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The quiet was never truly quiet. Even in the early morning, before the sun had begun rising over the horizon, there were still sounds to be heard.
As Tommy flew over the empty beach, which would soon be filled with hundreds of humans, he closed his eyes and inhaled the salty air. The ocean waves crashed on the sand calmingly, and gulls flew overhead.
Tommy was careful to avoid the foamy waves as he flew. As much as he would love to get closer the phenomenon otherwise known as the ocean, it wouldn’t do to let his wings get wet. Then, he wouldn’t be able to fly, and walking on the sand was such a chore, especially when he was such a long way from his home.
As Tommy flew along the shore, he spotted a small, shiny object poking out from beneath the sand. Tommy landed and grabbed the shiny object with both hands, pulling with all of his might. It came out with relative ease, and Tommy inspected his new treasure.
It was just a bottle cap, and an incredibly boring one at that. Humans had such a terrible tendency of littering, and Tommy picked up the piece of trash and flew to the trash can. He landed precariously on the trashcan’s edge and flung the bottlecap into the depths as violently as possible.
Clapping his hands together, Tommy continued his search. He had only a few more hours before the beach would be over populated by humans and Tommy would be forced to quit his search. The last thing he needed was to get stomped on by adults and gawked at by human children.
Tommy wanted something to decorate his new home with. It was lonely to be a fairy at times, and Tommy wanted something to keep him entertained for the day.
That’s when Tommy spotted it. The most beautiful treasure that could ever be found.
A guitar rested on the side of a bench, and Tommy flew up to it quickly. He admired the long strings, and he pulled at one of them to make a sound. He flitted in between the strings and entered inside the guitar to admire its hollow expanse. It was dark, but Tommy could admire the wooden craftsmanship all the better.
Tommy spotted a few guitar picks sitting at the bottom of the instrument, and Tommy snorted to himself. Humans were always littering, and they were always dropping guitar picks into their guitars.
Tommy flew down to grab one of the picks. To a human, guitar picks were about the size of their thumb, but for Tommy, the thin object was nearly as large as his entire body. It would make a good table, although Tommy wished he had the ability to play with it instead of—
The guitar jostled, and Tommy yelped as he felt the entire thing get picked up from the ground. Tommy tried to fly toward the exit, but whoever was holding this guitar was moving it every which way, and the wooden walls hit Tommy’s head more than a few times. Dizziness began to overtake Tommy, and the world around him swayed.
Maybe it would be best if he just sat down at the bottom of the guitar and waited to get out until the human put it back down. He wouldn’t have any idea where he was, but it was better than getting killed in a frantic attempt to escape.
Tommy sat down clutching tightly onto his guitar pick as the guitar swayed back and forth. He was reminded of an old grandfather clock he had seen once, and he imagined what it would be like to sit on the pendulum like a child would sit on a swing.
Tommy thought the pendulum would be more desirable over this train wreck of a ride.
Tommy’s head was still swaying, and he lay down, trying not to feel sick. Maybe it would just be best to try and get some sleep. It wasn’t as though the human would be able to find Tommy in the guitar anyway.
Tommy closed his eyes fitfully, and, to his surprise, a very light sleep came over him.
When Tommy woke up, the guitar wasn’t moving.
Tommy let out a small breath of relief as he felt his head for any new bruises. He didn’t hurt that badly, which was probably a good thing. Tommy got to his feet and stretched out his wings, fluttering them experimentally. Tommy’s feet hovered from the ground, and Tommy let out a small breath of relief. Everything seemed to be in working order.
Tommy’s guitar pick had fallen from his hands, and Tommy bent back over to pick it up. He located his exit, which was admittedly the giant hole filling the inside of the guitar with light. Tommy flew up toward the hole and slipped around the guitar strings. In the process, his feet accidentally struck a few of the strings, causing a discordant sound to come from the instrument.
Tommy dropped his guitar pick in surprise, and he heard a surprised sounding shout coming from outside the door of the room he had entered. Tommy hid without a second thought, nestling between a couple of books on a bookshelf.
As soon as Tommy decided he was properly hidden, the door to the room opened. Tommy held his breath as a rather tall human with curly brown hair stepped into the room, looking around. They looked rather spooked, and the human looked every which way.
“Are you demon possessed?” the human asked the guitar. Tommy covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing.
The human was still staring at the guitar suspiciously, but the guitar, of course, gave no sound. Eventually the human sighed.
“Must’ve been the wind,” they said. They turned to leave when his eyes landed on the guitar pick on the ground.
Tommy clenched his fists. That was Tommy’s guitar pick. That human had better not—
But the human was already picking up the guitar pick, inspecting it in his hand. “Huh,” they said. “I thought I had lost this.”
The human clenched their first around the guitar pick and stuck it into their pocket, and Tommy seethed. Didn’t the human have other picks? How come they had to steal the one guitar pick that Tommy had found first?
The human left the room, shutting the door behind them, and Tommy flew out from between the books. He was furious. He was enraged. He was more synonyms to those two words.
He wanted justice. No, he wanted revenge. He would stop at nothing until he got that guitar pick back into his hands. He would do whatever it took to see his mission through.
Tommy inspected the room he was in for potential fuel in the war he was about to wage.
He seemed to be in some sort of music room. The books he had been hiding in between were music books, or, at least, Tommy thought they were. Tommy wasn’t the best at reading, but he could recognize music notes on the inside sheets. The bookshelf also held other interesting items, such as a jar filled to the brim with guitar picks.
“That thief,” Tommy hissed. He kicked the jar as hard as he could, but he only hurt his toes. He flew in the air as he clung to his sore foot. “I’ll make him pay.”
On the other side of the room there were a few chairs, as well as a music stand. The guitar was sitting on some sort of stand. A desk sat against one wall with papers scattered about its surface. Tommy flew across the room and landed on the desk to inspect the papers, and he found they were mostly filled with music notes and frustrated looking scribbles.
A pencil sat on top of one of the papers. It had a meticulously sharp tip, and Tommy wrapped his hands around it. He flew into the air and aimed the tip carefully away from his comparatively small body. He didn’t want to accidentally impale himself in his revenge scheme.
Tommy stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he placed the tip of his pencil against a blank piece of paper. It shook where it stood, but Tommy forced his hands to keep it steady.
Slowly yet carefully, Tommy forged shaky letters on the paper. He tried to make them small but noticeable, and he hoped his handwriting would be readable to the human.
Tommy was here.
