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It's raining. Typical London. Except, for once, the rain's actually reflecting his mood because Tommy feels sad as shit.
The day had sucked, because of course the day had sucked. Everything sucked, very, very often for Tommyinnit. Everything was a pile of shit and life was the dog that had shat it. And maybe he was exaggerating a little, okay, but it wasn’t his fault everything was miserable.
It was probably the fact that his breakfast had been weirdly cold, despite Tommy nuking it in the microwave. It was probably the fact that his socks had gotten wet in the puddles from yesterday. It was probably the bullying. Or maybe the terrible cafeteria food. There were a lot of possibilities.
It’s probably the bullying, if he’s being honest with himself. Most days it’s easy to brush off; to ignore it, like he’s been ignoring it, desperately, for the last year- up from the point he’d deleted his first channel. And it’s been going well, for the most part. There’s only a bit of high school left before he departs for film college. It’d be so easy if his head’d just fucking ignore it.
However, at some point, it’s gotten really fucking hard to ignore. Maybe it’s the cold breakfast getting to his head. It’s probably the cold breakfast getting to his head. But it’s the same day, all over again- wake up, go to school, get mocked and come home. He doesn’t know why it hurts so bad today, of all days.
It isn’t like he isn’t successful or anything. TommyInnit’s nothing if not successful; he gains hundreds of thousands of subscribers a day and hell if he isn’t good at his job. There’s nothing to be insecure about. Sure, he’s playing Minecraft, a game that’d died years ago- but he’s the one fucking raking in the money, okay? He’s winning here. But it still hurts.
It’s hard for the words not to get to him. Really, really hard. Day after fucking day, word after word, these kids- these stupid fucking kids get to him.
useless. dumb. annoying. attention whore. lucky. a little bitch. pathetic.
He's just so useless all the time- like he’s just one, large, pathetic rock in the middle of everyone's- especially his friend’s- paths. He stops them, and inhibits them from moving forward with their lives, their careers, their fucking days. Which is what he's currently doing now, talking to Wilbur Soot.
Tommy taps his pen onto a piece of his argumentative essay. Maybe it’d be easier to deal with the thoughts in his head if he wasn’t writing this stupid fucking argumentative essay. He hates every part of writing papers. The planning is too much work for a mediocre outcome, writing them takes too much time for such a small part of his grade, and he never cares for the topics he argues about.
“Positives of a uniform…” Wilbur hums. “Don’t fucking ask me. I haven’t been in school for years.”
“Use your massive brain,” Tommy says. He writes down a pointer- equality? - and jots down another bullet with the gel pen he’s chewed the end of. “How the fuck would uniforms mean equality?”
“Uh,” Wilbur says eloquently. “No comparison between like- designer or old clothes, maybe?”
“That’ll work,” Tommy says, and writes that down in front of the bullet point. The gel pen slips and he hisses. “Fuck.”
“What’s the point of this anyway?” Wilbur says. Tommy looks up, slowly, to look at the older man’s video. He’s leaned back into his chair in his new little setup, arms stretched over his head and a leg crossed over the other. “Why’re you so stressed about it? It can’t be that bad, your term’s been graded.”
“It isn’t that important,” Tommy confirms, and then sighs, “But my parents’ll kill me if I fuck up so late into the term.”
Wilbur sits up slightly, chair moving up with a loud noise, hands moving to rest on his computer desk as he looks at the screen that’s covered by Tommy’s frustrated face. He works a hand through his curly hair. “It won’t be that bad, Tom. Seriously, I wouldn’t worry about it - especially if it’s stressing you out too much.”
“Will, I don’t think you understand-” Tommy tries to stress. He burrows his face into his hands, aggravated.
“No.” Wilbur chided, cutting Tommy off, “I don’t think you understand, Mister Innit.”
The older man watches as Tommy smiles slightly at the nickname, rubbing his eyes and moving his hands so that his fingers rest against his ears instead of his hairline.
“No grade is worth your mental health, I promise. Your parents will be fine. Put yourself first, Tommy, it’s stressing me out.” Wilbur takes a deep breath after his short rant. He messes with his hair again.
Tommy frowns. He doesn’t want to make Wilbur stressed, not more than he has many times in the past. It’s a small essay, really- not worth Wilbur’s time. “I can go, if you’re too stressed? I’m sorry-” Tommy starts, completely sincere, quickly shutting his notebook and shifting to move his mouse and disconnect from the call.
“No, no, no- Tommy,” Wilbur reprimands, frowning, and Tommy immediately feels bad- Wilbur’s stopped smiling. “Why would I want you to leave?”
“I don’t know.” Tommy mumbles, looking down. His notebook falls shut with a clap. “Yeah, dunno.”
“Are you embarrassed, Tommy? Oh - is little Tommy embarrassed?” Wilbur says mockingly in some futile attempt to lighten the mood. “Did you bunk? Is that it?”
“No. No, I didn’t.” Tommy runs his hands through his blonde hair again, a habit that he’s picked up from Wilbur. “Can you not?”
It isn’t hard for Wilbur to pick up that Tommy’s actually upset with the light teasing- he’s more physical than usual, running his hands through his hair and chewing on the pen that he’s holding. He’s obviously not in the best mood- easily upset by something that usually brightens both of their days.
