Archive of Our Own ^beta

Okay.

C’mon, you can do this.

Ranboo retrieves his trident from the ground, staring down the multicolored runway into the shallow water of the pond. 

One more try. Just to make sure it’s perfect.

He lifts the trident up, pointing it into the sky, and gingerly steps into the small basin of water he dug into the ground. At first, the sensation feels like wet socks, then, in an instant he’s soaring. He adjusts the trident midair to point at the closest neon pink ring. 

He passes through flawlessly, letting a small trill escape from the back of his throat as he lands onto the next floating platform.

It’s working!

Ranboo pauses to judge the distance between this platform and the next, adjusting for the exact angle to fit through the gap. This jump is a horizontal one, so he can’t adjust in midair, unless he wants to fall into the water below. 

He lines up the trident, fingers positioned flawlessly in a row, like seconds counting down till the jump.

1…2…3…4…5!

He springs forward, pushing his chin down to his chest and leveling his legs, rocketing across the gap and smoothly fitting through the next ring. 

This one’s easy, right after the green ring all he has to do is hit the water and go up. And do it quickly.

Okay, chin tucked, legs straight, through the hole, bend knees, point up, and-

“WHOOOO!”

A loud cheer bursts his bubble of concentration.

Ranboo turns to look towards the noise and- bluntly hits his head on the ceiling of the platform.

“Oww” He falls back to the ground of the platform, narrowly missing landing into the small alcove of water in the center. 

The platform is a cube sort of shape, enclosed on all the sides except for the two small openings on the side and top for entrance and exit.

And for hitting your head on when someone yells from the outside, apparently.

“I’M SORRY!” yells the voice again and Ranboo winces as he sits up, checking himself over for any burns or bruises. He runs both hands through his hair, no bumps or blood. Good. Probably no concussion either.

He stands up fully, lifting his head through the top hole to look for the source of the voice. Shoot. He can’t see the ground from here. 

Ranboo places one arm on both sides of the opening and pulls his body up, until he is sitting on top of the green platform. He peers over the edge, staring faintly down into the pond below. He really shouldn’t be up here for long.

“HEYYYYY!” There it is again. The source of his current pain.

He turns towards the voice, gingerly moving so he doesn’t slip and fall into the water below.

“Hey big guy!” Tubbo calls up, cupping both hands on either side of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you mess up. I just got really excited. It looks so cool!” He ends his sentence with grand hand movements, swinging his arms to embellish his point

Okay, Ranboo knows he’s tall. But Tubbo looks tiny from this height. 

He holds back a chuckle as he calls down “Th-thank you!”

“Why don’t you come down?” Tubbo shouts again.

Ranboo grabs his boots and leggings from his inventory, putting them on as he shuffles closer towards the edge. In one motion, he’s down, landing in the shallow water, knees bent, with a splash.

He wades to the edge and takes the armor off carefully, making sure to not get any water on the fabric of his suit.

Tubbo bounds over from the spot closer to the starting line, eyes filled with stars, still waving his hands wildly.

“That was soooo awesome! Is it done yet?”

“Yeahh but-” Ranboo pauses, finally standing up straight. “That was supposed to be the final test, just to make sure it was good for the guests, and I kinda…messed it up.”

“What do you mean? You were brilliant! I’m the one that messed it up.” Tubbo finally drops his hands back to his sides, looking downcast at the grass between them.

Ranboo slides his shoe through the dirt, unsure of what to say. “Yeah, sure, thanks.”

They both stare at the ground for a while. Tubbo suddenly lifts his head. “Well, can I try?”

“Ye-yeah, sure,” He swings his eyes to meet Tubbo’s forehead. “…Mr. President.”

Tubbo chuckles and instinctively goes to adjust the front buttons of his suit. “You don’t have to call me that ya’know.”

“Oh, okay.” He rushes to hand over the trident, nearly dropping it as it gets dragged into the dirt and flips over. Tubbo catches it with both hands, grinning up at Ranboo from behind his long bangs, being careful to avoid eye contact. Ranboo flinches from the brief hand contact, letting go of the trident and taking another step back. He swivels towards the pond, pointing at the starting spot.

“There’s where you begin.” He shifts his arm up, still pointing at the obstacle course. “And there’s where the first loop is, so after that you turn here and go under there and…” He trails off, staring back down at Tubbo. “You pr-probably knew this all already. You were watching me complete the course.”

“It’s ok bossman! Anything would help me not make an absolute fool of myself. And besides, you look really cool when you’re explaining all of the fancy stuff you built.”

