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Assistant: Title: Crimeboys: The Sitcom
        Author: blergh_wizard blergh_wizard 
        Chapter: 1/9 
        Summary: Wilbur starts mumbling under his breath. “No. No, it can’t be. No way. This is a child. This is an actual child. No way.”“Hey!” Tommy calls, beaming. “It’s child prodigy to you, Soot. Watch yourself, I probably have double your IQ.”Wilbur comes to attention, eyes narrowing at him. “How… how? How are you in college? You’re a child.”“Graduated early,” Tommy boasts. “Valedictorian, top of my class. Don’t be too impressed.” He pauses. “Your mouth’s open. You might wanna close it, mate. Your throat will dry up and you’ll die.”Wilbur closes his mouth slowly. He continues watching Tommy’s expression, as if waiting for this to be a joke. “I have to room with a fourteen-year-old?” He thinks out-loud, horrified. “Oi. Fourteen and three-quarters! ” Tommy reminds him.---Or, tired-out barely-adult Wilbur and child prodigy Tommy are college roommates. This arrangement leads to a lot of shenanigans.
        Contents: Chapter 1: S1, EP1: And They Were Roommates
    

    


  

  
  
    
    The transition between living at home and living in a dorm is supposed to be difficult. And it is! Wilbur can barely keep up with it. The last summer with his high school friends is a short one, and saying goodbye to everyone he knows as he leaves for the airport is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He makes it, though. And when he’s standing in front of his college, the next four years of his life standing tall and proud in front of him, he knows everything will be worth it. He’s been waiting for college all his high school career– working his ass off on papers, exams, projects, everything. Everyone says college is the best time of life. Wilbur hopes to be a majority. His biggest concern at the moment is meeting his roommate. A lot of people meet their roommate beforehand through social media, but Wilbur had been too anxious to even look at who he’d gotten. He’d been stupid– he only hopes whoever his roommate is can understand. He knows, realistically, that he should worry about his courses, and probably his eating situation, but he simply can’t. He’s holding his key, standing in front of his dorm, and he’s terrified. He’d been able to not get a suite. There had been an application form, and a low-chance of achieving what he’d wanted, but he’d somehow gotten chosen. It’d come with a little extra money, sure, but he’d rather worry about living with one person than seven.He hopes his roommate isn’t someone too cool– he’d just die if he has to spend every waking moment in his dorm being scared about impressing yet another person, tripping over himself to prove his worth. With his heart at his throat and anxiety in his veins, he unlocks the door and slowly opens it. It’s silent, and the lights are turned off. He breathes out a sigh of relief.  Typical Wilbur, he thinks.  Worrying about a situation that didn’t even happen. He’s faced with two doors, parallel from one another. One must be the bedroom, and the other must be a bathroom. He can’t imagine sharing a singular, cramped little bathroom with so many people. He once again thanks his dad for paying extra. As he opens the door to the right, he’s met with complete, utter darkness. To his surprise, the window has blinds covering it. Before he can think about why there’s blinds already if his roommate hadn’t moved in yet, a voice speaks out. “Shut the door, man, I’m napping,” it says, and Wilbur yelps, jumping back a foot. For a moment, he clutches his racing heart, and then he steps into the room.“Hello?” He calls, a little timid. He tries to assure himself that nothing bad would happen to him– it’s just a human, just like him. “Sorry to wake you. I’m your roommate, Wilbur. Soot. Wilbur Soot, that’s– that’s the whole thing. Sorry.” There’s a second of silence, and then a light in the darkness, shining straight into Wilbur’s eyes. It’s a phone flashlight, one coming from the right corner of the room. Alright, then. Clearly the decision of whose side was whose didn’t require Wilbur’s input.Wilbur tries his best to give a reassuring smile. “I’m just… I’m gonna turn on the lights. Is that okay?” A disgruntled hum, and then the lights are on. Tucked into a messily-made bed is a mop of blond head, face wholly under the covers. “Tommy,” he mumbles. He makes no effort to say anything else. Wilbur hesitates at the door.  