No nightmares today, just sweet, dreamless sleep.
Tommy wakes up, and again, doesn't recognise his surroundings. It takes him a couple of seconds for him to remember where.
He sits up, looks around at his surroundings, and sees Phil, snoring softly, his head tilted back, resting on the tall, cushioned backing of the chair across from the couch he was sleeping in.
The teen softly rises from the soft cushions of the dark leather sofa and stretches, muscles crying out in protest. Popping sounds come from his lower back as he reaches backward, groaning.
As he makes his way to the staircase, he's careful to be quiet, so as to not wake Phil, who's still asleep on the brown leather armchair in the living room.
He stirs slightly and Tommy freezes, waiting for his father figure to go back to sleep. Phil snuffles a bit more, making the boy stare intently at him until he stills.
With one last glance back at Phil, he makes his way upstairs, exploring his new temporary home. Tilting his head up at the dim hallway, he can still make out the high ceilings of the quiet house.
Pushing softly on the first door on the right, his eyes flick over a comfortable room that is obviously Techno's, and its soft pink hue wraps its arms around Tommy in a warm hug, lighting up his face. His green socks pad softly on the polished floorboards as he walks in, and gets a full view of his friend's room.
There are pillows scattered on the light pink bedspread and there's a gaming setup next to the queen bed. Trophies and books are placed on the shelves that litter the walls, and Tommy even spies a violin mounted on the wall.
The curtains are drawn, the dim dusk light from behind illuminating the pattern of pigs and the window must be open because he can see the breeze softly pushing the pink fabric to flutter slightly.
Tommy shivers; it's cold. Memories of a hard concrete floor and cold nights threaten to surface and he has to take a deep breath to ground himself.
The teen inhales the aroma of lavender, matching the smell that always seems to linger around Techno. It's one of his favourite scents, reminding him of all the times he's been with his friend.
He continues looking around the quiet room, stepping over the fluffy white rug to open the door parallel to the arch he came through, and he acquaints himself with a white tiled bathroom before going back into the hallway to continue exploring.
Tommy steps down the hall slowly and walks into the next wooden door, turning the metal knob and entering. He's greeted by a second comforting room, this time with a fairly neutral theme, a yellow bed pushed to the far left corner, parallel to his desk.
Wilbur's piano is against the wall, between the aligned doors and his guitars are mounted on the grey walls, along with the infamous numberless clock and his 'home home' poster.
There's a clatter from behind the white door next to the end of his bed, and Tommy snaps his head up, realising that he hasn't seen the brunette in a while, and he calls out his friend's name cautiously.
"Wil-Wilbur?"
No reply, except for a quiet "shit." followed by a thump. He walks forward and softly knocks on the white wooden door on the other side of the room. "Will? Are you okay?"
Silence.
Getting concerned now, he puts his hand on the door handle and slowly pushes down. He winces as he steps into the room, the cold marble shocking his skin, a flashback threatening to resurface. The incoming darkness of traumatic memories fades as he walks into an awful sight; he sees Wilbur, passed out cold on the floor, leaning on the tiled wall, blood dripping down his left forearm and a razorblade cast to the side on the tiles, fallen out of his hand.
Panic rings in Tommy's ears. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
"PHIL!"
---
Wilbur is alone in his bathroom. Tommy is downstairs with Phil, sleeping on the couch, and Techno is at work.
Linking eyes with his reflection, he slides down the wall to sit on the white tile floor, flinching as the bottoms of his thighs hit the cold ceramic.
Being properly, really, truly alone for the first time in god knows how long, his eyes flick over the white room, eventually resting on a silver blade, glinting at him.
Wilbur, no.
He's been clean for so long. It's been so long. He knows he's going to be disappointed in himself later, but he can't resist. It's an impulse at this point.
An urge overwhelms him and he grabs it on a whim, pulling the sharp metal across his skin.
"This was inevitable. It was going to happen anyway," he whispers to himself. "It's fine."
The familiar stinging of the razor blade against his forearm makes him wince. Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he watches the blood blossom on his forearm. He has never been great with pain.
He hears faint footsteps and someone's voice calling his name timidly. Panic sets in as Tommy's accent registers in his mind and he hurriedly scrambles to get up and clean his arm.
Wilbur's vision blurs, and he curses under his breath before everything goes black.
902 words
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'i don't have anywhere else to go.' - a sleepy boys inc story
Fanfiction"Tommy? What- it's 2 in the morning-" Phil is shaken from his half awake daze at the sight of Tommy, on his doorstep, looking like he's been through hell and back. "Hi. I-I don't have anywhere else to go. Can I stay-" Phil interrupts him with a soft...
