"It seems as though the search for Ranboo's family has been unsuccessful so far," Tubbo says. "His Majesty said that he is free to stay at the palace for as long as he wishes for, and is looking for people to serve him on a permanent basis."
Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose. Majority of the foreign guests have already arrived at the palace, and he is getting sick of dodging their questions about the 'shy young man' lurking around the eastern wing. He was hoping that Ranboo would be out of his hair before the start of the celebrations - how endlessly naïve that was of him.
"For all we know, Ranboo could be an orphan, and this all has been pointless from the very start." Tommy says dryly. The quill in his hand threatens to snap and join a bunch of others already thrown into the trash can. "Or, perhaps, Ranboo is lying about his memory problems to take advantage of His Majesty's kindness."
A crack of lighting runs across the night sky. Candles and lamps flicker, their light momentarily mixing in with a white flash and then it's back to normal again. Tommy listens to the hum of the rain behind the closed windows. He counts six seconds before the thunder comes.
"Ranboo's telling the truth, Your Highness," Tubbo says, in an unexpectedly defensive tone that makes Tommy glance up and frown. "He gets nightmares about his memories- I've seen him afterwards. It's not something that can be faked."
Tommy clenches his fists tighter under the desk. He doesn't know why he'd expected Tubbo to take his side, given how close he and Ranboo had become. Tommy isn't blind. He sees two figures flashing in the corner of his vision, and hears their laughter, so clear and full of life that it hurts . Hurts that he can't remember the last time Tubbo sounded as happy, and that it's not Tommy who he shares his happiness with. It hurts that the moment Tubbo's eyes fall on Tommy, he pretends not to see him and rushes to lead Ranboo away.
"Why are you defending him?"
It's not as much a question as it's a warning. Tubbo deflates, but doesn't look away even as Tommy's eyes bore into him harshly. "Ranboo is nice," he says. "Sure, he might not understand how things work in the palace, but he means no harm."
"No harm?" Tommy laughs bitterly. "Did you even hear the rumors going around about me?"
Tommy thought that he and the Emperor were keeping their tones low enough during their argument, but in the palace, everything has ears: from the paintings on the walls to every bush in the gardens large enough to hide a particularly curious individual. Whatever the original rumor has been, in a span of a week, it was mauled and twisted until everyone was talking about how Emperor scolded the crown-prince like a misbehaving child.
"It wasn't Ranboo's fault that Prince Wilbur stole the credit for your tea party," Tubbo insists.
"And maybe he didn't make me look like a villain in His Majesty's eyes by retelling him of that stupid incident?"
"Ranboo didn't," Tubbo says. "I did."
It takes a moment for Tubbo's words to settle in, and when they do, it feels like lightning had struck him. Suddenly it makes sense why Tubbo looked so guilty during the tea party, and avoided looking into Tommy's eyes afterwards.
The feeling of betrayal digs its claws into Tommy's chest. Tubbo stands before him, his head dipped, shoulders spiking up to his ears, and waits for his next words- but what could Tommy even say ? He thought he was already over that incident, but the anger bubbling in his veins proves otherwise.
"Why?" he grits out.
Tubbo grips his hands in front of himself. "It wasn't right of you to treat Ranboo that way," he says, keeping his tone low. "He didn't deserve it."
"It wasn't right of you to talk about me behind my back!" Tommy stands up, the chair screeching against the floor.
"What other alternative did I have?" Tubbo snaps. "You wouldn't listen to me, you never do."
Tommy feels like shouting. From anger, or frustration, or both - but the way Tubbo looks at him, sad and defeated, makes words die on his tongue. If he starts yelling now, it'll be nearly impossible to stop. Tommy- Tommy doesn't want anyone to overhear their argument and stir up new rumors about him.
(He doesn't want to say anything he might regret later.)
Tommy's jaw clicks shut. "Get out."
Tubbo flinches. "What?"
"You heard me," Tommy says, sitting back down on his chair. "This is no way to treat your prince. Leave now, and don't bother showing up again until you learn to watch your tongue."
Under Tommy's thorny glare, Tubbo cowers. His lips move, but no sound comes out. In the old times, he might've yelled at Tommy - threw a pillow at him, or maybe something heavier - but now he swallows down that anger and avoids the prince's gaze. "I apologize, Your Highness. I overstepped."