F@ck . He’s already messing this up, isn’t he? Should he have woken Tommy up? Is he a bad roommate already? God, he’s overthinking– he’s anxious and his palms are sweating. What if Tommy wants to do a handshake and his hand slips right off because of the moisture gathering? F@ck. F@ck!The thoughts continue to swirl and spiral in Wilbur’s mind, leaving him distracted and in his own world. His daze finally dissipates when Tommy sits up, revealing a young-looking boy with a plump babyface. What the f@ck? How old is this kid? Shouldn’t he be in school?Tommy groans, rubbing at his eyes. “Hi,” he mumbles through a stifled yawn. “Nice to meet you.”Wilbur just blinks. If this was a cartoon, it’d definitely be audible. “You’re… my roommate?” He asks. It’s not meant to be mean– he’s just confused. Confused and… startled. Almost in disbelief. “Yeah,” Tommy answers, voice rough with sleep, eyes shifting to Wilbur blearily. He pushes off his covers– which Wilbur realizes are Minecraft-themed– and reveals his Star Wars pajamas. Tommy speaks again when Wilbur just continues staring at him, perplexed. “You checkin’ out the drip, G? Cool, innit? The ladies love this.” The kid cracks a smile, revealing a set of silver-lined braces.Wilbur lets out a startled laugh. “How… old are you?” It feels like every sentence has an ellipsis, but his brain can’t keep going. Surely this is just his actual roommate’s little brother. No way this is real. “Fourteen and three-quarters,” he shoots finger guns. “Or, well, five-eighths, if you want to get extra technical, but you don’t seem like a technical guy.”Wilbur doesn’t know whether to feel offended or not. “Right.. So, when’s your brother coming ‘round?”“What brother?” Tommy asks, getting out of his bed. He slips on a pair of bunny slippers that are waiting for him on the floor. He yawns once more, and then springs up. “Wow… you are  tall.”The blond barely goes up to Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur laughs again, a little concerned. “What do you mean ‘what brother?’” He presses. “My roommate.”Tommy grins with too much teeth, excitement and mischief emanating from every fiber of his body. “You’re Wilbur Soot, right? I’m Thomas Simons.  I’m your roommate.”—Tommy waits for a moment, then waves a hand in front of Wilbur’s face. “Uhh? Hello? Wil? Wilbur?”Wilbur is unresponsive. He wonders what did it- the Minecraft bed or the braces? Or maybe it’s raw handsomeness, his oozing alpha-male masculinity. Probably his handsomeness.“Wilbuuurrr,” he calls. “Earth to Wilbur. Oi, b@tch. Say something.”Wilbur starts mumbling under his breath. “No. No, it can’t be. No way. This is a child. This is an actual child. No way.”“Hey!” Tommy calls, beaming. “It’s child  prodigy to you, Soot. Watch yourself, I probably have double your IQ.”Wilbur comes to attention, eyes narrowing at him. “How… how? How are you in college? You’re a child.”“Graduated early,” Tommy boasts. “Valedictorian, top of my class. Don’t be  too  impressed.” He pauses. “Your mouth’s open. You might wanna close it, mate. Your throat will dry up and you’ll die.”Wilbur closes his mouth slowly. He continues watching Tommy’s expression, as if waiting for this to be a joke. “I have to room with a fourteen-year-old?” He thinks out-loud, horrified. “Oi. Fourteen  and three-quarters!” Tommy reminds him.  “My bad,” Wilbur says completely unapologetically. “So… you’re Thomas?”“You can call me Mister Thomas Simons, the ultimate child prodigy and coolest guy around,” Tommy says, leaning forward and forcefully shaking Wilbur’s hand. It’s all sweaty. Gross. “Or Tommy, as I’ve said. Either or.”“I think I’ll stick with Tommy,” Wilbur’s voice trembles and cracks. A bead of sweat rolls down from his temple, as if he’s thinking so hard it’s physically exhausting him. What’s so hard for him to understand? Maybe he’s just having trouble comprehending Tommy’s unprecedented coolness. Yeah, that’s probably it. “You’re… my roommate.” “Oh my god,” Tommy groans. “Yes, I’m your roommate, d@ckh@@d, wrap your mind around it.” He grabs his dorm keys from the windowsill and tosses them to Wilbur, who miraculously catches them. “Wanna go get a coffee? There’s a Starbucks nearby, I think. Your treat!” Wilbur clutches the keys to his chest. “It– what?” “Coffee! Or, well, I get hot chocolate because I’m not a p@ssy, but  you  can get whatever you want. You’re paying for it anyway,” He takes off his slippers and changes into his going-out shoes; a pair of neon-orange crocs. God, he’s so swag. How is he not constantly surrounded by women? He spins around, and Wilbur’s rooted to his spot, frozen. “You coming?” Wilbur rapidly blinks to