Archive of Our Own ^beta

It seems this is what humanity meant when they said “post-apocalyptic.”

Ranboo isn’t sure. They were never too familiar with human culture. It always eluded them, so confusing. Always shifting and changing, ever alive. Never tied down to any one purpose.

Ranboo is the antonym to life. An oni. Skin black as night, stretched taut on their long, bony figure, with vibrant purple eyes, something that could fool one into thinking they are alive. Sharp edges are their definition, with pointed ears, pointed nose, points at their joints, like personalized weapons their own body provided. Long horns don their head, nearly sharp enough to combat the white-as-snow teeth and claws harking violence. 

Their presence alone is looming, being twice as tall as any man, a long neck they once craned up to belittle their prey. An expressive tail like an extra limb, swift as a viper and unassuming as a puppy. 

Their outfit is slapped-together bits of dull clothing they scrounged up from abandoned human buildings, since it’s not like those places have any need for them anymore. 

A thick aura of misery floats around them like tar, dark and oblique, staining any manner of clarity or beauty in the surroundings. Now that all the peoples of the world have disappeared, they have found themself void of purpose. 

All that they have done in the world, their cycle, is complete. More accurately, it’s been cut off. Ripped forcefully from their claws, leaving them confused and as useless as the dying planet they can’t escape. 

Dry, desolate, and nothing. 

Buildings crumble around them, and with no people to demonstrate their wrath onto, with no destruction to cause, they’ve found themself drifting aimlessly through the landscapes. Places unfamiliar greet them, without any friendly wave or familiarity. Instead, it's as though the only residue left behind of what was here before is the ringing echo of vacancy, as prominent in themself as projected on the scenes before them. 

They had found fulfillment in the terror and screams of the people occupying this space. It was what they were created for, to spread plague and misfortune wherever they went, preferably by the means of violence. It was their whole meaning. 

What do they have left to cling onto? What is the purpose for remaining? 

Nothing left to decay, nothing left to frighten. Not even the littlest weed, or the most resilient plant. 

How they ache to wither and return corpses to the soil. Their power itches just under their skin, dancing along the edges of their fingertips, pleading to be utilized again as it once was. Their mind sings the memories of being feared, of being known. They yearn for those days, stretching farther and farther away with each wretched second that ticks past on the clock of destiny. 

A cruel clock, one that will not yet count to zero and end this mound of rock, despite how Mother Nature has long yet rotted to the ground, becoming nothing more than ash to stain the lungs of any oxygen-breathing being that was left behind.

Oxygen-breathing beings didn’t last for very long. 

Ranboo has held onto nothing, and so has nothing. Objects are of no importance to them. Actions were their fulfillment. Reactions were their fulfillment. They haven’t been quite themself, since the beginning of the end. With nothing to wreck, they’ve grown numb.

They wander along the worn paths of the world, dragging their feet along and pondering the obsolescence of existence. 

All the lifeforms that are still alive are undead. Those who continue to roam are those that never could draw a breath in the first place, for they are the only ones that can withstand these conditions. No need for sustenance, or a heart to pump true blood. 

Despairing ghosts moan their woes onto unlistening ears, destined to never pass on to their afterlife. The mummified remains of ancient humanity stagger along, as purposeless as they are. The bones of old skeletons clatter and clunk with their every move, as much a nuisance as nails on a chalkboard would be, but with this new world, not many people care to mind. 

All that is left to occupy them all are vacant minds and dust. Dilapidated buildings where there had once been parties. Once hosted laughter. Once seen smiles. 

Such things Ranboo found joy in disturbing. Now, they’ll never have such pleasure again. 

Loneliness stabs them in the gut, instincts grating upon their ears and shrieking things they know all too well. 

This is wrong. This is not their purpose. This is of no worth. 

What else shall they do? They can’t die. Death is impossible for the ones who were left behind to suffer. Punishment for their actions, and how they treated humanity while they were here. 

How Ranboo so violently craves extinction. How Ranboo envies humanity’s fate.

A sudden scent passes through the dirty, polluted air. One so achingly familiar, but impossible. Something the world hasn’t witnessed in a horribly long time. 

A light gasp passes by their lips when they sense it, ears perking up in hopes to listen for the beating heart of earth, like they once had heard so passionately. Something they had taken for granted while it was among them, but something that everyone has needed to see again since it departed. 

Fresh air. 

It’s unbelievably attractive, like delectable sugar. They can taste it on their tongue, and feel a clearness in their nose that hasn’t existed in so long. 

There are only small hints of it interwoven into the ash and dust they’ve grown too regretfully accustomed to, but it’s enough for them to follow, to track the scent, closing their eyes and letting their instincts guide them, resembling characters in human cartoons floating in the air to chase a pastry. 

