How is Tommy? Quackity had asked. Please, you room with him. Just tell us how he is.
In short, the answer was not good. Tubbo thinks that anyone could tell. Someone who's never even seen or talked to Tommy before could tell.
He comes in late and leaves early, and if Tubbo thought he was quiet before, that was nothing compared to now. He seems- shell-like. Like he's a carved out hollow of a person. He orders salads up to his room for dinner, and they would be the only way they knew he was eating, if he actually ate any of them.
But no, he orders them and they sit on his side table as he lays there, on the bed. Tubbo is way out of his depth- he had no idea how to help when he doesn't know what even went wrong.
He urges Ranboo on, pleads with him to try something, because Ranboo is the most delicate person that Tubbo knows and if Tommy needs emotional assistance, then Ranboo would be the one to help. Of course, Ranboo tries. He wouldn't not.
He goes over and sits at the edge of Tommy's bed, reaches out and touches Tommy's leg. He asks, hey Tommy, your salad is here- if you wanted to eat it? We could bring our dinner up here and have it with you? But no, nothing.
There's no response, and eventually they have to leave to eat. By the time they come back he's either always gone or his eyes are shut like he's chasing sleep.
How is Tommy? Quackity asked. Tommy is depleted. He's worse than frozen- Tubbo has no idea what he is. All he knows is that he hates it and he hates even more that he can't help.
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icing those hurt
Ficción GeneralTommy's made it to the Olympics for figure skating- he's the youngest contestant on the ice and he's the favor for the gold. He's supposed to be living the dream. So why is he still so unhappy? And why do all these hockey players and snowboarders ca...