“It-it’s not f-fancy…” Ranboo mumbles, turning away from the shorter boy.

“Uh.” Tubbo looks him up and down. “Pretty much everything you do is fancy to me dude. You wear a suit for god’s sake.”

“You do too!”

“Yeah, but mine is old and musty and definitely too big.” He shrugs, showing off how far the seam goes beyond his shoulder. “Definitely not as nice as yours.”

“Thanks,” Ranboo whispers.

“So…” Tubbo continues “When do I get to start flying through the air?”

“Whenever you want, I guess. Oh, and shout if you get stuck. I’ll have to go get another trident.”

“Sounds good!” Tubbo winks before turning away towards the starting line, narrowly missing seeing Ranboo blush.

Ranboo trails behind him for a bit, stopping feet from where Tubbo is lining up the trident to launch himself into the air. He watches his hands and arms closely, making sure he knows the right position to aim the weapon. Tubbo notices the stare and turns his head slightly, just enough to flash him a sly grin before launching himself into the air.

And then he’s up, flying through the air like it’s nothing. Like he’s truly weightless.

Tubbo feels a giggle bubble towards the surface, and then seconds later he is swishing through the first loop, cackling with laughter. He pushes off against the ground at the next checkpoint, letting out a loud whoop as the wind rushes past him.

This is the most fun he’s had in months.

Ranboo stands on the ground, smiling faintly at Tubbo’s raucous cheers echoing down from the blue sky. He tilts his head a bit further backwards, staring up at the clouds foggily crossing the horizon. A quick breeze lifts the smell of the final days of winter from the snowy branches of dormant trees where it resides. Birds chirp from somewhere to his right. 

It’s so nice above ground today.

Ranboo is snapped back to attention when another one of Tubbo’s hollers cascades down from the trident course, this one louder than the rest. Jeez, is he trying to wake everyone up? He focuses back onto the platforms, realizing that there’s still one to go. The green box. 

Time slows. He watches Tubbo repeat the same steps he did only moments before. Chin tucked, legs straight, trident forwards. Aim straight. And then-

Ranboo squints up against the rising sun, staring at the top of the platform, waiting. 

A small bundle of limbs ricochets with high velocity out of the top, spinning in the clear sky. Tubbo reaches out with both arms and legs, forming a starfish shape. He hangs there, suspended just above the platform, and it looked as if he were to set his legs down, he could just start dancing in the air. 

And then Tubbo lets out the loudest cheer yet.

And Ranboo smiles so wide he can feel his jaw dislocate a little. He hates it when that happens. But he can’t help it.

In that moment of suspension Tubbo lifts his hands to his mouth again and screams down “LOOK AT ME GOOO!”

Ranboo throws both arms up in the air and closes his eyes, yelling and cheering along.

He hears a splash to his left and turns, opening his eyes to check that Tubbo made it down alright. 

He pants lightly as he crawls out of the shallow water and shakes off gently when he reaches the shore. “That…was…AWESOME!” His eyes sparkle with a million shades of blue, outshined only by his smile.

“You were so good!”

“I know and did you see the part wheniwentallwhooshandthenlandeddirectlyinthethingandtheniwasintheairand-“

“Tubbo.” Ranboo reaches out and puts one hand on each of Tubbo’s shoulders. “Breathe.”

And then there’s that smile again.

Ranboo drops his hands and takes a step back, unsure of what to do at such a close proximity. He smiles back weakly.

He reaches for the trident still grasped tightly in Tubbo’s hand, but it’s snatched out of his open grasp.

A chuckle emits from the smaller boy, and he spins the trident behind his back “C’mon man…one more time?”

“I don’t think I can let you do that. It’s not done yet, and I don’t want to get you hurt before the festival.”

Tubbo lowers his head and bunches his eyebrows, pouting at the grass, still holding the trident captive behind his back. Ranboo reaches for the weapon again, trying to at least get a hand on it.

Tubbo snaps his head up, a sudden mischievous glint in his eyes. But he’s not looking at Ranboo, he’s looking past him.

In a flurry of navy blue, he sprints past the taller boy, racing towards the plank pathway that exits out of New L’manburg. Ranboo turns and follows, although he is sure he could outpace Tubbo, he keeps his stride steady so as to not worsen his possible concussion. Tubbo rounds the turn in the path, this time heading towards the L’mantree.

He looks behind him to measure the distance, flashing one of those signature grins at Ranboo before picking up the pace in a final burst of energy. He skids to a stop at the base of the tree, immediately falling over onto the soft grass. Tubbo imitates his posture from earlier, spreading out both his arms and legs onto the ground.