himself, then slowly moves towards the door. “I… I guess?” “Pogchamp,” Tommy gives a thumbs-up. “Let’s go then. We wanna get back in time to set up your side of the room,  roomie .” Wilbur trails behind Tommy as he cheerily skips down the hall. The older boy seems to be in a daze, probably amazed by how Tommy struts. A few people look at him weirdly as he passes, but he doesn’t mind. People can stare all they want. Honestly, Tommy had lied. He has no clue where the nearest coffee shop is, but surely he’s bound to find one. This is America after all. Americans are obsessed with that dumb franchise. He’ll just wander around aimlessly and eventually reach his destination. He’s so smart. “So,” Wilbur starts as they’re walking down the sidewalk. “You’re overly British. Where’d you come from?”“England. Nottingham, more specifically. You?”“Brighton,” Wilbur replies. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”Tommy squawks, offended. “England? England doesn’t suck!  You  suck! Long live Lizzie, my beloved, my shining star.” “I’m not talking about the Queen, dumb child, I’m talking about Boris Johnson,” Wilbur huffs, rolling his eyes.“Boris Johnson?” Tommy questions. “Who’s that?”Wilbur shoots him a weird look. “You don’t know Boris Johnson? Where’ve you been, mate?” “Studying, mostly. Nonstop. For the past, like, seven years,” Tommy responds genuinely. “Is he like your idol or something? Your celeb crush, if you will?”Wilbur laughs. “Believe me, kid, Boris Johnson is  no one’s idol. Nor crush. Ugly man. You actually don’t know him?” Tommy shakes his head. “Well, he’s the Prime Minister, and the leader of the conservative party.” Tommy tilts his head. “Do we like the conservative party?”“Well, some people are alright, I guess. Depends on the person. But we do  not like Boris Johnson. He’s not good, Tommy.” “Well, what’s he done?”“You know nothing?” Wilbur asks incredulously.“Well,” Tommy hesitates. “I know my mom supports him. Is that a bad thing?” Wilbur hesitates. “Can I speak ill of your mom?” Tommy nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. First off all, he’s utterly incompetent. He wastes millions of civilian pounds on projects that literally no one cares about when he could be improving things that actually matter. And he, like, consistently berates others based on their religion and skin color. Wrote a whole column invalidating Muslim women and black people.” Tommy takes a moment to process the information. “Woah,” he finally says. “That… we definitely don’t like him, then. That’s our Prime Minister?”“Mhm.”“Who the f@ck elected him?”“The people,” Wilbur answers bitterly. His mouth twists into a twitching frown, as if the mere thought of Boris Johnson deeply bothers him. “For some f@ck@ng reason. Conservatives and other straight, cis white people who don’t care about anything other than themselves.” “My mom included, I guess,” Tommy says. It’s not too much of a surprise. His mom isn’t the most thoughtful person, to put it lightly. “That’s horrible, though. Wow.”“Yeah, no, it’s–” Wilbur stops. His footsteps grind to a halt as well. “Tommy, where are we going?”“Starbucks,” Tommy responds. “The Bucks! Your treat, remember?” “But you– you know where we’re going right? You know where it is?”Tommy laughs. “That’s such a silly question! Of course I don’t! I just moved here, like you! Idiot.”Wilbur stares at him for a moment, one in which Tommy thinks the man might just break into tears, but then he just sighs. “Why am I surprised? I need to adapt to your stupidity.”“That’s quite rude,” Tommy mumbles. “My IQ of one-hundred and thirty-seven doesn’t agree with you, but whatever, I guess.” “Alright, Mini Einstein, if you’re so smart, lead us to Starbucks.” “Fine! I will!”They turn the corner, and as if on cue, a Starbucks suddenly reveals itself at the end of the street. Tommy turns to Wilbur with a sh@t-eating grin, opening his mouth to gloat. Wilbur snaps, “Don’t say a word, or I’m not getting you whipped cream.”Tommy pouts. “How’d you know I like whipped cream?”“I didn’t, til you just told me,” Wilbur reveals. Tommy gapes, dumbfounded. “Get outsmarted, Mini Einstein.” Tommy’s quest for a moment, processing this, and then he just shoves Wilbur. “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Get me sprinkles, d@ckh@@d, or else we’ll really not get on.”“Want me to get you a Cakepop while I’m at it?” Wilbur quips sarcastically. Tommy nods eagerly, though. “Let me guess. A chocolate one?”Tommy smiles. “We’re gonna be great friends, Wilbur Soot.”Wilbur looks unimpressed. “Doubt it. And I’m not getting you a f@ck@ng Cakepop, pr@ck.”