Chapter Text
Michael likes the new house. His favorite part is the carpet. It’s red on one side and green on the other, and he likes to hold out his arms and walk along the seam, going very slowly and putting one hoof in front of the other as he balances down the middle.
There are other things he likes about the new house, too. He likes the basement, it’s big and complicated and full of fun things he’s never seen before. ‘Boo told him all about them. There’s a loom and a cartography table and an enchanting table. There’s even a chest full of glimmering emeralds. He’s not supposed to play with those, but he does crack open the lid and look at them sometimes. And take them out and hold them. And maybe play with them. He might have lost a few, but there are so many in there that he doesn’t think anyone will notice.
He likes sitting in his boat, rocking side to side like he’s crashing through ocean waves. He likes pretending that he’s traveling the ocean, finding even more new houses to explore. He likes looking out the upstairs windows, the soft afternoon sunlight filtering through the dense white clouds to glisten off rolling hills of crystalline snow. He likes pressing his snout up against the glass until it fogs up with his breath and he can draw pictures.
He really likes the gold block embedded in the wall, and if he jumps up on the bed and reaches really high, he can stretch just high enough to press his hands against its smooth, cool metallic surface. He’s really careful not to step on ‘Bo when he’s sleeping, but sometimes he does it by accident.
‘Bo lets out a startled whine when Michael’s hoof steps on his hair and pulls by accident. Oops. Michael kneels down on the bed and pats ‘Bo’s head, snorting and huffing apology. ‘Bo doesn’t even open his eyes, just reaches out blindly and wraps an arm around Michael. Michael squeals playful surprise as ‘Bo drags him down into the bed, bundling him up under the blankets and holding him close so he can wrap both arms around him.
Michael squeals and kicks with delight, but ‘Bo doesn’t keep playing. ‘Bo just settles back into stillness, keeping his eyes closed like he’s going back to sleep. Michael huffs. He allows it for a minute, but soon he’s squirming away again. He wants to run! He’s got too much energy! He fights back against the warm blankets and ‘Bo’s arms wrapped up around him, wiggling until ‘Bo finally lets him go and he escapes. Then he squeals and chuffs victory, tapping his hooves against the ground.
‘Bo sits up slowly. The motion looks exhausting, like he’s pulling himself out of the grave. He rubs at his eyes, the deep purple shadows weighing his eyelids down so he can only open them halfway. ‘Bo does a quick sweep of the room, but his gaze is unfocused and floaty. The flowers and leaves woven into his hair are wilting. Michael knows that that’s what plants do when they’re sad and tired. ‘Bo showed him.
Michael thinks ‘Bo must be having a bad day. That’s okay. Michael has bad days too. But Michael doesn’t want to stay in bed all day. He has too much energy. He decides that he will go run around downstairs, maybe see how far he can jump and roll on the carpet.
“Michael,” ‘Bo says, and Michael snorts, twisting around and darting back over towards the bed. ‘Bo still looks tired, but he hasn’t gone back to sleep yet. “…You wanna play?”
Michael squeals delight. He flaps his arms up and down, letting his excitement rush through him. He jumps up into bed, launching himself forward to crash into ‘Bo.
“Aww,” ‘Bo coos, leaning down to thump his forehead against Michael’s. “How about… some, uh, breakfast. Are you hungry?”
Michael thinks. He ate dried meat and bread with a cookie when he woke up this morning. But that was a while ago. He’s a little bit hungry now. He snorts and nods.
‘Bo nods back. “Alright. Breakfast.”
‘Bo pushes the blankets away into a messy pile, and Michael is already off the bed and clattering down the stairs. He digs through the chests, trying to find the best breakfast. ‘Boo said you’re supposed to feed tired people soup. Or maybe that’s for sick people. Or hurt people? No, hurt people need potions. Maybe tired people need potions too?
When ‘Bo finally makes it down the stairs, Michael is already closing the lid of the chest, a bundle of mushrooms held in his hand. Michael presents the ingredients to ‘Bo, holding them up for him to see.
‘Bo stares at the mushrooms blankly for a moment, blinking once before it resolves in his sleepy head. “You want mushroom soup?”
Michael nods, proud.
“We can make mushroom soup,” ‘Bo says, but as soon as he gets close enough to smell the food, he looks a little sick, nausea making him sway slightly on his feet. Michael guesses he doesn’t need soup, then. He must need potions. They don’t have any potions in the new house, but Michael knows where he’s seen a lot of potions.
“Hmm, we don’t have any clean bowls,” ‘Bo mutters to himself, digging through the chest with a grimace twisting his lips and nausea pinching his eyebrows.
Michael picks up everything he needs — his coat, his boots, and his golden sword — from where they sit by the front door, bringing them over to ‘Bo. He can’t do the buttons and laces himself. He needs ‘Bo’s help to put them on.
When ‘Bo finally shuts the chest and looks over at Michael, he blinks once before he kneels down and starts instinctually moving to help Michael put his boots on.
“Oh. Alright,” ‘Bo mutters as he bundles Michael up in his coat and does up all the buttons, settling the golden sword in place across his back. “Where to, little king?”
Michael doesn’t waste a second, bursting through the front door. He leaps out into the blinding white world beyond and lands deep in the fresh crystalline snowdrift, sinking until it’s all the way up to his knees. When he’s sure ‘Bo’s looking, he points towards Technoblade’s house.
‘Bo slips on his boots and steps out into the snow to join Michael. ‘Bo doesn’t put on an outside jacket, but that’s okay. Michael isn’t worried about him getting cold. The bed-clothes ‘Bo slept in are the same day-clothes as he wore yesterday, warm and fur-lined. Michael thinks that those clothes must be ‘Bo’s favorite because he’s been wearing them for so long.
“Alright,” ‘Bo says, sweeping Michael up out of the snow and into his arms. Michael squeals happily and ‘Bo gives a tired smile. “How about we go see Technoblade, yeah? We’ll ransack Technoblade’s kitchen for some breakfast.”
Michael snorts enthusiastically, this breath fogging up into a puff of white mist. ‘Bo starts towards the twin cabins, trudging through the heavy snow with Michael held close to his chest, securely bundled up in his arms.
Michael knocks his forehead against ‘Bo’s and chuffs beloved reassurance. Soon, Michael will get him a potion. He’s going to protect ‘Bo and make sure he feels better. Michael is proud to be a very good member of their sounder.