Work Text:
Voices echo through the halls. Boo rouses sluggishly, something about one of the voices sounding strange enough that they can’t shake it off as easily as the other voices they hear. Aimsey’s already visited a bit ago -- a day, maybe? Three? It’s hard to tell when they sleep -- and the rare, vaguely familiar voices of strangers wandering about Snowchester come and go, never searching for them specifically. They’re easy to ignore; Aimsey, not so much, but those visits are becoming less and less frequent.
They don't shake themself too awake, finding comfort in the not-there, hazy feeling as they start their trek through the mansion walls on invisible legs and a slow gait. They can’t help their curiosity. A new voice and… a grunt. Sometimes, a squeal. Never Common. It almost sounds like a pig.
Who in Prime’s name would bring a pig to his mansion? Aimsey hasn’t gotten that desperate to bring him out, have they?
Boo hums. If that’s the case, it’s certainly working. And it is pretty funny.
They’ve taken some deal of comfort, “sleeping” in the garden room Aimsey set up. There’s really no deeper meaning to him staying there. It’s cozy with a good view from the balcony, and the room sits in the middle of the mansion, letting him travel through the winding passageways with ease.
It takes a moment for them to locate where the voices come from: Michael’s room. Boo frowns. Part of them hates how it’s become a tourist destination for some -- “look at the room that could’ve been! Witness the love and care the mansion owners had for their kid, who isn’t even living in this house and is instead hiding inside a wall in the arctic! Wow!”
The rest of them smothers the guilt and frustration as quickly as it arose. No point in getting upset with this. Michael is safe in the arctic.
In any case, Boo makes his way to the downstairs room. Phasing through floors is a bit tricky -- he doesn’t quite float like Ghostbur used to, so he needs some tangibility to properly walk like any other person would, even though it is so handy to just go through a wall or floor. Pain shoots up his ankles as he hits the floor, but he’s closer to the voices now. Can hear them properly.
“Oh! Is that you? Did you build that?” Soft. Feminine. Something about it stirs a deep emotion from him -- something he knows he can’t think too long on. It makes his steps falter.
A snort. Snuffle.
“Oh, I see. Well, I think you look just as handsome as the statue, Michael.”
Boo freezes. No. That can’t be-- That’s not Michael. That’s not his Micheal. There’s another Michael on the server. That’s not…
A delighted squeal echoes from behind the door Boo’s hovering in front of. The other Michael isn’t… a pig. Or a piglin. Or…
A zombie piglet.
Who has Michael. Boo doesn’t recognize the voice, but somebody has Michael. Their legs move on their own accord. They’re through the door in the next instant, scanning the room despite the painful reminders it brings them.
And…
Feathers made of midnight. A wide-brimmed, green-striped hat. Golden hair and a small, twinkling emerald earring. It’s… Phil.
Phil? Um.
Michael stands next to him, one small hoof holding Phil’s hand, as they admire the wool statue of the piglet together. Michael’s dressed very warmly, almost comically so; poor kid’s scarf swallows majority of his face, along with a thick hat and earmuffs. Phil, on the other hand, has no protection for the harsh cold of Snowchester -- or any protection at all.
It’s weird seeing him without armor. He, like Techno, never takes off his armor unless forced to. He must be cold, though. Snowchester’s worse than the commune, the wind from the coast harsh and biting through the thickest coverage, but Phil’s loose, open clothes are apparently the only protection he’s… wearing currently.
There’s also… a potion hanging from his other hand. Based on the color, it’s… a potion of weakness?
Well-- no matter. Phil brought their son all the way to Snowchester, inside the mansion, to Michael’s room… for what? Is this another one of Aimsey’s attempts to bring Boo out? Is it Phil’s attempt? Phil wouldn’t endanger Michael like that… would he?
That’s— hm. They don't want to know the answer to that question actually. Boo trusts Phil, trusts Techno, trusts that they would take care of Michael in their absence back at the commune — but they also know how callous Phil can be.
