Butterfly Reign

10. And You Said You'd Understand, Well It Looks Like It Was All For Show

After a pleasant afternoon spent in Prince Dream’s company, comes the evening, and together with the evening, dreadful thrill of anticipation starts singing in Tommy’s veins. 

The outfit Tommy will be wearing throughout the event was prepared weeks in advance. He puts on a white shirt with a high collar without any problems, but when it comes to a grey short-sleeved jacket that is supposed to be worn over it, his fingers tremble and refuse to comply.

Tubbo was the only servant that was allowed to help the crown-prince with dressing up. As much as he sighed and grumbled and rolled his eyes, he’d always help Tommy to clasp the silver buttons and make a decent look of his hair. They’d joke around, poking fun at each other- until the worry would stop clawing at his guts, until Tommy feels like he is confident enough to make it through the evening. Without Tubbo, it’s only him, the mirror on the desk, and a sour taste of regret on his tongue.

The door is thrown open. In the reflection, Tommy sees Wilbur entering the room, hands shoved into pockets. An emerald earring dangles with the beat of his cheerful, confident gait. His appearance feels like an invasion in more ways than just physical. Tommy would very much like to spend some time alone and succumb to his own melancholy, but it retreats, slurping and sluggish, as it collides with Wilbur’s unyielding energy.

Tommy sighs. He still stands with his back turned to his brother. With the jacket finally wrestled on and secured with a belt, he just needs to tie a neckerchief around his neck. No matter how much he tries to make it sit right, he always ends up either tying it too loose or choking himself.

“Prince Wilbur, people usually knock and ask for permission to enter first. I could’ve been getting dressed.”

“Yes, and you’re not doing a good job with it.” Wilbur walks up to Tommy. Tommy rolls his shoulders back to hide the way he tenses, but all what his brother does is reach for the neckerchief. “Give me that.”

Tommy complies. Wilbur wraps it around the collar of his shirt and ties it with one fast, practiced movement. His hands are so impossibly close to brushing Tommy’s skin that it makes him shudder; to his luck, Wilbur doesn’t notice, too busy tugging at the knot and fixing its edges.

“Here you go,” Wilbur says, stepping away once he’s happy with the end result. “How about a small ‘thank you’ for your dearest brother?”

Tommy touches the neckerchief and stares at himself in the mirror. It looks… nice. Certainly better than everything he tried so far.

When Wilbur’s hands settle on his shoulders, Tommy freezes. His doppelganger, lost and confused, stares at him back from the mirror. It reflects the figures of two brothers; the older one pulling his brother into a light side-hug like the thousands of times he did it before.

The familiarity of the motion, the steady warmth of the touch and a big smile lighting up Wilbur’s entire face – it all makes Tommy want to close his eyes and pretend that this care is real. Pretend that he doesn’t see the thoughtfulness behind narrowed dark eyes; unreadable but always cold and calculated in a way that makes him want to throw himself into the closest corner and hide.

“Drop the act, Prince Wilbur. I know that you want something from me.”

Tommy shoves Wilbur away. Wilbur takes a few steps back to retain his balance, having the audacity to look hurt. “What do you mean? Can’t I genuinely want to spend some time with my little brother?”

“I wasn’t your brother earlier, when you were trying to bring me down in front of Prince Dream.”

Wilbur tilts his chin up, crossing his arms on his chest. “And what if I say that I’m sorry?”