Chapter Text
It started like this. Tommy had been on the run from the system on and off for a better part of two years. He’d gotten pretty good at dodging cops and social workers alike from a combination of them trying to arrest him for petty theft and trying to bring him back to group and foster homes that were absolute fucking shit.
He hadn’t been at his usual corner that day. Tommy wasn’t stupid enough to be around when cops started to try their hand getting information out of the other homeless fuckers without considering the very first rule of living on the streets.
Snitches get stitches. Nobody who wanted to stay alive would give the police anything without protection promised and signed in fucking blood or something. Even then, they’d be hard pressed because the second rule was don’t trust cops, they’re all pigs and not a single fucking one actually gives a shit.
That didn’t mean Tommy was safe though. He’d been brought back to the station enough times some of the pricks recognized him and Officer Sam even likened himself to his father figure. Which was fucking stupid, Sam barely knew anything about Tommy but he wasn’t about to pass up the free food he offered.
Point was, Tommy wasn’t off looking pathetic for passersby to either ignore or offer handouts in pity that grated on Tommy’s nerves but accepted nonetheless for his own survival. He was in some community garden, fenced off but a sign on the gate welcoming anyone to stop by and help keep the plants healthy. Gardening wasn’t really Tommy’s thing but it looked pretty from the outside and surely he’d be left alone if he kept himself busy trying to figure out what was a weed and what wasn’t.
Tommy had gotten on his knees in a random row, looking at the dirt and staring at the green, rounded leaves sprouting from it. It probably wasn’t poisonous to touch, right? Community gardens wouldn’t allow someone to grow toxic plants right in the center, especially this fucking much. He already knew he wasn’t an expert in garden-ology or what the fuck ever it was called, but these all looked like the same plant. And even if poison was allowed he figured it’d just be plain fucking rude to plant this much of it.
He glanced towards the entrance of the garden, then around to the other designated plots. There was some guy in the back, in one of the larger plots, tending to his crop. Tommy strained his neck, rising on his knees a bit to try and get a look at what he was doing and— is that more of the same plant at his knees? What the fuck? Who grew this much of one crop? Was this guy even sane?
“What are you doing?”
The sudden question startled a half aborted yelp from Tommy, the sound turning into a whine that made him scowl to offset how fucking pathetic it sounded. When he turned at the offender of his pride, Tommy seriously reconsidered going his usual prickly and annoying route because the guy was fucking huge.
His shoulders were broad, and they tapered into muscled arms crossed over a steady chest and denim overalls that did not fit how fucking intimidating this guy was. Tommy forced his eyes from the muscled fucking threats that were the stranger’s arms and made himself look into red eyes hinting at nothing behind the curious way his eyebrow was raised and the neutral curve of his mouth.
“None of your business,” Tommy snapped, and the buff fucker that could probably rip Tommy’s head from his shoulders if he wanted to shifted his expression from neutral curiosity to entirely unimpressed.
“It’s my business when you’re crushing my potatoes,” buff pig guy says, and Tommy blinked and dropped his gaze to the plant at his knees.
“…Why the fuck are you growing so many potatoes?”
And… Tommy wasn’t really sure why he was dragging this interaction out. Usually when Tommy came across someone he couldn’t beat in a fight he fucking booked it without bothering with niceties he didn’t fucking care for because they could get him dead. But when Tommy looks up at the massive fucker he can’t help but note that as impassive as he’s trying to be, his breath had hitched subtly and his jaw had twitched.
He was fucking embarrassed, what the fuck? This guy could probably flatten Tommy like a crepe and he’s embarrassed? …How far can he push that?
“Like this is just a fucking obscene number of potatoes big man, who the fuck eats this many? And there’s more over there too! That’s fucking insane, you know that right?” Tommy goads, leveling the guy with a judging stare full of disbelief.
The red of his cheeks didn’t really stand out against the naturally pink tone of his skin, but Tommy saw it. Tommy always sees way more than people want him to.
Buff pig guy clears his throat and shifts almost awkwardly on his feet, looking towards where Tommy had gestured just a second ago before re-centering his attention back on Tommy.
“It’s a good crop,” he mumbled, pulling a surprised snort from Tommy’s throat. He looks at the plot beneath him, then back at the big guy.
“Whatever you say, big guy. Whatever you say,” he says, pushing to his feet and forcing confidence into his stride to walk past the piglin. The teasing pat to the guys arm wasn’t planned on Tommy’s part, but it does inform him that the big guy isn’t a fan of the unsolicited touch as he takes a step to the side to halt the contact.