He… he wouldn’t.
But he could.
They want to ask, but that would mean breaking the illusion that the house is empty, that Boo isn’t here. Instead, he takes a step back, to head through the door. Whatever attempt this is, it won’t work. Boo is staying in the mansion until somebody can revive him. No dealing with people, no dealing with emotions, just himself and the empty, frozen mansion, void of all life that could’ve been.
That is, until Phil looks over his shoulder and spots Boo.
Which-- that’s not-- Boo glances down at himself to ensure he’s invisible, he’s still mostly intangible, but-- “Boo! There you are! I guess Phil was right.”
That same feminine voice. Boo’s head shoots up to the voice and finds Phil’s face staring back, a wide smile on his lips. He’s still staring directly at them, albeit not making eye contact, and Boo can only stare with wide eyes as Michael turns as well in his direction.
Except Michael can’t see him. Michael’s good eye searches everywhere without focusing on him, and when he doesn’t find anything, he makes a squeal of confusion and looks up at Phil.
Okay. So. He is invisible. Boo’s played peek-a-ranboo with Michael after Techno, Tubbo, and Eret brought him back, and his newfound disappearing ability made for a very entertaining game for Michael to enjoy. Michael can’t see him when he’s intangible. But… Phil can?
Phil couldn’t. Boo’s “snuck” by him and his cabin multiple times before while invisible, and Phil hasn’t made no mention of spotting them. People can’t. That’s the thing.
Now, though? Phil is staring right at them.
Or-- whoever this… Phil is. The voice laughs a gentle sound, not unkindly, and pats Michael’s hand. Turning back to Boo, he says with a sly eye, “You can come out of hiding, Boo. I don’t bite.”
Welp. His cover’s blown. It would be cruel to run away now, even if he wants to (needs to, his mind helpfully supplies), with the way Michael perks up instantly and swivels his wide, glowing eye over in Boo’s direction. The classic puppy-dog eyes. Nobody can say no to that.
With a sigh, they focus, lets their consciousness flow through them, feels the floorboards creak under their weight, avoids wincing behind the cloth as their skin stretches thin and aches once more. It sucks instantly -- the pain settles in fast this time around, faster than the last time they became corporeal -- but Michael’s squeal rings through the air and his small weight crashes into Boo’s legs.
It’s second nature to slide the armored leggings on before Michael reaches them, just so their son would have something to hug. Even so, Boo crouches down and wraps their arms around Michael the best they could. They’re careful so their arms don’t go through, but it’s… enough. Michael’s weight against the armor is enough.
Boo missed him so much.
Eventually they pull away, not going too far so Michael can still cling to their leg, and looks up at the stranger in Phil’s body. “Who… are you?” they ask slowly.
Something inside Boo -- that achingly familiar, nostalgic feeling -- convinces him that he can trust this person. It’s purely a gut feeling, illogical but immovable in his mind. They don’t sound familiar, but they haven’t done anything to Michael.
Examining them further, though, Boo wonders if he’s forgotten Phil’s eye color, or if his eyes really are more purple than blue. Same with his wings, more obsidian than midnight.
“Phil said he’s mentioned me to you before,” the stranger replies, tilting their head to the side, “but… I don’t know if I should tell you who I am. Not sure if I’m, uh… allowed to. But! I am close with Phil! Very close, actually.” They lift their left hand, the one carrying the potion of weakness, and flips it so the back of their hand faces Boo. Silver catches on pale skin, and--
Oh.
A ring on his third finger. Boo’s seen Phil fidget with it plenty of times, and Phil explained it’s his wedding ring. Humans typically bear their symbols of love and connections with a piece of jewelry on their third finger. Boo thinks it’s a pretty lame place to show off your marriage status -- his own wedding ring looks plenty fine on his right horn, Tubbo’s around his neck as a necklace, but to each their own.
