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Tubbo wakes up gasping in the middle of the night in Snowchester, and between the cold and the darkness, it takes him longer than it should to realize he isn't dead.
It's his first night back after defeating Dream. (Which still feels too easy, still feels like he's about to wake up and be on the cold blackstone floor, bleeding out in Tommy's arms-)
Tubbo can't quite remember the nightmare he'd been having, but if he had to take a guess, he's sure he could get it in one.
Tubbo is alone here - only Jack and Foolish live nearby, and neither of them are particularly receptive to Tubbo's trauma. Tubbo doesn't particularly mind the loneliness on nights like these, though. He wouldn't want to bother either of them, and they probably wouldn't get it, anyway. The only person nowadays who comes close to understanding Tubbo is-
Tubbo reaches for his communicator, fumbling in the darkness.
He's shivering, violently, but his favorite part of living in Snowchester is being able to blame the way he shakes at night on the cold. He's made himself as small as possible, curled into a ball and wrapped in his blankets, staring at the blinking cursor.
A part of him desperately wants to reach out. Wants to send a quick "I'm coming over" message and not wait for a reply, wants to get over as fast as he can, and wake Tommy up, or even just sit next to him while he sleeps, just so he isn't alone, just to remind himself Tommy is there, but-
But Tubbo knows he knows he isn't brave enough.
Since Tommy's return from exile, Tubbo had tried so hard to keep his distance, barely ever sleeping in their "shared" dirt shack, only showing up when Tommy asked for him specifically.
Tubbo, above all else, just didn't want to cling.
That's what everyone had always said about them, that they were clingy. It was usually lighthearted, never venturing far enough to use more accurate phrases like "codependency", but as time went on it seemed to be a more derogatory term for them. It was no longer a good thing that they were inseparable, it was treated as something childish. Something naive.
Eventually, Tubbo had come to the conclusion they were talking about him. That it was Tubbo who was the clingy one, who hung around even when Tommy didn't want him and rambled for too long and probably made Tommy so uncomfortable that he didn't have the courage to speak up about not wanting Tubbo around.
Tubbo is terrified that if he gets too annoying, proves to be too bothersome, tries to get too much information out of Tommy at once... Tommy could leave. Tubbo would rather keep Tommy at a distance than lose him entirely, so he'd been trying to keep him at arm's length.
Tonight, though, Tubbo is ready to throw that notion out the window. He bites his lip as the cursor on his communicator blinks, seemingly mocking him.
Tubbo knows if he scrolls up, he can reread Dream's death messages in the chat, can remind himself that yesterday's events were real all on his own, can go back to sleep and leave Tommy in peace.
Tubbo doesn't scroll up. Instead, he bites the bullet and starts to type.
He gets as far as "@Tomm" before his communicator pings, and Tubbo startles so badly that he sends the communicator crashing to the ground. The glow of the screen illuminates his mostly empty cabin as Tubbo catches his breath, blinking the spots from his eyes.
He steadies himself, glancing warily at his communicator.
Tubbo really doesn't want to pick it up. He moves to pick it up anyway, rolling himself out of bed and blinking blearily at the too-bright screen.
TommyInnit whispers to you: hey
TommyInnit whispers to you: are you awake
Tubbo stands in the middle of his room, bare feet freezing on the hardwood, and lets a chuckle of disbelief escape him. After all this time, of course Tommy would still be on the same page as him. Tubbo fights a smile as he types his response.
You whisper to Tommyinnit: yes
Tubbo flicks off the screen and starts getting dressed without a second thought. He's going to feel stupid for it if Tommy doesn't actually want him over, but if Tommy's messaging him of his own accord, Tommy's own nightmare must've been pretty bad as well.
He's got his coat on and his boots half laced when the communicator pings again, several minutes after Tubbo's reply. Tubbo checks.
TommyInnit whispers to you: youre in snowchester right
You whisper to TommyInnit: yes at my house
TommyInnit whispers to you: are you busy sleeping or something
You whisper to TommyInnit: no
You whisper to TommyInnit: bad nitmar
There's a pause in the messages, after that, but Tubbo is nothing if not patient. He puts on gloves, wraps a scarf around his neck, grabs an axe for emergency protection from mobs. The communicator dings again.
