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It wasn’t uncommon to find Tubbo sitting on the roof of the Bee n Boo motel late at night, when the moon hung just above the horizon and the sky turned different shades of purple. It was his comfort spot- legs dangling over haphazardly placed concrete and freshly planted allium flowers. If he breathed in, he could smell the honey in the backyard- collected from earlier this afternoon. Michael, newly 4, had even tried to help! They had spent the next two hours cleaning his sticky hooves and washing his pink tufts of fur. It was definitely a proud parent moment, and Tubbo even helped Ranboo jot it down in his memory book.
His family was a little unconventional, and happiness never came too easily, but Ranboo deserved a break and Michael could finally have a proper home. Why was he included in the mix, though? Sometimes, his comfort spot became one to space out and think. Tonight, Tubbo ran his knuckles against the raised scar tissue below his right eye. It had been hurting throughout the entire day, but he wouldn’t dare bring it up with his husband. Ranboo had thin scars of his own that he would only mention in passing, and Tubbo even found it pretty, in an awful way. It reminded him of the pottery that would get smashed and glued back together with flakes of gold. Broken, and called for so much attention, but at least they were cared for.
Tubbo’s scars, to him- were the exact opposite. They stretched across the majority of his face, colouring his cheek with an array of dark reds and purples. When he laughs a little too hard sometimes they’d start to tear, and enjoyment turned into bloodied cheeks. There were even some that moved down his neck and covered his right shoulder, where the stray sparks embedded themselves into his skin. You couldn’t make something poetic out of that. He tried.
And Ranboo was married to him. He glanced down at his ring and twirled it around his finger, admiring the way it glinted in the starlight. Tubbo was greeted by a kiss every morning, a hand he rarely stopped holding, and little sticky notes pressed to his forehead with poorly scrawled petnames and compliments. He’d return the sentiment with kisses goodnight and goat-style headbutts that translated into affection, or calling him handsome every second breath. Still, Tubbo wasn’t sure why. In marriages, people were supposed to be attracted to each other. That’s how romance worked, even if it was scuffed and they weren’t too great at it to begin with. Being married to Ranboo would mean the boy was attracted to him. Tubbo couldn’t fathom it.
He absentmindedly kicked a few petals off of a nearby allium flower and watched the stem droop downwards. His back arched the same way. The scars were one thing, but what about the rest of him? Tubbo knew he was incredibly short, and he wasn’t lean or gangly like his husband. The goat-hybrid part of his DNA made sure of that, and it built him well for the coldness of Snowchester. His family was a mess, and surely it would mean he fit right into the mix, but it still felt like he was constantly manifesting imposter syndrome for his own marriage. Nothing Tubbo had done yet made him deserve such a loving life. There had to be something tying Ranboo down to him, like guilt.
“Tubbo? It’s getting late.”
Speak of the fucking devil.
Tubbo’s hand was rubbing at his cheek scar and it shot down to his lap, bunching up his pants, curling and uncurling his fists. He didn’t want to bring attention to his worries, not this late at night when Ranboo was still up, probably reminiscing about his own issues.
“‘M not tired, ‘boo.” He mumbled, not even trying to cover up the blatant lie. Fabric shuffling was heard behind him, and his husband took the empty spot beside his lap, legs dangling even further over the edge. Wordlessly, as always, hands interlocked with each other and a thumb started to rub at Tubbo’s wedding ring.
Either his face was getting hot, or the night’s temperature began to rise incredibly quickly, because a lump was starting to form in his throat and his skin felt like it was going to burn (again, again, the firework bullets echoed in his ears). Embarrassment crawled into the space between his lungs. Tubbo wasn’t sure if he wanted to yank his hand away or curl up into Ranboo’s side, so he stayed as still as possible and watched his arms tremble.
“I’m not tired, ‘boo.” He repeated again, and his voice started to wobble to the same pace of his arms. Tubbo really didn’t want to cry.
“I know, ‘bee. That’s why I’m here.”
The urge to spill over weighed heavy on his tongue, but the little pet name jump-started his heart and dragged out a small smile from the other boy. His husband must’ve noticed, because Tubbo felt a hand cup the side of his face without the scar and tilt his attention towards the taller one. Tubbo’s eyes stayed focused on the ground between them, drumming his fingers against the motel roof.
A beat of silence was shared and he could feel the enderman eyes searching his face, though he didn’t know for what. To him, there wasn’t anything worthwhile to look at, save for the occasional glance because of stupid conversation etiquette. Tubbo was never an emotional person by any means, and hated these vulnerable moments where Ranboo had his heart cradled in the palm of his hands whether or not he was aware of it. It made something inside him shrivel up in an attempt to guard his feelings. Biting his lip, he reluctantly removed his husband’s hand away from his face.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Wha- where did this come from? Tubbo?”
