Roomate for Sale!

The Distraction

"FUCK!"

Wilbur wakes up with a shout, a scream halfway up his throat and his clothes absolutely drenched in sweat. His heartbeat is on overdrive as the reoccurring nightmare flashes in his head, and he can hardly stop the roiling of his stomach.

With one final flail of his legs, he topples off the bed and lands on the ground with an oof, laying in a heap on the ground as he tries to catch his breath and control his breathing. There's a shifting from somewhere nearby, but with Wilbur's heart pounding in his ears, he can't hear it feel anything except the raw panic and the overwhelming fear that everyone he loves will-

No, he's gonna die. He can't get enough air in his lungs and his limbs feel paralyzed and he's too hot and too cold and too sweaty and too-

"bum badada badum, BADUM"

..

-What?

"oooOoOooo Wilburrrr SooOoOt! You look like you're in need of some distraaaaaaactinggggg! I'm awesommeeeeeee at that!"

Tommy. That's Tommy. Tommy's here, next to his bedside. But his voice sounds weird and distorted whenever he speaks, almost as if he's singing but not actually singing-

"Hmmmmmm any song requestss from my favorite musiciannn?"

Wilbur finally opens his eyes. He's laying on his side, hands curled in his hair to unconsciously tug at the strands. He's also on the floor, beside his bed. He fell off. And next to him-

"Tommy?" Wilbur croaks out.

Tommy grins widely, just barely seeable in the pitch black of the night, holding some sort of object up to his face. "'Ello! Having a nightmare, big man?"

Wilbur only stares at the other, all thoughts of the nightmare and the issue of Schlatt's death batted out of his mind by the sheer confusion and bewilderment arising in him.

"What the fuck?"

Tommy continued on with a smile, not even noticing Wilbur's confused and exasperated expression. "Tubbo invented this autotuner-thingy. It's pretty- pog!"

Wilbur's eye twitched as he locked eyes with the thing inside Tommy's mouth, absolutely covered in drool. So that's where the retched noise was coming from. An underlying song paired with Tommy's voice to make his voice distorted to the tune of the song. No wonder he already has a headache.

Wilbur didn't even notice how the tightness in his chest had faded, and the tears left over from his nightmare had dried. Tommy scoots closer and Wilbur is still in shock from trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.

"Once again," Tommy says in that distorted voice, tuned to a song Wilbur couldn't recognize, "Any songgggg requests?"

Wilbur blinks, then blinks again. He sends a glance to the bedside table above him and briefly looks at the blinking time.

3:17 AM

God-fucking-dammit.

"Sssssong requestsss??" Tommy repeats once more. Wilbur slaps his hands over his face in despair.

"Gods, smite me down, right now. I need it."

Tommy paused, and then-

"I think you need some ther-o-py big man. Have you ever considered, maybe, getting some ther-o-py?"

"Every single fucking day." Wilbur deadpanned.

Wilbur sighed and buried his head into his pillow letting Tommy ramble, placing the sides of his pillow over his ears to block the sounds out.