𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒, 𝐭.𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬

14. fighting day

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

WARNINGS: none :).

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

it felt as though christmas went by faster than the speed of light, and with a blink of an eye it was boxing day. after a conversation with my mum, she'd agreed to continue with the tradition of spending the day with the simons, much to tommy and i's excitement.

spending the morning showering and getting ready, i was content with my appearance. wearing fitted black flares with a white knitted jumper, my white converse hidden under the bottom of the flares. i'd done my makeup properly for the first time in a while, and i was starting to feel like myself again.

boxing day with tommy's families was always amazing, our mums would cook and, typically, our dads would sit back and talk 'dad stuff', which was going to be different this year. tommy and i would play guitar loudly and sing christmas songs to annoy the lot, but undoubtedly we knew they loved it really.

my mum did the short drive to tommy's apartment, his mum and dad doing the travel to brighton with walter and betty, their dogs. arriving, tommy let us in and his parents gave us a warm welcome, tommy's mum quickly taking my mum away whilst his dad made small talk for a moment until he sat back down.

"it's fighting day, tom." i joked, ruffling the blonde's hair.

"it is! how was your christmas?"

"it was good, santa didn't bring me 'tommyinnit' merch though, how unfortunate." i faked a pout, him nudging me.

"oh, shut up. fuck you, bitch. santa didn't bring me valerie cooper merch." he argued back whilst we situated ourselves in his bedroom.

"he would have, but, tom, believe it or not, i don't have merch." i gasped, letting my jaw drop. "would you believe it?"

"you should make some," he suggested. "get so much money." he laughed at himself, starting to fiddle with my rings, a habit he'd had since we were in our first year of high school. "i'm joking, not for the money, but genuinely it's so cool seeing people like walk around with your name on them."

"i don't think i have enough followers to release merch," i admitted. "i don't know, what would i even put on merch? it's not really something i've thought about, maybe one day. for now, i'll stick to wilbur soot merch."

tommy's face contorted to a frown, and he moved his hand away. "fuck you, i hate you, bitch."

"i literally wear your merch at least once a week, shut up."

"you wear wilbur's merch at least twice a week." he faked a sob, not being able to contain his laughter any longer and the two of us burst out laughing, not being able to calm down for a few minutes.

"i wear your merch to sleep near enough every night to bed, actually." i said in a matter-of-fact tone.

spending the next hour or so talking about the most random things, our parents called us out the room to which we obliged. sitting at the small table, both his mum and mine lay out different foods, along with plates for each of us. i was dreading the conversation that i knew was going to happen once tommy's mum sat down, the 'dead dad' conversation.

"how was your guys' christmas?" tommy's dad spoke up first, setting his plate.

"dad, why are you acting like you didn't just have this full conversation with valerie five minutes ago?" tommy asked, following his dad's actions.

letting out a laugh, my mum answered for the both of us. "it was good, wasn't quite the same this year for, i mean you can guess, obvious reasons. other than that, it was good i'd like to say. valerie got me this build a bear with mark's voice in it, it was lovely."

"that's so sweet," tommy's mum, sarah, shot me a comforting smile from across the table. "i understand that it was different for you two, you're some of the strongest people i know and i'm so very proud of both of you."

tommy's mum was one of my favourite people, and i always saw her like a second mother in a way. we got along like two peas in a pod, and i knew i could talk to her about anything. that also stood for his dad, his dad was best friends with mine – meaning he also liked to join us on our 'messy' days out.

"do a cracker with me, tom." i spoke, lifting up the snowflake designed christmas cracker and letting him take the other end.

the boxing days we'd spend with tommy's family would basically just be a second christmas dinner, with the silly crowns and corny christmas themed jokes.

"i'm stronger than you— you're asking to lose." he scoffed, easily taking the other end off with a swift tug. "ha, told you so bitch."

"language, tommy!"

"god, you're worse than bad boy halo, mum." tommy rolled his eyes, pulling the red crown out, placing it on his head. "right, listen, the joke is, who delivers presents to cats at christmas?" looking around, he waited for a moment but nobody answered, signalling him to carry on. "santa paws!"

"ha...ha...ha." i let out a sarcastic laugh, causing tommy to simply glare at me. "let's do another one, let me win though, i want a crown!"

he did as i asked, but quickly regretted it as i got a green crown, and did not find my joke of 'supporting dream' very funny.