. “You didn’t think about anyone other than yourself- about how it could affect us. Why would you?” He paused, brown eyes black with scalding fury before spitting, “You’re the same spoiled brat you’ve always been.”

Maybe if he wasn’t so worked up, Wilbur would’ve noticed the pained look that flashed over his brother’s face before he schooled it into indifference once more, or the way his whole body stiffened, or the way his breathing became just a bit more forced. But he didn’t. All he saw was a teenager acting out and tossing aside the feelings of his family, of his brother , the one that raised him.

The brunet laughed humorlessly, face falling into a look of disbelief as he settled from the release of pressure from his outburst. “You don’t even care, do you?”

Without missing a beat, Tommy muttered, “Had to learn from someone,” before walking straight past his brother, careful not to brush shoulders, to the stairs. The man stood frozen, mouth slightly agape, as the last of his frustration sizzled into helplessness. 

What the fuck just happened?

Tommy stumbled into his room, mind racing at a speed that rivaled his heart. He knew he was too far gone to pull himself out of it and resigned to collapsing against his door, sliding to the floor. The familiar tightness in his chest and throat had him gasping for air as he dug fingernails deeper into palms. 

His brother’s words echoed in his head, just as painful as every other time he’d heard them. Spoiled brat.

What right did Wilbur have to act like Tommy owed him an explanation? Owed him anything ? Seven years and not a single call, text or thought spared for his little brother he claimed to care so fucking much about. 

The rage churned inside of him, building pressure until his body was vibrating. 

Not a single member of the so-called family he belonged to could have cared less about him, not for seven goddamn years , so why should Tommy have to worry about what they thought. 

Getting worked up was doing nothing to help with his growing panic. In fact, it was making it much much worse. Hot tears burned his eyes as he raised his hands to his neck, grasping the collar of Dream’s hoodie and tugging. Anything to rid himself of the choking feeling as his chest heaved and throat constricted. 

Why couldn’t it be enough? Why couldn’t he have a mom that lived and a dad that looked and brothers that listened? Why couldn’t he have a family that loved him?

The realization was what sent him over the edge, tears running freely down his face as he clawed at his throat, gasping between sobs. 

They were always going to ignore him or criticize him or treat him like a burden. He was never going to be enough for them. 

You should’ve jumped.

Tommy thought so, too.

Techno rose in the morning with nothing particularly pressing on his mind save for figuring out what was going on with the angsty teen down the hall from him. He’d gone to bed long before his twin, drowsiness from a consistent sleeping schedule hitting him early. 

The fencer worked his way through his morning routine; it was just one of those things he had to keep up with or his life would start crumbling—domino effect and all. Once his bed was made, Techno pocketed his phone and left his room, fingers combing through his newly unbraided hair.

Merely two steps out the door, his twin stumbled into the hallway from the bathroom. The brunet looked a wreck, worse than Techno had seen him in ages. Red-rimmed eyes greeted him, the once lively chocolate brown now closer to dull dry dirt. The dark bags under Wilbur’s eyes had only worsened and his hair was missing all of its curls as if repeatedly run through and pulled at. 

Techno blinked at the musician twice, turned to gaze wistfully at the stairs which promised breakfast and sighed. He met his clearly distraught twin’s eyes, searching them for any clue as to what had caused this breakdown. When nothing jumped out at him, he stepped forward to grab Wilbur’s wrist and pulled him into his bedroom. 

Wilbur allowed himself to be led into his twin’s room without a word. Once the pink-haired fencer had shut the door, he guided his other half to sit down on the bed. The brunet blinked a few times, still silent but the look in his eyes made Techno’s heart clench as panic settled in his chest. 

Techno stood before his twin, arms crossed. “Wilbur,” he said, pausing for the man to look up at him. “What’s going on?”

The younger stared back at him and, for a moment, Techno was sure he wouldn’t answer. Then, Wilbur dropped his head into his hands and began to sob. The fencer froze, his mind and body taking a minute to catch up so that he could react. When they finally did, he immediately settled into the space beside his brother, wrapping strong arms around his trembling form. 

The two men, so different yet so alike, stayed like that for what felt like hours. Techno kept a tight hold on Wilbur, rubbing his back as the latter hiccuped his way through his tears. Even when he finally calmed down, his pink-haired twin didn’t move. Wilbur wiped his face and shifted out of Techno’s hold, turning to face him but keeping his gaze down.

Techno waited. He didn’t hear the soft footsteps pad past his door and down the stairs. 

A sharp inhale. A shaky exhale. “I think I fucked up, Tech. And I don’t know what to do.” Wilbur lifted his head, glassy eyes meeting Techno’s. He looked lost. 

Techno frowned, the panic rising steadily. “Wil, tell me what happened.”

The brunet sighed, biting his lip. “I had a fight with Tommy last night. I yelled at him- I was- I was awful!” He rubbed his face before running his hands through his already frazzled hair. “I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“Wil, please. Tell me what you said,” Techno urged. His chest tightened with the words.

“I- I don’t even remember exactly, but…I was worried and he got home so late and…” Wilbur raised his head to meet Techno’s eyes. “He was happy, Tech. Smiling . When was the last time you saw him smile?”

Techno’s breath caught in his throat—not at the question, but at the fact that he couldn’t remember the answer. The realization sent bile crawling up his throat. 

Swallowing, he demanded, “What did you say, Wilbur?”

“I…I guess I just got angry that he’d worried us and- he didn’t care, Tech! He just stood there . He didn’t even tell me what he was doing! He just said he was ‘with friends’, but how do I know these so-called friends aren’t sending him down the wrong path?! I just- I don’t know what I’d do if he was acting the same as I used to…”

Techno sighed, running a hand over his face before rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Is that all?”

Wilbur turned his head to glance out the window. 

“Wil?”

“I don’t remember exactly , but I think I called him something along the lines of ‘spoiled brat.’” 

At his twin’s sharp sigh, Wilbur winced. “Anything else?” Techno deadpanned. 

Wilbur shook his head. “No, that’s everything. At least, that I can remember.”

Techno grunted in acknowledgment. “Well, what happened after that? Have you spoken to Tommy since?”

The brunet sighed, shaking his head once again. “Tommy just walked away, back to his room. I haven’t seen him since.”

The fencer nodded, biting his lip. He was used to dealing with the fallout of his twin’s outbursts—usually between Wilbur and their father—but this was different. Sensitive, in a way. Something was going on with Tommy, that was certain, but he couldn’t do anything about it if his brothers weren’t even on speaking terms. 

“Alright,” Techno began. “I’m gonna go check on Tommy, see if I can get some answers. Wil, stay here.”

The brunet nodded glumly, hand lifting to wipe his sleeve against his runny nose. The pink-haired man released a deep breath through his nose, abandoning his twin on his bed. 

Maybe if he got really lucky, things would start piecing together and Techno could figure out what exactly had become of the Watson household. 

Tommy walked into the studio looking only slightly less worse for wear than yesterday. This was probably becoming a problem but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. The simmering anger from last night sat deep in his stomach, quelled only by the numbness that clouded his mind. 

The teen almost skipped today’s hip hop workshop but the prospect of speaking to his brothers tainted the desire to stay home. Besides, dancing always took his mind off of everything. 

The hood of his new green hoodie covered his messy waves, hands resting in the pocket, headphones still in his ears. His red backpack hung loosely off one shoulder. The bags under his eyes hadn’t disappeared but at least he had an idea of what was going on around him. 

He stepped forward, pulling his headphones out as he approached the front desk. A familiar brunet sat behind it, tapping away at a computer. When he spotted the blond, he paused to shoot him a smile.

“Hey, kid, how’s it goin?”

Tommy returned the smile with a wave. “Hey, Foolish.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s going.”

The man chuckled, nodding in understanding. Just as Tommy went to leave, Foolish called, “Before I forget, my mom wanted to talk to you! Something about the shoot, I think. She’s in her office, if you wanna stop by real quick.”

“Got it. Thanks, big man,” he answered, proceeding down the hall to the studio owner’s office which sat at the very back of the studio. That meant a long walk, which meant time to think, which never ended well for him.

The anxiety crawled up his throat, making it hard to swallow. What if Puffy had changed her mind and wanted someone else to do the contemporary section?

Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn’t even need to worry about that.

He bit his lip, trying to shake the thought from his mind. By the time the office door stood before him, his nerves tingled and the lump in his throat had only grown. With a shaky breath, he knocked.

“Come in!” The cheeriness of Puffy’s voice didn’t reassure him as much as he would’ve liked.

Tommy twisted the handle, pushing the door open gently before making his way inside. Puffy sat behind her desk, typing into her computer. Her curly split-dyed hair hung loosely down her back. She grinned upon spotting him, pausing whatever task she had been in the middle of.

“Tommy! Good to see you, what’s up?”

The teen shifted his weight, pulling his hood down nervously. “Uh, Foolish sent me…said you wanted to talk to me?”

Recognition flashed over her face and she clasped her hands together. “Right! Since the shoot is next weekend, I was just wondering if you’d chosen your song yet?”

He nodded, pulling his phone out and opening Spotify to locate the song he’d settled on just this morning. He clicked it open before handing his phone to her. Puffy took it, smile still wide on her face. When she registered the song, something flashed on her face but it was gone before Tommy could even confirm he saw it. Her smile shrunk, almost saddened before she returned his phone.

“Looks good to me. Do you know what section you wanna dance to?”

The blond chuckled nervously. “Uh, about that…”

Puffy tilted her head, brows furrowing in concern.

“I know you said thirty seconds, but…is it okay if my section is forty-five? Otherwise it cuts in the middle of a verse…” He bit his lip, hands tapping against the phone held between them.

The curly-haired dancer smiled kindly. “Of course,” she reassured.

Tommy released a relieved breath, returning her smile. “Awesome. Thanks. I, ehm, better get to class.”

Puffy nodded, waving goodbye before turning back to her work. He turned to exit the room, pulling the door behind him. Just before it closed, she called, “Tell Dream I say not to work everyone too hard!”

Tommy frowned. It took him the entire walk to the hip hop room to realize Dream was leading today’s workshop. Sure enough, as he entered the room, the older blond stood in the coach’s area presumably syncing his phone to the speaker. 

The younger made his way to his usual spot, setting his backpack down before checking his shoes were double-knotted. 

“Hey, kid.”

The deep voice caught him off-guard. He looked up, brows raised, and made eye contact with the ravenette from last night. He wore a black and white colorblock hoodie and black sweatpants, signature white bandana tied around his head.

After a moment of silence, Tommy blinked away his shock. “Hey, man. What brings you to the studio?”

Sapnap settled down next to him, dropping a black fanny pack onto the ground. With his gaze pinned on his best friend, he began, “Every once in a while, Dream drags me out here to a hip hop workshop.” Rolling his eyes, the man continued, “Since he’s teaching, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He shrugged, turning to meet the teen’s eyes. “I’ve been doing hip hop for most of my life, I’m just used to the streets.”

The blond nodded, smiling as he pictured the two friends in a street dance battle, hyping each other up even as they fought for the title of winner.

Dream finally paired the bluetooth, taking the opportunity to instruct the class to find a spot on the floor. As the dancers moved, he explained, “Alright, guys. Today we’re gonna work on dynamics and control. As important as popping and locking are, a big part of hip hop is being able to speed up and slow down your movements on a dime. So, we’ll start with a warmup, some conditioning, then some grooves, and finally a short combo. Sound good to everyone?”

A chorus of “Yeah”’s resounded through the dimly lit room, bouncing off the brick walls.

Two hours later, Tommy and Sapnap stood panting among the rest of the class as they clapped. Dream nodded in thanks, dismissing them. He turned to grab his stuff, but a hand wrapped around his wrist, grip tight yet gentle. Tommy stopped, head snapping around to meet Dream’s green eyes. He spun his body around to stand in front of the older blond, head cocking in question.

“Tommy! I just wanted to talk about the promo,” he explained, sending a warm smile his way. 

Maybe Dream’s changed his mind, too.

Tommy dug the nails of his unrestrained hand into his palm, ignoring the voice in his head.

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s up?”

The man released his arm, lifting it to wipe away the sweat beaded at his forehead. “I just wanted to run some song ideas by you.” When Tommy nodded, he continued, “Actually, Sapnap and I were gonna stop by Kinoko’s for lunch if you wanted to come with?”

Warmth blossomed from his chest as he blinked. He hesitated, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. 

Why should they have to babysit you? You’ll just be a burden as always.

Nails dug deeper into palms. “I don’t wanna intrude…”

Dream scoffed jokingly. “Tommy, why would I invite you if I didn’t want you there?”

The bluntness took him by surprise and his breath caught in his throat. The teen was so used to being brushed off or shooed away by his older brothers, he expected the same out of Dream. He blinked, words stuck in his throat.

Dream smiled, slinging an arm over his shoulder and guiding him towards Sapnap who stood by Tommy’s backpack. “C’mon, kid. Grab your stuff and we’ll head over.” 

Tommy almost didn’t reach for his things, the warmth of the older dancer burning his side in a way he couldn’t help but want. The loss of contact had disappointment pooling in his gut.

Stop being such a baby. You’re not a kid anymore.

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been a kid for a long time.

He started to move toward the door, but Dream stopped him by reslinging his arm over his shoulder and pulling him close into his side. The action sent another wave of warmth through him, settling something harsh and jagged that clenched in his chest. 

The three of them walked over to Kinoko’s, chatting idly and tossing jokes back and forth. Tommy couldn’t deny the feeling of pride that came with every laugh he got out of the two older men.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel so alone.

“You sure you don’t want a ride, kid?” 

Tommy nodded, sending Dream what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve got something to do before going home, anyway.”

The older blond nodded reluctantly, settling a hand on the younger’s shoulder and squeezing. “Let me know if you need anything. Remember, I’m just a text or call away.”

“You got it, big man.” 

Dream retracted his hand, stepping back. Sapnap took his place, hand reaching up to ruffle the teen’s hair. “See you around, Tommy.” 

The two men turned and headed toward the parking lot. The teen watched until they rounded the corner and he was left standing alone in front of Kinoko’s. 

He sighed deeply, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. He opened the groupchat, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He started to type something before deleting it. The process repeated several times before he huffed and slumped against the wall. What could he even say to explain to his best friends what had happened these past two days and why he’d been ignoring them? 

Biting his lip, he opened the keyboard again. Before he could change his mind, he typed in two words and clicked send. Within seconds, his phone was blasting the lyrics of “You Spin Me Round” as the faces of his two best friends lit up the screen. Tommy groaned, thankful his headphones were plugged in, and answered.

“ I’m sorry? I’M SORRY?! Thomas Innit, I swear to fucking God if you ever pull that shit again I will come to your house and skin you alive you fucking piece of shit what the fuck is wrong with you jesus fucking chr-”

Tommy winced at the murderous voice of his rage-filled friend.

“Tubbo, you’re not helping. Calm down, please.”

Though his face still screamed bloody murder, Tubbo went silent. 

Tommy gulped, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Hey, guys. What’s up…?”

Apparently, those were the wrong words because Tubbo snapped . “ What’s up?! WHATS UP?! What’s up is that you fucking ghosted us for two days and now you’re gonna act like you did nothing wrong? We were worried, you fucking asshole. We thought you-” The brunet stopped, voice breaking as he fumed at the camera.

Tommy bit his lip, the guilt churning in his gut. He didn’t have the heart to tell his best friend he almost was . 

Ranboo cleared his throat awkwardly. “What Tubbo is trying to say is that was not cool, dude. You know the rule: check in once every day. I know things are tough, but you gotta talk to us, man. That’s what we’re here for.”

Tubbo sniffled. “Next time, we will show up at your house.”

Tommy chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I know I know. I-” He sighed. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been really shit the past two days and I’m sorry for worrying you guys. I promise I’m okay right now- well, as okay as I can be, but that’s not the point. I just…the past two days have been really shit and you know I’m no good at talking about things. My brothers are…not great and it’s hard to be home right now. It’s just a lot to deal with…” 

“It’s okay, boss man. Just know we’re always here for you.”

“Yeah, you can always come to us for anything.”

