Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The city outside their apartment was dead quiet, save for the occasional hiss of passing tires on wet asphalt. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and then fell silent, like a wounded animal giving up the ghost. 

Inside, the only light came from the microwave clock — green digits frozen at 3:04 AM — and the lazy amber glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the half-closed blinds. The air smelled faintly like burnt toast and old rain. 

Tubbo sat on the kitchen floor, legs pulled up to his chest, hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands. His cheek pressed to the cabinet beside him. Cold wood. Unmoving. 

Technoblade sat across from him, spine against the fridge. He held a chipped mug of tea he hadn’t touched in an hour. Steam had long since died. He didn’t seem to notice. 

Neither of them had spoken in a while. 

“I don’t think I know who I’d be without you,” Tubbo finally said. 

His voice cracked the silence like a pebble hitting glass. Small, but enough to spread fractures. 

Technoblade’s eyes flicked up to him. Red-rimmed, hollow. “You’d be fine.” 

“No,” Tubbo said. “No, I wouldn’t.” 

Techno stared at him for a long beat. Then he looked away, like the weight of Tubbo’s honesty was something he couldn’t bear to carry. 

“You’re all I’ve had for years,” Tubbo continued, quieter now. “You made the world make sense. Even when it didn’t.” 

“That’s not healthy.” 

“I know.” 

The fridge hummed. Tubbo let his fingers curl into his sleeves tighter, nails digging into the fabric. He didn’t look at his brother when he spoke again. 

“You protected me so hard you forgot how to let me grow.” 

Technoblade didn’t flinch, but something in his posture buckled just slightly — a shoulder slumped more than it had a moment ago. He set the mug down on the floor beside him with a soft ceramic click. 

“I didn’t forget,” he murmured. “I just... didn’t trust the world with you.” 

“Do you even trust me with myself?” 

Silence. 

Tubbo finally looked up. His eyes were glassy but dry — like he’d cried too much to bother with it anymore. “You used to hold my hand when I had panic attacks. Do you remember that?” 

Techno nodded. 

“I was fourteen. You’d sit with me in the closet until I could breathe again. I thought... I thought that was love.” 

“It was.” 

“Then why does it feel like a cage?” 

Techno looked at him now. Really looked. His eyes were a storm. Something deep and breaking. “Because I didn’t know how to let go without losing everything.” 

A breath caught in Tubbo’s throat. Not a sob — just an inhale that didn’t know what to do with itself. 

He leaned his head back against the cabinet and stared at the ceiling. The paint was cracked in the corner, just above the sink. He’d never noticed that before. 

“I still want you here,” he whispered. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But I need space,” Tubbo said. “And that scares me.” 

Technoblade’s voice was hoarse. “It scares me too.” 

They sat in the stillness again, not touching but tethered. The kind of tether that frays with time, but never truly snaps. 

“Do you ever feel like we survived everything just to fall apart quietly?” Tubbo asked. 

“Yeah,” Techno said. “Every day.” 

He looked at his little brother — pale in the streetlamp glow, eyes too tired for seventeen. And for the first time in years, he didn’t reach out to fix it. He just let it be. 

Tubbo turned his head to the side, facing him. “Can we be something new, one day?” 

Techno’s voice was soft. “We can try.” 

And that was the most honest thing either of them had said all night.

Chapter Text

There was a silence after that. 

Not the kind that settled. The kind that sank. 

Like wet wool or grave dirt. Like breath held too long, waiting to become a scream. 

They didn’t move. The streetlight above them buzzed faintly, casting long shadows. Tubbo’s face was hollowed out by the angle of the glow — all cheekbone and quiet. Like a ghost trying too hard to stay solid. 

Techno reached into his coat for a cigarette. Didn’t light it. Just held it between his fingers like a tether. 

"You’d leave if you could, wouldn’t you?" Techno asked. 

Tubbo blinked slowly. “What?” 

"You’d leave. If there was a way out that didn’t hurt." His voice wasn’t accusing. It was worse — resigned. A quiet kind of knowing. 

Tubbo didn’t answer. 

Because there was no point lying. 

And maybe that’s what hurt more than anything. 

“I think about it sometimes,” he said finally. “Packing a bag. Not telling anyone. Just... disappearing. Somewhere cold. Where no one knows my name.” 

“Then don’t tell anyone,” Techno murmured, eyes still on the cigarette. “Just don’t forget to take me with you.” 

Tubbo turned toward him. He looked smaller than usual. Seventeen and breaking open in slow motion. 

“That’s not how it works,” he whispered. “You’d follow me even if I didn’t want you to.” 

Techno’s jaw twitched. “You wouldn’t mean it.” 

“You’d still follow.” 

And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it?

A quiet, terrible gravity between them. The kind you don’t escape from. Just learn to orbit until your bones forget freedom. 

“I don’t know who I am without you,” Techno said. Voice low. Not pleading, not exactly. More like something fraying. “I don't want to know.” 

Tubbo looked down at his hands. Bit at the skin beside his thumbnail until it bled a little. 

“That’s not love.” 

“I never said it was.” 

Another pause. This one sharper. Brittle enough to cut your tongue if you tried to speak through it. 

Techno finally lit the cigarette. Inhaled, exhaled. Smoke drifted upward like a prayer no god would ever hear. 

“I’m tired, Techno,” Tubbo said. And god, he sounded it. 

Techno looked at him. Really looked.

At the way his shoulders curled in.

At the way his hoodie sleeves were too long, like he was trying to disappear into them.

At the little tremble in his knee that meant he was holding too much in. 

“Then rest,” Techno said. 

He moved closer. Too close.

One hand on the back of Tubbo’s neck. Thumb brushing behind his ear — tender, like a threat in disguise. 

Tubbo didn’t pull away. 

Didn’t lean in either. 

Just sat there, staring into the dark like it owed him something. 

“You’d keep me like this forever if you could,” he said quietly. “Wouldn’t you?” 

Techno didn’t answer. 

He didn’t have to. 

Tubbo’s eyes fluttered closed. Just for a second. Just long enough to pretend. 

And the streetlight kept buzzing, and the world kept not noticing. 

And somewhere deep in the cracks between them, the quiet shifted — no longer soft. 

Now sharp. Now desperate. 

Now something that wouldn’t let go.

Chapter Text

They didn’t go home. 

Or maybe they did. Hard to tell anymore — the house had stopped feeling like anything real a long time ago. Just four walls and too many memories pressed into the wallpaper. 

Tubbo dropped his bag by the door and walked straight to the sink. Washed his hands like he was trying to erase something. Scrubbed hard. The water ran pink for a second. 

Techno leaned against the counter. Watching. 

He always watched, lately. Not protective — possessive.

Like if he looked away, Tubbo might vanish between the floorboards. 

“You’re hurting yourself again,” Techno said, voice low. 

Tubbo didn’t answer. Just turned the faucet off and dried his hands on the inside of his hoodie, like he didn’t want to stain the towels. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Techno asked. “This. Us. Me.” 

Tubbo’s shoulders stiffened. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“But you’re thinking it.” 

“Yeah,” Tubbo whispered. “But thinking doesn’t mean I’ll do it.” 

There it was again. That sick kind of honesty they couldn’t stop bleeding into each other. 

Techno crossed the room in three quiet steps. No shoes, no sound. Just weight. 

“You’re all I’ve got,” he said. 

Tubbo laughed. Not like something funny. Like something broken trying to mimic joy. 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is,” Techno insisted. “Everyone else left. Or died. Or gave up trying.” 

“Maybe they had a reason.” 

“I don’t care about their reasons.” 

Techno grabbed his wrist. Gentle. Then not. 

Tubbo flinched — just barely. Enough for Techno to notice. Enough for the air to tighten. 

“You don’t get to leave,” Techno said, voice shaking now. “You don’t get to. Not after everything. Not when we— I— I need—” 

“Let go,” Tubbo said. 

And something in Techno’s chest cracked. Sharp and wet and ugly. 

But he let go. 

Only barely. 

Tubbo stepped back. Cradled his arm. Didn’t cry. Just looked at him like he was seeing the whole shape of him for the first time. 

“You say you need me,” Tubbo said quietly, “but all you mean is you don’t know how to be alone.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

“Nothing about this is fair.” 

Techno sat down hard on the floor. Back against the wall. Head in his hands. He looked so small. It didn’t suit him. 

Tubbo stared for a long moment. Then, like muscle memory, like it was stitched into his bones, he sank down beside him. Close enough to feel the heat off Techno’s arm. Not touching. 

Just... there. 

“I don’t want to hate you,” Tubbo said. 

Techno laughed bitterly. “That makes one of us.” 

Tubbo tilted his head. “You hate you too?” 

Techno didn’t answer. 

Tubbo leaned in, forehead brushing Techno’s shoulder like a truce that wouldn’t hold. 

And for a moment, they just breathed in the dark. 

Like maybe if they stayed still enough, the world would forget to tear them apart. 

But it wouldn’t.

It never would. 

And somewhere beneath the quiet — the crack widened just a little more.

Chapter Text

The next morning came too fast.

Not with sunlight, but with grey.

A kind of morning that felt like it never really wanted to be born. 

Tubbo stirred on the couch. A blanket was draped over him — not one he’d gotten himself. He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

In the kitchen, Techno was slicing apples. The knife moved slow and precise, like he was trying to give his hands something to do that wasn’t shaking. 

“You didn’t go to your room,” Techno said. 

Tubbo blinked blearily. “Didn’t feel like it.” 

Techno didn’t answer. Just kept slicing. The sound of blade against cutting board filled the quiet like static. 

Tubbo sat up. His neck hurt. So did his chest, in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. 

