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It was Christmas Eve, fucking freezing, and Wilbur had no idea what to get Tommy for Christmas. Yeah, sure, he was one of the kid’s best friends, his brother, even, but that didn’t mean he was a good gift giver. He sighed into his hands and rubbed them together, wishing he had put on a pair of gloves like Phil had suggested. He heaved the chopped firewood into his arms, stumbling back at the sheer weight of it, before balancing upright again. As he walked back to the house, his anxiety over Tommy’s gift only rose. Tommy had only a couple of hours left to really decide what to give him.
The warmth of Phil’s house unfroze Wilbur’s fingers and alleviated only some of the dread that had built in his gut. Phil, who was sitting in his large, old man chair (as Tommy, Wilbur and Techno affectionately called it), put his book on welding down to help Wilbur with the timber. Wordlessly, he took half of the stack from Wilbur, and threw it in the fireplace to keep it going. He made his way back to his chair and sighed, watching Wilbur from behind. Wilbur sat right in front of the fire, the same way he used to when he was a kid, and placed his hands close to the flames.
“Be careful, mate, it’ll flick up at you,” Phil cautioned, throwing a blanket over his legs.
“I’m alright, it’s just cold as fuck out there,” Wilbur responded, exasperated.
Wilbur didn’t particularly like being open around his dad. It just wasn’t something they did. They would laugh, make fun of each other, but rarely would they have emotional moments. The closest they ever got were “I love yous” and a hug here and there. Wilbur loved his dad, but he just couldn’t bring himself to be open around him. He didn’t want to be more of a burden than he already believed that he was. Still, he wasn’t able to keep his worries to himself, and Phil was always too quick at spotting it.
“Got something on your mind?” Phil asked, though it was less of a question and more of an invitation.
“Yeah, but it’s not that serious,” Wilbur started, trying to back his way out of the conversation.
“Wilbur,” Phil warned, using the “dad tone” that Tommy hated, the tone that always made Techno roll his eyes.
“Fine,” Wilbur gave in, “I haven’t gotten anything for Tommy yet. I just don’t know what to get him. I never know what to get him. You and Techno are just easy, I don’t know why Tommy’s gift is so complicated for me.”
“Well, clearly, you want the gift to be good,” Phil reasoned.
“No shit Sherlock,” Wilbur said flatly. He could feel Phil staring a hole through his back. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright mate, you just want to give him something that matters,” Phil said softly, adjusting his position on his chair.
“Yeah, I just don’t know what matters to Tommy, I guess,” Wilbur mumbled, focusing his gaze at the burning wood.
“Oh come on, don’t say stuff like that. He’s your best friend. I’m sure you know what matters to him,” Phil urged.
But that was the problem. Of course he knew what mattered to Tommy. Tommy cared about his home, his discs, Tubbo, Henry, the bench, L’Manberg, the prime path, his gardens, his hotel, his pranks. That was easy. He couldn’t find something new that would matter to Tommy. He couldn’t make another L’Manberg, he couldn’t take back the things he said in Pogtopia. There was nothing that Tommy cared about that could be replaced. What could he possibly give to Tommy that he either didn’t already have, or that hasn’t been stripped from him?
“It’s not that simple, I don’t think,” Wilbur conceded. He backed away from the heat of the fire, the embarrassment growing on his face providing more than enough heat. He stood up and made his way to the kitchen, purposely avoiding his father’s gaze.
Wilbur grabbed a glass from the cabinet and quickly filled it with water from the sink. He leaned against it, bringing the glass to his lips, drinking slowly. He tried breathing deeply, in and out, in and out. It was a calming technique he read about in one of Techno's books ages ago. He shut his eyes and tried to calm himself down. He could feel Phil's presence in the doorway, watching him. The feeling of worry radiating off of Phil didn't make him feel any better.
"You alright mate?" Phil asked patiently. Wilbur knew that he was trying to hide his own anxiety. Like father, like son.
