The Memories Within the Walls [Discontinued]

To Be Remembered

In all honesty, Tommy was scared.

Despite the way he puffed up his chest, despite the words he hid behind, the younger couldn't help but feel terrified. The thought of someone in the room with them, watching their every move without their knowledge sent shivers up his spine and made him dig his nails into the palm of his hand.

This place was supposed to be a comfort, a paradise for the boys to wreak havoc without affecting the natural balance of the universe. This place was supposed to provide them a moment of peace away from their lives that would soon change; college and careers were what was waiting for them on the other side of this purgatory, this in-between of boys and men. But the knowledge of another, someone who wasn't supposed to be present in the home made just for the two of them; It destroyed whatever bits of calm that they had tried to make for themselves, and brought with it the stress that the two desperately tried to leave behind.

He thought he hid it well underneath his stiff posture and confident air, thought his wide smiles could provide comfort to his friend when it couldn't for himself. But Tubbo was observant, more than he let on, when he softly suggested:

"Maybe I could call father? Ask him to pick us up early?"

"No!" The alarm was apparent on Tommy's face as he spun around with wide eyes. "Tubbo, definitely not. Definitely not that."

"There will be other weeks Tommy."

"But how long?" He argued. "How long until there's another day where both of us are--" He waved his hands, gesturing to the house around them. "It might be a few years until we get to hang out again, like this."

"Like what?"

As boys.

He grinned.

"Like men."

Tubbo laughed, his spirits brightening the atmosphere and lightening the mood. And for a moment, it was as if it were just a game, as if they were still young children playing pretend. The monster, a joined figment of their imagination. The danger, falsified by their ingrained paranoia and lack of understanding of the world around them.

But then they reached the door that was left ajar, and that dread came back like a wave, pulling him down into an ocean of anxiety and leaving his hand hovering over the knob, suddenly afraid.

But one glance at his best friend -- who looked at him with concern laced within his fear -- gave Tommy the confidence, the last boost he needed to push the door open and step inside.

For the most part, it was the same as he had seen it only a few hours before.

Two twin beds, parted to their respective corners of the room. A large green backpack sitting by one, with a similar red pack lay on the other, its contents sprawling out over the unmade sheets and blankets underneath it. On either side of the room sat their own luggage bags, identical save for its contents.

Other than Tommy -- who took a tentative step into the small space -- it was empty of people.

"Did you find anything?" Tubbo asked, peeking in as Tommy got on the ground and searched under the beds.

"Nope." He sighed nonchalantly, though his heart only beat harder. "Maybe check the closet?"

"Maybe he left?" The other suggested hopefully, and Tommy couldn't help but hope for the same. "Maybe it really was just my imagination..."

"D'you remember what he did when you saw him?" The younger asked as the elder opened the untouched door and peered into the small space it defended.

"Well, yeah!" Tubbo responded, his smile audible at such a strange and obvious question. "I was..."

The sudden trail-off peaked Tommy's attention as he looked back up at his friend, who stood very still, his hand holding the knob like a lifeline.

"What is it, Tubbo?"

"I--" He turned, and Tommy could see a strange realization dawn on him as he scanned the room, eyes darting from the floor to the covers, to the beds and luggage, and then finally, the corner. "It's... not here."

"What's not here?"

But he didn't respond, his body moving as if automatically, arms reaching for blankets and strewn clothes and messy jackets. Pulling up mattresses, a bee pillow, looking under bed frames. It was as if a manic feverish energy had suddenly entered his body, and refused to let go.

"Tubbo?" Tommy took a step towards his friend, worry flooding him more than any fear ever could. But the one who always listened, who was always the order to offset his chaos. His mind didn't seem to have room for noise, didn't have the peace for order. His hands grabbed for anything, dragging them away to uncover whatever they held underneath.

"Tubbo," The chaotic, fearless boy laughed nervously, taking another step. "What's--"

And the boy turned once more, revealing wide eyes and parted lips, gears turning in his mind but never quite getting to their destination. To Tommy, he seemed distant -- or more distant than usual -- unattached to the reality of the present and clinging onto thoughts and memories.

"The guitar, Tommy." Was all he said.

"What guitar, Tubbo?" Tommy smiled, trying desperately to hide his terror. "I didn't bring a guitar."

"Yeah, and I didn't... either."

They stared at each other for a moment, both confused and fearful, but both for completely different reasons.

Then it dawned on him.

"You had a guitar." He burst out, pointing at his friend as the realization hit him. "You... That's how you played Wilbur's..."

Tubbo didn't speak. But that was confirmation enough.

Tommy wanted to laugh. He could feel it bubble in his chest, the beginnings of a hysteria.

"This is like..." His mouth tried to find the words, tongue slipping over syllables, skimming over the possibilities. For once, his language had failed him. "So... incredibly... weird!"

"Tommy, this is serious!"

"And I am being very serious, Tubbo." His grin felt too wide. Too forced. Too false. "A magic guitar that disappears? A magic man that disappears?"

"There's no magic and he didn't disappear--"

"Well, it's not like he can just be gone, right?" The boy could feel himself grasping at straws for the mere semblance of comfort. "There's nowhere for him to go..."

"What," His friend stared at him like he'd gone mad. "Like you mean he's a ghost?"

It was clearly said as a joke, as a throwaway line. A word not to be taken seriously in a world where such things didn't logically exist. But these boys -- like all children their age -- were anything far from logical, and knowing this, Tommy jumped on with an easy smile.

"Yeah! Of course." He laughed, as if it were obvious. "What you saw was a ghost, and... you know, that obviously means the house is haunted!"

"That doesn't..." The corners of Tubbo's mouth edged its way into a frown.

"We can hold one of those... ghost things! Tubbo, come on. It'll be fun!"

The other seemed to want to protest. Wanted to argue that now was not the time to think about something as ridiculous as the supernatural, that now was instead the time to be worrying about the intruder, the man who could very easily be watching them at that moment...

But their eyes locked, and whatever he was going to say seemed to die in his throat, as the message passed between them.

That it might as well be their last day in the cabin anyways.

That the intruder might be listening to them.

That if they're leaving, they might as well go out with a bang.

Tubbo mimicked Tommy's grin as easily as if it were true.

"Where do we start?"