—Wilbur watches the kid absolutely scarf down his hot chocolate, getting whipped cream all over his upper-lip. He sips his own Chai Latte, watching the barista prepare more drinks behind the counter. He needs a job. Maybe he can apply here.  One thing at a time, Wilbur,  he reminds himself.  Focus on your dorm and your roommate, then classes, then a job. Don’t overwhelm yourself.  He takes a big breath, filling his lungs with the warm Starbucks air and exhales it in one go. His racing thoughts come to a slow stop as he concentrates on his drink. “You’re drinking too slow,” Tommy complains. “Come on, man. I’m already half-way done with mine. Also you’ve been staring at that lady for the past two minutes. You want her number? I can hook it up,” he puffs out his chest confidently. “I’m great with the ladies.”“Stop calling women ‘the ladies,’” Wilbur laughs, lightly kicking Tommy’s leg under the table. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”Tommy hums. “About what?”“Well, I need a job,” Wilbur explains. “Cause, you know, I’m broke and paying off college loans will  not  be easy. I’m thinking about applying here. Sixteen dollars an hour’s really good.” “Alright,” Tommy says, taking another large gulp from his hot chocolate. He swallows with a loud ‘ahh’ and puts the cup down, wiping the foam from his face with his sleeve. Wilbur grimaces at the lack of etiquette. “Apply then.” Wilbur chuckles nervously. “It’s not that easy, Tommy.”“Why not?” Tommy asks. “Just go up and ask for an application.”Wilbur sighs. “God, I wish I was still just a naive child. That doesn’t just happen, Tommy.”“Why?” Tommy insists. “Well, firstly, because…” Wilbur trails off. “Because…”Tommy looks at him, waiting for him to go on, but Wilbur can’t. Why can’t he just apply right now? Is there really something stopping him, or is it just in his head? Maybe it’s just his nihilistic, self-degrading mindset barring him from a path to a better life. “I don’t know,” Wilbur admits. Tommy scrutinizes him for a moment, then stands up. Wilbur watches, horrified, as he approaches the counter. He can’t exactly hear what the kid’s saying, but he pulls the sleeves of his shirt over his palms so that he has sweater-paws, and shifts awkwardly on his feet. The barista seems absolutely delighted. Then her eyes shift to Wilbur.Wilbur’s heart simply stops.  Yep,  he thinks.  I die here. His hands sweat. His heart beats faster, and then he flushes. Finally, the barista looks away, going into the backroom and returning with a couple of forms and a pen. Wilbur watches Tommy take them with an incredibly innocent, sweet smile. The moment he turns back to Wilbur, his smile changes into a confident beam. He comes back to the table and, lo and behold, throws an application form in Wilbur’s lap. “GG, easy,” he says, dropping into his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “Give those back to her when you’re done. Your interview is tomorrow at three.” Wilbur sputters. “But I– she just–  huh? ”“Puppy eyes,” Tommy’s beam turns lopsided. “Works like a charm. I told you. The ladies just can’t resist me.” “You are a devil child,” Wilbur breathes out, staring at the application form with excruciating disbelief. Tommy finishes his hot chocolate. “I prefer the term ‘miracle worker.’ This is where you say ‘thank you,’ by the way.”Something giddy climbs in Wilbur’s chest, pushing the edge on admiration. “Tommy,” he says, utterly at a loss for words. “I– thank you.”“Anytime. Consider it mutualism. You got me hot chocolate, I got you an interview. We’re even.”Wilbur just stares. That’s… incredibly humble. He thought the kid would hold it over his head for a while. Now they’re at a draw? He’s weird. Good weird, maybe, but definitely weird. “I guess,” he says. He grabs the pen and starts filling out the form. “Ew, paperwork,” Tommy whine, getting out of his chair even though he just sat down. “Bo- ring . I’m going back to the dorm. If you’re not back in thirty, I’m selling all your stuff on Craigslist.” Wilbur laughs. “Alright, then. Bye, Tommy.”The store bell rings as Tommy leaves the store. He feels mildly bad about leaving a fourteen-year-old alone to get back to the dorm, but it’s fine. He’s got a feeling the kid will find his way home. He sloppily fills out the rest of the paperwork, leaving general information like his name, his availability, and references. As he works, he finishes his latte.When he finishes, he feels better. Now that that’s taken care of, he can push it to the back of his mind til tomorrow. He