Tommy forces himself to look away before Tubbo can get a glimpse of the guilt brewing inside. "You're dismissed," he says.
***
Sleep doesn't come to Tommy that night. He rolls around, trying to find a comfortable position, but normally soft and cozy blankets feel like sandpaper to his skin. Tommy throws them away with a loud groan, and his eyes fall on a nightstand drawer to his left.
He stretches an arm to open it, but hesitates and pulls himself to his feet instead. The key turns in his hand, locking the door with a soft click. Only when Tommy makes sure that the handle doesn't budge does he return to the drawer and pull something fluffy and yellow out of it.
The Imperial family started preparing for Techno and Wilbur's eighteenth birthday a month in advance. Their parents were to present them a pair of purebred foals, brought from Badlands specifically for the occasion. Tommy could've asked for money to buy something similarly expensive, but he wanted his gift to be special, something from Tommy himself, so he got a little bit more creative.
Queen Niki - princess Niki, at the time - was surprised to see Tommy on her doorstep. As soon as the flustered young prince had explained, stuttering, that he wanted to make a surprise for his brothers, she bloomed with a smile and agreed to help. Their knitting lessons were kept a firm secret, and by the end of the month, Tommy's gift was ready.
Truth to be told, it turned out much worse than Tommy hoped for. For one, he only had the time and the patience to finish one of the sweaters. With the stitches all hopelessly crooked and barely giving the fabric any shape, one sleeve noticeably shorter than the other, and a chocolate stain on the back from that one time Tommy thought it'd be a good idea to have a snack while knitting, it was possibly the ugliest article of clothing to ever exist.
Yet, Tommy was so proud , presenting his gift with eyes shining brighter than the icy mountain peaks under the afternoon sun. Techno got one glimpse of the monstrosity that Tommy was trying to shove into his hands and graciously conceded the sweater wholly to his twin. And Wilbur-
Wilbur was delighted . He brushed the soft fabric, tenderly, carefully, like it was pure silk, asking again and again whether it was Tommy who made the sweater. Tommy confirmed, and Wilbur threatened to cry on spot. He didn't, and instead, he pulled the sweater over his head and announced that he's never going to put it off again.
Their parents were amused when they saw Wilbur. He marched through the corridors, Tommy trailing him with his chest puffed up and his head raised high. The nobles threw weird glances at the crown-prince when he showed up wearing the same sweater on the celebratory banquet. People genuinely wondered if Wilbur found it in a dumpster, or wrapped a thorn blanket around his shoulders - but Wilbur didn't care, because it was Tommy, his baby brother, who made it.
For three years of Wilbur's absence, his room remained almost untouched, frozen on that fateful day he decided to leave the palace. Tommy visited the room often, and every little detail bore sharply into his memory: a coin, covered in dust, glinting dull gold from where it was dropped under the window; paintings thrown down from the walls, their frames cracked in half; but most importantly, a yellow sweater discarded on the bed.
Tommy still remembers that night - exactly three weeks into Wilbur's disappearance. Without the Empress' ever-calming, but stern presence, and with the Emperor too busy trying to keep the country from falling apart, nobles hardly cared to watch their tongues. They were afraid of Techno, but Tommy's presence wasn't acknowledged at all, and it was only a matter of time before he started listening closely to their whispered words.
"My servant's brother works at the docks. Prince Wilbur was seen there, bribing a foreign captain to take him aboard -"
"They say that the ship crashed in a storm."
"-a disgrace, to die as a runaway traitor."
"The Emperor should disown him, while he is still not officially declared dead. That will save the Imperial family's reputation."
"He got what was coming for him -"
Tommy didn't listen to them much longer. He started shouting; screeching on top of his lungs as he demanded all of them to shut up , Wilbur will be back, he wouldn't abandon me. Some people laughed and pointed fingers. Others looked at him with pity, and Tommy wasn't sure whether it hurt less or more.
He ran away, unseen and unheard, tears spilling from his eyes. Tommy cried and wept and sobbed, lost in his grief and sorrow. He wanted to be left alone; wanted for the whole world to disappear if only it meant that he'll get his brother back- and in a way, his wish came true, because Techno peeked out of Wilbur's room.
