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Tommy didn't get the death he deserved. None of us really do I suppose, but his death was quiet. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't poetic. It wasn't satisfying. It was clumsy. It was abrupt, yet slow. It was unfair. Most deaths are that way, but that wasn’t written in the stars for Tommy. He wasn't supposed to die, or, at least, not the way he did. But it didn't matter. Tommy was dead. Tommy was gone. And that was the end of it.
Tubbo wasn't sure what to make of it all. Of course, this wasn't the first time he was told that Tommy had lost his final life, and he was sure once again that this was a misunderstanding or a lack of proper communication. Despite that, he knew that some part of him was missing, as if one of his ribs was ripped out messily, the hole in his center left open. Slowly, Tubbo made his way to the bench that he and Tommy shared, hoping that his friend would return to him. He opened the chest next to him with a slight push and picked up the music disk Cat. He held the disk right in front of him, blocking the sun from view. He stared at the disk, knowing that his and Tommy's lives went into them. The little pieces of vinyl directed Tommy and his decisions for ages. They've been traded off for so much and cared for immensely. They were silly things to get attached to, maybe, but to Tommy, they were important. So, to Tubbo, they meant just as much.
Tubbo shuffled over to the jukebox sitting silently next to him. With a deep breath, Tubbo placed the disk in the jukebox, holding his breath in anticipation for the first note to ring out. He allowed himself to hope, for only a moment, that Tommy would be right behind him when he breathed out, laughing at his hunched posture and scrunched up face. However, only silence occupied the space around him, and the air went empty in his lungs. Tubbo released the tension from his body and stared at the jukebox with confusion. He hit the jukebox once, twice, three times, hoping that anything would play, to no avail. He took the disk out to check for any damage, but couldn’t find any. Tubbo hurriedly placed Cat back in the chest and grabbed Mellohi. He put the disk in the jukebox and crossed his fingers tightly, hoping for something, anything, to happen, but nothing did.
Tubbo ran hastily to Tommy's little dirt house to find another disk to test for sound. No matter what disk he played, which jukebox he used, it didn't matter. The disks simply wouldn't play anymore. Tommy made music important on the server. Tommy made sure that each note, each pause, each moment was special. Without him here, the disks refused to play.
As the server began to fill up with memorials, flowers, and gravestones, Tubbo made sure to avoid them all. It had been weeks since Tommy's death, yet he still didn't believe that Tommy was truly gone. Or, at least, he didn't want to believe that Tommy was gone. But, much to Tubbo’s dismay, that was hard to do. All of the memorials were easy to avoid once Tubbo was able to map out where they were, but it didn't matter. Tommy was everywhere. No matter where Tubbo looked, Tommy's absence was there.
Walking through the SMP was painful. It seemed as if no one talked anymore. Everything was said in a hushed tone, all under the table; everything was done in secret. No one wanted to disturb anyone else in their grief, but it was making Tubbo feel worse. Once Tubbo spread the news about the music disks, no one else made an attempt to play any of them, except for Captain Puffy, the protector who failed. She always made sure that the jukebox next to Tommy's grave was playing a music disk. Even if it didn't make a sound, she wouldn't give up. Whenever they locked eyes, Puffy's looked full, like a jar that was about to overflow. Her efforts only made Tubbo more upset. Almost everyone else gave him the same, sad look, as if Tubbo was orphaned and left for dead. For those around him, looking at Tubbo was like looking into an empty, abandoned theatre, with only the dim ghost light to occupy the space, forever left alone and cold. It was too painful to look at Tubbo in the state he was in, walking aimlessly through the server. It was unnatural. It was uncomfortable. It was depressing to watch the boy with the red bandanna tied around his neck sit on the bench and pick at the rotting wood all by himself. Many tried not to look, and most still don’t. Tubbo let his hair grow over his eyes to avoid looking at anyone directly. Well, at least, that's what he told people, as he tried not to blurt out that Tommy used to cut his hair, and he couldn't bring himself to touch it.
He missed Tommy's bright noise. He missed the banter. He missed the stupid chatter and the screaming and all of the noise Tommy made. Every animal was cooed at, every person that passed by was greeted, every music disk was played, every light was brighter, every battle was rowdy, every tune was hummed, every laugh was full. It seemed that once Tommy died, the world went silent. Tommy's death was the shot that was heard around the world, yet it only rang in Tubbo's ears.
Wilbur had called L'manberg his unfinished symphony, but L’manberg’s death was beautiful. It was loud. It was colorful. It was the culmination of her being, or, at least, that's how Tubbo viewed it. Tommy's death wasn't beautiful. It wasn't loud or colorful or everything it should've been. L'manberg wasn't left unfinished. She had fulfilled her purpose in this world. Tommy had not. Tommy never got to listen to another disk. Tommy never got to patch up another hole in Ranboo's suit. Tommy never got to start another farm. Tommy never got to have another training session with Technoblade. Tommy never got to hug Tubbo again, quickly and suddenly, to avoid any conversation about it. Tommy never got to love another animal. Tommy never got to crack another joke at Tubbo’s expense. Tommy never got to see anyone before he entered the prison. Tommy never got to say "goodbye" or "I love you" to anyone who needed to hear it. Tommy never got to hug Tubbo again for a little longer because he needed it, or because he knew Tubbo needed it. Tommy never got to fulfill his final wish. His wish of peace, his wish of love, his wish of just one more moment with his friends, his wish of life. Tommy was the symphony left unfinished, and Tubbo was left with the silence.