Sometimes, Tubbo wishes Tommy or Ranboo were here with him, in Snowchester. To make it feel less empty. To make it feel like more of a home.
But they aren’t.
So when night comes, Tubbo, in his lonesome, has to manually light the lamp posts outside, even though he is the only person currently in this huge, empty domain.
You’ll never know who’ll come home, is what he thinks, as he tucks the hood of his cowl over his horns, blinking up at the dark night sky, lantern in one hand, the other wrapped around a long stick.
A shiver courses through him as he steps outside, immediately lighting the first lamp post with a small grunt as snow gives way underneath his boots. It’s quite chillier than usual in Snowchester today, a little quiet.
A little bit too quiet, in fact, because he hears Ranboo before he sees him, the taller boy’s eyes wide and sharp as he finds Tubbo in the dimness of the town, sweat beading down his forehead.
Odd, Tubbo thinks, I’ve never seen him sweat before.
“Tubbo,” Ranboo gasps, as if he’s taking the first breath after being held so long underwater. “Tubbo.”
Tubbo smiles, hiking the lantern up, and wondering why Ranboo dances away from the light, keeping himself enshrouded in the darkness of the still unlit Snowchester. “Ranboo,” Tubbo greets, “A bit late to be coming all the way here. Won’t your, er, guardians... be worried?”
“T–Tubbo?” Ranboo repeats.
“That’s my name.” Tubbo takes another step forward, huffing in frustration when Ranboo, yet again, takes a stilted stumble backwards to get away from the light. “You’re acting a bit odd, Ranboo.”
He sees Ranboo’s head swivel towards the shed where he keeps the warheads disassembled, before snapping back towards him.
“Well, whatever it is, we can talk about it over a cuppa, eh?” Tubbo puts a smile on his face, nodding decidedly as he walks back towards his home, the rest of the lamp posts still unlit. “Ranboo?”
Again, the only thing his friend can mutter is his name. This time in anguish, so much of it that Tubbo’s shoulders tighten, teeth gritting from all the emotion in that one word. His name.
“Just come inside,” Tubbo hates that he has to plead. But he knows that he’ll hate himself even more if he lets Ranboo steal away into the night, because he knows he’ll never see him again.
Ranboo will disappear and so will whatever is on the tip of his tongue.
And Tubbo has to know.
“I’m sorry.” Ranboo mutters, thin shoulders curling into himself. “I’m sorry we couldn’t light the lamp posts with you tonight.”
“Ranboo,” Tubbo presses a hand over his mouth, hard enough to feel his teeth through his lips. “We?”
When he raises his lantern, he manages to catch light on the white of Ranboo’s shirt, frowning when he sees streaks of ashes on it.
Ranboo hisses and steps back.
Tubbo looks at him, but Ranboo’s already gone, leaving in his wake tiny, iridescent dust in the air, and the scent of smoke and gunpowder.
Teeth: To tear, to rip, to eat, to devour. You’ve only barked and attacked your whole life, bitten and torn at the hands that approached you, unable to tell if they were going to feed you or hurt you. Not uncommon for someone who has endured what you have. Sometimes they can turn in on yourself, biting and tearing flesh at every crevice of your being until you can find what’s underneath, to truly know who you are. But you won’t. Teeth always rot and fall out, and when that day comes, you will be weak and defenseless, muzzled and useless. So while you can, look to the cameras and give us a big smile.
Tagged by: @goldreams
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