Tommy was thoroughly exhausted after writing those three words, and he set the pencil back down on the desk. It rolled to the side, but Tommy let it do whatever it wanted. The pencil had earned a break.
There was some crushed graphite sitting on the paper where Tommy had pressed the pencil down too hard, and Tommy took the dark, sandy substance in his hands. It instantly stained his hands a dark gray, but Tommy walked over to the end of his sentence and pressed his hands against the paper. Two small handprints sat against the white paper, and Tommy grinned. That ought to spook the human.
His work done, Tommy dusted off his hands as best as he could before flying back over to the jar of guitar picks. Tommy supposed that he could just steal one of the picks from the jar standing before him, but Tommy had already laid claim to the guitar pick that the human stole. That guitar pick was Tommy’s. Tommy wasn’t going to stoop as low as to steal a guitar pick back from the human.
Tommy was beginning to feel a bit bored now that he was done writing his sentence, and Tommy thought about the next best coarse of action.
His body decided for him when his stomach grumbled loudly like a baby bird who wanted its momma to feed it already.
Tommy tried to think of the last time he ate. No answer was forthcoming, and Tommy sighed. At least, he had found his next mission, even if it was less exciting than waging war against humanity.
Tommy flew to the floor and slipped underneath the small gap underneath the door. Upon entering the human’s hallway, Tommy took to the air again, flying as quickly as he could to try and find the kitchen. Tommy wasn’t really sure where humans typically put their kitchens, but he did know that they were often very open rooms, so he ignored all of the doors on the hall.
Sure enough, the hallway opened up to Tommy’s right, and Tommy saw a small but tidy looking kitchen standing before him.
Unfortunately, because the universe hated Tommy, the human had to be there too. He was sitting on his counter and eating a sandwich, and Tommy simmered in fury. He ducked back behind the wall while his stomach growled desperately.
“I know, I know,” Tommy whispered. He patted his stomach comfortingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you fed. Just you wait.”
His stomach was not sated by empty promises. Tommy couldn’t blame it.
Tommy peered around the corner. The human was still eating their sandwich, scrolling on a strange thin device Tommy was pretty sure they called phones. Tommy didn’t know how phones worked, but maybe he should learn for his revenge plot.
Fortunately, the human was too focused on their phone to hear Tommy quickly run across the kitchen floor and duck behind the island counter in the middle of the room. So far, this infiltration mission was going quite smoothly. Tommy would be able to get his guitar pick back in no time.
Tommy had nearly made it to the other end of the island when a loud ringing sound filled the room. Tommy yelped and clapped his hands over his ears, but the human made no indication of alarm.
The sound stopped soon after, and the human had started talking.
“Hey,” the human said.
Tommy froze and held his breath. Had he been caught?
“I found my guitar,” the human said. “It was on the beach; I accidentally left it there.”
The human wasn’t walking toward Tommy, or making any other indication that they had seen him at all. Tommy slowly started creeping toward the pantry, hoping that the human would continue this trend of not trying to get to him.
“I know, I know, it could’ve gotten stolen. I was hugely relieved when it wasn’t, though.”
Tommy stole a glance at the human, and he was surprised to see that they were holding strange phone up to their ear and talking into it. How did those magical devices work?
Tommy had nearly gotten to the pantry when the human said,
“Wait, let me put you on speaker.”
Tommy had no idea what that meant, but he quickly learned what it meant when the sound of another human came from the other side of the phone.
“Wilbur, you really need to be more responsible with your instruments,” the voice said. “I’d hate to think of what would’ve happened if it got stolen—”
“Relax, Techno, it’s fine,” the human, Wilbur, said. “The guitar was fine, although potentially demon possessed, and everything is fine.”
“You said fine a lot of times in one sentence,” Techno said dryly. “Are you being held hostage? Am I going to be scrolling through twitter one day to see a news article about the young man who died because he was terrible at indicating to his family members that he was being held hostage?”
Wilbur snorted and rolled his eyes as he put a plate in the box for cleaning dishes. “I’m not being held hostage. I just don’t want you lecturing me about instrument care anymore.”
The conversation was extremely distracting, but Tommy still needed to eat. He flew up toward the pantry while the two continued talking.
“Are you sure?” Technoblade asked.
Tommy searched the pantry for anything that would be easy for him to eat, and his eyes landed on a box of goldfish. It wasn’t the healthiest snack in the world, but it was pretty delicious.
“I’m sure,” Wilbur said. “You can come over to my house and check, if you’d like. Maybe I’m the one holding someone hostage.”
Tommy pried open the lid and dived inside the box, grabbing two goldish and holding then beneath each arm.
“Very funny.”
Tommy flew back up toward the cracked open lid and slipped outside, jumping on top of the lid to get the box shut again.
“Alright, Tech, this conversation has been fruitful and all, but I think I’m going to hang up.”
Tommy nestled behind the goldfish box and placed down one of his goldfish. He grabbed the other one with both hands and bit into the cheesy, salty, and very artificial cracker.
The artificial part was what made it tasty, though.
Tommy listened as Wilbur ended his conversation with Technoblade. He continued eating his goldfish, even though he was getting crumbs all over him.
Tommy glanced around the goldfish box he was sitting behind, and he froze when he saw Wilbur walking toward the pantry. Tommy quickly ducked further behind the box and sat as silently as he could.
He didn’t know what humans did to fairies. He had taken extra care not to get caught by one before. He especially didn’t know what Wilbur would do to him if he knew that Tommy was stealing his food.
Tommy saw Wilbur’s giant hand enter the pantry and pull out a different box of some other snack. Tommy could barely breathe as Wilbur took a handful of the food before putting the box back on the shelf again.
When Wilbur finally left, Tommy wanted to cry in relief. Unfortunately, Wilbur shut the pantry door shut behind him, which made Tommy’s life slightly more difficult.
Tommy flew out behind the goldfish box and slipped beneath the crack under the pantry door. It was a smaller gap than the one to Wilbur’s music room, but it was still perfectly manageable. Once Tommy had freed himself from Wilbur’s dark prison of food, Tommy felt exhaustion creep over him. It had been an extremely tiring day. Now would be a good time to find an appropriate place to sleep.
Tommy looked outside one of the kitchen windows and saw that the sky was indeed darkening. Tommy was pretty sure he must’ve slept for most of the day, but that didn’t stop Tommy from wanting more sleep now. He had worked very hard to both write, explore a strange house, and get food. Tommy deserved another rest.