Tommy didn't think twice before throwing himself into Techno's arms. At that point, he was in full-on hysterics, not a single coherent thought but only a growing crack in his very heart and soul. Techo made a noise of surprise that turned into something sad and wounded as he scooped Tommy up into his arms and carried him inside.
When Tommy ran away from the gallery, it was noon, but when he finally started coming back to his senses, the sky outside already turned black. He found himself tucked under Techno's chin, the two of them sitting in silent darkness. It took Tommy a while to realize that he was pressing Wilbur's sweater to his chest in one hand while the other one had a deathly grip on Techno's arm. It must've been downright painful with how deep Tommy's nails dug into it; but Techno didn't say a word, only rubbed soothing circles into Tommy's back.
Tommy should've let go, but couldn't bring himself to. He believed, with that childish sort of hope, that as long as he keeps on holding, nothing bad can happen to either of them. That maybe, just maybe , it'll be enough to stop Techno from leaving like Wilbur did.
"Do you think that Wilbur's going to be alright?" Tommy muttered.
For a long moment, Techno didn't respond. When he talked, his voice wavered, to the degree Tommy was barely able to make out of the words. "I like to think so."
Something wet dripped from Techno's face and onto Tommy's cheek. Techno's crying, he realized, and that thought was more startling than any lightning could ever be. His eyes, tired and swollen, peered into Tommy's lost expression and the only indication that something was wrong were the tears flowing down to his chin and his hoarse ragged breathing.
It was then that Tommy thought how much worse it's been for Techno. He and Wilbur might've been close, but Wilbur is Techno's twin. When it was them three, Tommy was always the third wheel, the less fitting, extra , and that was part of the reason he used to cling to Mother so much.
When she died, part of Tommy died too. And now Techno was going through the same thing. They were both broken halves of something else, of something more - and now, left adrift and alone, they had no other choice but to try and see if their edges would fit.
"I'm not Wilbur," Techno said. His hand brushed the back of Tommy's neck. With his skin covered in healing scars from training, scratchy and tough, Techno's touch wasn't as soft or gentle as Wilbur's, but in his embrace, Tommy felt warm and safe.
Tommy hugged Techno tighter. "You don't have to be."
When Tommy closes his eyes, he is in his own room again. Techno is gone and the only reminder of the memory that just replayed in his mind is the sweater he buries his nose into. It's been six years since he had carried it out of Wilbur's room and hid it away in a drawer that none of the servants are allowed to touch. If there is any smell left on the worn yellow fabric, it'd be dust and Tommy's own sweat.
Another lightning momentarily breaks the darkness of the world outside. On the balcony, a winged shade lands. Tommy leaps to his feet and throws the door open just as the thunder explodes in his ears.
"Prince!"
The bird squawks out a greeting, shivering. He looks almost guilty as Tommy rushes to him with a noise of worry. "Did your owner send you in this weather?!"
During the five seconds Tommy grabs the bird and carries him inside, the rain soaks his hair and clothes wet. He can only imagine how cold and exhausted Prince must be. Tommy looks around in search of something to wrap him in and his eyes fall on the sweater on the bed.
There is a slightest moment of hesitation - a step aside, his fingers curling and uncurling - but then Prince sneezes, and Tommy hurries to put the sweater on him. Prince tilts his head, his eyes wide, as his head is pulled over the neck hole.
"Squawk?"
"It fits you better than it did Wilbur," Tommy reassures, setting the bird down in front of the burning hearth, build-in into the far wall of the room. Tommy throws a few more logs into it, belatedly realizing that his own feet are freezing from walking out on the wet marble just a few minutes ago.
That's how they both end bundled up in blankets. Tommy sits on a thick rug with his legs stretched towards the fire, and Prince dozes in his hands. Tommy rubs his feathers until they are completely dry, and only then reaches for the note attached to his leg.
Shall we make a bet? The first
one to find the other wins.
Tommy puts Prince down, bundled up in the sweater. He tries his best not to wake him up, but the parrot still cracks an eye open and yawns. Tommy can't stop his face from melting into a smile.
"I'm going to write a reply," he says, standing up. The blanket, too long and heavy, drags behind him like one of Techno's capes. Tommy picks up a paper, and thinks for a moment about his answer.
What would we bet on?
Prince manages to wiggle out of the sweater. He flies through the room and lands on Tommy's shoulder, peering up close to the desk as if trying to read his reply. Stretching his leg, Prince looks like he's suggesting Tommy to tie the note to it.
