"On the road again," Tommy sings, "Just can't wait to get out on the road, again..."

Wilbur watches the kid sing to himself, in mild amusement. Tommy's voice, for someone who doesn't sing that often- it's quite nice. His pronunciation is quite clear with lots of emphasis on certain words that produce a theater-like aspect to his vocals. It's really not bad. Pleasant, Wilbur would describe his voice as.

"And where'd you hear that one?" Wilbur asks, curious. The song sounds old, a lot older than Tommy, so Wilbur can't help but wonder where Tommy would have heard it.

"The old guy-" Tommy jumps over sticks within the path of the forest, making himself a little game of sorts. "The- Uh, The one I was talking about before. Guitar guy. He'd sing it. It- Oh, it was fucking poggers, even though, like, the song was- Y'know, it was a bit shit, the song is still stuck in m'head."

"It's not shit, it's- It's just not to your taste, Tommy." Wilbur corrects the boy.

"No, it was bad, Wil, it's bad- You don't understand. My tastes- They are so very refined, Wilbur. They are the best tastes, actually, the poggest, they're the most superior testin- Wait, Tasting Tast- Tating? Te- Fuck, I can't say it. Te- fuck, Tas-"

"Stop trying."

"Fuck you. Tasti- No, Testin- Tating Tes-"

Wilbur scoffs. "You're so annoying, you are."

"And you're so old, you are. "

"Just be quiet, child."

"I'm 45. I pay a mortgage. I have children. I pay rent and bills and rely on money given me by the government to sustain myself. I have a passive interest in reading Au-Toh-Bye-Og-Raf-Ies."

"That'd make you older than me, Tommy. And- You, you just called me old?-"

"...No? You're like 90?"

Wilbur puts his head in his hands. "N- No? What?-"

"That's me being generous, big dubs. You're 90 on a good day. Normal days, you're- Like, so old, Like-"

Wilbur cries on the inside.

"Please, stop talking- please."

The younger lets out a large, overzealous sigh. "Oh-kay, Wil-bur. Where are we headed' next, by the way?"

He looks over to Wilbur, now walking backwards- All the while, still enjoying his little game.

Wilbur thinks for a moment before answering with a simple and yet unsatisfactory "I don't know." He doesn't sound sure of himself, even with the open answer.

Tommy looks over Wilbur's expression; practically reading him like an open book. Now, that's not to say Wilbur is an open book, but rather it's easy to latch onto small mannerisms to understand how he's feeling.

"Well, uh...I was just wondering- Like, uh, there's quite a few places we haven't gone, yet, and, I know there's particular ones, you, well, you don't- like- Yeah. Don't worry about it too much. I don't mind wandering. I guess."

And this causes Wilbur fucking cringe, repulsing into himself, thinking too hard. He's not cringing at Tommy, it's just- Tommy is pandering. He's trying to pander so hard for Wil that it makes his head hurt.

"Sorry," The man shakes his head before mumbling out the words, pretending to be nonchalant. "I'll think of something, I promise-"

"Why can't we go to L'manberg?"-- Tommy bluntly asks, stopping his little game, now choosing to focus entirely on the older man. Wilbur guesses he's just done with the pandering, by now. He was never the most patient, so Wilbur's not particularly surprised the topic had risen again already. "I- Sorry, uh, I know, you've said like, it's bad, and you hate it there, but you barely even talk about it. I know I wanna go- but of course I'm not going to make you go- I just want to know why. I wanna know what happened, I want-"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does though. We- Wilbur, we travel together, we work together- I gotta know something, right? I- I don't- Wil, I just want you to-"

"Tommy..."

"I just want you to talk to me, Wil. Why won't you talk to me?"

"It's- Tommy, I don't want to talk about it." Wilbur tries to put a quick stop to the conversation, his voice stern in tone, to no avail. And Wilbur- he can't blame the kid, not really. Tommy had been doing his best to help, and Wilbur realizes that. He knows that Tommy's doing everything he can.

"Why not, though, Wil?" Tommy asks, seemingly rhetorical- and yet there's a small quiver within his otherwise confident voice that tells Wilbur that really, really, he just wants to know. "What happened that was so bad that you're so unwilling to explain anything to me?"

It's silent for a moment, with Wilbur finding himself not knowing much else to say.

"You- Wilbur, you don't have to tell me anything, I know that. You don't- Like, owe me your life story, you know? That's not what I mean." Tommy whispers, something within him having been deflated, or settled, like water to an open flame. "I trust you with my life, Wil, you're like my- Fuck, I just want you to be honest with me, that's it."

"I'm sorry." Is all Wilbur can say. He's sure he could form something better, something more satisfactory for Tommy to hear so he could settle down, but Wilbur just can't bring himself to say anything. Not yet.

Tommy looks down, and Wilbur can't help but feel as though he had watched the sun burst right before his eyes.

It hurts.

The rest of the day exists in silence.