Tommy didn’t see Wilbur anywhere in sight in the living room, and Tommy found a basket full of blankets. It wasn’t the most secure sleeping spot, but Tommy thought he could probably get away with it as long as he was mostly underneath one of the blankets.
Tommy sat on top of the blanket pile and felt the soft blanket texture. Even running his hand back and forth on the blanket made him feel sleepy, and Tommy quickly shuffled beneath the first layer of blankets.
Well, one thing was for sure. He’d get a much better rest with these blankets compared to the rest he got while in Wilbur’s guitar.
Tommy snuggled deeper into the softness, making sure only his head was peeking out so that he had room to breathe. His eyes grew heavy, and he fell asleep to the sound of Wilbur’s alarmed screeching.
“Who the hell is Tommy?!”
The next morning, Tommy heard Wilbur on the phone again. This time, Tommy could see Wilbur pacing in the living room, and Tommy ducked his head underneath the blanket to stay hidden.
“Phil, I think someone broke into my house,” Wilbur was saying. Tommy didn’t even try to hide his giggles this time.
Wilbur must’ve put his phone on speaker again, because Tommy could hear the other person on the line perfectly clearly. “Is something stolen?”
Wilbur made some strange noises before saying, “Well, no. But my music had the words Tommy was here on them, and I didn’t write them down.”
“Maybe you took your music out to the park or something and some kid wrote on them when you weren’t looking,” Phil suggested. “I mean, is there any sign of someone breaking and entering at all?”
Wilbur massaged his eyes, looking exhausted. “No,” he admitted. “I’m just a bit spooked.”
“It’s understandable, but don’t jump to conclusions just yet,” Phil said. “Look around to see if there’s any signs of someone breaking in. If not, assume some kid managed to successfully pull a prank on you.”
Tommy scoffed. It wasn’t a prank. It was a declaration of war. How could Phil not see that?
“Alright,” Wilbur said. “Thanks, Phil. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, mate.”
Wilbur hung up, and left the living room, still looking as though he thought someone had broken into his house. Tommy smirked. The first stages of his war against Wilbur had begun, and there was still so much left to do.
Admittedly, Tommy hadn’t made a list of things he needed to do, but he would do them.
Tommy got out from beneath his new bed and flew back into the music room. It was time to give Wilbur a little early morning scare before he continued with the more elaborate schemes of revenge.
Tommy flew to the guitar and ran his hand across the strings. The guitar made some rather pretty sounds, actually, and Tommy began pulling the strings separately, trying to make different tunes. He also tried to be as loud as possible, but he wasn’t sure what the appropriate level of loudness was when it came to guitars.
Tommy was really going ham with making noise from the guitar when he heard footsteps running toward the door. Tommy quickly flew back in between the music books just before Wilbur entered the room. He slammed the door open, and it hit the wall rather unceremoniously.
Wilbur’s eyes were wide as he looked around the room, and Tommy grinned mischievously.
“Who’s there?” Wilbur demanded. “Show yourself!”
Tommy was not going to show himself. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how this whole hiding thing worked, thank you very much.
Wilbur looked around the room and picked up the guitar from his stand. He inspected it, although Tommy wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though an intruder was going to fit inside the guitar, unless Wilbur knew fairies existed. Or, maybe, Wilbur was inspecting the guitar for demons.
Wilbur was looking rather frightened now as he put down the guitar and looked at the window. It was still very nicely shut, and Wilbur fiddled with the lock.
“It doesn’t look broken,” Wilbur muttered. “And I didn’t hear anyone break in…”
Wilbur still looked desperately confused. “Is my house haunted?”
It took everything Tommy had not to begin cackling. This was going marvelously. Tommy was winning his war so splendidly that he had no idea how Wilbur was going to make a comeback from this.
Wilbur continued looking around the room, glancing beneath furniture for any sign of intruders. Tommy knew he wouldn’t find anything, and he himself was hidden well enough that there was no way Wilbur was going to find him.
Eventually, Wilbur ran his fingers through his hair and left the room.
“I’m too tired for this,” he muttered.
Wilbur left the room, and Tommy finally let out his laughter. This was amazing. This was marvelous. Tommy just had to keep convincing Wilbur his house was haunted, and Wilbur wouldn’t want anything to do with Tommy’s guitar pick anymore.
Tommy flew back over to the desk and picked the pencil back up. Underneath the sentence from the day before, Tommy wrote: I am a ghost, spookyyyyy.
Tommy added extra y’s for effect. Once Wilbur read this note, he would be so scared that he would empty all of his pockets in an attempt to appease the ghost.
Tommy waited eagerly all day for Wilbur to find the note. Tommy hid in the pencil case on the desk, playing word games and imagining stories in his head while he waited for Wilbur to arrive. Waiting was rather boring, though, so Tommy also spent time sorting through Wilbur’s guitar picks nad deciding which ones he would also like to take home with him. None were as nice and shiny as the one Wilbur had stolen, though.
Eventually, Wilbur came back into the music room. HE looked both ways, as though he expected someone to jump out at him at any minute. Tommy hid carefully behind the guitar pick jar as he watched Wilbur pick up the piece of paper.
“I am a ghost, spooky?” Wilbur read. His voice sounded more confused than scared, and Tommy frowned in dismay when Wilbur laughed. “If I’m being haunted, it’s by the least threatening ghost n the world.”
Well, this wasn’t good. Wilbur was supposed to be scared, not less intimidated. Tommy was losing metaphorical his high ground against Wilbur, and he needed to find a way to scare Wilbur again.
“Boo!” Tommy shouted as loud as he could.
Wilbur jumped, and Tommy smirked. That will show him.
Wilbur got to his feet and spun around, and Tommy curled up in a ball so that Wilbur hopefully wouldn’t see him.
“Oh my god,” Wilbur whispered. “I’m being haunted by the dorkiest ghost in the world.”
“I’m not dorky!” Tommy shouted back. He was quite offended at this point. “I am very scary!”
“Oh yes, incredibly terrifying,” Wilbur said. He sounded like he was trying to appease a child, which Tommy found extra insulting.
“I scared you earlier!” Tommy pointed out. He resisted the urge to stomp his foot on the ground. It wouldn’t be very affective with Tommy sitting anyway.
“That was before I knew you were like… a child,” Wilbur said. “You’re Tommy, right?”
Tommy huffed. This was getting extremely boring. Wilbur was meant to be afraid, not making conversation with him.
Maybe Tommy could get the guitar pick back, though.
