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It's been a week and a half since Ranboo had died, and though Tubbo wasn't at all over his grieving, he was strong enough to have the literal ghost of his husband hanging around him. Or at least he thought he was, after all this trauma and horrid events happening to him he supposed he could handle a lot of baggage now, or he wanted to.
The two were running around getting supplies and running errands, as Tubbo wanted to finally move into the mansion. Ranboo, or as Tubbo calls him now, Ghostboo didn't do much help other than help him carry some things and talk his ass off about how amazing and freeing death was. It was a bit annoying, but he appreciated the noise, instead of the loud silence the two used to go through when Tubbo was alive.
It's fine.
Tubbo wobbled down the prime path, as he carried the stuff he had with him, while Ghostboo had reduced to only holding a few fifteen pieces of wood, subconsciously dropping most of them on the way while he talked and talked and talked. Its okay, he could just go back and get more later. So, they kept on walking, approaching the home of Tommy, walking over the walls that Tommy was beginning to build, it being easy to climb. After getting through, Ghostboo had stopped a moment, leaving Tubbo a few seconds of walking to himself, where he can recollect himself after being a bit annoyed by the continuous talk of "being free and dead".
It's fine, he told himself again.
Sooner or later, Ghostboo caught up again, clearing his throat. "Here, Tubbo!" He exclaimed, shoving a pink tulip in the boys face.
He stared, and took a moment to glance at his other hand, noticing that all the wood he had with him wasn't there anymore. He could just go back and get more later..
It's fine.
Tubbo took the pink tulip, staring down at it, and looking back, finally realizing a memory he had tucked in the back of his mind, something that reminded him of this exact moment. A small smile sneaking upon his face, reliving the memory.
-
"What's your favorite flower?" Ranboo asked, as they lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. All you could hear was the small huffs of breath coming from the both of them, and the thump of Ranboo's tail occasionally. Usually, after a long day, they would both do this, just lay in bed and talk quietly while waiting to fall asleep.
"What?" Tubbo asked with a trail of sleepiness following his tone.
"You like flowers, right? Which one is your favorite?" Ranboo repeated, shuffling in his place to get a bit more comfortable.
"Uhm.. I'm not sure, I don't look at flowers that often." Tubbo replied, heavy-eyed, his eyelids starting to close and drifting off.
The next day, the two finally had a day off from everything, and had brought Michael to play with Foolish Jr., having his father look after the two. Today, it was just the two of them.
They decided to walk around snowchester, but ended up wandering around the whole SMP, taking a detour and trying to stay off the prime path. The whole time they talked and talked, making jokes and talking about what has happened with other people around the SMP, gossiping about whatever they want. These are the times when Tubbo was really happy, and hoped it would stay that way. Forever.
As Tubbo walked with Ranboo on the prime path, staring out at the scenery, his eyes fixed on the Big Innit hotel, Ranboo tapped his shoulder, and held out a flower, a pink tulip to be specific. Tubbo gladly took it, a small smile sneaking upon his face, and sniffed the flower, the smell of nature filling his nose. He looked back up at Ranboo, who was grinning back at him, giddily.
"You're such a romantic, you." Tubbo spat, giggling and holding onto the flower.
"Do you like it?"
"Yes, in fact I think it's my favorite now!" He exclaimed, remembering their conversation from last night.
He was happy.
It's all fine.
-
"You remembered." Tubbo muttered between breaths of astonishment, he looked up to the ghost's face, although his foggy and grey eyes staring blankly, there was much hope and excitement to see his response of his gift.
"Do you like it?" Ghostboo asked, waiting for an answer.
Tubbo opened his mouth to speak, but before a word could come out, Ghostboo cut in, talking more, "Why would you think I didn't remember, I always remember!" Ghostboo said again, sounding confused.
"Well, you-." Tubbo stopped himself. "Ranboo, usually didn't, I would have to remind him most of the time, which I really didn't mind.. I quite liked-" The boy was cut off by the ghost, again.
"Well, I'm not Ranboo, I'm dead now.." The ghost started, starting to make Tubbo angrier, the tone of how he said that so carelessly like it didn't even matter when he was alive. Like none of it mattered. He stayed quiet, knowing full well that the ghost would keep on talking, and he did.