Wilbur carefully sets up their tent amidst a clearing within the forest. It's a nice and warm spot even during the night, and it's where Wilbur (and...ideally Tommy,) intends to stay for a few days.

Tommy hasn't even tried saying anything to Wilbur. Not that he should have to, anyway.

Wilbur's the adult in this situation, of course, he's to be the one who resolves their conflict.

Wilbur knows this, and yet, he still can't bring himself to say even a single word to the boy when he knows that what he's willing to say isn't enough.

Tommy, bless his soul, comfortably enters the tent without even a single word. He's not ignoring Wilbur. He's waiting for him. Wilbur knows this, too.

Wilbur clambers his lanky self into the tent, promptly falling onto his back, not even bothering to actually get into the sleeping bag-- rather choosing to simply rest on top of it. The zipper awkwardly placed within the middle of the sleeping bag jabs uncomfortably into his back, but he doesn't really care.

And with that, he lets out a groan.

He looks over to Tommy.

Curled up in a ball, utterly consumed by his sleeping bag, hugging Plush Henry, Tommy.

Wilbur sighs.

"Tommy?"

"Hi, Wilbur."

"...I'm really sorry."

Tommy turns over, looking at Wilbur, now- as Wilbur keeps his eyes fixated on the pointed roof of the tent.

"It's not your fault, Wil, I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm worried, you know? You-" The small boy's voice flaters to a whisper, "You're my only friend- God, I'm so bad at this serious shit, I'm so sorry- You- You're my- You're just important to me, and I worry."

"Tommy..." Wilbur whispers, knowing the boy only needed proof that the older man is really listening to continue.

Tommy takes a deep breath in. "And I know, I- Like, I'm a child and all that, whatever- But you're still my- You're my friend. Please, talk to me. Why don't you like L'manberg? Really."

Wilbur takes off his coat before promptly holding it close to his chest.

"I had-" He starts, "I had family there. My family are there. And...And I left. It just holds so many bad memories. I don't want to go back there, Tommy. I can't go back. And- I don't think they'd... They wouldn't want me back, anyway."

Tommy's eyes stay on the man.

He shuffles closer, curling up to Wilbur's side. Something within him- It doesn't deflate, rather, it simply settles, leaving the boy tired.

Wilbur stays laid on his back.

"I'm sorry." Tommy whispers.

"It's okay." Wilbur whispers in return.

"I'm sorry for yelling."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry for prying."

"It's okay."

"I'm just-" Tommy's whispers quiver, "I'm really sorry."

"These aren't things you even need to apologise for, Tommy."

Tommy makes a small noise. It's confused, it's sad, but more than anything, it's a relieved little sound.

"Oh, Tommy."

Wilbur, placing his coat atop the sleepy boy, turns around to lay on his side before promptly squeezing Tommy tightly with all that he can muster. Tommy's head rests comfortably on the flat plane beneath Wilbur's collarbone.

They simply rest this way for a moment. The silence prior had felt painful in its tension, but the silence that the two find themselves in now is comforting and safe, the sound of bugs and a nearby river being the only thing the two listen to for the short while.

"I'm thinking- There's this place called uh, Kinoko- Kinoko Kingdom. I think you'd like it, Toms," Wilbur mentions, "Why don't we go there next? It's a bit far- Nothing we haven't gotten used to though."

Adorably, Tommy tries to answer Wilbur, only to have his words muffled by the fact his face is still resting on the older mans collar.

"Toms," Wilbur smiles, "You're going to have to say that again."

Tommy briefly (very briefly,) shuffles away. "Yes, I wouldn't mind that, Wil. Sounds nice. Where is it?"

Wilbur refreshes his own memory before giving his best answer; "South from Snowchester- So, we can stop by. You can visit Clementine."

"Clementine," Tommy whispers, "S'...Dog."

Wilbur rests his head on Tommy's own. "Dog." He repeats.

"I'm excited," Tommy mumbles, "To see Dog, mostly. But Kinoko sounds cool. I'm excited."

"That's good to hear." Wilbur whispers. He can't take the smile off his face. His sun has just lit up once again- it's simply dulled itself to sleep.

Wilbur gets himself comfortable, one arm lifted over Tommy, no longer squeezing him. It's not exactly the most comfortable sleeping position, as Wilbur would normally prefer to have curled into himself- but Tommy is comfortable. So he has no intention of moving.

It's comparable to that of when a cat rests itself on your lap, or someone falls asleep on your shoulder- you can't disrupt them, no, you just can't. They're comfortable, and you would simply be the scum of the earth to even dare disrupt their comfort.

Carefully, Wilbur turns Tommy's face just a little bit to check if he's asleep, and, yep, he's out for the count.

"Goodnight, Toms. See you in the morning."

The morning proceeding, Wilbur was quickly greeted with the same energetic face he had grown so attached to. And it's then, seeing his shining boy after not being able to for what had felt like forever, (it had only been half a day, but, it felt like a lot, okay?) Wilbur had thought to himself; Tommy couldn't be anything other than what he is.

My sun.