Tommy’s vision blurred. He didn’t deserve such good friends. Releasing a shaky breath, he asked, “Do you think…could I maybe come to one of yours for a bit?”

“You know you’re always welcome at mine, boss man,” Tubbo said, smiling. “Boo, you can come over, too. We can watch a movie or something.”

Tommy wiped at his eyes, sniffling. Suddenly, he could breathe a little easier.

Techno knocked and waited. When no response could be heard, he knocked again. 

Silence.

“Tommy?” He called gently, trying the handle. It turned and he pushed the door open. 

The bed was empty, covers tossed haphazardly aside. The room was messy, but not nearly as bad as the fencer would have imagined. A pile of dirty clothes sat in one corner of the room, mostly sweatpants and t-shirts and- were those tights? Techno blinked at them a few times before moving on.

The desk had some clutter on it; fidget toys and gum wrappers, some pencils and pens. A small silver laptop sat at the center of it, closed and charging. On top of it, an open notebook, pencil covering writing of some sort. Techno walked toward it, curiosity peaked. He moved the pencil aside, eyes scanning over the page. 

At first, he didn’t understand what it was. A list of some sort, each one several words long and all of them crossed out except the one circled. The words seemed meaningless, they didn’t fall under a specific category and it couldn’t possibly be a to-do list. Only when his eyes caught the tiny scribble just outside the circle did it finally click.

0:26 - 1:11

He pulled out his phone, opening Spotify and typing in the circled words. Clicking on the first one and scrolling to twenty-six seconds, he pressed play and held his breath. The next forty-five seconds sent his world crashing around him.

Chapter Text

“Do you think a person could fit inside of Baymax? I think I could fit,” Tubbo blurted, tilting his head thoughtfully. Face setting in determination, he nodded. “Yeah, I could definitely fit.”

Ranboo tilted his head, considering it as Tommy rolled his eyes attention split between his best friends and the TV screen currently playing Big Hero 6 . The montage of the gang figuring out their tech and costumes had just begun.

“Mm, I don’t think so. I mean, he has an exoskeleton underneath.”

Yeah, I know ,” Tubbo groaned. “I’m saying I could fit, like, around it. There’s just a bunch of empty space between the tech and the balloon part.”

The teen with black and silver split-dyed hair shot their brunet counterpart an incredulous look. “Around? What do you mean ‘ around ’?”

“Like in front or behind it. Just,” Tubbo waved his hands in frustration, “in the empty space.”

Ranboo frowned, opening his mouth to argue, but before they could get in another word, Tommy groaned, head thrown back against the couch where he sat between the two bickering over him.

“Boys, please, you’re ruining one of the best parts!” The blond lowered his head, sending his friends a pointed glare as he glanced between them.

Ranboo shut their mouth, sagging back into the couch and returning his attention to the TV. Tubbo squinted at Tommy before dramatically leaning back, arms crossed, lips settling into a pout after releasing a huff of air.

The dancer rolled his eyes once more, a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. He reached forward and grabbed the popcorn bowl off the coffee table. Within seconds he had tossed a handful at each of the teens beside him who immediately retaliated   despite Tommy’s efforts to keep the bowl out of their reach. The trio dissolved into fits of laughter, movie momentarily forgotten as they picked popcorn off themselves and popped it into their mouths already wide from grinning.

They eventually returned their attention to the movie as it reached a slow part, Tommy taking the opportunity to reply to Dream’s text about meeting tomorrow to work on the hip hop section. He had already been planning to hit the studio at ten to work on his contemporary section, so Dream suggested they get lunch at Kinoko’s at twelve before heading to the studio for a few hours.

The blond had reached out to the older dancer after his call with Tubbo and Ranboo to let him know he had made it to a friend’s house safely. Dream had continued the conversation from there and the two tossed some jokes back and forth before Dream brought up the promo shoot. 

Texting Dream was surprisingly easy. Tommy had expected it to cause some anxiety, kind of like the prospect of texting Wilbur or Techno did. But it felt more like texting his best friends; he could just be himself and bounce off of Dream’s energy, receiving support where he expected judgment. It felt like everything he once so badly longed to have with his brothers. 

By the time the film was over, the three teens sat unmoving, pillows clutched tightly to their chests as silent tears ran down their faces, the sound of sniffling covered by the end credit song. Even after the screen turned black, nobody dared move or speak. It was only when the turning of a knob sounded that the three turned toward the front door, watching as it pushed open and a man stepped through.

The song dwindled out into silence but Techno didn’t even notice as his brain looped those eight lines over and over again. He had to have misheard it. This just didn’t make any sense. Why would Tommy-

The fencer refocused on his phone, dragging the scroll bar to twenty-six seconds and pressing play. He listened with bated breath for forty-five seconds. Then with a shaky exhale, he played it again. And again. 

None of this made sense. Even as his brain worked to fit puzzle pieces together he didn’t want to believe could be true. How could Tommy- how could his baby brother even think such thoughts? His baby brother who held the warmth of the sun in his smile and shone just as bright. Theseus, who once had been the light of his life.

His thoughts began to jumble as the panic grew and his mind worked overtime to keep up. Suddenly, fragments clicked into place and his confusion melted into guilt. 

How many tells had he missed? How many times had he brushed something off as meaningless or lashing out? How many times had he failed to be there ? He was the oldest, the most observant. He should have known, should have realized .

The lump in his throat made it hard to swallow.

Oh, god. What was he going to tell Wilbur?

With another shaky breath, Techno grabbed the notebook headed back to his room before he could talk himself out of it. 

When he pushed open the door, the pink-haired twin found his brunet other half exactly how he’d left him. Wilbur looked up expectantly, frowning upon noticing the notebook. The expression on Techno’s face probably wasn’t helping either. Reddish brown flickered away from the almost black that scrutinized him. In his peripheral, Techno saw Wilbur tense.

“What did Tommy say?”

“He wasn’t in his room.”

Wilbur paused. “Then what took you so long? And why do you have a notebook?”

Techno met his twin’s eyes nervously, the guilt he couldn’t bother masking surely present in his expression. 

When he didn’t answer, Wilbur prompted, “Tech?”

Silence.

“Techno, you’re scaring me…”

You should be scared , he wanted to say. I can’t protect you from this.

Instead, he shoved the notebook into Wilbur’s hands, allowing him a moment to scan over it. 

“I don’t understand. What is this?”

The fencer unlocked his phone, scroll bar already set to twenty six seconds, thumb hovering over the screen. “Just listen,” he said before his thumb pressed play.

Forty-five seconds later, the man paused the song, eyes searching his twin for any reaction. Other than the slight frown that ghosted his lips, it seemed as though the brunet hadn’t heard anything. In the span of a few seconds, his face contorted into a mixture of anger and disbelief as he snatched the phone out of Techno’s hand and scanned the screen carefully. 

Then, just as Techno had, he scrolled back to twenty-six seconds and listened again. If Techno didn’t feel like throwing up, he might have laughed. 

After hearing those godforsaken lyrics for what felt like the thousandth time, Wilbur paused it. Eyes still glued to the screen, he whispered, “I don’t- I- I need you to explain. Please.”

He swallowed, nodding. “I found the notebook open on his desk. It took me a minute to figure out they were songs because I didn’t notice the time stamp right away. I don’t-” He paused to clear his throat. “That’s all I know, Wil.”

The brunet blinked and Techno thought he saw a flash of twinkling. He glanced at his phone that now had a small circular splatter on it. Wilbur inhaled shakily, tilting his head up to meet his twin’s eyes through his own glossed over ones. 

“How did this happen? How could we let this happen?”

Techno stayed silent because he knew, deep down, that this was their fault. He had failed his baby brother. They both had.

Clad in a black suit, red tie loosened around his neck and briefcase in hand, the man stopped in the doorway, blinking owlishly at the boys. His face, slack from confusion and surprise, quickly contorted with concern and something that could only be described as parental panic. Before the man could even say anything, Tubbo was out of his seat and rushing towards him, pillow abandoned on the ground. He rammed into the man, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Within seconds, the man’s free arm was wrapped around Tubbo’s back.

“Hi, Dad,” the brunet mumbled into his father’s chest before lifting his head to look up at him, eyes red-rimmed. 

The man lifted his arm to brush Tubbo’s hair back out of his face before wiping away some tears with his thumb. “Hey, kiddo. What’s going on?” Concern oozed from his words, but Tommy could tell the man was trying his best to remain calm.

“We just finished watching Big Hero 6 ,” Tubbo explained, pouting up at his father. 

Upon hearing that, the man chuckled. “Ah, I see. That one always gets me, too.” He shifted his gaze to the teens still sat on the couch. 

Tommy sniffed deeply to clear his nose before grinning at the man. “Ayup, Schlatt.”

Ranboo followed suit with a small wave and “Hi, Mr. Underscore.” Despite Schlatt’s insistence on the boys calling him by his first name, Ranboo refused to refer to him as anything other than what was “respectful.”

“Hello, boys. You guys hungry at all? We’ve got some leftover spaghetti in the fridge. Should be enough for the three of you.”

At those words, Ranboo bolted up, shouting, “I’ll heat it up for us!” over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. 

The man chuckled, releasing Tubbo to run a hand through his once gelled back brown hair. “Are you boys having a sleepover tonight?”

His son pulled back from him, eyes wide with hope. “Can we?”

Schlatt rubbed the scruff of his jaw, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm…I don’t know, that’s a lot of chaos to control.” 

“Dad, come on, please?” Tubbo put on his best puppy eyes and Schlatt immediately caved.

“Alright, alright. Just make sure to check with parents.”

The shorter brunet nodded eagerly, thanking his father with a hug before running off to inform Ranboo of the good news. 

Schlatt turned to Tommy with a fond smile. “Tommy, you have dance tomorrow, don’t you?” When the blond nodded, he continued, “I’m going into the office in the morning. I could give you a ride home if you’d like?”

The teen hesitated, biting his lip. He didn’t want to be a burden.

You’re always a burden. No need to pretend otherwise, Theseus.

“I…I don’t want you to have to go out of your way.”

Schlatt dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Nah, don’t worry, kid. Your house is on the way.”

Tommy pursed his lips. “Alright, if you’re sure it’s not a problem…yeah, that would be fantastic.”

“No problem at all. How does leaving at eight sound?”

Tommy gave him a thumbs up and Schlatt nodded, smiling. “Awesome. I’ll be in my office if you boys need anything.”

The teen waved him off before sighing. Faintly, he could hear Ranboo on the phone with his mother. 

Tommy needed to text Phil (not that it would make a difference).

He pulled out his phone, opening the message app. As he scrolled to find his father’s contact, a thought made him pause. 

Should he text the twins, too? He didn’t owe them an explanation, but after Wilbur’s reaction yesterday…he wasn’t sure. As much as Tommy didn’t want to text them, he also didn’t want to deal with a repeat of last night.

It’s not like they’ll notice you’re gone.

Tommy bit his lip, pulling at the skin until he could taste blood as his fingers hovered over the three contacts. With a sharp exhale through his nose, he made the decision and sent his text.

Techno hummed to himself as he reorganized his knife collection, half-attempting to block out the somber strumming of a guitar coming from down the hall. After some time spent calming Wilbur down (and nearly failing)—he had to keep reminding the stubborn musician that they couldn’t do anything until Tommy got home, which his twin was not happy about—the fencer busied himself with meaningless tasks, including rearranging most of his room and bouncing from one hobby to the next. 

He’d always been a hyperfixater but often had trouble sticking to them, another area in which he differed from his other half—everything Wilbur did, he did with his whole being; he’d carry those things with him through this life and into the next. Picking up something new never failed to excite Techno, but sometimes he wondered if it was worth the inevitable hollowness of falling out of it and waiting for something else to fill the hole. 

Almost instinctually, his fingers twitched, yearning to press strings against frets and curl tightly against the wood of a bow. Techno clenched his hands into fists, if only to stop the tingling he hadn’t felt in years. A quick glance at the dusty black case under his bed, normally hidden but currently in his line of sight since he’d plopped down on the floor to go through his knife cases. 

He’d been thirteen the last time he’d touched the damn thing. Stood at his mother’s bedside, bow and violin gripped tightly to hide the shake of his hands. 

“Play for me, my boy. I want to hear your magic one last time.”

And so he did, if only to see his mother smile, still so full of life despite how quickly it was draining from her. Later, when his father would ask him to play at the funeral, he’d swallow down the bile rising in his throat and shake his head. Nothing could ever prepare him for the look of pain on his father’s face. Techno didn’t think the guilt would ever go away. 

So far, he’s been right.

The fencer blinked away the burning in his eyes as he remembered where he was. He released a heavy sigh, dragging his hands down his face before brushing back the stray hairs that had come loose from the messy bun atop his head.

A vibration next to him snatched his attention and Techno grasped his phone eagerly, eyes searching for something he knew probably wouldn’t be there.

A text notification from Tommy proved him wrong. Without hesitation, the man opened it, scanning the words carefully.

staying at a friend’s tonight

Techno blinked at his screen, frozen. Part of him sagged in relief, glad to know his little brother was safe. Except…he didn’t really know that, did he? Another part of him recoiled in shock. Why had Tommy texted him ? His chest warmed knowing that the kid felt comfortable texting Techno, but it was so unusual. Techno was never one to text. Despite his English degree, he was anything but eloquent in virtual conversation. Which brought up the issue of responding. Should he say something? What would he even say? Maybe ask for more details? He knew Tommy had anxiety talking to his brothers, especially about what he was doing. Techno didn’t want to make him regret texting by pushing something the kid was clearly uncomfortable with.

After a few more minutes of conflicted deliberation, he settled on simply liking the message and leaving it at that. Now, he needed to tell Wilbur. The fencer sighed, quickly putting his knives away before following the sound of a guitar to his twin’s room. He knocked, waiting for the soft “come in” after the music paused before pushing open the door and stepping into the bedroom.

Wilbur turned his attention to the pink-haired man now stood by his bed and patted the spot next to him. Techno didn’t think twice before taking a seat, fidgeting with the cuffs of his long-sleeve. Before the musician could resume playing, he blurted, “Tommy texted me.” The brunet straightened, eyes wide and questioning. “He said he’s ‘staying at a friend’s tonight,’” Techno finished, doing finger quotes when reciting the text.

Wilbur frowned, glancing down at his hands still holding his guitar. “Why didn’t he text me?”

Techno shot his twin a pointed look, crossing his arms. “Have you already forgotten who got us into this mess?”

The brunet huffed, running a hand through his messy curls, the guilt clear on his face. “Yeah, okay. But I still wanna talk to him! Now we have to wait ‘til tomorrow,” he whined, pouting.

“Yes, and you’re not speaking to him until I do.”

When Wilbur opened his mouth to argue, Techno raised an eyebrow in challenge, eyes almost red in the dim lighting of his twin’s room. The musician shut his mouth, slumping back against his pillows. The two sat in silence, neither daring to speak. Wilbur mindlessly began plucking strings and Techno took that as a sign to get comfortable, moving to lay next to his twin, eyes tracing constellations among the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d helped put on the ceiling when they were just kids.

“Do you remember Mom’s smile?” 

Techno’s breath caught in his throat at the question. Wilbur didn’t notice, fingers still plucking at strings. 

How could I not? I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. The words wouldn’t come out.

“I do. I remember it better than I remember anything else about her. I never want to forget it. Not like I’m forgetting other things. I can barely hear her laugh anymore. It’s like…it’s like details are fading, y’know? The memories are still there, but…the litte things, all the small stuff, it’s all getting farther away. And I’m so scared that one day, I won’t remember her at all.” 

The plucking stopped and Techno turned his head to look at his twin. Glassy brown eyes met his and he could barely make out the tear tracks down pale cheeks.

“Yesterday, when I saw Tommy smiling…” Wilbur trailed off, biting his lip. Techno thought he knew what he was going to say, but he wanted to hear the words. “It’s her, it’s all her. Tommy has Mom’s smile and I never noticed it until now.” The brunet chuckled dryly, eyes set sternly on the covers. “ Of course , I never fucking noticed because he never smiles anymore.” Wilbur tilted his head, meeting Techno’s eyes. There was something horribly pained and broken there. “Why doesn’t Tommy smile anymore, Tech?”