Ranboo follows, too tired to bother to make another grab for the trident and falls to the ground next to Tubbo. “We just...” He pants, unaware of how tired the little jog would make him. “Went in a circle.”

Tubbo turns his head to look at him. “Yeah, but I figured if I tired you out, you would be unable to stop me from going again.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s the point of the circle.”

“A circle doesn’t have a point Tubbo.”

Tubbo sits up fully now, dragging the heavy trident through the dirt as he does so. He leans over and punches Ranboo square in the shoulder.

“Oww” Ranboo rubs his shoulder blade with the opposing hand “Are you just set on injuring me today?”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for making terrible jokes.” He flops back onto the ground, mission complete.

The silence overtakes them again, although this one is laced with peacefulness. The birds can be heard clearer from here, and they fill the quiet with the everlasting notes of nature, of life.

Ranboo turns to look at Tubbo as he gazes up into the branches of the tree. He looks so unusual. Like an amalgamation of interesting characters. The small horns peeking through long bangs, the patches of pinker skin painted in random, the too-big navy suit with gold embellishments. Ranboo glances down at his own arm, he’s one to talk about amalgamations.

Suddenly, Tubbo turns to face him, remaining fully on the ground this time. Ranboo swings his head away quickly, trying not to show he was staring. “Maybe you’re right.” Tubbo reaches down to aimlessly pull at patches of grass.

“A-about the circle?”

“No.” He pauses to let out a breath with a huff. “About not doing the trident course again. My plan kinda backfired.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because It’s awfully nice sitting here, and I don’t want to get up.” He fake glares at the sunny morning sky.

Ranboo tiredly reaches for the trident, slowly sliding his arm towards Tubbo. This is his chance to snatch it back before he pulls another trick.

But something else reaches his hand before he makes it any further. Ranboo stiffens but doesn’t move, looking down to see Tubbo’s hand tucked into his. He jerks his gaze up, wincing briefly as his eyes meet the smaller boys for a moment. 

“Caught you.”

Ranboo splutters, searching for a proper response. “I-I just ne-need the trident b-back.”

“I can’t keep it?” Tubbo pulls his eyebrows in and bats his eyelashes, faking a pout. “What if I cried? 

“N-no please don’t.”

“Okay, fine.” Tubbo looks back up at the sky for a moment before looking back at Ranboo with another mischievous grin. “What if I ordered you to give it to me?” He sits up again, staring down as Ranboo shifts his weight onto his elbows and pushes up a bit, his hand still trapped in Tubbo’s. “I, Tubbo Underscore, president of New L’manburg, issue a decree that Ranboo the Beloved gives me his trident to keep.”

Ranboo pales at the declaration and he grins harder, content with his scheme. Ranboo’s gaze flits between the trident and his shoes. “I guess you can…keep it.” He mumbles while turning his face over his shoulder, avoiding looking at Tubbo.

Tubbo starts chuckling quietly at first, then louder until he has to fall back onto the grass, rolling with laughter. Ranboo looks back at him, tilting his head slightly.

“You-” A sharp breath inwards in between laughs. “You need to grow a spine big man!”

Ranboo groans and looks up at the sky, trying his best to ignore Tubbo’s laughter at his expense. He was just trying to be nice. He didn’t know it was a joke. He glances over to see Tubbo still rolling on the ground, clutching his sides.

“I can’t order anyone to do shit Ranboo.” The laughter quiets as he straightens out to face the sky again. “Well, I guess I can’t order anyone around besides you.” He stares back down at the grass, laying his hand over Ranboo’s arm. Tubbo’s breathing slows as he contemplates his last sentence. “You’re the only one like that. You’re all…trust- no, devoted?”

“Loyal?”

“Yeah, that one, loyal.”

At the repetition of the word Ranboo flinches, although this time he’s steadied with Tubbo’s hand on his arm. “I-I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh, come on, You’re the best minutes man I’ve ever had!”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m the only minutes man you’ve ever had.” 

Tubbo huffs and stretches his free arm lazily into the air, lightly tracing the wispy clouds that swim across the horizon. “You’re still the best…” he mumbles to nobody in particular. His arm stops moving, and he spreads his palm flat up, like he’s pushing against something above him. “Do you ever want to go…up?”

“Like with the trident? You can go again if you want, I won’t stop you.”

“No” Tubbo separates his fingers, palm still up. “Like just. I don’t know. Being in the sky. Walking or running or sitting up there.” He lets his hand fall back to his side. “Away from everything.”