TommyInnit whispers to you: well I guess if it was that bad ill let you come over
TommyInnit whispers to you: but only if you dont bring jack manifold
And there it is. Tubbo grins, firing off a quick message as he swings the door open and pats Ghost Squeeks on the head on his way past.
You whisper to TommyInnit: be there soon
When Tubbo arrives to Tommy's dirt shack, he's still just as cold as he was in Snowchester - maybe because of the fact that he'd just layered winter clothes on top of his pajamas, or maybe because of the thick snow that still sprinkles his hair, the hood of his jacket, his gloves. He can barely feel his nose and his fingertips are numb, but as he swings the door open, a wave of comforting heat from inside washes over him.
A fire flickers in the corner of the room, providing just enough light to make out Tommy's figure. Tommy is curled up against a wall, blanket wrapped around him like he's a little kid again, clutching at the edges with a white knuckle grip.
He offers a nod as Tubbo enters. "'Ow do," he croaks, eyes bloodshot.
"Hi," Tubbo replies with a wave. With anyone else the silence would be awkward, but Tubbo keeps an easy smile on his face as he drops the axe and kneels down to pet his dog.
The dog stays at Tommy's house, partially because Tubbo keeps forgetting to bring it to Snowchester, and partially because Tubbo wants an easy excuse to stop by often. It's a polite and well behaved wolf, and it loves Tommy because he always uses a kind tone of voice when he insults it, which Tubbo honestly thinks is hilarious. The dog wags its tail politely as Tubbo scratches behind it's ears.
The cold has nearly worn off, by now, but without anything else to think about Tubbo's mind drifts back to his nightmare again.
Maybe it's the warmth in the room, reminding him of just how humid it was in the vault. It had been suffocating. Tubbo had died twice before, so he knew what it was like to fear for his life more than he would ever admit, but he'd never before entered a room and been so sure he was going to die there. Before Dream had even said anything, before the elevator had even stopped, Tubbo could see his future plain as day. Oh, he remembers thinking, shivering violently at the memory, only the sensation of his dog's fur grounding him to the present. So this is it, then.
(It was something he'd never say out loud, but Tubbo can also remember being disappointed to die in such a poorly decorated place. "It's not even centered," he'd chastised Dream over the pedestals for the discs. He hadn't been angry, or even disappointed - he'd just been taking in the spot where the others would find his body. If they found his body.)
Tubbo is shaking so violently that his teeth are nearly clattering when Tommy scoffs at him from across the room.
"What?" Tubbo whirls to face him, worried he's already done something to piss Tommy off.
Tommy rolls his eyes. "If you're cold, you can just say so. You don't have to be so dramatic."
He opens a nearby chest and tosses a blanket to Tubbo, before slinking back into his corner. "'Ohh, I'm freezing, it's so cold in my little snow country, in Canada, ohh Tommy, help me.' That's what you sound like."
Tubbo wraps the blanket around his shoulders, and though it does little to stop his shaking, he plops down right next to Tommy on the floor. "You've been talking to Big Q, then? He's the only one who calls it Canada. I hate it."
"Shouldn't have moved to Canada, then," Tommy muses,
The pair fall into silence, only the crackling of the fire and the soft sigh as their dog drifts off to sleep to keep them company.
And then, because nothing ever really changes when it comes to the two of them, Tommy breaks the silence.
"So, how are you, Tubbo?"
Tubbo knows this song and dance by heart. Tommy asks how people are doing when he's stressed or anxious, and Tubbo never tells anyone how he's really doing under any circumstances. It's an exchange that gets them nowhere, but they do it anyway.
Tubbo plays his part. "I'm okay, I'm okay."
His tone is light, nonchalant. Normally, this is a signal for Tommy to move on - either to bring up the thing he actually wants to talk about, or to start spouting nonsense to let Tubbo know he just doesn't want any silence.
This time, though, Tommy frowns at him.
"I'm asking generally."
That's another bit they do - mixing up genuinely and generally, because neither can remember, but at this point it's become something of an inside joke.
Tubbo keeps the smile plastered on his face.
"I answered generally," he replies cheerily, and he half means it. He's sat next to Tommy, who is alive and breathing, discs in his ender chest. How could Tubbo be anything other than okay with Tommy by his side?
Tommy shoots him a look, and maybe Tubbo would've known what it meant before everything, but now he can only stare back.
"What?"
"Aw, you're doing that thing again, aren't you." Tommy sounds exasperated, which is mildly surprising, considering Tubbo has no idea what he's on about.
