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Wilbur would always say he hated Twitter. It’s too negative, It gives me anxiety. And yet, he continuously has multiple hours on that app everyday. The truth was that while Wilbur hated the side of twitter that most people know, the one where people are always fighting, where screencapped news articles with no visible source go viral, there was a side of twitter he found himself scrolling through most days. There were people like him there, a community. Deep down, Wilbur knew this was bad for him, but God, this gets lonely sometimes. So, if occasionally (Read: Everyday) he’d stealthily log into twitter, that was nobody’s business but his own. (And maybe his mutuals)
Wilbur knew this routine like the back of his hand. He’d come home from school, sit on his bed, and read the newest posts from his mutuals. Most of the time it was more of the same few tweets that everyone had posted before. Variations of ‘Cum has calories???’ and ‘guys most embarrassing symptom happened to me today D:’ were the most common ones. Maybe Wilbur should follow someone new.
Wilbur swapped to the for you tab of the app, and scrolled for a bit before finding someone that caught his eye.
“KrakenKilos?” He mutters. That’s a stupid name, you’re not the kraken, you’re a 16 year old twitter user. Wilbur scrolls through the account for a little. Despite the faux-tough name, the guy was pretty funny. Wilbur doesn’t bother to think about Kraken being the same age as his younger brother. Wilbur follows Kraken. Kraken follows Wilbur back.
—————
Tommy never mentioned Twitter. I mean, none of his friends cared about it, and his brother hated it, so it’s not like it was a frequent topic. Though, he wasn’t keen to talk about his Twitter either. He also kind of regretted the name he chose, being called Kraken on twitter meant he had to cut down on the Tommy Danger Kraken Innit jokes, and Tommy was nothing if not someone who loved to repeat jokes until they’re violently unfunny, (and then continue until they’re funny again).
One afternoon, lying on his bed after school, Tommy was in the midst of considering whether or not to tweet “cum has calories???” for likes, when he sees a new follower. Ozy ozymANAdius “Pfft. Fuckin pretentious username.” He mumbles. “Seriously, you’re not some ancient ruler, you’re an 18 year old with an edtwt account.” He mumbles to himself.
Tommy scrolls through the account, a couple good jokes and tweets here and there, but mostly poetry. The writing style felt familiar. Tommy couldn’t figure out why. He follows the account back.
—————
Kraken (@KrakenKilos)
cum has calories???
|
Ozy (@ozymANAdius)
reconsidering my follow
—————
Sigh. Wilbur shuts his phone off. The everlasting curse follows him; No one can be unique in their bait posts.
Whatever. Wilbur’s bored of Twitter anyway, he should find something else to do. His stomach rumbles and a malicious thought worms into his head. Maybe I should break my fast early—
No. He promised himself he’d fast from Thursday until Saturday morning, it was only Friday afternoon. He reaches into his school bag for his gum. Despite what some people say, Wilbur’s a firm believer that if you don’t swallow it, it doesn’t break a fast.
“Shit.” He whispers. He meant to pick up another pack on his way home. Suppose a walk would do him some good, but he’s still so bored. Suddenly, Wilbur remembers that he has a little brother that he can pester into coming with him. Plus, though he’d never admit it, he liked spending time with the kid.
Wilbur made his way to Tommy’s bedroom, and loudly knocked on the door.
“Shit- uh, one sec!” Tommy called out from within. Wilbur heard a bit of rustling before the door opened. “I was in the middle of changing” Tommy laughs as he opens the door. “What do you want?”
“Go on a walk with me?” Wilbur asks. Tommy seems to think for a moment before he replies.
“Why?”
“I have to go to the corner store. I forgot to pick up gum on my way home.”
“You don’t need me for that”
“Just come with me. I’ll buy you something.” Wilbur says. God, He always had to persuade this kid into doing shit with him.
“Fine.” Tommy scoffs.
Wilbur doesn’t notice that Tommy was in the same clothes he was wearing before he had supposedly changed.