“I am a ghost and I require the guitar pick,” Tommy said. He tried to put on his spookiest voice, but Wilbur only laughed all the more.
“What guitar pick?”
“The one in your pocket!”
Wilbur reached into his pocket and pulled out a guitar pick that wasn’t Tommy’s guitar pick. Tommy frowned. Wilbur must be wearing a different pair of trousers than the ones he was wearing the day before.
“This guitar pick?”
“No,” Tommy huffed. “It was different. Shinier.”
“What is a ghost going to be able to do with a guitar pick anyway?” Wilbur asked.
“That’s not the point,” Tommy said. “I need it to… do ghosty things.”
“Like scare me?” Wilbur asked. He sounded skeptical.
“No!” Tommy protested. “Yes? Maybe? Look, can you just find the shiny guitar pick?”
“I have multiple shiny guitar picks, and I’m not sure that I want to hand it over to a ghost that wants to scare me out of my wits.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “What if I promise not to scare you?”
“You were so disappointed when you didn’t scare me earlier,” Wilbur said. “I don’t trust you at all.”
“That sounds like a you problem.” Tommy stood up and put his hands on his hips, but he was still safely hidden behind the jar. “I’d pay you.”
“Do you have money?”
“I have other guitar picks.”
Wilbur smiled and sat back down at his desk. He was looking at the ceiling, clearly having no idea where Tommy’s voice was coming from. “You can’t give me my own guitar picks in exchange for another one of my guitar picks.”
“It’s my guitar pick, you prick!” Tommy shouted. He crossed his arms. “You’re a thief. You stole it.”
“I very distinctly remember buying that pick,” Wilbur said. “You must have it confused with a different guitar pick.”
“I do not!”
Wilbur frowned. “How old are you?”
Tommy sniffed. Humans were so nosy. “That’s a rude question. You shouldn’t ask someone how long ago they died.”
“I mean how old you are like… when you died,” Wilbur said. “But you’re right, that’s kind of invasive. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Tommy stuck his nose up in the air. “And I’m fifteen. Thank you for asking.”
“Ah, that explains it,” Wilbur muttered.
“I heard that!”
Wilbur clapped his hands together, looking deep in through. “I have a proposition for you,” he said.
Tommy wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any propositions from Wilbur. Wilbur was boring, and he’d like to go back to scaring him.
“What’s your proposition?” Tommy asked. Maybe Wilbur would just hand over the guitar pick and Tommy could go home.
“If you help me pull a prank on my brother, I’ll let you take a closer look at the guitar pick. No promises on whether you can keep it, though. It’s one of the few guitar picks that I own that has sentimental value.”
Tommy huffed. Of course, Wilbur would be sentimentally attached to the one guitar pick that Tommy wanted. Why couldn’t Wilbur be attached to all of the other lovely guitar picks that were sitting in the jar he was hiding behind? These poor guitar picks probably felt so betrayed that Wilbur didn’t love them as much as he loved Tommy’s guitar pick.
“Fine,” Tommy said. “You have a deal.”
Tommy imagined they shook hands, but he wasn’t going to reveal his secret identity to Wilbur ever. Tommy was a super spy, pretending to be a ghost when he was really a fairy, and he was going to stay a ghost no matter the cost.
“Great!” Wilbur said cheerfully. “I’ll tell you the details later.”
Tommy nodded, but then he remembered that he was an invisible ghost, so he gave an affirmative response. Wilbur sat back down at his desk and began writing more music, and Tommy felt incredibly bored while he sat behind the jar of picks.
It wasn’t as though Wilbur’s writing was bad. Tommy actually really liked the music he was making. Eventually, Wilbur even grabbed his guitar and began experimenting with the notes, and Tommy closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.
Tommy just wanted to fly around and stretch his wings, and he couldn’t exactly do that with Wilbur playing music in the same room as him. He supposed he could try to sneak out, especially since Tommy was extremely good at sneaking, but Tommy didn’t like the rest of the house as much as he liked this music room. He had come to think of it as a temporary home as he waged war against Wilbur.
Speaking of Tommy’s war, he’d have to put on pause during their truce. As soon as the truce was over, however, if Tommy still didn’t have his guitar pick, he’d make sure that Wilbur paid for what he did to Tommy’s happiness.
“You play good,” Tommy noted.
“Well,” Wilbur said.
“Well what?”
“No, the grammatically correct sentence is you play well.”
Tommy sputtered. “Are you correcting me on grammar when I compliment you?” he demanded. “Don’t you think that’s a bit weird.”
“Oh, I suppose it is. Sorry.” Wilbur played a couple of notes on his guitar before writing something down.
Tommy crossed his arms. “Let’s start over. You play good.”
Wilbur let out a small sigh. “Thank you for the compliment; I really appreciate you intentionally using bad grammar to emphasize how well I can play the guitar.”
“You’re very welcome,” Tommy snapped. “I’m glad that I am in the presence of someone polite enough to correct me on my proper grammar, because I’m sure I’m going to have many more fruitful conversations where I inform people that they play an instrument well.”
“You never know,” Wilbur said.
“I’m a ghost,” Tommy pointed out.
“You’re having a conversation with me right now.”
“Kids these days don’t know anything about respecting the dead,” Tommy muttered. He really wanted to get into his role.
“I respect the dead when the dead respects me.” Wilbur gave the air a glare. “You’ve been going out of your way to haunt me, so I don’t really think I need to be all that polite.”
“I’m a child, though.”
“All the more reason to bully you.”
Tommy didn’t like Wilbur at all. He was an annoying person, and Tommy couldn’t wait for Wilbur to get out of his room.
Eventually, Wilbur left, and Tommy patted the jar of picks. He still hadn’t forgotten how much Wilbur neglected them.
“I’m so sorry that Wilbur doesn’t love you the way he should,” he told the picks. “How about this? Later, I’ll give you all names, so you can all feel special and full of sentimental value.”
Tommy was sure the picks were very pleased with his words of comfort.
The next day, Tommy sat behind a picture frame while Wilbur called Technoblade. They had already discussed their master plan, Tommy still remaining perfectly hidden, of course, and Tommy was ready for it to be enacted.
“Technoblade, I swear to you,” Wilbur was saying, “my house is haunted.”
Wilbur had put the phone on speaker again, which was very helpful for Tommy, since he could hear Technoblade’s marvelous reaction to the beginning stages of their plot.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Technoblade said. This was true, but Tommy was pretending to be a ghost, so he scoffed for effect. “Are you sure some kids aren’t pulling a prank on you?”