"Sorry, I'm just," Wilbur paused, trying to get his words right, "I just don't want to let Tommy down."
"No need to be sorry, just take a breather. I'm sure Tommy will appreciate whatever you get him. The kid loves you, nothing you could get him would be disappointing," Phil replied as he walked over to Wilbur, standing next to him against the sink.
"That's the issue, Phil. He'll love whatever I get him, but it needs to matter. It needs to make up for everything," Wilbur said, looking down at his feet.
"What does it really need to make up for?" Phil asked, narrowing his eyes at Wilbur.
Wilbur didn't like being open with his father. He didn't like pity or anything close to that. He'd rather act like a dick to avoid it, really. But exhaustion from a day of worrying forced his guard down more than he would've liked.
"It has to make up for the fact that it's me , Phil," Wilbur admitted. His hands were cold again; he couldn't feel his fingertips.
"Oh, mate," Phil said as he grabbed Wilbur's hand, weaving his fingers through his son's. Wilbur knew he would hate himself for it later, but he leaned into his father, taking some of the weight off of the kitchen sink. Phil wrapped his wing, his good wing, around Wilbur's shoulders.
"It's stupid, really," Wilbur laughed dryly, still avoiding Phil's eyes.
"You're right, it is stupid," Phil chuckled, "the way you're thinking is really stupid. You don't have to make up for anything. If you did, I'm sure Tommy would've let you know already."
And he did . Oh, how Tommy made it known that Wilbur had to make up for everything. For Pogtopia, for blowing up L'manberg, for exile somehow, for the way Phil is, for coming back to life, for saying that he never cared about L'manberg, for the shit in Las Nevadas, for everything . Even the things he wasn't there for were his fault. So, he had to make it up to Tommy. It was his responsibility to figure it out.
"Yeah, I guess," Wilbur said, avoiding the reality that he lived in.
"If it makes you feel better, I'm sure whatever Tommy's going to get you will be shit," Phil laughed, full and loud. It was enough to light up the whole house, and it was powerful enough to make Wilbur laugh too.
"See? You'll be alright, mate. How about you get some sleep, and you can deal with it tomorrow," Phil suggested, looking up at Wilbur's face. Tomorrow was already Christmas, but Wilbur didn't feel like there was any other choice.
"Oh, is it past my bedtime? Does my dad have to send me up to bed? Tuck me in, maybe?" Wilbur teased, looking down at his father. This only made Phil laugh more and collapse into Wilbur's chest in an almost-hug, his wings curling around Wilbur's body. Wilbur gave into it and wrapped his arms around Phil.
"Yeah, I think a big baby like you needs a bedtime," Phil said into Wilbur's shirt.
The two of them stood there in silence for a while, taking the moment in. The kitchen was dark, and the only light that was peaking through was from the fire in the living room, but it felt as if the entire kitchen was lit up. It was just a hug from his dad, no big deal, but they always felt like more than that to Wilbur. Still, he knew that if he didn't let go first, they'd be stuck in the kitchen forever. He stuck his face in Phil's hair and sighed.
"Okay, I think it's really time for this big baby to go to bed." Phil brought his wings down first, then his arms. He looked up at Wilbur again and smiled.
"You'll be okay, mate. Just get some rest," he said, clearly happier than he was before.
"I will, I will," Wilbur insisted as he peeled himself away from his dad.
"Love you!" Phil called out from behind.
"Nah, cringe," Wilbur joked while climbing the ladder to his bedroom.
"Oh come on, you little shit!" Phil yelled, an air of laughter in his tone.
"Love you too, dad!" Wilbur shouted, only to be met with Phil's laughter lighting up the kitchen again.