“Can you not… watch me like that?” he said. 

Techno paused mid-slice. “Like what?” 

“Like I’m gonna disappear.” 

Techno set the knife down carefully. Wiped his hands on a towel that was already stained. 

“You scare me when you talk like that.” 

“I scare you?” Tubbo scoffed. “That’s rich.” 

Techno didn’t respond. 

Instead, he placed the sliced apples in a bowl and crossed the room, setting them in front of Tubbo like an offering. 

Tubbo stared at it. Didn’t move. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he said. 

“I know.” 

“Then why do you?” 

Techno crouched beside him. His voice was steady, but something behind his eyes frayed at the edges. 

“Because no one else will. Because if I don’t, who will? Because if I stop, you’ll slip through the cracks and never come back.” 

Tubbo’s voice was low. “Maybe I want to slip through.” 

Techno exhaled slowly. “Then I’ll go with you.” 

“Stop saying things like that.” 

“They’re true.” 

“They’re obsessive.” 

Techno flinched. Just slightly. Like a punch with no fist. 

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s still love.” 

“No,” Tubbo said, softer now. “It’s something else wearing love’s face.” 

Techno stood up abruptly. Pushed a hand through his hair. 

“I don’t know how to do this the right way,” he said. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like when everything we’ve ever had has always been survival.” 

Tubbo pulled his knees to his chest. Looked at him — really looked — and for a second, he almost didn’t recognize him. 

Not the Technoblade who raised hell.

Not the brother who used to lift him on his shoulders.

Just… a boy with too much grief and nowhere to put it. 

“Do you ever think we should’ve died back then?” Tubbo asked. “Would’ve been easier.” 

Techno didn’t answer. 

But he sat back down. 

Not beside him. Across the room. Like he couldn’t trust himself to be close. 

“You’re not allowed to say things like that,” Techno said. “Not to me.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because if you died, I’d dig you up just to bring you back. I’d burn cities. I’d carve holes in the world to find whatever pieces of you I could salvage.” 

Tubbo stared at him. 

“Do you hear yourself?” 

Techno just looked at him. Steady. Unapologetic. 

“I mean it.” 

Tubbo swallowed. His throat felt tight. The apples sat untouched. 

Outside, the sky stayed grey. Inside, it was worse. 

“I don’t know what’s scarier,” Tubbo said. “The idea of losing you… or the idea of never getting away.” 

Techno didn’t flinch this time. 

“Then stay. Don’t make me choose between protecting you and keeping you. I can’t tell the difference anymore.” 

Tubbo pressed his hands to his face. Didn’t cry. 

He was too tired for that now. 

But a part of him — a small, traitorous part — whispered that maybe this was safer than being alone. That maybe being loved wrong was better than not being loved at all. 

And that, more than anything, was the most dangerous thought of all.

Chapter Text

Tubbo started waking up before the alarms. 

Not because he wanted to.

Because he had to. 

There was something about silence that was too loud now.

Something about the stillness in the apartment that made his teeth itch. 

Techno had been rearranging things. 

Small things, at first. The kitchen knives moved. The key to the balcony door gone. Tubbo’s charger swapped out with one that didn’t work. 

Nothing big. Nothing that could be called wrong, really.

Just... different. 

Controlled. 

This morning, Tubbo opened the fridge and found it stocked with all his favorite foods. Stuff he hadn’t even asked for. Stuff he hadn’t eaten in months. 

He closed the fridge again. Slowly. The hum of it filled the air like a warning. 

Behind him, Techno’s voice floated in, quiet and pleased. “Thought you might need comfort.” 

Tubbo didn’t turn around. “Thanks.” 

“You slept a little longer today,” Techno added. “That’s good.” 

“You’re watching me again.” 

“I live here.” 

“That’s not what I said.” 

A pause. Long enough to make the skin on Tubbo’s neck prickle. 

“I just worry,” Techno said finally. 

Tubbo turned, leaning against the counter. His arms crossed over his chest — not defensive. Just trying to hold himself together. 

“You don’t trust me.” 

“I don’t trust the world,” Techno corrected. “There’s a difference.” 

“Is there?” 

Techno took a step closer. He didn’t touch him. He didn’t need to. He just stood there, and the space between them collapsed in like lungs with no air. 

“I lost you once,” Techno said softly. “I won’t let that happen again.” 

Tubbo’s mouth opened. Then closed. 

There were so many ways to respond.

So many truths he could’ve thrown like knives.

But all he said was: 

“I’m not something you can lose. I’m not a thing.” 

Techno’s face twitched. A breath, like he’d just taken a hit to the gut. 

“I don’t think of you like that.” 

“You do,” Tubbo said, not unkindly. “You don’t mean to. But you do.” 

A flicker of something passed through Techno’s expression. Regret? Guilt? Something older, maybe. Something rotten and scared. 

Tubbo took a step back. 

“I’m going to the store.” 

Techno stiffened. “I’ll come with you.” 

“No,” Tubbo said, gentle but firm. “I need to breathe.” 

“You can breathe here.” 

“No, I can’t.” 

It was the first time he said it out loud. 

The quiet that followed was different this time. Not tender. Not sharp. 

Just… still. 

“I’ll be back,” Tubbo said. 

He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t look back. 

And when the door shut behind him, the whole apartment seemed to inhale. 

Techno stood in the kitchen, staring at the fridge. At the things he bought. The comfort he’d tried to build. The hollow he kept trying to fill. 

Outside, Tubbo walked two blocks before realizing he’d forgotten his wallet. 

He didn’t go back.

Chapter Text

The sky outside was dull and colorless.

Not grey exactly. Just empty.

The kind of sky that forgets how to be anything else. 

Tubbo walked without direction. Without purpose. Just… forward. 

Each step felt like peeling off old skin. 

No Techno pacing beside him.

No voice checking in.

No weight dragging at his ankles disguised as care. 

It should’ve felt free.

It didn’t. 

Instead, it felt like walking through a glass field barefoot.

Like any wrong step would make him bleed invisible. 

He passed the corner store, the laundromat, the half-burnt church that still smelled like ashes even after three years. He didn’t stop anywhere. Didn’t look too long at anyone. Didn’t want to be seen. 

He’d forgotten how loud the world was when no one was buffering it for him. 

Eventually, he sat on a curb in a dead-end alley. Pulled his hoodie tighter around himself like armor. 

He tried to check his phone.

Battery dead. Of course it was.

The charger switch hadn’t been a coincidence, had it? 

He stared at the screen anyway. It stared back, blank and cold. 

Maybe Techno didn’t want him leaving.

Maybe Techno had planned for this.

Maybe Techno was already looking for him. 

His stomach turned. Not with fear exactly — more like grief wearing a new mask. 

Because no matter how heavy it all was, there was a part of him — a huge, shameful part — that missed the weight. 

He dug into his pocket. Found a crumpled receipt. Turned it over and started writing with the tiny pencil nub he kept for sketching. 

Words spilled out in uneven letters: 

“I’m not safe with you.” 

“But I’m not safe without you either.” 

“I don’t know how to be alone.” 

“I don’t know how to be me.” 

“Did we die back then, and this is just the aftermath pretending to be life?” 

“If I disappear, don’t follow me.”

He stopped writing. Folded the paper. Didn’t know what to do with it. Burn it? Eat it? Leave it under a rock like some kind of offering? 

He just held it. 

A woman walked by at the far end of the alley. Glanced at him. Looked away. 

Tubbo realized he could scream and no one would stop.

He realized he didn’t want to scream.

He just wanted to go home.

But he didn’t know where that was anymore. 

He closed his eyes. 

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the sound of wind through a broken gutter and the taste of regret in his mouth. 

He thought about Techno’s face when he said “I can’t breathe here.” 

Thought about how much that must’ve hurt. 

Thought about how he didn’t regret saying it. 

And that scared him more than anything else.

Chapter Text

The door clicked shut behind Tubbo. 

And Techno stood still. 

Not for a moment. For minutes. Long ones. Heavy ones.

Like if he moved too fast, the whole apartment would crack open and swallow him whole. 

He stared at the empty hallway. 

Then at the apples on the counter.

Still untouched.

Of course they were. 

The fridge buzzed softly behind him. The walls creaked the way they always did when the temperature dropped. And Techno stood there, in the middle of it all, feeling like furniture. Just… part of the structure. 

Tubbo was gone.

Tubbo had left.

And he hadn’t stopped him. 

That was supposed to be good, wasn’t it? 

That was what normal people did. Gave space. Trusted. 

But Techno had never been normal. And trust wasn’t a thing he knew how to grow in captivity. 

He walked into the living room and sat on the couch where Tubbo had slept the night before. The blanket still held the shape of his body. 

He touched it. Pressed his hand into it like it might hold warmth. 

It didn’t. 

He stared at the wall for a long time. 

Thought about calling him.

Realized his phone was still on the charger in the bedroom.

Realized Tubbo’s charger was dead. Because he swapped it. 

He hadn’t meant it to be a trap. Not really.

Just… a nudge. A safety measure. A small, harmless leash. 

Right? 

Techno swallowed hard. 

He got up. Pushed open the door to Tubbo’s room. It smelled like old laundry and anxiety. He stood in the doorway like he didn’t belong there. Like he hadn’t tucked Tubbo into that bed a thousand times, years ago, when the world outside was war and their house was barely better. 

He glanced at the desk. 

Notes. Sketches. A small cracked mirror. And a folded piece of paper with his name on it. 

No. 

He stepped back. Closed the door. Didn’t open the note. 

Couldn’t. 

He went to the sink. Washed a plate that wasn’t dirty. Dried it. Set it down too hard. It clinked like a warning. 