"What thing?"
"The thing! The annoying thing you do!"
"Tommy, you know as well as I do that that could be any number of things."
Tubbo laughs at himself for that, and he thinks he might've gotten an amused exhale out of Tommy, but the laughter dies in his throat when Tommy puts his Serious Voice on.
"You're doing the thing, Tubbo," Tommy sighs as he leans his head back against the wall.
"The thing where people say 'Hey, Tubbo, how are you?' And you go, 'Oh I'm just great! Really!' But you're not, and you say you're good when you're not really good, but- But you just don't talk about it or think about it. And then you wait until you're alone and you just- Actually, I don't know what you do, cry maybe? But you just wait 'till you're alone to do anything about your feelings, even though people are right there asking. Isn't there a word for that? What's that called, it's like, emotional baggage, or something."
"Bottling things up," Tubbo mumbles, feeling dazed.
"You're in denial," Tommy agrees.
Tubbo blinks. "I- Tommy, I'm not bottling up my emotions. I'm- I... Am I?"
He looks up at Tommy, who seems to soften when he catches his gaze.
"I think you might be, big man," and Tommy says this so gently that it almost hurts to hear.
Tubbo shuts his eyes, tight, like if he stops being able to see Tommy he'll wake up back in Snowchester. He wishes he were home in Snowchester. Surely being alone is better than this.
What is Tubbo even supposed to say? That he'd dreamt about both of them dying again? That in his nightmares, Tommy always dies first, and Tubbo always watches? That if he doesn't bottle up his emotions, he'll have so much to deal with that it'll take months for him to be normal again?
What does Tommy want from him?
Tubbo doesn't realize how shallow his breathing has gotten until Tommy grabs both of his wrists. Tubbo registers that Tommy has been talking for a bit, now, but Tubbo can't hear it over the rush of his own pulse in his ears and the crushing feeling that he can't breathe, that he's going to die here, after defeating Dream he's going to die because he forgot how to breathe, how stupid is he, how pathetic is that, his lungs are giving out and he can't even do anything to stop it-
Tommy squeezes his wrists, tight enough to ground him for a second. Still talking to him, words all muddled like Tommy is underwater, Tommy places Tubbo's hand on his chest, and even though it's been months - (how had it only been months) - Tubbo still remembers what he's supposed to do. He stops thinking, let's himself fall back into his mask of optimism for a moment, and focuses on matching his breathing with Tommy's.
Tommy inhales, deeply and calmly, holds his breath, and exhales. Tubbo follows suit, matching Tommy's breathing rhythm, ignoring the frantic and erratic pace of his heart long enough to make out a few of the words Tommy has been repeating.
"You're alright, Tubbo, just breathe with me. Just breathe, okay?"
Tommy, he reminds himself, wouldn't let him die over something as silly as forgetting to breathe.
Eventually, Tubbo's breathing is relatively normal again. His cheeks are wet, but he doesn't remember crying, and both of their blankets have been long discarded. Though he still trembles, Tubbo is able to musters enough courage to open up his eyes.
Seeing the concerned look on Tommy's face, Tubbo is suddenly painfully embarrassed. His face begins to heat up as he pulls his hands away from Tommy, averting his gaze and curling in on himself.
God damn it, Tubbo had been being clingy again.
"Tubbo," Tommy softly tries, but Tubbo shakes his head, face buried in his knees.
If Tubbo can just keep still, he convinces himself. If he can keep still and keep quiet, he can stop himself from crying again. Just another minute or two, and Tubbo is sure he can compose himself.
Tommy moves to grab their blankets, wrapping Tubbo's around his shoulders and throwing his own over his lap. He purposefully angles himself to keep their sides pressed together, and unfortunately for Tubbo, it's comforting.
It's comforting just to have Tommy next to him, and all Tubbo can think about is how much more comforting it would be to fall into his arms, to have Tommy hold him as he cries. All Tubbo can think about is how easy it would be to cling.
Carefully, like he's afraid Tubbo might fracture, Tommy slides an arm around his shoulders, and murmurs in a voice barely above a whisper.
"You know that you don't have to be okay all the time, right?"
That ends up being Tubbo's breaking point. He shatters like glass, breaking into millions of whimpering, shivering pieces that Tommy has to clean up. Tubbo cries the way he hasn't allowed himself to since he'd learned of Tommy's death.
