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Tubbo feels pretty fucking stupid right now. What can he say? He got himself into this situation, there’s no one to blame but him. Tommy invited him to this party and he said yes, like the complete idiot he was. Now, there’s nothing to do about it, because Tubbo’s at Tommy’s house, surrounded by more people and conversations and music and noise and heat than he’s used to and he feels like he’s going to explode.
It’s a great party. For all intents and purposes, it’s perfect. The cake and the cups and cheery laughter and conversation all fit perfectly for Phil’s surprise birthday party. They don’t fit well for Tubbo.
It was fine, at the start. Things were chill, more mellowed out as they waited for Phil to actually come home so they could surprise him. Tubbo could hear his own thoughts and Tommy chiding Wilbur with last minute anxiety, fussing over how some streamers looked. Talk was calmer and more muted, the excitement ramping up for the big moment.
Then it all finally spilled over.
Tubbo’s ears ring as he stares into his plastic cup, watching his reflection in his Diet Coke. He’s too aware of Tommy’s arm pressed against his. He feels each point where their skin is touching, he knows Tommy’s sleeve ends right above his elbow, casually rolled up in that style that’s never changed. He knows they’re talking around them, but it just melts into every other conversation he can hear. It molds with the music playing as a steady undertone and gives the incoherent mumbling a melody. Tubbo can see it on a keyboard, but not for long before someone pops a balloon and he visibly flinches. A terrifying wave of heat crawls down his neck and across his spine, slipping past his hoodie like a swift breeze. His thoughts might as well not be there, he can’t grasp onto them long enough to make sense of them. Because he got himself into this situation. He gets to deal with the consequences now. His jumbled mess of a brain is why he only hears Tommy the second time he addresses him.
“Tubbo? You good, man?” Tommy’s asking, and Tubbo swallows a gasp.
“Yeah, big man, all good here,” he forces out, flattens his tone, hides that how warm it is in here makes him feel like he’s melting, hides that every word spoken rattles his bones and makes him shake like a leaf in the wind.
“Are you sure? You look kind of pale,” Wilbur follows up, leaning in to take a closer concerned look.
Tubbo steps back, setting his cup down and shaking his head. “I’m sure of it, I just… I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quick, if you don’t mind.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns on his heel and plucks himself from the conversation. He keeps his eyes on the carpet and hardwood floors as he slips between people and the chatter and the loudness of it all. He nearly trips up the stairs as he climbs, desperate to just find somewhere quiet.
He finds it in the bathroom, where he shuts the door behind him, turns the lock, and promptly slides to the floor. The tiles are cold under his fingers, and it feels like putting an ice pack to a sunburn. It’s more soothing than it should be. It’s more soothing that the sound from downstairs is muffled through the door. It’s more soothing that he doesn’t feel Tommy constantly pressed up against his side. It’s more soothing that he’s alone and it’s quiet and there’s no oppressive heat threatening to choke him.
Tubbo sighs, tugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face between them. The feeling of his jeans rubbing on his cheeks almost sets him off again. Almost. But he sucks in a breath and sends the feeling away without remorse. He’s not having a breakdown at Phil’s birthday party. He’s not. That would just be rude and inconsiderate of him. So he’ll just hide in the bathroom until his heart stops racing and the ringing in his ears goes away and he feels like he can face the others with a real smile on his face again.
He jolts when there’s a knock on the door. He yelps as he falls away, scrambling back into a sitting position and freezing, staring at the door as if it might come alive and eat him.
“Tubbo? Are you alright?” Wilbur’s voice comes through, and Tubbo lets out a ragged breath.
“Yeah, totally,” he answers quickly, each word clipped on his tongue, “a-okay in here, boss man.”
“I’m not sure I really trust you, Tubs,” Wilbur responds, voice lilting in that way it does when he’s worried. “You looked… overwhelmed out there.”
Tubbo huffs, tugging on his hoodie’s drawstrings frustratedly. He doesn’t want Wilbur to worry about him. He wants him to go back downstairs and celebrate his dad’s birthday with the others. He should let Tubbo try to calm down his shaking hands and prickling skin on his own.