Time passed. 

Still no Tubbo. 

He opened the window, even though it was freezing. Just to feel the air move. 

He tried to breathe. 

It didn’t work. 

So he went to the coat rack. Grabbed Tubbo’s spare hoodie. Pulled it on over his own like armor. 

Then, finally, like a dam giving way:

He left. 

No hesitation. No warning.

Not with anger. Not even panic. 

Just something worse. 

Certainty. 

Because if Tubbo was gone too long, something bad would happen. That was just how the world worked. If Techno didn’t stop it, it would take him again. 

And Techno had already lost everything else.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. 

The wind had picked up. His fingers were cold. The pencil nub had snapped somewhere along the way, and the folded note in his pocket felt like a weight he wasn’t sure he could carry back home. 

Not that he knew if he would go home. 

If he even could. 

He stood up slowly, joints aching in that way that came from too much stillness. The alley looked different now — harsher under the shifting light. The world had turned a deeper grey. 

Tubbo crossed his arms, not for warmth. Just to hold himself together. 

He walked. 

Nowhere in particular.

Past empty storefronts.

Past kids kicking a can across the sidewalk.

Past someone yelling into a phone about bills or breakups or something that didn’t matter to him. 

And the whole time— 

That feeling. 

Not eyes exactly. Not footsteps. 

Just… presence. 

Like a shadow two steps behind. Like a memory that followed too closely. 

He kept walking. 

Tried to shake it. 

He stopped at a vending machine. Looked through his pockets. No coins. No wallet. Of course. 

He leaned his head against the cold glass. Closed his eyes. Breathed. 

> “I’m not something you can lose.”

The words echoed back at him now with a strange taste. Bitter. Sad. Almost cruel in how true they were. 

Because deep down, he knew what Techno would do.

If he stayed gone too long, Techno wouldn’t just wait.

He’d move. Quietly. Purposefully. The way he always had. 

Tubbo took a shaky breath. 

He didn’t know if he was ready to be found. 

But part of him—

a part he hated,

a part that clung like rot— 

wanted to be. 

Because at least when Techno found him, he’d be seen. He’d be known. And maybe that was worse than being caged. Maybe it was the same thing. 

A gust of wind pushed past him, sharp as glass. 

And suddenly—

he felt it for real this time. 

The shift. 

The way the air dropped.

The way the corner behind him held something.

The way his name existed on someone’s breath a few feet too close. 

Tubbo’s heart kicked against his ribs. 

He didn’t turn around. 

He didn’t have to.

Chapter Text

He didn’t run. 

He wanted to.

His body begged him to. 

But he knew better. 

Running would mean he knew.

Running would mean guilt.

Running would make it real. 

So he just… kept walking. 

Faster. But casual. Careful. Like nothing was wrong. 

The kind of walk you do when you know someone’s behind you, and you don’t want them to know you know. 

The feeling pressed against the back of his neck like cold breath. 

He turned a corner. Another. Crossed the street without looking. 

The streets were quiet now. Less people. Less noise.

Less witnesses. 

He ducked into a side path between buildings, legs trembling under the weight of pretending nothing was wrong. 

His reflection passed in dark windows. Hollow-eyed. Pale. Not quite seventeen anymore. 

And then— 

“Tubbo.” 

The voice didn’t yell.

Didn’t demand. 

It was soft. Gentle. 

Worse than yelling. 

He stopped walking. 

Stared at the wet concrete beneath his shoes. 

Didn’t turn around. 

The footsteps behind him slowed. 

Then stopped. 

“Tubbo,” Techno said again. “You forgot your wallet.” 

Tubbo let out a breath that wasn’t relief. 

He turned. Slowly. Looked at the man standing six feet away. 

Techno wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t even tense. 

He looked calm. Calm like a wolf pretending not to be hungry. 

“You followed me,” Tubbo said. 

Techno tilted his head. “You weren’t answering.” 

“My phone’s dead.” 

“I know.” 

“Did you plan that too?” 

No answer. 

Just stillness. Just the faint sound of wind stirring trash at the edge of the alley. 

Tubbo’s fingers curled into fists. 

“I just needed time.” 

“I gave you time.” 

“You gave me minutes.” 

Techno took a step closer. Just one. 

Tubbo didn’t move. 

“You didn’t tell me where you were going,” Techno said, voice flat. “What if something happened?” 

“You were what happened.” 

That landed hard. 

Techno’s face barely moved, but his hands flexed at his sides. Just a twitch. 

“I worry about you.” 

“You control me.” 

“No,” Techno said. “I protect you.” 

“From what?” 

Techno stepped closer. 

“From this,” he whispered. 

Tubbo’s breath hitched. “From what?” 

“From being alone. From being lost. From the version of you that disappears and never comes back.” 

Tubbo shook his head. “You’re so scared of losing me, you’ve stopped letting me exist.” 

Techno reached out, hand hovering near his arm. 

“I just want to keep you safe.” 

“You want to keep me yours.” 

Silence. 

And in it — everything they’d never said. 

Techno dropped his hand. 

“I can’t do this again,” he said quietly. “I can’t go through losing you twice.” 

“Then maybe stop squeezing so hard.” 

Another silence. This one deeper. 

And then Tubbo did the unthinkable. 

He stepped past him. 

Not fast. Not angry. 

Just... forward. 

Techno didn’t stop him. 

Not yet. 

But Tubbo could feel it.

Behind him. In the air. In the way the sidewalk felt longer now. 

This wasn’t over. 

It never was.

Chapter Text

He didn’t run. 

He walked. 

Step by step, heart thudding against his ribs like it wanted to claw its way out. But he didn’t turn around. 

He felt Techno standing there. Felt it like heat on the back of his neck, like gravity he was defying by inches. 

The street opened up again. People passed him. Cars hummed. Life pretended not to notice that something sacred had just broken behind him. 

He kept walking. 

Not because he knew where he was going — but because going back wasn’t an option. 

Not yet. 

Maybe not ever. 

He found a bus stop. Sat down on the icy metal bench. Wrapped his arms around himself and stared at his shoes. 

> “You want to keep me yours.”

The words were still ringing in his ears.

He’d never said anything like that before.

Not even when he should’ve. 

And now that they were out there — sharp and real and irreversible — he didn’t know what scared him more: 

That Techno had heard them… 

Or that he might finally listen. 

A part of him expected footsteps. Expected the sound of Techno’s coat rustling as he came closer. Gentle hands pulling him up. A soft voice saying “Let’s go home.” 

But the silence stayed whole. 

No chase. 

No apology. 

No trap. 

Just… absence. 

Tubbo’s throat burned. Not from crying — he hadn’t cried. Not yet. But from the weight of everything pressing against his ribs. 

What if Techno didn’t come? 

What if he stayed away? 

What if this was the break? 

He pulled the note from his pocket. The one he’d written earlier. 

“I don’t know how to be me.” 

He folded it smaller. Smaller again. Like if he kept going, he could press it into nothing. 

The bus came. 

He didn’t get on. 

He just sat there. 

Still. Silent. Numb. 

And for the first time since he was twelve years old— 

He didn’t know if Techno was watching. 

And that was supposed to be freedom.

But god, it felt like a funeral.

Chapter Text

He sat there long after the bus was gone. 

Another came. And another.

He didn’t get on. 

He just watched them blink in and out of the street like ghosts with somewhere to be. 

The sky above him was starting to turn that bruised purple-blue that meant it was getting late. The kind of sky that made everything feel lonelier. 

Tubbo pulled his hood up. 

Pressed his knees to his chest. 

The city moved around him — quiet in that too-loud way. He thought about calling someone. But who? 

He didn’t have people anymore.

Just one person.

And he wasn’t sure if that person was still home.

Or if he ever had been. 

A kid sat on the opposite end of the bench at some point. Didn’t say anything. Just scrolled on their phone. Tubbo caught the flicker of static animation. Some game. Some noise to fill the gap. 

He almost asked for a charger. 

Almost spoke. 

Didn’t. 

He waited until they left, and then he stood up like the movement itself might break him. His legs felt unsteady. Not because of exhaustion — because of what he wasn’t doing. 

Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t heading home. 

He was drifting. 

The store windows were closing. The streetlights flickered on. The world shifted around him — from living to sleeping. 

And Tubbo? 

He didn’t fit in either. 

He ducked into a quiet stairwell beside an old apartment building. No cameras. No one watching. 

Sat on the steps. 

Put his head in his hands. 

Let himself feel the ache in his throat. The tremble in his spine. That gnawing, horrible guilt that didn’t know who to blame — Techno or himself. 

Maybe both. 

Definitely both. 

Because Techno had done awful things. 

But Tubbo had let him. Again and again. Told himself it was love. Told himself it was safety. Told himself it was fine as long as they were together. 

> “If I disappear, don’t follow me.”

He remembered writing that.

It felt different now.

Colder. Like he meant it less than he thought he did. 

Because disappearing sounded like silence. And silence didn’t hold you when the nightmares came. 

He curled tighter into his hoodie. Felt the scratchy inside of the pocket catch against his fingers. Something crumpled. 

He pulled it out. 

A note. Folded twice. 

Not his handwriting. 

He stared at it. 

Shaking fingers. Unfolded. 

> “If you need me — just say so.

I’ll come. Always.

No questions.”

No name. 

Didn’t need one. 

Tubbo pressed the paper to his chest. 

Closed his eyes. 

Didn’t cry. 

Didn’t move. 

But something in him softened. Just enough to make the next breath hurt. 

And somewhere, far away, the quiet between them started shifting again. 

Not healing.

Not yet. 

But maybe — maybe — starting to ache in a different direction.

