Ranboo stared at the ceiling of his of his bedroom. He was lying on the floor, trying to numb the emotions bubbling in his stomach. It had been over sixteen years since he last saw this ceiling. Sixteen years for him, but only seven months for the ceiling. He wondered which had changed more.
The ceiling had a few cracks in it. Ranboo traced them with his finger. Were those cracks already there, or did they develop while he was gone? Ranboo racked his brain trying to remember. He shouldâve paid closer attention.
The door opened from downstairs.
âMichael Iâm home!â
âAww, come here. Sup little man. Daddyâs gotta put away the groceries.â
âYes of course! Take these theyâre not too heavy.â
âBoo doesnât like chores. His ouchie hurts too much.â
âBoo has no more ouchie.â
âWhat are you talking about little man? Careful, donât drop those.â
Ranboo hadnât moved from his place on the floor. Tears blurred his view of the ceiling, but he didnât let them run. It had been so long since he last heard Tubboâs voice. He thought heâd be ready to see the boy, but he was nervous. How do you talk to someone you died for? What words would ever heal the gap of seven months?
Ranboo blinked his tears away and watched the cracks in his ceiling as Tubbo and Michael put away the groceries.
âMichael put that down. Itâs too heavy, youâll hurt yourself.â
âOw!â Michael started to cry.
âWhat did I tell you? Let me see.â
âIâm sorry daddy.â Michael sobbed.
âDonât be sorry. Just be careful next time. Here, Iâll get you a band-aid.â
Ranbooâs stomach turned to stone when he heard the creaking floorboards of the staircase.
He stayed frozen on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There was a pause. The air went dry. The north had never been so silent.
Ranboo felt Tubboâs presence move across the room. He opened a chest and dug around for a bit. Ranbooâs throat felt like cobwebs. He couldnât move. He couldnât speak. Tubbo found what he was looking for, closed the chest, and went back downstairs to help Michael.
Tubboâs voice was different now. He spoke softly to Michael, muttering things like, âhold stillâ and, âI know it hurtsâ.
Ranboo listened to the sound of his own heartbeat. He felt too numb to move, but he couldnât stay on the floor forever.
âThere we go. All better.â Tubbo said. Michael thanked him and there was a brief silence that was interrupted by the sound of someone turning on the tap. Plates and silverware clanged together.
Ranboo blinked and took a deep breath. It took every last bit of strength to pull his body up from the floor. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way downstairs. He had to duck under the doorway. He wasnât sure why it was built so low.
Tubbo was doing the dishes. He didnât look over. Not even once.
âTubbo I-â He was interrupted by a loud crash of silverware being tossed into the sink. Tubbo kept cleaning.
Ranboo wasnât quite sure what this was. Tubbo could be so hard to read sometimes. After Aimsey convinced Dream to revive him, she told Ranboo that Tubbo must have changed. That he couldnât possibly be the same person from before. But this looked pretty familiar to Ranboo. Tubbo wasnât an easy person to know, but that didnât mean Ranboo cared about him any less.
âItâs summer. I saw the snow melting outside.â Ranboo said. Tubbo continued to ignore him. âOf course, not all the snow will melt. Itâs always freezing out here.â Ranboo took a few small steps forward.
âI told her not to do it.â Tubbo said under his breath.
âWhat?â Ranboo asked, but he was silenced by Tubbo throwing the plate he was cleaning into the sink and frantically drying his hands. Ranboo followed as Tubbo rushed over to his winter coat, threw it on, grabbed his sword, and headed outside. The boy quickly made his way through the snow, tying the belt with his scabbard along the way.
âTubbo wait.â Ranboo caught up to him and pulled his arm, causing Tubbo to fumble his belt and accidentally drop the sword into the snow.
âLet me go.â Tubbo ordered as he tried to pull away. But Ranboo wouldnât let go. He couldnât.
Tubbo struggled to pry Ranbooâs hand from his arm, but Ranboo grabbed Tubboâs other arm so that he couldnât. Then, Tubbo turned both his hands into fists and began pushing Ranboo away. The pushing turned into punching, but Ranboo didnât budge. He studied Tubboâs face, his gaze never meeting Ranbooâs. Not even once. Tubbo wasnât hitting to get away, nor was he angry. Every hit seemed harder on Tubbo than it did on Ranboo.
Eventually, the boy exhausted himself. He took a moment to catch his breath, then stepped in close, wrapping his arms around Ranboo.
âHow could she do this?â He sobbed.
Ranboo gently wrapped his arms around Tubbo, and this time he couldnât stop the tears from falling.
âI hate everyone so much and I donât know why.â
A cool wind washed over them. A sea of leaves rustled beyond the fence.
âYou were all I had. They always kill everything I have.â
Ranboo held onto Tubbo as if the world were crumbling around them. He wanted to say that everything was alright. He wanted to comfort him, and tell him things would go back to normal.
But deep down he knew the ceiling never had so many cracks.
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