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The blond places his crown down, onto the bedside table.
Tommy absolutely despises – hates – being royalty.
He used to love it, back when his brother, Ranboo, stood beside him, their taller figure providing a sense of protection and security while giving him a reassuring smile. He used to think nothing could go wrong under his presence.
And it didn’t, until Ranboo was inevitably banished for an accident. It wasn’t remotely his fault, yet their parents insisted that he had to be taken away. Aged fourteen, Tommy witnessed, and chased after, his brother getting dragged away forcefully by the guards, brought to the infamous “hellhole”.
It was supposedly some hole that tore apart the boundaries of heaven and hell, though Tommy wouldn’t know, he was held back by his personal guard then, for he was forbidden from those grounds.
The last thing Tommy remembered hearing from his brother was a final reassurance, something along the lines of, “Tommy, it’s okay, you’ll be fine.”
Absolute fucking liar. Tommy ended up being everything but fine.
For four years, he was restrained to the walls of the palace, no longer being allowed to exit under any circumstance. Surprisingly, and fortunately, Tommy had yet to go insane from this hell of a place. Ironic, isn’t it?
He sat there, waiting for his brother to come back one day and apologise for leaving him alone. But that day never came. Tommy doesn’t know that Ranboo had attempted countless times, only to be denied by some gatekeeper and forced away.
He sat there, filing paperwork in neat cursive handwriting, reading through dozens of letters while searching through the envelopes for a trace of his sibling. Tommy doesn’t know about the letters that Ranboo sent, which were burnt and discarded in the “process of delivery”.
—----------------------
On his eighteenth birthday, Tommy finds himself desperately pestering, pleading, and begging his parents for just a momentary visit to his brother yet once again. He doesn’t care if it were to be for a week, a day, hell, even an hour would suffice. All Tommy wanted was to see that Ranboo was still alive and remembered and cared about him.
Yet he was ever so important to the kingdom, each and every single request was to be denied, the following included. Tommy was instead brought back to his room, accompanied by the face of his guard, and he hated it. He had an urge to tear it apart at every sight he caught of that thing, that monster who kept him enclosed in the palace.
He couldn’t even have one good thing on his birthday. The one birthday that he should have been happily celebrating, the milestone of his crossing between teenage and adulthood.
Every passing second spent in his room made Tommy hate it more, it supplied and fueled a burning rage that made Tommy just want to punch, and break, and shatter these constricting walls, breaking them until he could break free.
And a thought clicked, what stopped Tommy from doing so?
What actually stopped Tommy from leaving the palace besides his family’s empty threats?
He had nothing left to lose, so there was no harm in trying to visit his brother. Worst case scenario; he dies. Though, Tommy was more than certain that they wouldn’t dare to kill him anyway.
—----------------------
Tommy steps onto the window, carefully calculating every precise step to climb his way down safely as he steps one foot below the other, landing onto the grass patch with a soft thud. The grass rattles under his feet, flowers welcoming and embracing him just to get crushed under his footsteps, as he swiftly sneaks around the garden.
He regrets not changing before leaving, realising that it was near impossible to climb over the tall walls bordering him from the outside. There was only one alternative exit, which was through the main gate – where there would have been guards keeping watch.
Tommy formulated a plan, throwing a few stones collected from the garden to generate noise, distracting the guards as he made his grand escape. Though, he should have considered how quickly the guards would divert their attention back.
And they immediately noticed Tommy, sprinting out of the palace. A few alarmed shouts were let out before starting a frantic chase for the prince. Concrete, rocky floors were replaced with soft, cotton, clouds the further he ran. Tommy barely knew where he was headed, but he knew that he could find it eventually, maybe just a few more minutes of running.
By pure luck, or perhaps fate, Tommy found himself reaching near the hole, a dark shadow casted over the border that made it stand out.
He was so, so tired, but he knew that he had to make it there, Tommy couldn’t afford to get caught by the guards again, he needed to push himself there, no matter what it took, disregarding the burning pains rising in multiple parts of his body.
He was so close, the dark shadow was casted over him, seemingly welcoming Tommy over to the other side. He neglects the guards’ yells from the back of his mind, for they would no longer impact him.
And he jumps, expecting to be swallowed by the darkness.
Instead, rays of light were casted over him, shining brightly and emphasising his golden hair, some falling onto his eyes. He leaned backwards into the strange comfort, as his pearly-white wings, stretched out and surrounding him, were dusted with a new shade of grey.
Tommy didn’t know what to expect as he fell, but he hoped someone would be there to pick him up.
