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Ranboo goes to sleep with one lingering question. Constantly. Day after night, night after day.
When I wake up, will I recognize the boy laying next to me?
He doesn’t like to think about it for very long.
He trusts himself, to a certain extent, to not forget Tubbo.
He. He’s trying really hard to trust himself.
After. Everything. It got a lot harder. Those lessons from a teacher he can’t remember infested his mind with self-doubt, and Ranboo’s always doubted himself but.
He’s never doubted the love he has for his friends and family.
It’s just that. He can’t really trust himself, anymore. He hasn’t, not for a very long time.
Ranboo can’t pinpoint the exact time and place, but. He’s lost himself along the way.
It doesn’t feel good. Losing yourself. He’s being torn apart into two states of mind. The unconscious part of him that’s trying to save the server. The conscious part of him that’s trying to save his family.
Family comes first, he reminds himself.
Tubbo. Michael. They come first. No matter what.
So, he repeats these names to himself, under his breath, before he sleeps.
He crawls under the bedsheets, reaches over to the bedside table, and turns off the lamp sitting on it. The only light the room gets is the moon covering every surface in white beams. It’s beautiful. In a way.
His husband comes back from Michael’s room, with a yawn escaping from his mouth. Time spent on their son takes a toll on the both of them. Their son is energetic in the same way that Tubbo is. Constantly finding something to do, something to babble about. It takes a miracle to get him to sleep.
Tubbo always finds another miracle, though. He always finds a magic way to get Michael to sleep. Maybe it’s the way Tubbo smiles so soundly, or maybe it’s the soft murmurs of a nation long gone that gets Michael to close his eyes.
Whatever it is, Ranboo loves him for it. He loves how Tubbo plays along with whatever fantasy Michael is acting out, how Tubbo doesn’t complain when Michael wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming his lungs out. He just groans and walks right back to their son, a bedtime story on the tip of his tongue.
Ranboo reaches over to turn the lamp back on. Doesn’t want Tubbo to trip over himself as he makes his way towards the bed.
“He’s getting better at not waking us up in the middle of the damn night, that’s for sure.”
Ranboo perks his ears up, sits up and crosses his arms over his chest, “Yeah?” Tubbo shrugs, jumping onto the edge of the bed.
“He didn’t have a nightmare. Just woke up and decided that crying was the best option.” Ranboo hums. He’s not thinking about Michael, not really.
He’s thinking about how. Michael’s not gonna need them one of these days.
It hurts more than it should. Babies leave the nest all the time, that’s how life works.
Ranboo can’t remember when he left. He can’t remember his. Parents. If he even had any.
“You okay, Boo?” Tubbo’s voice jolts him out of his. Lapse in time.
He nods. Michael is still so young. They have plenty more years with him.
It’s. A worry for another time.
Tubbo reaches towards the lamp on their bedside table, starts their nightly routine.
Lamp, off. Covers come out. They throw themselves under the sheets that need another wash, feel around for each other’s hand. Interlace their fingers, hold on so that the other won’t walk away from their home.
It’s for Ranboo, mostly. But. They never mention that.
Ranboo mutters to himself.
Tubbo. Michael. Tubbo. Michael.
Names of those he loves more than anything in the world.
Tubbo never speaks up about it. He supposes it wouldn’t be the noble thing to do, to call attention to the ramblings Ranboo mutters under his breath.
They fall asleep. Ranboo’s words die off, bounce around the walls until they finally drop to the floor.
Michael doesn’t wake them up. They sleep through the night.
He wakes up in the morning, sunlight showering the bedroom, dancing over his skin. With. A gap in his mind.
A voice rings through the room.
“Good morning. Your name is Ranboo.” they say. They interlace their fingers with his. Rough and soft skin, slightly scarred. He traces a thumb over the back of their hand, relishes in the soft giggle that comes from their lips.
They sit up, pull their legs into their chest. Ranboo does the same, turns his head to the right and finds blue eyes staring straight into him. It’s too much and not enough, all at the same time.
They’re tethered. Ranboo can tell. The look in their blue eyes tells him that much.
“My name is Tubbo,” they–Tubbo continues. Ranboo can feel something coming back. A flip of a coin, a trip to the nether on Valentine’s Day.
A son he’s grown to love. A husband he’s loved for a long time now.
Ranboo closes and opens his mouth. Struggles to say the right words. Tubbo takes his hands, interlaces both of them with his own. He squeezes Ranboo’s hands gently, “We have a son named Michael.” he whispers.
Ranboo can’t remember a time where anyone was this gentle with him.
He thinks that’s part of why he married Tubbo. He has so many sides to him. Complex, energetic, always willing to sacrifice.
“We’re–“
“Married.” Ranboo finishes, tries not to smile when Tubbo grins at him but fails. He fails miserably.
Tubbo pulls him into his arms, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’re getting better at this, you know?” he whispers, “Didn’t even need to do the little counting trick.”
Ranboo hums instead of a response.
“I’m trying not to forget you guys.” he says.
He’s trying to do so many things that sometimes it’s all too much for one person.
Ranboo wraps his arms around Tubbo’s middle, brings him in closer.
“I won’t forget you guys.” he promises.
He can feel Tubbo’s smile, can feel the way the corners of his lips pull back. Ingrained into the side of his neck.
Ranboo promises. And he needs to keep this one, okay?
He needs this.
He’s spent so long trying to piece himself back together, trying not to mess everything up.
Ranboo’s gonna keep this promise. Take it to the grave.
Bury it in his soul, if he has to.
It’ll become his mantra.
Tubbo. Michael.
Those he loves enough to remember, even in another life.