'i don't have anywhere else to go.' - a sleepy boys inc story

douze

"If you get hungry, there's some pumpkin soup in the fridge, you can microwave it if you want it warm. Don't burn the house down. Will is gonna be home from his office around 3, you'll be alone until then. Anything else before I go?" Phil is about to leave Tommy at home alone for the first time since he started staying with them. Tommy is very excited.

Grinning like a maniac, he says, "Nope, nope. Oh- um, could I use your streaming room? I wanna work on some lore for the, uh- the thingy." He gestures vaguely with his fingers, reaching for the words.

Phil looks at him, bemused. "The Dream SMP?"

"THAT, yes that...uh, with Dream."

"Yeah, no worries, mate. It's the door next to mine." Phil snorts in amusement then spins his keyring around his index finger, metal clinking against metal noisily. "That it? 'Right mate. I'll be off."

As Phil walks down the street and gets in his car the teen leans out of the front door, waving, and yells, "BYE PHIL!"

He rushes into the room he was directed to and logs into Discord.

---

"And I can just trust you to be a little shit, as per usual,"

"Oi, dickhead-"

"Then I get mad and, uh- I off you-"

"Yeah, then you kill me...with a potato? You beat me to death with a fuckin' potato. What the fuck, Dream?"

Dream's kettle wheeze and Tommy's loud laugh fills the call. Quiet gradually settles before the American asks, "So why are you staying with Phil?"

"Oh. Yeah, um. My parents, uh-" His speech is halted by the feeling of a lump rising in his throat and his mouth goes dry. He laughs awkwardly, a short, heavy bark. A weighted silence fills the Discord, again, until Dream breaks the quiet, again.

"Tommy?"

"My parents- they-" Tommy feels his throat start to close up and the sound of his heartbeat begins to pulse, racing in his ears.

"Okay. You obviously don't want- or, I don't know, feel comfortable, I guess, talking about it today. If you, at some point, do feel comfortable, just- just call me, and you can tell me what happened."

Gratitude washes over the teen and he thanks his friend.

Dream unknowingly yawns and wipes his face dryly with a palm, then glances at his clock hanging on his white wall.

6:52 am.

"Shit." He hadn't realised the time.

"What?"

"It's so late, what the hell? I think I'm gonna hop off for the night."

"Wait yeah, isn't it like 7 in the morning for you, what the fuck? Have you slept at all tonight?"

Dream laughs softly. "Yeah. Uh, no, I haven't." He's almost four years older than his friend, yet he's being lectured on sleep schedules by a teenager.

"Go to sleep, Dream." They exchange their farewells and a short note emits from Tommy's headphones to signify that his friend has exited the call. After he, too, leaves the vc, the boy sits there, eyes welling up with angry tears, but he's mad at nobody other than himself. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Fucking idiot, Tommy. Why couldn't you tell him? You trust him."

I trust him. Don't I?

---

Tommy hears the jingle of Wilbur's keys in the door and whips his head around. "WILBUR!"

"'Sup, rat bastard?"

He rushes out of the dim room, seeing his friend closing the door, rattling keys in hand. "How was your stream?"

"It was good." Wilbur hangs his brown coat up on the rack by the door, leans his guitar on the wall, and embraces the blond-haired boy, Tommy breathing in the deep scent of his cologne that is oh so familiar to him. Vanilla, sandalwood, and another wonderful smell he can't quite put his finger on envelop him in memories of crackling fires, movie nights with eyes half shut and fingers carding through hair, and adrenaline-filled nerf gun fights. "I played some GeoGuessr with Niki."

Pulling away, Tommy coos at his friend, animatedly wiggling his eyebrows. "Oooooooh, Nikiiiiiii..." Wilbur pushes the teen's elbow down from nudging him in the ribs. "Talking to a woman, I see."

The musician groans, covering his face with both his hands. "Do you realise just how long ago it was that I liked her? Literally months ago. We are nothing more than friends."

"But you wish you were, don't you? Tell me I'm wrong." Tommy grins, still not convinced by his friend's insistence.

"I don't. You're wrong. I hate you."

"Sure, sure."

---

"What is it with you and mac n cheese?" Tommy and Wilbur are sitting at the dining room table again, waiting for the other two men to come back from work.

The teen doesn't bother to finish his mouthful before saying, "It's so good, what is wrong with you?"

Looking over his plate of fried eggs on toast at his friend's bright yellow hair, he argues, "No I'm not saying it's bad. It's a good meal, but you have it every time I offer food, Tommy. Oh- do you want a drink or anything?"

Tommy doesn't look up while he asks, "D'you have any coke? Coca-Cola-"

He's so predictable. Wilbur looks at him, smirking.

"Don't look at me like that, you absolute wanker."

"I'm not looking at you like anything, Tommy. You're just- I'm just saying you have a little bit of an addiction."

"I do not! I actually don't believe in 'being addicted,' so fuck you. I don't think it's a thing."

He laughs at Tommy's indignation. "Sure, Tommy. And anyway, no. We don't have coke. And no. I'm not buying any anyway; not feeding your addiction."

"I do not have an addiction!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, believe what you want."

After a beat, they go back to silence, Tommy smiling absently.

"We're like brothers, you know."

"Please Tommy, I will cry-"

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