I'm Not Tired (Please Let Me Sleep)

Chapter ten

"I hate you so fucking much."

"I told you you'd lose."

Tommy really wanted to wipe that smug smirk off this bastard's face. Grumbling, he'd thrown the cards on the table, trying to ignore the amused look from both Wilbur and Tubbo who had been watching them play for the last fifteen minutes.

"You cheated."

"I did not."

"Best out of eight?"

"Tommy, we've already gone over this three times," Wilbur sighed in exasperation and amusement, "first it was whoever won the first game. Then, when you lost that, it was best out of three. Then, when you lost again, it was suddenly best out of five. And now you want best out of eight?"

"If we do best out of eight I'll win."

"What's next, best out of a hundred?"

"I will win this time."

"You have not won once-"

"Completely irrelevant."

"You're such a fucking sore loser, just accept defeat."

"But I like my hair," he whined and it wasn't a lie. Sure, the colour was still something he'd have to get used to but dyeing the hair would mean it gets damaged and he liked the fluffiness that came from the potion, "and I don't want to have to take care of dyed hair."

"Shouldn't have suggested it then," Wilbur shrugged, gathering the cards and putting them back in the box, "this is entirely on you."

"I hate you so much."

"I'm sure you do."

"I'm serious, bitch, I'll stomp you into the fucking ground."

"Not in my coffee shop, please," Karl's voice came from behind them and Tommy flinched. Right, they were still in the coffee shop. And he'd also low-key forgotten that his break was technically over.

Though, Karl didn't seem to mind much. He was chatting with Tubbo and this other tall fella with split dyed hair, the one he'd almost had his appearance based off of if it wasn't for the fact that dyed hair would be a bitch to take care of. And he really couldn't be asked to look up how to dye hair or, like, touch up the roots or some shit when the colour starts to fade.

Looks like he'd have to do it now.

Tommy groaned again and then let his head hit the table. Hard. Like, really hard. It was enough for the two other visitors of the coffee shop to look over to their booth, the elderly lady grimacing while the dude with blonde hair and this weird eye-looking kinda necklace simply arched an eyebrow.

Wilbur chuckled and then patted his head. And Tommy? His mind went blank for a second, the simple touch had set off something and he did not know how to deal with it. He wanted more. Holy fuck, was he that touch-starved?

"It's gonna be fine," Wilbur cooed, "we'll find a colour that will suit you."

That made him snap out of the weird haze and immediately lift his head from the table to look at the brunette with utter bafflement.

"What do you mean we!?"

"I'm gonna choose the colour."

"No, Pausechamp, that was not part of the deal!"

"Tough luck."

"No, you're gonna pick a shit colour. Something like teal."

"Excuse you, teal is a perfect colour," and, oh, this must've hit something for Wilbur considering how defensive he suddenly got, "teal is simply the best colour."