What's Worth Saving (Is Never Worth Letting Go to Waste)

Chapter 5: It's Fine (Because It Can't Be Helped)

Tommy woke up curled up on the couch in Karl and Sapnap's house, somehow with the blanket from his room. Two empty mugs of hot chocolate sat at the coffee table in front of him. The blonde rubs at his eyes, shaking off the last remains of sleep that stubbornly clung to him, begging him to simply drift off once more and sink into the soft fabric of the couch.

As tempting as a dreamless sleep sounded, Tommy forced himself to stay awake, sitting up straight as the soft duvet pooled in his lap. He shuddered at the cold that crept around him as soon as the blanket was gone, but it helped him stay awake.

Memories of the previous night slowly trickled back to him, slipping past the sleepy fog still occupying most of his brain.

He and Karl had spoken.

Spoken about exile .

Karl had... he'd been understanding. He promised to keep Tommy safe. That's more than most people in his life had done.

It felt strange.

It felt... good. He liked having someone who cared. He liked having someone who made him feel safe again, safe like L'Manburg had been. Like Wilbur had been.

Karl had hugged him again, like he did back at the library. Tommy thinks it's funny, most of their interactions have ended with a breakdown and a hug. He remembers dozing off, and Karl picking him up and setting him down on the couch. He fell asleep in his hug within seconds, exhaustion having overtaken him.

Karl wasn't here now, Tommy was alone. He tilted his head, trying to think of where his friend had gone, when a strong smell hit him, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"What the fuck is that?" Tommy hissed, looking over at the kitchen where George stood, a mug of what was probably coffee from the deepest pits of hell in his hands.

"It's coffee." George said, confirming his suspicions and taking a sip of his drink calmly. Tommy stared at him in horror.

"How are you not spasming on the floor in agony right now?" Tommy asked, genuinely concerned as George took another sip of what was probably the strongest coffee known to mankind.

"Divine intervention, probably." The man mused calmly, absolutely unbothered by Tommy's terror.

"Right." Tommy said, staring in horror and fascination as George proceeded to down the entire drink in one go, barely flinching. Tommy stood up, walking over to the kitchen and leaning against the counter. 

"Say, have you seen Karl?" He asked, hoping George might have some idea of where the man went. Tommy was usually a light sleeper, he's surprised Karl had even managed to slip away while he slept.

He thinks he started being a light sleeper back at L'Manburg, where the risk of an attack always loomed over their heads. Wilbur had them take turns to keep watch, but Tommy knew that nobody in the fifth battalion really slept in the tenser parts of the war.

It had become a bit frustrating, in Pogtopia, being unable to sleep because even if he covered his ears and hid away in the carved out space in one of the walls of the ravine that he called his room, even if he buried his head in the pillows he had and forced his eyes closed, he knew Wilbur was still awake. The man would pace around, muttering to himself and unintentionally keeping Tommy awake. 

Sometimes Tommy would creep out of his room and keep Wilbur company, make him stop pacing and come sit with him next to the fire. Tommy would talk about whatever dumb thing he'd done that day, and eventually the awkward conversations would flow into their usual banter. 

Those were the only good nights in Pogtopia, the ones where Tommy would fall asleep curled up next to Wilbur next to the fire, the ravine feeling ever so slightly less cold as they huddled together.