“You’re… his wife?”
“Yep!”
Boo squints. “Do… all wives have the ability to possess their husband, or is that just you?”
The stranger breaks into a loud fit of giggles, not terribly far from Phil’s own bouts of giggles he used to get with Ranboo’s bad jokes. It’s strange hearing this new sound from Phil’s body though. Boo isn’t quite sure he likes it.
Briefly, they wonder if they can possess somebody. Is Phil’s wife a ghost like them? Is that why she can see them?
…could the other Ranboo possess somebody?
“No, no, this isn’t a wife thing,” she says finally, covering her mouth to muffle the last remaining bits of laughter. “I think this is a, uh, me and Phil thing. Although it would be pretty dang cool if any wife could possess their husband. If it helps, you can call me Mumza -- or Kristin. Michael and the crows like Mumza.”
Mumza. Same ending as Philza. Boo hums before the last sentence catches their attention. Michael likes… They glance down at their son, who’s now batting at Boo’s tail as best as he can, and looks back at Kristin. “Wait. You can understand Michael?”
Kristin nods with a light laugh. (Laughs a lot, just like Phil. Maybe that’s where he got it from?) “Yeah! I mean, I can understand any mob. Kinda my thing. Among other… things. You get it.”
Boo does not, in fact, get it, but he nods anyway. He lifts his tail just to entertain Michael some, the piglet snorting and chasing after it with unsteady hooves. “So are you… a ghost too?” he ventures to ask. Having a universal language doesn’t sound like a ghost thing, but it does sound pretty handy. Prime knows how difficult teaching Common is to Michael.
“Um! Not… exactly. I think that’s one of those things I can’t share. Sorry.”
Ah. That makes sense at least. Boo shakes his head and says quickly, “It’s alright, I just figured with the possession and all… sounds pretty ghost-y to me.”
“It does, doesn’t it! But I- I don’t know, Phil doesn’t really want me spreading the secret around, so…” She shrugs and swishes the potion around idly. Then, to Boo’s surprise, she pops the cork and downs it in three seconds flat.
Boo waits for the nausea to kick in -- why? did she do that?? -- but she stays steady, smacking her lips with a satisfied sigh and stuffing the bottle somewhere in her inventory. She proceeds to pull around another weakness potion to uncork.
“Um.” Kristin pauses at Boo’s baffled interjection. “Doesn’t that… Why are you drinking weakness potions?”
Kristin blinks at them and glances back at the bottle. After a second, she smirks, raises the bottle to her lips, and says casually, “You call it a weakness potion, I call it a cocktail.” That bottle is emptied just as fast as the last one.
Boo stares. Right. Okay. That’s… probably normal. Normal Kristin stuff. Sure.
Whatever face they’re making, albeit hidden by the cloth, makes Kristin break into another fit of giggles. Boo doesn’t know what to do with any of this information, but they definitely have a bunch of questions for Phil. Kristin sure is something.
Boo thinks they like her though. She feels like Phil, but… different. Sillier, less weighed down, less weary from age.
“So, um.” Michael tumbles onto his back, catching Boo's attention for a moment. Thankfully, he rocks himself back on his feet after a few rather humorous tries, chuffing with pride as Kristin praises him for it, and while it brings a smile to Boo’s face, they can’t fight the feeling of… Phil needing something from them. Wanting them to come back. “What… exactly are you doing here? With Michael?”
Kristin doesn’t answer right away; she’s digging in her inventory when he looks back at her, and she pulls out Michael’s duck plush, Benson, to wave towards the piglet. Michael forgets Boo’s tail entirely and nabs it as fast as his little, unsteady legs could go. He sits in his racecar bed with Benson at his side, hooves scrabbling at the front of the bed like he’s pretending to drive it.
After a moment, Kristin tears her eyes away from the adorable scene and looks up at Boo. Her expression’s serious now, a frown and furrowed eyebrows that Boo recognizes in Phil’s face when he’s finding the right words to say.
