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For a moment, it’s okay. And then, like most things, everything turns around and goes right back.
Two steps forward, one step back, Tommy thinks, white-knuckling the straps of his backpack. He kicks a stone while he’s walking and watches it skid across the pavement, hop, skip and jump over the cracks and land in the gutter. For a moment – for his holidays, everything had been okay. He’d spent the entire time with Phil and Wilbur and Techno, spent the entire time learning to appreciate his magic and not shy away from it. For two whole weeks, he’d felt on top of the world. Unconquerable. Like a King, or even better, like Queen Lizzie, in a fortified palace with his own guard, except his guard was himself and his self-confidence, bitch, but now—
Now he’s rounding the corner to college, and the London bridge has fucking fallen down, and Queen Lizzie has been taken hostage by an international terrorist threat. The two week break is over, and Tommy’s going back to school. The two weeks of feeling okay, of feeling wonderful —they’re over, because, not to be dramatic, but he’s going back to college.
“—and if anything happens,” Wilbur’s saying in his left earbud, “call us. We’ll come bail you out.”
“Wilbur, this isn’t jail,” Techno snorts. “They’re not gonna put him behind bars.”
“They might as well,” Tommy moans. “Oh, god. Guys, help, I can see the gates. Take me back. Take me back right this instant, I command you!”
“I’m not your noble steed, Toms,” Wilbur laughs. “Or your slave, for that matter. Find your own horse and carriage.”
Tommy huffs. “Hey. I’d even take a car right now. Or a bus. A bus! Did you hear that, fellas? A bus! I’m going back to my roots; I must be desperate.”
“Tommy, you have one coat in total and it’s five years old,” says Phil. “I don’t think you’re above buses. Or far from your roots.”
Tommy makes a very intelligent grunting noise. “Fuck you guys. I’m so far from my roots, you have no idea. I’m like, Jeffery Bezos right now. Rolling in cash. I love that stuff. Delicious.”
“I’m sure,” says Phil, at the same time Technoblade says, “Oh, well. That’s a shame. Tommy, did you know I’m an anarchist?”
Tommy blinks. He looks both ways, left then right and left again, and crosses the road, begrudgingly. For the record, he drags his feet all the way. His shoes probably - definitely - scuff on the rough tar, but - and not to sound like Jeff Bezos, all bits aside - these aren’t his favourite pair, and he needs to be dramatic right now. It’s an outlet. He’s coping.
“Is that a threat, Technoblade?” he muses. “Are you and you anarchist ideologies going to—what, eat me? It’s eat the rich, right?”
“That,” says Techno, “is the most one percent sentence you could’ve ever said.”
Tommy laughs. It’s definitely not; he’s said worse, ignorantly and jokingly, but he appreciates the distraction nonetheless. “Fuck,” he swears, loud and clear, and stops abruptly right in the middle of the pavement. “Can we—let’s continue with this bit, lads. Anarchism. Techno, um, recruit me? Yeah! Recruit me. Do I get an—anarchist badge? Who’s the leader?”
“That would ruin the purpose, Toms,” Wilbur says. There’s a hint of concern in his voice. Tommy chooses wisely not to act on it. And then— “You okay?”
“Hnngehgh,” says Tommy, intelligently. “I was going to ignore that. Ignore your—um. Concern. Cause for Concern, like the hit song. But now you’ve brought it up. Rude. This is rude.” He blinks. The gate, significantly closer now, swims in front of his eyes. “Oh, fuck. Nevermind. Boys, lads—who has a car? Phil, I need you to pick me up right this second. I’m like, a whole ten metres away from entering. I—I cannot do this, lads. My self confidence levels are dropping. My career is over.”
He’s doing a really bad job at playing up his feelings, and he knows it. Techno must’ve fucked his setup up again, because he can hear his voice echoing back at him, and the sheer panic underlying his tone is painfully evident. He winces. There’s no way his friends haven’t heard it.
Tommy’s proven correct a second later when the sky darkens suddenly. The wind stirs up a bit, and the leaves at his feet twist and twirl over the pavement and settle in the gutter. “Sorry,” he apologises, twisting his headphone cord nervously. “I—I’m fine. I don’t—I didn’t mean to worry you guys.”
“Who said we were worried?” comes Wilbur’s faux-indignant reply, and Tommy snorts.
