Tommy stares at the Las Nevadas sign.

They had collectively spent up to a week within the city as of now. It had been lovely; each day full of new things to do and new sights to see. While it was new, it was welcomed, and Tommy had enjoyed every minute of it.

They went to the arcade a second time, Wilbur having won Tommy a cat plushie that Tommy chose to call Clara, of which he deemed "Fucking poggers."

They went clothing shopping too- with Tommy having been wearing clothes of which he created himself and all, it was about time. Not like his sense of fashion changed, of course- No matter the clothes Wilbur would point out the boy was fixated on "His Brand," that being clothes of red and white. He pointed out a white, drawstring, short sleeve hoodie with red and black plaid under-sleeves from the the top of the bicep downwards, a slightly less baggy pair of dark beige shorts then the ones he had chosen to wear prior, some regular old black socks and some nice red boots with white accents accompanying the strong colour. While Wilbur had wanted him to branch out, just a little, it was so undeniably Tommy he couldn't do anything about it.

On one day, they had even gone fishing, to Tommy's initial protest. They had vowed to themselves that they would catch a Vendace, or as Wilbur said, a Coregonus Vandesius. The fucking nerd. It's particularly rare, and the two did have all day, so they set their sights on the admittedly underwhelming creature. Upon catching it, Tommy had wanted to keep it, only to be told by Wilbur that the fish is extinct and they should simply admire their own accomplishments and move on with their day.

All of this- All the enjoyment and new experiences, while amazing, had only made the news that this was their last day in the city all the more heartbreaking.

He- Tommy knows it's necessary. He does. It's Wilbur's thing, travelling- Searching through place to place for no other reason than it's something he had come to enjoy. Tommy assumes that'd be why, atleast.

"So," Wilbur turns to the boy at his side as they aimlessly walk down the path, "Anything you'd like to do?"

And, to both Wilbur and Tommy's own surprise, there isn't. He can't think of anything- Of course, there are things. There's lots he wants to do, it's just nothing is particularly sticking out in the way they normally would. Usually there would always be one particular thing he'd want to do within the forefront of his mind; it'd stick out and practically scream at him to do it. And yet today, he feels as though he'd be fine with anything.

"Can't say, big dubs. Got no clue. What about you, though?"

"What?" Wilbur turns his head at the question in the same way a cat tilts his head. Tommy finds the comparison amusing.

"Uh, You know- Do something you wanna do."

"I- I, uh.."

"C'mon. There's gotta be something you do. Other than like, I don't know- Stab shit n' buy stuff."

"Uh- I really don't know."

"Let me pick at your brain, and shit, Wilbur. There's gotta be something. What else could you have done before I was here? Unless you really did just walk and do jack shit else. That's- That's a bit sad."

"No- No, hey! I did- I did- I do a lot of things, Tommy."

"Then what?"

It's not like Wilbur hadn't done things before, far from it. He was creative in the ways in which he'd spent his time, for during then, he had all the time in the world. It's that, with the inclusion of Tommy in his everyday life, it's hard to imagine doing anything without him.

"Well- I'd...uh, see art stuff? If it was around." Wilbur comments, a last-ditch attempt to sound and seem less pathetic to the boy stood beside him.

"Like, drawings? Are you a drawer, Wilbur?" Tommy asks, slightly teasing, but he'd be lying if he wasn't somewhat curious.

"Oh, um, no. Art, art as in- Music. That kind of art."

"Ooo," Tommy beamed before taking a large breath in- an indicator that he was about to ramble. "I love- God, I love music so fuckin' much man, there was this dude from back where I used to live, sorta, and he'd play the guitar sometimes, it was so cool, man. We met up like, 3 times, and he'd have a new song every time, and I felt bad all the time, cause- I couldn't tip him n' shit. He promised to teach me but, he- He left. Like, left the town, y'know? Can't blame him."

Wilbur looks at the boy briefly; the child's back leaned down as his arms rested behind him, his hands locked together.

"I could teach you."

Tommy stares right at him and for a moment Wilbur can't help but feel like he's done something wrong.

But it's quickly cleared up when the golden boy's deadpan stare morphs its way into a beaming, open wide smile, ear to ear. It's- Oh, my god, it is adorable. His smile reaches his eyes, they become wide and squished, and it's so incredibly genuine and happy that Wilbur wants to cry looking at him. It feels like he's seeing something he doesn't deserve to see. Tommy is an absolute sunshine boy and if Wilbur looks at him for much longer his retinas are going to burn.

"Oh my god, Wilbur, you- You will?" The boy asks, resting on the tips of his feet before getting significantly closer to Wilbur's face within the midst of his excitement, "You own a guitar? You play- for real? How good are you? How long have you been playing? You- You can really teach me? What songs do you know? Oh my god, Wilbur, this is so fucking sick, man-"

Wilbur chuckles, lightly pushing the boy downwards by his shoulders to ground him. "Calm down, child. I do have a guitar. It's probably another one of those things you threw whilst believing it to be shit-"

Tommy cringes passively.

"It's old, but it works. I can teach you. And I only started playing when I started moving around. It gave me something to do-" Wilbur explains, "When I wasn't watching other people play."

"That's, you- I can't believe you never brought it up before, man that's- It's so cool. You're so- Wow, man."

"We can- I'm sure there's someone playing today. I mean, there always is. We can go watch someone play music, if you're interested."

Tommy nods so quickly, you'd think he'd get a headache. But, he's Tommy. Wilbur wouldn't be surprised if Tommy just couldn't get headaches because he said no to it, or something.

Wilbur smiles. It's discreet, but it's there.

"Alright, then. Let's go see what's on."

"The woman who's selling tickets is over there! Come on!"