Tommy throws a glance over his shoulder. The rain is still lashing against the windows. Tommy wouldn't forgive himself if he let Prince outside and the parrot got sick or lost.
"I can't let you out while it's still raining," he says. "You can stay the night here, and then I'll send you back in the morning- Hey!"
Prince fluffs up his feathers and snatches the note out of Tommy's hand. Tommy yelps and tries to grab it back, but the parrot is surprisingly fast. In a blink, he is near the window. Tommy almost gets a heart attack, assured that Prince will escape, until he sees him lunging at the handle uselessly with a noise of frustration growling in his throat.
"That is, my friend, what thumbs are for," Tommy says, sliding up a chair to him.
If birds can look unimpressed, then this one certainly does. Prince hops up on Tommy's shoulder and picks on his hair with his beak.
"You're ruining my haircut!" Tommy pouts.
Prince lets out a parrot equivalent of evil laughter. Tommy reaches to rub the parrot's neck. Prince puts his beak on top of Tommy's head with a contended trill, and his mind turns into a mush of soft coos and unshed tears of tenderness.
Animals are easy to get attached to, and in the long list of all the animals Tommy has ever cared for, Prince races to get to the top place. Just less than a month ago, he couldn't have imagined of meeting a bird this smart and empathetic, let alone making friends with it. With the tension that the past few weeks have brought into Tommy's life, Prince's visits are a relief, short breaks that allow him to catch a breath and give him something to look forward to.
"I wish I had a bird like you," Tommy sighs. "Maybe I can try searching for a similar species on the market, or buy myself a fledgling to raise."
Prince doesn't like that idea. Tommy knows it when his ear gets bitten, not hard enough to bleed but enough for the point to get across. "You're right. They still won't be like you. Besides, it's not like I've got a lot of spare time to spend on a pet."
He is alright with this: Prince visiting him from time to time, and maybe staying for the night like today. He goes to the wardrobe to change into something dry and more comfortable, and when he returns, he finds the bird on the bed, sitting on a pillow with his wings folded.
Tommy lies down, bringing the blankets half-way up. He pats on the space between himself and the pillow, suggesting Prince to come closer. The parrot tilts his head and unceremoniously climbs up on Tommy's chest.
"Only cats are allowed to do that. You're not a cat, and you're too fat," Tommy shoves Prince off. The parrot rolls over and stays lying on his back, his feet pointing up comically. "Quiet playing dead, too, I can see you breathing."
Despite his scolding, Tommy's lips tug up. Prince finally settles down, curled up into an adorable ball next to his shoulder. Somewhere along the process of Tommy petting his head and the parrot cooing back, both of them fall into the gentle embrace of sleep.
***
When Tommy wakes up, Prince perches on the frame of the open window. The rain has stopped, but its smell stays in the morning air that flows into the room and bites at Tommy's face with coldness. Still sleepy, and eyes not quite agreeing to open yet, the crown-prince stumbles over to the parrot.
"You're back already?" he asks, rubbing Prince's neck.
Prince looks smug, his feathers fluffed up and eyes full of triumph - proud of opening the window, Tommy guesses - and a new note tied to his leg.
Prince shall be the prize.
Tommy glances up. "Your owner wants to offer you?"
Prince blinks at him. In brighter lightning, the color of his eyes seems closer to grass than emerald. Tommy stretches an arm, and Prince hops onto it, flapping his wings, and doesn't protest as a gentle hand brushes soft feathers on his back. If Prince was Tommy's, he would never even think about letting him go. Then why is his owner so ready to hand him over a simple bet?
Tommy does want to have Prince. He said it just yesterday in front of the parrot himself. But the idea of revealing his name to his pen pal doesn't appeal to him at all. The whole reason Tommy started responding to the letters was that he and Prince's owner are strangers; he felt comfortable knowing that the author keeps answering not because of his status but for the sole purpose of talking to him. The moment they learn each other's names, this simple relationship will turn into an exchange of empty formalities, if it will continue existing at all.
"Shall we lie to your owner?" Tommy winks at Prince, picking up a quill. Prince makes a choked sound that turns into wheezing laughter as he takes a peek at Tommy's note.
Hint. I'm a woman.