The warm, fuzzy feeling does not last.

Tommy falls asleep at some point, nestled comfortably against Wilbur's collarbone while the accented narration of the documentary drones on. It's good for a while, minus the lingering headache and dryness in his throat. Tommy even almost let himself believe that he'd dealt with the worst of it already.

Apparently the universe is not satisfied with his suffering just yet.

Tommy comes to rather quickly and he immediately registers the sickening twisting of his stomach.

His eyes fly open abruptly. He's still leaning onto Wilbur, who's scrolling idly through his phone. The bird documentary has been exchanged for another, but Tommy can't tell what it's about. Not that it matters.

Breaths coming in quick, little puffs of air, Tommy tries to shift his body subtly. This seems to have no appeal towards his gut as it only causes his stomach to lurch more violently and Tommy blanches.

Saliva pools in his mouth and Tommy knows.

"Wilbur," Tommy whispers harshly, panicked. He feels the man glance down at him inquisitively. "Wilbur, I'm gonna be sick."

"Shit." Wilbur springs into action. He maneuvers himself out from underneath Tommy, hands settling on Tommy's upper arms. "Can you make it to the bathroom?"

Tommy doesn't answer because he doesn't know and he also can't trust himself enough to open his mouth right now.

He doesn't know when, he doesn't know how much or for how long, all he does know is that it will and that he's absolutely powerless to stop it. That's the worst part.

Wilbur takes it upon himself to answer his own question and lifts the blond to his feet for the second time that day. Tommy is practically dead weight yet again when he's a little occupied with not trying to hurl all over the other man. That would probably make the situation ten times worse.

They stumble into Tommy's bathroom and Tommy drops gracelessly to his knees in front of the toilet. Wilbur is a steady presence behind him, hand already on his back.

The bathroom is far too small to comfortably fit two overgrown males sprawled on the floor, and the claustrophobia is what sends Tommy over the edge.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes as everything he's eaten in the last twenty-four hours (which, admittedly, isn't a lot) comes back up with a vengeance. Tommy's throat burns something fierce.

Wilbur is still there, of course he is, smoothing his hand up and down Tommy's spine. It gives Tommy something else to focus on instead of the soup that bubbles angrily in his stomach.

The mere thought of food has him diving back towards the bowl, though it's more dry heaving before long. The tears have spilled over to stream down his too-hot cheeks and eventually drip off his chin.

After what feels like an eternity, Tommy flushes and slumps backward, caught in Wilbur's embrace without hesitation. Now that the worst of it is over, shivers wrack his entire frame like clockwork.

Wilbur only holds him tighter. Tommy feels a hand begin to card through his hair and he grimaces at how sweaty it must be.

He pushes his pride away with a harsh shove and clings to Wilbur like his damn life depends on it, and it may as well. Tommy is practically on top of the man at this point, shoving his face into his chest, not caring that he's most definitely smothering his poor sweater with tears.

"It's okay, I've got you, sweetheart," Wilbur shushes him softly. "It's over now."

With a pathetic, shuddering breath, Tommy mutters, "You don't know that."

Wilbur doesn't respond to that, not that Tommy can blame him. His ministrations never cease, which Tommy is eternally grateful for.

"I didn't think that the—"

"Don't," Tommy interrupts quickly. "Please don't mention it. Seriously."

Wilbur nods against Tommy's curls, wrapping both of his arms around the blond more securely. "Right, sorry."

They sit there for a few moments, huddled against each other while Tommy wills the nausea to subside. It doesn't, though he no longer has the overwhelming urge to gag. All the while, Wilbur keeps him wrapped up under his chin.

"Do you think you'd let me wash your hair?" Wilbur offers suddenly.

"Wha—" Tommy leans away some so he can peer up at Wilbur, ignoring his small frown of disappointment. "Why would you do that?"

Wilbur shrugs like it's simple. "I think it'd help you feel a little better if you weren't so sweaty."

Tommy's face goes a little pink. "No, I can do it myself. I'm not a child." Tommy cringes at the fact that he's had to state such a thing twice in the same day. "That would be embarrassing."

"Well, you are technically still a minor," Wilbur teases with an easy grin.

Tommy glares without actual heat. "And technically I can legally live on my own."

"I'm not counting that since you can't even lock your own doors."