Chapter Text

The paper in his hand was soft around the edges.

Like it had been folded and unfolded too many times. 

Like someone had written it a long time ago,

and never found the right moment to give it to him. 

He stared at the words again. 

> “If you need me — just say so.

I’ll come. Always.

No questions.”

It was a promise.

It was a trap. 

It was both. 

And god help him, part of him wanted to believe it.

Not because it was fair. Not because it was good. 

But because it was familiar. 

Familiar in the way hospitals were familiar. In the way night terrors were. In the way a song got stuck in your head even when it hurt to hear it. 

He sat there, still folded up in that stairwell, and wondered— 

If he said nothing… 

Would Techno stay away? 

Would he really let go? 

Would that mean Tubbo had won? 

Or lost? 

He pressed the note to his forehead. Let it rest there like a prayer. Or maybe a curse. 

Because needing Techno meant giving something up.

Always had. 

But what if he already gave that part up years ago?

What if this was just the aftermath of that surrender? 

He slid the note back into his pocket. Pulled out his phone again. 

Still dead. 

Still silent. 

He could walk to a coffee shop.

Find an outlet.

Text something.

One word.

No questions. 

But his legs wouldn’t move. 

Instead, he whispered, just barely audible— 

“Where are you?” 

Not a cry. Not even a call. 

Just a crack in the silence. Just enough for the air to shift. 

Just enough for something old and patient to start listening. 

He didn’t know if Techno would hear it. 

But he knew he’d feel it. 

Because that was how it had always been with them. 

Tubbo curled deeper into the stairwell’s shadow. 

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t run. 

Just waited. 

And hated how much of him still wanted to be found.

Chapter Text

The wind howled like something alive that had forgotten how to speak. 

It rattled the windowpanes. Bit through the cracks in the siding. Whistled under the doorframe like a warning Tubbo had learned to ignore. 

The foster house was cold again. It always was. Heat cost money. And warmth wasn’t something anyone here felt obligated to give him. 

Tubbo curled tighter beneath his threadbare blanket, tucked up on the edge of a thin mattress laid directly on the wooden floor. No bed frame. No sheets. Just a flattened cushion that smelled like mildew and the sharp, bitter oil of someone else’s skin. 

The walls were painted pale yellow once — the kind of color that was supposed to say “home” — but they’d faded into something that looked more like damp parchment. One of the corners had black mold spreading like veins. 

He hadn’t turned the light on. He didn’t need to. He knew the room by feel. He knew where the splintered floorboards were. Where the chill from the broken window settled deepest. Where the water stains warped the ceiling into maps of places he’d never go. 

His fingers moved over the frayed edge of the blanket, slow, mechanical, practiced. He twisted and untwisted loose threads into imagined circuitry: redstone doors, traps, levers. He hadn’t built anything in over a year, not really — not since Before — but the patterns still lived in his muscle memory like ghosts. 

Sometimes he wondered if the ghosts remembered him, too. 

Outside his room, the house creaked. Someone coughed in another room. The refrigerator wheezed through the wall. 

Tubbo didn’t sleep anymore, not deeply. Not here. 

He kept one ear open for footsteps. For the man with the heavy boots and the short fuse. For the kid who sometimes stole from his backpack. For the woman who spoke in clipped commands, always with the same sharp edge in her voice: “We’re not your family.”

“You’re lucky to be here.”

“Don’t make yourself a problem.” 

Tubbo had learned to fold himself small. To make no noise. To disappear when spoken to. The quiet kind of survival. 

He never said no. He never asked for seconds. He never cried loud enough to be heard. 

Still, he didn’t feel lucky. 

His eyes stayed open in the dark. 

He counted the cracks in the ceiling. 

He imagined a future. Any future. Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet — not this sharp, splintered kind of silence, but the kind where no one watched him like they were waiting for him to break. 

He imagined what Techno would’ve said if he saw this place. 

“We’re leaving.” 

Just that. No argument. No hesitation. Techno never asked permission. He just acted. 

But Techno wasn’t here.

Hadn’t been for— what, a year? A year and some months? Tubbo had stopped counting after the eighty-sixth day. It felt pathetic. 

They’d been split up during the system shuffle. Techno was too old. Tubbo was too “high risk.” They hadn’t even let them say goodbye. 

Tubbo had imagined finding him again a hundred different ways. Maybe a thousand. 

Sometimes he dreamed it. Techno in a hallway. Techno in a burning building. Techno in the woods with blood on his hands and a knife in his teeth, grinning like the war never ended. 

But no one had come. 

The sky outside darkened to deep violet. The hallway bulb — the only one on the second floor — had flickered out earlier that week, and no one bothered to replace it. Tubbo’s room sat in shadow, even with the door slightly ajar. He could still see the strip of darker black through the crack: hallway beyond. Emptiness. 

Then he heard it. 

Soft. 

Footsteps. 

But not the usual kind — not the heavy stomp of the man’s boots or the scuff of socks on linoleum. 

This was slow. Purposeful. Measured. 

Tubbo’s heart went tight. 

He didn’t sit up. Just froze, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Muscles locked in instinct. Breath caught. 

The footsteps came closer. 

Closer. 

Then— 

They stopped outside his door. 

The doorknob turned. 

No knock. No warning. 

Tubbo bolted upright. 

The door creaked open, quiet as breath. 

The hallway light was gone. No glow behind the figure. Just darkness. A silhouette in the frame. 

Tubbo blinked. Fast. 

The figure stepped inside. 

And Tubbo knew. 

Even before he saw the face.

Even before his eyes adjusted. 

He knew. 

“…Techno?” 

The name dropped out of him like a habit, like muscle memory. It felt rusty in his mouth, but right. 

The shape stilled. 

Then came the voice. 

“Hey.” 

Just that. Hoarse. Soft. Like the voice had forgotten how to speak. 

Tubbo stared. 

His brother stepped into the room. 

He was taller now. Broader in the shoulders. Face paler, sharper. Hair grown long and pulled back into a messy tie. His coat was oversized and worn through at the elbows. Dirt streaked his jeans. A long, shallow cut ran along his cheekbone — old, but not healed well. 

He looked like a ghost.

A ghost that had clawed its way back. 

Tubbo didn’t move. 

He didn’t trust this. 

Didn’t trust his eyes.

Didn’t trust his memory.

Didn’t trust that this wasn’t just another dream — another cruel hallucination. 

But Techno… didn’t disappear. 

He stepped forward. Carefully. Like Tubbo was something delicate. 

“You’re taller,” Techno said. 

Tubbo’s mouth opened. Closed. No sound came out. 

His chest was doing that thing it did when he was about to cry — the deep ache right behind the ribs, the wobble in his throat. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. 

“You’re late,” he whispered. 

“I know,” Techno said. 

“You left.” 

“I didn’t want to.” 

“You didn’t come back.” 

“I tried,” Techno said quietly. “You have no idea how hard I tried.” 

Tubbo stared. His breath came shallow. His fingers tightened in the blanket. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

“I almost was.” 

Techno knelt in front of him. Just a few feet away. Not touching. Not forcing. Just there. 

His voice softened to a whisper. 

“I didn’t know where they sent you.” 

Tubbo’s voice cracked. “You didn’t look hard enough.” 

“I looked everywhere.” 

A beat. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tubbo dropped the blanket. 

Stood. 

Took one step. 

Then another. 

Then he was right in front of him, eyes wide, fists shaking at his sides. 

He opened his mouth. 

But the words didn’t come. 

So instead —

he hit him. 

A soft punch to Techno’s chest. Then another. 

“You left,” he said again. “You left. You said we’d stay together and you—liar! You left me with them.” 

Techno didn’t flinch. 

Didn’t stop him. 

He just knelt there and let it happen. 

“I waited,” Tubbo said, sobbing now. “Every night. I thought— I thought maybe you were dead, or maybe you just didn’t care, or maybe you forgot me—” 

“I never forgot you,” Techno said. 

Tubbo collapsed into him. 

The hits turned into clutching fists. Gripping the fabric of his coat like it was the last solid thing in the world. 

“I hate you,” Tubbo whispered. 

“I know.” 

“I hate you.” 

“I missed you.” 

Tubbo’s voice broke. 

“…Don’t leave again.” 

“I won’t.” 

Techno wrapped his arms around him. 

Slow. Careful. 

Held him like something breakable. 

Held him like nothing else mattered. 

Tubbo sobbed into his chest. 

Small, shuddering breaths. Fingers digging into the back of his coat. Face pressed against fabric that smelled like cold air and blood and damp leaves. 

He hated how safe it felt. 

He hated that it still felt like home. 

They stayed like that for minutes. 

Maybe hours. 

Eventually, Techno spoke. 

“Let’s go.” 

Tubbo didn’t ask where. 

Didn’t ask if it was legal. If it was safe. If they’d be caught. If it would be better this time. 

He didn’t care. 

He nodded. 

“Yes.” 

Techno stood, still holding him. 

Tubbo didn’t let go. 

Didn’t even look back. 

And that was the beginning. 

That was the deal. 

That was the night Tubbo stopped being alone — and started being something worse. 

Something kept.

Chapter Text

The stairwell smelled like rust and dust and old cigarette ash. The kind of place no one really looked at. The kind of place people passed through, but didn’t stay in. 

Tubbo stayed anyway. 

He hadn’t moved since whispering that question — where are you? — not out loud enough for the world to hear, but just loud enough for Techno to hear. 

Because that was how they worked, wasn’t it? 

Techno never needed a map. He just knew. 

Tubbo stared at the cracked paint on the wall across from him.

Yellow once. Now stained a sickly grey. 