"I- I thought-" he hiccups, "I was s-so sure I was- was going to die, Tommy, I- I thought I was- it- I was supposed to die."
Tommy is curled up with him, now, petting his hair and shushing him, and Tubbo knows that he's clinging and he knows that Tommy might get mad at him later, but right now he's being comforted by someone he trusts for the first time in a long time, and he intends to take full advantage of the situation.
"What do you mean, 'supposed to'- Tubbo, you weren't supposed to die, you-"
"I was," he interrupts. "I- it- it was okay, it- I was okay with it, Tommy, I was. I was going to- to die, and you were going to be ok- kay, and that's fine, that's- that's what I wanted." He's still bawling, choking out words between his sobs, and god he must look pathetic, but somehow Tommy stays.
"You were okay with dying?" Tommy splutters, disbelieving. His arms around Tubbo tighten. "Tubbo, why? Why, Tubbo, what- why?"
Tubbo begins to sob even harder, because he doesn't have the slightest clue where to begin. Talking about his feelings has never been his strong suit, and he wishes he could just go back to trying to make Tommy laugh, cracking jokes in hopes of seeing a smile. Being upbeat is easy for him, but this? It's nearly impossible.
After all, how do you tell someone that you had planned to die for them?
He knows there are a thousand ways to say this, and a thousand more to mess it up, but he composes himself a bit and blinks the tears from his eyes and tries anyway.
"When- the first time Dream tried to kill me, on- on the mountain... I thought I was gonna die, but I- I didn't die. B- but I knew I would, Tommy, I was so sure- It was just a matter of time. So, I just- I told you to take the discs, because I figured- I mean, either one of us could get out, or neither of us would, you know?"
Tubbo takes a shaky breath. His face is buried in Tommy's shoulder, which is a good thing, because he's sure he wouldn't be able to say any of this to Tommy's face.
"Tubbo," Tommy half gasps, and he sounds so miserable that Tubbo almost untangles himself and makes a break for it. "Tubbo, come on, you know that isnt-"
"Now," Tubbo interrupts again, voice hoarse and wet. "Now I know that we could both- did both survive- but then, I thought... I- It was you or me, and that- I mean, ob- obviously that meant it was you."
Tommy is crying now, too, Tubbo realizes. Softly, quielty, like he's trying to hide it. Like he's unaware that Tubbo can tell, like Tubbo doesn't still know him better than he knows himself.
"But I didn't," Tubbo soldiers on. "I- I didn't die on the mountain because you gave him the disc - which was sweet, Tommy, but it was also s- so stupid."
He sniffs. "But, I- After that, I guess I just..."
Tubbo has to take a moment to keep himself from falling apart again, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he gathers his thoughts. Tommy rubs circles into his back, and Tubbo knows if he doesn't get this out now, he never will.
"If I was going to die, I wanted your last memories of me to be... Happy. That's- I kept making you laugh, or- or trying to, at least. I didn't want to try and fight him and both die, and I didn't want you to have any nightmares about me pleading for my life, or- or begging for you to save me."
(I didn't want you to have guilt over not saving me like the guilt I had over you at the base of that tower, Tubbo doesn't say.)
"I just wanted... I- if I had to die, I was gonna die cheering you up, yeah? I... That's all I've ever wanted, Tommy, is to keep you happy. I just- I just wanted you to be happy."
Tommy makes a strangled noise at that, half whimper, half sob, and Tubbo knows he has to keep going before Tommy fully breaks down as well.
"It- The problem, though, is that I didn't- I didn't expect to live. I- on the mountain, I was so sure I was dead, I didn't even- I never even considered that I'd make it here, that I'd get back home. I... Tommy, I... I feel like I'm not supposed to be here."
Tommy let's out a shaky, stuttering sigh, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and Tubbo can tell he's holding back his own tears as he speaks.
"Me neither. God, Tubbo, me neither. You heard what Wilbur said, that- that there was an opening for me in the afterlife, that the veil was thinning. I was- I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to be with him, in- in the void, not-" Tommy's voice breaks, and he leaves the sentence unfinished.
Tubbo swallows. Cautiously, quietly, he suggests, "It didn't feel real."
"Felt too easy," Tommy agrees immediately. "The whole server's never come together like that before, and they all showed up right at the perfect moment to save us? Dream's just... Gone, now? We- we didn't lose the discs, I didn't lose you, I'm just- everything's- what, everything's okay?"
