SBI - His Curse of Binding

25

He didn't remember the journey to Tubbo's house. But apparently, Ranboo carried him.

If it were another time, that would've bothered him. If he weren't so exhausted, then maybe he would have cared or even been embarrassed. But he felt nothing.

Tommy let himself be pushed onto Tubbo's bed, his head too numb to his surroundings. His eyes stung, yet he had no more tears left to shed. Emotions were too much for him. Everything was.

The fabric against the exposed skin of his legs, the scratching sensation of the bedframe digging into his scarred back, the itching of his nose as another wave of scents violated his nostrils. It was too much. All of it.

He wanted the fog to return, the clouds to overwhelm and leave him in a state of nothing. A place with no worries, no sadness nor abandonment. The room to rest until his final minute alive.

But he couldn't let that happen. Not when Tubbo and Ranboo were by his side, whispering between themselves, worried for him.

Soft and heavy hands pushed a hoodie over his head and down his back. It was one of Ranboo's hoodies. He forgot he only had a thin t-shirt on. Wilbur's clothes were probably still crumpled next to the bench, suffering the same deserted fate as Tommy.

As Ranboo helped aim Tommy's arms into the hoodie sleeves, he leaned into his friend's side, staying there with closed eyes, too scared to open them again. The mattress dipped and an arm curled around him.

Tommy melted into Ranboo's touch. "He was supposed to believe me," he whispered.

"Who was?"

"Wilbur."

Ranboo's hand rubbed circles onto his shoulder, though it did nothing to ease the resurfacing thoughts.

"I was so ready, Ranboo," he sobbed, empty and dry. "I was so ready to finally be happy and..."

He buried his head into Ranboo's side, hoping that the nestling of the bedsheets covered up his whimpers.

"Sleep, okay? We'll handle this in the morning," Ranboo muttered softly.

He shook his head and pried open his eyes. "No, no I can't sleep."

Ranboo sighed, his fingers brushing the hair next to the shell of Tommy's ear.

"How about we force Tubbo to make some food for us then?" Ranboo offered, rolling his eyes at the look Tommy gave him. "There are smoke detectors in his kitchen, he'll be fine."

Tommy hummed, contemplating whether a house fire would make possibly his last day in this life better or worse. The hunger in his stomach decided for him.

After Tubbo managed not to wake up the entire household by setting off the fire and smoke alarms, the trio sat on the bed, eating pancakes. The early rising sun peeked through the shut curtains. Tommy rested his head on Tubbo's legs, content whilst the other two played Super Smash Bros.

As he listened to Ranboo's cackles and Tubbo's string of swears, it hit him. This was probably the last time he'd ever see them in this life. The last time he'd see them at all.

He won't have a person to torment for being taller than him and American, yet still be able to rely on for support; someone to tease for their addiction to online shooting games and obsession with South Park whilst also being thankful for how their cheerful presence always kept him warm. He will never again be a part of a trio that worked, a group he felt included in, appreciated and cared for.

Even if he did find people like this in the future, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be them.

These were the people who laughed at his shitty jokes, were patient enough to deal with his endless bullshit and allowed themselves to be pushed around by him of all people.