Spray-paint

Chapter 7 - Evening

(AN - AYUP! Hope everyone's doing well! Sorry there's been like no updates, motivation is a bitch ):

But hey! I'm here now!
Lil bit of angst for ya this chapter

And I would like to apologize if this sucks because I is no good at writing

And last thing: EVERY RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MINORS IS PLATONIC IM JUST BAD AT WRITING FLUFF!!!

thank u for your time

Enjoy! )

The car ride home was chaotic.

Phil had been worried sick sitting in the car and almost came in himself to look for them, but they were just leaving.

Wilbur was rambling about how wonderful it was— how it smelled so heavenly and lights bounced off the walls. Phil asked the group various questions, though everyone except Wil answered with a light shrug or a string of mumbles.

Tommy was silent for the entire ride, his rival's words echoing through his head over and over as if a broken record.

He doesn't know what he's talking about. He tried to think, but he couldn't stop thinking about Purpled's brother.

The laid back blonde who always raised an eyebrow at Tommy, glaring at him with his curious blue eyes.

The older boy who was always fidgeting with his necklace; a pale green eye-like jewel that was rimmed and hung on polished gold.

He remembered the white hoodie that was always clean, no matter how many fights he got into.

And he remembered him bickering with his younger brother, always sure to let him win in the end just to see him smile.

"Tommy? Anybody in there?" Tommy was brought back into reality by Tubbo poking his side aggressively.

"What?" The blonde spat, though he was quieter than usual.

"We're here, c'mon big man."

Tommy nodded as he got out of the car, and the group headed upstairs. When they got there, sleeping positions were to be discussed among the group.

Well, they were supposed to be.

"I would like to have my own personal space, so I'll take the couch. Boo, you go with Tech and Tom's with Wilby." Tubbo face-planted on the cough without another word.

Well I guess that's settled.

No one really had any other ideas, so the group went into their separate rooms.

+~~~~~~+

Tommy glanced around Wilbur's room, silent as he observed the vinyls and instruments that decorated the pale yellow wall. The room looked fairly normal; old dresser, a desk, bookshelf— just an average room.

For a teenager, at least.

Tommy carefully picked at the strings of a guitar on the wall, his fingertips just barely touching it. Wilbur was setting up a small mattress that had apparently been stuffed away in the void of his closet, tucking the sheets into the corners and throwing a fluffy comforter upon the bed.
Wilbur walked over to his bed, throwing a pillow into Tommy's face and snickering when the blonde stood stunned for a few moments.

Wilbur took off his glasses, setting them down and then jumping onto his bed with a sigh.

"I don't even want to get changed, I'm so tired." The brunette groaned playfully.