Tommy huffs in frustration, tears still evident in his voice. "It's fuckin' sus."
Despite himself, Tubbo snorts at that, an awful and pathetic sound with how much he's been crying. Tommy glances at him like he's grown a second head.
Tubbo looks back at him, the ghost of a smile spreading across his face. "Isn't it kind of messed up that when we actually win, for once, we assume it's, like... Fake?"
Tommy chuckles. "I guess that is kind of fucked," he agrees, and they both take a moment to just breathe.
The silence, this time, lasts long enough that Tubbo thinks Tommy may be asleep. Their dog is curled up by the fire, burning low and nearly out, casting the room in long shadows as its dim light flickers. With the fire so low, he should probably be cold again, should go back to shivering, but he's got a blanket covering one half of his body and the other half is entangled with Tommy, breathing in sync, and suddenly Tubbo doesn't even remember what it's like to be cold.
Tubbo only now realizes Tommy had started the fire in a completely random spot, with no regard for any form of structure in his home. He opens his mouth to crack a joke about it, but Tommy gets his words out first.
"Tubbo... You know we weren't supposed to die, right? Its- the fact that we're alive... It's good. It's good, right?"
"Yeah," Tubbo agrees, in the same bright tone he always uses. He knows Tommy will see through it by looking at his face, though, and Tommy picks up his apprehension without fail.
(Tubbo does think its pretty crazy that they can still read each other so we'll after everything, but old habits die hard.)
"I mean it, Tubbo. It- it's good that we're here, okay? We deserve to be- Tubbo, look at me."
Tommy always does this, forcing Tubbo to look at him, because he knows Tubbo will write off any heartfelt thing he says as a joke if they aren't making eye contact. Tubbo hates that he's right, hates that he knows that about him. Tubbo wishes Tommy would just let him live in his own bubble, where Tubbo can simply pretend that he avoids discussing his feelings because he doesn't want to push Tommy away, rather than admittingg that he's avoiding them because he's scared.
He looks up at Tommy, dead on, and Tubbo can tell his eyes aren't as bright as they used to be, but something seems to spark in them as soon as their eyes meet.
"You deserve to live, okay? You deserve to be here, and live your life, and- and, Tubbo?"
Determination clear in his expression, he pauses for dramatic effect, Wilbur's younger brother through and through. "I'm glad you're alive, okay?"
The sentence, simple as it may be, is enough to knock the wind out if Tubbo. It's everything he's been desperate to hear from someone for months now. Tommy, oblivious to the fact that Tubbo is still reeling, keeps going.
"I- I'm really, really glad you're here."
Tommy's voice cracks as he speaks, and normally he'd flinch at that, but instead he looks at Tubbo like he's the most valuable thing in the world. The weight of his gaze makes Tubbo feel dizzy.
Tubbo tucks himself closer into Tommy's side, because the pressure of Tommy's shoulder against his eyes might be barely enough to keep him from crying again (it isn't).
"I'm glad you're alive, too," he murmurs, and the two of them stay like that for a bit.
Snowchester is a lovely place, Tubbo thinks to himself - really, it is, and Jack and Foolish are lovely people - but nothing will ever compare to Tommy. Just being able to hear his breathing, feel his pulse - the gentle reminder that despite everything, he's here and alive and still sitting here with Tubbo - is enough to keep him going all on its own.
Tubbo eventually realizes that he feels... Lighter, now. Like the weight of the world on his shoulders is slightly less heavy, like Tommy is holding some of it for him.
Maybe, he ventures, talking about his feelings isn't as bad as he'd thought.
But, since Tubbo is still Tubbo, he doesn't let himself mention this to Tommy; For fear of snapping him out of his "wholesome mode", for fear of a poorly timed joke that strikes a chord somewhere too close to home, an offhand comment he has to isolate himself for a few days to recover from.
However, since Tommy is still Tommy, he says what Tubbo is thinking, out loud and with such confidence that it makes Tubbo feel ridiculous for not sharing it in the first place.
"Tubbo, you should, um..." Tommy pulls himself away a bit, clearing his throat. "You know. I mean, if- if you keep having, um, you know, nightmares and shit. You could- if- if you wanted, I mean, obviously, but-"
Tommy takes a breath. "If you wanted to keep talking, about- about everything. Um. I would listen."
