Tommy's cold. Not as cold as he'd been used to. But he's cold.

They're not all too close to Snowchester or anything; they would know if that was the case. Rather, it was simply turning Winter.

Now, Tommy's all too familiar with Winter. It was the hardest time in terms of survival for the boy; going through many winters by the skin of his teeth. He didn't have a coat throughout most of them, nor did he have safe shelter, so he'd often find himself near any heat source he could find, even if that meant being slightly unsafe. (So, he shouldn't have let his at-the-time six year old self next to an open fire. Who knew, really?)

This is the first Winter that's been really different for Tommy. He didn't expect it to be all that different; but of course, Wilbur's in his life now, so he should've seen it coming, really.

"Fuck, Wil, it's- It's fucking freezing today, man." Tommy grumbles, his back arching downwards as he walks next to Wilbur, hand in hand. "It's Winter now, right? God, I hate Winter, you know. It opposes me, Wilbur."

Wilbur lets out an amused huff-- perhaps even a sigh ?-- letting go of Tommy's hand. "Oh really?"

"Yes, Really. Summer is right there , it's better. Winter enjoyers are weak. Winter is my enemy. My- My nemenis. My nenemis- Ough, Winter displeases me so much It's distressing my words, my words, Wilbur." The boy allowed himself to go on a little tangent before returning to his whines. "God, Winter is just- oouf-"

Tommy is quite frankly rudely interrupted by a heavy yet equally familiar fabric getting thrown onto his head.

It's Wilbur's coat.

Tommy pulls it off his head and simply grips it in his hands for a moment. It's not the first time Wilbur had done this or anything, infact Wilbur had given him his coat once before, back on the road to Snowchester. But-- but back then it had felt like the action was a result of pity. It wasn't out of pity, but- It just really felt that way. Tommy doesn't know how to explain it.

It just felt much more meaningful to Tommy, now, in a way he doesn't quite understand. Or maybe he does. He doesn't know.

He only barely manages to hold back the biggest, stupidest looking smile and he begins to put on the coat.

"Your- Your coat is stupid."

"You're literally putting it on."

"Okay? What is your point?"

"Whatever, child."

"Not a child," Tommy huffs, buttoning up Wilbur's coat in an attempt to maintain the warmth gathered by the older man having worn it previously. "I am huge, Wilbur. A massive man. The biggest man ever."

Wilbur snorts, covering his mouth-- laughing. The prick. The absolute bastard, even.

The irony isn't lost on Tommy, either, okay? That- You know, he's saying all this whilst wearing a coat that is twice the size of him. He gets it, okay-- whatever, it doesn't change the fact he's a big-

"You're so tiny." Wilbur says amidst his muffled laughs.

Nevermind, then .

"Tiny- What? No- No, No, No-"

"You're so-"

"I will beat the shit out of you, you old-"

" Cute-"

"No-- No! I will destroy you-"

"You're so adorable, Toms, You-"

Wilbur has to stop walking again to lean on a tree. The man was fucking heaving, he was laughing so hard.

Tommy pouts, hugging himself. "There is nothing funny about this, dick'ead."

"It's- You're so funny, Tommy, you're so cute."

"I am fucking not, Wilb Boy, I'm stealing from you, and I'm- I'm strong, and, and massive, and- and I'm-"

"A child? A teensy weensy baby man?" Wilbur jokes, only barely being able to choke out the words before howling out some more laughter.

"I hate you."

Wilbur laughs. "Of course you do."

"I do," Tommy huffs, "You are an evil man. You must be stopped. Evil."

"Oh, shut up, Tommy." Wilbur can't stop smiling. "Let's keep going."

"Fine. I am going to keep going. Not because you told me to though. This is my own Vol-It-Tion."

Hurrying back to Wilbur's side to hold his hand again was also of his own volition, but he never plans to mention that.

Wilbur keeps talking about some fucking holiday. Tommy wishes he had never pried about it initially when Wilbur had been mumbling some song to himself as they walked.

"Wilba," Tommy had chirped, enthusiastic to pester the man as is typical, "What're you singing?"

Tommy was genuinely curious, it sounded like quite a nice song. Of course, Wilbur's voice helped, he does have a really nice voice after all. He could make even the worst of songs worth listening to, his voice low and steady, calming.