He thought about the first time Techno had taken him away — how easy it had felt, slipping into his arms, like a puzzle piece finally falling into place. 

He didn’t regret that. 

That was the hard part. 

He missed it.

Missed the simplicity.

Missed being wanted so hard it hurt.

Missed knowing that someone would break the world in half to get to him. 

But now…

Now he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Now he could feel the wrongness under the softness.

Now he knew what it cost to be held that tightly. 

Still—his hands shook like they missed the weight. 

Still—he caught himself listening for boots on pavement. 

Still—he hadn’t thrown the note away. 

And that silence? 

It was starting to ache. 

Not just the quiet.

But the waiting. 

Because if Techno was going to come, he would’ve come by now, right? 

He always did. 

So then why hadn’t he? 

Tubbo blinked down at his shoes. Dust clung to the rubber soles. 

> “Don’t leave again,” he’d said once.

And Techno had said “I won’t.” 

So where was he now? 

Maybe he was waiting too. 

Maybe he was testing him. 

Tubbo’s breath caught. 

> No questions.

That was what the note had said. 

Tubbo could say one word — could type it, whisper it, write it on a wall — and Techno would come. 

No questions. 

No hesitation. 

No mercy. 

His fingers twitched. 

He pulled the paper out again. It looked smaller now. Fragile. 

He imagined lighting it on fire. 

He imagined swallowing it. 

He imagined crumpling it up and throwing it off the roof of the building like a signal flare. 

But he didn’t do any of those things. 

He just stared at it. 

Because this was the only kind of control he had left.

Not in running.

Not in escaping. 

But in not calling. 

In not asking to be taken home. 

In letting the space between them breathe. 

Tubbo curled his knees tighter to his chest and pressed his forehead to them. 

Let his eyes fall shut. 

Didn’t cry. 

Didn’t call. 

Just… existed. 

And waited. 

Not to be found. 

But to see if not being found would break him.

Chapter Text

He didn’t sleep. 

He sat on the floor, back against the door, and stared at the hallway like it might produce a miracle. 

No one came. 

No footsteps. 

No keys in the lock.

No soft knock, too quiet to be real. 

Just the refrigerator humming in the other room. 

Just the pale flicker of the hallway light. 

Just the weight of Tubbo’s absence bleeding into the walls. 

Techno’s hand was still curled loosely around his phone. The screen dark. Blank. 

He kept checking it anyway. 

Over and over. 

As if maybe he’d missed something. As if maybe Tubbo had said something without saying it, and Techno just didn’t read it right. 

He hadn’t followed him.

That was important. 

He hadn’t chased.

Because that’s what Tubbo said he wanted. 

> “If I disappear, don’t follow me.”

Techno had made himself obey. 

Made himself stay. 

But he was starting to feel the cracks in it now. 

The jagged edge of what if. 

What if Tubbo didn’t come back? 

What if this time, he meant it? 

What if Techno had let go of the only thing keeping him tethered to this version of himself? 

He leaned his head back against the door. 

Breathed in. 

Held it. 

Let it go. 

Tubbo’s coat still hung by the rack. 

His shoes were still by the heater, one slightly tilted inward like he always left them. 

His mug was in the sink. 

Still a ring of dried cocoa at the bottom. 

Techno couldn’t bring himself to clean it. 

He just kept circling the apartment in slow loops.

Noticing things.

Marking them.

Measuring the space where Tubbo wasn’t. 

And when he got back to the door, he sat again.

Waited. 

He didn’t pace. 

Didn’t scream. 

Didn’t curse the sky or punch a wall or rip the note to pieces. 

He waited. 

Because Techno didn’t believe in begging. 

But he believed in promises. 

And Tubbo promised he’d say something if he needed him. 

So Techno waited for the sign. 

Waited for the message.

Waited for the whisper.

Waited for the world to shift in that subtle, off-kilter way it did whenever Tubbo called. 

Because Tubbo always called. 

He had to. 

Didn’t he? 

Techno stared at the phone again. Thumb brushed the screen. 

No notifications. 

No missed calls. 

No signal. 

Just the silence. 

And in that silence — something inside him started to uncoil. 

A version of himself he hadn’t needed in years.

One made for finding things.

One that didn’t ask permission.

One that only ever knew how to protect. 

He exhaled slow. 

Pressed the heel of his hand into his sternum, like he could stop the feeling from rising. 

It didn’t work. 

Because it wasn’t grief he felt.

It wasn’t panic. 

It was certainty. 

Tubbo was out there. 

And he wasn’t fine. 

Which meant this wasn’t about what Tubbo wanted anymore. 

This was about what Techno knew. 

And Techno? 

He never let what he loved disappear for long.

Chapter Text

The first thing he did was go to Tubbo’s room. 

He didn’t knock. 

Just opened the door, slow, deliberate, and stepped inside like he hadn’t done it in months — like it was sacred ground, not something he helped build. 

The bed was made, sort of.

Blanket tossed, one pillow on the floor.

The window was closed, but not locked. 

His heart clicked like a metronome. 

One beat. Then another. 

He crossed the room in two strides and knelt in front of the little dresser Tubbo used. 

Pulled the drawers open. 

Not rummaging — assessing. 

His hoodie was gone. The one with the moth pin on it.

The cash stash behind the sock pile was still untouched. 

So Tubbo had left in a rush. Or maybe on impulse. 

Techno straightened. Eyes moved to the desk next. 

The note Tubbo had left — 

> “Don’t follow me.”

—was still in the trash. 

That meant something.

That meant everything. 

He picked it up again. 

Read it for the fiftieth time. 

Held it like a weapon. 

Then folded it carefully. 

Slid it into his coat pocket. 

He stood there for a while. In the doorway. In the quiet. 

Tried to imagine what Tubbo had been thinking when he left. 

Tried to imagine if he looked back. 

He didn’t like either answer. 

So he stopped imagining. 

And started moving. 

He checked the station next. 

The one Tubbo always used when he needed to disappear but not really. The one with the corner bench they used to sit on together, where Tubbo could watch the late buses come and go like ghosts with names. 

Techno’s boots hit pavement with surgical purpose. 

He didn’t hurry.

Didn’t run.

Didn’t ask questions. 

Just walked like the world was already reshaping itself around him. 

The station was half-empty when he arrived. 

A few late commuters. A couple kids with backpacks and monster drinks. The usual shadow figures. The ones who didn’t make eye contact. 

Techno didn’t need eye contact. 

He needed evidence. 

He scanned the benches. 

And then— 

There. 

A scuff mark on the concrete where Tubbo used to kick his heels. 

A flattened candy wrapper near the second bench — the strawberry kind Tubbo chewed when anxious. 

A bent corner in the station map, right where Tubbo always touched it when pretending not to read. 

The space was empty now. 

But Tubbo had been there. 

Techno stepped forward. 

Knelt. 

Pressed his fingers to the spot where Tubbo would’ve sat. 

Cold. 

Still faintly warm in his memory. 

He could see it —

Tubbo curled in his hoodie, hood up, waiting for a bus he wouldn’t get on. 

Watching the night shift around him like it had teeth. 

He had been here. 

But he’d moved on. 

And now? 

Now the trail was bleeding thin. 

Techno stood. 

Looked around. 

Eyes swept the buildings. 

Noticed the old stairwell across the street —

one without cameras.

One with shadows. 

His chest tugged. 

He crossed fast. 

Went up one flight. Stopped. 

Lowered himself to the third step. 

Closed his eyes. 

Waited. 

The wind shifted through the metal rails. 

And there it was. 

The residue. 

Not smell. Not touch. 

Not something you could explain. 

Just a presence. 

Faint. 

But real. 

Tubbo had sat here. 

He could feel the imprint of it — like heat after a fire. 

Techno opened his eyes. 

Breathed in deep. 

The tightness in his chest loosened. Slightly. 

Not relief. 

But contact. 

Like a thread had been picked up. 

Like he was tethered again. 

He pulled out his phone. 

Typed one word. 

> “Soon.”

Didn’t send it. 

Didn’t need to. 

He would say it with his hands when he found him. 

Because Tubbo had left a trail. 

And Techno? 

He never lost what was his.

Chapter Text

He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

Or maybe he hadn’t. 

Maybe his brain just went somewhere soft and blank for a while, where the thoughts didn’t circle so loud. Where the cold didn’t bite quite so deep. 

He shifted on the stairwell, limbs heavy, back aching. The concrete had molded itself into his spine. Time had blurred around him, elastic and indifferent. 

He rubbed his eyes. They felt dry. His mouth tasted like metal. 

The street outside buzzed faintly — cars in the distance, someone laughing too loud a few blocks down. But it all felt far away, like it belonged to a different world. A brighter one. 

Here, in this stairwell? 

It was shadow and dust. 

And something else. 

Something that made the hair on his arms rise. 

Tubbo sat up straighter. 

He didn’t hear anything. 

Didn’t see anyone. 

But the air had changed. 

Subtle. Like the room got smaller without anyone moving. 

His heart picked up. Just a little. 

That ache in his chest — the one he’d been keeping pressed down like a bruise — began to throb. 

He looked over his shoulder. 

The stairwell was still empty. 

But his body knew better. 

It always did. 

This was the part no one else understood.

That Techno didn’t need to touch you to hold you.

He didn’t need to be in the room for you to feel him. 

Tubbo had once compared it to gravity. 

> “It’s like you’re a planet,” he’d told him. “And I’m stuck in your orbit. Even when I’m not looking.”

He’d meant it like a joke. 

But Techno hadn’t laughed. 

And now, sitting here with the weight of his absence starting to curve back inward, Tubbo could feel it again. That slow, creeping pull. 