☆☆☆
Wilbur sat on the edge of his bed, fucking up the skin around his nails, picking at wounds that were already scabbed over. It was a bad habit of his that he picked up in limbo. With nothing to write down, he had no reason to keep his hands in one piece. He looked up at his ceiling, as if it held any answers for him. Instead, he was met with light reflecting off of the mirror in his closet, which he left open. He picked himself up and walked over to his closet, ready to shut it for the night. Instead, something golden stood out in the very back of his closet. Unsure of what it could be, Wilbur started shifting his clothes around to get to it. He grabbed the hanger, but still couldn’t identify what outfit was on it. He took the hanger out of the closet and held it up in front of him. His breath caught in his throat as he took all of it in.
His L’manberg uniform had definitely seen better days. There was a layer of dust that stained the fabric, and it seemed like some moths made a meal out of his white shirt. The blue coat was too thick for the moths to mow through, so the dust was the only issue. The gold buttons were what Wilbur took notice of, each of them neatly sewn onto the coat. Wilbur always kept his uniform clean. He liked to look good when he was able to, just so no one would worry too much about him. Tommy was quite the opposite. His uniform took so much of a beating that it was barely a uniform. It looked more like a patchwork quilt than anything else. There were grass stains that refused to wash out and tears were sewn up with brightly colored thread. In spite of this, Tommy would always try to straighten out his uniform before putting it up on a hanger in his closet. Wilbur never saw Tommy’s uniform on the floor or thrown across a bed or table. It was either on his body or hung up neatly. Wilbur could never bring himself to be upset at the state of Tommy’s uniform; Tommy was doing a lot more fighting than Wilbur ever did.
While scanning his uniform for any more damage, Wilbur noticed something shift in the pocket of his pants. Confused, he delicately grabbed what he assumed was just a random piece of paper, only to be presented with a polaroid photo of himself and Tommy, standing side by side. His own face was serious, while Tommy flipped off the camera, or whoever was behind it. Wilbur smiled fondly at the small picture in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the poorly written caption of the photo: “Tommy and the Big Bitch.” Maybe he should have taught Tommy how to write neatly, he thought. While staring at the photo, Wilbur took notice of Tommy’s uniform. It was just as messy as he remembered, but his eyes were locked on the mismatched buttons on his coat. Each was a different size and color. None of them were the original buttons the uniform was made with. He remembered how upset Tommy was when he lost them; he was always sentimental like that. The buttons never mattered to Wilbur, and teaching Tommy how to sew new ones on didn’t matter either. But Tommy took each loss as a personal failure. It was hard to watch him sit there and sulk over something as small as a set of buttons.
But maybe, he didn’t have to sulk over them anymore.
☆☆☆
Phil’s Christmas party was barely a party at all, but he insisted on calling it one. Really, it was just a family day. The only attendees were Techno, Tommy, Phil, and himself. Still, he didn’t push it, and continued hanging up some last minute decorations on the ceiling. The tree was the real star of the show, covered in tinsel and ornaments, some of them being just as old as Wilbur. Some were old candy canes, some were glass, some were made of shitty plastic. Some of them had pictures of himself and Tommy inside, with Techno far off in the background, trying to avoid the family portrait. The best ones though, in Wilbur’s opinion, were the shitty craft ornaments Tommy made. They were little stick figures held together with thread and hardened mud. There was one little figure for each of them. Their clothes were made of a shirt Tommy had cut up, much to Phil’s dismay. Wilbur’s stick figure counterpart had on a yellow “sweater.” Really, it was the white part of Tommy’s shirt colored yellow with marker, but still, Wilbur held it close to his heart.
“Hey, is the old man in town?” Techno said from behind their front door, knocking lightly.
“Yeah yeah, I’m coming,” Phil said, walking out of the kitchen with a baby pink apron wrapped around his front.
Wilbur turned from his spot on the ladder to face the door. Phil welcomed Techno into their home, even though the pair practically lived together. Unsurprisingly, Techno brought mashed potatoes in a large serving dish, and a sack full of what Wilbur could only assume were gifts. Techno’s eyes drifted around the house, taking in all of the decorations. His eyes eventually landed on Wilbur.