I don’t know , he wanted to say. He wanted so badly not to have that inkling of an idea that the answer to the question was in this room. That they were what made Tommy this way, that they were the ones who snuffed out the light that once shone so brightly from their little brother, and he had no idea how to bring it back.

But looking into the eyes of his other half, Techno couldn’t bring himself to say that either. Instead, he reached his hand up to grasp Wilbur’s, squeezing once. The brunet squeezed back. 

Tommy slipped into his converse, lacing them up as Schlatt finished off his coffee and put the mug in the sink. By the time he reached the door, the teen stood ready to go.

“Got all your things?”

Tommy bit his lip, tilting his head as he went through a mental checklist of what he brought with him. It wasn’t much since the sleepover happened spontaneously and he just ended up using Tubbo’s toothpaste and shower products. “Yup,” he said, nodding once.

The man smiled, moving towards the door and not hesitating to ruffle the blond’s hair as he passed him. Tommy leaned into the touch, but as soon as the hand left his hair he froze, breath hitching. He hated the disappointment that curled deep in his gut.

Schlatt didn’t notice as he stepped through the door. “Alright, kid, let’s go.”

Tommy blinked, trying to regain his composure before following the brunet out the door and waiting for him to lock it. The two headed toward the sleek silver Honda and Tommy climbed into the passenger seat, slipping his red backpack under his feet. He sat in comfortable silence, watching the world through the window as Schlatt began the drive.

“So Tubbo tells me you’re going to be featured in a promo for the studio,” the man said, prompting the teen to turn to him.

Sheepishly, he answered, “Ehm, yeah, I’m doing a solo piece and a duet.”

Schlatt nodded, glancing at him as a warm smile spread on his face. “That’s incredible, kid. I can’t wait to see it when it’s all put together.” 

Tommy would have brushed it off as his best friend’s dad just being nice, but the sincerity of his words was clear to anyone with ears. Tommy blushed, warmth spreading from his face to his chest. “Thanks, me, too.”

“Have you told your family? Your brothers are home for the summer, aren’t they?”

Tommy shrunk at the reminder, turning his attention back out the window. He didn’t blame the man for asking—Tommy rarely spoke of his family and he didn’t doubt that Tubbo had never shared any details to his father (he’d pinky-promised, after all).

The warmth in his chest seeped away as it tightened and he gnawed on the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. “No, I haven’t,” Tommy answered through the growing lump in his throat.

“Oh,” Schlatt said, turning onto Tommy’s street. “Well, I’m sure once you do they’d be proud. I know I am.”

The words nearly sent the teen into tears. He wasn’t sure which hurt more: that he couldn’t tell his family or that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard those words from his own father.

That’s because you’re nothing to be proud of, Theseus. A spoiled brat, something to be ashamed of.

Okay, it was definitely the second one.

Schlatt pulled up to the curb, shifting into park. Tommy blinked the burning from his eyes before meet the man’s brown ones. There was a fondness there he wasn’t used to and the teen had no idea what to do with that. 

Before he could even try to come up with a response, Schlatt smiled softly and reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Tommy.” 

The teen blinked, warmth spreading from the spot on his shoulder down to his chest. When he could feel his eyes burning again, Tommy sent Schlatt a watery smile and moved to undo his seatbelt. The man lowered his arm, watching as the blond exited the car, shouldering his backpack.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the ride, big man.”

Schlatt snorted. “Never change, kid.” With those words, he drove off, leaving Tommy stood in the driveway, hand lifted in a small wave.

Only when he couldn’t see the silver car anymore did he turn and head inside, hands now tightly gripping the straps of his red backpack. Tommy opened the front door, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him quietly. He wasn’t sure if anyone was awake and he certainly wasn’t going to tempt fate by risking being loud. He silently untied his laces and slid off his converse. As he padded across the living room floor, he prayed against all odds that he wouldn’t have to interact with his family this morning.

The sound of soft chatter crushed his hopes. Tommy entered view of the kitchen, now in clear sight of the two men sat at the island, nursing their respective coffees. His face fell blank as jealousy curled its ugly thorns around his heart. What a cruel world , he thought. Shoving in my face what could have been but never would be.

The conversation halted as the pair turned their attention to him. Despite his pink hair that vastly contrasted the shoulder-length blond hair of the man across from him, Techno was more alike to Phil than either of his other sons—sometimes Tommy wished he’d gotten more than just his father’s hair and eyes, something that would have allowed him the same closeness he saw in front of him; other times, he just wanted to pull all of it out so he would stop seeing his father every time he looked in the mirror.

Tommy shrunk away from the attention, a sort of bitter guilt settling in his gut. For who was he to interrupt such a precious moment between father and son? 

He met Phil’s eyes for a moment, hoping, aching to see the same fondness he’d received from Schlatt not so long ago. Instead, tired blue eyes regarded him with uncertainty, barely taking him in as an awkward smile settled on the man’s lips.

“Mornin’, mate.” When Tommy merely sent him an equally awkward smile, Phil pursed his lips and continued, “If you go out, make sure you’re home by six for dinner. Don’t be late, it’s our first dinner altogether as a family since the twins have been home.”

Tommy blinked, nodding curtly despite the tendrils of anxiety curling up his chest into his thoat. He shot a quick glance at Techno to find the pink-haired twin eyeing him with a certain cautiousness that he hadn’t felt before. The teen didn’t care enough to find out why, simply turning on his heel and bolting up to his bedroom.

This was gonna be a long day.

When Tommy padded back downstairs in white sweatpants and a loose red t-shirt, matching red backpack slung from one shoulder, he was beyond relieved to find the kitchen empty. He quickly slipped into his converse and out the front door.

The familiar jingle of the door blended into the buzzing chatter of the livelier than usual cafe. Tommy stepped into Kinoko’s, still a bit sweaty from two hours of dancing even after a five minute cooldown. He searched the weekend crowd for a minute or so before his eyes caught sight of familiar golden locks. For just a second, Tommy thought that if he grew his own hair out a bit, it would look exactly like that.

He manouvered through the tables until he reached the man whose back was to him, circling around to sit at the chair across from him. Dream wore a similar outfit to Tommy, but green and black instead of red and white. Now facing the older blond, the teen could see the golden cat curled in Dream’s lap. 

“Hi, Buffy,” he cooed, prompting the man to look up from where he was petting the cat. 

The man pouted when Tommy didn’t acknowledge him. “I don’t get a ‘hello’?”

The teen rolled his eyes dramatically. “Hi, Dream,” he deadpanned, staring blankly. 

Dream shook his head, hand clutching the fabric over his heart. “You wound me, kid.”

Tommy cracked a smile at that, the older dancer immediately returning it warmly.

After a bit of small talk (and Dream insisting he pay for Tommy), the younger dancer walked over to the counter that surprisingly had no line and waited. A few moments later, Karl turned to him and smiled, wiping his hands on the black apron covering his signature colorblock hoodie.

“Hiya, Tommy. How’s it going?”

He shrugged, leaning against the counter. “Not too bad. You?”

Karl brushed the hair out of his face, huffing when it fell back down. “Y’know, busy busy. Saturdays are always good for business. The usual for you today?”

“Yup, and a breakfast sandwich, please.”

Karl gave him the total and he handed over the ten dollar bill with a smile. “Keep the change.” He certainly didn’t want to keep Dream’s money, might as well tip his favorite barista slash cafe owner.

“Thanks, Tommy. I’ll have them ready for you in a sec.”

The brunet turned and began brewing. Within a few minutes, he handed Tommy the drink and sandwich. “Tell Dream next time he drags Sapnap out to a workshop, I’ll be having words with him. Sapnap has been driving me crazy complaining about how sore he is,” he threatened jokingly.

Tommy saluted two fingers at the barista. “Will do, big man.” He bid Karl goodbye and returned to the table with Dream.

“I’ve been told to warn you you’re in for a Karl scolding.”

Dream’s head shot up, confusion written on his face. “What?”

“Sapnap’s been complaining about his soreness.”

Understanding passed over his face and the man groaned, dropping his head. “That little bitch. I’m gonna kill him.”

Tommy grinned, taking a sip of his drink. He was glad to see the two men shared the same dynamic that he and his best friends did.

At one, the two headed over to the studio, Dream playfully shoving Tommy when he made a stupid joke before slinging an arm over his shoulder and pulling him close. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, leaning into Dream’s side and basking in the warmth radiating from him.

Foolish sat at the front desk, clicking away at his computer, looking up when he heard them enter. They greeted him with cheerful “hello”’s and a small wave from Tommy, both of which the brunet returned before resuming his work.

The duo made their way into the hip hop room, glad to find it mostly empty. A few dancers Tommy recognized from the workshop kept to themselves in different corners of the room. They set their stuff down by the mirror, taking some time to stretch as Dream connected his phone to his portable speaker. Soon enough they were up and ready to get started.

“Alright, how about I just play the section through so we can feel it out and then go from there?”

“Sounds good to me, big man.”

Dream pressed play, scrolling to the end of the first chorus and letting it play through to the verse they would start at. They’d chosen it specifically for the way they both related to the words. Tommy wiggled out his body, closing his eyes to better grasp the beats behind the lyrics.

Don’t let those demons in again.

He swayed gently with the rhythm.

I fill the void up with polished doubt, fake sentiment.

His head nodded along to the bass.

Surrender yourself.

He slowed to a stop with the music, taking a breath to prepare for the drop.

And I wonder why I tear myself down to be built back up again. 

He hopped, legs moving to create quick footwork to go with the words.

Oh, I hope somehow, I’ll wake up young again.

He allowed his body to move naturally out of it as the section ended and Dream paused the music.

He opened his eyes to a smiling Dream. “Wanna hear it one more time or are you ready to start figuring it out?”

Tommy hummed, ignoring the way his face warmed from the fondness in the older blond’s face. “I’m good to start brainstorming.”

And so the two threw some ideas around, bouncing off each other’s energy and adding on to each other’s moves bit by bit. Every once in a while, Dream would suggest some complicated flip that Tommy vetoed with a flat stare and Dream would call out Tommy’s tendency to fall back to contemporary with a knowing smirk and playful toussle of hair.

By the time three o’clock rolled around, they had moves attached to all the lines and merely needed to piece it all together. A quick water break later, they took their spots in front of the mirror with matching determined stares. Standing side-by-side like this, Tommy thought they looked like brothers.

“Ready?”

Tommy grinned brightly despite the tired aching of his muscles. 

“Let’s fucking do this.”

As Techno sat at his desk, leather-bound journal sitting blank in front of him, he couldn’t stop replaying those lyrics in his head. He thought back to the morning when Tommy had stumbled onto his morning coffee with their father.

Despite the way the boy had schooled his features into a mask of apathy, Techno couldn’t shake that something was off. When he had smiled, there was almost a sadness to it. It no longer shone with the light of the sun, but of a dying star.

Techno knew, in his bones, that Tommy was not okay. He just wished he could take some of that impossible weight off his shoulders, carry the burden for him so he did not have to. He was the eldest, after all. Was that not his responsibility?

Tommy nodded to Dream to press play as he shook out his limbs, aching from overuse, but he needed to do this. 

He’d spent those two hours in the morning getting a feel for the music, learning the pace of the lyrics and the pattern of the music behind it, figuring out where floorwork made the best sense and finding a fluidity between movements. He’d allowed himself to metabolize the words before shutting off his brain and surrendering his body like a puppet on a string.

When he’d told Dream he wanted to practice his section one last time before heading out of the studio, the man had offered to stay and give him a ride home. Tommy tried to decline, but the man insisted it wasn’t a problem and, despite his doubts, the teen could admit he was glad, although a little nervous. Sure, he’d done improv plenty of times up until now, but this was different. This was Tommy baring his soul to the dancer he most looked up to, to the man who’d become like a brother to him. 

As the first verse came to an end, he took a deep breath.

Mama said gonna be all right, but mama don’t know what it’s like in my mind.

He allowed his body the freedom to move through the words, limbs forming intricate shapes as his torso twisted to follow.

Mama said that the sun gon’ shine, but mama don’t know what it’s like to wanna die.

These were the words that hurt the most, the ones that had him hesitating to settle on this song and the ones that made him choose it in the end. Because dance is medicine for the soul and, sometimes, the only way out is through.

So Tommy pushed through, allowing the lyrics to pierce his heart as he shaped his body to show his pain. He didn’t notice the awe on Dream’s face, or the tears leaving tracks down it.

  I can’t carry this anymore. Heavy from the hurt inside my veins.

He dragged heavy legs across the hardwood, aching to touch the floor. Hands traced up his arms to his head, pushing it and following through with his body.

I can’t carry this anymore. Wonder what it’s like to be okay.

He sagged to the floor, giving his body the reprieve it so terribly longed for. His hands guided his torso before reaching forward and retracting so he finished with his forehead against the floor and hands in his hair.

There was something euphoric about the combined (physical and emotional) exhaustion and exhilaration of performing this piece. If he wasn’t so uncertain of his own ability to stand at the moment, he’d do it all again.

Chapter Text

“Am I taking you home?” Dream turned to the teen in his passenger seat who had just clicked his seatbelt into place.

The young blond glanced up to meet his eyes. Dream didn’t overlook that his eyebags had gotten worse, but there was a small spark that made the blue of his eyes a little brighter.

He bit his lip, thinking, before deflating as if he remembered something. “Yeah, I’ve got to be home for dinner.”

Dream nodded, scrolling through Spotify and shuffling a random Daily Mix. Tommy immediately began bobbing his head to the beat as he stared out the window and the older blond smiled to himself before pulling out of Kinoko’s parking lot.

They spent most of the drive in comfortable silence, occasionally singing along to some songs. As Dream turned onto Tommy’s street, he cleared his throat to catch the teen’s attention. Glancing over, he made quick eye contact with Tommy.

“You did really good today, kid.”

Tommy seemed taken aback until his face settled into something almost…bitter, but he covered it with a smile before Dream could try to figure out why.

“Thanks, Dream, but you don’t have to try n’ be nice.”

The dancer scrunched up his face, confused. “What? Tommy, I’m not just saying that.” He pulled up to the curb and shifted the car into park before turning to Tommy again.

The teen shot him an incredulous look and Dream finally got it. Tommy wasn’t being humble, he thought Dream was lying . The realization broke his heart.

“Tommy,” he started, putting as much sincerity as he could muster into the words. “You’ve got real talent. It’s why I chose you to do the hip hop with me,” he finished, keeping eye contact. He needed Tommy to believe him.

Dream knew the moment he did because Tommy’s face dropped as a pink flush fell over it. The teen remained frozen, mouth slightly agape and eyes blinking slowly. The man swallowed the choice words he’d been collecting for the people who made Tommy such a stranger to praise, instead, sending him a gentle smile.

“I’ll see you on Monday, kid. Let me know if you need anything ‘til then, alright?”

Tommy nodded once, mumbling a quick “Thanks for the ride,” before exiting the car and waving him off. Dream returned the gesture and drove off, only allowing his smile to drop once the kid was out of view. His desire to beat the shit out of Tommy’s family was outmatched solely by his growing concern for the boy. He definitely wasn’t going to stop keeping an eye on him now.

Wilbur had spent his entire day—well, afternoon; he’d been anxiously awaiting Tommy’s coming home since he woke up at eleven—working on some new songs for his band to keep him busy. The four of them—Wilbur on guitar and lead vocals, James on bass and backup vocals, Fundy on keys, and Eret on drums—had agreed to take a mini hiatus while he was home for the summer, but he couldn’t help having ideas.

It wasn’t until five-thirty came around and there was no sound of Tommy that his impatience transformed into worry. What if something had happened to him? Why hadn’t the friend’s parents called? 

Wilbur’s fears quickly dissipated when he heard the soft padding of footfalls in the hallway and poked his head out just as the door to Tommy’s bedroom shut. 

Perfect. I can talk to him before dinner.

Almost as if Techno knew exactly what he was thinking (he probably did), his pink-haired twin stepped into his doorway with crossed arms, successfully blocking his path.

“Techno-”

“If you say move, I’ll punch you.”

The brunet immediately shut his mouth, frowning.

Techno raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. “Do I need to remind you of our conversation last night?”