He fumbled for his phone out of habit — still dead. Still a black mirror in his palm. 

He put it back in his pocket. 

Folded his arms over his knees and rested his head on them. 

Tried not to think.

Tried not to hope. 

Because this wasn’t about hoping anymore. 

This was about inevitability. 

Tubbo had left. 

He hadn’t run. 

He hadn’t screamed. 

He’d just stepped outside the walls and waited. 

But now? 

Now the silence had changed shape. 

And he didn’t know if it was better or worse than the noise. 

Because even in this dull, sleepless fog— 

Even in this crumbling stairwell under the yellow lights— 

Tubbo knew exactly what it meant to feel watched. 

And the worst part? 

Was that part of him didn’t feel afraid. 

Part of him felt… steady. 

Like the gravity had caught up to him again. 

Like he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

And that— 

That was the part he hated the most.

Chapter Text

He felt it before he saw it. 

That pressure.

That shift in the air. 

Like the stairwell wasn’t a stairwell anymore — just a trap in slow motion.

Just a hallway where something old came home. 

Tubbo lifted his head. 

And there he was. 

Techno. 

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, framed by dim light and shadow like something painted in ash. 

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just looked up at him like he was reading the last page of a story he already knew by heart. 

Tubbo didn’t say anything either. 

Couldn’t. 

He just stared. 

Because there was nothing loud about this moment.

No rage.

No wild reunion.

No desperation. 

Just gravity. 

Just the way Techno’s presence bent the world around him until Tubbo had no choice but to feel it. 

“You found me,” Tubbo said finally, and it came out too soft. Not surprised. Not scared. Just tired. 

Techno climbed the first step. 

Then the next. 

Each movement slow, deliberate — like he was giving Tubbo time to run, even though they both knew he wouldn’t. 

Tubbo didn’t move. 

He watched Techno reach the top of the landing. 

He stopped one step below. 

Close.

But not touching. 

“You didn’t call,” Techno said. 

Tubbo swallowed.

Felt the paper in his pocket like a brand. 

“No.” 

Techno nodded, like that confirmed something. 

“You weren’t supposed to come,” Tubbo added. Quieter. “I didn’t ask.” 

“No,” Techno repeated. 

A pause. 

A breath. 

Then— 

“You didn’t have to.” 

Tubbo flinched. 

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? 

He’d always known Techno would come. 

Even if he didn’t say the word. 

Even if he tried to stay quiet. 

Techno had always been fluent in unspoken things. 

Tubbo leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowed. “So what now? You drag me back?” 

“No.” 

“Lie to me?” 

“No.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

Techno’s voice didn’t rise. Didn’t tremble. 

“Because I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” he said. “Not again.” 

Tubbo laughed. Bitter. Quiet. 

“And if I want to be left?” 

Techno’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Then you shouldn’t have written that note.” 

Tubbo’s chest twisted. 

That note — that one, stupid, panicked piece of paper — had turned into a tether. 

He thought silence would be safe. 

But Techno had always known how to read silence like a map. 

“You don’t get to decide what I meant,” Tubbo muttered. 

“I know,” Techno said. “But I know what you felt.” 

That stopped Tubbo cold. 

Because he hated how true that sounded. 

How easy it was for Techno to cut to the center of him. 

Techno stepped onto the last stair, now eye-level. 

He didn’t reach out. 

Didn’t raise his voice. 

He just looked at Tubbo. 

Not angry.

Not sad.

Just there. 

And that was worse. 

“I wasn’t trying to run,” Tubbo said, barely audible. 

“I know.” 

“I just needed—” 

“Space,” Techno finished. 

Tubbo exhaled. 

Finally, he asked: “And what do you need?” 

Techno didn’t hesitate. 

“You.” 

Tubbo’s breath hitched. 

And that — that right there — was the most terrifying thing Techno could’ve said. 

Because it wasn’t said like a plea. 

It was said like a truth. 

And Tubbo had never known what to do with that kind of need except drown in it. 

He looked away. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have left that note.” 

Techno’s voice was quieter now. 

“But you did.” 

And Tubbo could feel it in his bones. 

The choice. 

It was still his — Techno wasn’t reaching for him. 

But the weight of him was already wrapped around his ribs. 

And maybe it never left.

Chapter Text

Tubbo didn’t speak for a while. 

He just stared out past Techno’s shoulder, like the hallway held an answer he couldn’t bear to look at directly. 

His chest felt tight. His limbs heavy. 

It was like trying to breathe underwater. 

Techno didn’t move. 

He stood there — unmoving, unblinking — as if afraid that stepping closer would shatter something too fragile to fix. 

Tubbo swallowed hard. 

“You know,” he said eventually, voice thin and far away, “I used to think you were a monster.” 

Techno blinked once. “You told me that before.” 

“I think I meant it back then.” 

A pause. 

Tubbo laughed, soft and hollow. “Maybe I still do.” 

Techno’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. 

“I used to wonder,” Tubbo continued, “if you kept me because you loved me… or because you didn’t know how to be alone.” 

Still no answer. 

Just the hum of the building settling. The flickering bulb overhead. 

Tubbo tilted his head against the wall. Let his gaze finally meet Techno’s. 

“It wasn’t love,” he said. Not cruel, not angry. Just numb. “It was survival. Both of us. Holding on so tight we couldn’t tell whose fear was whose.” 

Techno’s voice came quiet. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe,” Tubbo echoed. 

He wanted to cry, but nothing came. Not even the sting. Just exhaustion curling in his throat like smoke. 

“You stayed with me when no one else did,” he murmured. “That’s what makes this so hard.” 

Techno finally looked away. 

Not far — just down, to the step between them. The invisible line. 

“You think I regret it?” he asked. 

Tubbo shrugged. 

“I think you need it. Us. Whatever we are.” 

“I do.” 

“And that scares me.” 

“I know.” 

Tubbo leaned forward slightly, like the words weighed more than he did. 

“I want to believe we could be something else, Techno. Not broken, not stuck, not just echoes of who we were.” 

Techno raised his eyes again. 

His voice was quiet. Almost soft. 

“Do you think we ever had a chance at that?” 

Tubbo looked at him. 

Really looked. 

The tired eyes. The pale skin. The way he held still like movement might crack the ground beneath them. 

He didn’t know how to answer that. 

Because wanting wasn’t the same as having. 

“I don’t know,” Tubbo said. 

And that — that was the most honest thing he could give. 

They stood like that. Balanced on the knife-edge of memory. 

One step apart. 

One second before the fall. 

And for the first time in a long, long while… 

Neither of them reached out.

Chapter Text

Tubbo looked away first. 

Back down the stairs, out into the dark. The air felt cold against his face, but it helped — gave him something to feel that wasn’t the tightening in his chest. 

“I can’t be what you want,” he whispered. “I don’t think I ever was.” 

He meant it to be a kindness.

An ending wrapped in truth. 

But behind him, he heard Techno breathe in — a slow, shaking inhale like someone trying to hold back a collapse with their bare hands. 

He turned back just in time to see it happen. 

Techno didn’t move at first. 

Didn’t speak. 

But something in him gave — subtle, terrifying. Like the floor caved in under his feet and he didn’t even try to step aside. 

His eyes stayed fixed on the space Tubbo had just been. 

And then — too quiet — he said: 

“I don’t want anything else.” 

Tubbo froze. 

“What?” 

“I don’t want anyone else. Anywhere else. Anything else.” 

Techno’s voice wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t raised.

But it had the weight of something crumbling inside. 

“You keep talking like I trapped you,” Techno said, finally looking at him — and this time there was no mask. No armor. Just ache. “Like I dragged you down with me. Like I ruined you.” 

Tubbo’s breath caught. “Techno—” 

“But I didn’t ask for this either,” Techno said. “I didn’t want to love someone like this. I didn’t want to wake up every day knowing the only reason I’m still breathing is because you’re still here.” 

He stepped forward, voice low and fraying at the edges. 

“You think I’m proud of this? Of how I watch you sleep like you’re gonna vanish if I blink too long? Of how I memorize the way you breathe so I know when something’s wrong? You think I chose this?” 

Tubbo’s back hit the wall. His throat was dry. 

“I— I never said you—” 

“But you’re leaving, Tubbo. You want to. And I can’t stop it. I can’t even ask you not to, because you’ll think I’m just trying to own you again. Like I’m some kind of monster, like you said.” 

Techno’s voice cracked. 

“I didn’t want to be a monster,” he said. “I just wanted you to stay.” 

Tubbo stared. 

And suddenly — he wasn’t cold anymore. 

He was burning. 

Because this wasn’t the Techno he’d grown up with.

This wasn’t the silent, sharp-edged protector.

This was the part of him Tubbo was never supposed to see. 

The part that needed.

The part that begged. 

And it was worse than anything. 

Tubbo’s throat closed. 

“Techno…” 

But Techno stepped back, just once. Just enough to breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know how to love you without breaking something.” 

He turned, slow. 

And for the first time — Techno looked like he might leave. 

Tubbo’s pulse spiked. 

He opened his mouth — to stop him, maybe. To say something. Anything. 

But nothing came. 

Because part of him still wanted to let him go. 

And part of him didn’t know if that was mercy — or murder.

Chapter Text

He didn’t move at first. 

He just stood there, heart pounding, breath stuttering in and out like he’d been punched in the chest and only now realized it. 

Techno had turned. 

Was walking away. 

And Tubbo— 

Tubbo felt like the ground beneath him had been ripped out, not gently but like a scab being peeled too fast. It hurt. It burned. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

He’d expected anger. 

Expected the quiet fury, the sharp edge of Techno’s silence, the control. 

But not this. 

Not that voice. 

Not the way Techno’s shoulders had slumped — not like defeat, but like grief. 

Tubbo’s mouth was dry. 

His voice caught on the edge of his teeth. 

“I didn’t mean to ruin you.” 

The words came out brittle. Like they were made of glass and regret. 

Techno didn’t stop walking. 

Didn’t flinch. 

Didn’t say anything. 

Tubbo’s hands curled into fists. 

“I didn’t ask to be needed this much,” he said, louder this time. “I didn’t want to be your reason to breathe.” 

His voice broke. 

“I don’t know how to carry that anymore.” 

Techno slowed — just a step. 

Tubbo’s pulse spiked. He hated how hopeful he felt. 

“I know you didn’t ask for this,” he whispered. “But I didn’t either. And we’re both bleeding for it.” 

Still, no answer. 

Just that silence again. 

That awful, unbearable space between them. 

And Tubbo hated it. 

He hated that Techno was walking away now — not dragging him, not clutching at him, not fighting. 

Just leaving. 

And somehow, that was worse. 

“Do you want me to follow you?” Tubbo called, voice cracking open. 

Techno stopped. 

Just for a moment. 

Didn’t turn around. 

Tubbo stepped forward. 

One pace.

Two. 

Until they were close enough for the silence to feel like pressure. 

“I don’t want to hate you,” he said, almost pleading. 

Techno’s shoulders lifted in a quiet breath. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Tubbo added. 

He was shaking now. 

“I don’t know if I can survive without you.” 

Finally, Techno turned. 

And the look on his face— 

It broke something. 

Because it wasn’t triumphant.

It wasn’t relieved. 

It was destroyed. 

Like Tubbo had just handed him his own bleeding heart and asked him to throw it back. 

“I’m not trying to make you stay,” Techno said. “I’m just trying not to fall apart if you don’t.” 

Tubbo’s throat closed. 

Because that was it, wasn’t it? 

The impossible loop. 

He couldn’t let Techno go — and he couldn’t hold onto him without killing something in both of them. 

They didn’t know how to live without each other.

But being together felt like a slow-motion funeral. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Tubbo admitted. 

And Techno — for the first time — stepped forward again. 

Not to grab him. 

Not to pull. 

Just to stand there. 

With him. 

“I don’t either,” he said. 

And somehow, that hurt more than anything.

Chapter Text

It started in his chest. 

Not sharp, not sudden. Just a pressure — like something had latched onto his lungs and decided to stay. 

He blinked once. Twice. 

The stairwell tilted. Or maybe he did. 

Techno was still standing in front of him, still watching with that careful stillness, like he was afraid even a breath would unravel Tubbo’s seams. 

Too late. 

They were already coming apart. 

“I can’t…” Tubbo whispered. 

His legs gave out before he could finish. 

He sank down onto the step, hands shaking, throat closing like it was rejecting oxygen outright. His vision tunneled, narrowing to points of light and noise and panic. 

“I can’t—I can’t—” He didn’t know what he was saying. Didn’t know who he was saying it to. Himself? Techno? The part of him that had hoped? 

Techno didn’t move. 

Tubbo pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Everything felt too much. 

The quiet. 

The closeness. 

The stillness after the storm. 

His whole body was vibrating. 

“What if there’s no way to fix this?” he gasped. “What if this is it? This—this mess—what if it’s all we ever were?” 

Techno didn’t answer. 

Tubbo’s breath hitched. 

“I feel like I’m choking,” he admitted. “Even when you’re not touching me.” 

Techno’s voice came slow. Careful. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I know,” Tubbo choked out. “That’s the worst part.” 

His heart was hammering. 

His ribs hurt. 

He curled in on himself, nails digging into his sleeves. “I feel like I’m still twelve and hiding in that damn crawlspace. I feel like I never left. I feel like if I move the wrong way you’ll vanish and if I stay here I’ll die.” 

His words came faster now. Frenzied. Scattered. 

“I wanted to choose something better,” he sobbed. “I wanted us to grow. But we never did. We just stayed — frozen in this awful echo of survival, and now I don’t know who I am without you and I don’t know if I can breathe with you and I don’t know— I don’t know— I don’t—” 

His voice cracked entirely. 

Collapsed under its own weight. 

He was shaking. 

He was crying. 

He was trying not to reach for Techno and hating himself for wanting to. 

And Techno just stood there. 

Didn’t move. 

Didn’t speak. 

Didn’t fix it. 

Because maybe, somehow, he understood: 

This had to burn through. 

This had to bleed out. 

Tubbo had never been allowed to panic. Not when they were running. Not when they were hiding. Not when Techno held him like a shield. 

But now? 

Now he was breaking. 

And it was real. 

And it was his.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. 

Bent double on the stairs, fists curled in his sleeves, breathing like he was trying to survive something invisible and infinite. 

Techno didn’t move. 

Didn’t touch him. 

Didn’t say his name. 

And somehow, that made it worse.

That made it real. 

Tubbo squeezed his eyes shut. 

Tried to think of something that didn’t hurt. 

The sound of rain on the windows.

The static from an old radio.

Warm socks, cheap tea, silence that didn’t smother. 

But everything looped back to this. 

To Techno. 

To the way his presence filled every room Tubbo walked into.

To the way his voice shaped Tubbo’s choices, even when it was quiet.

To the way Tubbo always ended up back here — with him, in the aftermath, in the fallout, in the hollow ache of something that looked like love but didn’t feel like freedom. 

He lifted his head, slowly. 

His face was damp. He hadn’t realized he’d cried that much. 

His chest hurt. His ribs felt too small for the weight they carried. 

And Techno was still standing there. 

Still watching. 

Still not reaching. 

Tubbo swallowed hard. 

“Will it always be like this?” he whispered. 

His voice cracked in the middle — hoarse and raw and small. 

Techno didn’t answer. 

So Tubbo kept going. Because he had to. 

“Will it always feel like I’m drowning even when I’m home? Like I’ve traded one kind of cage for another?” 

Still nothing. 

Tubbo wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

“Because I’ve tried,” he said, and now his voice trembled again. “I’ve tried to love you clean. To let the past be the past. But I can’t see you without remembering everything we survived, and I can’t survive it again.” 

He curled in tighter. Nails dug into his palms. 

“I wanted us to get better. I wanted us to grow. But all we ever did was survive harder.” 

He was shaking again. 

“And if this is all there is — if this us is what’s left — I don’t know if I can do it anymore.” 

He let his hands fall to the step beside him. 

Let himself slump against the wall, exhausted and brittle and done. 

“I’m so tired of being made out of you,” he whispered. 

And that was the heart of it. 

That was the rot. 

Because even now, in the middle of the spiral, in the pit of panic and memory and ache— 

He still loved him. 

He loved him so much it hurt. 

He couldn’t stop loving him. 

He couldn’t leave him. 

He couldn’t not be him. 

And that was the cruelest part. 

Because it meant the pain didn’t come from outside. 

It came from inside the shape of Tubbo’s own love. 

And that love? 

It had never been soft. 

It had always burned.

Chapter Text

He didn’t hear Techno sit down. 

He just felt the shift — the slight tug in the air beside him, like a thread had gone taut between two bodies barely tethered to the world. 

Tubbo didn’t look up. 

He didn’t have to. 

He could feel him.

Warmth without comfort.

Presence without peace. 

They didn’t speak. 

Not for a long time. 

The stairwell was quiet.

Dust floated in the air like ash.

The city outside kept breathing. Cars passed. Sirens wailed somewhere far off. Life went on without them. 

Tubbo curled into himself again. 

Not from fear this time. 

Not even pain. 

Just emptiness.

A hollow ache that didn’t pulse anymore.

Just settled.

Like rot. 

And beside him, Techno sat — not touching, not reaching, not pleading. 

Just there. 

Two bodies in a mausoleum of memory. 

Tubbo let his eyes slip shut. 

His voice was barely audible. “We’re never going to leave this, are we.” 

A pause. 

Then Techno, low and tired: “No.” 

Tubbo nodded. It wasn’t a question. Not really. 

Another pause. 

“I used to dream about getting out,” Tubbo said. 

“Me too.” 

“I thought if I left the place, the feelings would stay behind.” 

Techno was quiet.

Then: 

“They don’t.” 

“No.” Tubbo breathed in slowly. “They really don’t.” 

They sat like that, shoulder to shoulder but miles apart. 

There was no comfort in it. 

But there was familiarity. 

Like an old wound pressed into scar tissue. 

Tubbo let his head fall to the side. Rested it lightly against Techno’s shoulder. 

It wasn’t softness. 

It was surrender. 

He spoke again, so quiet it could’ve been a thought. 

“I think we died a long time ago.” 

Techno didn’t deny it. 

Tubbo let his eyes open. 

The light from the hallway flickered once. 

And in that moment, everything felt still.

Not peaceful.

Not healed. 

Just final. 

Two ghosts.

Same body. 

Same silence. 

Same end.

Chapter Text

The silence didn’t settle. 

It spilled — thick and endless, like blood that had nowhere left to go. It coated the stairwell, pooled in the corners, filled the gaps between Tubbo’s ribs and stayed there. Not like a comfort. Like a weight. 

He didn’t move. 

Neither did Techno. 

They sat in it — not frozen, not waiting, just stuck. Like time had stopped trying to pull them forward. Like the moment had calcified. 

Tubbo’s hands were open in his lap, palms up. They looked like they were meant to hold something. They didn’t. 

There was nothing left to hold. 

Around them, the air felt stale. Too quiet. Like a house after a fire — the walls still standing, but every room gutted. The echo of lives that were never really lived. 