“Tommy,” Wilbur says, dragging out the last syllable in the way he usually does when he’s feeling affectionate. “Tell me what's going on.” Tommy looks up at Wilbur, who shoots him his best rendition of puppy eyes. “Please?”
It’s like whenever Wilbur uses that tone- it’s his “older brother voice”, the one he uses much too often to praise Tommy or compliment Tommy or coo at Tommy- Tommy’s smacked with serotonin and his chest surges with warmth. It’s like a weird Pavlov thing- Wilbur’s big brother voice equals warmth and love. And it makes it pretty painful to lie to that voice.
And therefore, through this logic, it hurts Tommy a little bit - not nearly enough to confess - to lie to Wilbur now. “Nothing.” He doesn’t look up, voice wavering, teeth silently chewing on the used pen. “I’m good.”
“Tommyinnit, don’t even try to lie to me. I know that look.” Wilbur leans further into the webcam, eyes searching his pseudo younger brother’s face.
Tommy stares at his desk. His sweater’s grey. He’s sure his eyes are as well. “Look, I know I’m annoying, okay?”
Wilbur falters. “What?”
“I- I know I’m annoying and rude and overbearing. I know that’s why so many of the stupid vods- like the Surgeon Sim one- they never become videos. I was being annoying, okay? I get it. I’m sorry for making you waste that vod.”
“Tommy.” It’s no longer the warm voice, it’s harsh, almost reprimanding. Tommy’s done something wrong - he must have.
Tommy stutters. “You- You know you don’t have to pretend to care, right?”
“What?” Wilbur let out a short, perplexed laugh, tilting his head in confusion, “I don’t have to pretend to care, Tommy. You know I care.”
Tommy groans, leaning his head into his hands, “I know that you care about TommyInnit, Wilbur. About this loud, funny, witty motherfucker, who’s the star of every show he’s in. This boy wonder who gets 200k per stream. Fuckin’ dumbass who millions worldwide find funny for being loud .” He takes a deep breath and cuts Wilbur off as the man starts to speak. “I know you care about TommyInnit, Wilbur. He’s fucking funny, for sure, and he gives you tons of content. But, Wil- you shouldn’t have to care about me.”
Wilbur scoffs, looking like he’s somewhere between hurt and incredibly confused. “What? Tommy, of course I care about you, on and off stream. What made you think that?” His tone turns dark with some odd realisation. “Who made you think that? You’re like my little -”
Tommy interrupts him again. “Little brother. I know.” The blonde sighs deeply, “I know, trust me.”
“Tommy,” Wilbur says- in that tone again. Tommy sighs, only half-hating the warmth in his chest.
So he continues, looking up at the brunette. “And you're like my older Brother, Wilbur Soot. You really are. It’s just -“
“Are those kids doing it again?” Wilbur’s tone is soft, but he can hear the anger underneath it- luckily Tommy’s experienced this enough to know that the anger isn’t directed at him. It’s a bit of a depressing fact.
“They are,” he confirms, because he knows- from experience, at this point- that he can’t hide shit like this from Wilbur. “It’s okay.” His voice wobbles.
“That isn’t okay,” Wilbur sighs. “Tommy, you know you mean the world to me. You can’t let them get to your head.”
“It’s hard, okay?” Tommy says, voice finally cracking. “It’s getting pretty fucking hard.”
Wilbur sighs again. “I know, Toms. I know.”
Tommy plays with the rubber bands on his desk, fiddling with anything he can get his hands on, periodically bringing his nail or pen up to his mouth to chew on nervously. “If they say you’re annoying enough times, it’s hard not to believe.”
“It’s not though, it’s not. Okay? Trust me. I would know, I spend enough time with you.” Wilbur smiles slyly. “And- as for the Surgeon Simulator video, did you know that I’ve been sitting on it for the roleplay to die down?”
“What?“ Tommy pauses, pen halfway to his mouth.
“Yeah,” Wilbur says. “I have it ready, y’know. It was a fucking funny stream. Especially because you were half asleep and didn’t have your stream persona on.”
“Oh,” Tommy breathes, contemplating this fact. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Wilbur says. “Of course.”
“Okay,” Tommy says, quietly. A small smile graces his face.
Wilbur smiles brightly back, tapping his fingers on his mouse impatiently, eyes quickly moving to skim his messages. A DM from his editor pops up. He opens YouTube. “I care about you, Tommy, don’t fucking forget it. I care about you a lot.”
“Okay, Will.” Tommy smiles, leaning back and pushing the essay away. “Okay.”
They sit in silence for a minute. The call is filled with the sound of Tommy alternating between tapping his pen and chewing it and Wilbur’s incessant typing. He looks up after a bit. “You have my notifications on?” he says, questioningly.
“I do,” Tommy confirms. His phone dings.
“There you go,” Wilbur says. Tommy grins.
Tommy’s phone reflects onto his face, the fluorescent light making him wince for a moment before pressing on the notification.
Wilbur Soot Uploaded: Tommy Makes Surgeon Simulator 1000% Funnier
He opens the description tab, like he's used to mindlessly doing, in an attempt to fidget and calm his attention span when watching longer videos.
Tommy’s smile widens.