—————
Tommy sat his phone down on his bed, hopefully his interaction bait would get something to happen. Tommy considers what to do in the meantime. He was fairly sure his family wouldn’t enter his room until dinner time, so he was free to do whatever he wanted. Tommy decided he needed a sort of progress photo, a body check. He gets undressed to his boxers and stands in front of his mirror, analyzing every centimetre of fat on his skin. He tries to find the best angle for the photo, though it’s a difficult struggle. He’s about to take the photo when he hears a loud knock at his door.
“Shit- uh, one sec!” Tommy called out. Who the hell was knocking on his door? He rapidly stumbles back into the clothes he was in before, and opens the door.
Ah. It’s Wilbur. “I was in the middle of changing” Tommy says with a nervous laugh as he opens the door. “What do you want?”
“Go on a walk with me.” Wilbur says. It’s not exactly phrased as a request. Tommy takes a moment to think before he replies. He’s a bit tired, but it would burn calories, though, there’s a chance Wilbur was taking him to get food, and he did not want to deal with that.
“Why?”
“I have to go to the corner store. I forgot to pick up gum on my way home.” Okay, this could be fine, it’ll be fun.
“You don’t need me for that” Tommy says. He already decided to go, but he can’t just agree with his older brother that easily. There’s a ritual to this. An ancient sibling rule.
“Just come with me. I’ll buy you something.” Wilbur says. Tommy suppresses an eye roll, there it is. Wilbur’s practically begging to hang out. It’s a little funny to Tommy, Wilbur tries to put on a façade of being the dickhead older brother, but Tommy always sees through it.
“Fine.” Tommy says, hiding a small smile. He really did like hanging out with Wilbur. Though he won’t admit it.
—————
At the store, Wilbur buys the biggest pack of sugar free gum that he can find. Tommy grabs a diet coke, and a pack of mints.
“Diet coke? Thought you hated that.” Wilbur says, eyeing Tommy’s purchase.
“When I was like 9. Only babies hate diet coke; I’m a big man.” Tommy says as he puts the bottle in his unnecessarily large pocket. “Plus, it’s cheaper.” He adds. He doesn’t actually know if that’s true or not. He hopes Wilbur doesn’t either.
“Aw, what, you don’t wanna spend my money?” Wilbur coos. “I’m sure the extra 30p won’t decimate my wallet, Tommy.”
“Obviously since you bought a five pound pack of gum. Why do you even need a huge fuckin plastic pack of gum? Just buy two of the small ones man!”
“The plastic pack doesn’t get torn up!”
“You’ve got a fucking gum addiction man.”
The pair laugh as they leave the store. Wilbur tries not to overanalyze Tommy’s soda choice. Maybe the diet coke was on sale.
—————
Tommy had been dreading going home all day. He had thought it was another day where Phil wasn’t making dinner, but yet, things never go to plan. For once, Tommy had actually eaten something on his lunch break, and almost immediately after, he received a text from Phil to the family group chat.
—
Phil
Quick reminder — Lasagna for dinner tonight!
—
‘Oh for fucks sake.’ Tommy had typed, before quickly deleting it.
Now, Tommy was on the bus home, his mind never strayed from the thought of the dinner. He had a grilled cheese for lunch, fallen victim to the marketing of the school cafeteria and its students. He couldn’t even be certain how many calories were in it. 400? 500? Fuck, it had garlic butter on it. The thought of having lasagna after school made him sick. I mean, sure, the lasagna was good, but God, the calories. Nothing could be worth the amount of calories in lasagna.
—————
Tommy sat at the dinner table, poking at his meal.
“Tommy, y’alright mate?” Phil says. “You’ve barely eaten.”
Tommy feels every eye at the table staring at him. “I’m fine. Just thinking about homework and shit.” He didn’t want to say that he wasn’t hungry. Too cliché.
“Alright…just, try to eat a bit more? Don’t wanna waste food mate.”
“Right.” Tommy hated wasting food. He ends up eating the whole slice. He’d have to do something about this. As soon as he’s cleared the table, he heads to the upstairs washroom as quickly as he can without being suspicious.
