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Tubbo hums something under his breath, nonsensical and nearly tuneless; it serves only to occupy his mind as he approaches the little cottage he calls home. Well, he supposes the huge half-built mansion will soon be his home. His and Ranboo’s home, one they’ll share with Michael. The thought of their little piglin makes a smile tug at the corners of Tubbo’s mouth. Michael had been excited about something when Tubbo left early in the morning, running up and down and squealing with joy before hugging both his dads tightly. Now eager to see what his son has in store for him, Tubbo’s steps increase in speed as he reaches the steps and practically bounces up them. When he opens the door, he takes in the now-empty living space with various boxes stacked in the corners. Light filters in through the windows, illuminating the dust motes floating in the air. He’d heard Foolish screaming something about chandeliers a little while back and convinced Ranboo not to pack everything up just yet.
A flash of gold from one of the boxes catches his gaze and he turns his head toward it curiously. Has Ranboo been packing his gold? If that man has started putting his wealth in cardboard out in the open, they have to have a long talk about practicality. However, Tubbo is not averse to a minor act of theft. Once again: if Ranboo is putting gold in boxes , he’s asking for it. Plus, they’re husbands now, he’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as theft if it’s from your spouse. Even a platonic one. Tubbo crosses the room and pries open the box, blowing away the small cloud of dust that rises with the action.
He freezes and his hands go still as they brush against a familiar navy blue fabric, golden epaulettes twinkling at him with a cheer they have no right to possess. Tubbo swallows, his throat bobbing as he stares down at his old president's uniform. It looks almost new, he notices with a detached sort of interest. No signs of the wear and tear it brought its owner was evident on the smooth fabric. There were no rips from when Tubbo spent hours clawing out his hair from frustration and desperation, no stains from the tears he’d cried when the pain of his heart and his skin became too much to bear. There wasn’t even a coating of ash or the scent of gunpowder from Doomsday, no evidence of explosion after explosion that had rocked the ground he’d stood on. The scent of smoke and the heat of fire choking him, making it harder and harder to breathe. The final note to an unfinished symphony, snuffed out because he couldn’t burn bright enough to ward off the monsters.
Something wet lands on his wrist and Tubbo starts, blinking back to the present. He’s fallen onto his side, legs curled beneath him and his hands clasped tightly over his ears. The right side of his face aches viciously with phantom pain and his left eye is blurred with tears. He blinks again, more tears flowing down his face as he slowly releases the white-knuckled grip on his head. Uncurling, he slowly pushes himself up with his arms and feels a flicker of surprise when they shake under him. After he stands fully to his feet, he gently feels his face as tears continue to flow from his eye and down his face. He catches sight of himself in a nearby mirror and can only stare at what he finds. His eyes are wide and the side of his face unscathed by burns is coated in tears. His hands tremble as he holds them up to his face and his hair’s a mess.
He laughs, the startling sound catching in his throat and coming out as a strangled wheeze. The contrast of his desperate outward appearance to the numb emptiness he feels enveloping his soul is funnier than it should be. As quickly as it comes, his fit of hysteria passes and it’s once again too hard to breathe or stop the tears from returning.
He hears the clip-clop of hooves on the floor above him and a snuffling sound. “It’s okay Michael!” He calls, forcing bravado into his voice. “I’m all right, just thought I saw something. Nothing’s wrong.” Determined not to let Michael see him like this, Tubbo scrubs at his face and brushes his hair over his eyes. He does it enough for Ranboo that Michael won’t find it strange. Once he’s certain he’s got his emotions under control, he flashes a wobbly smile at his reflection. It looks about as convincing as he feels, so he turns away before he falls apart again. When he climbs up the ladder and closes the trapdoor behind him, his smile feels a little less forced as Michael comes running and throws himself into his father’s waiting arms. Tubbo laughs, a real laugh, spinning Michael around before setting him on the ground and rubbing the top of the piglin’s head.
