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Millions of years ago, an asteroid caused the dinosaurs to go extinct.
The asteroid sent plumes of dust and smoke up into the atmosphere and effectively blocked out most of the sunlight, which killed off the primary producers – plants, then the primary consumers – herbivores, then the secondary consumers – carnivores. Only the organisms that could adapt to their new circumstances survived and evolved.
History may not repeat itself, but it certainly rhymes.
Some volcano in the middle of buttfuck nowhere that no scientist really paid any mind to decided to erupt. And it was a bad eruption, like, the amount of volcanic ash in the atmosphere reached a dangerous level.
And, like it happened with the dinosaurs, the lack of sunlight started to kill off plants. Except humans have bigger brains than the dinosaurs ever did, and they figured out how to grow plants with light alone. It’s certainly a lot slower than actual sunlight, but it works well enough.
Besides the threat of a vitamin D deficiency (which can easily be solved with supplements), humans moved on with their lives. (Millions of people still died.)
Well, most humans except the Craft family.
See, while their neighbors mourned the loss of the flowers growing in their garden, Tommy mourned the loss of the flowers growing underneath his skin.
Before the volcanic winter, he always had enough flowers on his person to make a bouquet. Now, he can barely even grow a thin layer of moss.
His family has tried everything. Artificial light, vitamin supplements, standing outside to try to get any miniscule amount of real sunlight, but nothing works.
Tommy knows he’s going to die. He knew it as soon as he failed to grow a simple marigold. He’s made his peace with it.
His brothers and father refuse to make any sort of peace with it. They refuse to even think about the possibility of him dying. They’re living in complete denial, and Tommy thinks it hurts more than the fact that he is actually dying.
For example, Wilbur keeps trying to get him to go out in the snow with him, but Tommy has told him time and time again that the cold makes him feel worse.
Techno keeps asking him to spar, but Tommy has already told him that he’s almost too weak to stand at this point.
Phil wants to go shopping for the new school year coming up, but Tommy has explained multiple times that he won’t live to see the fall.
They always make some sort of excuse.
“C’mon Toms, it’s not even that cold out! Just put on a second sweater and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s exactly why we need to spar, your little noodle arms can barely hold a sword. It’ll make you stronger.”
“Oh don’t be dramatic, mate, you just don’t want to go school. Get in the car.”
Every time Tommy refuses, they act like he’s the bad guy.
“God, you’re so boring, no wonder you stay in your room all day.”
“Fine, but don’t come crying to me because you can’t defend yourself when kids pick on you.”
“Why do you have to be so difficult? Now you won’t have any school supplies, you’ll make me look like a bad parent.”
Tommy’s no mental health expert, but he’s pretty sure this level of denial is probably bordering on delusional.
Every day, he wishes to help in any way he can. But every day, he wakes up weaker than the day prior. It becomes harder and harder to get out of bed, to consume any food or water.
Until it’s not.
Tommy wakes up to a surge of energy. It rushes through his body and breathes life into his soul, but no plants. He remains flowerless, despite the newfound energy he suddenly has.
It’s wonderful, but only for a moment.
Because the lack of flowers means he’s not any better. He’s actually read about this sort of thing happening. It’s a sort of last hurrah, a final moment of clarity before a person passes.
And by Prime Tommy is not going to waste it.
Immediately, he’s out of bed and sliding down the stair handrails. Nobody else is awake yet, so he settles on the couch and turns on the TV to pass the time.
Heavy footsteps come clambering down the steps. “Wilbur, how many times have I asked you to turn the volume down, nobody wants to hear that-”
Phil stops short when he sees his youngest son on the couch instead of one of the twins. “Oh-! Tommy, you’re feeling better! Finally, we were getting real worried!”
Tommy snorts at the irony. “Yeah, ha, a lot better!”
His dad beams. “Did you want to go shopping? If we leave now we can probably be back by the time your brothers wake up!”
“Sure, dad.”
Tommy doesn’t buy much from the store. He doesn’t need anything, after all. He’s content with just the time he’s spending with his father.
When they get back, Wilbur is waiting for him on the couch. “I have band practice today, and you’re coming with me.” Tommy literally doesn’t get the chance to refuse, because Wilbur’s already dragging him right back out the door.
Wilbur drives like a madman, which is nothing new. Tommy is constantly gripping the handle above the door, and one time they even brake so hard the only thing keeping him from flying through the windshield is his seatbelt.
They miraculously make it to the studio alive. Wilbur throws a spare jacket at him as they get out of the car. “It’s fucking freezing, how are you only wearing that baseball shirt?”
Truthfully, Tommy didn’t even realize that it was cold. He can’t feel it.
He shrugs the sweater on anyway, but it doesn’t do anything.
The two make their way inside, and Wilbur’s bandmates are fuckin’ ecstatic to see him. They go on and on about how they missed him, how practices just aren’t the same without him. Tommy preens under the praise, especially when Mark insinuates that they need his help with a new song.