Wilbur sighed heavily, crossing his arms to mirror his brother. “No, you do not.”

“Good. Now sit your ass down and wait.”

The musician rolled his eyes, making a face at Techno before plopping down on his bed, watching in frustration as the fencer strode to their little brother’s door and knocked. 

When no response came, he knocked again and waited. Wilbur snorted at how awkward his twin looked.

He could barely make out the muffled “Hold on, I’m changing!”

A few minutes later, the door opened and there Tommy stood, red-and-white t-shirt and jeans thrown on haphazardly. His blond curls were a tangled mess and his eyes had dark bags under them. 

Wilbur frowned, internally scolding the teen for staying up so late.

His youngest brother shifted his weight from foot-to-foot, fingernails clicking together. He frowned at Techno, tilting his head. “Uh, what’s up?”

The pink-haired twin smiled nervously, hands clasped together behind his back. “I was wondering if we could talk?”

At those words, Tommy’s body stiffened and his eyes widened. He couldn’t get more “deer in headlights.”

They stood in silence for a moment before the teen realized he needed to respond. 

“Erm, actually, I need to use the bathroom, can it wait?” He didn’t wait for a response as he pushed past the fencer and bee-lined to the bathroom, leaving behind a confused Techno.

Bewildered cognac irises met shocked brown ones. Wilbur tilted his head in question and Techno shrugged, mirroring his frown.

A quick glance at the clock in his room told him that there wouldn’t be enough time for a talk before dinner by the time Tommy returned and he sighed dejectedly. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Sure enough, by the time Tommy came downstairs, the twins were just about to take their seats at the table. Phil set down the giant bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, Techno following suit with the bowl of salad and Wilbur with the condiments. Then, the three of them sat down, Phil at the head of the table and the twins on either side of him, leaving the end seat opposite their father for Tommy. The teen slipped gracefully onto the chair, barely making any noise as if trying not to be noticed.

It rubbed Wilbur the wrong way how out of place his baby brother seemed around them all. He’d been acting like that since the twins got home and the musician was tired of it. He hoped this dinner would allow him the opportunity to finally put the pieces together, whether he figured it out himself or got the answers out of Tommy.

Phil clapped his hands together, smiling tiredly. “Alright, boys, dig in.”

Wilbur practically lunged for the spaghetti bowl, Techno simply rolling his eyes and grabbing the salad bowl. They delt out their portions, swapping bowls and doing the same before leaning back to allow Tommy and Phil to do the same. Their father reached for the spaghetti when their younger brother made no move to.

Wilbur turned his gaze to the young blond, not realizing Techno had done the same. His face rested in a slight frown—and there it was again, that godforsaken frown that seemed to permanently taint his baby brother’s face—staring at the bowl of spaghetti as if it had offended him. 

He must’ve noticed the eyes on him because the boy shrunk in on himself until Techno slid the salad bowl over to him. Tommy eyed it cautiously before finally moving to serve himself some of it and nudging it back toward Techno when he was done. Wilbur squinted at the kid, brain working overtime as if he could somehow read his brother’s mind. 

Techno switched the two bowls and Phil scooped out some salad while Tommy made no move to grab any spaghetti. 

“Tom, mate, why don’t you have some pasta?”

The teen shifted in his seat, mumbling “‘M not hungry.” 

Phil simply nodded, letting the topic go. Wilbur, on the other hand, could not allow that. 

“C’mon, Tommy. You knew we were having dinner together tonight, you can’t have eaten recently enough to not have any room at all.”

Tommy’s frown deepened, cold blue eyes turned stoney as they glared into his. “I said, ‘I’m not hungry.’”

“Don’t be rude, just have a little bit.”

“Wil.” Phil’s voice, though low in volume, had an edge to it that left no room for argument.

Before the brunet could even try to start, his pink-haired twin kicked his shin under the table, earning a wince out of him. He shot a betrayed look at Techno who merely responded with an irritated glare.

The four of them began eating—well, Tommy kind of just picked at his salad as the other three enjoyed their dinner.

Phil took the time to ask the twins about their current lives; Techno complained about his fencing team and rambled about his favorite professor that he was the Teaching Assistant for while Wilbur explained the band’s current status and reminisced about funny stories from their different gigs and travels. 

Amidst the three-sided conversation, Tommy had pushed aside his half-eaten salad and pulled out his phone, basically ignoring his family. The several glances Wilbur had shot him during this time, Tommy was either watching videos with the sound muted or texting someone.

When the trio hit a lull in conversation, Wilbur took the chance to drag his little brother into it. “So Tommy,” he began, prompting the blond to glance up from his phone. “Who’re you texting?”

The younger’s eyebrows tilted down as he squinted at the older. “None of your business.”

Wilbur merely took the response as a challenge to keep pushing it, certain Tommy would crack enough to open up a bit. “Well, they must be important if you’re texting them instead of talking to your brothers who you haven’t seen in ages .”

The brunet smirked as his little brother’s face grew red, eyes full-on glaring now. He ignored the look Techno was giving him. Almost there.

“Is it your crush? Aw, does wittle Tommy have a girlfriend?” He cooed, pitching his voice up as if talking to a baby—it was only fair, Tommy was his baby brother, after all.

Wilbur waited, expecting to hear “I get all the women” or something along those lines. Anything would do at this point. And when Tommy’s face grew darker in shade and his blue eyes flamed, Wilbur was ready for the raging fury so familiar in his little brother’s temperament.

Instead, the teen grit his teeth, swallowing as the fingers gripping his phone turned white. As if a flip had been switched, the fire in his eyes went out, replaced by an icy coldness that wiped the smirk off Wilbur’s face.

“Why don’t you just worry about yourself, Wilbur.” The dullness and apathy with which the words were said shook Wilbur to his core. He’d never heard his little brother sound so lifeless.

“Tom, don’t be rude. Answer your brother’s questions.”

Betrayal passed over the blond’s face as he stared at their father. “Wha…”

Wilbur jumped back in. “Yeah, Tom , put your phone down and talk to us. We were never allowed phones at the dinner table.”

Tommy clenched his jaw, mouth screwing into a scowl.

“Wilbur’s right, mate. Have some manners.”

The blond reeled, eyebrows raising in shock as he glanced between the two men, Phil continuing to take bites of his salad and Wilbur watching, smirk returned. After a minute of silence, he pushed his chair back, standing up, phone in hand.

“Whatever. I’m going to my room.”

Wilbur’s lips turned down and he slumped back in his chair, arms crossed. Techno stood to go after their brother, but Phil gestured for him to sit back down.

“Let him go, mate. He needs to cool down.”

Techno nodded, but his face contorted into something like pained understanding as he took his seat. Wilbur didn’t think much of it, choosing to wallow in his own misery of things not turning out as he had planned.

None of them flinched when a door slammed and none of them heard when the lock clicked.

Tommy leaned against his bedroom door, throat tightening as his eyes stung. Anger bubbled deep in his gut, anger at Wilbur for pretending to care and anger at Phil for doing nothing about it. He supposed he expected too much out of them. 

As the emotions threatened to overwhelm him, Tommy grabbed Dream’s hoodie off his bed, pulling it on, and his headphones off his nightstand. He unraveled them through the blur of unshed tears and plugged them in before trudging to his window, sliding it open without much difficulty. He easily slipped through, taking a seat on the tiled roof beneath him.

The laughter of three resounded through an open window on the first floor and Tommy could feel his heart squeezing. What had he done to earn being the odd one out?

You’re a bad son, Theseus. Not worthy of their love.

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? They were a perfect family before he came around, a nice and even four. Two perfect sons for two perfect parents. Then he came along and they had to make room for an unplanned (unwanted) third son. He knocked it all out of balance and the universe made things right by subtracting someone from the equation. He may not have killed her, but he was the reason his mother was dead. His family had broken and he was the faulty part that couldn’t replace the missing piece. This was something Tommy knew to be true. So why would he deserve anything more than what had been given to him?

If Tommy listened, really listened, he could hear the freedom in their laughter, the unburdened joy. This was how it was meant to be. There was no room in their light for his darkness; they sailed the ocean in a boat of happiness that would sink from the weight of his sadness. 

His gut twisted with bitter acceptance and Tommy slipped his headphones into his ears, shuffling his playlist with the volume turned up as high as it could go. He sighed into the silencing of the outside world as the music blared in his ears and vibrated through his body. He sat there, arms curled tightly around his legs, head resting on his knees, just trying to exist. Even when the blue of the sky bled into pink and orange through the clouds, he sat there, watching the world pass him by.

He couldn’t hear any of it—the cars, the birds, the wind (or the knock at his door). But he imagined it sounded beautiful. Part of him wondered if this was the kind of peace he would find when he finally sunk back into the ground and made a home in the dirt.

The final rays of sunlight disappeared from the sky, leaving behind only darkness as the stars—Tommy imagined they were somewhere up there, hiding—were swallowed by the harsh glow of city lights. With the end of a day came the urge to leave, to vanish into the night just as the sun had. He’d always enjoyed nighttime; as if the rest of the world going quiet allowed him room to exist.

The teen focused his gaze on the space right in front of him. The oak tree in their yard had been there since before his birth, reaching just below the roof of the second story. He’d tried climbing it once years ago just to see if he could (he was in fact able to) but he’d never needed to sneak out so that had been the first and last time. 

Every nerve in his body was screaming to run . To go—where, he wasn’t sure but he needed to get far away from here. But he couldn’t bear the thought of facing his family again. So Tommy glanced up at the sky, now overcast, and made a split-second decision. 

The blond pushed himself up with his hands, rising slowly on the minorly slanted roof. He stepped carefully along the tiles, heart rate picking up ever-so-slightly as he made his way toward the oak. Adrenaline washed over him as he grasped one of its spindly branches, using it to keep balance as he placed his feet on the thicker branch beneath him. He inched towards the center of the tree and began the descent down.

The rough bark dug into his palms but it wasn’t until his sock slipped against a stripped part of the tree that he actually scraped the skin when catching himself. Tommy couldn’t be bothered to care, almost relishing in the pain. This was being alive.

The teen finally made it to the ground, only realizing he needed his shoes when the cold of the grass seeped through his socks. Cautiously, he moved towards the front of the house, having to duck as he passed the dining room window. When it was safe to stand up again, he couldn’t help but pause to watch his family.

Phil stood at the sink, rinsing off the dishes Wilbur passed him before placing them in the dishwasher. Techno remained at the table, transferring the leftovers into tupperware. The trio continued talking as they did the work, jokes sprinkled throughout the easy conversation. Despite the way his heart clenched at the scene, Tommy had to tear himself away. There was such normalcy in the picture that lacked him. 

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he continued to the front door, pushing it open just enough to grab his converse. He slipped into them and quickly laced them up, the action muscle memory. Before he could shut the door, Phil’s voice reached him.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into Tommy. He’s acting so spoiled.”

The teen froze, a sharp inhale getting stuck in his throat.

“He’s just bein’ a teenager.” He recognized the deep voice as Techno’s.

“What he’s being is a brat.” Wilbur.

There was a sort of twisted irony in hearing those words again, not to his face.

“Wilbur,” his father scolded.

“What? It’s true!”

“That doesn’t mean you should say it. I thought I raised my boys better than that.”

The air was knocked out of his lungs as if he’d been punched in the gut. Hearing it from Wilbur was one thing, but from his father? Is that truly how Phil felt about him?

Of course, it is. Why would he think any other than the truth?

And those words…‘I raised my boys better than that.’

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t raised Tommy , not really. 

No one showed me how to be good, he wanted to cry. I had no one to teach me to be a good son.

Instead, he quietly shut the door and set off in a sprint. He ran until his lungs ached and he could taste blood in his throat and his legs burned. The teen slowed to a walk, gasping in a few harsh, rapid breaths before trying to slow down his breathing.

Sometime while he was doing this, it started to rain. The drops were cool against his warm skin, refreshing in the way they ran down his face. He was still gasping in breaths despite his body having wound down from the run and it took a hot drop landing just under his eyelashes for Tommy to realize he was crying. The revelation only sent more sobs through his body as tears mingled with raindrops on his cheeks.

Blurry vision made the boy stop, stumbling over to the nearest lit building. He’d calmed down for the most part, blinking away the last of his tears. With his sight no longer impaired, he could make out the building properly.

It appeared to be a pub, fancy gold font spelling out “LAS NEVADAS” in big letters. Smaller normal-looking font under it read “Bar~Restaurant~Casino.” Black-painted wood and square panel windows with gold accents made up the exterior. Lanterns attached to the walls and lightbulb string lights hanging over the patio glowed warm yellow.

Tommy didn’t have the energy to admire it, simply sitting down to lean against the wall near the entrance. The rain, now pouring, completely drenched him and he tilted his head back to rest on the wall, allowing the cold to seep into his skin. Water dripped from strands of blond uncovered by his hood. He couldn’t tell anymore whether his vision was blurred by the storm above his head or the one behind his eyes.

The jingle of a bell did little to attract the teen’s attention and he didn’t notice the person until they started speaking.

“Hey, kid. What’re you doing out in the rain? You’re gonna get sick.” The voice was that of a young man, around the age of dream or his brothers. Despite the authority he seemed to carry, he sounded vaguely concerned.

All Tommy could do was glance at him, trying to take in his appearance through the water distorting his vision. The man wore a white button up and suspenders under a maroon blazer. A black beanie with a smile embroidered at the front of it covered his black hair and gold jewelry adorned his neck and fingers. A scar traced a line from his left eyebrow to his lip, the eye caught between them a cloudy white.

The man seemed to clock that Tommy wasn’t going to answer him and stepped closer, crouching down to get to his level. This close, he could see the scar was jagged and light enough in color to be somewhat recent.

“You okay, kid? What’s your name?”

“Tommy.”

The man paused as if he recognized the name but couldn’t place it before nodding, shooting him a gentle smile. A gold tooth peeked out from under it, lining up with the scar.

“Alright, Tommy, let’s get you inside.”

He helped the blond to his feet and led him inside. It looked exactly how Tommy would’ve pictured: mahogany wood floors and furniture, a bar with stools, round dining tables, warm-toned lighting, and a casino area featuring poker tables, pool tables and a single slot machine. The man guided Tommy to one of the barstools and sat him down. It was almost comical with their height difference—about the same as the one between Dream and Sapnap.

“Sit tight, I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Sure enough, the man returned with a fuzzy blanket and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders before circling around to the inside of the bar. He grabbed a glass and began filling it with water, shooting a cheery, “The name’s Quackity, by the way” over his shoulder. A few moments later, the man was sliding the glass over to Tommy, gesturing for him to take a sip. The teen complied, adjusting his grip on the blanket to take the glass.

 He leaned against the bar, resting his elbows against it. “So, Tommy, what brings you to my corner of town?”

A family that doesn’t want me.

But, of course, he couldn’t say that. So instead, with a scratchy throat, he muttered, “Had a fight with my brother.” Maybe it wasn’t the whole truth but he wasn’t about to give a stranger his whole life story.

The man huffed, eyebrows lifting with sympathy. “Ah, family troubles. That’ll get you good. Though, relationships are the ones that’ll kill you. Take my word for it, kid. Love ain’t worth the pain it causes.” Despite his confident demeanor, there was a bitterness to his words that Tommy understood well. Quackity pushed away from the bar, grabbing himself a glass and pouring a shot of whiskey in it.

Tommy frowned, eyeing the man curiously. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me love hurts but it’s worth it in the end or some bullshit like that?”

Quackity smirked, raising the glass in a ‘cheers’ motion. “I like you, kid. You’ve got balls.” He took a swig of his whiskey, placing the glass back on the bar.

“Look, life happens and things get messy and, sometimes, you get the short end of the stick. But you can’t let that stop you. Life is always gonna try to tear you down and it’s up to you to take what it throws at you and make something of yourself. Don’t let your hurt define you. How you live is your choice, so choose to be great.”

The teen tilted his head, processing the words. From a pub owner with a missing tooth, the advice wasn’t half-bad. Playfully, he squinted at the man. “I’ve been told not to listen to strangers, y’know. Bein’ a kid n’ all.”