"Okay, so!" Tommy protests, voice cracking. Wilbur visibly bites back a laugh and Tommy has to fight his own. "I got home late. Not my fault."

Wilbur's smile fades until he's giving Tommy a stern look. "You didn't walk home in that storm did you?"

Tommy's eyes widen and he knows he's been caught.

"Tommy—"

"What!" Tommy whines obnoxiously.

"What do you mean what?" Wilbur cries incredulously. "No wonder. Come on, I am taking you to the kitchen and I am going to wash your hair."

Wilbur's tone left no room for argument. Tommy is about to retort something back to the brunet, but then Wilbur is turning his back to him. He reaches his arms out behind him, making grabby hands.

Tommy stares at Wilbur like he's grown two heads. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Giving you a piggyback ride," Wilbur says matter-of-factly. "There's no way I'm letting you onto your own two feet until I know for sure you won't keel over. Don't even try to argue."

Tommy splutters helplessly, face growing warm again. He doesn't argue, because Wilbur is right, as per usual.

So, Tommy throws the rest of whatever is left of his dignity out the window (though it probably died ages ago, Tommy just likes to convince himself it's still there) and loops his arms around Wilbur's neck reluctantly.

"Try anything funny and I'll choke you out," Tommy threatens.

Wilbur laughs, hooking his arms under Tommy's legs. "Ooh, I'm so scared." He adds a fake waver to his voice.

"You are so weird, Wilbur Soot," Tommy grumbles. He hooks his chin over the man's shoulder nonetheless. "So w-ah!"

Tommy is hefted up into the air, stomach swooping. Wilbur laughs again, the sound ringing in Tommy's ear and Tommy can't help but grin stupidly fondly.

"Sorry," Wilbur says and it's only half an apology. He ducks out of the bathroom. "At least now you know where you get it from." Wilbur turns his head to the side so Tommy can catch a glimpse of his smiling profile.

"Fuck you," Tommy spits none too maliciously.

Wilbur toes a chair over to sit under the sink in the kitchen before setting Tommy down onto it with delicacy. He leaves the room again without a word and Tommy can quite literally do nothing but sit there.

Wilbur returns with his arms full of what seems to be every bottle of soap Tommy owns.

"I know I did not just find a three-in-one in your bathroom, Tom Simons." Wilbur sets the bottles down onto the counter by Tommy's head. He props his hand on his hip to stare Tommy down condescendingly. "I didn't raise you that way."

"I only have that for emergencies, I'll have you know." Tommy leans his head back and closes his eyes. "Now get this over with, you mother hen."

Wilbur scoffs, but he goes to turn on the faucet. Warm water cascades over Tommy's hair a moment later and he nearly sighs at the feeling.

"I can't believe, after a two-year pandemic, a common cold is what takes me out," Tommy mutters, eyes still closed.

Wilbur hums. "Eh, I'd say it's probably the flu." He runs a hand through Tommy's wet mass of curls. "Tilt your head back a bit, love."

Tommy does as he's told, albeit a little sheepishly. "This is so bad for my ego."

Tommy hears Wilbur sigh. "It's not embarrassing to be cared for."

When Tommy doesn't seem to agree, Wilbur pauses.

"Hey. I'm serious, Toms." Gentle fingers tilt Tommy's face towards Wilbur and Tommy cracks open tired eyes. Wilbur's are warm and earnest. "It's just me."

It's just me. It's just Wilbur.

"Okay," Tommy nods, letting his eyes slip shut again. "You can keep going."

So Wilbur does, and Tommy dozes to the feeling of nimble fingers massaging their way through his scalp. It's all actually really fucking relaxing and Tommy didn't realize how tired he was, despite his very rude awakening. He supposed that part was inevitable; every time he gets done with a good old round of puking his guts out, Tommy feels as if he could sleep for a week.

The coconut-y scent of his shampoo wafts under Tommy's nose and slowly, the teen is lulled into an almost-sleep.

Being doted on may not be the worst thing in the world.

Tommy is on that beautiful cusp between consciousness when the running water suddenly stops. A hand drags across Tommy's forehead, feather-light.

"I'm gonna dry your hair off," Wilbur speaks softly, brushing the wet fringe away. "Then you can lay down and sleep, okay?"

Tommy only manages a noise of approval from the back of his throat and hopes that's good enough for Wilbur.