He blinked. 

Something in his chest hurt, but not sharply. Just that dull, constant ache. The kind that doesn’t mean healing. Just existence. 

Techno hadn’t said a word since sitting down. 

Tubbo hadn’t either. 

There was nothing new left between them. 

Just ruins. 

Just the pieces. 

And God — there were so many of them. Scattered, invisible, littered across the floor like broken glass from a life that never quite held together. Shards of what they used to be. What they pretended to be. What they tried, over and over, to convince themselves was real. 

They were surrounded by it.

Buried in it.

Cut by it, even now. 

Tubbo could feel the shape of it under his skin. 

He swallowed, slow. 

“I think,” he said — voice flat, dry, empty — “we’ve always been broken.” 

Techno didn’t look at him. 

Didn’t nod. 

Didn’t speak. 

But Tubbo kept going, because the silence wouldn’t hold still otherwise. 

“Even before the war. Even before the hiding and the fear and the cold. We weren’t… whole. Were we?” 

His words floated up into the dark. No echo. No answer. 

Just dust. 

He stared down at his hands again. Flexed his fingers. They didn’t feel like they belonged to him. 

“Sometimes I think we were born like this. Like whatever made us, it forgot the parts that let people grow right.” 

A breath. 

“I kept trying to fill in the cracks. With you. With us. Like maybe if I stayed close enough, long enough, I could seal myself shut.” 

He blinked hard. His eyes stung. 

“But I was never whole. And you… you only knew how to hold me by keeping me small.” 

The words didn’t even feel cruel. 

They felt true. 

They felt like bones. Dry. Ancient. Buried too deep to be moved now. 

Techno still didn’t speak. 

Tubbo didn’t need him to. 

Not anymore. 

He let the silence stretch again. Let it yawn wide between them. Let it swallow. 

They’d lived like this forever — in the gaps. In the broken places. 

He turned his head slightly. Not enough to look at Techno directly. Just enough to see the blur of him in the edge of his vision. 

Still. Unmoving. Just… there. 

A monument to everything Tubbo couldn’t leave behind. 

He hated how much of his shape was carved out of that silhouette. 

“I don’t think we ever had a future,” he whispered. “Just a long, slow echo of the past.” 

He closed his eyes. 

“I think we were supposed to die back then.” 

It didn’t feel dramatic to say it. 

Just final. 

And maybe they had died. 

Maybe this was what came after. 

A haunted thing. An empty house. Two bodies that hadn’t realized they were already gone. 

He breathed in. It didn’t help. 

His limbs were heavy. His mouth was dry. 

Everything in him felt burned out. 

Like he’d used all his feeling on surviving, and now there was nothing left to power the rest. 

Not anger.

Not grief.

Not even fear. 

Just… the cold. 

The stillness. 

The knowing. 

That this was it. 

This was all they were. 

He spoke again, quieter now. Like anything louder would crack the stairwell in half. 

“If you weren’t here,” he said, “I’d still feel you. In every room. In every breath.” 

His voice frayed. 

“I hate that.” 

He felt Techno breathe, finally — just once. A slow, quiet inhale. 

But he didn’t speak. 

Didn’t deny it. 

Didn’t offer to let go. 

Because they both knew:

There was no letting go.

There never had been. 

They were wrapped in each other’s shape like grave clothes.

Knotted.

Pressed tight.

Not in love. 

In death. 

In that place just beneath survival, where people stop growing and just start existing. 

Tubbo leaned his head back against the wall. 

Everything ached. 

Everything was quiet. 

Everything was over. 

And yet here they were. 

Still breathing. 

Still not living. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he whispered. 

Techno didn’t answer. 

But his hand — slow, silent — rested on the stair between them. Not touching. Just… there. 

Tubbo stared at it. 

At the scars. The way the fingers curled slightly inward. The way the skin looked faded. Familiar. 

He remembered holding that hand when they ran. When they starved. When they slept in dirt and called it safety. 

That hand had led him through hell. 

It had kept him alive. 

It had also kept him here. 

Trapped. 

Bound. 

Unhealed. 

He didn’t reach for it. 

He didn’t move at all. 

But he didn’t look away either. 

And the moment just… stretched. 

Heavy. 

Hollow. 

Final. 

They sat like that, side by side, like two statues left in a ruined cathedral. Forgotten by the world. Prayed to by no one. 

No salvation coming. 

No sun through the stained glass. 

Just shadow. 

And silence. 

And the shattered remains of something that never really was.

Chapter Text

It had been seven days. 

Tubbo only knew that because the sun kept coming through the same window at the same angle, brushing across the same rug where neither of them stepped. He didn’t look at clocks anymore. The tick of time felt useless now — a rhythm for people who were still moving. 

He and Techno weren’t moving. 

They weren’t healing. 

They were just here. 

Tubbo lay curled in the sheets. The fabric was old, worn thin. It stuck to the shape of his legs like it knew him. Knew how still he’d been. How empty. 

Techno was beside him. Always. 

Sometimes they lay facing each other.

Sometimes back to back.

Sometimes just… barely touching, their hands near but not quite meeting, like ghosts reaching in the dark. 

This morning, Tubbo woke to the sound of Techno’s breathing. Not loud. Not steady. Just… there. A soft reminder that he wasn’t alone. 

Not that it comforted him. 

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. 

The room smelled like sweat and closed windows. Like forgotten meals. Like skin that hadn’t felt clean in days. 

He didn’t mind. 

He didn’t care. 

His chest hurt, but not the kind that screamed. Just the dull pull of something that had been scooped out and never replaced. 

He turned his head slightly. 

Techno was watching him. 

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. Didn’t look away. 

Tubbo blinked. “Did you sleep?” 

Techno’s voice was rough. “Some.” 

Tubbo nodded and looked back at the ceiling. “Okay.” 

That was it. 

No good morning.

No question of how he felt.

They both already knew. 

Nothing had changed. 

They hadn’t left the apartment in days. Had barely left the bed, except to piss or drink or sit in silence somewhere else for a while. 

The silence followed them. 

It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t cruel. It just was — like mold in the walls. Like breath in an empty house. 

Tubbo sat up slowly, his limbs stiff and unwilling. His shirt clung to his back. He pushed his hair from his face and looked toward the window. 

The light was soft. Dim.

Like the world outside knew not to shine too brightly here. 

Techno shifted behind him. 

The mattress creaked. A hand pressed against his back. Not firm. Not asking anything. Just resting there, like a reminder. 

Tubbo let it stay. 

His voice cracked. “I dreamed we were kids again.” 

Techno didn’t speak, but the hand on his back moved. Up, then down. Once. 

Tubbo swallowed. “We were running. Through snow. You told me not to fall behind.” 

Pause. 

“I always fell behind.” 

He could feel Techno listening. 

He could always feel him. 

“I woke up,” Tubbo said, “and I thought for a second maybe I’d get up and go to school. Maybe I’d brush my teeth. Make toast.” 

He huffed a breath that didn’t reach a laugh. 

“Then I remembered we’re like this now.” 

Techno’s hand moved again. Slow. Careful. Not comforting — just there. 

Tubbo closed his eyes. 

They stayed like that for a while.

Later that day, they sat on the floor, backs against the wall, a blanket draped loosely over their legs. 

There was an untouched cup of tea on the table. A plate with two bites of toast that had gone cold. A radio crackled low with static, then a song Tubbo didn’t recognize. He didn’t ask to turn it off. 

They hadn’t spoken in hours. 

The silence had grown teeth. Soft ones. The kind that didn’t bite, just rested on your throat. 

Tubbo’s voice broke it first. 

“Do you think this is what dying feels like?” 

Techno’s eyes flicked to him. He looked tired. Older. 

“Not dying,” he said. “Just staying dead.” 

Tubbo nodded. “Yeah.” 

They went quiet again.

That night, they lay in bed facing each other. 

The sheets were tangled between them. One of Techno’s hands lay limp on the pillow. Tubbo stared at it. 

“Why didn’t we ever leave each other?” he asked. 

Techno was quiet. 

Tubbo kept looking at his hand. 

“I think I would’ve died without you.” 

Techno said, “You did.” 

Tubbo blinked. 

Techno’s voice was soft. Matter-of-fact. “So did I.” 

Tubbo didn’t ask when.

He didn’t have to. 

They both knew there hadn’t been a single moment. Just a long decay. A slow surrender. 

Tubbo shifted closer. 

He pressed his forehead to Techno’s chest. Felt the faint rise and fall. Heard the dull beat of a heart that didn’t sound like hope. Just habit. 

Techno’s arms wrapped around him. 

And there it was — the quiet again. But now inside a shape. A space. A bed. 

Tubbo whispered, “Do you think there’s a version of us somewhere that’s happy?” 

Techno didn’t answer for a long time. 

Then: 

“No.” 

Tubbo exhaled. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Days passed.

Or maybe it was still the same one, stretched long and thin. 

They stopped looking in mirrors.

Stopped asking the time. 

They whispered sometimes — not about anything, just… sound. The act of speaking without meaning. Something soft to hold in the dark. 

Tubbo would say, “Your hair’s grown.” 

Techno would reply, “So has yours.” 

And that would be enough. 

Some nights, Tubbo cried. Not loudly. Not because of anything new. Just the pressure of existing still. Of having a body. Of being held by someone who had always meant everything and never meant safety. 

Techno would hold him. Not tightly. Not gently. Just… there. 

They didn’t fix anything. 

They didn’t try. 

They just lay in the quiet, whispering about nothing, as if that was what love was now — a shared silence, cold and crusted over, passed between their hands like a relic. 

And it was. 

It was all they had. 

All they’d ever had.