“Wow, I didn’t know someone as old as you could have a growth spurt,” Techno joked dryly. Phil was the only one in the room who laughed.
“You literally just got here and you’re already making fun of me,” Wilbur responded, the same dryness in his tone.
“Hey, I never said it was a bad thing,” Techno said, holding one hand up in the air, the other holding his dish of potatoes.
“Maybe you should try lifting both hands to show how much you didn’t want to offend me,” Wilbur nagged, a smirk growing on his face. Techno narrowed his eyes at him.
“Nah, but you can try it, if you want,” Techno said, placing his hand back underneath the dish.
“Okay, enough out of you two. Do you mind helping me out in the kitchen, Techno? I just need to finish up some things,” Phil asked, already fed up with Techno and Wilbur’s small, fake feud.
“Sure, I’ll make sure you don’t burn the house down,” Techno replied as he walked into the kitchen, setting his sack of gifts down near the Christmas tree first, ignoring Phil’s defense of his cooking. Wilbur snickered, and turned around to finish putting up decorations.
Wilbur continued with his simple task, moving the ladder with each new decoration. He didn’t really mind not being in the kitchen. If Techno was really worried about the house being burnt down, he would keep an eye on Wilbur, not on Phil. While hanging up the last decoration, someone banged on the door hard enough to shake the entire house. Wilbur yelped and stumbled backwards off of the ladder, landing on the hardwood floor with a thump. Wilbur groaned, and Phil ran into the living room while Techno opened the front door.
“The party is here, bitch!” Tommy yelled, welcoming himself into the house.
“It’s nice to see you too, Tommy,” Techno said as Tommy sauntered past him.
Tommy dumped his poorly wrapped presents in front of the tree and made his way over to Wilbur, who was barely sitting upright, Phil hovering not too far behind.
“I know you’re below me, but this is a little much, isn’t it?” Tommy asked, bending down to be at eye level with Wilbur.
“Well, if you hadn’t banged on the door like a lunatic, maybe I’d be on my feet right now!” Wilbur snapped back, the heat in his voice clearly not affecting Tommy in the slightest.
“That sounds like a you problem, if I’m honest,” Tommy started, about to roll his eyes.
Now, Wilbur was avidly against all forms of violence. He didn’t like fighting, and he was bad at it too. He swore that words were more powerful than any weapon could ever be, and this much was true. Tommy’s words were powerful enough to make Wilbur violent. So, wordlessly, he lunged at Tommy, knocking him over, and causing more pain in his back.
“Hey, dickhead! Get off of me! I didn’t even do anything!” Tommy squawked, trying to push Wilbur off of him. The two rolled around on the floor, joking more than anything, before Phil had to ruin the fun and pull them apart.
“Can I please have one Christmas without the two of you killing each other?” Phil sighed, pinching in between his eyebrows.
“Then tell Wilbur to stop being such a bitch!” Tommy yelped, pushing Wilbur’s side.
“Oh really, I’m the bitch?” Wilbur asked, faking offense.
“You both are children,” Techno sighed as he walked back into the kitchen, Phil following him.
Wilbur and Tommy looked at each other and snickered, but before Tommy could get revenge, the oven chimed, pulling the pair into the kitchen to eat.
☆☆☆
Wilbur got a new journal and pen set from Phil, and a pair of knitted socks from Techno. When asked why he didn’t just buy something, Techno shrugged and explained that making something was easier than going out to buy something. Though that wasn’t exactly true, Wilbur took it as an answer and didn’t press for more, grateful that his brother took the time to make him something. Phil was clearly encouraging Wilbur to write again, and he was even considering it. Or maybe it was just a ploy to get him to stop biting his nails. Either reason was good enough. Tommy got a new winter coat from Phil, and Techno gifted him an old sword that he refurbished a bit. Tommy was way more interested in the sword than the coat, but Phil swore that he’d come to appreciate it with time. The fire from the fireplace was the only light in the room, but it was not the only thing causing warmth.