“I can feel your magic here,” he explains. The wind picks up again, a gentler breeze. It’s warm, and for a second, Tommy can pretend it’s Wilbur. He closes his eyes and stretches out a hand in front of him, unfurls his fingers and reaches, and the wind flows around and over his arm, tickles the back of his neck, ruffles his hair and wrinkles his shirt. It feels like Wilbur. He chokes down something emotional, and pulls his earbud microphone closer to his mouth. “I’ll never understand how you do that.”
For the second time, his voice comes out breathless. Wistful. “Do what?” Wilbur asks, tone soft. Tommy tries not to lean too far into it. “The magic?”
“It’s pretty simple, kid,” Technoblade says. “You just trace the connection to your person, and let your magic do the rest.”
Your person, Tommy thinks, echoing Techno’s words. Your person.
“It’s like an extension of yourself,” Phil tacks on. “Like feeling your way in the dark. I send myself to you, and the magic carries through.”
“Poet,” says Wilbur, and that gets a smile out of Tommy. “Basically, it’s this really cool hack that allows us to give you hugs a million miles away.”
“Ergo,” says Techno, with all his big words, “we’ll be with you the whole day. If you want us, that is. We’ll be right there.”
“Of course I want you,” says Tommy, and opens his eyes. The wind is a fainter breeze, but it’s still there, the kind of unnatural and unprecedented gale that Tommy knows is magic, rather than Mother Nature. The sun’s a tad brighter too, beaming down on the back of his neck. Somewhere, he knows Phil is smiling. It kind of sucks massive balls that there’s no ocean here. “Shame I can’t see you, Tech.”
“Aw,” says Techno, and Tommy ducks his head, embarrassed, despite the fact that they can’t see him. “I’ll see you later. I’ve still got a couple of weeks here, don’t I? Let’s make the most of it, or somethin’.”
“Cringe,” says Wilbur. “How about we pick you up this afternoon? We’re not far away. We could—do something. Later. Make it up to you—well, hopefully not, but—y’know. I’ll call your mother.”
“You’re terrifying,” Tommy grins. “Remind me how you have her number again?”
“Nah, I don’t think I will.”
“Wilbur .”
“Tommy .”
“Donkey,” Techno deadpans. Tommy laughs, loud and full. Ahead of him, a group of kids pause at the gate and stare, whisper something behind their cupped palms. Tommy freezes. Instinctively, he takes a step back, winding his hands in the headphone cable like it’s a lifeline, like it’s a vine and his own magic and comfort. That thought’s a little nice.
“Sorry,” he says aloud, swallowing. “I—um. Nice—nice suggestion. Yes. Let’s do that. I have to go now.”
Over the call, Phil makes a noise. “Tommy, are you okay? Did something—did something just happen?”
“Nope,” says Tommy, y’know, like a liar. “Yes. Kind of.” He squeezes his eyes shut tight, and through gritted teeth, mutters, “it’s fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”
The breeze picks up. It’s louder this time; Tommy can hear it swirling through the trees and rustling in his ears. The sun does too, burning a little brighter, like it’s trying its best to warm the marrow of his bones and seep into his heart.
“You will,” Phil promises. “We’ll be there at—what time do you get out? Wil, call Tommy’s mother.”
“Three,” Tommy answers. He swallows down a sob, and tentatively blinks open his eyes. “I, um. Thanks. For the—for the magic. And for coming.”
“We’re not even here yet,” Techno snorts. “But—you’re welcome, nerd. We’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Have a good day at school, shithead,” says Wilbur. “Now hang up so I can call your mum.”
“You’re incredibly creepy,” Tommy returns. “Alright. See you. Um—love you.”
“Aw,” says Philza Minecraft. Distantly, the bell rings. The group of kids at the gate trickles in. Tommy steels himself, and then moves to follow. “We love you too, Toms.”
There are a couple more goodbyes, and then the call ends. Tommy keeps moving, past the office, past the science block he’ll literally never touch because ew, imagine doing science, that’s disgusting, who wants to think in college, past the quad and down the hallway into his roll call room. Somehow, the sun follows him in. The classroom windows are open, and the wind comes in too, sending papers flying. Tommy takes a deep breath. This is going to suck, he thinks, and then stops himself. It’s okay, though. I’ve got Phil. I’ve got Wilbur, I’ve got Techno. It’s going to be fine.
School is decidedly very much not fine.
The only break he truly gets is in Film, where they’re working on the projects they started before the holiday break. Tommy puts his headphones on and turns the volume on his mock-documentary - mockumentary, mock your mum - all the way up, and it’s good, if only for sixty minutes.