gives the filled-out form to the barista, and, after a moment of hesitation, purchases a chocolate Cakepop for Tommy. —Tommy wakes up, groggy and disoriented, at around nine the following morning. It’d been a rough night, what with Wilbur getting in late and waking him up repeatedly with his loud snoring. From what he knows, Wilbur should already be gone. They’d discussed it last night after Wilbur got back from Starbucks. While Tommy’s first class is at nine-thirty, Wilbur’s is at nine. He relishes in the alone-time, walking into the bathroom without bothering to knock. As he gets to the toilet and fumbles with his zipper for a moment, he suddenly hears a noise from the shower. His eyes shift to the curtain, straining his ears for another noise. For a moment, there’s nothing. Then, muffled breathing. “Wilbur?” He calls, peeling back the shower-curtain. Sure enough, Wilbur is sitting there, still in his pajamas, knees to his chest. “Wil, mate, what are you doing?”“I–”  His voice is gravelly, and he forcefully swallows. “I don’t reckon you’ll believe I’m showering, will– will you?”Tommy stares, crouching to the man’s level. “No,” he answers honestly. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in class?”Wilbur’s throat bobs. “I can’t go,” he says, and his voice sounds panicked. “I just– I just can’t, I can’t, Tommy, I can’t.” He keeps whispering under his breath, eyes wide and unfocused. “I can’t. I can’t, I can’t–”“Wilbur, Wilbur,” Tommy interrupts him. “Breathe, mate. For, like, a moment. Just breathe.” Wilbur shakes his head frantically. He’s still muttering, but he’s also taking shallow, ragged breaths, like he can’t stop himself if he tried. Tommy’s not necessarily good with feelings. Nor at comforting people. He’s had plenty of panic attacks himself, sure, but what calms him down is usually just–No. No, Wilbur wouldn’t do that. He stabilizes himself, tentatively reaching out and taking Wilbur’s hand. “Wilbur,” He says again. “Wilbur, look at me. Look at me.” Wilbur manages to steady his gaze on Tommy’s face. His hair’s all messy, like he’s been tugging at his, and his lips are bitten. “Tell me what’s wrong, Wil. Come on.”But Wilbur just keeps shaking his head. “No,” he says, voice utterly aghast. “F@ck.  F@ck. I– I can’t, Tommy, I can’t–”“Can’t what?” Tommy asks genuinely. He squeezes Wilbur’s hand once, then gently thumbs at the brunet’s knuckles, the way his aunt used to do to him when he was little. “I’m here, Wilbur, talk to me.”“F@ck,” Wilbur repeats. “F@ck, f@ck.”“Is this about your class?” Tommy tilts his head, getting a bit closer to the shower without letting go of Wilbur’s hand. “Are you nervous?”Wilbur’s fingers tighten around his own. “Yeah,” he says breathily. “Just a– a little.” “Did you oversleep or something? Wilbur, it doesn’t matter,” Tommy says. “It’s a two-hour class, you can still make it.”Wilbur slumps down a little, eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t oversleep. I just– I just couldn’t go, Tommy. I got nervous, I got anxious, and then I just–” He gestures vaguely. “I couldn’t– I can’t–”“Okay. Okay. I get it. I understand. Come here,” he stands up, pulling Wilbur with him. When they’re both upright, he nudges Wilbur to the sink, where he turns on the cold water and lets go of Wilbur’s hand. “Wash your face,” he directs.Wordlessly, Wilbur does it. He brings a good amount of water to his face, and then he rubs at it. While he’s at it, Tommy gets a towel, silently passing it to Wilbur. Wilbur takes it and dries his face, and then Tommy’s pulling him to the bedroom. “You can’t tell a soul about this,” Tommy warns. He swallows his pride and takes a stuffed animal out of his closet. It's a two-feet tall duck, all fluffy and soft. “This is Professor Quackerson, and if you make fun of me right now I will literally move out and tell the dean you bullied me.”Thankfully, Wilbur doesn’t seem to be in the mood to tease. He just stares at the duck, letting Tommy push it into his arms. “Sit down,” Tommy instructs. “Hug Professor Quackerson.” Wilbur does as told, limbs all awkward and strained. Tommy lets out a frustrated noise. “You’re doing it wrong. Just– here, okay?” He rearranges Wilbur’s obnoxiously long arms to be hugging the plushie in a more comfortable position, then nudges his face down to be flat against the duck’s soft head. “Okay, now breathe with me. In, one, two, three,” he waits for Wilbur to follow. “Hold, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Okay? Can we do that?”Wilbur nods, properly hugging Professor Quackerson to his chest