"Just some random Christmas song, m'used to listen to it as a kid. And, it is Christmas soon. Seems appropriate."

"Oh. Christmas." Tommy tries to keep his voice steady and more importantly neutral , but the ever-present bitterness doesn't go unnoticed.

Wilbur scans the boy's face. "You celebrate it?"

"No- No, not really. Or, um, haven't, I guess. Used to see shops get all decorated and shit, that was pretty. And every now and again some goat-sheep woman would uh- Like, there was some yearly charity shit and all that- I got a Planet Duck Plushie once but a dog ate it."

"Well, um," Wilbur thought for a moment, "I used to celebrate it every year, but I stopped when I started travelling alone. Christmas isn't much fun on your own."

There was a second of silence- as though Tommy knew Wilbur wasn't quite finished.

"Well, I was just wondering- Now that, uh, well-"

"Spit it out, Big Dubs." Tommy teases.

"Oh, shut up, child," Wilbur is quick to quip right back, "Do you wanna celebrate Christmas with me?"

Tommy is not smiling, shut the fuck up. Nor is he at all surprised- He's not! He's not surprised and he's definitely not feeling all warm and fuzzy and-

And...

...

Okay, maybe a little. Just a little. Maybe he's- a little happy, maybe he's smiling just a tad.

...

Okay, so fucking sue him, he's over the moon.

"I-" Tommy starts, cutting himself off to consider what he's about to say. "I can't buy you anything."

"That's not what Christmas is about, child. I've got you a gift, though."

"You- Wait, 'Got' ? You already have a present- What?"

Wilbur laughs.

"Of course I have. You are a child,"

"I'm not-"

"And I'd say that you deserve a present. It's nothing great, but I think you'll like it."

Tommy's really happy. Really, really happy. But there's some little thing, some little shit in the innermost depths of his head that's making him feel sort of...bad. Like he's just constantly taking, and not doing much giving, if anything at all.

Tommy stops walking. "Wilbur- I," He breathes, "You don't need to-"

Wilbur turns back to him before shuffling backwards to stay right at Tommy's side.

"No one ever needs to gift someone something, Tommy," Wilbur explains, letting out a little laugh- a laugh displaying his endearment. "People do it because they want to. I'm doing it because I want to."

"I can't even get you anything."

"That doesn't matter."

"But-"

"Nope."

"But, But Wilbur- You give me so much shit- Like, alot, and I- I don't know, man! It's not like I do anything to warrant that, or-"

Tommy feels his eyes betray him. Those fuckers, he thinks to himself, as tears begin to spread there way across the waterline of his eye.

"I don't know. It just doesn't feel fair. On you."

"Oh, Tommy..." Came the fond sigh, slowly followed by all too familiar arms being wrapped around Tommy's small figure. Wilbur had his arms on the outside of the coat Tommy was wearing, resulting in a very safe feeling- as though he was being bundled in a blanket. Tommy slowly rested his head on Wilbur's collar, relishing in the secure feeling that came with the warmth.

(And Wilbur is very fucking warm. The man is a damn space heater.)

They'd only ever hugged once- once! - before this, and that was an initially much more panicked and frenzied hug driven by Wilbur's fear. This one was much slower, and comforting, and warm- Tommys prefered pace as Wilbur gently and melodically swayed the two, humming.

(But if you ask Tommy, no, he didn't enjoy it, he was just cold.)

"You have no idea how much you've done for me, Tommy." Wilbur whispers into Tommy's hair.

Tommy leans further into Wilbur, pressing all his weight onto him. Not that there's much weight there, I mean- He is quite the small boy, so Wilbur has no trouble with it.

Tommy doesn't say anything else. No words quite fit the things he wants to say.

Wilbur's not quite sure if hours or mere minutes had passed as the duo simply let themselves sway, but he's not too fussed. As soon as Tommy finally allowed himself to untangle from Wilbur's arms they set up camp and decided to relax for the rest of the day, finding sanctuary in each other's company.

It's christmas.