“I’m dead sure,” Wilbur said. “I’ve spoken to the ghost. He wants to haunt me.”
“You’re pulling on my leg.” To be fair, Wilbur did sound like he was joking. “There’s no way you spoke to a ghost, and the ghost openly admitted to wanting to haunt you.”
“It’s true. Come over to my house, I’ll prove it.”
“I’m going to come over and nothing is going to be there even if you’re telling the truth,” Technoblade said. “Have you ever seen those movies? Where like the protag is trying to prove something and then when he tries to show other people nothing’s there?”
“That won’t happen this time.”
“How do you know?” Technoblade was beginning to sound a bit existential. “How do you know we’re not trapped inside a move? Maybe this is the Truman show. Maybe you’re an actor just pretending to be my brother—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wilbur snapped. “We’re twins.”
“Plastic surgery—”
“Just be at my house by noon, alright?” Wilbur said. “I want to show you the ghost.”
“I don’t want to be shown the ghost, but if you insist,” Technoblade sighed. “Just don’t cry when the ghost doesn’t come out for me just to spite you.”
Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, yeah, alright, Technoblade,” he said. “See you.”
“See you too.”
They hung up, and Tommy laughed. That was one of the strangest conversations he had ever heard.
“What’s the Truman show?” Tommy asked.
Wilbur looked surprised. “Oh, it’s this movie,” Wilbur said. “This guy named Truman was born in like this tv show, and his entire environment is fake to make the story entertaining.”
“What’s a tv show?”
Wilbur now looked really confused. “What time are you from?”
“That’s a secret.”
“Right.” Wilbur put his hands on his hips. “Do you know what a tv is?”
“Yes.” Tommy wasn’t that stupid.
“Well, it’s basically something that gets shown on tv,” Wilbur said. “Repeatedly. There are episodes and seasons and such.”
“Why are they called seasons?” Tommy asked. “Are they themed around the seasons?”
“no, not like seasons of weather,” Wilbur said. “Like, uh, seasons of time? Eras? I don’t know. I’m really bad at explaining.”
“You really are,” Tommy agreed. He looked at Wilbur’s clock. It had a ten and two zeroes. “Technoblade’s going to get here in two hours?”
“Yep,” Wilbur said. “We need to make sure we’re ready for him.”
They spent some of those two hours preparing, although Tommy snuck some snacks from the pantry in between preparing time. Wilbur had an extremely elaborate plan to scare Technoblade, and Tommy hoped he would be able to deliver.
“Can you make things float?” Wilbur asked.
“Um…” Tommy said. “Only when people aren’t looking.”
“So, no.”
“Not really,” Tommy admitted.
He could carry things while flying, but that would almost certainly reveal that he was not, in fact, an invisible ghost and instead a very visible fairy.
Two hours later, Wilbur hurried Tommy to the music room.
“Get into your position!” Wilbur hurried. He waved the air far away from Tommy, and Tommy giggled. Wilbur really did have no idea where Tommy was.
Tommy heard the doorbell ring, and while Wilbur went to get the door, Tommy flew to the music room. The first stage of their plan was fairly simple, and Tommy had faith in his abilities to carry it out expertly.
Tommy listened carefully as he heard Wilbur and Technoblade talking. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but he could guess at it.
“Oh, I’m Technoblade and I don’t believe in ghosts,” Tommy said mockingly. He perched up on top of the guitar and put a hand on his chest, pretending to be self-righteous. He didn’t have any idea of what Technoblade looked or acted like, except that he and Wilbur were twins. But Wilbur didn’t specify if they were identical or not.
“I’m Wilbur and I think you’re stupid.” Tommy made his voice high-pitched. “Ghosts are totally real, and this ghost is really mean to me so I bully him because I too am a very mean thief of a person.”
Tommy smiled at his own reanactments, but he stopped short when he heard footsteps approaching the music room. Now was his time.
Tommy quickly ran his hands across the guitar strings, trying to make the most obnoxious noise possible. Wilbur said it was scarier when the playing was bad, so Tommy kicked the strings too, making some very ugly noises.
“Oh, I’m Tommy!” Tommy sang as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. “I’m a very spooky ghost out to get revenge! Oh, I’m Tommy the very spooky ghost!”
Tommy saw the doorknob open, and Tommy very speedily flew to the pencil holder on Wilbur’s desk. He hid himself as well as he could while Technoblade and Wilbur stepped into the room.
Technoblade looked around. “Is there an audio recording in here?” he asked.
Wilbur shrugged. “Well, I think it’s the ghost.”
“You’ll think anything is the ghost,” Technoblade said. “Remember when we were kids—”
“That was completely different,” Wilbur interrupted. “And this is real. You don’t see anything that could play audio, do you?”
“No, but—”
Tommy violently kicked the pencil case he was hiding behind. The entire thing toppled over, as well as the pencils, and Tommy flew behind the desk right before Wilbur and Technoblade got a closer look. Hopefully, they would both think Tommy was just a fly.
Tommy grimaced as multiple pencils hit the ground with a series of thumps, and Technoblade made a non-comital sound.
“Coincidence.”
“The pencil case just knocked itself over?” Wilbur asked.
“Yep.”
“you’re just being stubborn.”
“Prove it.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
Tommy flitted back toward the door to the music room, and when Wilbur and Technoblade walked out of it, Tommy followed them. He flew to the kitchen as quickly and as subtly as possible while Wilbur and Technoblade continued to argue about “the ghost.”
“Wilbur, the fact remains that ghosts aren’t real,” Technoblade said.
“You’re just an unbeliever.”
“And I will happily remain that way.”
Tommy ducked into the kitchen cabinets and found some cheap plastic cups that Wilbur had purchased for the express purpose of freaking Technoblade out. Tommy kept the cabinet door open and hid behind the cups while Technoblade entered the room.
“Is the ghost in here now?” Technoblade asked. “Is that why the kitchen floor is so wet?”
“Maybe. Although the floor is wet because I spilled water and didn’t wipe it up because I’m lazy.” Wilbur shrugged. “But I thought you were tired of the ghost.”
“I thought you wanted to prove to me the ghost is real.”
“Well, the ghost doesn’t like nonbelievers, so I’m sure the ghost will be more than happy to have nothing else to do with you—”
Tommy kicked one of the cups he was sitting behind, and it flew from the cabinet rather spectacularly. It didn’t hit either Wilbur or Technoblade like Tommy had hoped, but it was still a neat moment.