History sucks. History is downright horrible, but the sun doesn’t falter for a second. They’re still covering A History Of Magic, which is shit, and everyone keeps drilling holes in the back of his head, and Mrs Thompson closes the window within the first couple of minutes, so he doesn’t have Wilbur, but he makes his way through the one hour period with the sun and his hand clamped firmly over his phone. Like that’s his lifeline. Like Wilbur and Techno are inside it, or something. Who cares , he thinks. It helps.
And it does. School is shit, and he sits alone, but he makes it through. He gets through. And at 3pm, on the dot—
Phil and Wilbur and Techno are waiting for him. Outside the gates. Techno waves, and Wilbur curls his hand like the Queen does when she’s waving, and Tommy doesn’t even make it down the steps before he’s doubling over and laughing and reaching for the handrail to steady himself. He gets a couple of looks, and his friends do too when his classmates figure out where their bond comes from, but he’s laughing too hard to care.
“How was it?” Phil asks, gentle, when he recovers. “Was it—bad? As bad as you thought?”
Tommy doesn’t try and sugarcoat it. “Yeah,” he says. “But—you were right. I had you.”
Phil wraps him up in a hug at that. Wilbur and Techno join, and Tommy revels in the moment. “Come on,” Wilbur says, after a minute or two or maybe more, “let’s go.”
“Where to?”
Wilbur shoots him a grin. “The beach,” he says, draping an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and tugging him in tight. Techno comes around the back as they walk. Tommy feels his hand in his hair a second later, and yelps, laughing. “Techno’s magic found a smaller one. It’s more secluded. Phil Googled it; it’s like a ten minute drive from here.”
“Thirty,” Phil corrects, “but same thing. You got all your stuff, Toms?”
“I’ve got it,” says Techno. “Fucker dropped his bag and ran.” Techno shakes it, glaring. “I hope you have a million dollar laptop in here, Jeff Bezos. I hope it’s shattered.”
“Oi,” Wilbur chuckles. “He’s the one percent, remember? He’d have at least six.”
“Oh, so true.”
Tommy grins. You’re all amazing, I love you, he thinks.
“Race you to the car,” is what he says instead.
“Little shit—”
“Hey! How the fuck are you so fast—Tommy! Tommy Innit—”
“Right,” says Phil, exactly thirty minutes later. “Here we are.”
Tommy blinks sleepily and raises his head from where he’d been resting on Wilbur’s shoulder. “Ph—Phil? Phil, this is a car park.”
“This is where the magic happens,” Phil corrects, and laughs. “Get it? Magic?” There’s a moment of silence. “Fuck off, I hate you all.”
“You,” Wilbur grins, “do not.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and blinks at the scenery through the windscreen. “But—Tommy’s right. This is a carpark. Did you—did you take us to Big Tescos?”
“You’re all idiots,” Techno mumbles, stretching in the passenger seat. “Literally look out the window. Have you ever gone outside? There’s a parking lot and then like, two hundred metres of woods, and then the beach. You can see it from here. You can feel it from here.”
Tommy makes a face and opens the door to climb out. “Oh, I’m sorry we’re not all connected to the ocean like you, Tech-no-blade, ” he says. The car park is really poorly tarred. Grass and weeds poke through the cracks and eat at the sides where the asphalt tapers off into land. It’s like nature’s reclaiming it. Tommy takes his shoes off, and then his socks, and feels for the pull of the determined grass, of the resilient weeds. It’s there, and it’s strong, and it’ll be fine on its own, really, it’ll cope, but Tommy feels the need to give it something. He crouches down, worms his fingers into the patch of dirt and greenery, and pushes. In the moment, he doesn’t realise he’s doing magic, something he’s been hiding away for so long. He does it on pure instinct, like it’s a part of him, without checking over his shoulder to see if someone’s coming or watching or staring or pointing. He just digs his hands in and lets his magic flow free.
“What’s that flower called?”
Tommy jumps a little. “Techno. You scared me.” He presses his free hand to his chest and glances back at the grass. “It’s just chickweed. I didn’t—I didn’t make anything. I just pulled up whatever was there.”
“Gave a little back,” Techno surmises. “Cute.”
Tommy scowls. “I’m not cute, you bitch.” He stands up, dusting off his hands. “But—yeah. I gave a little back.”
