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It was never meant to be.
Such familiar words still stung every time they were uttered, tragedy after tragedy. They spelt the fragility of all that was built deep in that neck of the redwoods. Reminiscent of smothered hope left to rot in a blackstone tomb. Of final notes forever in fermata as the symphony remained as a distant whisper. Of the end of an era spread as remnant soot across its barren lands. What one dreamed to have, to acquire, to hold dear; their fate lay determined to be a catastrophe laced in blood and tears. Laid soon to rest.
For Fundy, that was the hushed promises to his love uttered under the canopy of evergreens. His words were laced so saccharine and earnest, he might as well be bleeding out from his chest. There, with his hands outstretched, he offered his bare soul and heart, asking to be bound by wedding vows and an iron ring (Fundy was proud to have crafted the elegant and sleek rings himself, after trial and scorching error). To do so while his home was governed by a malicious president, one he was forcefully working under, was already a fool’s move. It was even more foolish to have his beloved in question be a force of malice of his own.
He knew what atrocities stained Dream’s hands and weapons. He was well aware of their stances on polar ends, stuck rooted to their places in their society. He witnessed it himself while he watched his comrades and father lie lifeless. Yet he fell for the masked man, face forwards and hands open so willingly. He never meant to, he only asked the vicious tormentor on a fateful night if he would join him in the woods to test out his invention. Instead of a chuckle at his “joke”, Dream had said yes. One thing of fresh wine led to another until it came to fifty-ish dates, and Fundy getting down on one knee.
Of course, they could never hold a truly white wedding so soon. Not with the political climate they were caught up in at the time; what with all the conflicts between his father and the new tyrant of a president. So they had to wait it out until the roaring tides calmed enough to be just a faint memory during the reception. Fundy hoped that Schlatt trusting him in the Manberg cabinet would allow the couple to host their wedding within the country (Fundy even entertained the thought of letting Schlatt walk him down the aisle. He always excused internally that it was only because Wilbur couldn't be there anyway). However, after a colourful festival and unwarranted murders, things seemed to escalate. Before Fundy knew it, he came crawling to the former president and father. Wilbur Soot, in Pogtopia with “A Spy’s Diary” in hand; all while his fiance announced his siding with Manberg.
Fundy remembered that night spent walking through the forest as a spent mess, in only his suit coat over his dress shirt and muddy black slacks. He remembered it was cold, biting and prickly despite his fur at least. He remembered his eyes downcast, only watching the blurry passing of the dirt path and scattered grass patches underneath his feet. The thoughts were swirling around his head, coiling and toiling. Passing by Manberg again was too much for him, so he decided to take the longer way around to his house. He hoped the walk on bare paws would take away his thoughts, yet the quiet made them even louder. The fox-hybrid only stopped at a sound, a familiar kind of hushed humming. A familiar voice . A familiar face;
Or rather, a familiar mask with a faux smile.
“What are you doing here?” Fundy’s gravelly query halted the tune (to much dismay, it was such a beautiful one ).
“I was waiting for you…” Dream answered meekly. A more pitiful and saddened sound, “Is that fine?”
“Why would you? I’m not in the mood for you regardless. Not after that stunt you pulled.”
Normally no one could tell how Dream felt. His entire half of his face was obscured by a porcelain mask, all that it supplemented was a crudely drawn smile and two dots for eyes. But Fundy could tell Dream’s expression clearer than crystal. Head turned slightly downwards, axe shifting in his fingers and hitched breath; Dream was practically a kicked puppy. Fundy held a little sympathy for the man; emphasis on “little”
“Is it true? You really did side with Schlatt? Out of all people, that guy?”
“Fundy…”
“Tell me already, you did it before.”
“Fundy, please just-”
“What? Just keep quiet? Let it go?”
“No, you know that’s not what I mean.”
Obviously, he knows, of course he knows. After time and time again, how could Fundy forget how they both hate politics. Too much drama, too much trouble, too many reminders of how they really shouldn’t be together. But how could Fundy let go, when they both are just as deep in the politics of a war as before?
But regardless, Dream pleads. “I’m ready to just put this behind us until the 16th, when it's in our face. Then after, we’ll be happy. ”
“I’m only down to forget if you’ll say it's true.
“...Yes, it's true.”
Fundy said he’d forget. Now he just can’t, not when the reality of that truth was where he stood.
“How could you be stupid to do that?”
“Didn’t you before?”