The band members each ready their respective instruments as Wilbur counts them in, and Tommy settles in for the show.
After they practice a certain song, Wilbur stops for a long moment, deep in thought. Finally, he says, “Y’know, I think we should cut that song.”
Tommy is offended.
“Wil, if you cut that song I will literally never forgive you.”
“I think you’ll get over it, Toms.”
“I won’t. I really won’t, Wil.”
Wilbur examines him for a long, long moment. “Alright, but only if you can come up with a way to make it better.”
Challenge accepted, Wilbur Soot.
Tommy gets on the mic and records some echoes of the lyrics because he felt the original lines were a little lacking. Then, he plays around with the piano for a bit while the others convene to talk about lyrics or chords.
When they’re getting ready to leave, Tommy gives a quick hug to each of Wilbur’s bandmates. They cheerfully say goodbye, ignorant to Tommy’s hidden sadness.
In the car, Wilbur says, “We might actually keep the song for you. I couldn’t let my biggest fan down, now could I?”
Tommy doesn’t respond. He can’t bring himself to speak through the lump in his throat.
Why would it matter when he’ll never get to hear the finished product?
-
The sun is well on her way down when they finally get home. Wilbur had insisted on stopping for ice cream, and Tommy had somehow managed to pull himself together long enough to act happy in front of him.
He climbs the stairs slowly, horrified at the realization that his burst of energy is disappearing. Because his energy leaving means he’s going to die soon.
He’s only sixteen, he doesn’t want to die.
The tears start falling as soon as he slams his bedroom door shut behind him. It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair!
Tommy flops down on his bed and grabs Henry. He’s crying quietly into the plush like a toddler, and eventually, it spirals into a panic attack.
His breathing comes out in harsh wheezes, and for a moment, he thinks he might be dying already. Then, a warm, firm hand lands directly between his shoulder blades. Tommy focuses on the weight and slowly pulls himself out of both his panic and tears.
The hand slowly retracts once he’s calm, and Tommy desperately misses it. “Uh, you alright now, kid?” Techno asks.
The youngest nods, though he still feels like he could burst back into tears any second.
“Wilbur told me you felt better today but I guess he was just hopeful, huh?”
Tommy averts his gaze. “I was fine for a while.”
“That's fine, Thes. As long as you had fun today, that's all that matters.”
“You have no idea,” he mutters under his breath, too quiet for his brother to hear. “Hey, tell me how Theseus died again?”
Techno raises an eyebrow, but doesn't actually question it. “I've told you the story a thousand times. He gets pushed off the cliff and into the sea by Lycomedes, the king.”
“So it wasn't a very happy way to go, huh?”
“Well, I mean, yeah. What's got you talkin’ like that?”
The blond shutters. “Nothing important. You know me, got an overactive imagination!”
Techno once again studies him with a critical eye, like he can see right through Tommy. Finally, he sighs, “I’m not gonna ask what's wrong, because I trust you’d come to us if it was truly serious. We love you, kid.”
Prime. Every conversation he has today feels like a blow straight to his heart. He had wanted to use today to be happy, to spend a final day with his family and not think about his oncoming doom.
Instead, his socially awkward brother decided to drop an ‘I love you’ bomb.
Tommy swallows his tears, inhales a trembling breath, and responds, “I love you too, Tech.”
-
Later that night, some time after dinner, Tommy leaves his room for a final time.
He sneaks across the hall to his dad’s room first. The man is sitting on his bed with a book about gardening of all things in his hands. The older blond smiles at him. “You should go to bed soon, Toms. I was thinking about making pancakes in the morning!”
“Alright, dad. Can I have a hug first?”
Phil sets his book aside, stands, and sweeps Tommy into a big bear hug.
Tommy buries his head in his dad’s shoulder, careful not to let any tears fall and alert Phil that anything is wrong. The two stand there for a good couple minutes, swaying slightly, until Tommy eventually pulls away.
He moves to leave as Phil sits back down, but turns back at the last second to say, “Goodnight, dad. I love you.”
-
Tommy goes to Techno’s room next.
The pinkette spares him no more than a glance. Tommy doesn’t fully enter the room, just stands in the doorway and calls, “Love you, Tech. Goodnight.”
-
And finally, Wilbur’s room.
Tommy hears the soft sound of a guitar being strummed before he knocks. Wilbur puts the instrument aside when the younger enters, abandoning his work in favor of his little brother.
The brunet envelops him in a hug without Tommy even asking, which he’s incredibly grateful for. Still, he mutters, “Clingy..”
Wilbur finally pulls away with a sunny smile, and drags Tommy over to his desk where the man’s songwriting notebook is. “Ok, so, I was thinking about what you said, but I need a little help with the lyrics.”
Tommy lets Wilbur rant at him for upwards of ten minutes, only speaking up to give advice or replacement words on occasion. Then, “So should the title be the long version of the chorus, or should I shorten it?”