"So it's like I'm different now!.."
As Ghostboo kept speaking, Tubbo gripped the flower with more force, he was already agitated and resisting the urge to lash out on him, and make things worse.
"I remember it all, like when when I asked you about what flower you like, and the next day you said it was a pink tulip- It was right in this spot actually! And also I don't really need the books anymore to look for things, and that means you don't need to help me remind me of anything anymore! Isn't that great?" Ghostboo exclaimed.
Tubbo stood limp in front of the happy and care-free ghost, feeling like he was practically yelling at how he doesn't need him anymore.
It felt like a way to say that he needs no reminds of misplaced marriage rings, or forgetting where they were going, or especially reminders of "I love you's". It was all thrown in the trash, in the way Ghostboo spoke, bragging about how NOTHING is better than being dead, and careless, and how there is nothing he needed to worry about anymore.
Ranboo didn't have to worry about losing Michael, or having him taken away from him, he didn't have to worry about the fact that his family could be taken away from him. No making sure that his husband is okay, and no worries about getting splashed with water.
He was alone now.
"Tubbo?" Ghostboo asked, snapping him out of his head.
Immediately after, Tubbo wiped away the tears and blurriness, he didn't even know was there, and sighed heavily, turning away.
"I'll see you later Ranboo." Tubbo muttered, before swiftly taking no time to walk off towards Snowchester.
"Oh okay, have fun!" Ghostboo replied, waving him off.
.
.
.
.
Tubbo stomped around Snowchester, throwing down the supplies he got into his chest room, trying his hardest to avoid the tears, the feeling of it bottling up in his throat was agonizing, but he's experienced worse right? There was other things Tubbo could have cried about, and spent more time thinking about, and had such a bad influence on him that it could have made him sob and cry and feel as miserable as ever. He can't let this be the one thing that breaks him.
Tubbo found himself in the nuke room, where the last nuke left had laid.
He could busy himself wondering where the other nuke was, or even looking for it but instead Tubbo was left standing in the dark room, the smell of metal and gunpowder filling his nose.
The emotions of anger, sadness, and every negative emotion bottling up was stressing Tubbo out more than he should. All he can do now was remember. All the ghost of his forgetting loved one could do was remember.
He can't stop remembering.
The smell of gunpowder reminding him of the day he died, and the scar left on his face.
The cold and dark stone walls felt like the one back in Pogtopia that would secure him from the President who had tried pulling him from the side he wanted to be on.
The cold gust of air that felt amazing as he watched the stars with his husband.
The stars in the sky, the flower in his pocket, the ring he would take off and fiddle with when he was bored.
It felt like everything reminded him of Ranboo.
But there was no going to find him when he was bored or missing him, all he could do was remember and drown in the memories he can never go back to.
But it was fine, right?
At least he doesn't need that damn book anymore. He said it himself.
Maybe he could put that last nuke to use. It's not like anyone would miss him or Snowchester anyways. Maybe he can finally see what Ghostboo sees in how freeing death is.
"Hello? Tubbo?- Hey there you are." A familiar but echoing voice called out, as the ghost peeked through the door. He walked in, not expecting the boy to be sitting here, in the dark, especially alone.
"Oh." Ghostboo let out, stopping in his tracks and staring down at the boy.
'Oh is right. Not right now, please. Not when I'm like this.' Tubbo was telling himself, as if it would make it any better.
One thing he didn't expect was concern coming from the care-free ghost.
"Are you okay?"
'He's not asking really, is he? He just wants attention. He's not Ranboo.'
And though he thought he fully convinced himself, he looked up at the ghost.
A sob was let out, then a sniffle.
Was he really going to cry over something like this?
"Uh.. Do you want a hug?" Ghostboo asked, a small indication of hesitation, which you would never hear from the ghost was heard.
This finally let Tubbo gave in. It made him feel like Ranboo was still really there.
Quietly, Tubbo pulled himself up and walked to hug the ghost.
"I hope you remember I still love you." Ghostboo told him, engulfing the smaller in the hug, smiling.
The boy nodded, a small smile creeping upon his face, "Don't you forget either." He replied.
"Never."
Most people never get anything close to a loved one after they die, maybe this is good.
It's fine now.