“This is getting awfully profound very quickly Mr. President.” Ranboo chuckles.

“Oh, okay.” Tubbo’s face drops and he sits up, dragging the trident still clutched tightly in his hand.

Ranboo sits up suddenly, rotating his body to face him. “No wait, I didn’t mean that.” He slides his hand into the one still gripping his arm. “Y-you can talk if you want. I’ll just stay quiet.” He says it more like a question than a statement, but it doesn’t matter.

“It’s fine. You’re fine.” He stands the trident up vertically with one hand and slides the other out of Ranboo’s to help push himself off the ground. “I’ve got work to do anyways.” He comments as he brushes grass off of his suit.

Ranboo follows, standing and brushing himself off as well, staying close to Tubbo. “Here.” Tubbo holds out the trident, offering it to him. “You should get back to work too. I need that obstacle course in perfect shape for the festival.” He smiles weakly before turning and walking away, back to New L’manburg.

“Bye.” Ranboo calls after him, raising his hand in an awkward half-wave.

Tubbo swings around waving wildly with both hands as he walks backwards, blue eyes shining brightly despite the distance.

Tubbo hums as he shakes off his shoes, being careful to tuck them properly into the open closet next to his front door. He discards his coat next, wiping snow off the fur lining before hanging it up.

It’s dark out, and he goes to close the blinds over a nearby window. Odd. He doesn’t remember leaving those open. Tubbo looks around the room wildly for a moment, making sure that Michael didn’t climb down the ladder when he was out at the outpost. Huh, nothing else is out of place.

He turns back to the front door, checking over that everything is in order before-

*Thunk*

Tubbo sighs and walks towards the kitchen area, filling a small metal kettle with water and placing it on the stovetop to heat up. It looks like it’s going to be tea for two tonight.

He approaches the small ladder against the farthest wall and steadies one of his feet on the first rung. Another thump sounds from above his head, this one fainter. He starts climbing, one rung after the other. When he reaches the top, he balances his weight on one arm and positions the other against the heavy trapdoor. He pushes up with one big shove, toppling the trapdoor up and over onto the attic’s floor.

“Ahhh!”

Tubbo squints apprehensively over the ledge of the floor, staring down the cause of the thumps from earlier. And the scream from a couple seconds ago.

Ranboo looks sheepishly up from where his lanky frame is sitting hunched over on the floor. Both of his hands are covered in socks, one pink and one green. An attentive Michael sits in front of him, staring up at what Tubbo assumes are makeshift sock puppets, although his attention shifts when he notices Tubbo. “Bo!” the little piglin squeals, pointing at him as he climbs fully through the opening and onto the floor.

“Yes Michael, Tubbo’s home.”

“Yeah…I am.” Tubbo glares down at Ranboo, still waiting for an explanation. He crosses his arms but doesn’t stay that way for very long when Michael runs up to hug his leg. He picks up his son and spins him around one, mirroring the grin that splits across the little boy’s face, before setting him down to totter back to his pillow on the floor.

During that time, Ranboo had stood up, and he clears his throat once Michael is back in his spot. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head at the ground. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t even gonna stay that long.”

Tubbo closes the space between them, lifting Ranboo’s face in his hands, careful to avoid eye contact. “Was that it? Were you just here to play with Michael?”

Ranboo nods, still looking downcast. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Ranboo.” The sternness in Tubbo’s tone startles him, and he looks up suddenly. “He’s your son too. You don’t need permission to come see him, even if this is my house.” Ranboo ducks down again, blushing slightly, still held in place by Tubbo’s hands and incapable of using his own when they are imprisoned by the sock puppets.

Ranboo nods again, still wilted in Tubbo’s arms. 

“What were you guys even doing?” He looks past the taller boy, staring at Michael still sitting on the pillow. Ranboo glances back at Michel too, straightening his back. The piglin takes this as his cue to speak and an adorably pronounced “pock puppets!” tumbles out of his mouth.

“Is that all?” Tubbo looks back up at Ranboo, one eyebrow raised inquisitively above his verdant eyes. “What about the crashing noises I heard? Care to explain bossman?”

Ranboo’s smile at his son’s voice turns quickly to a look of guilt as he focuses back onto the floor.

“I…may have…”

“Spit it out, Ranboo.” Tubbo re-folds his arms.

“Given him…some...” He pauses again, willing himself to fall through the floor at that moment. “cake?”