“Just Perfume.”
“Perfect.”
Wilbur scribbles in the notebook for a few more minutes, and Tommy knows it’s time.
“I’m going to bed, Wil. I love you so much, thank you for everything.”
The man swivels his chair around to look at him, cooing audibly. “Aw.. anything for my little brother. I love you too!”
Tommy steals one last hug, then leaves before he can convince himself not to.
-
Tommy’s room is cold.
Colder than when he left, like it’s devoid of life already.
But Tommy’s not done yet, because he can feel something moving underneath his skin, begging to be let free. They slowly start to poke out of his body without his control. He doesn’t even know what kind of plants they are.
So before he runs out of time, Tommy sits at his desk and begins writing in his notebook.
He’s awake late into the night, uncontrollably growing flowers and jotting down his final thoughts to the world.
When he finishes both tasks, he is completely shot of energy. He plucks the flowers from his skin and arranges them in a spare vase he keeps in his room, then tears the notebook pages out and sets the two on his desk, side by side.
The last thing he does is crawl into bed with Henry. As he drifts off to sleep, a deep acceptance sinks into his bones.
He’ll never wake up.
-
It’s Wilbur that finds him the next day.
The man had woken up in a great mood, the events of the previous day putting him in high spirits. Tommy had finally been feeling better after being sick for a few months, and they had actually hung out!
When he heads downstairs for breakfast, though, his little brother isn’t at the table.
Phil catches his dismayed expression with a sympathetic glance. “Wil, how about you go wake him up? I’m sure he just slept in, he had a long day yesterday.”
Wilbur perks up immediately, because yeah, that makes sense! He practically skips up the stairs and to Tommy’s room. He knocks a few times, but no response. So, he enters the room, and spots a Tommy shaped lump underneath the blankets.
He smiles and walks over, because he doesn’t even know why he was so worried, Tommy sleeps in all the time! The man pulls the duvet away, planning on scaring the boy awake, but instead, he’s the one that screams.
Because Tommy is gray.
It’s like someone put him into grayscale. The previous golden hair is dull, as is his skin. He imagines if the boy opened his eyes they would look the same.
But the most disturbing thing is the lack of motion. His chest isn’t moving up and down like it should.
Wilbur scrambles to check his pulse. He finds nothing.
He screams again, just in time for both Techno and Phil to appear in the doorway. Wilbur backs away, horrified. He bumps into the desk, almost knocking over the vase full of flowers.
Flowers. Tommy stopped growing flowers months ago.
When he looks back over, Phil is performing CPR and Techno is speaking frantically into the phone, presumably the emergency line.
He feels faint, and when he grips the desk to keep his balance, his fingers brush against a few pieces of paper. He recognizes his brother’s handwriting, the familiar chicken scratch that takes experience to understand.
With trembling hands, he picks up the papers and begins to read.
So, to whoever had to find me, I’m sorry.
It’s not fair to make you see me like that, I know.
Truth is, I’ve known this was coming for a long time. You all know how little energy I’ve had recently. Or, well, had. I guess. It’s weird to write like I’m already dead.
If anything, I’m more glad Prime was kind enough to give me this last day to hang out with you all. Phil, we went shopping. Kind of lame, but I know you enjoyed it. I did too. Wilbur, we went to one of your band practices. I meant what I said about Perfume. It’s one of the best songs I’ve ever heard, and I’m proud to say it was my last. Even if I’m upset I’ll never hear it in full. Techno, you told me about Theseus one last time. Thank you for the final story.
As I’m writing this, I’m growing my final flowers. It’s not on purpose, because I stopped being able to do that a while ago. I think my body feels bad and is growing what I’m feeling.
The purple hyacinths show my sorrow and regret. The forget-me-nots are pretty obvious from the name. And the dark crimson roses represent grief, I’m pretty sure.
If there's one thing I could ask, don’t remember me like this. Whatever I look like when you find me, I want you to forget it. Remember how I used to look, back when we could actually see the sun.
Don’t get hung up on these sorrowful flowers. Remember when I used to grow marigolds and sunflowers and daisies. I want you guys to be happy.
Don’t let me become a tragedy or a cautionary tale.
Please.
I love you guys, and I don’t regret anything other than leaving you.
Everything that happens after that feels like a blur. The ambulance arriving, the police showing up. Wilbur doesn’t remember any of it, not even the funeral. He just remembers staring at the flowers and clutching the letter like his life depended on it.
It ends up in the newspaper like most weird mysteries do, but the news stations never pick it up, thankfully. Not exciting enough, perhaps.
Life moves on, despite how much it hurts the family of three.
Wilbur finishes Perfume, complete with the lines from his late brother. He keeps the little piano segments to use in other songs.
Techno writes a few books, dedicating them all to a mysterious boy nicknamed Theseus.
Phil starts a relief fund for the people that were hit the hardest by the volcanic winter.
And they never forget their boy.
Their sunshine.