Techno smiles. “Come on, then. You can give a lot more over there.” He pauses for a moment, and then smiles wider. “There’s no-one in the water, and there are no other cars here. I think we’ve got the beach all to ourselves.”
Tommy blinks. “You can—you can tell who’s in the water from all the way over here?”
Techno laughs, and starts in the direction of the sea. Tommy doesn’t know if it is the direction of the sea, but he trusts Techno, so. “Toms,” he says, grinning wider than Tommy’s ever seen him before, “I could figure out where you were from America .”
“I—I’m sorry, what? Techno? Techno, what the fuck? ”
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“You bitch, Techno, yes you can! Hey, quit running, shut up, get back here! That’s an invasion of privacy!”
“Hey!” Phil calls, somewhere behind them. “Slow down, you two! Wil, go and make sure they don’t fall off a cliff, or something.”
“I can hear you!” Tommy yells over his shoulder. “I take great offence to that, actually! I am a master of nature, a wielder of it! I am—I’m fucking magic, bitch; nature would not betray me like that—”
Thunk.
“Ouch,” says Wilbur, once he’s caught up to Tommy, lying face down, tripped, on the bush trail to the beach. “Top ten anime betrayals. Coming in at number one: TommyInnit, tripped over by the source of his own magic.”
“You shut up,” says Tommy. “I hate you,” he says to the tree root.
Nature betrays Tommy at least five more times while they’re traversing the trek to the beach; it’s tucked behind a stretch of high rock, which is painfully close to the ocean. Everything’s covered in sea spray and algae and no dirt, no grass, and without his tether, Tommy slips and falls every five seconds. Wilbur’s there behind him all the way though, arms behind him, ready to catch if need be. When he places a foot in the wrong spot, the wind redirects him, and when the water gets too close, Techno waves a hand, and the spray ceases. Somehow, they make it without mishap.
And somehow, it’s worth it. It might be a private beach for how beautiful it is; it’s just white sand and aqua water, clean and clear and beautiful. The sand gives way to emerald grass and rowdy forest, unkept, untamed. Tommy’s magic pulls instinctively towards it.
“I would pay for this a billion times over,” he says, breathless, hopping down from the rock. He stumbles on the jump, but Wilbur’s magic grabs him mid-air and rights him, lets him drift down to safety without a scratch. “I could, y’know. I’m rich, aren’t I? The one percent. Jeff Bezos.”
“You have to let that bit die, mate,” Phil grumbles. He sinks into the sand with a happy sigh once he’s reached it, kicking his shoes off and melting into the stuff. Overhead, the sun seems to smile, burning through the clouds and blanketing the beach. Everything turns a hazy orange and warm yellow, and something in Tommy melts. Phil’s magic is the best.
“I will never ,” he proclaims, dumping his own shoes next to Phil’s and kicking up a pile of sand. “That bit will die when I die.”
“You almost did five times over on the way here,” Wilbur comments. “By the way, please don’t do that again. I’m too young for heart failure.”
Tommy grins, and like the mature adult he is, sticks his tongue out. “You little shit, ” Wilbur yells, and takes off up the beach. Tommy yelps and runs. “Oh, it is on!”
“Wilbur!” Tommy screeches. “Wil, fuck off—Techno, Techno, help!”
Techno laughs from the water. “Sorry, kid. Too far up the beach for me to help, I’m afraid.”
“You’re literally a metre away from me! If we were in COVID regulations, this wouldn’t even count as social distancing—Wilbur! Wil, oh my god, Phil, help!”
“No can do,” says Phil, who’s pulled his hat down over his eyes and is sunbathing. Tommy scowls. “Good luck, Toms!”
“I fucking hate you all,” says Tommy. Mere metres away, Wilbur laughs, tilting his head back so he’s all forehead and no hair, like a supervillain, like Megamind. Well, not like Megamind, because Megamind is wonderful and misunderstood, and— “Wil! Let me go! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”
“As per the Geneva Conventions, that is perfectly fair,” Wilbur says, and tackles him to the grass. “Taking down an opponent while they’re distracted does not constitute as a war crime.”
“You are violating,” Tommy gasps, attempting wriggling out of Wilbur’s grasp, “my human rights. Article 3 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states - ouch, ouch - that I have the right to life—ouch, Wilbur!”
“Shut up, child,” Wilbur laughs manically, like he’s fucking gone crazy, because he probably has. Tommy wriggles and rolls as much as he can, and Wilbur shoves back playfully, and then—
And then Tommy realises they’re in grass, not sand.