“YOU WHAT?” Tubbo throws his arms down, green eyes widening as he turns his full attention onto his nervous husband. “Ranboo it’s already 8pm! He’s gonna be up for ages and ages!”

He shuffles from one foot to the other, desperate for an escape from the conversation. “Yeah, but it was like an hour ago.” He moves back towards Michael, sitting back onto the floor across from him. “And he wouldn’t settle down.” Ranboo pulls at the socks still over his hands, sliding them off and setting them on the nearby tiny wooden table.

“So…let me get this straight.” Tubbo moves his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache forming already. “To settle down a child you gave him cake.”

“Maybe?” Ranboo smiles up weakly, trying to get some sympathy points. His attention is pulled back to Michael when the kid starts slapping his hands on the wood planks in front of his seat, obviously waiting for his next round of entertainment. Ranboo reaches across the room between them, pulling Michael into his lap. He stares back up at Tubbo, begging for forgiveness in his wide cat-like eyes. “He’s just so small. And how could I say no?”

Tubbo sighs and moves to sit on the floor next to Ranboo, running a hand through the little piglin’s bright pink hair. Michael babbles upward at him, grabbing one of Tubbo’s fingers in his hands. He almost squeals at the tiny hand wrapped around his finger. Maybe Ranboo was right. He would give Michael anything in the world in a heartbeat.

Ranboo shifts Michael in his lap, cradling him in his arms and moving his head to rest against one of his folded knees. Tubbo shifts closer to his side, finger still entrapped in his son’s grasp. Their arms press together and Tubbo leans his head onto Ranboo’s shoulder, briefly closing his eyes during the moment of peace. 

A strange noise startles Tubbo awake, spinning his head to look at Ranboo. The taller boy blushes in embarrassment and focuses his attention fully on Michael. Tubbo squints up at him. “Were you…purring?” Ranboo slaps the hand not supporting Michael over his mouth, looking at Tubbo with wide eyes. “You could hear that?” He squeaks out from behind his fingers.

“You totally were!” Tubbo cackles at his newfound discovery. “I didn’t know I married a cat!” He breathes out in between laughs.

“Tubbo!” Ranboo squeaks, his blush increasingly worsening. “I can’t help it!” He frowns and looks down at the suddenly excited Michael who is giggling along with Tubbo, unaware of the reasoning. “Now look at what you’ve done, turning my own son against me.”

Tubbo leans in closer. “Maybe you deserve it.” He pokes Ranboo in the cheek. “Catboy”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aww c’mon big man.” Tubbo rests his head back onto Ranboo’s shoulder, dropping his gaze back down onto Michael. “I think it’s adorable.”

They stay like this for a while. Just sitting. Spending the little moments together.

Another noise alerts Tubbo’s attention, although this time it’s a small snore emitting from Michael curled in Ranboo’s lap.

Ranboo looks down. “Sugar crash.” He glances at Tubbo. “Told you it would work.”

“Actually.” Tubbo smirks back. “You said no such thing. All you admitted to was falling prey to the demands of a child.” He chuckles softly.

Ranboo turns his head sharply and shushes Tubbo. “He’s sleeping!”

Tubbo grins down at Michael and slowly slides his finger out of the kid’s tight grasp. Ranboo shifts him again, moving his legs to stand. He carefully gets up and approaches the blue bed in the corner. Tubbo trails behind and sits on the edge as Ranboo tucks the sleepy piglin in, right next to his favorite chicken plush.

As soon as the covers are over him, Michael opens his eyes. Just their luck.

He slides his gaze over to Ranboo and mumbles something incoherent in piglin. Ranboo leans in close, hands still on the blanket. “What is it bug?” Michael mumbles something else and he nods along, listening intently to what the kid is saying. Tubbo smiles. He can’t help it.

Ranboo looks up suddenly, staring at Tubbo. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what big man?” Tubbo stares inquisitively.

“I-I don’t know, it was like raindrops. Above my head.” Ranboo looks up at the ceiling, peering through the cracks.

Tubbo shrugs. “Probably just a leak or something.”

“Anyways.” Ranboo turns back to Michael. “I think he wants us to stay with him.”

“Easy enough.” Tubbo gets up from his seat on the edge of the bed and flops over onto Michael’s left, sending the piglin into squeals of laughter as he’s bounced into the air by the impact. “I’m exhausted.”

Ranboo chuckles and slides under the covers on the kid’s right, resting a hand on Michael’s head. He babbles something else in piglin, nestling in between Tubbo and Ranboo.

And the last thing Tubbo remembers before his eyes close was the sound of Ranboo’s purr.