Quackity barked a laugh, raising his glass to finish off the whiskey. “Y’know, Tommy, I don’t like most kids, but you’re not so bad.”

The statement brought a weak smile to the boy’s face already pink from the cold.

“Listen, it’s getting pretty late. You got anyone you can call to take you home?”

Tommy bit his lip, glancing down. He obviously couldn’t call his brothers or father—not that he’d want to see them anyway. He wasn’t going to call Tubbo or Ranboo—his poor best friends were worried about him enough as it was. There was one person who kept insisting he could come to if he ever needed anything…

“Yeah, erm, I have someone.” The man nodded, turning to rinse off his glass and put it away, allowing Tommy some privacy to pull out his phone and dial. He opened his messages, clicking the second from the top and pressing “call.” He held the phone to his ear, waiting with bated breath as it rung. By the third ring, he was certain the call would go to voicemail, but then someone answered.

“Tommy? Is everything okay?” The voice was raspy as if pulled from sleep.

Tommy released the breath. “Dream, hi, uh, kind of? I mean, not really, but I’m okay I just- could you come get me?”

“Yeah, where are you? What happened?” The man’s voice was much more awake now, a sense of urgency behind his words.

“It’s kind of a long story…I’ll explain later, but I’m at ‘Las Nevadas,’ on the edge of town. Do you need the address?” Tommy glanced at Quackity who had turned his attention back to the boy and was watching him carefully.

“No, I know where it is. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, just don’t move.”

“Yeah, okay. See you soon.”

The call hung up and the teen exhaled deeply through his nose. “Uh, he’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

Quackity nodded, shooting him a small smile before heading into the backroom, leaving Tommy alone with his half-empty glass of water. He knew he should drink the rest—all that crying must’ve dehydrated him—but he felt sick and thinking too much about the past few hours made his head spin.

At some point, Quackity had returned and kept busy with tidying up the place as they waited in comfortable silence. Tommy must have zoned out because it seemed like only seconds when a jingle sigaled the door opening. 

He snapped his head to the sound and sure enough, Dream stood in the doorway, black hoodie hanging over pajama bottoms scattered with various cartoon cats. The combination of bed-head and rain left his blond hair a mess and his face was scrunched in a combination of worry and…anger?

Oh, God. Tommy must have seriously inconvenienced him.

A burden, as always.

He bit his lip, arms curling tighter around himself under the blanket. Dream met his eyes and, as if he could sense Tommy’s anxiety, calmed down a bit. He approached the teen slowly with a gentle smile, the way one would a scared animal.

“Tommy, hey, are you okay? What are you doing here?”

The teen averted his gaze, spotting Quackity leaning against one of the dining tables. “Uh, I had a fight with my brother and dad and…it’s complicated. Can you just take me home, please?”

By this point, Dream stood right in front of him. Resting a warm hand on his shoulder, he answered, “Yeah, of course. Let’s get you home, kid.” As Dream turned to leave, he noticed the man across the room and froze, body stiffening slightly. 

“Quackity.”

The pub owner nodded in greeting, face blank, but Tommy could feel the tension between the two.

“Been a long time, Dream.”

The blond man rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, it has. After everything happened…I didn’t want to overstep. I- I should’ve called or checked in. Sorry, man.”

Quackity squinted his eyes, scrutinizing the dancer before nodding. “What’s done is done. The way I see it, it’s all in the past. No bad blood, right?”

Dream nodded, a grateful smile across his lips. “No bad blood.” He turned back to Tommy who stood, blanket draped over the stool. “We should get you home, kid. You good to go?”

The teen nodded, glancing at the man in the beanie. “Uh, thanks, Quackity. Sorry for the trouble.”

The man smiled, waving him off. “Don’t mention it. It was good meeting you. See you around, kid. Dream.”

And with that, the dancers left the pub, Dream leading the younger to his car. Once they settled in, he turned to the teen with the most concern on his face Tommy thought he’d ever seen.

“You wanna tell me what really happened tonight?” Despite the urgency in his voice, the words came out gently.

Tommy bit his lip, staying silent. 

“C’mon, kid. At least tell me how you got all the way out here,” he pressed, sighing through his nose.

The teen wrapped his arms around himself, shrinking into the seat. “I snuck out and ran away.”

A sharp inhale. “You ran ? I- Tommy, that’s like, four miles,” he exclaimed softly.

Was it really? He hadn’t been keeping track.

“Do you still want me to take you home?”

Tommy almost laughed. It wasn’t much of a choice; he had nowhere else to go.

The teen nodded, turning to gaze out the window. He couldn’t bear the look on Dream’s face anymore.

The man sighed, staying silent for a few moments before starting the car. He didn’t put any music on, which Tommy was both disappointed and thankful for. His head was a bit too loud right now for background noise.

As the streets whizzed by, he caught himself zoning out a few times. It didn’t help that he didn’t recognize the area they were in. The act was inevitable by this point, but years of scoldings from teachers conditioned him to fight it for as long as he could.

Dream cleared his throat, snapping Tommy out of his dissociative state. He looked over at the man who kept his eyes on the road—with all the rain, he was glad about it. 

“I’m worried about you, Tommy.”

The words sucked the air out of him, leaving him stunned. After so many years of nothing from his family, Tommy had just assumed nobody really cared about how he was doing. Words he hadn’t heard from his brothers who claimed to care so much or a father who’d lived in the same house as him for seventeen years washed over him like a tidal wave, dredging up years of unvoiced longing and not understanding why.  

Tommy couldn’t stop the tears that flooded his eyes as sobs racked his body for the second time that night. Dream said nothing—he appreciated that, but the guilt pooled in his stomach for subjecting the man to his breakdown in the first place. 

By the time they reached Tommy’s neighborhood, he’d calmed down, sniffling in soft breaths. Finally, Dream pulled up in front of his house. The lights were all off.

Of course, they didn’t notice I was gone , he thought bitterly.

Tommy turned to the man in the driver’s seat, meeting his eyes. “I’m just so tired, Dream.”

Green eyes flashed with some sort of pain but Tommy didn’t dwell on it. The man scrunched his eyebrows, jaw clenching. After a moment, he sighed.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go home? I have a couch you can crash on.”

Tommy didn’t want to admit how desperately he wanted to say “No, please take me away from here,” but the thought of burdening Dream any further stopped the words before they could be voiced.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Dream clearly didn’t believe him, but he said nothing as the teen unbuckled and stepped out of the car. Before he could close the door, the older blond softly reminded, “If you need anything else, please call me. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night.”

The younger blond nodded, saying nothing because as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t promise that he would.

He shut the door and waved, watching the car drive off until he couldn’t see it anymore.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought this far ahead when he snuck out in the first place so he didn’t have his keys, which meant he had to climb back up the tree. At least this time he had shoes on and knew where to step, though the rain left the branches slick. A few minutes (and scratches) later, the boy slipped back into his room and slid the window shut. 

Being back inside the small space of his room made his skin crawl and he could sense the panic attack coming on. The familiar tightening of his chest as breaths came out in rapid gasps, heart pounding in his throat. Tommy pulled at the neck of the hoodie before struggling to yank it off, tossing the still-damp item on the floor.

The blond began pacing, needing to get out but having nowhere to go. Hands found their way to wet curls, grasping and tugging. His thoughts were too loud and too much, blending together until he couldn’t make out anything more than phrases through the buzzing.

Unlovable…

Spoiled brat…

Nothing but a burden…

You can’t replace her…

You don’t belong here…

Who could want you when your own family doesn’t?

And it all came to that in the end, didn’t it? There was something wrong in him and who would accept a broken thing in place of the perfectly good one taken from them? 

With the acceptance of the cold, hard truth came a sense of calm. A hollow sort of quiet that echoed through his whole being. 

Tommy crumpled to the floor, knees digging into carpet as hands released his hair to drag down his face. He couldn’t cry if he tried; the night had bled him dry, leaving nothing but an empty shell in its wake.

The teen leaned forward, resting his forehead against the side of his mattress with fingers gripping the covers.

He was tired of feeling this way, like someone took a spoon to his insides and scooped out everything alive. He was tired of barely making it through days, exhaustion coating his every waking moment. He was tired of existing .

With a resigned sigh, Tommy pulled himself to his feet, glancing at the clock on his nightstand. Blinking green read “3:08.” Somehow, he managed to peel off his sweatpants and t-shirt, throwing on his pajamas and crawling into bed. 

And because his luck couldn’t get any worse, Tommy could not fall asleep. Despite the weariness that clung to his bones, the universe would not allow it. He rolled from one side to the other, covers inevitably shoved to the floor as if the extra breathing room would change anything. Eventually, he flopped onto his back, eyes glued on the ceiling he knew like the back of his hand. Did it ever get as tired of him staring at it as Tommy did? He supposed he’d never know.

For the next four hours, he traced shapes he’d seen more times than the teen could count. When he finally turned to the window, the sky was lightening, but instead of its usual pinks and oranges, it faded into grey. The aftermath of a summer storm.

How fitting.

Tommy figured he should probably take a shower, considering he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. The night’s events had left him drained of any ounce of energy he had, but the boy knew he needed to wash up. 

A bath, then , he decided. 

Begrudgingly, the blond dragged himself out of bed and was immediately hit by a dizzy spell. Three breakdowns and zero sleep will do that to you.

Once it passed, he trudged out his bedroom straight to the bathroom, not bothering to look in the mirror first. He barely even considered the possibility of running into his brothers, too focused on making it across the hall.

Eventually, the bath was set up and the teen slid in, savoring the feeling of warmth engulfing him. Resting his head against the edge of the tub, he sighed, allowing himself to fully relax. 

After about ten minutes, he slid his body forward until his head slipped under the surface. Under the water, time slowed down, a sound barrier that blocked out all the noise. Tommy felt safe here, peaceful. Almost as if he was in the space between life and death. If he stayed this way, would he float forever or would he find his way home? A final resting place for one who longed to fall asleep and never wake up.

With burning lungs, he burst through the surface, gasping in a deep breath and spluttering water. It seemed Tommy was still cursed to drift, a ghost amongst the living. 

Without dwelling on it for long, the teen finished up his bath and drained it, watching the soapy liquid disappear down the drain. There was a metaphor here.

Wrapped in a towel, he made his way back to his room, closing the door behind him. There was no click of a lock.

Chapter Text

It’s a joke the universe laughs at, to live the same day over even when you know it’s bad for you. It must be, or else why was Tommy laying in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it would make him better or something on a Sunday morning. 

He was vaguely aware of the muffled buzzing of his phone somewhere on the bed, but it wasn’t enough to drag his eyes away from the peeling paint and water stains. He was too separated from his withering body to feel bad, anyway.

Tommy sighed, almost aching for the tightening of his chest. Anything to replace the emptiness that sat heavy there despite leaving him feeling hollow. Anything to whisk his consciousness away from him and the fog clouding his mind with it.

And maybe the universe heard his pleas because a knock sounded from his door, firm but gentle. That was enough to snatch the teen’s attention. Tommy wasn’t used to knocking. Ranboo and Tubbo always just walked into his house or his room and Phil was never home (not that he’d want to talk to his youngest, anyway). 

On any other day, he would ignore it until it went away. But today was not that. Today, the universe wanted to laugh. 

When the knock sounded again, the dancer forced himself into a sitting position, palms pressing into eyes in an attempt to wipe the haze from them. It didn’t work. 

Swallowing, he croaked, “Come in.” The words only dried out his mouth more.

The knob turned and the door pushed forward, enough that a head could poke through, pink hair sitting in a bun atop it. When Tommy did nothing but stare, he stepped into the room fully, hands behind his back.

The blond shuffled backwards on his bed, back brushing the pillow and hands resting in the lap of crossed legs. Keeping his face blank except for mild confusion, he blinked at Techno. The older shuffled his weight, a slight frown gracing his lips. If Tommy didn’t know better, he’d think the man was nervous .

Techno took a step forward, pausing to glance between the bed and the boy on it. “Can I sit?”

Tommy’s brows creased together, but after a moment he nodded. The man was already in here, it wouldn’t do much more than even their playing field a little.

As he moved to sit, his arms emerged from behind him, notebook in one of them, open to a page with lines of writing. The teen knew of his brother’s poetic inclinations, so it didn’t surprise him that the older kept journals; he figured they’d be the fancy leather-bound kind, but who was Tommy to judge.

The fencer settled a palm flat against the page, opening his mouth to speak but it took a minute for words to actually come out. The sight of Techno struggling didn’t make sense to him. His eldest brother had always been so… solid . Steady and sure of himself, an immovable force. Where Wilbur was the sea, Techno was the earth. 

“I found your notebook,” he began. Tommy blinked, brain lagging to catch on. “And it…concerned me.” The word came out rough, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Red-tinted eyes met his and it all finally clicked.

The exhaustion clung too deeply to his bones to feel all the things he probably should be feeling, but some part of him recognized the betrayal of trust, small as it was. “You went through my stuff.” It came out as more of an accusal than an inquiry, but it was hard to think through the cotton in his head.

Guilt passed over the pink-haired twin’s face and Tommy had barely enough energy to take satisfaction in it. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, but I’m worried about you, Tommy.” 

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat. The words were not his own. This must be a dream.

Grow up, Theseus.

A flurry of emotions choked him, thoughts of he doesn’t mean it and why now, after all this time?

If he had the energy, he might laugh at the universe’s cruel joke.

Instead, he dropped his gaze to the open page, somehow recognizing his song choice list between Techno’s fingers and his blurry vision. 

What could he possibly say to excuse this? How could he lie this away?

“It’s nothing,” he blurted, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Just some songs I was recommended.”

Clearly, that was the wrong answer because his brother huffed, disbelieving.

“Then, why is this one circled?” He pointed to Tommy’s improv song. “Why this timestamp?” There was desperation in his voice, there was urgency and pain, but Tommy didn’t have it in him to make sense of all of that.

He didn’t have it in him to spin more lies, either.

But how much of his secret would he spill? Months of practice unbeknownst to his father, a week of painful sneaking around the twins down the drain…

No, he couldn’t do that. Licking his lips, the teen answered, “It’s for a dance.” My dance.

Techno froze, a puzzled expression overtaking his face. “Heh?”

Tommy huffed, fingers fidgeting with the drawstrings of his pants. “I chose that song to dance to.” It came out small, but not quite a whisper. The blond braced for the interrogation, squelching all hope of keeping the full truth hidden.

“That’s it?”

The teen snapped his head up to his brother whose face fell in relief and…frustration? Weariness? He wasn’t quite sure, but it didn’t feel good .

“What?” He whispered, praying he’d misunderstood. That he hadn’t been right to assume one of the most important things in his life—the reason he was alive right now—would be brushed off like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

“This is all just about a dance? We thought you- that you wanted-” Techno cut himself off as if he couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

What? To die? If he wasn’t trying so hard not to cry, Tommy would finish it for him. I did, I still do, he’d scream. But he couldn’t open his mouth or he’d break. His eyes, throat, chest burned as a new fissure grew from the center of his already fractured heart. 

There was so much pressure all around, it was smothering him. It squeezed, so he squeezed back; nails into palms, teeth into tongue—he had to stop himself from bringing a hand to his hair and tugging. He couldn’t fall apart right now, not here, not in front of Techno—no matter how badly some part of him yearned for comfort.

It must have shown on his face because the fencer hesitated, burning eyes taking in his shrunken form tense with anticipation. Taking it as a hint, his brother rose, gently setting the notebook where he had been sitting. 

The blond could feel eyes boring into him, but he kept his head down, hiding the sheen of unshed tears under his fringe. The pink-haired twin exhaled through his nose before clearing his throat.

“I’m goin’ to make some breakfast. Come down if you’re hungry.” The words were soft, inviting. They raised doubt in him. 

Most of Tommy was grateful for the space, that’s what he wanted. He knew how to exist alone. But even he couldn’t ignore the tiny sliver of hurt, of wishing Techno would see right through him and pull him into a hug. He couldn’t help wishing for strong arms to hold his crumbling form together.

But Tommy was nothing, if not self-destructive. So he nodded, knowing full well that he would do no such thing.

With that, his brother departed and the boy allowed himself to fall apart. 

Tears slipped past eyelashes as he choked out a wheeze from failing lungs, whole body shaking. 