Footsteps recede and fade back into earshot and then something plush is being ruffled through Tommy's hair. Water droplets sprinkle over his face and Tommy wrinkles his nose.

When the towel is pulled away, Wilbur taps Tommy on the nose lightly to catch the boy's attention. Tommy opens his eyes begrudgingly, a small frown pulling at his lips.

Wilbur's smiling tenderly, eyes bright and eyebrows drawn together. Soft bitch, Tommy thinks.

"Alright, hop on." Wilbur motions towards himself before kneeling in front of Tommy.

Tommy doesn't even hesitate this time, just falling easily onto the man's back, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck. He could totally still sneak attack him, totally.

Even once Wilbur has set him down again, Tommy doesn't let his arms slip. Wilbur chuckles breathlessly in his ear.

"You gotta let go for just a second, sunshine."

Tommy mumbles something that he hopes sounds like a no.

Wilbur tugs himself free because Tommy is not all that strong right now, but Tommy still acts shocked anyway. A moment later, Wilbur is ushering a glass into Tommy's hands. Tommy stares at it through narrowed eyes.

"Drink," Wilbur urges.

Tommy groans. "But you said—"

"I know, I know," Wilbur shushes, pushing the glass further into Tommy's unsteady hands. "But you need to hydrate after all that. Plus, I can assure your mouth is rancid and you are certainly in no position to brush your teeth right now."

Okay, Tommy can't argue with that one.

He sets the glass on the side table when he's satisfied (or really, when Wilbur is satisfied; that man doesn't play when it comes to hydration apparently) and looks to Wilbur with expectant eyes.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Wilbur to cave.

He plops down next to Tommy and pulls the boy into his side without hesitation, instantly propping his chin atop his head. Wilbur's arms wrap around Tommy's shoulders like they've made a home there and, in turn, Tommy burrows his head into the perfectly sized crevice under Wilbur's jaw. They're like two puzzle pieces clicking together.

"Aw, Toms," Wilbur coos. "You're so cuddly when you're sleepy."

"Shut up, bitch," Tommy mumbles into Wilbur's chest, hugging the man ever tighter. "No I'm not."

"Oh, you so are! My little baby brother." Wilbur buries his face further into Tommy's hair. "Starlight, sunshine. Light of my life. You love my affection, precious."

Tommy neither confirms nor denies this fact, not that he needs to. He knows Wilbur knows and has known for a while. And he knows Wilbur is the exact same way.

"I'm gonna get you sick," is what Tommy says in response instead.

Tommy doesn't have to see Wilbur's face in order to decipher the smugness he hears in the man's voice when he speaks next. Fucker. "Then I guess I'll get sick. Then you'll have to take care of me."

Tommy lifts his head to meet Wilbur's gaze, gasping dramatically. "The horror. You'd be ten times worse than I am."

Wilbur's eyes widen and he grins victoriously. "So you admit it! You're being clingy!"

"Sure," Tommy rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. Of course he's smiling.

Wilbur coos again, dipping his head to press a lingering kiss to Tommy's forehead and then another to his nose and another to his hair. It was like Tommy accidentally pressed the smother Tommy in love and affection button and now he couldn't figure out how to turn it off.

"Okay, okay, you're—" Tommy laughs, swatting at Wilbur's face. "You're acting like my mum."

Wilbur pauses and shrugs. "Fine by me." Then he's reaching for Tommy's discarded throw blanket from the other end of the couch and wraps them both up in it. "Now what should we watch?"

Tommy perks up. "Anything Studio Ghibli."

So that's how the pair finds themselves as they watch the colorful beginning credits of Ponyo, Tommy tucked safely under his big brother's chin and the blond can feel his eyes growing heavy already.

Ponyo has just seen Sosuke for the first time when Tommy says, into the quiet, "Wil?"

Wilbur hums in acknowledgment.

"I love you."

Wilbur huffs through his nose and Tommy can feel his smile in his hair. "I love you too, Tommy. So much."

Wilbur presses one more kiss, this time to the crown of Tommy's head. Tommy decides he'll let it slide, just this once.

A few days later, they'll indulge in their previous rain-checked stream with Phil where Wilbur promptly exposes Tommy through usual light-hearted banter and Animal Crossing.

"You are going to make me go fully gray before the age of thirty."

Tommy only cackles. "Ha, old."