“Oof”

Ranboo sets the giant box down with a thud, the flaps of cardboard popping open. 

He spins in a circle slowly, taking in his surroundings. Some bell rings in the back of his mind. A warning sign. He remembers…sleeping. And now…

He turns around to see Tubbo, carrying three boxes of the same size. The smaller boy grins from around the side of the cardboard.

“How can you carry that many?” Ranboo sighs in disbelief. “They’re so heavy.” He turns back to the box assigned for him and leans down to pick it up again.

The hallways are slowly filling with stuff, although there aren’t many belongings to move. He doubts the giant, looming, grand structure of the mansion could ever be filled with anyone’s personal belongings. Most of that stuff in fancy houses is just for show anyways. And besides, they need this to feel like a home.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so damn tall you could carry more.” Tubbo shouts from down the hall, the distance widening between them after Ranboo took his break. “Centralized weight and stuff, right?

“Do you think I would have any clue about that?” His voice muffled against the box again as he strains to complete the journey. 

“Why is it even that heavy?” He pauses again to adjust the weight and lean against one of the many ornate windows. “We don’t have that much stuff.”

He sees Tubbo smirk at the end of the hallway, setting his boxes down in one motion. “You can blame yourself for that, bossman.” He turns to open the soft yellow door behind him with a gentle click. “This is your son’s stuff.”

“I really don’t see how that changes anything I-”

Tubbo spins around fully, walking backwards into the room while carrying one of the cardboard boxes. “You have a tendency to…” He raises one eyebrow while gesturing at the colorful bedroom, now in full view.

It’s decorated wall to wall with cutesy nether-themed furniture. Ranboo estimates that there are about half a million toys, books, and stuffed animals littered across what might be both the smallest and the most full room in the mansion. Michael’s favorite plushie, a ghast with a stormy expression, sits at the top of a giant pile of toys.

“…give a lot.” Tubbo ends the sentence with a pointed eye roll. Ranboo just smiles back. What was he supposed to do? Not care about his family?

And besides he didn’t really have much to do with the valuables that covered his hidden vault wall-to-wall. Besides buying mansions. And toys for his son. And gifts for pretty much every other member of the server. Apparently.

They move further into the room together, aimlessly setting down the boxes near where their contents might be displayed.

They had decided that Michael would be too over excited by moving day and left him with Tommy for the afternoon. Ranboo prays that Michael hasn’t maimed Tommy yet. Tommy can be…chaotic, but he is no match for the animated little piglin.

Ranboo walks towards the tiny bed, absolutely coated in stuffed mobs of various sizes. He reaches for a photo on the nightstand, one of the few things in the new room that decorates a surface. It’s a photo of them, all of them. 

Tommy and the blue ghost are on the left side, followed by Tubbo and Ranboo in the middle, Michael sitting on Tubbo’s shoulders. Michael and Tommy have matching grins and Tommy’s arm is hidden behind Tubbo’s back as he reaches to make bunny ears above the piglin’s head. Phil and Fundy are last, and they stand on Ranboo’s right, Phil’s arm thrown around Ranboo’s shoulders. He can hear the laughter echoing from the photograph.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t remember taking the photo.

“Do you…” Tubbo’s voice startles him a little, and he nearly drops the frame. He hadn’t heard the smaller boy sneak up behind him. “Do you…I don’t know. Do you wish we could go back sometimes?”

Ranboo chuckles lightly. “What? Back to when you were under immense stress because of your position and when I was being mentally tortured?” 

He had meant it as a joke, but when he turns around Tubbo’s face is stony. “No. I meant like after that.” He looks down to twist his fingers nervously together. “Like right after all that, when you lived in the arctic and Michael lived with me.”

He spins to face the small bed and goes to sit on the corner. “I don’t even know why I’m asking. Never mind.”

“Tubbo.” Ranboo moves towards the bed but doesn’t sit. “Do you…Do you not want to live with me?”

“No!” Tubbo’s head shoots up in alarm. “Th-that’s not what I meant. I just. I don’t know if I want to live here.”

“Tubbo…” He says it slower this time, still rolling the words over in his mind. “You bought this house. It was your decision.” Ranboo folds his arms, anger rising. “You made me. We have been moving in all day. What do you mean?”

“Seeing this room made me…” His fingers twitch nervously again. “I just don’t know if I want this to be home.”

“You can’t-'' Ranboo sighs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner!” His voice raises. He’s too tired for this, too many things are going wrong. The mansion, the crops, the food supply, the oxygen. 