Be careful what you wish for, Theseus.

He spluttered out a humorless snort.

This time, he laughed with the universe, even as his lips tinged with salt.

Wilbur was having, decidedly, a bad day. Normally, he’d sleep in ‘til ten, drag himself out of bed at ten-thirty and be downstairs to have breakfast by eleven. Today, he’d startled awake at six-fifty-something after a restless night and—because the universe hated him—was unable to fall back asleep. 

The first hour was spent tossing and turning, counting sheep, even doing those breathing exercises his therapist had shown him—after a particularly bad winter, James had threatened to boot him from the band if he didn’t get some help—but to no avail.

The musician knew he was falling into old habits, could feel the hollowness in his chest and the exhaustion weighing on his bones. But he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t ignore it, brush it off and focus his dwindling energy on the stubborn frustration sitting deep in his gut.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded annoyingly similar to a certain bassist echoed.

Get your shit together, dumbass. You’re being a dick.

And the brunet knew he had probably gone a bit too far last night, but he also knew that Tommy was overreacting. How hard was it to just try to be brothers again.

Wilbur was certain the teen was moping in his room as if the world was ending—he would know, that had been him once. Tommy just had to learn that he wouldn’t always get his way and that everything didn’t revolve around him. 

As the second hour came to a close, a knock startled him out of mental arguments with James’ voice in his head.

“Wil? You awake?”

The voice of his twin floated into the room, muffled by the door and soft enough not to wake him had he been asleep.

“Yeah, come in,” he called, sitting up and rubbing his face.

The fencer pushed open the door, slipping in before closing it behind him. His face was carefully held blank, but Wilbur could spot the slight crease between his eyebrows.

The brunet squinted, waiting. When his twin made no effort to explain, he asked, “What’s up?”

Techno gestured to the empty space on his bed, only sitting down after Wilbur nodded. He cleared his throat and said, “I spoke to Tommy.”

The musician said nothing, simply shooting his twin a look like Go on.

“I asked him about the notebook.”

Wilbur raised his brows, eager. “What’d he say?”

The fencer exhaled through his nose, pursing his lips. “Well, he said that it was for a dance.”

“What? What do you mean ‘for a dance?’” 

“He said he chose the song to dance to. I don’t know why, I didn’t ask. He seemed…overwhelmed.”

The weight on Wilbur’s chest lifted, if only for a moment, at finding out the notebook didn’t mean what they thought. But it was quickly replaced by hurt and a little bitterness.

“Why didn’t he just tell us that in the first place? I mean, this all could've been avoided if he just talked to us .”

Techno sighed. “Wil, you gotta remember he has his own life now. He hasn’t had to talk about it for seven years .”

“Exactly! It’s not like there’s nothing to say, that’s a lot of things to catch up on.” Wilbur exclaimed, hands gesturing wildly in a reflection of the emotions tumbling through him.

The fencer shook his head, hand reaching up to rub his jaw.

“Here we are, trying to get things back to normal and he won’t even let us. Tech, he’s being selfish .”

“He has a right to privacy,” the pink-haired twin grumbled.

“And we have a right to be part of his life!” The words came out harsh and broken in their anger.

Techno hesitated, as if about to argue then decided against it, dragging a hand down his face.

In the time that it took him to figure out a response, Wilbur pushed the covers off himself and stood. 

Techno, watching the entire thing, frowned. “Wil, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to talk to Tommy,” he said with finality, moving toward the door. 

As his hand turned the knob, another grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Wil, hold on.”

The brunet turned to meet red-tinted eyes, his own dark ones hard with determination. 

“You said you had to talk to him first. Well, you did, now it’s my turn.”

He opened the door, pulling out of Techno’s hold and stepping into the hall, ignoring his twin’s call of his name. 

A few long strides had him in front of his little brother’s door and he raised his fist to knock, holding his breath. Three knocks. He waited. No response.

Opening the door gently, he peaked in and was met with the sight of Tommy laying on his side toward the window, torso rising with heavy breaths.

Wilbur pouted, all his energy deflating as he shut the door and trudged back to his room.

He didn’t notice the earphones blasting music, tear stains on the pillow, or dull eyes staring blankly out the window. 

Ranboo held their tongue, allowing the static-y rambling of his best friend to fill the car as he exited the parking lot of Gelato Gems. Tubbo had called him the minute he was off the clock, voice tight with desperation.

“Boo, please, you have to go check, it’s been over twenty-four hours,” he begged and Ranboo could feel the tension through their car’s speakers. 

He bit his lip, fingers tapping anxiously on the wheel as they waited for the light to turn green. He knew the brunet was panicking, assuming the worst, so he had to be the calm one. 

“Maybe he slept in or maybe he’s just busy.” Even Ranboo didn’t believe those words.

“You know how he is!” And he did. He’d seen it, he knew.  

“Please…” he whispered. Ranboo couldn’t tell if the crack in Tubbo’s voice was from the speakers. “I can’t lose him.”

And that was what had them making an illegal U-turn to get to Tommy’s house. 

“Yeah, okay, I’m on the way.”

“Thank you.”

Ranboo just prayed they were both wrong.

Back when he had just met Tubbo and Tommy didn’t like him, when they’d still get panic attacks, Ranboo used to sneak onto the roof of the math building—it was on the far end of campus, overlooking the field—just to get away and breathe .

He thought no one else knew how to until the day he found Tommy.

…

Ranboo shot a quick glance behind him, waiting for a few seconds to ensure he was really alone, before twisting the handle and leaning their shoulder against the door, using all his body weight to shove it open. 

The building was an old one and the knob on this side didn’t have a lock, but Ranboo figured no one ever replaced it because the jam was normally enough to keep kids out.

He slipped through the opening surprisingly gracefully for someone with so much limb and froze at the sight of a lanky blond, clad in jeans and a gray hoodie. He paced slowly along the length of the building about a foot from the edge and Ranboo could immediately sense that something was wrong.

In their distraction, he forgot to stop the door from closing all the way behind him and the muffled slam alerted the boy in front of him.

He stopped, attention snapping to Ranboo, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. 

“Tommy?”

If he wasn’t so focused on the way the blond shrunk in on himself, they’d be worried about how the only way onto the roof was now locked.

When Tommy said nothing, he tried again. “Hey, man, uh, what are you doing up here?”

The teen flinched, eyes flickering between the boy with split-dyed hair and the edge of the roof.

And oh, Ranboo thought he understood. Despite their rocky relationship, his heart clenched for the boy in front of them.

He licked his lips, mouth dry, because he’s never done this before and, god, this is Tommy.  

They took a tentative step forward, hands raised with palms facing out in an attempt not to frighten the blond any more. Tommy stayed frozen, eyeing Ranboo warily.

“Look, man, I just came up here to get some space…” Another step. “But I don’t mind sharing.” Another step. One more and he’d be right there. “Maybe just…” The last step. He reached out slowly, grasping the blond’s cold hand in a clammy hold. “Get away from the edge, yeah?” He stepped back, tugging the blond with him. 

Ranboo released a shaky breath when Tommy didn’t resist. They took a few more steps, guiding the teen toward the locked door. “There we go.” 

When the two were a safe distance away from the edge, Ranboo loosened his grip to let go, but Tommy’s fingers tightened around his. The boy’s eyes widened, eyebrows disappearing behind a split-dyed fringe. 

“Don’t go,” the blond rasped, dull blue eyes lifting to meet heterochromatic ones. “Please.”

And Ranboo didn’t think they were friends, didn’t think Tommy even liked them, but he knew the teen was hurting. And he wanted them to be friends, he really did. So he stayed (he hadn’t intended on leaving in the first place).

They nodded, squeezing Tommy’s hand gently. I’m here, it said.

And so, the two sat, leaned up against the locked door as Ranboo explained why he’d come up here. And when they’d done that, explained about his life before moving schools, if only to fill the silence.

And when Tommy didn’t say anything except “Thank you,” Ranboo just squeezed his hand again and continued. 

And when they finally made it off the roof because of a maintenance guy doing his rounds and Tommy held his hand the whole way down, Ranboo just offered to walk him home.

And when Tommy came to him the next day to apologize for being a dick, Ranboo just held out a hand to shake with the offer, “Friends?”

…

The teen didn’t think he’d ever stop being grateful they’d found Tommy that day.

Ranboo clumsily pulled up in front of Tommy’s house, too nervous to care about the horrible parking job or blocking the driveway. He’d had the entire fifteen minute drive over—more like ten with the way they were mildly speeding—to consider every possible turn of events, especially the bad ones, so the boy was undeniably freaking out.

He stumbled to the front door and nearly burst in before remembering that their best friend was no longer home alone and doing that might get him arrested or tackled or something. So he rang the doorbell. Twice.

Just as he was about the ring it a third time, the door swung open and Ranboo came face-t0-face with a pink-haired man. 

Techno , he thought. 

From what he recalled of the little Tommy had shared about his brothers, he was the twin who fenced and went to school on the east coast for mythology. At first, those two things hadn’t made much sense to their brain, but seeing the man in front of him…well, it made a lot more sense.

He had a strong build, all broad-shoulders and lean muscle—clearly an athlete. He wore a white button-up and brown slacks—clearly a literary scholar.

The man frowned at Ranboo, whether from confusion or distaste he wasn’t sure, but the attention made him squirm nonetheless.

“Hullo…who are you?”

Ranboo had to remind himself to breathe. “Hi, I’m one of Tommy’s friends. Is he home?”

“Yeah, he was asleep an hour ago,” a voice cut in. Ranboo blinked at the brunet eyeing him cautiously over Techno’s shoulder.

Wilbur , he thought. The musician who moved to England.

Despite the two pairs of eyes on him, Wilbur’s words eased some of his tension.

“Oh.” He’s home, he’s okay, he’s okay. They shuffled their weight anxiously. “Um, I need to talk to him.”

“Why didn’t you just call him?”

Ranboo bit his lip. Because he’s not answering. Because he’s alone and there’s no one to talk him down. But he couldn’t say that, not to them. Not with the little he knew about the twins. Not when they were part of the reason.

They sighed. “It’s important. I need to see him.” He hoped his desperation wasn’t pouring out of him the way he felt like it did.

Techno scrutinized him for a moment before opening the door wider to let him in. 

Immediately, he ran to Tommy’s room, the route muscle memory, not bothering to knock. A quick glance around revealed an unmade bed, no Tommy and phone missing.

“Shit.” 

Then, he noticed the open window and their stomach lurched. 

“Oh, god, please.” 

Swallowing down the wave of nausea, he stumbled toward it and nearly collapsed when they saw Tommy sitting on the roof, curled up tight in a little ball.

“Oh, thank, god. Tommy!”

The blond didn’t react, so he gripped the windowsill, pulling himself through the small space. As soon as his legs touched the roof, they leaned forward, resting a hand on the teen’s shoulder.

Tommy startled, snapping his head around with wide eyes. It felt too familiar. Ranboo swallowed the lump in his throat.

The blond pulled out his earphones, brows furrowed. “Ranboo? The fuck are you doing here?”

The boy couldn’t get any words out, simply dropping down and pulling Tommy into a hug. He tensed before melting into the hold, hands lifting to grip the back of Ranboo’s shirt.

“You didn’t answer,” they choked out.

“Oh,” Tommy whispered, and there was guilt in his voice. “Sorry…”

Ranboo only tightened his hold on the blond, too scared that if he let go, his best friend would disappear in front of him. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Ranboo didn’t mention the sniffling.

“Uh, everything alright in here?”

Techno’s voice shattered the quiet peace they shared, startling them apart. The blond quickly wiped his face before they crawled back into the room. Ranboo couldn’t help but avoid eye contact, certain the other teen was doing the same.

“Uh, yeah…thanks for the help, Tommy,” he lied, fingers fidgeting behind his back.

When he glanced up for a moment, he could tell the twins were suspicious. Techno eyed the pair with a concerned wariness while Wilbur looked about ready to throw an accusal their way. 

Before either could say anything, he blurted, “So, we still on for the movie?”

For a second, Tommy stared at them like they’d grown a second head, but he caught on. “Oh, um, yeah, yeah.”

“Cool, grab your stuff then we can head out. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Tommy smiled weakly, a silent “thank you” in his eyes. Ranboo nodded before moving toward the door, the action enough to shake the twins out of their confused staring and follow him downstairs. 

As soon as the trio stepped foot into the living room, Wilbur set his hands on Ranboo’s shoulders, guiding them toward the couch. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, hm?”

Great.

Despite expecting this to happen, they still weren’t pleased about it, but he allowed the brunet to sit him on the couch.

The twins stayed standing, towering over him slightly even with his height advantage. Ranboo glanced between them nervously, hands gripping his knees tightly.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

They met Techno’s gaze before glancing away. “Ranboo.”

“How long have you been friends with Tommy?”

He glanced at Wilbur. Technically, they hadn’t been friends the first few months of knowing each other, but the twins didn’t need to know that. “Since sophomore year.”

The pink-haired fencer shifted, crossing his arms and dragging Ranboo’s attention to him. “What did you need Tommy’s help with?” The words were careful, bordering on accusatory but more inquisitive than anything.

The teen tensed, arms wrapping around themself as the anxiety crawled up his spine. He was growing more uncomfortable by the second, but he couldn’t exactly tell them the truth. No, he had to do this for Tommy. He would suffer an eternity of this for Tommy.

“A personal matter,” he settled on, the words rolling off their tongue, tentative and a tad defensive. They hoped it would warn the twins to back off.

Techno seemed to take the hint, stance relaxing slightly as the fencer scanned him. Ranboo thought he caught a sliver of regret in red-tinted eyes.

Wilbur, however, only took it as encouragement, continuing the interrogation with the last question the teen wanted to answer. “What do you know about Tommy’s dancing?”

Ranboo froze, eyebrows shooting up behind his split-dyed fringe. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

The musician narrowed his eyes, suspicion growing. It made Ranboo’s skin crawl. He was a pacifist by any means—the epitome of a people pleaser—but this was his best friend and he couldn’t help the way he bristled. If nothing else, they would protect Tommy. This, Ranboo could do.

Eyebrows lowered into a furrow, arms lifting to cross over his chest, the teen shot back, “What Tommy does in his free time is his business. If you’re so interested, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

The brunet reeled back, eyes wide and his pink-haired counterpart snorted, a newfound respect in his gaze. Wilbur spluttered, somewhat embarrassed as he tried to come up with a response.

Before he could get any words out, Tommy traipsed down the stairs, pausing at the bottom, gaze flickering over the group warily. When no one said anything, the blond gripped the straps of his backpack nervously and asked, “Uh, is everything okay?”

Ranboo startled back into awareness, standing up from the couch with a slap against his thighs. “Yup, all good. You ready to head out?”

The dancer nodded, scooting around his brothers toward the front door. “Yeah, I just gotta put my shoes on.” 

Ranboo nodded, moving to wait by the front door as Tommy slipped into his converse. The twins stepped closer, hovering protectively around their younger brother.

“Be safe,” Techno grunted, shooting the pair a small smile as Tommy laced his shoes.

“Don’t stay out to late,” Wilbur warned, waiting for Tommy to stand and send him a short nod, expression vaguely puzzled.

As Ranboo pulled open the front door, allowing Tommy to step out in front of him, the brunet called, “Have fun, Toms.” 

Ranboo didn’t miss the way the blond flinched, chest tense as if the air had been ripped from it. They shut the door before the twins could notice, too. 

Sundays were normally Dream’s favorite. Sundays meant a closed Kinoko’s and a closed Kinoko’s meant Sapnap was out with Karl. Sundays also meant a closed studio, which meant that he and George got the house all to themselves. 

But today was different. Today, he couldn’t seem to relax.

Dream sat at the dining table, stirring his tea and watching it swirl around the mug as if it were the thoughts in his brain.  He couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday, replaying the car ride over and over until he wasn’t sure it hadn’t all been a dream- no, a nightmare. A godawful nightmare.

The way Tommy had looked…it sent a shiver up his spine and a spike through his heart. Since the day he’d helped the kid through a panic attack, Dream had known Tommy was hurting. After their rooftop talk, he could say with some confidence the teen’s estranged brothers were the ones who’d hurt him. But there was something else going on, there had to be. 