The feeling of ramming his fingers down his throat isn’t one of Tommy’s favourites, but anything is better than the thought of keeping those calories down. He’s done this before, he knows they can’t hear anything from downstairs, as long as no one comes upstairs he should be fi-
A knock at the door. “Tommy, you alright in there?” Wilbur says. Wilbur’s never upstairs this early unless…
Tommy had forgotten. Today was thursday. Wilbur has a guitar test tomorrow. Of course he’d be upstairs, he needs to practice.
“I’m fine, Wil, just sick.” Tommy says, hoping he can play this off as a stomach bug. He should’ve been more careful
“Can I come in?”
Tommy coughs through his words. “Sure. Whatever big man.” He says, wiping his fingers off with toilet paper as fast as he can. Not the most sanitary, but whatever.
Wilbur enters, and kneels down on the ground next to Tommy, quietly rubbing his back. “You good now? Just sick?”
“Yeah, yeah. Something didn’t sit right with the lasagna I guess.”
“Stay here for a minute, I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Wait.”
Wilbur turns around.
“Don’t tell Phil I’m sick. He’ll blame himself and get all guilty and shit.”
Wilbur gives a small nod, and rushes downstairs. He’s back as quickly as he’d left, and he hands Tommy the water glass
“Thank you.” Tommy mumbles, slowly drinking.
Tommy can’t quite tell what emotion Wilbur’s looking at him with. Maybe it’s pity. Softened eyes looking at Tommy like he’s a pathetic baby.
“Tommy, do you want to hang with me for a while?” Wilbur asks softly.
“It’s alright big man. You’ve got a guitar test tomorrow, right? You’ve gotta practice. Don’t wanna interrupt your work.”
“Honestly, Tom, it’s alright. You being there doesn’t stop me from practicing. Plus, I’m pretty much ready for the test anyway.”
“Okay. Yeah, I’ll stay with you.” Tommy washes his hands and follows Wilbur to his bedroom.
Tommy sits down across from Wilbur on the bed, leaning back against Wilburs headboard as Wilbur tunes his guitar.
Wilbur runs through the song he had to learn for his test a couple times, before eventually swapping to one of his own originals. The song is new, but the rhythm and the lyrics feel so familiar to Tommy. They almost remind him of Ozy’s poetry- No. He’s not going to think about that. Ozy is not his brother. Tommy chooses to let his eyes shut, and his consciousness slowly drift away as he listens to Wilbur play.
—————
It’d been a month since Wilbur had become mutuals with KrakenKilos, and as much as he hated to admit it, he found the kid kind of endearing, though maybe annoying at first.
Wilbur was lying on his bed, having just come home from school. Phil was working late, and Techno had gardening club after school, so it was just him and Tommy at home for a few hours. Wilbur considers the option of pestering Tommy, but the kid looked tired today, so instead he opens Twitter
As he scrolls he notices Kraken had posted a bodycheck in his twitter circle. (Kraken always liked to keep things like that to just his mutuals.) Normally, Wilbur wouldn’t look at his mutuals bodychecks for very long, however, today, as his eyes trace over Krakens ribs, peeking out from behind his skin, Wilbur notices something, and his heart drops to his stomach, perhaps the only solid thing to have touched it in far too long.
He recognized this. Wilbur recognized the birthmark on Kraken’s chest. He recognized the bony fingers and bitten nails and oh God he recognized the background. The stupid dresser he helped build and the stuffed moth on top of it. His little brothers room.
Wilbur feels sick. Extremely sick. Wilbur’s not usually a reactive vomiter, but he sprints to the bathroom nonetheless. Kneeling in front of the toilet as guilt and gags rack his frail form. His little brother— his baby brother—had been struggling, had been in the same situation as him, and he had been fueling it. Every stupid tweet he’d liked, every joke he retweeted from Kraken, everything, it’d been fueling Tommy to get worse.
The gags and heaves soon reach their peak, the black coffee that Wilbur had for lunch finding its way up and out of his esophagus.
“Wilbur? You alright big man?” Tommy asks, knocking on the bathroom door. Despite the intention, this only makes Wilbur feel worse. He leans back from the toilet and breaks into sobs.
