Piece by piece to love | Sleepy bois inc

Chapter 4: Sleepy song

There was a loud crash as Tubbo woke up soaking with sweat. That dream… That…  he hid his face in his hands as tears were running down his cheeks. There was a fire surrounding him, eating away his skin to the bone as he looked at it crying, unable to move. He was so scared, it looked so real… He hugged his plush bee tightly, trying to calm down, but it wasn't working. Finally he decided to go for a walk or even go outside to breath in some fresh, cold air of thunder. His legs were still shaking as he walked down the stairs and walked towards the entrance. Rain was falling, smell of ozone filling the air. But it wasn’t enough to calm his nerves so he came back inside. Much to his surprise on the table in the living room was standing a glass of milk and some cookies that they bought. He had no idea where did they came from, but it was nice. Very nice in that situation. He curled his legs, hugging one of the pillows and slowly started eating.

Phil looked at the shaken boy, sad that he couldn’t do anything more for him. Poor thing was shaken, he had heard him screaming in sleep. He hated seeing him in such a state. If he could he would hug him and stroke his hair, be with him until he would fall back asleep. But now he could only sit beside him, watching over him and waiting. But then he heard something. Something on the upper floor.

Someone was playing a guitar. Sweet, soft melody, that slowly was calming the boy’s nerves. Slowly his eyes started to fog, as eyelids became heavier and heavier. Soon Tubbo was sleeping soundly, curled up in the corner of the sofa. Only a voice, a little hoarse, manly voice stayed in his memory accompanying the guitar.

He knew that song. An old lullaby that he onced heard. Where? Why? He had no idea. But he knew the lyrics.

D̵̛̘͕o̵͙̭͝ẉ̵̒n̴̨̘͈̆̀̾ ̷͇̲̍̑͜͝i̷̮͔͉͐̑̓ñ̴̘̓ ̵͈́t̷̢̏̿͠ĥ̵̹͝e̴̜͖͍͘ ̶̰̓v̸̝͋a̴̳̝̰͘l̸̛̙̙̀̋ľ̶̳͚̫e̶̯̭͘y̸̢̚͠͠,̷̭̖͙̾̒͝ ̴̣̏v̷̲̘͓́͊́a̶͙͖͑̃͘l̵̡͔̖̔̓͝l̷͈̂͊̈ē̶͈͇̣͌͠y̸̩͈̦͑̓̚ ̷̺͐͌͝s̵͕͐ơ̶͇̖̗ ̵̻͕̦̍̚͠ļ̶̝̲͗͘o̷̘͇̔͑ẃ̴̰̮̃̇

His voice still wasn’t the best, but singing seemed to put the boy at ease even more. And it was such a lovely song… it made him feel warm, reminding him of something. If he only knew what that was…

Ȟ̸̜̗̚ă̶̟̓n̶͈̹͊̏ĝ̷͔͆ ̷̹̊y̷͙̿͝ò̵̳͉̓u̷͕̅͘r̸̻̘̚ ̵̹͖̆h̸̩̍e̶̱̓ǎ̶̻͔d̷͍̂ ̴͖͔͗o̷͔̰̎v̸͎̈́̕ͅe̴͕̰͗̌ṟ̴̨̋͊,̷̘͎͂ ̵͕̞̂h̵̩̿̇e̴̗̋̆a̸̤͘r̷͉̪͐ ̴͚̑ț̴̑̅ͅḫ̸͊̕ẹ̴̀ ̷̞͂w̴̯̌i̵̫͛n̷̘͌d̵͚̆͂ ̶̳̅̿b̷̺͉̑́l̶͍͐̏o̴̱̾w̴̠̅

He remembered that he had a blanket in his room on his bed. He won’t be using any time soon so he could as well bring it here for the boy. It was a big, warm blanket, well loved through the years of usage. Should be perfect to cover him and keep warm. But when he was passing next to the stairs he noticed something. On top of them was sitting a boy, a young man with a plush bee in his arms. Strangely he had an open mouth, but instead of singing, he made sounds of a guitar. It was him who was playing that sweet music. When he saw Phil, he smiled and tossed plushie towards him, gesturing something. And then he simply walked away, continuing playing his lullaby. Phil couldn’t help not looking after him as the man remained him of someone. Someone… important. Yes, VERY important. But where had he seen him?