“Hi Michael, did you want to show me something?” Michael lets out an enthusiastic squeal and begins to tug Tubbo in the direction of his window. Tubbo smiles as he’s set down in between two bookcases and Michael darts off to the other end of the small room. The cramped space makes Tubbo’s smile waver and something twists in his gut. The mansion will have more room than this, he reminds himself, Michael will be able to run and play there. This is only for a little bit more, then everything will be sorted out. Michael runs back to Tubbo and holds up a piece of paper that’s covered in crayon scribbles. Tubbo blinks and twists his head, seeing a small pink figure holding the hands of two taller figures. One is noticeably taller than the other, black and white towering over a smaller figure with ram horns and curly hair. The grass scribbled on the ground beneath them is blooming with flowers, white and yellow and pink disrupting the uniform green.
Tubbo smiles, a genuine smile that nearly splits his face in half as a warm feeling bubbles up in his chest. “Is this us? Me, you and Papa?” Michael nods and Tubbo’s grin grows wider. “You drew this?” Michael nods again and Tubbo feels as though his heart may melt. “Awww! Michael, that's so sweet, I’m framing that after we show it to your Papa, ok?” Michael squeaks happily and throws his arms around Tubbo once more.
The hug, even though he should expect it and it happens more often than not, catches Tubbo off guard and he inhales sharply. After a few moments of too tense silence on his part, he returns Michael’s hug tentatively. When Michael still holds him, a sound aking to a purr rumbling in the kid’s chest, something lodges in Tubbo’s throat and he grips Michael tighter. His eyes burn and he buries his head in Michael's shoulder, letting out a sound suspiciously like a muffled sob. After a few more seconds Micahel pulls away, his small face creased in confusion and concern as he stares at Tubbo.
“Aw, I’m all right Michael,” Tubbo wipes pointlessly at his eyes, his smile strained. “I’m all right, ‘s just...jus’ been a long day.” He’s lying through his teeth and his words are slurring together with emotion. As he struggles to find something to say, he hears a small vwoop that’s barely audible through the floorboards and gratefully directs Michael’s attention there. “Sounds like Papa just got home. Why don’t you show him what you did, huh?” Michael still looks worried, but with a thumbs up from Tubbo he’s running over to the trapdoor and smiling broadly as Ranboo pokes his head up through the door. Ranboo returns the smile as he pulls himself through the trapdoor, stooping awkwardly to close it.
“Hi Michael,” Ranboo croons, he picks Michael up and his tail swishes back and forth slightly with excitement. Michael holds his picture up and Ranboo blinks before the expression on his face softens and he smiles gently. “Aww, did you make that for me and your Dad? That’s so sweet.”
Tubbo laughs from his position across the room. It sounds hollow even to his ears. “Glad you like it ‘cause I already promised him I’d hang it up after you saw it.” His attempt at humour falls flat, Ranboo’s eyes narrowing in concern instead of laughter. “What? Do I have something in my hair?” Tubbo pulls at the dark strands in front of his eyes as if to examine them as he bites back the tears he can’t explain. “Could’ve sworn I got all the leaves off, but I guess that’s just what happens when you run into a tree—”
“Tubbo,” it takes all of Tubbo’s power not to flinch away from Ranboo’s voice like a guilty kid. Instead, he straightens up and lets his hair fall back in front of his eyes as he tries for an impish smile.
“Yeah, bossman?” He chirps, barely making it through the two words without his voice breaking. His fists clench at his sides, nails digging into his skin as he tries to sort out the tangled emotions in his head before Ranboo catches on that something’s wrong.
Unfortunately for him, Ranboo’s not fooled by his bullshit act. Ranboo sets Michael down and walks awkwardly toward Tubbo with a slight frown. “What’s going on? Are you upset about something?”
“Nah man, you’ve got it all wrong.” Tubbo holds his fake smile as he pushes the image of a uniform into the corners of his mind. “I uh, I saw somethin’ weird as I was walking home. Must’ve put me more on edge than I thought it did.” Ranboo’s not buying the half-truth, his ears are pinned to his skull and his tail is lashing nervously. “Don’t worry about me Boo,” Tubbo tries to make his voice reassuring and his smile more convincing. “It’s nothing, honest.”
“It’s…I just…you know you can talk to me, right Tubbo?” Ranboo fiddles with his hands and Tubbo frowns, Ranboo’s memory can go spotty if he’s under too much stress. The last thing Tubbo wants is to be the cause of that stress.