“Wilbur?! Wil, let me in!" Tommy pounds on the door. Wilbur doesnt move. Tommy shouldnt have to see his big brother like this. Not after what he's done.
After a few moments, Wilbur hears Tommy walk away from the door. He’s a bit shocked. Tommy wasn’t usually one to just leave people like that.
Wilbur hears the lock rattle.
“Wilbur. I’m coming in.” Tommy says sternly. Oh. This is worse than being left alone.
“N-No, you don’t have to-“ Wilbur tries to say before bursting into the room.
“Wilbur, dude, the fucks happened?” Tommy asks, placing his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. For the first time, Wilbur notices how small Tommy’s arms are. Despite Tommys crude words, Wilbur can see the concern on his face. He hates it. This isn’t how it’s meant to be.
Wilbur just sobs in response, the guilt coagulating and solidifying in his stomach with every second spent near Tommy, as though his guts were a cement mixer that’s been left unattended in -40 weather.
“Wilbur, hey, look at me big man.” Tommy says, failing to mask the nerves in his voice. “Wilbur. Deep breaths. It’s okay. Just- Just match mine.”
Tommy places Wilbur’s hand on his chest and starts taking deep breaths. “In, two, three, four, five. Hold, two, three, four, five six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five.” Wilbur mirrors the motions as best he can. He’s not sure how many times they repeat the motions. Hell, he wasn’t even aware he’d been hyperventilating. Wilbur tries not to notice how clearly he can feel Tommy’s ribs.
Once Wilbur’s breathing levels out, Tommy asks the dreaded question. “What’s wrong, man?”
“Tom, Tommy, I’m- I’m so sorry- I- I should’ve known-“ Wilbur cuts himself off with another sob. “I should’ve seen the signs.”
“Known what? Wilbur, what are you talking about?”
Through tears, Wilbur takes out his phone, and pulls up KrakenKilos. “It’s- It’s you, isn’t it?” He asks, tears running down his face
Tommy’s eyes widen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, big man.”
“Please, Tommy, I know it’s you. I’m not mad”
“You’ve got the wrong guy, Wilbur. Cmon. I’ve never seen this.”
“Fuck. Tommy, don’t lie to me.” Wilbur says, an exasperated tone lying in the depths of his voice.
“What makes you think I’m lying?”
“Tommy, we’re mutuals!” Wilbur blurts out
“Wh- Wilbur. That’s not funny.” Tommy’s quieter now. His face falls paler than it already was.
Wilbur quietly pulls up his own account, and passes his phone to Tommy as he buries his face in his knees. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles. “I’m so sorry.”
Tommy’s jaw falls open, and suddenly Wilbur receives the same pitiful gaze he had been giving to Tommy.
The pair either in silence for a moment, before Wilbur mutters out, “I wouldn’t have followed it I knew it was you. I’m so sorry, To-”
“I thought it might’ve been you.” Tommy cuts him off
“I- I’m sorry?”
“You. The account, I mean. He felt so familiar. I couldn’t figure out why until that night you played guitar for me after i’d been…sick.”
A realization hits Wilbur like a truck. “Tommy, were you…?”
“That’s not the point. Your lyrics, Wilbur. They have the same rhythm, or flow, or whatever as your poetry.”
“So, you knew.”
“I didn’t know, but… I didn’t want to think about it further. y’know?”
“Yeah. I know.” Wilbur sighs.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
A measure of rest. Four beats, two hearts.
“Do you…Could we have a sleepover tonight? Like we did when we were kids?” Tommy asks.
“You’d…still want to?” Wilbur hadn’t expected this. In all honesty, he’d been thinking of those sleepovers since Tommy fell asleep on his bed while Wilbur played guitar. He’d missed them.
“Yeah. I would.” Tommy and Wilbur start to hug, tears gently dripping into eachothers shoulders. It’s unclear who pulled who closer, it was practically a synchronized movement.
That night, the pair hold eachothers frail bodies as tight as they can, keeping warm under the blanket in a near-symbiosis until they fall asleep. When they wake up, things will be different, more fragile, colder. But for now, they’re just two brothers, fighting a chill.