How does Tommy know this? Well, besides Wilbur shaking Tommy up like a maraca at-- what, 8am?-- telling Tommy that it's Christmas over and over as though it were a mantra, Tommy spotted a box. wrapped with red paper and a silk white bow, the colour scheme Wilbur had deemed Tommy's exclusively.

"Merry Christmas, Tommy! Good morning!"

"G'morn'n Wilby," Tommy slurred out, all fucking tired and groggy. "Merry Christmas, Wil."

Wilbur placed down quite the pretty cake next to Tommy's present before sitting down next to the boy, eating a different cake seemingly made for himself exclusively.

"There's- Wilbur, there's no fucking mint in this cake, is there?" Tommy asked, faux suspicious.

Wilbur sighs, his smile betraying the mood he's trying to convey. "No, Tommy. It's butterscotch. Your favourite."

Tommy's eyes fucking glow at the mention of butterscotch flavoring, before staring down at the cake and promptly scarfing it down in seconds. What can he say, he just really likes butterscotch.

"H'yank H'ou Wi'hur." Tommy speaks, mouth full-- Probably trying to express his gratitude, but hell if Wilbur can decipher his full-mouthed blabbers.

"Swallow your food, gremlin," Wilbur instructs, followed by Tommy quickly swallowing all the cake in his mouth, hurting his throat in the process. "Then you can open your present."

Tommy nods excitedly before he takes the long box previously placed to the side and places it on his sleeping bag covered lap, inspecting it for a moment. Tommy can't help but wonder what's in the box- I mean, they haven't been to any stores recently, and during their visits to Snowchester and Las Nevadas, they were practically bound at the hip, so he couldn't have bought something without him knowing.

The suspense kills him, and thus, he tears open the box. Inside is- What?

It's...

It's a guitar. A hand-crafted guitar, entirely personalised for Tommy. Made entirely from oak wood, with the tuning keys being made of cobble, painted red to be a pleasant change from the otherwise beige guitar- It's a very Tommy guitar. Hours, if not days, had been consumed with making the guitar, and Tommy could only assume Wilbur was doing all this work during the night; whilst Tommy was peacefully sleeping away.

Tommy feels strange.

Tommy feels so fucking strange.

The good kind of strange.

Tommy swallows in his breath, hands shaking as he goes to touch the guitar.

Tommy understands this feeling.

God.

Tommy feels well and truly loved.

He feels loved. He feels so, so overwhelmingly loved. He feels so safe, and happy, and wanted and needed and- God. All the love and the warmth that lay dormant in his chest suddenly starts to grow and grow, becoming overwhelmingly present throughout Tommy's whole body, taking only seconds to pop; leading the boy to quickly burst into tears. Full blown, messy, ugly tears.

"Toms- Sunshine," The nickname slips from Wilburs mouth, only making Tommy cry harder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."

Tommy grabs both of Wilburs' hands, trying his damned best to at the very least look him in the eye.

"Fuck off, with that, Wil- Wilbur, I- I'm happy, Wilbur, I'm-"

Tommy hiccups, vigorously scrubbing at his face with his hands.

"I'm so happy Wil. God,"

Tommy breaks down into floods of tears again, mumbling out little sorry 's betwixt every spare breath he has.

"Wilbur, I love it, I love it so much, Wilbur. I love you." Tommy sobs, hugging the guitar.

I love you.

Wilbur's heart bursts. This is just too fucking much.

I love you.

This child deserves the fucking world, Wilbur decides.

I love you.

"I love you too, Tommy." Wilbur whispers, unable to stop himself from scooping the boy in his arms before resting him on his lap, Tommy quickly taking up the crook of Wilbur's neck. It was as if they were two puzzle pieces and Tommy just so happened to fit there perfectly. Wilbur's almost cradling the boy, but neither of them seem to mind.

And with that, Wilbur just lets the boy cry, muttering soft words of comfort to the boy whenever he could hear them, stroking patterns into Tommy's back.

"I love you so much, Tommy." Wilbur feels the need to repeat one more time. He's been wanting to say that for a really long time, it feels great to say it outloud.

"Merry Christmas, Tommy."

Amidst his shakes and sobs, Tommy responds with a great, big smile- accompanied by his sore eyes and red nose nevertheless, but a smile regardless.

"Merry Christmas, Wilbur."