Tubbo stands from the bed, facing him. “I didn’t want to freak you out!” He jabs a finger into Ranboo’s chest accusingly. “God forbid someone has a different opinion than yours! You always get like this!”

He feels the edges of his eyes fill with water, and he struggles for a moment to prevent himself from burning. “Like what.” Ranboo steps back from Tubbo.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He whispers. “Maybe I don’t want to live with you.” He looks up, staring into Ranboo’s eyes. His own are clouded with so many overlapping emotions, too many to write down. “Maybe nobody should.”

Honestly, he should have been expecting it. The other shoe dropping. The reasoning for the lonely feeling. But it still hurts.

He turns and runs back out into the hallway, rushing through corridor after corridor. Doorways and arches repeatedly flash past, making the whole place feel endless. 

He reaches a big room and stops. It’s one of the ballrooms. Velvet carpet is cut off abruptly by a smooth, shining, marble floor. Gold accents drip every few feet apart on the wall. It’s so ornate and clean and empty.

A giant, half-sphere domed ceiling stretches above his head. He takes a step back, instinctively moving back towards the safety of the hallways. His head spins with the sight before him, trying and failing to comprehend the impossibility above him.

There was fish and seaweed and coral and oh god, oh god. This can’t be real.

It was glass. And above the glass, a whole ocean pressed against the ceiling.

A million brilliant lights fill his view. They sparkle brightly against the black watercolor sky. 

Ranboo turns his head to his right, staring at the smaller boy laying on the ground next to him. A soft blanket buffers them from the grass slick with dew underneath their backs. He tries to lose himself in his thoughts, but an empty mind betrays him. What was he just thinking about? It was something bad. Something dangerous.

“Pretty cool, right?” Tubbo’s question startles him, and he nods up at the sky. “I thought a break would be nice.”

A break. Huh.

“A break from what?”

Tubbo looks back up. “You didn’t seem happy with the last one. I think you want to end on something nice. Plus, the sky’s clear tonight. I guess that’s one of the cons of living in a snow biome, there’s clouds all the time.”

End?

Now that Tubbo mentions it, Ranboo doesn’t know if he’s ever seen the night sky above Snowchester. It’s breathtaking. Ranboo lets his gaze wander down the side of the grassy hill, finally resting on the cabin nestled in the snow, Michael’s attic room lit up with yellow light.

Something prods the front of his mind. Something’s off. Something’s wrong.

“What- no, when did we?” Ranboo fully turns to face him. “Tubbo when did we…when did you…why are we back in your house?”

“What do you mean?” Now he looks worried.

“I-I thought we lived in the mansion?”

“What mansion?”

Ranboo glances back down at the cabin, brows creasing. “I don’t know. We had some big fight about…” He trails off. “There were boxes of stuff. And…something scary.”

“Ok.” Tubbo’s voice comforts his frantic mind. “Just go slow, did you forget something? Is that it?”

Ranboo shakes his head, trying to erase the fogginess. Memories overlap in misty layers of spiraling endless hallways. Moments of time are folded over and stitched together haphazardly.

He reaches for Tubbo’s hand, their intertwined fingers resting on the soft blanket underneath them.

This feels so familiar. Like it only happened minutes ago. He mentally traces their knuckles, trying his best to memorize every ridge and dip in something as simple as hand holding. It consumes him for a moment, and he feels everything else fall into the background as he tries his best to hold on.

Tubbo breaks the silence. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

“Huh?” Ranboo pushes himself upwards, staring down a little at Tubbo. His mind still slightly focused on their hands.

Tubbo sits up too “Is something wrong big man?” He squints at Ranboo. “You don’t look too good.”

“Oh. It’s nothing.” He runs a hand through his hair and lays back down, looking up. “Probably just the lack of sunlight.” He dismisses the accusation with a half shrug.

Tubbo looks him up and down, brown eyes scanning for something undetectable. “Whatever you say.” They stay immersed in silence for a while longer. “Just tell me if you’re in trouble, ok?”

“Ok.” Ranboo stares up at the stars. He blinks slowly, trying to focus. Trying to remember even the barest of details. Willing his eyes to transform the sight before them into words. Pleading, begging with his mind to name the sparkling stones in the sky.

It’s not working. 

They were beautiful, he could remember that. They were beautiful and there were a million of them and they only came out at night and every time he saw them, they reminded him of Tubbo.

They were beautiful. And now they were gone.

He feels the beginnings of tears forming in eyes, still trying to grasp the view in front of them. Another warning blares through the front of his brain. He can’t cry. That would be bad.

