If the brunette was being honest...part of him felt as if his heart was breaking all over again. It was a stupid thing to admit, of course, considering that he had broken up with Ranboo...God, it was years ago. So long ago...too long ago. Such an insignificant moment in time, and yet now it seemed like the only moment that mattered. It felt as if he was reliving everything...as if he had been cast back in his bedroom on that fateful day. Tubbo sighed. Such trivial things seemed so...significant. In a sense, none of it mattered; after all, the brunette lost nothing from not being able to catch up to his ex-boyfriend. After all...he had lost him the day they had broken up.
What would he have even gained by catching up to him? What would he have even said? Thinking about it even now, Tubbo had no clue what he could have possibly mustered. Surely a simple hello wouldn't have done any of the context justice. How does someone even walk up to the person's whose heart they surely broke so long ago, only to give a hello and ask how their day was? The situation was almost laughable. And even then, there was no proper way to approach the situation. It was the next best thing to a suicide mission. And surely Ranboo was over the whole ordeal regardless. Why shouldn't he be? A boy breaks his heart years ago...that seems like the kind of situation where a person should find it in themselves to quickly move on. Surely the blonde had moved on to better people...he was probably returning home to a loving spouse. Ranboo had just been unfortunate enough to stumble across Tubbo that day.
The brunette sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling of Tommy's apartment, listening to the faint bubbling of water boiling from the kitchen, likely simmering and spilling over the top. Not the soothing background noise that Tubbo needed, but he would take what he could get. Maybe this was a sign that he needed to...fully get over it. After all, there was no reason for the mere sight of his ex-boyfriend from high school to elicit such a reaction. Hell, the brunette had raced across the Brooklyn Bridge at the very thought of being able to have a conversation with Ranboo, one that wouldn't even lead him anywhere. It was stupid, all of this was stupid. The concept, the background, even Tubbo himself. Pointless.
"What kind of pasta do you want?" Tommy called from the kitchen, humming to himself.
The brunette sighed.
"I dunno," he returned, shrugging his shoulders as if the blonde would see him. "Aren't they all the same thing, just different shapes?"
"Well, if you're in the mood for ruining whatever it is you're wearing," his friend prompted, "then you might want to go the spaghetti route. If you want to keep your white shirt in-tact, then maybe something else would be better. I have like, the...the fuckin elbow pastas. The swirly ones too, those are cool."
The brunette chuckled, despite himself. "Spaghetti sounds nice," he admitted, tilting his head back a bit so he was speaking toward the kitchen. Tubbo's smile soon faded, however, once the conversation was over, where he was left to only his thoughts. He paused, pursing his lips, a churning feeling in his stomach. Part of him felt like he was going to be sick.
"You wouldn't believe how Wilbur is making me bust my ass at the office," Tommy announced from the kitchen, his voice growing closer. It was obvious he was coming over to the living room. "He was on my ass until the afternoon about how I was late this morning, and he was insisting that I stay later, which is the most bullshit I think I've heard in my entire life. He's basically just sucking his own dick at this point, I swear to-" his voice trailed off as he finally reached the living room, noticing his friend laying on the couch, obviously upset.
"Woah, are you okay?" the blonde questioned hesitantly, walking over to go sit on the arm of the sofa, pursing his lips together tightly. Tubbo didn't answer, instead shrugging his shoulders. "Dude, I know when you're not okay."