“Add this to your top ten anime betrayals,” he grins, pulling up soft grass, and shoving Wilbur into it. Wilbur freezes, and from the high ground, Tommy watches him speedrun the five stages of grief.
“No,” says Wilbur.
“Yes,” says Tommy, and pushes into the earth.
Nowadays, his magic comes so much easier. He feels infinitely more connected, which is cringe, but also not. It’s kind of wonderful. He pushes and lets his magic flow, and it doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t feel ashamed. Instead, he feels everything else; every seed pod and earthworm and fibre of life in the soil. He pushes his soul into it, and it pulls back. “Goodbye,” he says, and pulls the tree roots from the forest down under Wilbur. They burst through the soil as new shoots, and Wilbur bolts.
“Nope! Nope, no, no, get away from me, you little bitch! Techno! Techno !”
“Oh, how the turn tables,” says Techno. “I said no to Tommy, Wil. I’m not helpin’ you, either.”
Halfway down the beach, Wilbur freezes. Slowly, he turns around. Up the beach, Tommy raises an eyebrow. He lets the pull ease, gently lowers his connection with the trees, with the flowers and grass and life. A moment of mutual understanding passes between them. War, Wilbur mouths. I propose an alliance.
Yas queen, get that multilateralism, Tommy goes to mouth back, and then realises that multilateralism might be a bit too big of a word to catch from just lip reading, so he settles for yes, attack instead.
Tommy goes for the offensive. “Sneak attack!” he screams, tearing down the sand. Behind him, the wind picks up. “Techno! We’re coming for you, watch out— woah .”
He reaches the shoreline. Techno, waist deep in the water, spreads out his hands and closes his eyes, and Tommy stops, because the water’s rushing up to meet him, almost like an old friend. Like it knows him. He blinks, and then Techno’s on top of the water, curled around the stuff. “Um,” says Tommy. “Fall back? Wil? Wil, I think now is a good time for a tactical retreat!”
“You declared war,” Techno yells atop his foamy fucking sea throne, or whatever, “follow through! Coward. There will be no armistice today!”
“Okay, World War One kinnie. Calm down—ouch! Hey! Hey, Techno, Techno, what the fuck, is that you? Put me down !”
Techno grins. “If you insist,” he says, and then the ocean that had picked Tommy up and put him on top of it, on top of the water, what the fuck gives way, and Tommy falls through. He’s not suspecting it, and he’s immediately greeted with a mouthful of seawater.
“Bleugh! Blade, what the fuck!”
“Karma’s a bitch, Tommy—”
“Stand down, Techno! Step aside, Toms; I’m Avenging your honour!”
Tommy blinks. The sun is incredibly glary, and he can’t see much. Tommy barely has time to raise a hand before the blur in the sky registers and the wind billows. “Wil? Wilbur, are you fucking flying?”
“Sneak attack!”
“It’s not a sneak attack if you’re announcin’ it—oof!”
Wilbur and Techno go down in one big splash of water, white and blue and bubbly. Tommy stays afloat the best he can, scrambling to keep his head above the waves. Somewhere, the sun goes behind a cloud, beach darkening, and Wilbur and Techno trade fighting for laughing and screaming reassurances to a worried Philza Minecraft that they’re fine, old man, no drowning here.
They rope Phil into the water eventually, and the war becomes an all-out brawl. Tommy digs his toes into the sand and pulls up anything he can. Seaweed, kelp, whatever—anything he can curl around his ankles to keep tethered. Wilbur splashes them and glides above the water when Techno goes to make full use of his magic. Phil holds the sun up for as long as possible, and as the world dips into night, lights up his hands like a fucking glowstick and warms the water. They fuck about until Tommy can see stars, until he’s yawning, and then Phil calls it quits.
“Ugh,” Tommy murmurs, tucked into Phil’s warm side as they wade out. “Look at my fingers, Phil. They’re all pruney. Wrinkled.”
“You’ll be filing for a pension in no time, mate,” Phil laughs. He runs a hand through his hair, and warmth goes right through Tommy from the tips of his ears to his toes. His clothes dry on him, and the wrinkles on his fingers iron out. “Or not.”
“You,” Tommy says, voice full of wonder, “are the best.”
“Hey,” Wilbur protests. Phil tackles him in a one-armed hug, and Wilbur dries off too. “Thanks, Philza. Dadza to the rescue.”