When it was time for Tommy to give out his gifts, he had no problem shoving them into Phil and Techno’s hands. Phil got a rusted over wood carving knife, and Techno got a rock with two googly eyes and a smile drawn on it.
“Uh, Tommy, where did you find this?” Phil asked while inspecting his new, or maybe, not so new, knife.
“Uh, I think I just found it somewhere. I’m sure you’ll make use of it, old man,” Tommy said, holding his head up high, clearly proud of whatever junk he gifted Phil.
“Thanks for the rock, man. I appreciate it,” Techno said. He almost sounded genuine. Almost.
“Hey, no problem, anytime!” Tommy gloated, pleased with Techno’s gratitude.
With that, Wilbur got up and grabbed his gift for Tommy. He felt bad that it wasn’t wrapped; the gift was just kept in a tiny box that Wilbur found somewhere around the house. It looked really sad in comparison to everything else, but Wilbur hoped for the best. He sat down in his spot next to Tommy, and passed over the gift. Wilbur’s mind was racing faster than he could stop it, that familiar feeling of anxiety building in his head. He passed the box over to Tommy, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how much his hands were shaking.
“I’ll be honest with you Tommy, I had no idea what to get you until the last minute, and I’m really sorry, I tried to find something and then I tried to find a box, but the box was shit, so I went looking for another box, and I–”
“Shut up,” Tommy said, his voice watery.
Shit , Wilbur thought, shit shit shit shit shiiitttt . He made his best friend, his brother, cry. On Christmas, of all days. He wanted to throw up, stick his head in the sand like an ostrich, run to his dad and hope that he could fix it, even though he knew that his dad and Techno were completely frozen in discomfort.
“I’m really, really sorry,” was all he could muster instead. Tommy looked at him, eyes red, nose running. He looked a lot smaller than he was, on the floor next to Wilbur, with only the fire lighting up his face. Wilbur felt a pang of guilt hit his heart, and thought for a moment that this was the end of it. Tommy would leave and would refuse to speak to Wilbur ever again, just because he was too fucking stupid to get Tommy a good gift, too fucking stupid to get Tommy something that would make up for his mistakes.
“Man, stop saying that. Why are you sorry?” Tommy asked quietly.
“You’re crying, so you don’t like the gift,” Wilbur said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.
“Wow, you really are fucking stupid,” Tommy laughed through his tears, lightly shaking the box his opened gift was in.
“Tommy, you don’t have to lie–”
“I’m not lying, you twit! They’re the buttons from our– from our uniforms. L’manberg’s,” he started, rubbing his thumb over one of them, “I lost mine a while ago. I can fix my uniform up now, so it’s not so ugly and gross,” Tommy smiled, holding a button up to the light. Wilbur internally let out a sigh of relief, and calmed himself down.
“I’m glad you like them,” he smiled. He could almost hear Techno and Phil gasp for air after holding their breath for so long.
“They’re maybe the best gift I’ve ever gotten. But they’re not as good as that one time Tubbo got me a jar of worms for my birthday. I still have ‘em! They’re great, digging holes n shit,” Tommy rambled. He paused for a moment, staring at the buttons. “Where did you even get these?”
“Oh, I just took them off of my uniform,” Wilbur said, shrugging.
“They’re your buttons? You took them off for me?” Tommy asked, his eyes growing wider than before.
“Well, yeah, where else would I get them? The button store?” Wilbur joked, but Tommy kept staring at him as if he molded the buttons from stardust with his own hands.
“Thank you,” Tommy said sincerely, a wide smile stretching across his face.