and kind of slumping against him. “Okay. Good. In, one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. In, one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.”They do that for a while, Tommy gently taking Wilbur through the process of breathing, and Wilbur following along. His hands stop shaking, and he even manages to stabilize his breathing by himself. Tommy moves a bit closer til their shoulder-to-shoulder, to hopefully provide a bit more warmth. He doesn’t know if this really works. He’d read it in a book once, that this is what you should do if someone’s having a panic attack, but he’d never tested it out. At least it worked. Eventually, Wilbur takes a big breath, opening his eyes. “Thank you,” he mumbles, exhausted. “I’m sorry about that. Really.” “Don’t apologize, it’s fine,” Tommy says genuinely. “Been there. Your class is still going on. You can get there, like, an hour late. No one will judge you.”Wilbur clutches the duck closer. “I can’t,” he admits. “I just… I’m scared. What if something happens?”“What could possibly happen?” Tommy asks. He goes to Wilbur’s side of the closet, picking out a pair of jeans and a shirt. Is it a little intrusive? Maybe. But it’s helpful, and he’s  going to help. “Put these on.”He turns around, giving Wilbur the privacy he needs. As he changes, Wilbur answers, “Everything. What if the professor doesn’t like me? What if I trip and fall in front of everyone? What if someone complains that they can’t see because I’m too tall? Or, or, what if he talks about the syllabus and I don’t understand a single word he’s saying? What then?”“Then you’ll be like ninety-percent of college students, Wilbur; lost, confused, and miserable. But you’re interfering with nature’s course if you don’t show up and let it happen.” He waits a moment. “Are you almost done?”At Wilbur’s ‘yeah,’ he turns around. Sure enough, the man’s changed, and he’s also put on shoes. “Okay. I’m good to go, I think.”“Um… Wilbur?”“Yeah?”“You have to let go of Professor Quackerson,” Tommy points out awkwardly.Wilbur sighs. “...Fine.”—“This is your stop,” Tommy says, staring up at the building. It’s pretty– big, mostly built with brick and marble undertones. Huge windows are placed evenly throughout the walls, and at the top is a big glass dome. A few people are climbing the stairs that lead into the building, and Tommy gently pushes Wilbur ahead. “Thank you for riding the Tommy Express. It’s been a pleasure, please leave us a good review on TripAdvisor.”Wilbur doesn’t say anything, looking at the hall with clenched hands. His shoulder tense, rising to his shoulders, and Tommy quickly places himself in front of him. “Hello? Wilbur, you’ve arrived at your destination. Please exit the f@ck@ng vehicle,” he jokes, but Wilbur’s not easily distracted. He takes one of Wilbur’s hands and guides him up the stairs. He’s vaguely reminded of the way his mom led him to the classroom on his first day of kindergarten, but he smiles to himself. “It’s just an hour. You’re okay. But I have to go, I’m gonna be late to my class.” “Right,” Wilbur mumbles, not entirely paying attention. “Right.”“Wilbur,” Tommy says again. “It’s alright. You’re alright. It’s scarier than it seems. You’re magnifying.”“I’m magnifying,” Wilbur repeats. He clenches Tommy’s hand in his own, which, ow. Tommy lets go and pushes him closer to the door. “I’ve got this.”“There you go, mate,” Tommy cheers. “Go on. When you’re done, you can head back to the room and order me some UberEats. I’ll need it.”Wilbur sighs. “My money,” he mourns. “It’s like having an actual child, except you’re my roommate and I have no financial obligation to keep buying you food.”“Uh, you have a  moral  obligation to, though,” Tommy points out. “Really?” Wilbur raises an eyebrow. “How so?”“Because I’m morally obligating you,” Tommy informs drily, gaining a laugh from Wilbur. “Now go.”“I’m going, I’m going,” Wilbur says, exasperated. “Thank you, Tommy.”Tommy beams. “Anytime.” He watches Wilbur head into the hall with a proud smile, waiting til the door closes behind him to let himself deflate. So many emotions today. How exhausting. Luckily Tommy’s cool and awesome and can handle anything thrown at him.  Super Tommy , that’s what they should call him. He spins around, job done successfully. Then he looks around at the vast college grounds, eyes flickering from building to building.“Right,” he realizes aloud. “Now how the f@ck do I get to my class?”He did not, in fact, get to his class in time.'
User: how to save books to library?
User: how to save books to library?
Assistant: