the band-aids are in the left cabinet

Chapter 7

"bee, where boo?"

tubbo stops breathing. he's been dreading this conversation. "boo is... taking a trip. somewhere very far away."

michael tilts his head to the side, curious as ever, eye wide and innocent. "why?"

oh, and if that isn't a winning question.

why?

why is ranboo gone? why did he have to leave? why isn't he coming back? why, why, why?

tubbo doesn't know.

"i don't know."

"when he comin' back?"

and tubbo very nearly cries. michael doesn't deserve this, he deserves a good childhood, and that opportunity is just... gone. and he can't get it back.

why?

why, why, why?

"mike, kiddo," tubbo takes a breath. "ranboo isn't coming back."

michael blinks his good eye. "can he come back so i can say goodbye?"

oh. fucking hell.

"mikey, i think we need to talk about something important. ok?"

"ok!"

"promise you won't cry?"

"p'omise!"

michael doesn't cry. tubbo doesn't think he even understands what's happened. maybe he will grow up and forget about ranboo. maybe he can learn to live with that.

tubbo wishes he could do the same, sometimes.

michael has to tag along everywhere, now that ranboo isn't able to be home and take care of him. it's kind of exhausting, but michael seems happy at least. that's all that matters.

he and tommy are lying in the grass while michael wanders around and picks stray dandelions.

"don't go too far!" tubbo calls after him. he watches as his son toddles through the grass, holding a small handful of yellow flowers. then he flops backwards and groans pathetically. "god, i'm so tired."

tommy snickers. "the dad-life treating you well, big man?"

"tommy i'm dying. save me. this is the end."

"oh, shut up," tommy rolls his eyes. "you're so dramatic. you should stop that."

michael runs back to them and drops dandelions in a pile. then he runs off yet again, arms out to the side to help him keep balance. he's getting so big.

maybe having a child is fulfilling. huh. who knew?

tubbo smiles. "ranboo was the one who decided we keep michael with us, y'know," he says. he doesn't know why he's being open. maybe it's a mixture of tiredness, the atmosphere, or the yellow dandelions resting in a pile. "he said it would be a good life experience, something to bring us closer together. start a family."

tommy wrinkles his nose. "you never wanted that."

"i didn't."

"then why did you agree? kids are annoying."

tubbo snorts. "first of all, fuck you, my son is perfect," he sighs. "i didn't want it. but, i think ranboo was right."

"but... you didn't want that. i still don't really get why you agreed."

the answer is simple. it's so simple it almost seems foolish. "because i loved him. he was my best friend, man, of course i wanted to make him happy. and he was right. we were a family."

tommy is silent for a moment.

and then; "you miss him?"

"of course," tubbo replies. i miss him so much it feels like i'm going to die.

silence falls through the fields. michael brings back another small handful of dandelions and adds them to the pile. he collapses on tubbo's chest and closes his eye, curling up to sleep, presumably. tubbo will have to carry him home. he doesn't mind, not really.

"you don't cry," tommy remarks, probably aiming to keep his tone light. it doesn't work very well. "that's pretty concerning, man. my therapist says crying is good for you, and it's kindar not pogchamp that you don't cry."

tubbo hates his stupid friend a lot of the time. he's so weird. it's perfect. he's perfect.

"you're weird," he voices his thoughts aloud. he doesn't say that he feels like crying would be stupid. it won't do anything.

plus it kinda hurts his bad eye whenever he cries, what with his face being fucked beyond repair and all. but he'll just assume tommy knows that already.