And those words… I’m just so tired, Dream.

A seventeen year old shouldn’t sound like the world had buried him five feet underground and he was just waiting for someone to shovel that last foot over his head.

The blond didn’t realize he’d zoned out until he felt delicate arms rub over his shoulders and squeeze lightly.

Dream turned his head to meet dark chocolate eyes and a knowing smirk. “Hm?”

George rolled his eyes, but the gesture was nothing less than fond. “I asked how your tea was. I’m guessing pretty bad for you to let it go cold with the mug so full.”

Dream huffed a short laugh, glancing at the tea he hadn’t even sipped before returning his gaze to his boyfriend. He shrugged, mind too clouded with worries to formulate a proper answer.

George could immediately tell something was up—even if they weren’t dating, the brunet had been one of his best friends for years and, despite keeping his own emotions close to his chest, knew Dream’s like the back of his hand—and cupped Dream’s face with gentle fingers.

“What’s wrong?”

The dancer inhaled sharply through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before releasing a shaky breath.

“It’s Tommy,” he sighed, biting his lip. 

George frowned, thumb rubbing circles over his cheek. “Tommy? The kid from the studio?”

Dream nodded. He’d mentioned the teen to George before, especially after Sapnap met him and referenced him every so often. But he hadn’t exactly explained the whole situation—partly because it wasn’t entirely his place to tell, but also because it all felt a bit familiar and his boyfriend would surely worry about that.

“Okay,” the brunet said, tilting his head. “So what happened with Tommy?”

The dancer cleared his throat. “Well, he’s…going through some stuff at home right now and I think it’s really messing him up. He-” Dream paused, the image of the teen curled up in his passenger seat, exhaustion coating his entire form, flashing in his mind.

“He…?” George prompted patiently.

“He just reminds me a lot of myself,” the blond swallowed, “back when I was his age.”

This time, the sharp inhale belonged to George. Dream could feel his boyfriend tense next to him and grasped the wrist of the hand cupping his face, squeezing softly. 

“Dream-”

“I know,” he cut off. “I know, George, but I can’t walk away from this. He’s- he’s having a hard time and I don’t know if he has anyone to help him through this.” He caught George’s hesitant gaze and held it. “What if I didn’t have you or Sap? What if you hadn’t been there?” 

They didn’t like to talk about those dark years, as Sapnap dubbed it. But Dream recognized how lucky he was to have them both, to live with his two best friends after a lifetime of not having a real home.  

Brown irises swirled with long-buried pain and he knew George understood why Dream needed to do this. 

“Just be careful, please.” The words came out rough, but he didn’t comment on it. He owed George that and so much more.

“I will, Georgie.” He squeezed the man’s wrist again. It was a promise.

He pulled the brunet forward, arms wrapping around his waist and rested his head against his neck. “I love you.”

The older buried his nose into golden locks with a sigh. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

hi guys, it’s been…a while

i want to start off by saying that this is NOT a discontinuation update, i am going to do my best to finish this fic.

i also want to explain why i’ve been gone for so long. at first, life kept getting in the way (college just gets harder who would’ve thought). then all the dream shit started happening & it really demotivated me. just as i was finally thinking about giving this fic another shot, the wilbur stuff came out & that tore me away from mcyt for the first time in years. as an sbi writer, it really sucked & i pretty much stepped away from reading/writing for a solid few weeks as i processed everything. i decided to branch out to other fandoms (mcu mainly) & only recently got back into mcyt bc of life series, death fam, & 3/3 sbi.

i want to make it clear that i do NOT support cc!wilbur, cc!dream or dt in any shape or form. they’ve proven themselves to be shitty people & any supporters of them are NOT WELCOME HERE. i don’t wanna see any discourse about them in the comments either, i will not hesitate to delete them.

that being said, the characters are free reign, they’re mine & separate from the people. you’re welcome to talk about them as much as you’d like. plus, aim!wilbur & aim!dream are vital to aim!tommy’s story so i can’t exactly kill them off. however, there will be a shift of focus away from dt & probably some alterations to characterization/relationships (that make sense to the story).

as far as finishing the fic goes, i have most of the end outlined & am aiming (pun intended) to wrap everything up in 4ish chapters. i’ll do my best not to make it seem rushed. this is my first ever longfic & aim!tommy means a lot to me, so i wanna do both of them justice. i started writing aim at a really low point in my life & aim!tommy honestly helped me get through it. but now that i’m at a better place mentally (which is a good thing!!) it’s kinda hard to get into the head space to write this fic. but maybe it’s just time for aim!tommy to heal too :)

i think that’s everything for now! i might delete this update once i get the next chapter out & solidify the outline but thank you guys so so much for continuing to show this fic so much love & supporting me thru the writing process <3

as always, stay safe & have a good one!!

Chapter Text

Tommy slipped into the ballet room with a sort of tired grace, eyes trained downward. He wasn’t having a particularly bad day, save for being awake since seven thirty. This past weekend had just been a bit of a haze and a lot of a mess. To be frank, the teen was more than a little embarrassed about breaking down in Dream’s car and did not plan on talking about it any time soon.

And so Tommy was simply going to not talk to the man today. The six hours of shared practice would not make it easy, but he could certainly try.

The blond took his usual spot by the wall, taking the time to stretch out his feet—his ankle had started acting up again, which was probably his fault for climbing a tree and running four miles but he hadn’t exactly thought about that in the moment. He massaged the area, taking extra care to roll out his ankle and do a couple of flex-to-points. He just needed to get through this week, then it could cause as many problems as it wanted. If he could just get through pointe, the rest of his practices would be a breeze. 

And so Tommy sat, stretching, as the rest of the class filtered in, followed by a mildly stressed Bad. Tommy suppressed a smile at the rumpled appearance of his coach. He wouldn’t be surprised if Skeppy did something to make the man late—somewhat ironic for a man who did not tolerate tardiness. The teen pretended he couldn’t feel Dream’s gaze burning a hole in his skull.

“Tommy, hey! How’s it going?”

The blond glanced up to meet a familiar bright smile.

“Hey, Niki. How are you always so happy this early in the morning?” 

She chuckled and Tommy felt a spark of jealousy at the lightness she carried. These days, he was sure if someone dropped him into the ocean, he’d sink straight to the bottom.

“The way I see it, if I come to ballet with lots of energy, I might leave still having some.”

The dancer hummed, nodding. “Yeah, I still don’t get that.”

The ballerina rolled her eyes fondly, settling down next to him. “If you’re not busy, I’m gonna stop by Kinoko’s for lunch after class and I’d love the company.”

Tommy bit his lip, thinking. There was a chance she’d ask about his weekend, but he was planning on going to the cafe anyway before their evening class. Plus, it would give him an out if Dream asked to talk.

“Sure,” he agreed, shooting her a small smile before bending down to stretch his middle splits. 

Soon enough, Bad called the class to the floor to begin. They proceeded with their usual warmup before moving to the barre. He couldn’t deny being a little distracted as thoughts of the weekend’s events bounced around in his mind. Dinner was a disaster to say the least and, though he’d enjoyed meeting Quackity, that entire night had emotionally drained him more than he’d been in years. Then, of course, Sunday hadn’t been much better. His conversation with Techno still stung, not that he was surprised by the outcome. Dance was the one thing he had for himself that hadn’t been tainted by his family. It was his and somehow they still managed to take that from him. He was just glad the man hadn’t pried. God, what a nightmare.

“Tommy, watch your lines.” Bad’s voice brought him to attention and he immediately squeezed his muscles tighter, squaring his hips and lifting his arm. His legs ached, sore from yesterday, and he grit his teeth. He just had to get through the next two hours. 

Soon enough, he was zoning out again. With less than a week to the promo shoot, Tommy’s nerves were frayed. Puffy had sent out an email last night with all the details, but of course the blond hadn’t seen it ‘til this morning. When he did, he made sure to read it twice just to be safe. The plan was to have the run-through Saturday night to ensure every section was set and make any last minute adjustments. Friends and family were invited, too—Puffy thought it would be good for everyone’s morale to show off what they’d been working so hard for. The teen had yet to ask his best friends about it. Logically, he knew they’d say yes, but he couldn’t shake the voice in his head telling him they couldn’t be bothered.

Why would anyone want to come watch you fail?

He shook it off. 

“Lines, Tommy,” Bad corrected again with a disapproving frown. Tommy flushed, embarrassed. As he adjusted his form, his weight shifted too far past center and he strained to catch himself from falling out of it. Unfortunately for him, the teen’s ankle took the brunt of the strain, twinging sharply as he suppressed a hiss. It subsided quick enough but he really needed to be more careful. He definitely could not afford an injury right now.

By the time they moved to across the floors, Tommy’s mind was back on the shoot. As terrified as he was to perform his improv solo, he couldn’t help his growing excitement. Sure, he’d stuck with dancing because he loved it, but this would be the first time since he’d started that he’d actually get to prove his months of hard work had been worth it. Since there were seven dance sections to be filmed—ballet, tap, contemporary, breaking, jazz, ballroom, and hip hop—as well as the intro and outro, they’d be having a twelve-hour day including one-hour breaks each for lunch and dinner. It was definitely going to be challenging but Tommy loved a good challenge.

The loud clap of Bad’s hands startled him back to awareness just as the row in front of him set off. Tommy was second, right behind Niki. He internally counted along to the music, waiting for Bad to clap them in before châiné-ing to the other side of the room. After a few more rounds of turns on each side, they moved onto leaps. 

Now, Tommy had never been a master at leaps, but he’d never been bad at them either. So really, he only had his lack of mental presence to blame for what happened next. He watched with detached appreciation as Niki and Dream floated in midair with equivalent power and grace. Just as soon, Bad was clapping in his row. Tommy prepped for a grand jeté, chassé-ing into it with as much energy as he could manage. He soared through the air, somewhat aware of maintaining his lines, before coming back down for the landing. Except his ankle wasn’t tight enough and as soon as the ball of his foot hit the ground, he felt it give. With a sharp hiss he rolled to the floor.

Holy shit that hurt.  

Immediately, the teen tried rolling it out, wincing at the pain but eternally grateful that it wasn’t broken. Dream and Niki, who had been watching him, immediately rushed forward, equal parts concern and sympathy on their faces. Niki dropped to look at his ankle while Dream gestured Bad over. Tommy felt a rush of embarrassment. He was fine. He didn’t need to be babied.

Niki pressed against his ligaments, glancing up at him. “Does that hurt?”

It did, but nothing that he couldn’t manage. He shrugged. “It’s fine, I just rolled it. I can walk it off.”

Niki gave him a disapproving look, but before she could respond Bad had reached them.

“Tommy,” he began, firm yet gentle. “Are you okay? Is it your ankle?”

Vehemently, the blond nodded, already pushing Niki’s hands away and rising into a crouch. “Yeah, I’m fine. Like I said, just rolled it. I’ll be good in a few minutes.” As he moved to stand, Dream offered a hand. Tommy frowned. He hated this. It made him feel like a little kid, but in the way that he preferred not to think about. Like he was a nuisance, something to be dealt with and shooed away. Feeling that familiar sort of rage bubble up in his chest, he ignored the man’s help and rose on his own. “I’m fine,” he grumbled.

Bad sighed. “Alright, if you’re sure. Feel free to sit out if you need to, okay?”

Tommy nodded, ignoring the feeling of two pairs of eyes boring into him. He hated the attention. “Can I just go to the bathroom?”

Bad hummed, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, before gesturing to the rest of the class. “Okay, keep it moving everyone, we’ve still got an hour.” 

Tommy didn’t bother to say anything as he walked past the older pair and out the door. He grit his teeth against the dull throb of his ankle with every step down the hallway. This didn’t really bode well for the rest of his week.

Eventually, the teen reached the bathroom and shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall. The anger still sizzled under his skin, a red-hot ember. He didn’t even know what he was angry about. His brothers? No, he was long past that. There was only bitterness there. Dream? No, there was no reason to be. If anything, he was just embarrassed as hell. Himself? 

Tommy swallowed thickly. This whole situation was his fault, really. Didn’t that justify the rage? Just like everything else that’s wrong in his life, Tommy was the culprit. 

No one to blame but yourself.

Fingernails dug into his palms. He stormed over to a sink, glaring into his reflection. Before he could think twice about it, he sent a fist flying toward the mirror. Pain exploded out from his knuckles, a nice distraction from the twinge of his ankle. When he retracted his hand, he was surprised to find nothing more than an inch long crack where his knuckle had been. He supposed it was better than the alternative.

Inhaling deeply, Tommy turned on the faucet and ran his throbbing hand under the cool water. Once the pain had mostly subsided, he splashed his face, allowing the droplets to run off his chin and soak into the black fabric of his shirt. He exhaled through his nose, finally feeling the anger in his chest settle. 

He figured he should probably get back before someone came looking for him. With a quick brush over his face and through his hair, the blond set off for the ballet room. He joined back in with the class for the remaining forty-five minutes, pointedly ignoring Dream’s watchful gaze and gritting his teeth through the pain in his ankle. 

So when Bad dismissed them until this evening, he wasn’t at all surprised by Dream approaching him.

The older blond smiled softly, standing near but leaving a bit of space between them. Tommy was both grateful and disappointed for it. 

“Hey, kid,” he started. “About last night-” Tommy bit his lip, gaze dropping to the floor. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay and…I’m here if you need anything.” Tommy nearly snorted. Not eight hours earlier, he’d heard those exact words.

“Look, Tommy,” Ranboo said, laying next to him on their bed. “I may not know exactly what’s going on and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but maybe you should try to work things out with your brothers. They’re overbearing to say the least but…it seems like they really care. I don’t know, but whatever you decide, I’m here if you need anything, man.”

The teen sighed. “Thanks, Dream. I- it’s complicated and this weekend has just been…a lot. I’m just trying to focus on the shoot, y’know? I…thank you for coming last night. It means a lot.” He met Dream’s gaze. The man watched him carefully, but there was kindness in his eyes. Tommy pursed his lips. “I just gotta figure some stuff out on my own. But thanks again.”

Dream nodded, lips quirking. “Alright, kid. I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

Tommy hummed, “See ya,” and moved to grab his things. Niki was waiting by the door for him and they easily fell into step, walking side-by-side to Kinoko’s. Niki clearly sensed he didn’t want to talk about whatever was going on with him and steered the conversation away from that topic. 

Within a few minutes, they arrived at the cafe, the familiar jingle of the door signaling their entrance. It was about as busy as lunchtime on a usual weekday, so Karl didn’t notice them until they went up to order. 

The brunet greeted them cheerfully. “Hiya, guys! How’s things at the studio? You have the promo shoot this weekend, right?”

Niki smiled brightly back. “Hi, Karl! Yup, the run-through is on Saturday night, we better see you there.”

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world! Besides,” he chuckled, “Sapnap would drag me along even if I wasn’t planning on going.”

Tommy snorted. “At this rate, he should just join us.”

Karl giggled. “After this weekend, he just might! Anyway, what can I get for you two?”

“The usual for me, please, and a chocolate croissant.” 

“You got it!”

As he reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, Niki stopped him, gently nudging him aside so she could pay. Normally, he would resist, but if Tommy knew anything, it was that there was no winning an argument with Niki. She could be really scary if she wanted to be. Instead, he just sighed and looked around for a free table. Once Niki had ordered her raspberry white mocha and bagel, they moved over to one of the smaller tables near the sidewall. 

The pair chatted mindlessly while Karl prepared their orders and insisted on grabbing them himself when they were ready since she paid. They sat in comfortable silence while they ate, but Tommy couldn’t help running over Ranboo’s words from last night again.

“Hey, Niki?” He asked after finishing off his croissant.

She swallowed her bite, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yes, Tommy?”

“Let’s say there were some people that you used to be really close to, but they left for a long time and now they’re back. But they didn’t try to stay in touch that entire time and all of a sudden want to be close again like they never left in the first place. Would you let them?”

