Debts To Be Settled

26

Comfort is a luxury for those who are able to afford it or too dumb to realize they cannot. Foster kids turned street kids turned illegal workers like Tommy will never know comfort in their lives, especially in the context of resting at night. They are lucky to get a designated place to lay their weary bodies down to rest, let alone blankets or pillows that might cushion the floor or the hardened mattress. The temperature, too, will never be within their own control. Adaptability is key both in coming to terms with one's circumstances and with the heavy heat or the crisp coldness of a house with people who have ready access to blankets controlling the thermostat. Even the boutique is kept at a consistent temperature that feels too thick on the warm summer night and unbearably cold as a slow chill winds throughout the streets during the falling autumns.

Tommy knows all of this, so when he feels a pleasant sensation against his skin, he knows that something is inherently wrong. It isn't wrong enough for him to jump to his feet in a whirl of panic. It is a soft sort of trouble that fuzzes around the edges because of the perfectly curated temperature and the way the surface underneath him both supports and somewhat molds against his body shape. There is even a soft, steady heartbeat that echoes in tandem with his own, reminding him of a cradle that rocks precariously in a windy treetop. Tommy frowns, feeling the curl of a lullaby twirl at the edges of his mind. His first instinct is to assume that Wilbur is the one singing to him, but the voice is a little too feminine. Bright and airy, like a night sky stretching out in front of him.

The vague touches of a memory is what brings Tommy further into the world of the aware. Tommy's eyes flutter open, the song slipping between his fingers. All he is left with is a strange line about a cradle. Tommy blinks slowly, feeling eye boogers crumble out of his eyes. He pulls a hand out from under a really soft blanket, lifting the heel of his hand to wipe away the sticky material that makes Tommy feel like keeping his eyes shut. This motion transitions into Tommy stretching both of his arms in front of him, stretching out his fingers towards the rooftop.

Although Tommy hasn't memorized the ceiling he always wakes up to in Madeleine's boutique, he is conscious enough of it to know that he isn't looking at it right now. The color is far warmer, and the pattern is completely different. Tommy frowns, tracing his memories back to figure out why he isn't looking at the boutique. Tommy comes to the conclusion that he must have fallen asleep while watching a movie with Wilbur and his family. Tommy feels a touch bad for falling asleep and missing the movie, but something moves underneath Tommy to let him know that he isn't alone.

Tommy shifts slightly, putting one hand on the cushion of the couch. His hand sinks, and Tommy feels a rather cool body brushing against his wrist. Tommy twists his body, staring up at Wilbur's slumbering expression. Because Tommy had fallen asleep on top of Wilbur, the brunette decided that he would simply fall asleep there, too. Tommy is a little surprised that Wilbur didn't shove him off in the middle of the night to get back to his own room- his own comfortable bed. There is also the possibility that Wilbur fell asleep before he could even think about going to his room, but the loose arm wrapped around Tommy's waist makes him feel a little like Wilbur didn't mind him being there.

Tommy smiles to himself. In the quiet of the distant morning, in the darkness of the abandoned living room, with no one around but Wilbur's unconscious self, Tommy allows himself a single moment to soak in the moment. A somber brand of happiness saunters into his heart, settling gracefully among all the wretched demons of despair and loneliness. For a moment, Tommy even has the fleeting idea that he might belong here. Not here, necessarily, not in Wilbur's arms on his family's couch, but in approximation of this, a metaphorical version, like he belongs with Wilbur and his family. It is the thought that nearly every foster kid has when they're too young or too naive to realize that 'belonging' is a made-up term, that no one belongs, not even the biological kids of the parents, not even the parents themselves, but the heart is never a rational creature. It never learns. It only wants and pleads and aches and rewards the mind for giving into selfish impulses.