“Of course I know, big man,” he soothes, reaching up to grab Ranboo’s hand. He sighs and runs his thumb over the gold band encircling Ranboo’s finger, aware of its twin lying on his horn. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. And bring Michael,” he adds after only a moment’s hesitation and Ranboo shoots him a nervous look. “It’ll be okay, we’ll keep him nearby and leave if it looks like anyone's coming.” Ranboo’s frowning, his hand clutching Tubbo’s tightly, but he nods nonetheless. Tubbo smiles and turns to Michael, who’d been trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. The piglin squeaks before picking up his wooden sword, pretending to be preoccupied. “Hey Michael, do you wanna go outside?” Michael lifts his head, looking at Tubbo with wide eyes. He squeaks again, a questioning sound as he fiddles with his sword.
“Come on Michael, let’s grab your chicken and go out.” At Ranboo’s confirmation, Michael lets out a squeal of joy and runs to hug both Ranboo and Tubbo again. This time, Tubbo hugs Michael back just as fiercely and keeps a handle on his emotions. When all three of them have gathered their things, they walk for a few minutes just deciding on a place to settle down. Ranboo has Tubbo’s hand in his, gripping it firmly as a reminder that Ranboo’s still concerned for him. Tubbo mostly ignores Ranboo and he feels a prickling of guilt at the back of his conscience for it. But he also knows that if he even glimpses the confused care on Ranboo’s face he’ll fall apart. And right now he just wants to enjoy this little slice of heaven, this peace they’ve carved out for themselves. Michael switches between playing with his sword and riding on his chicken, stopping to examine every flower and throwing snow in the air.
Finally, along the water’s edge, they find a patch of grass mostly untouched by snow that lies in a beam of late afternoon sunlight. Ranboo lays out a blanket and sits down, tugging Tubbo down with him. Tubbo sits carefully, trying to angle his gaze away from Ranboo in a way that will hide the stiffness in his shoulders and won’t be suspicious. Ranboo starts to hum something, an old melody that makes Tubbo’s breath hitch and his grip on Ranboo’s hand tighten.
“What’s wrong?” Ranboo’s stopped humming and Tubbo can practically feel the red and green eyes boring into his skull.
“Where’d you hear that?” Nothing can hide the hoarseness of his voice or the breath sawing unevenly in and out his chest. A flag waves proudly in his mind’s eye, voices singing the same melody in unity as they celebrate a new nation.
“From you,” Ranboo sounds confused and Tubbo pulls his hand back into himself, hunching slightly. “Back in, back in L’Manberg. When you were working on your bee farm or, or something.” Tubbo stares at his hands, twisting them over and over in a wringing motion. As if he can wipe away the scars and lingering aches that still mar him. “Is something wrong?” Tubbo turns to face Ranboo, grateful that his hair still covers his eyes.
For a moment, all he can do is look at Ranboo. With memories flashing through his head faster than he can process and tearing his skull apart in violent bursts of colour and light—
He, who is doomed to remember, stares at Ranboo who is doomed to forget.
What a pair they make, trying to make the most of lives that seem fated to lose every lot thrown at them.
“I want to dance,” he says suddenly, scrambling to his feet as his chest heaves for air.
“Tubbo—”
“Come on, I’m an excellent dancer.” Tubbo ignores the warning in Ranboo’s voice or the way his own cracks, holding his hand out in a silent plea. A cry for something normal, an action that doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world. After a beat of hesitation, Ranboo places his hand in Tubbo’s and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.
The dance is awkward; Ranboo’s arms half-bent to hold onto Tubbo make for odd, shuffling motions. His tail periodically gets in the way and he’s mumbling apologies every other step. Tubbo occasionally bumps into Ranboo, uncertain who’s leading or following. After a few moments of this, they fall into a rhythm of sorts. Tubbo will feel a tug on his hand and follow it, stepping in time with Ranboo and spinning when directed to. There are no words exchanged as they dance, moving faster and faster as they grow more comfortable with each other’s movements. It’s not graceful by any means, but it’s simple and beautiful in a way that makes sense to them.