The four sat in silence for a moment, processing what just happened. Tommy rubbed his eyes, letting himself settle down. Wilbur thought that Tommy would continue giving out gifts, but he kept himself glued to the floor. Before anyone could say anything, he blurted out,
“You two need to leave,” Phil and Techno looked at each other in confusion, “I mean– shit, I didn’t mean it like that, can you guys just–”
“Calm down, we’ll leave,” Techno said while getting up from his spot on the floor. He motioned for Phil to follow him, and the two left the living room. Before turning the corner into the kitchen, Techno gave the pair one last glance. Tommy nodded to Techno, who nodded back, a silent “thank you” between brothers. Tommy turned to face Wilbur again.
“Sorry, uh, for that. I couldn’t handle those guys just staring at me. They were just too big, and I need to be the biggest man in the room. You know how it is,” Tommy shrugged as he picked up his gift from under the tree.
Wilbur knew that it was a flat out lie. Tommy had never been good at lying, especially under pressure, and it was especially obvious after the moment they had just a second ago. Sometimes, it wasn’t worth it to push. But sometimes, Wilbur couldn’t help but be curious.
“I don’t think I ‘know how it is,’ Tommy. What’s up?” Wilbur asked, hoping that he wasn’t pressing the wrong buttons. He could almost hear Tommy’s teeth grinding, trying to think of what to say.
“Sorry, I just– hm, I made this thing for you, and I didn’t want them to laugh at it. You laughing at it would be enough, and I’ve already been all emotional and shit, and I don’t want to deal with that,” Tommy ranted, fiddling with the ribbon that kept his gift wrapped.
“Tommy, why do you think I’ll laugh at it?” Wilbur asked, concern in his voice.
“Because it’s shit, okay? So just open it and get this over with,” Tommy huffed, shoving the gift into Wilbur’s lap.
Wilbur’s lips formed into a line as he watched his brother pick at the skin around his nails. He wanted to swat at Tommy to get him to stop before remembering the state of his own fingers. Instead, Wilbur pulled the ribbon off of the present that was holding the wrapping paper in place. The paper fell to the sides, revealing what at first looked like a pile of junk. There was a piece of a shoelace sticking up from a wooden plank, and Wilbur used this to pick up the weird pile.
It was a wind chime, Wilbur realized, strung together with old shoelaces and tied to a wooden plank. They weren't even chimes, actually, but pieces of broken stained glass. The glass clunked together awkwardly, creating a sharp, dysfunctional sound. The plank wasn't even sanded down. It still smelled like outside, with little bugs eating away at the wood, which was rotting from the inside out. The shoelaces had seen more of the world than he did, the once white laces forever stained with earth and too much wear. Despite the world's best efforts, the plastic ends of the laces were still intact. It was messy and gross, but it made sound. It made music. It was Tommy’s symphony, something that he had made for Wilbur.
“It’s perfect,” Wilbur said quietly, still staring at the wind chime.
“You don’t have to lie to me man–”
“Hey, that’s what I said to you, and you told me to stop,” Wilbur teased, placing his gift on top of the wrapping paper.
“You really like it?” Tommy asked lightly, looking up at his friend.
Wilbur paused for a moment, a grin forming on his face. He watched as Tommy’s eyes went flat, not out of disappointment, but out of anticipation for what would come next. Wilbur picked it up again and held it out in front of him.
“No, actually. I think that this is an absolutely ridiculous instrument, if you could even call it that. It smells like shit and strikes a jarring resemblance to you, Tommy, which means that it must make the most awful sounds humanity has ever heard,” Wilbur teased in a snobby accent, making Tommy giggle.
“Well then, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I took it from you,” Tommy teased back, snatching the wind chime from Wilbur’s hand, and running to hide behind Phil’s old man chair.
“Wait– you fucking– god damn it,” Wilbur cursed, rising from his spot on the floor to catch Tommy.
Their little game of cat and mouse was short lived; Phil’s living room was only so big. Eventually, Wilbur sat back down on the floor, resting his back against the end of Phil’s chair. Tommy sat down next to him, passing the wind chime back to Wilbur. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire as it fluttered around. Wilbur took a deep breath in to try and absorb the moment. He was warm and safe in Phil’s house, in his house, with his family, with his brother. It was more than he could ever hope for. He glanced over at Tommy, who was trying his best not to fall asleep. Wilbur’s eyes wandered down to Tommy’s shoes, which, for some reason, had no laces.
