˙ ✩°˖ C!Tommyinnit x Best Friend!GN!Reader ⋆｡˚꩜
"'Do not enter' is written on
the doorway
Why can't everyone just
go away?
Except you, you can stay"
Summary: Tommy is angry at others, so he comes to a hidden spot to avoid them, only to be found by reader, and he's glad to be found.
A/N: I know i implied i mayyy not write for now since if ykyk, but i couldn't resist myself from finishing it. And hey, i'm home from the hospital now, and i feel motivated lmao
The bench is splintering. Tommy notices first that the grass is too tall, that the surroundings are too quiet today, that he has been sitting there long enough for the sun to dip low and start painting everything gold... no. The bench is splintering, and he is picking at it like it personally offended him.
And it probably did.
He is angry, not sure if it's a tired angry or a loud angry. He's just... angry. Everyone keeps talking over him lately. Telling him what to do, what not to do, who to trust, who not to trust, etc. He is always wrong, apparently. Somehow to everyone, he's too loud, too reckless, and too much.
He had said it earlier without really thinking. "I just wish everyone would stop. Just leave me alone, okay?!"
And now he is alone, all because of his saying and fault.
He is at the little clearing by the ravine, the one tucked behind the half grown oak trees where the dirt dips and the air always smells like stone and moss, and nostaglic. The only spot nobody really knows about.
Nobody except you.
He hears the leaves crunch before he sees who it was.
He does not look up at first. "If that’s you, Tubbo, I swear...” he mutters, still picking at the bench, "I will actually explode."
You do not say anything. You just step into the clearing and sit down beside him like you have done a hundred times before.
"Not Tubbo," you say softly.
"Oh." Tommy says, as if he just realized.
"You're not here to tell me I'm being a knob, right?" Says tommy after a long pause.
"Nope."
"Or that I should apologise."
"Nope."
"Or that I started it." Tommy tries again.
You bump your shoulder lightly into his, "Even if you did."
That gets the smallest huff of laughter out of him, for the first time today.
He finally looks at you. His eyes are red around the edges, but not crying. He would hate it if you pointed that out, so you do not.
"You're the only one who knows about this spot." He says, quieter now. "I didn't tell anyone else. Not even Tubbo."
"I know."
"I didn't want anyone else here."
You nod again, "I know."
He stares at you like he is trying to figure something out. Like he is waiting for you to pull out a lecture or a disappointed sigh or some grand speech about responsibility and leadership and growing up, or he wants to ask you desperately what you were doing here when he wanted to see no one, but he doesn't. And that is what he doesn't like most about himself.
You just sit there, and that concerns Tommy, somehow.
The wind moves through the trees. Somewhere far off, someone sets off fireworks. Probably Quackity, or Wilbur.
Tommy's shoulders drop a little.
"They just keep looking at me like I’m going to mess it up again," He says finally, "Like I always do."
You pick at the bench too, right next to where he has been tearing at it. "You mess things up because you are still growing up."
"That's not how that works."
"It kind of is."
He frowns, "You're supposed to agree with me. That's how this works. I complain, and you say 'yeah, everyone else sucks,' and then we go blow something up."
You grin. "We can still blow something up."
That earns you a real laugh this time. It cracks out of him, surprised and bright and so painfully Tommy that it makes your chest ache with happiness.
Then it fades again. (ooc: bitchy/j)
"I just wanted it to be quiet," he admits.
"Just for a bit. No one needs something from me. No one is blaming me for something. Just quietness. And i being a kid again."
You look around the clearing. The trees. The ravine. The way the sun is setting down.
"It is quiet," you say, not really commenting on the last comment. Because you can't, you don't have any words for that, and you wish you knew what to say or do.
He swallows.
"Well, yeah. Yeah, it is."
Another pause.
Then, softer, almost embarrassed, "You don’t annoy me, by the way."
"Oh, wow. Highest honour." You reply sarcastically.
"I’m serious." He nudges your knee with his, "You don’t look at me like I’m about to ruin everything."
You just shrug. "That’s because you’re not."
"You don’t know that."
"I do."
He studies your face like he is searching for doubt, for hesitation, for that flicker of uncertainty he has gotten so used to seeing in everyone else.
He does not find it, and that relives him.
"You're so stupidly loyal," He says, but it does not sound like an insult.
You reply easily, "Only to you."
"Well, you shouldn’t be." He says, a bit frustrated.
"Too bad." You shrug.
The sun dips lower. The sorrounding grows cooler.
After a minute, he lets his head tilt sideways until it rests against your shoulder.
He lets out a slow breath.
"They can all be mad," he murmurs. "I don’t care. Not anymore."
You hum, "Sure you don’t."
"Shut up."
But there is no bite to it. Just tiredness, and relief.
In this little hidden patch, with the world temporarily held at arm's length, he does not have to be the loudest person in the room for now. He does not have to prove anything at all. And last but not least, he does not have to fight for a place for himself.
He just gets to be Tommy. And you just stay.
Which he is grateful for.