“I’m fine,” Tubbo tells him stubbornly, wincing as he tugs his knees back to his chest. Jeans were not a good investment tonight. Jeans fucking suck.
“I know you’re not,” Wilbur says, voice soft and understanding in a way that nearly makes Tubbo break on the spot. The door rattles in front of him, and he assumes Wilbur’s sitting on the other side, leaning against it just to talk with him. Wilbur asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
And Tubbo can hardly say no, considering Wilbur’s apparently settled in for the long haul. He sighs, defeated, and shifts to lean back against the door, letting his legs stretch out in front of him instead of tucking them close this time.
“I-I’m not a big touch guy, y’know?” Tubbo starts feebly, waving his hands around although no one can see him. “I never know what to do about it or how to handle it and it-it just feels like too much, most of the time. And-And Tommy’s been like-like a piece of fucking velcro all night. I-I don’t blame him for it… I’ve never really told him… but it just makes my skin feel too hot and tingly when it’s for so long, and it’s just so loud and crowded downstairs already, all the-the touch is just… a lot.”
He quiets down, finding he’s run out of things to say. He tenses up, wringing the hem of his hoodie between his fingers. It’s soft and well worn, it’s comforting like the cool tiles had been. It’s a feeling he’s used to. He can handle it.
Wilbur hums, thinking, before responding, “Well, that sounds perfectly reasonable to me. It is pretty noisy down there, my ears are still kind of ringing… and Tommy is clingy, isn’t he?”
It makes Tubbo laugh. It’s dumb and obvious and something so incredibly Wilbur to say, but he laughs anyway.
“Did you know when he was a kid, like, really little, he’d barely ever be able to sleep on his own?” Wilbur starts, and Tubbo can imagine his eyes gleaming with the beginning of a story. “He always had to climb into bed with me or Techno or Phil. He was such a little space heater, too, like Techno. He’s always found a way to just insert himself into our lives. That’s never changed.”
“I bet,” Tubbo chuckles, nodding slightly.
“You know,” Wilbur picks up again, “it’s not strange to be overwhelmed with all these things happening at once. It’s a lot. We’re a rambunctious bunch, there’s usually a lot going on. It’s okay to need a step back or a break when it all feels like too much. You just gotta ask or say the word and you can step out for a bit or we can calm things down. It’s not a burden or anything. You feeling happy and safe is more important than whatever bullshit we have going on.”
It’s… It’s enough to make Tubbo hiccup. It’s enough to make a slow stream of tears fall from his eyes. He’s always just put up with whatever the world threw at him, not thinking he ever had or deserved the time to wait and process before moving forward. Wilbur just told him the exact opposite, just told him he was worth considering. Why wouldn’t he cry at that?
He pushes his hoodie sleeves to his cheeks, soaking up the tears as they fall. He doesn’t feel that sticky heat on the back of his neck anymore. His skin doesn’t feel like it's prickling either. He just feels the chill of the AC and a gentle warmth in his chest. It’s what being cared for feels like, he decides.
“You good, Tubs?” Wilbur asks gently.
“Yeah,” Tubbo answers wetly, sniffling, “I’m good.”
There’s a pause before Wilbur asks, “Want a hug?”
Tubbo considers it for a moment, if he feels up to it, if he thinks he can handle that much contact right now. Instead of finding the answer to if he can handle it, Tubbo discovers that he wants it, which isn’t new, but it’s pleasant, after the last half hour.
He pushes himself off the floor, hearing a similar rustling come from the other side of the door. He unlocks the door and shyly pulls it open, lifting teary eyes to meet Wilbur’s. Wilbur’s smiling warmly at him when he holds open his arms, letting Tubbo come to him. And Tubbo does. He melts into Wilbur’s arms and feels safe and okay, not like he’s going to burst right out of his skin.
He turns his head to the side, rubbing his cheek against the soft material of Wilbur’s sweater. He mumbles a slightly embarrassed, “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem,” Wilbur replies softly, rubbing a hand in slow circles on Tubbo’s back. “Do you want to chill in my room for a while and head back down later?”
Tubbo sighs, content. “Yeah… that’d be nice.”