Tommy glanced behind him when he reached the gate of the garden, resolving to find another hide out to hunker down until the cops gave up the street corner Tommy usually resides. Big guy was already on his knees at the start of the plot, digging up potatoes and dumping them into a bucket Tommy hadn’t noticed with his distraction by the intimidating figure the stranger presented. He watches for a second, eyes tracking as the guy brushes a majority of the soil from the surface of the potatoes and then plop more into his bucket before digging into the plot again.
He hummed to himself, and then he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked off. That’s how it started.
It continues like this. Tommy had taken an interest in the way he could fluster a guy who could send him to an early grave if he flicked Tommy’s forehead just right. He wasn’t really proud of it exactly, considering it put his safety on the line, but Tommy was curious if nothing else and he was more inclined to chase immediate satisfaction than play the long game.
That wasn’t to say he couldn’t play the long game. Tommy was well versed in forcing his impatience into something manageable and then reaping the rewards later down the line. It payed well when he wanted something he couldn’t just nab and be done with it. But it wasn’t usually his first resort.
But Mister Potato Head was interesting, and Tommy wanted to see what other emotions he could pull from the guy when Tommy’s previous experience with intimidating fuckers ended with his eye black and swollen and his lungs burning with the effort of keeping him breathing during a dead sprint.
“You’re back.”
Tommy beams at the guy, letting his hands catch him as he leans back. He’s putting on… some kind of farce, Tommy doesn’t really know the logistics of his body language but he knows the goal is to put Mister Potato Head at ease and he knows that goal is achieved when all the guy does is sigh and settle himself in his plot of potatoes.
“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘P’ as he tracks the big guy’s movements.
“Why?”
There was something people didn’t know about Tommy. Usually it was because he was loud and annoying and easily distracted. But Tommy was perceptive, and while he pushed buttons he was also good at reading people to figure out which buttons were okay to press and which would get his ass beat. It meant he was good at getting what he wanted.
It meant he saw the way the big guy’s shoulders were tense despite his relaxed movements taking care of the barely there sprouts of new potatoes. Tommy tilted his head to the side, using the “lazy teenager not wanting to even hold his own head up” appearance to get a new angle on the big guy.
The muscles in his back flexed as he moved, but his spine was almost rigid with the way he was holding it. Like kneeling in the soil was not where he wanted to be.
Mister Potato head looked at him, apparently his subtle glances not being enough for whatever he was looking for— Wait, Tommy was supposed to respond to questions. He shrugged.
“No reason. Is potatoes all you grow? There’s so many better plants big man. Like fucking nightshade. Or strawberries.”
Big guy paused, now staring directly at Tommy like he’d grown two more heads in the two minutes he’d been pretending to pay attention to the dirt. Tommy lifted a brow.
“What?”
“Your options for me were poison or fruit?”
Tommy let out a snort, shifting so he wasn’t leaning on his hands anymore. It was a casual position meant to take the big dude off his guard, and while he was still tense Tommy was pretty sure he wasn’t gonna change his mind about kicking the shit out of him. He hunched over and started twirling his ring.
“Well yeah, nightshade just sounds cool as shit and strawberries are objectively the best fruit.”
Big guy just grunted at him, eyes flicking to his hands before he forced himself— and it took him a lot of effort to force himself— back to his gardening. Tommy blinked and looked at his ring, brows furrowing as he tried to figure out the reaction.
It wasn’t expensive, wasn’t even real gold honestly. It had turned his finger green sometimes, but Tommy liked having something shiny on him sometimes, and even if the thing was barely worth pennies he could at least pretend it had worth. Why the hell had it put more tension in the big guys shoulders?
Tommy looked up at him again, eyes tracing over the outline of his face and idly wondering if that snout of his got in the way of drinking water out of regular glasses. And then it hit him.
His ring, when you didn’t have years of experience with it turning your finger green and couldn’t look at it up close, looked like real gold. Big guy is a literal piglin. He wants Tommy’s fucking ring because of dumb piglin instincts.
“It’s not real gold,” he says conversationally, pretending like he didn’t notice the violent flinch (well, violent compared to every other expressional tell from the guy) in his facial features.
“Why do you hold onto it then?” he asks, glancing at Tommy again. He shrugs, continuing to twirl it around his pointer finger.