Technoblade jumped, which was an incredible victory, but he didn’t shout or make any verbal noise of surprise.
“Wow,” Technoblade said. “I think your house is somewhat drafty. Things are flying all over the place.”
Wilbur crossed his arms. “Admit there’s a ghost.”
“I’m never wrong, Wilbur,” Technoblade said. “I’m not going to start now.”
This was the part where Tommy was meant to kick a cup again, but Tommy realized that the rest of the cups were made of glass, while the plastic cups were made of opaque plastic. Tommy wasn’t going to be able to hide behind the glass cups nearly as well as he had managed behind these plastic cups.
There was only one thing to do.
Tommy quickly crawled beneath the plastic cup, which was sitting upside down, and flew to the very top of the cup. He lifted up his arms and pressed his hands against the top of the cup, and then he flew with all of his might, lifting the cup.
Fortunately, Tommy was very strong, and this was not difficult. Now that he had successfully made the cup float, he flew towards where he thought Technoblade was.
This time, even Wilbur let out an undignified squeak, and Technoblade made a noise in the back of his throat.
“See?!” Wilbur demanded. Tommy couldn’t see anyone from inside the cup, but he assumed Wilbur was pointing to him. “ghost.”
“this evidence is becoming a bit staggering,” Technoblade admitted. “Maybe there is a ghost.”
Tommy laughed victoriously. They had done it. they had defeated the great—
Tommy’s cup ran into something, and Tommy’s arms dropped to his sides in surprise. The cup fell on top of Tommy’s head, and Tommy crashed to the floor before he realized what was happening.
Tommy let out a startled shout as he hit the floor. He landed on his back, and Tommy realized with dread that he had landed on the water Wilbur was talking about earlier. His wings were soaked, and there was no way he was going to be able to fly.
On the bright side, the cup had landed upside down on top of Tommy, so Tommy was still safely hidden. For now.
“The ghost crashed the cup into me,” Technoblade noted.
“yes, that was rather odd,” Wilbur admitted. “Tommy? Are you alright?”
“The ghost has a name?” Technoblade asked.
“Yeah.” The cup jostled from above Tommy, and Tommy frantically tried to find a way to grab hold of it.
Tommy was too slow, though, and Tommy watched with dread as his cup was picked up by Technoblade, leaving Tommy completely exposed on the ground.
Tommy and Technoblade stared at each other.
“What is that?” Technoblade asked.
Tommy looked up at Wilbur, who was also staring at Tommy. “I don’t know,” Wilbur admitted.
Now was the time to run.
Tommy turned to run away, but his feet slipped on the exorbitant amount of water on the floor. He landed face first, and he saw Wilbur’s hand reaching toward him.
“Don’t touch me!” Tommy shouted, now properly panicked. “Leave me alone!”
Wilbur’s hand froze. “Tommy?”
“I’m a tiny ghost,” Tommy said frantically. He crawled backwards and away from Wilbur and Technoblade. “A very small ghost—”
“You’re not a ghost,” Technoblade interrupted. “You’re a fairy.”
“Oh, so you’ll believe in fairies and not in ghosts?” Wilbur demanded.
“I believe in fairies because fairies are real,” Technoblade said. “I don’t believe in ghosts because ghosts aren’t real.”
“I don’t’ care what you two think is real or not!” Tommy snapped. “Although, Technoblade is right, Wilbur. Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Ha.”
Tommy managed to get back on his feet, and he tried to move his wings. They were too water-logged, though, and Tommy was stuck with running as far away from Wilbur and Technoblade as possible.
“We’re not going to hurt you!” Wilbur called after him, but Tommy didn’t believe him. Why should he? Wilbur hadn’t tried to hurt the ghost, but ghosts are meant to be intangible. Tommy was a very tangible tiny fairy. Wilbur and Technoblade could step on him, and Tommy would probably die.
The very thought of that made Tommy panic all the more, and he ran into the living room, where his blanket basket is. Tommy climbed up the basket, slipping a few times, and he collapsed on top of his blanket pile.
“Did you see where he went?” Wilbur asked.
“This might be a dumb thing to say, but I don’t think he wants us going after him,” Technoblade said.
Technoblade was right about that.
Tommy crawled beneath the blanket he liked to sleep under, hiding his head beneath the blanket as well. Tommy held his breath as he curled in on himself, trying not to think about how easily Wilbur would be able to pick him up and crush him.
“That went terribly,” Wilbur said.
“I can’t believe you thought a fairy was a ghost,” Technoblade said. “Honestly.”
“I didn’t see him!” Wilbur said, his voice defensive. “He just started doing spooky stuff. He even said he was a ghost.”
“Well, clearly, he didn’t want you to know that he was a fairy.”
“And why wouldn’t he?”
“Wilbur, would you feel comfortable around someone about twenty times your height?”
“Noted.”
Tommy clapped his hands over his ears. He was tired of feeling trapped. He wanted to go back to Wilbur thinking he was a ghost. That had been fun. That had been less scary. Tommy had felt invincible.
Tommy wasn’t sure how long he lay there, trying not to be seen and trying not to hear Wilbur and Technoblade. Eventually, Tommy was pretty sure Technoblade went home, and Tommy heard Wilbur sit down in the living room.
“Tommy?”
Tommy didn’t answer. He felt his wings slowly begin to dry out and he flapped them slightly.
“I don’t know if you’re in here,” Wilbur admitted. “But, if you are, I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Tommy didn’t believe Wilbur. Maybe Wilbur didn’t really mean to scare Tommy, but that didn’t mean Wilbur had good intentions now. Tommy had never interacted with humans before. He had been too afraid to.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Wilbur said. “I promise. I enjoy talking to you. I just want to hang out.”
Tommy shook hi sh head. Wilbur was lying. Wilbur was a thief. He stole Tommy’s guitar pick. Tommy wasn’t going to forget that.
Tommy’s breathing came slightly easier. Right. Wilbur was a bad guy. He stole Tommy’s guitar pick. Tommy didn’t have to trust him.
“You don’t have to trust me,” Wilbur said. “But maybe we can talk it out?”
Tommy rolled over and closed his eyes. Maybe he can sleep through this horrible day. That would be nice.
“Alright,” Wilbur said. He sounded sad. “I understand.”
He stood up and left the room, and Tommy let out a small sigh of relief.
The next day, Tommy still hadn’t left. He had thought about what Wilbur had said for most of the night, and he decided that maybe leaving wasn’t the best course of action.