Niki hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip of her drink. The silence made him nervous and he nearly regretted asking anything. At last, she answered. ”I suppose that depends on how they left things and how they’re trying to fix it. I think everyone deserves a second chance, but I’d be lying if I said it works out every time. You need to think of yourself in this situation. If they hurt you, they deserve the chance to make it right. But it’s up to you to decide whether they deserve forgiveness, too.”

Tommy bit his lip, mulling her advice over. Maybe she was right. Ranboo seemed to think so, too. “Okay,” he murmured. “Thanks.”

Niki smiled warmly at him, gray eyes twinkling. “Of course, Tommy. Happy to help.”

He gave her a small smile before sipping on his own latte, eyes tracing the darkening bruise on his knuckles. 

“So, you excited for the shoot? You’re doing contemp and hip hop, right?”

Tommy nodded. “Mhm. Me and Dream finished choreographing on Saturday and contemp’s improv.”

“That’s so cool! I can’t wait to watch you perform, I’ve only seen you do ballet before.”

Blushing, Tommy added, “And ballroom.”

Niki chuckled. “How could I forget. You should get Tubbo to come back to another beginner’s class.”

“I don’t think he’ll ever go to one of those again.”

Niki laughed and it warmed Tommy. Her joy was so genuine and contagious, he couldn’t help laugh along with her.

”You’re doing ballet and ballroom, yeah?”

She hummed mid-sip. “Yup! Dream and I finished choreographing for ballet Saturday morning before he met up with you. And Jack and I have had our ballroom piece done for a few weeks, it’s one we’ve performed before.”

Tommy squinted playfully. “That wanker, of course he’d take the easy route.”

Shaking her head, Niki added, “Well, he’s also doing the tap section with Freddie and Billzo.”

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” Tommy grumbled. “I know Hannah’s doing the jazz piece, but haven’t heard anything about the breaking section yet.”

Niki tilted her head. “Oh, Aimsey mentioned they were doing it with Purpled, I think.”

Tommy hummed, finishing off his drink. He’d seen them both around once or twice at hip hop workshops, but they didn’t share any classes so they hadn’t spoken much. 

“Which piece are you most excited to perform, Tommy?”

The teen scratched his chin. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I know hip hop will be fun and it’ll be nice to have a partner, but contemp is my favorite style. I’m definitely the most nervous about my solo, though.”

“It can be pretty scary being up there alone, but I have a feeling you won’t even notice once you’re actually up there,” Niki reassured with a knowing smile.

The words warmed him and he swirled the ice around his cup with his straw. “What about you?”

“Definitely ballet.”

Tommy raised a surprised eyebrow.

Niki giggled. “Well, it’ll be the first time anyone’s seen it. I’ve already done the ballroom piece in front of a crowd.”

“Oh. I’m sure both of them will be amazing, though. You’re really good.”

“Aww,” Niki cooed. “Tommy, you’re so sweet.”

He grimaced, sinking into his seat. “Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Nope, too late.”

Tommy groaned. “This is why I’m not nice.” 

By the time ballet class rolled around—Niki had parted ways from him earlier with a promise to see him in class—Tommy had to work hard not to limp returning to the studio. 

Setting down his things in his usual spot, he began changing into his pointe shoes and couldn’t help but internally wince at the swollen blue-purple of his left ankle. Somehow, he managed to fit into his shoe, but took care not to put any pressure on it until he actually had to stand for the warmup. Thankfully, Niki didn’t seem to notice when she set her belongings next to him and Dream came in as Bad called them to the floor. 

Now, he just had to get through the next three hours…

Tommy grit his teeth and danced, nodding when Bad reminded him to sit out if he needed.

Do it. Show them how weak you are.

Tommy bit his tongue, focusing on the stinging to distract from the throbbing. He pirouetted and arabesqued, he twirled and lifted his partner, all without a word. Only once, halfway through class, did he excuse himself to the bathroom, eyes watering the whole way there. He wouldn’t let himself cry, not here. Rubbing his eyes harshly, Tommy took several deep breaths until the pain didn’t make him want to collapse right then and there. Splashing his face with icy water, Tommy reminded himself there was only an hour left of class. He squared his shoulders and returned, determination hiding the discomfort. 

Needless to say, at the end of class, he was more than happy to accept Dream’s offer for a ride home. 

“Don’t forget to ice that foot, alright?” Dream eyed him carefully, concern scrunching the skin between his brows. 

Tommy snorted incredulously, hand on the still-open passenger door. “Wouldn’t dream of it, big man.” He shut the door, returning the older’s amused smile before trudging inside. 

For once, he wasn’t even concerned about whether his family might be home, too focused on making it upstairs so that he could get the fuck off his foot. By some miracle, he didn’t run into anyone, able to drop his things off in his room and limp to the bathroom to scour for the first aid kit. 

Rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink, Tommy found it, promptly pulling the bright red box onto the countertop. In his focused search, the blond failed to notice the soft footfalls approaching the bathroom until the door creaked open and a head peaked in, pink hair hanging in a messy braid. 

“Tommy?” Techno asked, expression one of confusion.

Tommy, now staring at his older brother like a deer in headlights, felt a vague sense of deja vu. Frozen with his hands in the first aid kit, Tommy could only watch and wait for Techno’s reaction.

The fencer scanned over his face with a frown before dropping his gaze to the counter. Immediately, his expression morphed into alarm, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. “Are you hurt?” He slid fully into the bathroom, grabbing Tommy’s wrist with a surprising amount of gentleness and examining it. “What happened?”

The blond blinked owlishly, gaze dropping to their connected hands. Techno’s were so much warmer than his, the skin rough with calluses from years of fencing, and he couldn’t help but melt into the touch, just a little bit. As much as his brother had hurt him, he couldn’t help but want the thing he’d been deprived of for so long.  

“Your hand feels fine,” Techno murmured, prodding at his bones. When Tommy remained silent, still reeling from the softness he was being shown, his brother looked to him worriedly. “Tommy?”

Swallowing past the growing dryness in his mouth, Tommy scowled and attempted to pull his hand away to no avail. “That’s because it is. I’m fine.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you diggin’ through the first aid kit?”

His scowl grew but he couldn’t bear his brother’s intense gaze any longer. He felt increasingly like a specimen being examined under a microscope. “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, even as his ankle throbbed in protest.

“Tommy,” Techno warned and Tommy knew there was no getting out of this. His eldest brother had a patience to rival just about anything and when he was determined to get something, nothing could stop him. “Tell me where you’re hurt. Let me help.”

He risked meeting his brother’s eyes again, taken aback by the concern and urgency swirling within red-tinted irises. 

“…it seems like they really care…”

Taking a shaky breath as Ranboo’s words rung through his mind, Tommy wilted, the fight leaving him. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt…Techno surely knew how to properly wrap an ankle and Tommy wasn’t sure he could say the same for himself. “Fine,” he huffed, gritting his teeth, “it’s my ankle- I, um, twisted it.”

As soon as the words tumbled from his lips, Techno nodded and guided him to sit on the toilet seat before digging through the first aid kit for a roll of bandage.

“You mind takin’ your shoe and sock off for me, kid?” Techno requested as he set the roll aside and put the kit away. Attention elsewhere, he didn’t catch the way Tommy’s chest stuttered, breath catching in his throat. Kid. It was the same term Dream had used hundreds of times, usually earning him a playful I’m not a kid, but hearing it from Techno was…different—not quite like when Wilbur used- Toms- He nearly shuddered just thinking about it. But it filled him with an odd feeling, like he couldn’t decide whether to melt into the warmth fizzing up or shy away from it entirely. 

When Techno turned to him and he hadn’t moved, the man repeated the question, eyeing him carefully. Tommy couldn’t help but curl into himself in embarrassment. “Um, yeah, sorry.” He bent over and began unlacing his converse, wincing when it jostled his injured foot. Biting his tongue, he pulled the shoe off, eyes watering at the burst of searing hot pain.

Once he’d removed the sock, revealing the swollen purple joint which looked much worse than it had a few hours ago, Techno inhaled sharply. “Tommy…that’s sprained at best.”

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, gaze pinned on the wall as that familiar rage built up inside him again. He felt like a child being scolded and it was humiliating. What gave Techno the right? To act like Tommy hadn’t spent the last ten years of his life figuring everything out on his own, forced to learn how to take care of every injury without any older brothers or fathers to do it for him. 

The fencer crouched by his feet, grabbing his left ankle with even more gentleness than Tommy thought possible. Light fingers brushed over his skin, applying pressure around the joint. The dull sparks of pain were almost a relief, like pressing on a bruise rather than tearing through muscle. When Techno angled his foot to one direction, though, Tommy couldn’t stop the hiss from escaping through his clenched teeth, the pain nearly blinding him.

Techno took a measured breath, face pinched in guilt and concern. “How long have you been walkin’ around on this?”

Tommy wrapped his arms around his torso, pointedly avoiding Techno’s gaze. Heat flooded his face, his stomach clenching uneasily.

“When did this happen, Tommy?” Sighing, his brother tried to catch his eyes. “Please, kid, it’s important.”

And that got Tommy’s attention because Techno doesn’t say please. Yet again, Tommy wilted, finally meeting the older’s burning gaze. “This morning,” he whispered, shame clawing at his insides. He didn’t even know why. Why he was afraid of disappointing Techno or why Techno even cared. Why, after all this time?

The fencer frowned, scanning over the injury again. When he looked back up, there was a wariness to him, like he’d realized something. “Did-” He paused, working his jaw. “Did you dance on this?” His voice had a weird edge to it, not quite accusatory but not the leveled monotone Tommy was used to either.

He shifted nervously on the toilet seat, suddenly much more aware of himself and the situation. Dance was a sensitive topic for him, especially with Techno. He wasn’t sure he could handle the dismissal again, not when he was already so vulnerable sitting here. So weak.   

But his silence seemed answer enough because Techno took another measured breath, focusing his attention fully on Tommy’s foot. “Okay. I’m goin’ to wrap your foot then we’re icin’ it. No objections,” Techno declared sternly.

Well, that’s fine because Tommy wasn’t planning on objecting anyway. He knew he needed both of those things to get him through the week. Tommy nodded, biting his cheek again, distantly aware of the taste of iron on his tongue. 

As tenderly as he could manage, Techno wrapped the bandage around his ankle, tight enough to keep it sturdy but not enough to be painful. Then, he did something that threw Tommy entirely- turned his back to him and rounded his arms to his side. “Climb on, I’ll take you to your room.”

The blond blinked at him, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. As if this wasn’t the last thing Tommy would expect, Techno jested, “I don’t have all day, kid.”

Tommy couldn’t wipe the confoundment from his face as he inched forward and tentatively wrapped his arms around Techno’s neck, allowing the man to grab his legs and hoist him up. It was sturdy, secure- safe- just like when he was a kid and his brother would carry him around like a knight on his horse. Tommy bit down the whimper in his throat, tearing through the skin of his cheek and flooding his mouth with blood. 

It wasn’t fair.

Life isn’t fair, Theseus. Get used to it.

Tommy let Techno carry him down the hall and set him on his bed in silence, all his efforts geared toward pushing down the growing lump in his throat. 

“I’ll grab the ice, don’t go anywhere.”

Tommy tried to use those few minutes alone to gather himself.

Stop being such a baby.

But something in the back of his mind pulled at him. 

“…try to work things out with your brothers…”

Swallowing thickly, he rolled the words around in his mind. Fuck Ranboo and their stupid advice. Except…he couldn’t stop thinking that maybe they were right. At least, Techno seemed to care. He was helping Tommy. For some reason. 

Maybe if he just saw, he’d understand. But could Tommy really bare his soul so fully? 

So when his brother returned with a ziploc bag of ice cubes wrapped in a paper towel and propped his foot on a pillow and double checked his wrap was sturdy, Tommy didn’t say a word. But when Techno paused, shifted awkwardly, glanced between Tommy and the door like he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave, Tommy took his chance.

“Uh, Tech?” The word didn’t roll off his tongue easily, a stranger to his mouth after so many years. If he wasn’t watching so intently for the man’s reaction, he would’ve missed the slight widening of his eyes and parting of his lips. “My studio- this Saturday, we’re, uh, having a…showcase of our dances and-” he licked his lips “um, it’s open to friends and family…” It came out in nearly a whisper. Techno blinked once. Twice. Three times. Tommy flushed, immediately wishing he could take back the words and disappear into his covers. “If you wanted, I mean,” he blurted, hoping to just brush past the whole situation. 

Techno seemed to snap back into himself at that, lips lifting at the corners and eyes staring back at him with a newfound understanding. It kind of put Tommy on edge- the intensity behind them. The fencer dipped his chin almost imperceptibly. “Sure, kid. I’ll come to your showcase.”

And that was that. With a soft warning to stay off his foot and a gentle reminder to call if he needs anything, Techno left, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

Holy fucking shit- did Tommy just do that?!

The rest of the week passed by in a blur—

—Tuesday:

“Are you kidding? You’re absolutely gonna kill it up there, I already know.”

Tommy blushed at Hannah’s praise, picking at the frayed ends of his sleeves. “You’re just saying that ‘cause we’re friends.”

Hannah scoffed, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Oh, don’t be modest. You’re the best contemp dancer we have, Tommy. Own it.”

Biting his lip to hide his smile, Tommy held onto those words and the warmth they brought with them. 

Three hours later, ankle throbbing with a vengeance, Tommy stood before the rest of the class, waiting for his cue. Puffy had asked him to perform his solo for everyone and, of course, he couldn’t say no. So he looked to Hannah, her kind eyes and proud smile calming his nerves, and enacted to follow one of Puffy’s improv challenges: keep one foot off the floor (more or less)—

—Wednesday:

“So,” Tommy said, interrupting Tubbo mid-rant about nuclear propulsion generators or something. The two of them and Ranboo were having lunch at Kinoko’s after technique class this morning. Tommy was getting pretty good at ignoring the pain radiating from his foot since painkillers had pretty much stopped working. He did take it easy today, but putting any pressure on it at all was uncomfortable at best. “The promo run-through is this Saturday night and you both better be there or I’ll never speak to you again.” Even though it was meant to be a joke, he couldn’t help being nervous that they wouldn’t want to come.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ranboo assured kindly.

Tubbo grinned, stealing a sip of Tommy’s drink. “Oh, yeah, you’ll regret ever inviting us in the first place, boss man. Everyone will be deaf from our cheering by the end of the night.”

Rolling his eyes with a smile, Tommy flicked Tubbo’s hand and snatched his drink back, taking a sip—

—Thursday:

“How’s your ankle?” Dream asked as the class took a seat at the front of the room while they grabbed some water. 

“Better,” Tommy lied, given that it was feeling worse. But it was fine, he only had to get through the next three days then he could rest.

“Alright, just make sure you’re taking care of it, okay? Sunday’s gonna be a tough day.”

Tommy nodded, rolling out his shoulders and shaking out his hands.

Dream caught on, clasping him on the shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t be nervous, kid. We’ve got this in the bag. Just relax and have fun. I’ll be next to you the entire time. That’s the best part of a duet. You’ve got someone to look to if you get lost or scared.”

With a smile, Tommy pulled Dream onto the floor. “Let’s do this”—

—Friday:

“Tommy, right?” The boy next to him asked when the class took to the floor for the warmup. He was tall, lanky and blond, almost like staring into a mirror and Tommy recognized him from a previous hip hop workshop.

“Yeah,” he smiled, shifting his weight off of his bad foot. “Purpled, right?”

The boy smirked, reaching an arm out to fist pump him. “I don’t usually come to these—I’m a breaker—but my brother’s leading today so he dragged me out.” Purpled gestured with his head to the front where Punz, the breaking coach, was setting up the speaker. Tommy could easily see the resemblance.

“Excited for tomorrow? I heard you’re doing the breaking section with Aimsey.” Purpled shrugged, completely nonchalant and Tommy snorted. “Alright, well you better give it all you got anyway, I expect to be wowed.”

Purpled rolled his eyes, but Tommy caught the corners of his lips twitch and counted it as a win. 

Just as they were about to start the workshop, Purpled leaned over and teased, “You’re on, man. Better bring your A-game for hip hop.”

Grinning, Tommy reached out and shook Purpled’s hand—

And suddenly, Tommy woke up, the sun barely peeking above the horizon, and it was Saturday.