“I was getting on his good side, I was doing what I had to! Otherwise, I’d be dead! What’s your excuse? He gave you a new book to read?”
“It’s more than just ‘a book’, Fundy. Trust me when I say it was at least worth it.”
“Trust you? God, trust you? I can’t even trust you to be on my side now. You never even told me! Your fiance! Of anyone, I should’ve known about this!”
There it was, the sinking torment in his chest growing. He hated it but it was all he could think of. Just the utter pain that panged in his body as soon as he heard his fiance over the communicator, not by his side. The masked man must've felt the same feeling, as the pause lasted much longer. Not even the trees rustling ever so softly, the crickets in the bushes or their unhurried breaths in the autumn cold could shut out their tense silence. Fundy heard unbuckling and something tossed to the grassy floor. Before he tried to look up, a hand so gentle in spite of everything raised his chin up for him. In front of him was beauty itself, made into soft rosy cheeks and light freckles. Half-lidded emerald greens gazed at him, underneath softly furrowed brows. Fundy wouldn’t describe them burning into him, it was more of a warm feeling, a kind of grounded comfort keeping him instead.
“I can’t tell you everything, Fundy. You’ve known this from the start that I have my secrets to keep, just to keep you safe.” His voice was that intimate tranquil tone, another kind of comfort. “Things aren’t as plain as they seem, but no matter how much it goes out of my hands, I’m keeping you safe. So trust me.”
He shouldn't be this predictable all over again, just tripping himself over for just the smallest senses of solace in Dream. And yet, he felt a low rumble in his throat at the touch. A purr.
“I trust you.”
All of a sudden, the words didn't feel wrong. They never were, weren't they? Even through it all, the evergreens remained the same through the frost and swelter. Dream let a smile cross his face, to Fundy it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen.
The fox let his hands hold the other’s own, his well-kept claws scritching against his skin tenderly. He felt his body glide with a tug by his hand and waist. The air filled with the same melody from before, a little louder this time. He let out a sigh like his breath had been swiped, the sight before him left him without any other words. Who cared about the dangers in an unlit forest or their impending doom? With skeletons waiting to creep on them? Or zombies groaning from under the soil? The pair had already lost themselves with each other, the world merely their backdrop to their picturesque scene. They needed nothing more than themselves and the matching rings on their fingers. No worries crossed their heads and weary bodies. With one step, two steps, they fell into a mindless rhythm as they danced along.
“Do you think we could run away? Once this is all over?” Fundy slipped the question.
“Maybe, depends on the outcome of it all.” Dream shrugged, still keeping in tone with his tune.
“I’d want to run away with you regardless of the end. I want to love you without the consequences. That only happens when we’re stuck here in these situations.”
Dream found his hands moving behind Fundy’s ears to scratch them, to which the fox-hybrid let out a yip. Back then in the early days, he used to hate his ears. They were always a target for teasing from others, mainly Tommy and Tubbo. Wilbur would always toy with them and cooed him, even when he became a teen. So, being a shapeshifter, he progressively made them smaller. He wasn’t as proficient as other hybrid shifters, unable to switch seamlessly from animal to human. Fundy still tried every day to shift his large furry ears into regular human ones. He only stopped when Dream said his ears were cute.
“What about the wedding?”
“Isn’t the two of us enough for a reception?”
“Aw, but I had ideas for how to piss off your father. Be a shame to let them go to waste, right?”
“I’m sure me disowning him was enough to piss him off, not that I wanted to in the first place. But at least it worked.”
Dream took one hand and spun the fox in a quick twirl.
“I heard how he reacted when you revealed yourself. After everything, he had the guts to just insult you. You didn't deserve any of that.”
“It doesn’t phase me, it doesn't matter,” He lied, it did phase him, “I don't think I want to remember this time of my life anymore. I just want it over with so I can have my happy ending.”
“Well, if that’s what you want, I’m willing to kiss you until you forget.”
Fundy let out a giggle at the cheesiness of it all, how too good it felt. It was funny how it all turned out, to be waltzing with the enemy under the moonlight. To be held so dearly and lovingly by whom he should have hated. To be kissed with hands around who he loved. From that night on till tomorrow, they both were in forgetful bliss.