“We wanted to see you. Well-- Phil did, but he ran into that bunny friend of yours who said that you’ve been… hiding away. He wanted to check up on you. It’s been weeks since you’ve come back to the commune, Boo,” Kristin explains softly. She lowers her voice so Michael doesn’t overhear, and Boo shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking away.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Kristin shakes her head. “You don’t need to say sorry, Boo. We know this is rough for you, especially after Techno left, but…” She trails off, staring down at her feet. With another shake of her head, she straightens herself up and opens her inventory. From it, she pulls out a book and hands it to them. “Here. Phil wanted you to have this. A note.”
Oh. Boo gingerly takes the book. The quill’s still tucked on the side, nothing written on the leather cover but flipping through the pages, they find Phil’s messy, chicken-scratch writing, as well as Techno’s smaller, cleaner words. To his surprise, they also find looping cursive and careful ink strokes on the last few pages -- Niki. The Syndicate.
…oh. Right. He hasn’t spoken to Niki… at all. Hasn’t spoken to Techno since rescuing Michael. He thought they just forgot about him. There wasn’t any news of bringing him back. He figured they moved on from his death, like everybody else did.
His hands tremble. He can’t bring himself to read what they’ve written. Later, he promises the air, promises nothing, knowing what’ll happen if he reads it. He can’t. It’s a nice thought, but… it won’t bring him back.
“Um. Thank you,” they whisper, ducking their head and placing it in their inventory.
“And,” Kristin says, as if she didn’t hear them, “Phil wanted to give you something else. Which is why he needed me here.”
Boo lifts his head, eyebrows furrowing, and Kristin steps forward, steps close to him, close enough to touch--
And her skin is warm. Boo jerks back with a sharp gasp.
“Nuh-uh,” Kristin said, a wide grin on her lips. “You’re not getting away from this, Boo.” She doesn’t chase after them though, lets them gather their bearings -- she touched them. How? That’s not-- That shouldn’t be possible. Nobody can touch them, not unless they’re wearing armor, but they can’t feel it. Can’t feel skin, can’t feel warmth, can’t feel. That’s the whole thing about being a ghost.
But...
His skin tingles. Where she brushes against him, against his arms, his skin bursts like it’s alive with nerves and blood and bones -- it feels too hot for Snowchester, too hot for the mansion, too hot for a ghost, but a confused warble escapes him because-- because--
“Crazy, right? Again, it’s kinda my thing. Phil really wants to give you a hug. We don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. Take your time. No pressure.”
Right. No pressure. Boo takes a step back, eyes wide. Phil-- Kristin’s arms are open, wings spread but low to the ground, a small, gentle smile on her lips and a patient, searching look in her eyes. But she-- Phil-- Phil is alive. He’s flesh and bones and blood, warm because he has a heart that’s beating and life running through his veins.
Boo is not. Boo is cold, empty, hollow, with nothing tangible to him except the prickly armor he wears for protection, against mobs, against adversaries, against the cold, against feelings and emotions because he can’t feel these things, he can’t worsen his other self, he can’t make him drown in that limbo. He needs to be revived. He can’t do-- do this while he’s a ghost. It’s not fair. It’s not.
Prime, he’s forgotten what a hug is even like. He doesn’t remember it like how he used to forget -- hugging is muscle memory. It’s curling around Michael in his too-small-for-an-enderman bed, feeling his little snout snuffle against his chest in his sleep, Tubbo’s snoring against his back. It’s Niki and her light touches on his arm, batting his hands away from boiling pots and hot pans, the tight but quick squeezes she gives him as goodbyes. It’s Techno’s shoulder punches and one-armed hugs, rough headbutts when Ranboo’s being jokingly difficult, a hoof rustling his hair around his crown. It’s a wing laid carefully across his back in quiet moments, Phil’s snickering form tilting against his shoulder when he’s laughing too hard, Phil correcting his stance with a gentle but firm prod.
