Debts To Be Settled

35

The air temperature dips as the last of the sunlight descends underneath the waves breaking apart a linear horizon. Thin, long clouds a few shades grayer from the purple-black sky float across the sky at a slow pace, their shapes infrequently changing as they collude with the gibbous moon. In this part of the city, the stars are invisible, but Tommy imagines they are twinkling happily several million miles away from the atmosphere that protects him and the weather patterns that grace the island.

Tommy sits on the rooftop of Madeleine's boutique. He swings his legs over the side, thumping his heels against the top of the window frame. His sketchbook, the one he uses for superhuman costumes, is open in his lap. There is a dull pencil in the margin next to a small, pink eraser shaped like a rhombus. A sharper pencil rests easily in his hands as he scribbles different designs all across the page, searching for what hits the quota of being cool enough and practical enough at the same time. An open box of sharpened pencils slid next to his thigh, almost falling off the building onto the ground below. Not the first time it has happened in his life, but certainly the first time in a little while since Tommy has gotten better at protecting his belongings.

Tommy's communicator sits on the other page, covering up a few doodles that probably won't ever be fully completed. The pale light of the communicator's screen illuminates Tommy's face and casts odd shadows across his paper from his hand, but he refuses to turn it off and he's already turned the brightness down as low as it can. He's stuck basking in the milky white light of electronics, though he doesn't mind too much.

Since sunset, Tommy has been messaging back and forth with Tubbo. Despite meeting fairly recently, the two of them have really hit it off. Tommy assumes it's because they are both desperate for a friend their own age, but that could be projecting. Tommy ignores that thought in favor of simply conversing with his new friend.

Despite how much fun Tommy is having with Tubbo, there is another reason why he's left the communicator open. It has been yet another week of radio silence from Wilbur, and Tommy is waiting impatiently for his friend to get over himself. Tommy has hung out with the family, including Sneeg. He's spent time with Niki, Jack, and Shelby. He's even gone on an outing with Tubbo. But Wilbur, the whole reason Tommy has any of this, the person Tommy owes his time to because of a debt, is still gone, and Tommy is having a lot of trouble processing how that makes him feel. Everyone, even Techno, assures Tommy that Wilbur will be fine, but Tommy knows how much trouble Wilbur stumbles into. He knows something is wrong, but there isn't anything he can do until Wilbur comes to him. Tommy has always hated waiting.

Tommy stops, staring down at his paper. He hasn't done anything while he's been thinking. Tommy grits his teeth. It doesn't matter where Wilbur is; Tommy has work to do.

Tommy leans his head back with a sigh. He takes in a deep breath, relishing in the slightly cool wind that blows across the roofs of tall buildings. While not particularly cold, it is sharp, and that is enough to make Tommy feel as if some clarity has been poured onto him with the same efficiency as someone pouring a bucket of ice-water over his head.

Tommy's moment of serenity is shredded by the realization that a strange noise at the edges of his awareness is getting louder. Tommy frowns, looking around for the noise. This leads him to looking upward, and he finds a dark spot in the night that is becoming more defined, darker, and louder as it approaches Tommy. The tailor exhales out of his nose, letting his eyes fall shut for a brief second. When he opens his eyes again, Azrael is standing on the rooftop beside Tommy with a cardboard box in his hands and his wings spread out behind him, as inky as the trenches of the night.

Azrael leans down onto one knee as he sets the cardboard box down. It genuinely alarms Tommy to see someone like Azrael lowering himself down, but the fear in his stomach keeps him from voicing his opinion. Even if it feels wrong for Azrael to be doing that, Azrael first and foremost can do whatever he wants. Powerless people like Tommy are better off keeping their mouths shut, a lesson ingrained in Tommy's psyche from different powerful people over the years.