---
It was after the 16th. His home was gone. His father was gone. Everything was gone. Well, almost everything, he still had his fiance by his side. Fundy spent a long while in his bed with Dream holding him tightly when the war was over. He remembers the tears and long silences while trying to grapple with the reality he was in. The only anchor he had were the soothing words in the dark, uttered with utter care behind them. After that, he spent his time helping to rebuild his home. Being accepted into the brand new cabinet of New L’manburg and given new responsibilities to fill time helped his spirits a little. On the other hand, dealing with the spirit of his father did not help at all. Being adopted, failing to be adopted, and being haunted by the husk of Wilbur made it all a little hard to get comfortable in New L’Manburg. Nevertheless, he managed to get back on his feet after it all. He made a new friend, built a quaint ice cream shop, and felt so much better.
Then it all came crashing down, right back to the same cause. Again.
Fundy grazed his long claws against the new obsidian walls around New L’Manburg. The fox was shivering in the new cold, as expected when he was dressed in just his blazer, white shirt and black trousers. The winter had started to come around, though the fox wished it were summer. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel the gnawing cold through his skin, almost an insult to the injury. Maybe the words he heard from hours earlier wouldn’t have been so cold and heartless. Maybe things would’ve been different, better even. He wished it were better. He couldn’t even bear to go home, on the off-chance “he” was there. The thought was already making his chest burn furiously. Fundy knew the sight would end much worse. Yet, despite the wishing, he never got what he asked for as he heard the heavy steps of combat boots just behind him.
Before he knew it, Fundy was already swatting away at a hand before it clasped onto his shoulder. With a swift turn, he bared his teeth just to keep the low rise of a growl in his throat. The masked perpetrator could only hold his hands up in surrender.
“I’m guessing you’re angry.” Fundy was right, the sight was already worse.
“Oh? Angry? How could you guess!? After all you did today! And yesterday! When we had our happy ending so soon, Dream. How did you fuck it up that badly?-” He didn’t bother holding back the sharp words, he got started, he might as well continue.
“Fundy, please you d-”
“Don’t understand? Of course I don't! I don’t understand how you could mistake my name for George of all people-”
Fundy tried to pretend he wasn't so bothered when Dream “mixed up” the names as he spoke; even when Dream muttered George’s name still with fondness, Fundy had to hide the hurt in his voice when he asked. Despite making it up to Fundy with a full bouquet and a kiss on the cheek, Fundy never said he forgave him.
“-then build obsidian walls around my country-”
Fundy tried to pretend he wasn’t shocked to find his home blocked in with black walls. He remembered how distressed Tubbo seemed when the fox relayed the news; the poor kid had just gotten a country to rule and it was already threatened. Fundy tried to talk to Dream, just to get a sense of reason out of him, but the masked man was already gone. It’s like he didn’t even notice Fundy there.
“-and you proclaimed you never cared about me! In front of everyone!”
Fundy tried to pretend he didn’t hear those words, the words he feared to be true. Dream didn’t give a fuck about anything actually. It hurt even more when he noticed the lack of a ring, it only gave the revelation more truth to it.
Dream had nothing to say, Fundy wasn't sure it was from guilt but rather shock. Perhaps stunned that his fiance dared a grievance with his glaring faults. Fundy hopes he felt the heat in the words he spat out in spite of the weather, he hopes that the message came across to him easily. There it was again, that silence. He remembers the silence that proceeded every time the masked man faced his offences; as if coming to terms that there came repercussions with his actions. Fundy looked up at Dream, his surrendering hands curled in defeat. The man looked pathetic, there was nothing that could mask that. It was stifling, frustrating even. So Fundy broke it.
“What I do understand, after all of this…It’s that the both of us aren’t good like this,” Fundy had to admit that, even if the truth felt so wrong, “I can’t just excuse all of this, not when it hurts me. Not when you…when you hurt me…”
If Dream had his heart broken before, it was definitely in minuscule pieces now. To Fundy that was good, Dream had to learn how much it hurt. He’d always seen the man tower over everything with invincible hands. Like his axe could never break, like his shield never faltered, like his body wouldn’t break under any blow. To everyone else, he's just the mask with the sadistic smile. Fundy, however, always knew there was a man under there. A real mortal man with numerous scars etched in his form like a tortured painting. To Fundy, he used to be as pretty as one too. His laughs were pretty, His hugs were pretty. His steady hands that would cradle his face were pretty. He was real and breathing, existing as a vulnerable person. With thoughts and feelings, likes and dislikes, strengths and fears. That meant Dream could empathise. That meant Dream could hurt like Fundy did.