Tubbo tightens his grip on Tommy's shirt and swears revenge on everyone who'd ever called Tommy a bad friend. (Curses his past self, calling Tommy selfish before trading him away like a pawn.)
"You need to talk, too," Tubbo softly points out. "I reckon you've been through a hell of a lot more than I have."
Tommy opens his mouth to protest, but Tubbo cuts him off.
"It- it would make me feel better about it, as well, I'll be honest."
Tommy freezes at that, purses his lips. He looks away, zoned out, and Tubbo can see the cogs turning, watches as Tommy weighs his options. Tubbo still knows so little about Tommy's exile - only enough to know what the triggers were, so that he could avoid them - and he can't imagine how difficult it would be for Tommy to talk about it.
Tommy stares at the floor, eyes suddenly sharpening as he sets his jaw. "It would make you feel better?"
"Yes."
"Okay," concedes Tommy, and that's that.
Tommy glances over. "Okay, Tubbo," and he's smiling now, amusement in his tone. "I'll talk about my feelings with you, we'll- we're having a sleepover, and I'll build a blanket fort, and we'll- we'll talk about girls, and-"
Tommy cuts himself off to bark out a laugh. "W-wait, Tubbo, I just realized what we're doing, I- do, do you remember-" He dissolves into giggles. In an instant Tubbo is on the same page, and starts to laugh as well.
"Yeah, yeah, I do, it's- we're doing Theropay!"
"Hey," Tommy shouts through his laughter, "what- Tubbo, what flavour would you like?"
They really shouldn't be laughing this loud at such a late hour, but what does it really matter when Tubbo is alive and safe and Tommy is next to him and they're bantering together like they used to? As Tubbo tips his head back and laughs, loud and genuine, he can't help but feel like Connor won't mind the noise too much.
"God," says Tommy after they've calmed themselves down, "this- this is kind of ridiculous. We're giving ourselves therapy-"
"Theropay," Tubbo corrects.
"Right, sorry, Theropay- but how do- I mean... what do we even do?"
"I dunno," muses Tubbo. "Maybe we can get, like, a therapist chair, and we'll just take turns sitting in it."
Tommy laughs again. "Tubbo, I am not going to invest in a Thero-pist chair for us."
"Why not!?" Tubbo cries, trying to restrain himself from another laughing fit. "I thought it was a good idea!"
"Seriously, Tubbo, seriously," Tommy says as he catches his breath. "Are you okay with- I mean, is this, are we..." Tommy turns to regard him, raises an eyebrow. "Are we doing this?"
"Yeah, I think we are," Tubbo nods. "We're both licensed Theropists now."
The joke barely lands, as Tommy is mostly back in Serious Wholesome Mode, but Tubbo gets a huff and a smile out of him anyway.
(If there's one thing Tubbo knows he can be trusted to do, it's cheer Tommy up when things get heavy.)
"Well, Tubbo, you know if we do Theropay, it means we've got to- we fuckin- we gotta be all honest and shit, now, right?" Tommy spits out the word honest like it's personally wronged him, and Tubbo grimaces.
Since early L'Manberg, they'd both learned that it was better to keep your emotions to yourself, unless you were really about to break down. It was better to pick one emotion and stick with it - Anger, for Tommy, and Happiness for Tubbo.
Being honest, though - discussing fears, reliving trauma, admitting weakness - that was something entirely outside of either of their comfort zones.
Tubbo is desperate not to share how he's feeling, if he's honest- there are a million horrible things he'd rather have happen to him. Part of him would rather have Tommy hate him than have Tommy know exactly how pathetic he was to have missed him as much as he did.
But he glances over, and Tommy is doing his unintentional puppy dog eyes, all hopeful and vulnerable, and Tubbo has never been very good at saying no to him.
He grabs Tommy's hand, and Tommy squeezes.
"I can be honest," Tubbo says, and with that, it's decided.
It's going to be hell, Tubbo concludes as he lets himself drift off on Tommy's shoulder. (They're still on the floor, sharing a blanket, because moving to a bed would require the admission that falling asleep together wasn't an accident, and neither of them are willing to make that sacrifice.) Being honest about his emotions is going to be a dreadful experience for him. But Tommy wants him to, and as everyone knows, Tubbo would do just about anything Tommy asked of him.
Besides, it might be nice to be able to cling to him again.