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He’d always loved the stars.
Sometimes, late at night when his clothes smelled too much like soot and it was Ranboo’s turn to calm Michael back to sleep he would stare up at the slanted, paneled ceiling, pulling old threads of memory together again. In a summer that seemed centuries ago. Within old stone brick walls and underneath trees a perfect canopy that protected them from the dangers outside. That’s what his brothers said anyway. He would raise a hand out from underneath his blankets, feeling gravity try to pull it back down to warmth as he remembered one hot summer night, Tommy waking him, and only him, long after the others had gone to sleep. How his tiny feet touched the ground and he ran with his friend out into the dark. They walked through camp and into the trees, and when Tommy whined that he was too tired to carry on he would run ahead, listening to his friend's voice hitch as he left him in the dark with no torch. Then laughing, torch held over his head, he would run back to his friend, his brother.
Sleepy voiced, he remembered asking where they were going and he said it was a surprise, and then the thick trees above their heads opened up to another perfect circle with no tents or campfires. He would hurriedly hand off the torch, scrambling out into the center of the clearing and into the tall grass, reaching his hands out to catch the tiny lightning bugs that flitted within the covers.
“Tommy! Look at this!”
Tommy then said something blurry behind him, and he turned around, tilting his head to the side and asking his stupid questions with stupid answers.
And he smiled and put out the torch and responded “Look up” and his head was pointed completely up at the brilliant pool of stars above them and Tubbo fell in love for the first time. Without the bright light of the van blocking out the galaxies and constellations, he either fell flat on his back or ran in circles and spent hours devouring them. Their light.
And when he closed his eyes for too long or his not fully grown legs faltered Tommy would pull him back home, somehow having the torch in his hand again and then they were walking back home.
“Wowwww” he had whispered one time, bleary eyes looking back over his shoulders to see his sky friends one last time.
“We’ve seen it a thousand times,” the lamplighter had responded. “Obsessed with space and shit,”
“I wanna go back tomorrow.”
He could see the light from home bleeding into his vision, obscuring some of the stars but keeping most.
Tommy chuckled, “We can go tomorrow.” And they went their separate ways.
Tubbo woke up the next morning and forgot to ask to go with Tommy, Wilbur calling them early into the van to talk about what Eret called his final weapon and he forgot all about the other clearing and trees and stars.
But tonight, the realization that they were memories was all that was on his mind. And the wonder and joy that had rushed through his brain came back as a weak imitation.
He swung his legs out from underneath the covers, placing them squarely on the freezing hardwood floor. Ranboo was still dealing with Michael. He wouldn’t notice if he was gone.
Slippers slipped on, he began to make his way across the floor, reading for his fur coat standing by the room. As he listened to his muffled feet hit the ground he swore he heard someone out on the streets below singing his song.
“I heard there was a special place… “
His hand froze centimeters from the soft fur. He was hearing things. He swore… that sounded like Tommy. A close as the next room, throaty and jabbing voice as he loudly and proudly sang above Will, Jack. How he pulled a reluctant Tubbo to his feet and made him dance by the fire. The stars.
Wilbur was intensely cool to write that song. Tubbo wish he wrote it. But he didn’t.
Nostalgia was wiped clean. The coat came off the hook. He slung it over his shoulders, feeling it snag on one of his horns before it cloaked his body in warmth. He glided over the room and to the french doors that led out to the tiny smoking deck. And the stars. Maybe seeing the stars that night like he did with Tommy would make him remember why he bothered to do anything at all.
The cold air was so different from how he remembered it. With Tommy it was heavy and humid and hot, cicadas singing. Now it was cold and dry. Snow had recently fallen, and Tubbo’s feet crunched as he walked to the edge, looking over the treeline outside of Snowchester. And he looked up.
No stars.
Tubbo blinked. That couldn’t be right. Snowchester, although it was a town, couldn’t generate enough light pollution to block out all of the tiny specks on the sky, surely not. But all he could see was a seemingly black velvet expanse of nothing. Hm. Was he finally going blind from the firework explosions? The doctor said it might happen at some point-
He pulled his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes. He winced at the cold of his hands, but let his freezing pointer fingers pull the accumulated sleep crust out of his eyes (as well as a few eyelashes).
He looked up once again. And there still weren’t any distant suns flickering dusty light through the atmosphere. None at all.
Except for one. On the eastern horizon, soaring across the blackness slowly and steadily, was a lone star. It made its way across the sky, blinking in perfect rhythm. Tubbo placed an elbow on the deck fence and cupped his chin, staring up at it. Why was it alone? Just a sorry sucker floating out in the vacuum of space.
The light was halfway across his vision when Tubbo realized that it wasn’t a star. He was an idiot-- stars couldn’t fucking move. It was a satellite. A stupid fucking satellite that some prick had sent up that would see sights he would never get to see. And he had sat and watched it like it was natural for a solid minute.
This was also around the same time Tubbo started to cry.
It was freezing, tears slipping down his face as he continued to stare at the satellite despite the fact it wasn’t what he was looking for. He wouldn’t dare to admit that the satellite reminded him of himself, wouldn’t dare to admit the difference between the freezing of the water on the left side of his face versus the scarred, right side. And so as he watched it, he wished for all the things he wanted. Ranboo and Michael were there, of course, but so was Tommy. And the sky wasn’t dark and black and they went stargazing every night. They would write songs. And he would sing them. And the world would be completely at their feet.
Instead Tommy was off with Wilbur, and he hadn’t heard from him in who knows how long. Tubbo would give anything to reach out. But he didn’t know how. Tommy could always take it the wrong way. He had left for a reason after all.
He opened his eyes after wishing. The satellite was gone. And, for some reason, he could finally make out the tiny pinpricks of light behind it.
Stars.
He should’ve been excited, thrilled. Instead he felt as cold on the inside as his outstretched hands.
So he turned around and went back into his room. Ranboo was lying there, strange ender particles floating around him and clustering at random intervals.
Tubbo slipped back into bed, sitting up but plunging his cold hands underneath the safety of covers.
“⍙⊑⊬ ⍙⟒⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⍜⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⍜⍀☊⊑?” Ranboo said.
Jesus, fuck. Speaking Ender again. Tubbo didn’t understand why Ranboo did it. He knew he didn’t speak Ender.
“I dunno what you’re saying, man. I’m going to bed.” He turned sideways away from Ranboo, burying his head in his pillow.
“⏃⌰⍀⟟☌⊑⏁.” And there was some rustling and Tubbo understood Ranboo must’ve gone to sleep too. He hoped he didn’t ask about it in the morning, because when he was out of his usual nighttime mood Tubbo would feel more obligated to explain and it would just freak out Ranboo more to hear he was crying over spaceships.
“Who am I kidding? You definitely won’t remember,” he mumbled, slipping back into sleep.
But right before his eyes began to swim under the dark he heard a voice. Somewhere out in the extensive halls of the mansion. A distinctive, gruff, snappy voice.
“Come on Tubso. Let’s go home.”