“You knew this. You knew this would happen,” Dream had the gall to say but the fox had exhausted his anger out already, “Even through all of this, I’ll always be that gloat the people hate. I’ll always have something to say to those who wronged me. And that starts with Tommy.”
(It’s always Tommy, huh? Tommy always steals the limelight, always loved and always hated. Wilbur loved him like a brother. Dream hated him like a pest. Both too focused on that annoying blonde teen to bother having a thought about Fundy.)
“Why does that make it right to hurt me? Why does it make it better to just…pretend like I don’t exist?”
“Fundy, I never did! I messed up, I’ve known that for a while now. But I promise it’s for the better. I’m taking care of all the problems and making things right.”
“You wanna make things right? Then love me like you mean to! Love me as if you cared! Actually look at me for once and love me enough to be sorry!”
By the end of his screaming, his voice was reduced to nothing but rasps condensating in the cold. His eyes burned, prickled with blurry shapes and cold wet streaks down his cheeks. Fundy didn't even know when the sore stuck feeling in his throat began but he let it stay there either way. The silence continued, now punctuated with heavy pants and sobs. Fundy felt alone as if standing in pure void with nothing under his feet. On his own trying to steady his breaths and failing. Through his fuzzy sight, through the hazy nothingness, there felt a hand cradling his face.
“I already do. And I already am.”
That sound was so honest, Fundy could throw up. He’s fallen for it again yet he held no remorse. He hated how he could take it so desperately as if he was starving for a sweet succulent taste for months. It was a flaw he wanted to squash like a bug. He hated it so much but loved it so dearly. Almost like smoking; inhaling the toxic fumes just for kicks or for a lifeline. Dream was his lifeline, no matter how much he despised admitting it. Fundy grabbed onto that lifeline, tugging at the gentle hands of the living man. Those hands trailed to the top of his head, fingers finding themselves behind his fox ears. Fundy would never acknowledge his tail wagging in response. Instead of trying to fight it, trying to deny all the warmth worming in his chest, he sank into his fiance’s grasp as if melting into his hands. The delicate touches, the earnest smile he could see under the mask, and the same old song hummed under breath, Fundy really couldn't help himself melting further; all until their bodies became a malformed heap of arms clutching each other.
If only Fundy saw for himself, how far he had crumpled his dignity just for a man. How sad it seemed, to be in the arms of someone who hurt him. But Dream was right, he knew what would happen ever since their first kiss. His first show of devotion to a power-hungry madman. His first promise to love in spite. But was it his first mistake?. Fundy had to think long and hard for that if it was worth the pain of the pouring rain for the rainbow in the end. His heart had been tested over and over by Dream and his faults. To be torn and tugged, pushed and pulled, squashed and stretched. He noticed how he’d always been hurt by those he loved, either left forgotten or despised. He gained little from loving so recklessly and Dream was no exception. In spite of his misery, as the two swayed to the song in the snowfall, Fundy decided.
He pulled away only to close the brief gap, lips pressed to other’s with fervent desperation.
It wasn’t a mistake to love, wasn't it?
---
It’s January 6th. The freshly fallen snow wasn't as pearly white as it should, not with the smoke rising from the newly formed crater in New L’Manburg. Things had escalated over the past month, so to say in the simplest of terms. Fundy could barely remember what had started the chain of dominos, he figured it started with Tommy’s exile or perhaps the attempted execution of Technoblade. Either way, doomsday was upon the poor country and Fundy could care less. His feet dragged him through the chaos of mangled screams and discordant blows. He had no trouble manoeuvring through it, he was very intimate with war in general that he learned how to shut it out. Much easier to ignore the loud booms all around with smaller ears, they were barely poking out from under his unkempt hair. It was funny, hilarious even, the scene made him let out tired laughter as he moved along.
Through the shrapnel and gunpowder fumes, Fundy climbed up the ruined remains of a house (It’d be impossible to guess whose reduced unrecognisable mound it belonged to at that point). He could spot some movement above him, something that wasn't just the stacks of TNT dispensing down to below. Fundy built up, higher and higher until his head poked out above the billowing smoke and he could breathe a little easier. Through the thick curtain of ash and soot, he saw him. For once, he wasn't surprised to see that figure dressed in his grassy green cloak and porcelain mask staring right at him. The longer he looked, the more of a stranger he seemed.
“So you came.” the mask greeted him. A familiar tone from long ago, from somewhere down the line when it was more a threating one. Now it was a grating sound, “You look like you died.”