For one, Tommy had no idea where he was, so he wasn’t really sure how he’d get back to his home. At least with Wilbur, Tommy had warm blankets and food.
For another thing, maybe Wilbur was a nice human. Tommy hadn’t met any mean humans before, and his fear of humans mostly came from the fact that his friends used to warn him not to get too close in case he got accidentally stepped on. There were also some horror stories about fairies being trapped in jars until they suffocated, but nobody had proven that.
Still, Tommy wasn’t sure if he fully trusted Wilbur. They barely knew each other.
Tommy perched himself on the kitchen counter and waited for Wilbur to come in for breakfast. He’d test Wilbur. He’d see if Wilbur really was a good guy by sitting in plain sight. If Wilbur tried to hurt him, or trap him, then Tommy would fly away and never come back.
Tommy fluttered his wings again. They felt so good now that they were dried out all the way. Water-logged wings were not a very comfortable sensation.
Tommy hummed a little tune to himself while he waited for Wilbur. He sure was taking a long time.
Maybe Tommy’s thoughts summoned him, because Wilbur entered the kitchen looking exhausted. He was frowning, and Tommy wondered that was making him so sad. Hopefully, it wasn’t the events of the day before. Tommy would hate to think that he had contributed to Wilbur’s sadness.
“Hello!” Tommy said. He tried to be cheerful, but his voice shook a little bit.
Wilbur jumped, nearly dropping the coffee mug he had just picked up. Tommy winced.
“Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Wilbur turned toward Tommy. “You came back?”
“I was always here, big man,” Tommy said. He got to his feet to feel a tiny bit taller. “You were the one who left.”
“I went to my bedroom. To sleep.”
“Yes, and I was in your living area the entire time.” Tommy put his hands together and did his best evil cackle.
“That was the cutest evil laugh I have ever heard,” Wilbur said.
“Hey!” Tommy protested. “I am not cute. I am manly. I am a manly fairy.”
“It was a very manly laugh,” Wilbur said. “It was also adorable.”
Tommy wasn’t sure if those things were interchangeable, but maybe they were. Come to think of it, nobody had made a rulebook on what constituted as manly.
“Anyway,” Wilbur said. “Are we going to talk about yesterday, or…”
Wilbur looked away, staring at his coffee like it was more interesting than Tommy.
“I mean.” Tommy looked at his hands. “We can if you want?”
“Sorry for trying to grab you,” Wilbur said. “That wasn’t kind.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Tommy tried not to think about Wilbur’s hand coming toward him. “It’s okay, though. You stopped when I asked you too. That was more than I expected.”
“You really thought that lowly of me?”
Tommy shrugged and flew in the air. It felt safer than standing on the counter. “It wasn’t you per say,” Tommy said. “I just don’t hang out with humans. At all. I didn’t know what to expect.”
“I guess that makes sense.” Wilbur nodded. “I’d be afraid if there were giants in real life too.”
“Right.” Tommy hummed. “Sorry for lying to you about me being a ghost.”
“Eh, it’s fine. I get it.”
“You can’t deny that it was pretty funny ta first.”
“Me being scared out of my wits was not funny.”
“It was so!” Tommy laughed. “You called the guitar a demon guitar.”
“I thought it was possessed!” Wilbur said. His voice was high-pitched. “I leave it out on the beach and when I come back it starts playing on its own! That’s not very normal guitar behavior.”
Tommy was still laughing, and tears sprang to his eyes. “You’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
“Have you met many people before?” Wilbur asked.
Tommy stopped laughing. “No,” He admitted. “Not really. I had a few fairy friends a while ago, but they all left to find new horizons.”
Wilbur frowned. “They left you behind?”
“Well, that sounds mean,” Tommy said. “I didn’t want to drag them down, so I encouraged them to go. I like it here, though. There’s more cool stuff that humans leave behind on beaches.”
“Is that how you got here?” Wilbur asked. “Did you follow me when I took my guitar back from the beach?”
Tommy grimaced. “Not quite,” He admitted. “it was a bit more… painful.”
Wilbur’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Well, you see…” Tommy clapped his hands together, trying to think of the perfect way to phrase this. “I was in the guitar when you took it back to your house. There was a lot of jostling involved.”
Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Oh. Crap. Sorry about that.”
“I mean, you obviously didn’t know there was a fairy in there,” Tommy said. “And it didn’t hurt that bad.”
“Still.” Wilbur grimaced. “That must not have been the fondest memory for you.”
Tommy crossed his arms. “You should carry your guitars more carefully from now on, just in case I’m sitting in them for whatever reason.”
Wilbur nodded. “Got it.”
“And, by the way,” Tommy said. “While we are on the topic of your mistakes, you stole my guitar pick.”
Wilbur frowned, looking confused. His eyebrows furrowed. “I stole… sorry?”
“You stole my guitar pick!” Tommy said again, this time with more volume. “I found a perfectly nice guitar pick sitting inside your guitar, and I picked it up. And I said to myself, ‘oh, this would make a nice table for me,’ and then you stole it.”
“When did I steal a guitar pick from you?”
“When you picked it up off the ground!” Tommy put his hands on his hips. “Don’t deny it! I dropped it when you entered the room, and then you picked it up like, ‘oh, I thought I lost this,’ and then you put it in your pocket.”
“Tommy…” Wilbur was still frowning. “It was my guitar pick. That’s not stealing. I could argue that you were the one about to steal my guitar pick.”
“Fingers keepers,” Tommy said.
“It’s finders’ keepers,” Wilbur said. “And it’s also wrong.”
Tommy frowned and lowered himself back onto the counter. Maybe Wilbur was right. Maybe Tommy was the real thief.
“But… I really liked the guitar pick,” Tommy said. “it was shiny. And nice.”
“I can get you a different guitar pick,” Wilbur said. “That’s also shiny and nice.”
“I already looked at all of your guitar picks,” Tommy said. He laid down dramatically on the counter. “None of them are as shiny and nice as yours.”
“Well, do you want to know why I don’t want to give you the guitar pick?” Wilbur asked. He started pouring himself his coffee.
“Why?” Tommy asked.
“It was a gift from a very close friend,” Wilbur said. “I don’t see her much anymore, but it’s something to remember her by.”
“Oh,” Tommy said. “Well, I don’t want to take away a gift.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
Tommy sighed. “Fine. You can have that pick. But you’d better get me one as shiny and nice as that one!”
