Chapter Text
It’s sunny, when Goth tells him. Bright and sunny and warm, with not a cloud in the sky. Palette thinks there should’ve at least been a stronger wind than the breeze.
“Dad’s sending me to a boarding school.”
“What?!” Palette’s almost certain he heard that wrong.
Goth’s upset. Palette can tell by the furrow of his brow and the constant fiddling with the hem of his cloak. Sometimes, Palette likes to pretend that’s the only way he knows.
“Dad’s sending me to a boarding school. For godlings. It’s in a pocket dimension.” Goth sounds like he’s about to cry. But he doesn’t.
“Why?” Palette asks, hoping that it’s somehow a prank.
“T-to get a better understanding of his powers,” Goth recites. “Because I should know how to handle my duties as a reaper and as a minor god.”
He suddenly rubs his eyes frantically. A spike of negativity tells Palette that he’s crying.
“I’m not gonna be able to see you anymore!” Goth sobs as he flings himself against Palette.
He thinks his soul stops. He ignores the little voice that says “Big kids don’t cry” because this is Goth and Goth never cries unless it’s important.
“Hey! Hey, it's- it’s gonna be fine! You still have your Journal, right? We’ll just… write! To each other! And you can complain all about how school sucks and I’ll still listen! I mean read it.” he babbles desperately. “And- and I’ll tell you updates on my stories and I’ll still write you dumb poetry and we’ll make this work!”
Goth sniffles. “O-okay… Yeah. We’ll just… write. And I’ll have to be able to come back for breaks or Mom would’ve never agreed to it.” Another sniffle. “…Probably…”
Palette hadn’t met Goth’s mom. He’d always been too sick to be around anyone, even his kids. But Goth loved him, and despite thinking that it’s dumb to care about someone you only see twice a year, Palette was willing to agree with that as long as Goth stayed happy.
“Yeah! So it’ll be okay!” he says cheerily as he rubs Goth’s back.
Neither of them move until Goth’s phone dings and he has to go home. Palette stays on that hill, watching the picturesque sunset with the cloudless sky, wishing he could’ve cried too. He kinda wants to stay there ‘til moss and vines cover his bones and flowers sprout between his ribs and the world ends in the tragically beautiful iridescence of it’s code being meticulously ripped to shreds.
But he goes home too, to the little house in the Doodlesphere that never felt like home, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He hears them yelling again from the yard. Another fight. Palette wonders if it’s selfish to want parents who didn’t scream at each other until their voices went horse. Then he wonders if it’s selfish to wish they just got a divorce already.
He considers portaling to his room, but the negativity coming from their argument is making him queasy and he doesn’t want to vomit.
So he opens the door and ignores the shouting as much as he can. The stairs are closer to the front door than wherever they’re fighting this time. Probably the kitchen. It feels like the kitchen.
No one bothers him as he locks his bedroom door and stuffs a blanket between the crack to muffle the screaming. He pulls out his flute in the hopes that he can play louder than they can yell.
D-C-B ♭ , D-C-B♭, B♭-B♭-B♭-B♭, C-C-C-C, D-C-B♭
Someone knocks at his door. The shouting match is still going on downstairs, so there’s only two people it could be. Palette winces as he removes the blanket and opens the door. Mom had gotten loud.
Lux. Palette still remembers meeting her for the first time and thinking Mom was finally done with Dad because it was so obvious she wasn’t Ink’s. Starcross was right behind her. Mom might as well have given Cross a marriage proposal for how blatant it was that he was in love with that guy. He even named his child after him.
He hadn’t told either of them about how Dad wasn’t really their dad. They might tell one of their classmates and then the entire multiverse would know that Dream had a boyfriend despite still being married. Then they’d all lose hope and Uncle Nightmare would win and no one would ever be happy ever again-
“Can we come in?”
Palette suddenly remembers what he was doing.
“How do I know you won’t burn my poems again?”
Lux pouts. “Night made me do it!”
“You need to stop blaming your imaginary friend for everything.”
“He’s real!”
Palette ignored the rest of her protests. Sometimes, he wondered why Mom hadn’t gone and told Lux to grow up and get some real friends like he did when Palette was seven.
“Star can come in,” he says, moving to let the four-year-old in. “But you have to promise not to touch my stuff.”
Lux wasn’t happy about this, but she didn’t cry this time. She got part of the Big Kid talk from Mom last week.
We can’t have negativity, Palette.You’re a big kid now. Big kids don’t cry.
“Fine.” she grumbles. “I won’t touch your stuff.”
They both flinch as something crashes downstairs. Palette hurries her into his room and locks the door behind them. He’s not opening it again ‘til the screaming stops.
“How about…” he tells the two. “I tell you a story!
It’ll keep them entertained until Mom and Dad shut up at least.