Eburnean.

Seven- Ghostboo

Being a ghost was liberating, freeing even. There was nothing to worry about, no need to care.    

    And it was wonderful. 

    But sometimes being a ghost was terrible. Watching the people who had loved who you once were suffer because you couldn’t remember, you couldn’t be who they needed you to be-

    Well, that hurt a small, insignificant part of you. 

    A part you had maybe forgotten was there. 

    But other than the occasional flood of guilt that ran through you like a hurricane and burned you to your core, being a ghost was good.

    Though, when Tubbo had walked through the door of his house in Snowchester with a tall boy leaning on him, today seemed like it wouldn’t be a good day to be dead. 

    He silently watched as Tubbo dragged a white-haired boy into his bedroom and walked out a minute later, closing the door behind him. 

    “Tubbo!” Ghostboo exclaimed, floating over to Tubbo. Tubbo flinched at Ghostboo’s sudden appearance. 

    “Hello, Ghostboo,” he responded, his eyes tired. 

    “What happened? You look exhausted,” Ghostboo inquired, flipping over and floating upside-down. 

    “Nothing,” Tubbo said, pushing past him and collapsing on the couch in the room across from the one Ghostboo was in. Ghostboo turned back over slowly, his smile slowly turning into a frown. 

    “It doesn’t seem like nothing,” he finally said, following Tubbo. 

    “Don’t worry about it, Ghostboo.” Tubbo grabbed a book laying beside the couch and popped it open, attempting to end the conversation. 

    “You telling me not to worry about something makes me want to worry about it,” Ghostboo argued. 

    “You’re a ghost. There’s no reason for you to worry about anything.” He did have a point. 

    “Fine. I’m curious then.” Tubbo groaned and lowered his book. 

    “You aren’t going to leave me alone, are you?” 

    “Nope,” Ghostboo said simply, flopping onto the couch beside Tubbo. 

    “You’re the absolute worst, you know that?” Tubbo whined, marking his spot in his book before putting it back down. 

    “I believe you’ve said that before, yes.” Tubbo rolled his eyes, clearly already wanting to be done with the conversation. 

    “And you clearly don’t listen,” he muttered. “Alright. You wanna know what happened? Sure, I’ll tell you. But it’s not a fun story.”

    “I’ve learned that most stories aren’t fun anymore.”

    Tubbo remained silent for a minute, thinking over what Ghostboo had just said. 

    “That- is fair,” Tubbo replied after a moment. 

    “So tell me,” Ghostboo pressed, scooting closer to Tubbo. He frowned.

“You’re awfully pushy, have I told you that too?”

“You may have mentioned it.” Ghostboo shrugged. “But you’re changing the subject again. Tell me.”

“Fine, fine,” Tubbo said, running a hand through his fluffy hair. Ghostboo sometimes liked to pat that hair lightly. He knew Tubbo hated it but- 

It made him feel calm. And loved. And safe.