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Phil left when he was very young. Tommy still remembers his father’s brilliant wings, so white and pristine in the light of the sun. Its shining rays peeked through the feathers, ruffled by the morning zephyrs.
Tommy loved those wings. The way they cuddled him when he was a toddler, the way they shielded him from pesky bugs that plague their homes by the forest, the way they kept him safe from the bullies at school.
That is, until Phil disappeared.
Tommy isn’t sure what was so special about that day. Maybe because Purpled fell sick. Maybe the birds simply chirped wrong. Maybe it was the strange letter he received that morning.
He said he’d be back by evening, but Phil never returned. When the sun began to set below the horizon, a woman called Puffy showed up at Tommy’s house, scooping him up into her arms and threatened to take him away. Tommy punched and kicked and screamed, screamed for Phil to save him, but Puffy held on fast. Alas, a six-year-old cannot hope to beat a grown woman in a contest of strength.
It was on that fateful day that Tommy’s life turned around. For good or for worse, only Heaven knows.
*
The chatters hurt his ears.
Ten years since that day. Ten years since his father left. Tommy’s footsteps clack on the wooden boards as he makes his way across the bridges, striding past a group of chicks. Running about on those tiny legs of theirs, with wings that aren’t strong enough to fly yet.
Tommy glances away, scratching at his wings self-consciously. A cheer tears through the air. A shadow cast upon him has Tommy looks up, spotting fledglings—same class as he—practicing their loop-the-loops. Zipping through the air in a cloud of feathers of pink, green and yellow. Tommy drops his gaze.
No one walks at his age.
“Hey, mister.”
A little girl tugs at his shirt, her red wings folded neatly behind her back. She wears a polka-dotted dress, one that he recognizes as Puffy’s work.
“Why aren’t you flyi—” she starts, but her mother sprints over to her, grabbing her by her waist and lifting her into the air. The bridge shudders under the sudden movement. The woman casts a dagger-like glare at Tommy, before strutting off down the bridge and towards the residential area.
Tommy shrugs his shoulders—like he can shrug the matter off so easily—and continues on his way. Back to his home in the mansion overlooking the cliff, overlooking the rolling waves that crash against the rugged rocks below.
Tommy walks right up to the mansion, staring up at its imposing walls of dark oak. When light is scarce, it looks haunted, like one of those abandoned manors rumoured to exist in the deepest parts of the jungle. But this is his home, and Tommy feels no fear in stepping into the homely abode.
He shuts the creaking door behind him, surrendering himself to the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. The aroma of bread wafts from the kitchenette, where Puffy tends to the dough spread out on the stone pate over a bright flame.
“Welcome back,” she calls. “How was school?”
“It was okay.”
“Was it? I received a letter from your school, you know.”
Of course, the fucking headmaster would send his mother a letter. It probably detailed that fight too. Headmaster Schlatt didn’t like him much.
“In my defence, Purpled insulted me first.”
“You threw the first punch.”
Tommy hates the disappointment in Puffy’s voice. He hates disappointing her in general, since Puffy puts so much effort into raising him after his father left and…He looks up to find Puffy staring at him, her apron over her plait shirt and track pants, not a single feather out of place.
“Do you want to go and take a shower first?” Puffy asks. “I’ll get dinner ready soon.”
Tommy grunts in affirmation, and trudges up the spiral staircase to his room. The stairs built solely for his sake.
It’s time to hit the baths.
*
Tommy never liked the baths. At least, not when he goes alone. The lagoon is always crowded, filled with kids running to and fro and splashing each other in jest. Sure, the shimmering water is nice and all, but when parents are giving you the stink-eye and keeping their children away from you, it very much destroys the peace and calm that should come with it.
Well, he’s not alone today. He spots his friend, Tubbo, in the pool at the far end of the lagoon, eyes closed and doing some sort of yoga. Or deep breathing exercises. Tommy isn’t certain.
He plods over to his friend, feet crunching the sand. He drops his towel on Tubbo’s face, and Tubbo cries out in shock, spraying water around him as he sits bolt upright. Tommy stifles a laugh.
“What the fuck!” Tubbo cries, eyes narrowed as he glares at Tommy. “I almost drowned!”
“But you didn’t,” Tommy says delicately. He strips and steps into the bath, soaking his tired limbs in the tranquil waters. He can still feel the holes Tubbo is drilling into the back of his head.
“You dick,” Tubbo mutters, sinking back into the water till it reaches his chin. Tommy slumps against the wall next to him, folding his clothes and laying them on the ground by the rim. “Also, you really went and kicked Purpled’s balls today.”
“All’s fair in war.”
“And love,” Tubbo finishes. “But no one’s ever going to love you, so—”
Tommy shuts Tubbo up with a splash to the face. Tubbo splutters, coughing the water out of his mouth. Tommy wonders just how many people’s excreted in this pool today. Probably many.
