i'm still here .

MR. MISFORTUNE. ( CH.1 )

The rain poured heavily, marking the tear stained cheeks of the goat. It hid the previous tears of his that marked him, though his tears were now dry. He cried so much, so many tears until he had none left. The rain took his place as he stood in front of his husband's grave, the wet hair of the goat sticking against his face. He breathed in the oxygen, wishing it was the water that could engulf his lungs full. What would he do now that his husband was deceased? He wouldn't want him to sulk, to suffer like this, but how could Tubbo not? Normally he would await the presence of his son, embrace him tightly while the soothing words of ‘ It would be ok ’ could flow through both's mind. But he didn't have anyone to share such lies with. He was alone. And with the wrap of his arms around him, he left the scene, leaving the gloomy mood to take place as the petals from the roses swayed gently in the wind that engraved itself deep into his skull.

Arriving home, the soaked mat moved gently from the steps of Tubbo's boots against the ground reflected his mood. He wanted to stare upward, he wanted to take in the aura in the comfort of his home. But how did you do that? How was that possible when everywhere you looked, your husband, your son, the photos, the memories. . . Stood there. Right there in plain sight for you to see. Part of him loved it. He loved seeing his family, the smiles brightened his day, his mood. They never failed. But now, it was a repeated stab. It was the result of multiple knives curving into his body before he fell to his demise in a pool of his own blood.
The thought of it alone scarred him. He didn't know what was worse. Him dying, or his beloved.

Shuffling into the room, a sense of despair ran down his spine before a shiver. It felt so empty. So many things of Ranboo lay there to stare upon, but none would be moved unless he choose so. But he couldn't do that. It still felt odd to touch his husband's belongings, even though he was deceased.

Crawling into bed, he wrapped the blanket around him, not caring that he was soaking wet and it was going through his pillows and sheets. It wasn't like anyone would complain beside himself if he so decided to do that. All he could do was shut his eyes, feeling as fresh tears gently ran down his pale cheeks and hit the bed. He reached his hand over to the side, making a grasping motion before his hand fell down onto that spot. It felt heavy, but weak. Soft, but sad. He couldn't bare it, and quickly retracted his hand from the premise as he put it underneath his own, shutting his eyes as shaky breaths escaped his lungs. Tubbo fell quiet, and soon fell into a deep sleep and floated away to what he could only hope could be something blissful.