Now? Ranboo can’t remember what any of that felt like.
He misses it. He misses it so much.
Boo looks at Kristin, hating the ache in his chest and hating the next word that slips from his tongue. “Okay.”
“Okay?” she repeats cautiously.
There’s a knot in his throat. He can’t say it. Shame catches his tongue in a twist because he knows that he shouldn’t do this, not for the version of him stuck in limbo, not for the both of them, but…
“O- Okay,” he says firmly.
Kristin smiles.
When she steps closer, Boo doesn’t run away. When her arms brush against his skin, Boo doesn’t flinch. When she engulfs him in a hug, arms wrapped firmly around his sides, holding him there in her arms, in all the warmth and love and care that sears his skin, Ranboo cracks.
He cries. It hurts -- she’s holding him too tight, her skin too heated, and he wants to get away because it’s so much, but he can’t tear his claws away from where they’re gripping the back of Kristin’s kimono. The tears sizzle against his skin and the hiccups and sobs wrench from his throat so fast he can’t breathe.
Kristin holds him through it. He can feel exactly how she’s stroking his back, her face pressed against his shoulder, her words muffled in the sheet, but her tone is comforting, gentle, calm and sweet. Motherly.
He knows why she’s so familiar now. Mumza. Mother. She reminds him so much of his moms.
He shouldn’t-- he can’t--
He misses them.
And as his sobs worsen, as his body aches and burns and churns, Kristin holds him through it all. Her wings -- Phil’s wings -- lift to shield him, wrap him in a soft shell of the void, and the silk of her kimono -- Phil’s kimono -- feels nice as he rubs his face on her shoulder. He’s making such a mess, but Kristin doesn’t mind. Phil doesn’t mind.
Boo cries. It’s an alien feeling they’ve deprived themself of for so long now, but once they started, they can’t stop it. The tidal wave of emotion drags them back under -- their other half be damned, they can’t control the torrent of memories they’ve had hidden for months now. All at once, they’re a child again, cradled in the arms of a woman with snow-white hair or eyes as dark as the night sky, and oh, how it hurts.
He shouldn’t remember, but he does. He remembers it all. His mothers, the other realm, the obsidian pillars, galactic text and endermen warbles and-- something showing up, cloaked in green-- no, not that-- don’t remember that-- floating in the air, offering its-- Its-- hand to him, circular mask rotating-- stop--
Boo braces his hands against Kristin’s shoulders and shoves. Phil’s body barely moves with the force; instead, Boo scrambles to catch his balance, stumbling with their forceful attempt to forget forget forget. At once, without her contact-- Her contact…?-- Boo feels the memories recede back into him.
“I… I can’t…”
The words hang in the air, heavy and cracking from their throat. They hadn’t realize they spoke until they heard their voice, but they clench their jaw and swallow tightly. That’s enough. They allowed one moment of selfishness and ruined it.
Behind them, Michael snuffles quietly. Boo registers the weight against the back of their leggings and hastily wipes their burning eyes, calming their staccato breathing. “Sorry, Mikey,” they murmur gently, reaching down to ghost -- hah -- their hand over his skull, “I’m okay. And… sorry, Kristin. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s alright.” Void, her voice is so kind it makes tears spring back in his eyes. He can’t bear to look at her -- not right now. “Your limbo’s a bit complicated, isn’t it…?” she says softly, contemplative.
Michael bonks his head against Boo’s leggings, rubbing the bone part of his skull aggressively against the armor as an attempt to comfort his parent. Boo’s laugh is faint, distracted. Taking another deep breath, their face falls back to solemn regret as they reply, “I made a deal I shouldn’t have, to come here.”
A deal that cost him losing his parents. A deal that was selfish. A deal that fragmented his body and soul into Ran and Boo, enderman and something else.
They won’t ever forget that mask.
