the band-aids are in the left cabinet

Chapter 13

tommy likes to sing when he's cooking. he hums and does little dances as he tosses mushrooms into a pot of boiling water, ready to be made into soup. he twirls around as if he's completely carefree. it's different than what ranboo was like while cooking, but a good different, because it's, somehow, exactly the same.

michael sits at the head of the table in his high chair, babbling happily, and tommy talks back with nonsense words.

tubbo smiles as he shrugs his coat on. he loves his family, despite it being considerably smaller than it was three months ago. "i'm going out!" he calls over his shoulder as he opens the front door.

"be back before dinner, dipshit!" tommy yells after him, and michael does a very vague impression of his words.

"don't teach michael swears while i'm gone!"

"fuck off, die!"

tubbo laughs as he leaves the house, closing the door behind him. the cold bites at the tip of his nose, and he smiles. despite everything, this is a good day. (even if it is a good day, there's still a familiar hollow ache in his chest. he's grown accustomed to it. it doesn't get better, but it's gotten more bearable. just like it always does.)

he trudges through the snow, letting the crunch of his boots lull him into a sort of peacefulness. he can appreciate the quiet, even if he fucking hates it. but the snow sounds nice and crunchy.

he's memorized the way to ranboo's grave just from how many times he's made the walk. he passes through the short woods, and finds the hill where the grave is, standing at the top.

ghostboo is right next to it.

tubbo feels his muscles tense at the sight of the ghost. he's still fucking angry. he's so angry.

he walks up the hill and stands beside ghostboo. the silence is deafening, expectant.

ghostboo is the first one to end up speaking. "i feel bad," he says. hearing ranboo's voice out of the ghost is still jarring; it's awful. "i feel... bad. because you're angry. and i feel like i'm supposed to feel something for you, but i can't. i feel bad."

tubbo doesn't know what to say.

"i do care about you. i think i do, at least," ghostboo doesn't move. the cloth wrapped around him sways in the breeze. he smells like metal. "and michael. i feel like i care about you, but not in the way he did."

"he being ranboo?" tubbo guesses.

ghostboo nods. he doesn't say anything else.

they stand in silence looking at ranboo's grave. tubbo wonders what it must be like to look at one's own grave.

"i think i'm angry," tubbo starts carefully. he doesn't know what to say. 'my therapist says to start by being honest and then see where you go from there,' is what tommy would say. so tubbo decides he'll take his advice. "not at you. i think i'm just... angry. and sad. i miss y- ranboo. i miss him."

the following silence is more open. then ghostboo takes a shaky breath, and says "i don't."

tubbo doesn't know what he was expecting the ghost to say, but that certainly wasn't it. looking back on it, he isn't really shocked. ghostboo doesn't seem to really like ranboo, which is bullshit.

"but i... i think i miss being alive," ghostboo continues after a long moment. "i miss being that person, even if i didn't particularly like him all that much. but, y'know. nothing i can do!" he laughs. it sounds hollow.

once again, silence falls. tubbo looks up at ghostboo, who's still staring blankly at ranboo's gravestone. he looks to see anything, a single trace of ranboo in this... this new person.

but of course, he finds nothing.

he takes ghostboo's hand, giving it two squeezes. i loved you, he thinks, hoping the message gets across. he doesn't want to say it. saying it would hurt. i still love you. i don't think i'll ever stop.

ghostboo finally moves, turning his head to look at tubbo. his eyes are obscured. maybe it's for the best. maybe all of this is for the best.

he squeezes tubbo's hand back, and tubbo knows he understands.