Chapter Text
Tommy’s heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with Wilbur across the diner. The booth had never felt so claustrophobic. He could almost hear the dramatic music playing in his head as everything slowed down, like a scene from a bad action movie. Wilbur’s expression was unreadable, a weird mix of shock and… something else. Something darker.
Tommy gulped and instinctively looked away, trying to pretend like he hadn’t just made eye contact with his sworn enemy in the middle of what was supposed to be a fun lunch. But of course, that didn’t last long.
“Uh, Tommy?” Grian’s voice broke through the haze. “You good, mate? You’ve gone a bit pale.”
“Yeah, you look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost,” Ranboo added, his eyes flicking between Tommy and whatever the hell he was staring at.
Tommy shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Pfft, nah. Just—uh—just a bad memory.”
But it was too late. Grian’s curiosity was already piqued, and Tubbo was craning his neck to see what had rattled his best friend.
“What’s the deal? Who are you looking at—oh.” Tubbo’s eyes widened as he spotted the SBI trio across the diner.
“Oh, shit,” Ranboo muttered, now fully aware of what was going down.
Sitting in the opposite booth, Wilbur’s eyes had narrowed, and the tension in the diner was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Philza was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, looking over at Tommy with an expression that screamed really, kid?. And Techno? Techno was casually sipping on his drink like he wasn’t part of the most famous band in the country, completely unbothered by the brewing storm.
For a second, no one moved. It was like the world held its breath, waiting to see who’d make the first move. And, naturally, that person was Wilbur.
“Oi, Tommy!” Wilbur called out, voice tinged with that fake American accent he always threw on when he was pissed or performing. He stood up, shoving his chair back with a screech that echoed across the diner. “Got yourself a new band, huh?”
Tommy’s eyes darted to his bandmates, who were all looking at him like they were waiting for him to explain… everything. Grian was visibly confused but also slightly amused. Scar just looked like he was ready to grab popcorn.
Tommy, though? He was fuming. He’d had enough of Wilbur’s shit, and the whole oh, I’m so cool and dramatic act was getting real old. He stood up, matching Wilbur’s energy, his voice sharp as a knife.
“Yeah, Wilbur, I did,” Tommy spat, crossing his arms. “Got tired of thinking about your shitty band and decided to join one that actually does something.”
A few gasps echoed around the diner. Grian raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, clearly content to let Tommy handle this.
Wilbur's jaw clenched, his fake American accent slipping as he spoke. “You think you’re better off without us? Better off without me?!” He laughed, though it was bitter, venomous. “You really think you can just walk away and everything’s gonna be fine?”
“Oh, cry me a river, mate,” Tommy shot back, his words laced with sarcasm. “You think I owe you something? Newsflash, Wilbur—your band ain’t the center of the bloody universe. I’m better off here, and you can go shove your guitar up your ass.”
The diner was dead silent for a split second before Scar, of all people, burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is brilliant,” he said between fits of laughter, slapping the table. “I love this kid!”
Wilbur didn’t share the sentiment. He stormed toward Tommy, fists clenched at his sides, but before he could get any closer, Mumbo stood up, gently but firmly stepping between them.
“Wilbur,” Mumbo began in his usual calm, composed tone, “I think we all need to take a deep breath here.”
Wilbur shot Mumbo a glare, but the older man didn’t waver. “Mumbo, stay out of this,” Wilbur spat, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
Mumbo simply smiled, ever the diplomat. “Look, mate, I know you’re upset, and I get it. But this isn’t the time or place to hash things out.” He tilted his head slightly, his fatherly tone soft but firm. “You don’t want to cause a scene, do you? It’s not worth it.”
Wilbur opened his mouth to argue but stopped. Something in the way Mumbo spoke seemed to shift everything, it was like his words directly hit something in Wilbur's mind—if only a little. His fists unclenched, and he let out a frustrated sigh.
Mumbo nodded. “Good man. Now, why don’t we all just sit back down and enjoy our meals, yeah? No need for any unnecessary drama.”
For a second, it seemed like Wilbur was going to push past Mumbo anyway, but instead, he just glared at Tommy one last time before muttering, “Whatever,” and storming back to the SBI’s booth.
Philza raised an eyebrow at Wilbur but didn’t say anything, while Techno glanced over at Mumbo and gave him a small nod of approval.
Mumbo, ever unbothered, simply straightened his tie and turned back to Tommy’s table. “Sorry about that,” he said with a polite smile. “I think we can all agree tensions are a bit high today. Best to just let it go.”
Tommy, still riding the high of telling Wilbur off, huffed. “Yeah, whatever. I’m not apologizing, though.”
Mumbo chuckled softly. “I didn’t expect you to.”
With that, Mumbo returned to his seat, and the tension in the diner slowly began to dissipate. Tommy sat back down too, though his heart was still racing.
“Well, that was something,” Tubbo muttered, still clutching his fork like a weapon. “I thought for sure someone was going to get decked.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, Wilbur can piss off. I’m not dealing with his shit anymore.”
Grian, who had been watching the whole exchange with a bemused smile, finally spoke up. “You handled that pretty well, Tommy.”
Tommy shrugged, trying to act casual, but inside, he was still buzzing from the confrontation. “Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a legend.”
Ranboo snorted. “A legend who almost got into a fistfight in a diner.”
“That’s why they call me one-” Tommy shot back, grinning.
Scar, still chuckling to himself, clapped Tommy on the shoulder. “You’ve got guts, kid. I like that.”
Tommy smirked. “Damn right I do.”
As the group settled back into their conversation, Tommy couldn’t help but glance over at the SBI table every now and then. Wilbur was still glaring daggers at him, but Mumbo’s intervention had kept things from spiraling out of control—for now.
But as Tommy stared down at his menu, a thought crept into his mind. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
And if Wilbur thought he could intimidate him into backing down, he had another thing coming.