“Don’t.” He sniffled and internally cussed himself out. His heart ached with the strength it took to keep himself together, but it was cracking. An image of black and gold pottery flashed through his mind again. “Why would you want to touch me.”
If it was any other context, the two boys would have laughed at the awful implications the question could have entailed, and Ranboo would’ve teased him about it. Tubbo would’ve shoved him playfully backwards, they’d knock their shoulders together, and Ranboo would shake his head in the affectionate way he always did. Unfortunately, not everyone could be that lucky.
“What do you mean… Tubbo I- you know I love you, right? Why wouldn’t I want to…”
Tubbo glanced over at Ranboo, who was staring down at his hands like he just got told they murdered someone in cold blood, and guilt hit him directly in the chest. Maybe that was the breaking point. Seeing his husband so distraught over his own insecurities hurt Tubbo in a way he didn’t expect, and the dam he was trying to tape together just burst.
He would’ve laughed at Ranboo’s startled expression if he could see it, but Tubbo’s vision was blurry with tears and he was too busy feeling them roll down his cheeks to really care about the reaction the other was having. He tried to speak, but gave up immediately when all that came out was a strangled gasp and another sob. Feebly, he gestured to the right side of his face.
“Ever since that day I- I look fucking dreadful, Ranboo. It never goes away. I had-” He hiccuped out another sob. “I have to look in the mirror and remind myself you married a mangled mess for nothing more than tax purposes. And then you tell me you fell in love with it? I-” Tubbo tried to force himself to continue explaining, but he stopped himself and started to breathe in a little too quickly.
“I don’t look like you, ‘boo, I’m fucking awful and you’ve seen how deep they go-”
“You know I don’t care about that at all, right?”
Tubbo couldn’t tell if his entire body was shaking or if there was an earthquake happening at the exact same time. He felt dizzy. “I want you to care. Is that wrong of me? Am I not allowed to- to have a husband that cares for my looks? I don’t- you never-”
Arms enveloped his upper torso and pulled him into a warm cloak, which he melted into without complaint. He was halfway draped across Ranboo’s lap and didn’t care about the back pain he’d be getting later, all too needy for the familiar feeling of safety. Too many nights were spent in the same position ever since the nightmares of the festival started up again. His body began to move side to side and something inside him told him he was being rocked. At least this way, the tears wouldn’t burn his husband’s skin.
“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t mean it like that, Tubbo, please. Look-” Tubbo was shuffled around a bit, so his head was closer to the crook of Ranboo’s neck. A hesitant hand reached towards his face and he flinched away, but it didn’t deter the other. Instead, a soft touch started to trace the outline of one of the large scars that started under his jaw.
“This was the first one I saw as they were all starting to heal. It was a lot bigger than the rest of them so it was going to take longer, and I kept bringing you water and honey to dull the pain of recovery. Do you remember that? Mhm- and I still do that from time to time, don’t I.”
Tubbo could remember waking up to a small oak wood tray with a little pot of honey and a damp cloth, after complaining about the scar tissue tearing months ago- during their first time flirting as government partners. It was a sweet gesture, though he often was too groggy to realize it was becoming a pattern after that moment. Now, it was a biweekly occurrence. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Ranboo taking hold of his hand again, the one sporting the wedding ring, and brought it up to his own face. Tubbo watched as his hand was guided to trace along a jagged line cut off abruptly near Ranboo’s top lip.
“You’re the one who took care of this one. Do you remember that too? You wiped it away because you noticed it was burning and I nearly gagged since it was so close to my mouth. You wouldn’t stop apologizing as you welcomed me into Snowchester- to start a home together.”
Tubbo wasn’t sure where this was going, but his body stopped shaking halfway through recounting the memories. The crushed allium that was under his foot dug further into the dirt.
“When I say I don’t care, I-” Ranboo started, buffering, and then clearing his throat. “I care about how you got them, I care about how they’re treated but- Tubbo, I couldn’t stop staring at you even if I wanted to. I proposed because I’m in love with you, and that includes your future self, the past selves I never got to see, and each one in-between.”
“That’s a bit cheesy, isn’t it big guy? I think I’m a bit too much for that, ‘boo.” Of course the hopeless romantic would say something movie-worthy. The tension in his shoulders started to drift away.
“Every version of you, Tubbo. Even the bad ones. It’s a promise.”
Tubbo pulled away from Ranboo’s hands, and his husband let him. The promise didn’t seem real- terribly overexaggerated at best and an absolute lie at worst, like most promises in this server tended to be. And yet, he trusted him. Tubbo had trusted Ranboo from day one, and this is where it got him: sitting with his husband on a cool summer night with their son waiting for them back at home.
“It’s not a promise you can keep, is it.”
A gentle kiss was pressed to the middle of his cheek, where the scar was the darkest. “Try me.”