I just thought that red looked good on me (Tommy Angst)

Social anxiety

Hey folks, been a while huh? This fic has become somewhat popular, and its hard to keep up with the comments. I haven't been on wattpad for what... three to five months? I haven't been in this fandom for a while either, though I watch a couple of their videos still.

Technoblade's dead, too. I think it's quite irrespectful to write about him then, but it can also be like... to keep the memory alive I guess? That felt like the nail in the coffin for DSMP to me. I feel like an asshole to keep writing in this fandom when this great man died.

However, you may think differently, and I'd love to hear your opinion. As I'm quite unsure I'd like a second advice, so depending on what you say I might continue this or other works in this fandom. But for now, have this that I wrote a while ago, plus some more!

Seeing a therapist was uncomfortable to him. He tried to avoid it the most he could but eventually he had to go to the meeting, he run out of excuses.

The therapist was kind, and calm. They chat a bit about his week and how he was feeling before she asked him why he was meeting with her today. The question made him tense, and he breathed a bit before he answered. She still looked kind, jot something down and didn't judge him.

She asked him if he self-harmed, and if he did, how long he had been 'clean'.

He said yes with caution, and said he hadn't since the attempt. He did bite his hands sometimes though, but it probably didn't count. Tommy decided it was better to mention it and, yes, it did count.

The therapist offered him a few other ways to cope, that were similiar to self harm, but not harmful. Slap bracelets, drawing red lines on his thighs or arms if it was really bad, and so on.

He decided she was helpful and went to another meeting a week later. Clara and Norman seemed relieved and checked on him less often, but they still did, mind you.

Eventually, he was diagnosed with social anxiety. He felt a bit offended by that at first, there was actually a reason why he felt everyone's eyes were on him, it's usually because they were. It was a valid reason he avoided to go in public alone.

Still, it counted.

Anyways, Tommy had been so focused either with college, a stream here and there and obviously, therapy. That he was quite shocked when he received this text from discord;

Tubbo
One minute ago
hey bossman 4 the slepover today, whats ur new adress?

His memory was utter shite, but he quickly typed it out. Clara however was not surprised and when he went downstair to ask her about the mattress, she was already fishing the thing out of the attic.

Tommy hurried to clean his room and started packing what should've already been packed in his suitcase. He was careful to place his note book and art supplies in the bottom of the case along with his therapy diary.

Then he sat on his bed and waited. He did want to see Tubbo. But it feels wrong to have him here, its not his house, those are not his parents, and this isn't his room. Well, it is his room, and feels like it is, but it shouldn't be.

He should be back at that empty house, that is cold and desolate. He should greet his friends there and be able to pretend that everything is fine. That his parents love him but they were too busy to tell him goodbye. That they did it, this morning before leaving, after cooking breakfast for him. He should pretend that his parents acted like parents. That is how it should be.

The moment Tubbo steps into this house, the moment the assumptioms will slowly begin to fall apart. Then he'd either be forced to lie to repair the cracks, or to watch as it breaks.

Tommy had never been a liar however.

And that is all folks, thank you for reading, and for keeping to read after this if I decide to continue this work. I will surely do another chapter with the unwritten outline of this work, should I decide not to keep going.