To their surprise, Kristin mimics their hollow laugh. “You know… I did too. I think we both made deals with the same wrong person.”
Boo lifts their head. There’s a sad look in Kristin’s expression, one that seems so off on Phil’s face. It’s melancholic. It doesn’t take long for them to piece together what exactly she means, Boo’s eyebrows furrowing. “...to follow Phil?”
Kristin smiles. “You’re a smart one, Boo. Don’t share this though. Secret, remember?” Despite the sadness, she gives a playful wink. Somehow, it makes Boo’s lips lift up in a brief smile.
Yeah, he does like Kristin.
“It’s not your fault, you know.”
Her expression softens again, to that painfully gentle look that makes Boo yearn to be in her arms once more. It’s not fair. He can’t be selfish again.
“You were a kid, Boo.”
“I was an idiot,” he huffs. Michael’s taken to trying to chase after his hand, clapping his hooves together like he’s trying to catch a fly, but Boo can’t really find the sight amusing as he usually does. He shouldn’t be thinking about this.
“And I loved my husband,” Kristin retorts, “so much that I couldn’t see my son when he died. I had no chance to find Tommy before he was brought back. I couldn’t find you when your lives were taken. If you were an idiot kid, then I was a fool in love.”
A knot wells in Boo’s throat. Michael jumps and claps his hooves through their hand triumphantly, but Boo doesn’t move to congratulate him. I couldn’t find you. Somebody was looking for him?
They shouldn’t do this. This interaction should be done with. They have the book Phil wanted to give them, Kristin gave them a hug, and they got to see Michael. Phil-- Kristin-- they should leave.
Silence consumes the three of them. Michael’s face falls as Boo sits contemplating, and they let him toy with their leggings wordlessly.
“You made a mistake, mate.”
Not now. That wasn’t Kristin’s voice, but-- fuck, not now, no.
“Ranboo, mate--”
“It’s Boo, Phil.”
“...right.”
Their skin starts to crawl. They can’t do this again. Every part of them wants to vanish again, melt back into the mansion floors and never think about moving again, but -- Michael. Michael stares at them with wide, searching eyes, and Boo’s traitorous mind drags back deja-vu. They would look up at their parents like that. Their son-- they’re his parent-- they can’t just leave again.
Not again. Not after they left their own parents.
Something tmps against the ground behind them. Phil groans, thumping against the ground again, and mumbles something about weakness potions -- oh, right. That must be his cane.
“You should leave,” Boo murmurs. It would hurt less, he thinks. Michael is safe under Phil’s watch. Phil will be fine. They don’t need him.
After a few minutes of silence, Phil sighs. “Maybe I should.”
The admission hurts. Boo swallows it down, along with everything else he’s been ignoring and forcing himself to forget. “Take Michael with you. I can’t provide much for him here.” The mansion is too empty for a child. It only makes sense for a ghost to take residence here.
They curl their arms around their son in that makeshift hug and ignores, ignores, that ache in their chest wishing for physical contact. They’ve had enough for today. It was wrong. They shouldn’t.
“Look…”
Phil sucks in a breath and taps his cane on the ground -- a nervous habit Boo knows, something he only does on carpet to not scuff up Techno’s floors. They give him a moment to talk. As they stand back up to face him, Phil continues, “That book I… Kristin gave you? It’s from all of us in the Syndicate, yeah, but there’s something from, uh, Protesilaus also. Syndicate task. You aren’t forced to join us, as always,” here he pauses, before sliding azure eyes back up to Boo’s, “but… we miss you, mate. Techno’s been on the search to help you, and he’s discovered something. In the New World. He thinks it’s worth investigating.
“We have reason to believe it’s associated with the cunt that tricked my wife, and if that’s the case, then… maybe we’ll find a way to help you.”
Oh.
It’s a Syndicate mission. The first one since… investigating Snowchester. Boo opens his inventory again to examine the book, not taking it into his hands but just observing it.
