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Ranboo was not one for reflection. He liked to think, sure, but there was something that he despised so much about thinking of himself. Reliving and remembering actions and events that somehow involved him was simply a terrifying concept to him. He hated it.
Tubbo had said that it was normal. Not exactly manageable, but normal. And Tubbo always helped him through it, too. Ranboo would spend nights on end crying into Tubbo’s arms, or crying over Michael, or just crying over nothing into nothing because he just felt he had to cry for something.
But Tubbo was always there to comfort him.
Embers still glowed orange in the small, ceramic ashtray that lay on the dark table. Ranboo hadn't fully put it out when he'd lit the fireplace, and it was still smoldering. Tubbo was glaring daggers at it, or possibly it was Ranboo’s guilty stare at the floor. The two sat opposite of each other, and he couldn't fight it when his heart turned to stone and dropped to his stomach.
“Alright,” Tubbo had begun, though his words faded off into the distance, or maybe they just banged against Ranboo’s skull before exiting through his eye sockets. He couldn’t hear as questions were asked as he drifted off into wherever it was his head decided to take him.
Tubbo asked his final question, and Ranboo's silence gave away his unknowing. He sighed, as quiet and gentle as he could. "Okay," He shook his head. "Let me start again. What did you do today? Just, whatever you feel like mentioning." Ranboo took a deep breath, thinking of what he'd done. He thought of Michael, who was currently stowed away in his room, tucked into the covers with his chickens in a bundle beside him.
"I did what I usually do. I got up a bit before dawn, read for a while, then started on breakfast. While it was heating up, I woke you up and we woke Michael up." Ranboo spoke carefully. He was treading on uneven ground and while he wasn't sure why, he knew he had to keep himself from falling.
"We had breakfast, and then you left. Michael and I drew for a little." Ranboo fondly waved his hand towards the ever growing gallery of crayon stick-figure drawings, each with a curly scrawl of Michael in deep purple ink in the lower right corner. (Michael didn't know how to spell his name, so Ranboo would sign his drawings for him.)
He was unable to help it when the corner of his mouth raised into a small smile at the memories the drawings helped resurface. "After, we ate some cookies, and went for a walk." The only sign Tubbo was still listening was his occasional nod in Ranboo’s general direction.
"We had lunch, then went back outside and picked some berries." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tubbo smile too. Ranboo vaguely remembered when he'd planted a farm's worth of berry bushes randomly around Snowchester, and felt his smile grow.
"He asked me questions about being a record keeper, told me some jokes, then told me he missed you. So we went over to Niki’s, and she helped him bake more cookies. She sent us home with a couple tins of them, and something for dinner, because I had a feeling you wouldn't be back." Both of their smiles vanished, and Tubbo had to pretend he didn't feel sick as his own faults were relayed to him.
"And we had Niki’s homemade dinner and dessert, and then came in here. I lit the fireplace because Michael had said he was cold, and he was already curled up in my cloak. And we read stories and told more jokes, and opened the package Phil had asked me to give Michael." Ranboo fell silent for a moment, but continued just as Tubbo was about to sleep.
"It was a replacement wooden sword, because he'd broken his old one. And then you came home and we tucked Michael in and now we're here." Ranboo stopped, and Tubbo finally spoke after what had felt like hours to them both. "How did you feel doing all that?"
It was a funny question. Ranboo had to consider it for a long moment. "I don't know, really. I was happy but I also really missed you."
And Tubbo sighed again, though this time Ranboo could hear the exhaustion in it. "Ranboo, that's not- that's not a reflection." Tubbo laughed a bit, shaking his head as he stood up. He sat down beside Ranboo, resting his head on his shoulder.
"What are you so afraid of, Ranboo?"
Then it was Ranboo’s turn to sigh. The question had broken something in him, as that simple breath was so full of emotion and yet so devoid of it at the same time. He cracked, falling into waiting arms as he was embraced. A tear slid down his cheek, and once one came, he couldn't stop the ones bound to follow.
"I'm afraid of me." And whatever dam that had been holding back his tears broke as the off-tune orchestra of Ranboo’s sobs filled the living room. "I'm so afraid of myself, Tubbo." The words were a weight lifted off his own chest, immediately set on Tubbo.
"I'm scared of hearing myself say the things I'm sure of in my head. Phil and Techno, they- time is different for them. And I thought if I ran away long enough it just-" Tubbo hushed him, soft and gentle as Ranboo's crying once again took away his ability to speak.
Ranboo cried for a long time. Tubbo's own eyes had begun to well about halfway through the night, and by sunrise both of their eyes were red and puffy. Tubbo took Ranboo’s hand, tracing circles and triangles and all sorts of shapes into the fabric of his gloves, curling himself into Ranboo’s side as he did so. He pulled black velvet around them both, and they stayed like that until the silence was broken.
“I can barely remember things, Tubbo.” Ranboo sighed, hand moving to twist the fraying edges of his cloak. “It’s so fuzzy, everything. It’s hazy, even the reason as to why the hell we’re here on the couch, crying like there’s no tomorrow.” This drew a laugh from Tubbo, who agreed somewhat with that sentiment.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.” Tubbo placed his hand over Ranboo’s, letting his head rest against his chest. “We’ll- we’ll figure it out. We always do.” He offered a smile to the enderman, who, through tears still falling, smiled too.