Why? Why would it be bad?

There must be something else. He must be missing something. Another invisible word added to a list of things he can’t comprehend.

Ranboo flinches as he feels a tear form and run down the side of his face. It hurts. More liquid sizzles and smokes against fingertips as he brushes the remaining water away.

He holds back more as realization on top of realization all fall like dominoes. 

“Tubbo. I think I’m in trouble.” A choked whisper from a lost boy breaks the peaceful air.

“Ok.” Tubbo turns to look at him. Concern only wrinkles his face slightly, seeming mostly unfazed by the breakdown. “What do you want to do about it?”

Ranboo grips their hands tighter and fully faces him, staring into those umber eyes.
“Please, can we just stay here.” He begs. “I don’t want to go back. Please”

The final page is ending. Maybe there’s only five lines left. Six if he’s lucky. And loose paper won’t fix it this time, those get lost too easily.

He’s drawn back in by a familiar chuckle. “Sure, big man. Wasn’t planning on interrupting the night anyways.”

Ranboo barely acknowledges his reply. “You don’t understand.” He shakes his head, trying to regain some control. “It…it’s so lonely.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Tubbo reaches with his other hand for Ranboo’s now shaking arm. “I won’t make you leave.”

“Okay.” He’s calmed by the reassurance, even though it’s meaningless. “I think you would’ve liked to see it. There’s this great big tree in a room all on its own. I think you would’ve liked that.”

Tubbo chuckles again, a bit hollower this time. “I think I would’ve liked to see it too.”

Ranboo stares into his hazel eyes for a while.

He doesn’t want to go.

But it’s here. And for forever he could leave the last line blank. A promise to the past that he will never stop trying to remember. 

But he can’t go backwards. And every day is worse.

And a promise in his hands erodes like waves against a cliff. Every memory diminished to pebbles. 

He clutches tighter to the smaller hand in his, waiting for the moment they no longer fit together like puzzle pieces. Waiting for the familiar feeling of absence. Of haunting a vacant home. Of dancing with a ghost. Of blank paper.

Tubbo turns to him, and whispers something he can barely hear.

“What?”

“I love you.”

Oh.

“I love you.”

Oh.

“I love you.”

Ranboo stands from the desk and closes the book. A faded blue cover stares into his worn eyes. It daunts him with the inescapable limit he has just set on himself. The memories not recorded in the book already slipping away from his tired hands. And he lets go.

He moves to go do something else but can’t think of anything to do. Glass domed ceilings pressed down with the weight of the ocean above trap him in his prison.

There are a million things to fix, to solve. But none of them could help. Not really.

He sits back down at the desk and flips the book open to the first page.

He smiles at the note and reaches a finger to trace his name. The decades-old ink is nearly faded, worn off by the number of times he has thumbed over this page. It’s one of his favorites. He reaches for the next page.

Some of the list is almost completely gone, traces of grey clinging to the parchment. It’s been years since he moved underground. Since the overworld was overtaken and corrupted. He flips the page again. This ink is more recent, only a few years old.

It’s also been forever since he was in a meeting. Can’t really have any of those if there’s nobody else around.

He goes to flip to the next page and a stick figure drawing falls out of the worn seam. There are six figures all in a line. One in blue, red, green, pink, black, a darker green, and finally orange. Each of the stickmen have details added on with more crayon. A yellow sweater, a red shirt, brown horns, and pink ears. Then a black suit and black wings, and an orange tail. All the people are smiling the same half-circle smile.

Two words accompany the drawing, a title that reads “friends” at the top and a well-practiced signature of the name “Michael” in the bottom corner.

Clipped behind it is the last photo. The only one he brought with.

It’s him and Tubbo, holding Michael in front of the cabin.

He remembers that Tubbo thought they looked so silly like that. Like they were “some bullshit nuclear family.” Ranboo had made a joke after that, a pun about nukes. He can’t remember the exact words.

That’s what hurts the most.

It’s all the little things that leave first. The color of his eyes. The lights in the sky. Your son’s favorite stuffed toy and the sound of his laugh.

The big things matter so much less when all that’s left is places and people and general ideas of things that happened. Or things that didn’t. It’s impossible to tell the difference. A festival never held, a mansion never lived in, words of affection never said.

He places a discarded quill back into a drawer and carefully slides the pictures back into the binding of the book before closing it.

Every page not used to record data or logs is filled with memories. Letters written in margins; drawings squeezed in between lines. Ever since every other person slowly disappeared his mind has been deteriorating. And the book is full.

And he lets go.