When the sun sinks lower in the horizon, oranges and pinks colouring the sky, Tubbo and Ranboo go still. With Ranboo’s hands pressed into his, Tubbo can feel their chests rising and falling in unison. At this moment, he can smell the breeze that blows from across the ocean and the flowers in bloom all around them. He can picture himself in Michael’s drawing, surrounded by those he loves and the beauty of nature. As Tubbo looks up at Ranboo, he can see that some tension has bled from his shoulders as well. His smile is soft and his eyes are free from the shadows that hound him.
Both of their burdens have been lifted, if only for a moment. But a moment is enough.
An excited squeal breaks the two from their trance and they turn in unison to smile at their son. Michael is picking up flowers, weaving them into crude crowns of varying sizes. One of his creations already sits on the head of his chicken who seems intent on trying to eat it. Tubbo chuckles, leading Ranboo over to Michael as they both sit down next to the piglin boy. With gentle words and practised hands, Tubbo helps Michael weave the flowers into sturdier and fuller crowns. They do this three times, each with different flowers and in different sizes. When they’re done, Tubbo turns to Ranboo with a crown made of alliums and stares for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. Ranboo has somehow ended up covered in flowers, grass, dirt, leaves, and looks hopelessly lost.
“...Help?” Ranboo voices the question slowly, holding his hands away from his body as though they’ve betrayed him. Tubbo is cackling, rolling on his back and kicking his feet in the air at Ranboo’s misery. “Hey, don’t laugh at my pain. That’s not very husband-like of you.”
“I wouldn’t be your husband if I didn’t laugh at you.” Tubbo grins the biggest shit-eating grin as he sits up and places the allium crown on Ranboo’s head. His smile only grows wider when he notices Ranboo is pouting, his sullen look contrasting with the flowers resting in his hair. “Awww, did you get dirty?” Tubbo’s voice pitches higher, purposefully babying his voice just to irritate Ranboo. “Did you get a boo-boo? Do you want me to kiss it all better?” As Tubbo makes obnoxious kissing sounds with his mouth, Ranboo grabs him under his arms and hoists him into the air. “Oi!” Tubbo shouts and begins kicking his arms and legs violently. “Put me down, put me down!”
“No,” Ranboo says simply, like the psychopath he is. “Now you cannot move, I have won.”
“I hate you,” Tubbo mumbles, now he’s the one pouting and crossing his arms like a petulant child.
“No, you don’t,” Ranboo smiles and it’s the same shit-eating grin Tubbo had earlier. “You love me.”
“I love your money,” Tubbo defends instantly, shooting a displeased look at Ranboo. “I am a gold digger.”
“We have a literal child.”
“Children make the estate more valuable.”
“Now you’re just lying.”
“No, I’m not, I read it online.”
“Christ, you are such a gremlin.”
“Can you let me down now?”
“No.”
Tubbo’s pout deepens and he looks pointedly at the alliums resting on Ranboo’s head. “You didn’t let me get my flower crown.” Looking almost disappointed, Ranboo reluctantly sets Tubbo back on the ground. Michael jumps up from behind Tubbo the second he touches the ground and shoves the laurel crown on his head. Tubbo yelps and turns around to see Michael, his crown of lilies fastened on his head, scampering away. “You little—come back here! I do not tolerate this injury to my ego!”
Tubbo chases Michael around and around while Ranboo, the two-timing bastard, aids Michael in his escape. Both of them are being incredibly rude, really. But as Tubbo chases them around and about, it’s harder to keep the fake outrage on his face. Instead, his face hurts from grinning and laughing as he finally catches the two by tackling Ranboo to the ground. As they roll around on the ground, not so much fighting as playfully shoving one another, Tubbo wants to freeze this moment. He wants to keep hold of the laughter and the warmth, the smiling faces and the cheer. He wants to hold it tightly and never, ever let it go.
“How am I meant to protect anyone?!”
“I’m so weak…”
“How could I have let this happen?!”
“It slipped in and happened right under my nose!”
There is a crown of alliums covered in blood, a crown of lilies left trampled underfoot, and a crown of laurels wilting with exhaustion on the head of a young man forced to bear too much too quickly.
Tubbo is no longer safe in the home he built for protection. Tubbo can no longer cry for a friend whose ghost haunts his every step. He is losing the will to keep up the facade of strength he so carefully pieced together.
Tubbo is tired.
Tubbo feels more alone than ever.