a series of sbi oneshots

sick

tommy makes the mistake of telling wilbur he's sick and sbi breaks into his apartment

or

sbi takes care of tommy and refuses to let him leave

It starts with him being tired. He’s always tired, so he doesn’t notice. He goes to work and shuffles through his shift. Dream yells at him, he burns himself on some lady’s triple mocha macchiato whatever the fuck it is. The usual sort of day.

What really makes him realize how tired he feels is when Wilbur comes in. Usually seeing Wilbur is enough to perk him up, he’s a bitch, but he’s still Tommy’s favorite customer. Tommy is glad to see him, but he has no fucking clue why the Wilbur comes here.

He’s way too much of a rich bitch to be coming to this coffee shop. They aren’t even hipster-y, so he’s not slumming it for the instagram points.

Really, the only reason he might be coming here is well. To see Tommy.

But that’s dumb.

They’re friends and all, sure. Tommy’s hung out with him, he’s even met his family. They’re nice people, but they’re rich people. Rich people don’t come to coffee shops to hang out with former foster-kids who are technically on the run.

Well, rich people aside from Wilbur, apparently, since he keeps coming back.

But today Tommy’s really not in the mood. He’s almost off his shift, he’s tired, his head hurts. He wants to go curl up in his bed and sleep for a week.

The bells over the door make his head pound.

“Tommy!” Wilbur sings, cheerful and loud. Gods is he loud. 

“Fuck off bitch,” Tommy mutters, as per protocol. He just wants to get Wilbur’s order over with. He always comes at the end of Tommy’s shift so he’s become sort of a signal for Tommy that he’s nearly done. Usually he sticks around after work to talk to Wilbur, but he doesn’t think he’s going to today.

Wilbur comes to a stop directly in front of the counter. Dream isn’t here so Tommy’s snagged a barstool from the other side of it and he’s sitting with his head in his arms. Wilbur pokes him.

Tommy growls and stubbornly refuses to look up.

Ching. 

Fuck he forgot about the fucking bell.

Ching...ching...ching...ching-ching. 

Tommy is going to literally murder him. He searches blindly with one hand, feeling for the bell. Wilbur laughs and he can hear something sliding along the counter. He’s fucking moving it.

Ching-ching-ching.

Tommy groans and slowly lifts his head. His neck is sore. Ugh.

Wilbur looks as disgustingly put-together as always. Like he just stepped out of a magazine. Bastard. He’s grinning widely at Tommy, “are you ready for my order?”

“No,” Tommy mutters, snatching the bell and only stopping from throwing it across the room is that it seems like a lot of effort. Uuuugh. 

Wilbur’s smile fades. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Tommy mutters, laying his head back down. “Tired. Must have slept like shit or something.”

Wilbur hums understandingly and runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair. Usually he would spring up and smack Wilbur’s hand away. He doesn’t bother with it now. Wilbur’s not gonna give up on it and it feels nice.

Wilbur’s nails scratch at his scalp.  “Aw Toms,” he croons, “you’re so sweet when you’re sleepy.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy mutters. “Do you want coffee or what?”