Then it struck him.

He rushed into his room and once again looked at the photograph. He was right there, next to him. He looked different, but haven’t Phil? He was no longer human, why would he look like one? But it was him. His son. His little ray of sunshine, biggest talent on Earth. But now he was only a ghost roaming around the second floor, a shadow of the musician he used to be before. Why did that happen? Why couldn’t he live and grow old? What had his sons done to deserve that fate? If only he could remember. He had no idea even how he himself died. Why was he a ghost?

He clenched the soft bee tighter, suddenly reminding himself of it. Of course… he was here to bring a blanket for Tubbo. Poor boy must be cold. He carefully gathered soft material, careful for it not to fall through his hands. It wouldn’t do any damage fortunately but it was still frustrating. Surprisingly it was a little easier to carry than it would have been a couple of days before. Since boys discovered his hat, moving bigger objects wasn't as hard as it used to be. Nothing was as hard as it used to be. But he couldn’t complain. He just had to be careful not to scare them with badly timed movement or flickering lights. This god damn electricity was too sensitive for paranormal activity, much to his dislike.

He carefully covered the boy, tucking him in and gently pretending to stroke his hair. What a pity his hand went through it… But the boy smiled softly, hugging his bee tighter. This sight also filled Philza with warmth and love. He knew he had memories like that, he just didn’t remember them exactly. They must have been from when he used to tuck his boys to bed. Maybe he would also sing them lullabies?

He walked to the stairs, hopeful to see that boy again. Sadly, he wasn’t there and guitar sounds were coming from further into the house. He was probably sitting in his room, looking at his real guitar. Wonder why he wasn’t playing it? Maybe a string was broken? It would break the poor boy’s heart. But Phil could do nothing about it. Not only he couldn’t even walk there, he wouldn’t be able to fix it. It was also possible that his son just wasn’t able to lift it… it was a rather big object after all.

When Tubbo woke up, he couldn’t exactly remember why he was sleeping downstairs. He remembered two things: a guitar and a manly voice. And it wasn’t Tommy’s voice. He slowly sat up, cringing as he had to leave his warm blanket. It was so nice under there… He decided to wrap it around him as he made his way back to the second floor. Tommy was still asleep, snoring quietly, twisted in some weird pose that Tubbo had no idea it was possible. But there was no guitar in sight. But then he reminded himself of that one room, fully decorated in music sheets. Door wasn’t fully locked so he slowly peaked inside: just as he remembered music was a main theme for decorations. Music sheets, album covers or music band’s posters. The instrument was bound to be here, it just wasn’t in sight. Tubbo finally stepped inside, looking around curiously. Most of the written music was for guitar, but some of it was for the piano. Maybe he could play one of them on the one downstairs? They didn’t seem too complicated and it would be a nice activity if electricity would decide to leave them again. He just hoped it didn’t intend on doing it soon, almost two days were enough. But then something caught his eye. A wardrobe which door was slightly open. As he touched a handle, a shiver went down his spine.

It was in there. A guitar.

Just the only thing was out of place. The G string was broken, when yesterday he heard fully tuned one. And who was playing it? This one looked as it wasn’t used in years.

- You know what? I’m going to fix you- Tubbo smiled at the instrument, taking it out of the wardrobe. He just needed to order some new strings online or look for them in the city. He had to go shopping anyway.

Young man was watching as the teenager walked out of the room with his guitar. Yet he couldn’t help but smile, feeling that only good might come from this.

After all… that boy made him feel in the first place.

He just needed to figure out why that weird man downstairs looked so familiar.