“Tommy, where are your shoelaces?” Wilbur asked. Tommy, who was half asleep, jolted awake.
“Huh? Oh yeah, I just wanted to make a bold fashion move. This is going to be the new big thing,” Tommy replied, clearly not interested in having a conversation.
“We were running around before, you could’ve tripped,” Wilbur complained.
“Again. You’re doing it again,” Tommy groaned, leaning his head back against Phil’s chair.
“Doing what?”
“Being a fuckin dumbass! What do you think is holding together your little wind chime?” Tommy mocked, shutting his eyes.
Wilbur looked over at his wind chime again, then back at Tommy’s sneakers. That’s why they were so dirty; They were Tommy’s. Tommy took apart his shoes, the only pair he had, just so he could make Wilbur a gift.
Wilbur had always known that his brother was like a weird mirror of himself, one of those that you would find in a circus, with distorted reflections lining the walls. Most of the time, Wilbur hated it. He had to make up for the fact that he was in Tommy’s reflection, that he molded Tommy into who he was. But today, while sitting next to him and a shitty wind chime, he couldn’t help but feel happy, truly happy. His brother took something apart to give to him, and he had done the same thing. Wilbur loved Tommy, and Tommy loved him back. With this in the front of his mind, he couldn’t stop his emotions from spilling out. With tears in the corners of his eyes, he put one arm around Tommy’s shoulders, and rested his cheek on top of Tommy’s head.
“Thank you man, I mean it,” Wilbur said, his voice shaking slightly.
“Oi! Don’t get all sappy with me, fuckhead! I already did that today,” Tommy said while moving closer to his brother’s side. They sat in silence again, staring at the fire in front of them. Once Wilbur calmed down, he pulled Tommy a bit closer.
“I love you bro,” Wilbur said quietly, but loud enough for Tommy to hear. Silence followed, so Wilbur assumed that he had already fallen asleep.
“Love you too,” Tommy mumbled out. Of course, because he could not miss out on this opportunity, Wilbur took this as an invitation to annoy Tommy even more.
“Ohhh, Tommyyyyy,” Wilbur said, dragging out each word and pulling Tommy in for a full hug.
“You’re being a dick right now!” Tommy yelped, but he gave into Wilbur’s embrace quickly.
The pair stayed that way, with Wilbur leaning on Phil’s chair, and Tommy leaning on Wilbur, for a while. Wilbur could feel Tommy’s weight sink into him more and more as Tommy fell asleep. Eventually, Wilbur could barely keep his eyes open. With the warmth of the fire, the buttons, the wind chime, and the fall he took earlier, he was exhausted. He slouched forward, resting his face in Tommy’s hair.
“Good night, Tommy. Merry Christmas,” he murmured, but was met with no reply.
He couldn’t have asked for a better gift, he thought, as he let himself drift into sleep.
☆☆☆
Wilbur woke up in the middle of the night to Phil tending the fire, Tommy still asleep on his chest. When Phil turned and noticed that Wilbur was up, he smiled.
“Sleep well?” Phil whispered as he put the fireplace tongs back on the wrack.
“Well, someone’s sleeping well,” Wilbur said sarcastically, “but really, I did.”
“It’s still dark outside, you should go back to sleep,” Phil suggested as he stood up, stretching his wings out.
“Yeah, I think I will,” Wilbur responded, shutting his eyes.
“Wait, what did Tommy wind up getting you?” Phil asked, curious.
“Oh, he got me the same thing that I got him,” Wilbur shrugged, not giving any more detail.
“Really? He got you the exact same thing?” Phil pressed.
“Yeah,” Wilbur said with a smile on his face, “something like that.”