Tommy is quick to grab the older man's hand and drag him through the reception of the concert hall, pulling him past everyone else so they can get decent seats.

For all Tommy doesn't understand, he was surprisingly confident and determined within everything he was doing, guiding Wilbur to the stand with relative ease.

The two get two tickets each; Tommy's ticket being half off (Thank god for the children's discount.) And they manage to squeeze past everyone in time to get a good viewing of the performance. Their seats were at the middle row; low enough to have the performance close up whilst high enough to not be looking at the performance with a strained neck.

Wilbur had chosen a classic performance, to Tommy's initial chagrin. It would only be a 10 minute performance of the classics; with a small narrative thrown in to string the songs into a cohesive format.

The performance starts with a young man, sitting on the floor, cross-legged, playing a violin. It's a soft, melancholic song. A song of yearning for more yet never being able to do so. The song builds itself up only for it to slow back down as it's the only instrument on stage. Nothing else can fill the empty space while the violin isn't being played as there's no instruments there. So the climax to the song sounds dull, in fact, it would've just blended into the song if not for the fact the man playing put bodily emphasis on the moments where more instruments should've been playing. With the exception of the moments that intentionally fell flat; the song was a beautiful and soft melody, if a little bit sad, playing in minor chords.

The stage is then swarmed with more violinists dressed in black with the exception of one man, wearing robes. His silhouette was dark and brooding and familiar as he stood betwixt the violinists, standing much taller. A much more brooding presence, not playing any music, rather, a certain tone- a melody comes from his presence alone, that makes the violin sound much more restricted, as if being ruled over by a higher presence.

The man spins around, his robes flowing with his rhythmic body movements. The violinists followed his movements; with the exception of one, the man from before. Rather, he failed. Over and over, attempting to add to the flow of the song as everyone else, dancing in the same pace as everyone else- he failed.

Otherwise, the song is upbeat, tense and fast with no intent of slowing down. It's pace only increases, embodying anxiety within the loud screeches coming from the strained strings of the instrument.

The violinists form a circle around the man in robes before finalizing the song with it ending in a sharp and sudden halt; crouching down, adding to the ever looming presence of the man.

The younger man, failing to be a violinist, waits until everyone is off stage before picking up a guitar.

He strums it lightly and plays a small melody, and it sounds hopeful. It's new, straying from the other music played within the performance so far, and the man smiles.

It's peaceful- and it's Tommy's favorite too. It's soft on the ears, as acoustic always is, and the man strums with his thumb to make a much more mellow sound.

By this point, Tommy is hooked.

Violin can be heard, the restrictive and orderly sounds being nothing more than background noise before very gradually overtaking the acoustic's melody. The violinists surround the man until he falls to the floor; throwing the guitar away.

The violinists start to sing- No words, simply angelic sounds that would sound beautiful if not for the painfully tense and constantly playing violin that cause the otherwise beautiful voices to sound threatening and unsafe. The song keeps going upwards, the intensity only increasing at the second until the song is paused to a halt once more; the loud tones being followed by complete silence giving Wilbur whiplash.

The violinists freeze; and the man in robes appears again. Clicking his fingers so the violinists all retreat off stage before he disappears as well.

The man with the guitar crawls towards the guitar he had previously brushes away and squeezes it in his arms as if it were the most important thing in his life.

The lights dim.

"The end," Wilbur mumbles.

"Holy shit," Tommy whispers, or- He tries to whisper, atleast. "That was insane. Holy fuck. What the fuck? What in the fuck? Jesus fuck."

"It was decent."

"You- Decent? Decent? That was so fucking good. That sounded so cool. Oh my god. Holy fuck." Tommy babbles, unable to control his volume- Only to be shushed by some scarily rich individuals sat beside the two as the lights begin to cast an amber glow once more within the center of the stage, as the robed man walks on stage from the performance prior. More is being shown of the man this time, the outer robe now resting on his shoulders to reveal one that colored itself an emerald green hue; golden lines accompanying the edges. The man's hat was off to reveal a light, golden blond, well groomed head of hair that made Wilbur shiver.

"We- We should, uh, go."

"Oh? But there's another-"

"Hello, citizens of Las Nevadas! Today we are welcoming-"

"Tommy, we didn't pay for this part. Come on."

Wilbur grasps Tommy's hand and pulls him up from his chair, landing on Wilbur's chest with a soft thump. He's quick to make a beeline for the door separating the reception area from the hall, interlacing Tommy's hand in his own.

" L'manbergs very own-"

The announcer's voice is interrupted by the slamming of the concert hall's door, the handle gripped firmly in Wilbur's free hand, his fingers turning white from the power of his grip. The voice becomes nothing more than a dull, discernable mumble.

Tommy stares at the man whose eyes remain fixated on the door behind the two. "Wilbur..?" He whispers.

"Sorry," The man breathes out. "I'm just- Don't wanna pay for anything more than I have to."

"I know that's a lie, Wilbur."

Of course he does.

"-But. You don't need to tell me, it's okay. And, man, the performance we got to see was so good." Tommy begins his ramble, changing the topic as he begins to walk to the exit, to Wilbur's amusement. It was calming. "The guy was so good at playing the guitar. Fucking ass at playing the violin, though."

Wilbur trails behind him. "That was the point of it, Tommy. That he can't do a certain thing because his passions lie elsewhere."

"I don't think that's it."

"Oh?" Wilbur turns to face him.

"-But, I don't know that much, so you're probably right. But, I liked it, even if the music was old."

"Old doesn't mean bad."

"Yeah, that sounds like something you'd say. Get out your Phone-Oh-Graph n' shit, while you're at it."

"You're such a fucking -"