—----------------------
Tommy landed safely, passed out. A pair of warm arms picked him up and brought him to somewhere new. A new place, just for him.
—----------------------
Tommy woke up, head aching, pounding in sync with his heart, as his vision cleared itself. He was in a new room, walls painted baby-blue, with an aroma of lavender filling the air, and lit with dim lights. He turned to his left, seeing a mostly melted candle sitting on the bedside table, a soft, warm glow like the one during his fall.
Right, the fall.
Meh, the house seemed pretty nice.
And, wait, Tommy wasn’t in his royalty clothing. Instead, he was in a black hoodie that was too large for him, which he quickly discovered as he fiddled with the sleeves.
It reminded him of his brother.
Tommy shrugged the thought off, Ranboo probably didn’t even know that he landed here, let alone bring him over to this strange house and keep him in a room. Hopefully, it was a nice stranger who took him in, or maybe it was just another dream and he was caught and stuck in the palace again.
The latter was unlikely, he could faintly recall how the fall felt, unless that was a dream too.
Tommy pushed himself up, stretching his fatigued wings out. What greeted him was no longer the familiar white, instead a new void-like black, as if someone threw a canister of black ink onto his wings. His halo no longer casted the sunlight rays either, instead radiating a shadow. He supposed the fall does that to people, accepting his fate.
There was light knocking on his door. “Come in,” Tommy approved, watching the door creak and bright rays of light slipping in, a figure showing himself by the door, popping his head in.
He was tall, slightly bending his head to not hit the top of the door frame, a pair of dark-purple wings, resembling a bat's, black and white horns stuck out from both sides of his head.
Greyish-turquoise eyes met, and locked with tired ocean-blue ones.
He walked over, tail lightly brushing the floor with his precise, stable steps, carefully handling a bowl full of soup – or whatever substance was in there.
Undeniably, that was Ranboo. The person who left him for four years, alone, in that hellhole palace and ignored all his letters. Tommy should be mad, he should resent them, he should be upset; perhaps even neglect Ranboo. Yet, for some strange reason, he can’t bring himself to do such a thing.
"Oh, you're awake," they greeted, placing the bowl down on the bedside table, "How do you feel?"
“Horrible, everything hurts,” Tommy grumbled, rubbing his head to soothe the giddiness, “And my head feels like it’s in some other dimension.”
Ranboo nodded, lightly ruffling the younger’s hair, gesturing for him to pick up the bowl, “Happens, drink this, you’ll feel better.”
Tommy looked at the appalling substance, reluctantly placing it to his mouth and taking a sip before almost choking and spitting it out. That was possibly the worst thing he’d ever tasted. “What the fuck, man,” he complained, slamming the bowl down, watching a smile form on the older’s face as they bit back a chuckle, “This is straight up poison!”
“It can’t taste that bad, I’ve tried it before!” Ranboo replied, lifting the bowl back up, “You’ve got to drink it if you intend to get any better.” The younger sighed in defeat, rolling his eyes, and glaring at them while gulping down the terrible tasting medicine. Ranboo offered him a glass of water afterwards, which he gladly accepted to wash down the horrid aftertaste.
—----------------------
“Ranboo, my guy, come here, I have a question,” Tommy commanded, pushing his room door open and stepping into the living room where Ranboo was sitting on a foldable chair, flipping through piles of paper, scattered across the table, – and some on the floor, mindlessly dipping his quill into an inkpot on the verge of spilling.
Ranboo looked up, their eyes widening slightly as he seemed to break through his train of thoughts, responding, “Yeah, what is it?”
“You’ve been living here for four years, right?”
“Yeah?” The taller crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow in curiosity of what the shorter would ask next.
“Then why does your house look so- bad?” Tommy queried, momentarily before realising his statement. He fake coughed, clarifying, “Uh, like, I was kind of expecting better from someone who typically does like really impressive interior decoration, you know, and like-” Ranboo chimed in with an overexaggerated fake gasp, explaining, “I know, this isn’t actually my real house,”
He mentioned how the makeshift house was built in the span of a week, something about being used for emergency events “like these”, adding on that their “real house” was a mansion in another part of the town. Tommy doubted that statement, for there was no known emergency down in this place that he knew of.
“Uh, you’re actually being wanted by your guards, so I’m kinda just keeping you here until we’re safe to go back.” That seemed like a statement eighteen-year-old Tommy would totally believe. Right.