To be fair, Fundy did indeed look like he died. His left side of his face was bleeding a fresh scar with dried scabs all over, a fresh reminder from his recent fall from a height just before this. He remembers unfondly of toppling down to the bottom of the guardian farm out of his own will, not much to live for after his world came crashing along with him. His jacket and pants were just bathed in his own blood and soot mixed together, making the stench even more unbearable. At least he had on his tall buckled combat boots he stole from Eret. He may be at his lowest but at least he looked good doing it, the cherry on the burning pile of garbage.
“You look like shit.” Fundy retorted. That wasn't a lie; under the heavenly, bloodthirsty haze, Dream looked a beautifully ugly man. Both outside and in, Fundy newly learned
“I’m guessing you’re upset?”
“I think I’m beyond being ‘upset’ when it comes to you. Especially with this.”
“I moved your stuff out of your house before I blew it up if that makes it better”
“It doesn’t. Nice try though.”
“Well, what do you want from me?”
“I’m not sure anymore.”
“If there's anything you need, I could probably get it before I leave this place.”
Fundy knew it would be impossible to get what he needed, at least from Dream of all people. He learned that twice. At least finally, he’s no longer a fool. Everything he asked of him, he’d given away everything. His mind, his body, his wretched remains of his soul; all only to be given back his spent heart. He had loved, now he had lost. Is this how Wilbur felt when he died? He heard his father scream about his unfinished symphony as his dying words, like a slave free from his chains and cage. Is that how he felt? Free of conscience and weight? Without living out the burden of what he loved to remain forever in ruins? Fundy had remembered why he laughed at wit’s end of it all. It’s liberation. The most poignant kind. As the azimuth of the sunset moved through the clouds of smog, Fundy did have one thing he needed.
Outstretched were his too long and scraggly claws, cupped as gentle as he could.
“Make me forget, why don’t you?”
To which Dream obliged, tugging the fox closer. Like a siren he sang, soon enough Fundy’s cares had shed. He cared no more for his childhood home left a mere pit. He cared no more for those people below him screaming mercy. He cared no more for the man in front of him. Again, Fundy danced with the devil’s malice incarnate. Sidestep, one, two, twirl. They were entranced in their own maddened waltz, made up of broken pieces. Fundy couldn’t tell if those masked eyes looked at him with love or loath. Either way, they looked at him for a while. The distant pair moved in sync to the made-up melody as they did a hundred times before. It almost brought him happiness. But that euphoria was temporary, meaningless and false. For the first time, he listened to the song Dream sung, clearer than day.
“Here we are, wasting our chances for the last time.”
Too many times he’d fallen. About time he got up and walked away. For the time being, he can settle in this fantasy until it ends. Let him enjoy this last memory.
“And when we go, I’ll try not to be so slow”
He’ll remind himself to toss out everything in his tower that belonged to Dream. Old poems, wilted flowers, uneaten picnic leftovers. He wants to let go, see his hopes float above the atmosphere. He’ll remind himself that before he clings to the lifeline again.
“Skeletons, skeletons, what do we have here? Hiding from the mirror?”
He sees himself, hand in hand with the enemy. Dream never changed, has he? Same old provocateur with an affinity for explosives and fucked up means. Those same red hands he held tightly. Those same hands that held him. Those same hands that used to hold a proposal ring.
“Say it once.”
Fundy dug into his shirt for his silver chain, accessorised with a ring through it. His had an emerald for its centre stone. He wore it as such in case he lost it. Ironic.
“Say it twice.”
Dream pulled out a similar one, his ring with a redstone jewel instead. Fundy is almost flattered. Almost.
“Try to be nice.”
Both their hands reached out over the ledge, just as more TNT poured out of the dispensers. Both their rings hung by a bare sliver of their fingers.
"Well, let’s not lose ourselves.”
Both of them let go.
The silence remained. But it was a better kind of silence because for once Fundy could manage a simple breath. He backed away from the masked man, imagining the same relieved smile shared between them. It became night now, the bombing stopped only for a while. In that brief moment, he yanked Dream by the collar and met his lips. Intoxicating as always, sweet and saccharine all over again. The two parted quickly with heavy heaves of
breath.
“One for the road.”
“For you or for me?”
“Why would you want that for yourself?”
“I still love you, Fundy.”
“I don’t. I don’t think you did either.”
The words didn't feel wrong. They never were, weren't they?