“I was so prepared to show you your fucking wings, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Wait, what?” Tommy begins, going slack-jawed. “You’re done with them?”
“Yeah. But you’re being very mean, Tommy, and I don’t appreciate that.”
“Technically, you insulted me first.”
Tubbo sighs, but it soon turns into a chuckle. He rises, water dripping back into the pool and he climbs out of it. He quickly throws his clothes back on.
“Same place, same time,” Tubbo says. Tommy salutes him.
Tubbo leaves first, and Tommy leans back against the wall, careful not to scratch his wings. He shuts his eyes and tries his hardest to ignore the curious—or condescending—stares thrown his way.
*
The forest at night presents a new kind of serenity one can never experience in the daytime. The birds are silent, the wind whistles gently, and nocturnal critters dart from bush to bush. Tommy managed to sneak out after Puffy’s gone to bed, scampering along the wooden walkways and straight into copses of trees.
He trudges the beaten track through the undergrowth, past familiar stumps, and shrubbery, past the singular majestic cobweb strung up across the canopies. Very soon, he reaches the clearing with the moonbeams, the one where Tubbo began his engineering project so many months back.
The wings.
Tubbo built wings of branches and leaves. Wings that can be strapped to Tommy’s back and fitted against his own, the vines to be wrapped around his torso, and a tail of leaves. Not sure what the tail’s for, but Tubbo seems adamant about it. It was something much too complicated for Tommy to understand.
And there, in the middle of the moonbeam, Tubbo sits with his pride and joy. Tommy treads over, the snap of a branch announcing his presence. Tubbo lifts his head and waves him over. Tommy plops down next to him, drawing a knee up to his chest.
“Is this the finished product?”
“Yeah,” Tubbo says. He flips the wings over and fiddles with the straps. He undoes the knots around the chest area and holds it out to Tommy. “Come on. Give it a go.”
Tommy stares blankly at it. “From where? And how the fuck am I supposed to use this?”
“Um…you could start from the treetops.”
And break his bones if he falls. The duo stands, and Tubbo helps Tommy wear the contraption. The leaves fit snugly against Tommy’s, and the straps are wound tight enough to cut into his skin.
“Hey, watch it!”
Tubbo slaps his shoulder in retaliation, and Tommy coughs. He swears his friend broke a few bones there.
“Alright, done.” Tubbo smooths out the leaves around Tommy’s butt. The leaves that are the tail feathers. “Let’s find a tree, big man.”
Tommy snorts. They’re in a forest. Of course, they’re going to be able to find one. And yet, despite his feigned nonchalance, a rush of excitement floods him. If this works, when this works, he will taste flight. Flying on his own, instead of clinging on to Phil or Puffy. Flying freely like a bird in the sky.
Although, as exhilarated as he is, he struggles against the bulk of the contraption. It is bulky to the point where it is difficult for Tommy to climb the rough bark of the thick and tall tree where Tubbo perches. Tubbo watches him with amusement, and Tommy bites back some choice words. Tubbo just gave him the greatest gift he can ever ask for, so Tommy really shouldn’t be admonishing him.
By the time Tommy makes it up, with the contraption weighing on his straining muscles, he all but collapses on the branch. Tubbo moves to sit, legs dangling from the branch, wings tucked behind his back.
“You’re doing great, big man.”
Tommy dredges up the strength to utter an affirmation. Or a curse. He isn’t very sure what he said, but it’s more likely that it’s the latter.
“Now, you see those handles in front of you?” Tubbo says.
“Yeah?”
“You have to move those to fly. Pull them toward you to close them up, and push them away to open the wings.”
Tommy does as he’s told, eyes widening when the contraption works exactly as Tubbo said. A shuddering breath leaves his mouth.
“So, basically, you need to ride the winds and flap to gain altitude. It takes some getting used to, but that’s why I’m here.”
Tommy’s just glad he isn’t doing this alone.
“Right,” Tubbo says. “I’ve never tried it, so this is going to be the first test-run. Good luck, big man.”
Tommy squares his shoulders, adjusting the contraption on his back, careful not to get it caught on the canopies around them. The only reason he could not fly was because his wing muscles never worked. They never flapped; he could never even take off from the ground.
But now, with this “ma-sheen” that Tubbo so proudly calls it, he can finally fulfil his dreams.
“Ready, big man?” Tubbo stands on the branch, wings spread. Tommy narrows his eyes, staring at the big moon just ahead of them. If this fails, he’s taking one long plunge to the forest floor, but if this works, then…
“One…”
Tommy sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring.
“Two…”
His heart pounds, mind racing with a million thoughts.
“Three!”
Tommy leaps from the branch, and for a moment, his stomach drops. Like the few times he’s tried to fly, throwing himself from cliffs and ledges till he came home bloodied and bruised. For a moment, he expected to hit the ground, to break his ribs or an arm or…
But this time, his wings catch the winds and with a determined pull, he brings them closed. This time, he brings himself upwards.
This time, he soars.