Tommy rolled his eyes, though Ranboo seemed to be distracted by the large workload again, furiously scribbling on a new piece of paper that he pulled from the pile, before pausing and looking back up, asking, “Any more questions? If not, I’ll be going back to work.”
The younger hesitated, thinking of more questions to bother his older sibling with – primarily to distract him from their workload to catch a reaction, before remembering that he had one he wanted clear answers to. A question that fourteen-year-old him would have wanted answered.
“Why didn’t you write back?”
“...What?” The older replied, disbelief written in his eyes.
“You know, those letters that I’ve been sending you these past few years, why didn’t you write back?” Tommy casually repeated, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows, as if the question wasn’t obvious.
“I did. I wrote back to each and every single one of your letters that I’ve received!”
“You’re lying! I never received them!” The younger accused.
“But I did! I handed them over to that gatekeeper guy who forbidden me from visiting you!”
Frantic eyes interlocked with frustrated blue, a cold and soul-piercing glare. Tommy should trust his sibling, he believes that they would have, too, but a part of him tugs at itself, insisting that Ranboo was lying, for the brother he knew would have written back, and there was no concrete evidence that he did.
“Prove it, show me that you wrote back- Hell, I’d be content with even knowing that you read my letters!”
Ranboo dropped his pen on the paper, leaving a splash of ink that would spread and stain it, but that wouldn’t matter, for he had a priority at hand. They grabbed onto Tommy’s wrist, tugging it with a subtle tenderness and walked into another corridor.
The older entered a room, lined with several drawers and cabinets, before navigating directly to one, kneeling down and pulling it open, interlocking his fingers between neatly kept papers and pulling out several torn envelopes. They threw it over at the younger, who gently bent down to review them.
Oh.
It was the letter he first sent Ranboo, and then the next, and the following, all from when he was fourteen. He then saw several discarded at his feet, written by his fifteen-year-old self. Ranboo had just about every letter, and he was still madly ejecting even more envelopes from the tiny drawer.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough, Ranboo!” Tommy exclaimed, glancing at the last envelope that fell onto the small pile forming at his feet, looking up to see the older frozen in his tracks.
He slowly turned around, softly eyeing the younger before calmly questioning, “Do you believe me now?”
“Yeah. I do – I think,” he muttered, “Sorry.”
Ranboo turned around, softening his gaze at the younger. “It’s fine, I don’t hold grudges,” they declared, “Just help me put these back in.”
Tommy eased his nervous fidgeting, unaware of when he started, gathering the stack of envelopes and heading towards the older.
They’ve got a lot of problems, and potentially – hopefully, according to Tommy – misunderstandings to settle, but that’s for later. For now, Tommy could just enjoy his sibling’s presence while they sort out the letters together.
Maybe it’s not so bad after all.
—----------------------
Tommy plopped himself onto the couch, melting into it as he let the fatigue sink in. Turns out, organising four years worth of letters was much more tedious than it should be. Tommy decided to make it a plan to go back in time and stop his younger self from sending these many letters, especially those with poor grammar or written on several cups of coffee combined in the middle of the night, inevitably mocked by Ranboo while he flushed in embarrassment, cringing at his younger self. He lives to regret that mistake.
Though, it was nice seeing Ranboo keep all of them, how he kept each and every single one of them as a precious collection. That’s one thing Tommy will remind them about every now and then.
Ranboo popped up beside him, placing down two steaming cups of presumably hot chocolate, grinning at the younger, who shot up excitedly at the sight of it.
“Please, please, please tell me this is hot chocolate and not coffee, I’ve had too much of that when I was in the-”
“It’s hot chocolate.” The older chimed in.
Tommy lunged over and picked up the cup, blissfully beaming as he immediately savoured the hot drink, ignoring the heat that burnt and lingered on his tongue. He chose not to mention the fact that he hadn’t had it since he last met the older.
“This is so much better than that shitty medicine, you should have just given me this and we would’ve gotten the same effect!” He commented, slightly slurring at the pain on his tongue, earning an offended gasp from the older yet once again.
“It’s not that bad!” They defended, pushing a hand down on the cushion before sitting, “Also, you should drink it slower, that’s probably gonna burn your tongue and I’ll have to deal with your blisters.” Ranboo audibly sighed at Tommy sticking his – somewhat burnt – tongue out at him, concealing an admiring smile.
Beyond steaming mugs, misunderstandings, unresolved problems, and unhealed trauma to be peeled open and gauzed over, Tommy finds himself safe in this house, no longer the sad and lonely prince he was.
He’s home now.
Because, home is where they are.