Wilbur laughed. “I think I can manage that.”
Unfortunately, Wilbur was apparently busy, and he couldn’t immediately go to the store. Tommy was left waiting in the music room for him to get un-busied, so he decided to do his goal of naming all of the different guitar picks that felt unloved because of Wilbur’s evil neglect.
Tommy pulled a pink guitar pick from the jar. “You can be named Clementine,” Tommy told the guitar pick. “The third.”
Tommy stacked the Clementines on top of each other. They deserved to stick together.
Wilbur walked into the room just as Tommy was naming Harold, who was a lovely green guitar pick.
“What are you doing?” Wilbur asked. “Why are you making a mess of my bookshelf?”
“I am not making a mess of your bookshelf,” Tommy said as he put Harold next to the Clementine pile. “I am naming your neglected guitar picks.”
Wilbur stared at Tommy blankly. “Why are they neglected?”
“Because they don’t all have sentimental value!” Tommy said. “Obviously! You’re so mean to these poor things, Wilbur. They don’t have any love, so I’ve decided to give it to them.”
Wilbur smiled. “You really expect to remember all of these guys’ names?”
Tommy nodded. He pointed to the Clementine pile. “Those are the Clementines,” he said. He pointed to a tie-die looking pick. “That one is Rainbow Dash. That one is Henry. That one is Clarencio. That one is—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Wilbur said quickly.
Tommy scowled and put his hands on his hips. “I wasn’t done yet,” he said. “Now, I guess you’re going to need to hear it all over again. “These are the Clementines—”
Wilbur groaned.
After Wilbur had appropriately memorized all of the names of the guitar picks, Wilbur took Tommy to the store. Tommy sat on Wilbur’s shoulder as they looked at all the pretty guitar picks on display.
“Which one would you like?” Wilbur asked.
“I want all of them,” Tommy said.
“You cannot have all of them.” Wilbur held up one finger. “You only get one.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Three.”
“Do you even know how bartering works?” Wilbur asked.
“Five,” Tommy said. “That’s my final offer.”
“Two,” Wilbur sighed.
Tommy picked out a shiny golden pick and a nice red pick. He named them both Clementine, because Clementine was the best name ever. Wilbur shook his head fondly when Tommy informed him of this.
“You really are something else,” he said.
“I’m amazing,” Tommy said. “Your life improved by leaps and bounds when you met me.”
“Whatever you have to say to make yourself feel better,” Wilbur said.
Tommy threw one of his picks at him. Wilbur wasn’t even phased.
Tommy continued to stay at Wilbur’s place. He put his picks on top of his blanket pile, and Wilbur asked Tommy if he would like a proper room of his own.
“you’re going to give me an entire room?” Tommy asked.
“Well, no,” Wilbur said. “I don’t have a spare bedroom for you. Sorry. But. I could use a birdhouse to make you a nice little place to stay. If you’d like.”
Tommy scowled. “I’m not a bird.”
“Fair enough,” Wilbur said. “What if I got Technoblade to construct you a house out of wood, then? You could help with the design.”
Tommy thought about it for a moment before nodding. A house of his own would be nice. Before, Tommy was living in a small shack that he had made for himself, but it wouldn’t be the same as an actual house.
“Okay!” Tommy said cheerfully.
Wilbur invited Technoblade over, and Tommy explained how he wanted a house with a big bedroom, a big living room, and the entire thing to be painted bright red.
“Wow,” Technoblade said. “You’ve really thought this through.”
“I have,” Tommy said. He nodded quickly. “I just want my house to be the most perfect house ever, so that Wilbur can look at it and cry when he realizes that his house is not nearly as cool.”
“Ouch,” Wilbur said.
“Ouch yourself.”
Technoblade took about a week to build Tommy’s house, and he let Tommy help paint it. The paintbrush was kind of heavy, but painting was less difficult than writing. There was precision involved, and Technoblade took care of the really hard details. As fun as painting was, Tommy wanted his house to be perfect.
“You can sample some of this furniture I bought,” Technoblade said. “it’s doll furniture.”
Tommy decided it wasn’t fair to expect Technoblade to make tiny furniture, and the doll furniture was actually remarkably well-made. Tommy patted the cushion of the bed and nodded. “This is good,” He said.
“Yeah?”
Tommy nodded. “Yep.”
Move-in was incredibly easy. Technoblade took the roof of Tommy’s house off and put all the furniture in himself. They very carefully moved Tommy’s house into the music room, as per Tommy’s request.
Tommy loved it.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Tommy hugged Technoblade’s finger, because it was the easiest thing for Tommy to get his arms around. “You are way cooler than Wilbur.”
Technoblade smirked. “You hear that? I’m way cooler than you.”
“And yet, I’m the one he lives with,” Wilbur said.
“It’s out of pity,” Tommy informed him. “You are very pitiable.”
“Ouch,” Technoblade said.
“Ouch,” Tommy agreed.
Wilbur simply looked exhausted.
Tommy had been living with Wilbur in his new house when something occurred to him.
“Wil?” Tommy asked one day. “can we try to find my old house? There’s some stuff I want to grab.”
Wilbur agreed, and they marched to the beach so that Tommy could find his way back. Tommy recognized the bench where it all began, and Tommy led Wilbur to where his small house was.
Without Tommy taking care of it, it had somewhat collapsed on itself, but it was still as recognizable as ever. Tommy carefully ducked behind bits of cardboard as he collected all of his treasured possessions. Wilbur was kind enough to agree to carry them for him.
Tommy found his thimble table, and the shiny coin that he loved, and a needle he used to pretend he was an epic adventurer fighting monsters.
“Tommy,” Wilbur said. “You know… you don’t have to live with me. If you don’t want to.”
Tommy frowned as he picked up his needle. “Where’d that come from?”
“Oh, I just… I see your home, and you have a lot of things you care about here—”
“Not friends,” Tommy said quietly.
Wilbur frowned. “What?”
“I don’t have any friends here,” Tommy said. “Nobody makes me cool food, or jokes with me, or makes me an entire house so that I’m happy.”
Wilbur didn’t say anything as Tommy sat down on the ground. “It’s lonely.”
“Oh.” Wilbur’s voice was sad. “Well, I love having you around, Tommy. Don’t worry. You can stay with me as long as you’d like.”
Tommy smiled. “Yeah?”
Wilbur nodded. “Of course.” He got to his feet, and Tommy flew up to him. “Besides, Technoblade would kill me if that house building went to waste.”
Tommy laughed.