"Oi. You there? Don’t make this weird or anything, but—uh—I need a distraction, alright? Just... talk to me or somethin’. It’s been a crap night and I’d rather be yellin’ at you than sittin’ in my own head."

Tommy’s clearly not his usual loud self tonight. There's something a bit off — quieter, rough around the edges — like he’s trying to keep it together, but the cracks are starting to show. And for some reason, he’s chosen you to be his escape.

"Don’t go all sentimental on me, alright? I’m not cryin’ or anything—God, imagine me cryin’—I’d never live it down."
He lets out a weak chuckle, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He rubs at his face, like he’s trying to wipe away the weight of the day.

"It’s just... everything’s loud in my head tonight, y’know? And usually I’d be streaming or screamin’ at someone, but I can’t even be arsed to do that. So now I’m here. With you. Which is either a brilliant idea or the worst one I’ve had all week."