absence | bench trio (lore)

five

Tubbo woke up to the sound of a crackling fire and the itchy yet soft feeling of the sofa on his skin. The horned boy groaned, shifting a bit, only to feel aching throughout his whole body. He flinched and slowly opened his heavy eyelids. On the armchair next to him was Jack Manifold, who was running his hands over his face and through the little hair he had as he tried to catch his breath. Tubbo's fingers were frostbitten and stung from the cold, but he held them closer to the fire anyway.

He had been in and out of consciousness, and his brain wasn't comprehending anything that it had been informed. Like it refused to register anything in case it connected to what he was trying to avoid thinking about. Was Tubbo a coward, avoiding his inevitable traumas?

Probably, but he didn't really care anymore.

 Tubbo's breathing was shallow and he was really, really cold. Jack was muttering something to him, along the lines of "You bee-obsessed b-tch, this is what I get for helping you and your little friends... pneumonia..." but it was incoherent and echoey, so Tubbo just sniffled and turned over, looking around thoughtlessly. He gazed at the glowing fireplace, the dusty bookshelf with coloring books and random journals filled with scribbled notes, and then the side table. On it was a lamp and the picture album Ranboo had put together. It was left open on a page with a photo of three joyful boys, lined up on a bench. Grins were painted across their faces and they all looked very different.

Tommy had bright blue eyes that sparked with spunk and joy, rather than the dull grey they displayed now. His hair was a little shorter and didn't get in his eyes as much. Tubbo looked happy when he smiled, unlike he did now- whenever Tubbo smiled, he felt drained, like it had cost him a lot of energy. And Ranboo- Tubbo couldn't put his finger on it, but Ranboo had changed the most. The most noticeable change sometimes isn't identifiable.

He suddenly felt angry. Like he had the day Jack had met him at the bench. Recently, small outbursts of anger would come and go, but even worse, whoever he took it out on, he would feel too stubborn to apologize to once it was over.

So naive.

He once saw nostalgia and memories in their smiles, now he saw idiocy.

Their stupid smiles. Their stupid, stupid smiles. Suddenly, memories came flooding back quicker than Tubbo could handle- when Ranboo had met Michael, when Tubbo had ran to Tommy after exile and practically strangled him, apologizing and crying. When he and Ranboo had a pleasant little picnic, when he and Tommy had literally dealt drugs together (that is true friendship). They had been through thick and thin, prevented and caused so much- so why couldn't they prevent any of this?

Why hadn't they even tried to prevent any of it?

Then, despite his efforts contradicting it, Tubbo remembered what had happened only about a half hour ago. His husband had tried to murder him. Tubbo almost laughed. He really was delusional, wasn't he? Ranboo had been going to the panic room and had tried to kill him, and Tommy had died then come back and now they felt like they barely even knew each other. Tubbo let out a sad scoff.

Yeah, maybe they could've prevented it.

But Tubbo couldn't go back now, and at this point, he was just coasting through the sporadic rollercoaster that someone had labeled life. Not living, just existing. Tubbo had nothing to lose, and for the first time in a while, he was completely content with that.

But a boy with nothing to lose is a dangerous one.

-

About ten minutes of Tubbo lying on the sofa, thinking, had gone by before he eventually got bored and sat up. Jack jumped, slightly startled. "You're awake!" He exclaimed. Tubbo felt another angry outburst coming, but he tried to hold back. He resisted it to only an eyeroll.