The thing that made a deal with Kristin…?
“All I wanted to say to you, R-- …Boo,” Phil begins quietly, “is that you made a mistake in the past. You can’t… define yourself by it. We’re-- we’re talking about gods here, mate. Do you really remember all of the details you made in whatever deal you made, especially with that dickhead?”
Boo opens his mouth to retort, but Phil raises his hand and shakes his head. “Don’t. You don’t need to tell me anything. Just think about it. If my goddess-- my wife,” Phil coughs, “was tricked by It, then what do you think happened to you?” He levels Boo with an even stare, polite enough to avoid his eyes but still pointed enough that Boo forgets his retort instantly.
He… doesn’t remember the exact details of the deal. To him, it didn’t matter. What matters was that he was selfish and chose to make a deal that took him away from his parents. Even if he was stupid and young and-- a kid. He grits his jaw.
Phil’s eyes soften. “Think about it, Boo.”
“...I will. Goodbye, Phil.”
They hate that sad smile on Phil’s face. It’s almost like the one Kristin made, full of regret and empathy and kindness, but Boo doesn’t know why Phil has to look at them like that. They aren’t Ranboo, no matter how much he wants them to be. Ranboo is gone.
“C’mon, mate.” Phil crouches to the ground next to Michael, letting the piglin decide when he wants to hop in his arms. “We gotta get going, okay?”
Michael looks between the older man’s face and Boo’s with furrowed eyebrows, like he’s realizing what’s happening. When it finally clicks, he lets out an indignant squeal and clings tighter to Boo’s leggings, little snout mushed against the rigid metal.
Boo aches. “Mikey…” Looking at Phil won’t help, they know, but it’s instinct guiding their eyes to his for any kind of guidance. The old crow only looks at them with an expression rich with nostalgic sadness. He was a parent too, once. So, steeling themself, Boo kneels down to bump their head against Michael’s -- as best as they can. “I know, I know, kiddo. I… you can visit me again, okay? Uncle Phil will take care of you for now. This place isn’t really… for you. You can’t be here.”
In response, Michael squeals again, defiant, before wrenching his head up to glare at Boo. It doesn’t seem to bother him that his head goes through Boo’s, even when they back away a bit to give him space.
They know what he’s thinking. Why can’t you come with me?
…Boo wishes they had an answer.
“I’ll be here, Mikey, don’t worry. If you ever want to see me again, just bug Uncle Phil, okay?”
Thankfully, that seems to be enough. With one last defiant stare up at his parent, Michael looks over his shoulder at Phil again before relenting. His grip loosens as his little shoulders slump -- and isn’t it unfair, how much it hurts to see his son look so defeated? The piglin takes a step back, hooves limp at his sides -- until he suddenly charges again, slamming his head into Boo’s leg in an aggressive headbutt.
He hits it so hard Boo can actually feel the impact, somehow. He stares with wide eyes, slowly registering that, while Phil sputters out a crowing laugh in surprise. It takes a minute for Boo to gather himself, only spurred on when he sees tears welling in Michael’s eyes. “Oh-- buddy, what the hell was that? Are you okay?”
Michael doesn’t give him an answer. He turns on his heel and marches into Phil’s arms so Phil can scoop him up and tuck him against his shoulder. He snuffles into Phil’s kimono, hooves clenching the fabric tight. He won’t look at Boo.
“Kids, huh?”
Why does it have to hurt so much? Boo can’t even look at them anymore, that bitter, gnawing feeling making his eyes burn again. “Take care of him. Please.” He hates that he’s pleading.
Phil’s cane taps against the mansion’s floors. “Take care of yourself, mate. You know where to find me.”
The mansion is quiet, and empty, when they give their response. “I will.”
As he retreats back to the garden room, feeling heavier than he’s ever felt as an apparition that doesn’t need to touch the floor, Ranboo reaches for the book in his inventory.