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Tommy sat outside of his house. It wasn’t worth being inside, despite the fact that the sky was dark, for sleep wouldn’t come to him. It never did, not after the prison incident. The darkness seemed to envelope him, seemed to encase him and never let him go.
Being outside made it bearable, even if his days were spent rubbing his eyes and trying not to trip over his feet. Sometimes he’d pass out while sitting there, and wake up after a nightmare feeling somehow more tired.
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Ranboo wandered outside. He had no home, not truly, and he never trusted himself to fall asleep. Rather, he’d stay awake and hope that his enderwalk would never come, only to fail and wake up in his and Tubbo’s mansion.
Being outside when the night approached was still some sort of comfort to him, though. It was safer than the indoors, somehow, and the sky seemed to listen when no one else bothered to. He learned the constellations, he learned the landscapes, he knew the sky better than he knew most of the people on the server, because the sky was kinder than them.
Their two paths crossed one night, when both were too tired to keep up their normal walls but awake enough to recognize the other’s hurt. They didn’t make eye contact, because Tommy remembered distantly that Ranboo didn’t like it, but they were aware of the other’s existence.
Ranboo walked over, sitting down next to Tommy, who didn’t make a move away from him. They sat there for a moment, still, quiet, just like the sky above them. There weren’t any words to be said, not then, and yet they both found themselves wanting to break the silence.
Eventually, it was broken, by the soft shuddering of Tommy’s shoulders and the hiccups from his mouth. Just the thought of Ranboo caring enough to sit there with him, even silently, let him realize that it was okay. He deserved to discard the armor that had weighed him down so much, he deserved to cry for the sorrows that he’d endured, he deserved to show his vulnerability that wasn’t a weakness after all. Someone cared enough to be there for him, so he deserved to lean on them.
Ranboo didn’t say anything at first, just putting an arm around Tommy’s shoulder and pulling him into an awkward side-hug. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, at all, but it was clear that all of the feelings that Tommy had ignored were catching up to him.
Tommy turned to wrap both of his arms around Ranboo’s torso, his sobbing never ceasing. It wasn’t comfortable, or it shouldn’t have been, but it was what he needed. Ranboo offered quiet, gentle words that probably weren’t even discernible, but the thought that Ranboo cared enough to comfort him only made him cry harder. It had been so long since he’d been able to let it all out.
While Tommy cried into the fabric of Ranboo’s suit, the enderman hybrid spoke stories of the stars that twinkled brightly above the two children, broken by the adults that were meant to guide them. He spoke of legends, this time myths that had no such bitter ending as that of Theseus, just wonderful stories of taking shelter in the stars and on planets of softer making than the one that they were born to.
He spoke of running away for asylum that the sky would grant them, just them and Tubbo and Michael, making a home in the stars that Dream’s power wouldn’t reach. He spoke of the wonders that had been passed through mouths before being written down, of gods lost loves and of bears that ran happily in the safety of space. He spoke of planets that rained sideways and of fog that tasted like berries, of a planet with many rings and a planet whose sky let jewels fall from its clouds.
Gradually, Tommy came back down to earth, Ranboo’s voice still a constant in his ear that was sweet and would never turn sour. He felt safe, in Ranboo’s arms, and Ranboo felt safe speaking to him of thoughts that he knew would never come true.
Tommy’s crying slowed to occasional tears as one of Ranboo’s hands tangled itself in his hair. It was a rare moment on the server to see such comfort take place, yet they both knew that the next morning they wouldn’t speak of it.
It didn’t matter, though, did it?
It didn’t matter that they wouldn’t speak of it, because at that moment, they knew that they wouldn’t be so harsh on the other.
As Tommy heard Ranboo begin to sniffle, he spoke of stories that he knew, told to him by someone he’d rather have forgotten. He turned the myths into something good, the sour words of semi-divine spirits, of scales, of bulls and lions turning sweet as he used them to create new memories with someone he cared more for. He spoke of centaurs that would defend them on their journey away from the server, of pegasi that would carry them past the harm directed at them. He spoke of stories that he knew weren’t true, and he let Ranboo cry into his sweatshirt so the scars wouldn’t get worse.
Eventually, Ranboo’s crying stopped. They stayed in each other’s embrace because they both needed a friend, so bad, and the other was willing to be it. The stars watched over them, its two children that so brokenly cried out to the endless space for comfort, until the daylight showed and demanded it’s removal.
Neither wanted to leave, but they knew that the day’s empire was no place to show vulnerability. They said their goodbyes, but each night by the alliums, they would sit and speak of places they’d never reach. Sometimes, they’d be discovered, but never by someone that meant them harm.
A teenager clothed in dark green joined them one night. He had no stories to share, but he cried with them just the same.
A god in gold joined them another night, with more tales from deserts and of statues that towered over the ground. He offered them a smile and knew that he would protect them, even from others that he cared about.
Another child, this time in purple, joined them once. He whispered tales that he’d dreamed of, of inhuman creatures that lived in the sky and danced on floors of stardust. He smiled as he remembered the tales he’d thought of, but he cried with them, for crying made his loneliness seem to fade.
A woman with rainbows all around her that smelled like the sea found them another night, and she, too, remembered words about the sandy dunes for her son was the guardian of them. She offered them hugs and let them come to her even when the sun dared to show its face.
More joined them, and gradually things got better. They didn’t cry at night anymore, rather they made a small camp and just gaze at the stars, arguing about names and fighting playfully over blankets. They played soft music that lulled them to sleep and they wake up feeling hazy and content once the sun has been shining for hours.
They don’t cry anymore, they seek comfort and they get it. The server healed, slowly, and it all started in one night.
Of course, Tommy still called Ranboo names, but it was star-boy instead of bitch, it was affectionate rather than scorning. Ranboo still retorted back, but it was in small gifts and kind words rather than words that stung. They had healed, they’d learned to be vulnerable, and the stars seemed to shine a little brighter every night.