“Always,” says a sappy Phil, and moves over to Techno. Tommy staggers down to where they’d dumped their shoes.
Wilbur’s hand catches him. “Leave it, Toms,” he says softly. “Let’s bully Techno into picking them up; you’re too tired.”
“Am not,” Tommy mutters, and promptly trips over.
Wilbur, thankfully, is there to catch him. “Are too.” He pauses. “Piggyback?”
Tommy grins. “Mmm.” Wilbur bends down, and Tommy climbs aboard, shifting his arms around Wilbur’s shoulders, careful to keep them loose. Wilbur starts back up the rocks, and Tommy lets his exhaustion win. He trusts Wilbur. If something happens, Tommy knows Wilbur’s got him. Or his magic. Probably both.
“Mmm,” he hums, tightening his grip as Wilbur jumps over a rockpool. “Wil?”
“Yeah, Toms?”
“Thanks. For—um. For everything. The—school, and helping with my magic, and—just. Just being here. Today sucked, but you made it better. You and Phil and Techno. I don’t know how you always do.”
“Oh,” says Wilbur. He hops over an outcrop, and then jumps back down to grass. They don’t fall; Wilbur pulls up a breeze, and they glide. Tommy slips off his back while Wilbur helps Phil and Techno down, ever so gentle, and then he turns back. In Phil’s light, Tommy can see Wilbur’s eyes, bright and wide and a little bit teary.
“I love you,” he says, and sniffles. “Sorry. You’re just—you’re amazing, y’know? I’m proud of you. For getting through school, for getting through anything. You’ve come so far in the last couple of weeks — further than you know — and I’m so proud of you.”
“ Wil, ” Tommy whispers, and does not cry. “Shut up. Shut up, you big idiot. You’re gonna make me cry, you piece of shit.” He swallows, and very determinedly does not cry. “But—thank you. So much. Thank you. All of you.”
“Love you, mate,” says Phil.
“I charge hourly,” says Techno. Phil swivels around, eyebrows raised, and Techno throws up his hands. “What? Kid’s a millionaire, he said so himself! I’m gonna exploit that shit. I charge 300 an hour. Plus interest.”
“Well, I’m not interested,” Tommy laughs, and then freezes. “Wait! I’ve got it!”
He bounds off deeper into the trail, where the woods are thicker and the grass is brighter. Here, he can hear the life; the trees rustling and the birds settling down for the night. Somewhere, a cricket chirps. Somewhere, life grows. Tommy stops and drops down in front of a tree. The earth is good there, and he digs his hands right in. I love you, he thinks, and gives into the pull. Thank you. I love you. Thank you.
“Woah,” whispers a voice. “That’s—”
“Amazin’,” says another. “Phil, are you—”
“Seeing this? Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, I am. Loud and clear. Toms? You—wow, kid. Holy shit.”
Tommy opens his eyes. Spread across the trail are chrysanthemums, foxgloves, tulips. Roses—yellow ones, white ones, and daisies. Dandelions. Tommy breathes, and pushes, and more break the surface. He holds out a hand, and the blooms unfurl under his touch. They spread like wildfire, coursing through the forest, harmonizing with the wood.
“Does this count?” he asks. Turns around. Grins. “Techno? Surely this is like, 300 dollars of flowers. Easily. Right?”
Techno makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Tommy,” he whispers. “Tommy. God. You’re incredible. Did you know that? You’re incredible.”
Tommy ducks his head, embarrassed. A petal falls from his curls as he does, and he cards a hand through his hair to shake free the new blooms growing there. “Sorry,” he explains. “Happens when I’m happy. Or excited.”
Phil shakes his head, eyes glazed. “No need to be sorry, mate. Magic—magic—we don’t apologise for that, yeah?”
“Okay,” Tommy mumbles. “Thanks, though. Genuinely. For everything.”
“Aww, Toms! Bring it in!”
“Wilbur, no, get off , Techno, help—”
“Oh, never.”
“Fuck’s sake. Wilbur, no killing Tommy, I promised his mother—”
“Why do you all know my mum? Wil, get off—”
“Never!”
"Phiiil—"
(It might not always be okay, but if it’s not, Tommy’s got Wilbur. And Phil. And Techno. He’s got his family, a magical family, and that’s more than he could’ve ever asked for.
Even if the world doesn’t like him, he’s got people who will no matter what, and that’s okay. That’s all the magic he needs.)