Chapter Text
Morning sun filtered through the window, casting a golden glow inside the bedroom. Birds chirped outside, while two bodies lay together on a singular king-sized bed. One, having been awake for several minutes now, said nothing and made no effort to move from his position.
The day started rather unusually. On most days, Thomas would’ve been up by now, blaring loud music in an attempt to chase whatever little sleep he’d gotten from his eyes. Gotoga had once told him how he usually used workout music to help him ‘get pumped’ for school or whatever people who get eight hours of sleep say.
Today, though, he was curled up in bed, hands wrapping around Micro like a greedy cat with his favourite toy. The sunlight shone dimly from his window, resting peacefully on Micro’s white, almost translucent hair. Thomas spent this small moment admiring his features before he woke up; his pale skin, the small mole under his left eye and the faded cut near his lips that made Thomas want to plant a hundred kisses on it.
He was Micro’s, and Micro was his.
Thomas blinked, certain he’d misheard. Standing in front of him was Micro—face flushed a deep, unmistakable red, like he might combust at any second.
Thomas’s mind stalled. Of all the things he’d expected to hear today, that wasn’t even on the list. Micro—who he’d only really started noticing last year, in quiet moments and passing glances—was now looking at him like this.
It took a few seconds for the words to register.
When they did, heat rushed straight to Thomas’s ears, burning quickly and suddenly. Thomas sputtered, his mind screaming at him to say something, anything!
He reminisced about times when he’d first realised his feelings for his friend and refused to go to school that day, the effect of his face not cooperating and shading as red as physically possible. Thomas remembered replaying the thought of Micro loving him one day and talking Fluixon’s ear off about it.
Thomas looked at Micro, properly this time, and something in his chest gave way. His eyes got soft, warm and real. He took Micro’s hand with enough courage and stability that he could muster, something warm and hopeful settling in his stomach.
“I love you, too.”
“Mm.”
Micro’s head spun, his eyes not adjusting to the ungodly amount of light in the room. And since when had his room been positioned near the su-
“Mornin’. Sleep good?” Thomas stands before, his eyes soft and gentle. He wears the same expression he had when Micro had nervously confessed to him: a look of pure adoration.
“Would’ve been better if you were near me,” Micro remarked, making Thomas snort.
“We slept in the same bed.” Micro raises his eyes.
“And that whole night it seemed like you were more in love with the blanket.”
He throws a pillow at Thomas, which he effortlessly catches, looking half offended, though there’s no fire in his eyes.
“How dare you?” he fake-cries, wiping invisible tears from his eyes, “You should know that my blanket and I have a very beautiful relationship far beyond human comprehension.”
Micro rolls his eyes and helps himself out of bed.
While walking to school, Micro brought up telling his siblings about him and Thomas.
“Siblings?” Thomas asked in disbelief, “I thought Snowbird was your only sibling.”
This made Micro equally shocked. He’d sworn he’d told Thomas about them; had he not brought up anything about them this entire time? Still, had he not noticed the similarities? He and his siblings literally had the same colour palette with some add-ons.
Micro felt a wave of regret wash over him—stupid, stupid. How could he have overlooked mentioning his siblings all this time? The realisation gnawed at him, making his stomach churn.
Fuck.
Shit.
Micro was stupid. Ish, he was stupid.
“So Jophiel and Saparata are both your siblings?” Thomas confirmed, making sure he’d heard right.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Jophiel and Saparata, both part of the student body council, were composed, kind, and frankly, the direct opposite of Micro and Snowbird.
He had never even noticed the similarities—the pale skin, the near-identical hair, the small mole under their left eye.
Or the fact that their entire colour palette revolved around white (mostly Saparata, seriously, that guy needs to find a new colour to wear; it’s like his entire closet is set on making him look like a saint).
“I guess that makes sense. But I don’t understand why I have to be afraid of them—they seem nice.”
Thomas frowned when Micro started laughing—sharp, uneven, like something had gone very, very wrong.
“My siblings are very…” Micro hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “overprotective of me.”
Thomas deadpanned, completely unfazed. “You need to be specific, darling.”
“They won’t hesitate to beat the shit out of you if you so much as breathe near me with romantic intentions.”
Thomas blinked.
“Right,” he said. “Noted.”
A pause.
“…So what do they—”
“Micro.”
Both of them froze.