They step forward, feet leading them one way after another, trudging on and on, keeping acute attention to the feeling. It would crush them to lose it. They can’t lose something as precious as this.

They keep hold of it with a white-knuckled grip, so intense their hands burn and their fingers feel like they’ll pop at any second, but they don’t dare release it. They aren’t that careless. With each moment that passes, each step taken, the feeling strengthens, but even then, their grip is equally as ferocious. 

They follow the winding path the air guides them to, and when they open their eyes, a hidden oasis greets them.

A small patch of forest, trees stretching the length of quite a few street blocks, authentic green grass, colors in bloom that they thought they would never see again. Their tail bristles, and a shiver passes their body, jumping along each bone of their spine and teasing, before finally ending its journey. Their purple eyes widen to saucers, jaw dropped. 

For once, they are met with a feeling in their mouth besides dryness. 

They don’t hesitate, sprinting forward with all the force in their long, animalistic legs, the air all around them shifting when they finally enter the sanctuary of life. The last traces of Mother Earth, they witness, in the form of leafy trees with hearty bark and blades of grass that pad their steps, instead of the coarse stone and dirt that callous their soles. 

They look around in awe, falling backwards into the grass and relishing the moment, a rare smile on their face. Their arms brush against the soft tufts, and they close their eyes, breathing in the rich, clean air. Every rise and fall of their chest is an indulgence, relished like a treasure and held close with reverence. The air fills their lungs and pours out again, feeding the life around them. 

This should be impossible, yet here they are with their own two eyes, seeing it all. 

Is the world recovering? Is nature bouncing back? Is this a sign? 

Optimistic theories, perhaps too much so, but they have nothing left to do but hope, even if they’ve been crushed by false hope endlessly. What else are they to do here? 

After appreciating the taste of the air, passing through their system and feeling like gold, they push themself up, and gasp again once their fingertips come in contact with the little living things. 

The cloud of a curse they always carry with them passes through their fingers into the ground, withering the roots. The green blades pale, before curling up as if in horrible pain and turning black and colorless, as soulless as Ranboo’s existence, crumbling into dust and blowing away, carried by the sugary wind to the rest of the desolate world outside of this miraculous bubble of life. 

Their eyes go wide again, and they scramble to push themself away, keeping their hands away from any living thing. 

They shudder, staring at the dust where life once was. A spurt of pleasure racks through them, watching chaos and destruction consume as it once had, and their instincts roar. 

They fall onto their knees, shaking their head, squeezing their eyes shut and gripping firmly onto their arms and digging their nails in, drawing just a bit of the tar-like substance that isn’t quite blood but is close enough. They breathe heavily, tail brushing the life around them and aching to destroy it all.

To pull blades from the ground and watch the last remnants of life die before them at their hands. To introduce a foul plague, a cloud of illness, upon this place, and burst the bubble keeping the final ecosystem alive. 

It lies in their hands, and their nature begs for them to ruin it. 

They can’t. For once, they must defy what the instincts tell them to do. They see the importance of these lifeforms, and for the good of the world, they can’t be put to waste. 

They must savor these things, even though they tremble, reaching a hand out to the trunk of a tree. Their instincts demand it, a deep calling in their bones. Their pupils slit into a thin diamond shape, and they lick their lips with a primal hunger matched by very few. 

With each step forward, the grass dies under them, and they stalk closer to the tree. 

They’ve been so empty. So void of their purpose. It was once out of their reach, but now, they can extend their hand, and -

They press their palm onto the rough bark, their fingers flattening on the uneven surface, and the leaves blow harder in the wind, like calling out the fear of their presence.

The color pales once more, and the leaves curl upwards into a dry chaff, blowing away with the wind and doing nothing for the tree. The branches crack and fall, and those cracks don’t stop until they chip away at the trunk, deep fractures made in the wood. 

Ranboo digs their heels into the plush dirt under them to keep from staggering backwards, breathing labored and heart stuttering. 

So much life pulses under their hand, and they pass their disease onto it, watching it die in real time. They clutch their stomach, knees buckling, and then slowly slide to the ground, hand never disconnecting. 

They pull the life from it, and as they draw more and more, trading it out with the tarry obliqueness of their reality, they feel refreshed. Reborn and made new, and positively overwhelmed with a sensation they haven’t been able to indulge in for such a long time. 

With a slackened body, their forehead rests against the tree, the quick rises and falls of their breath never easing. They quake, curling their hand into the wood, claws scraping deep grooves beside the cracks.

The tree dies, all the leaves turning to dust and blowing away.

A wide, maniacal grin pulls the tight skin of their face, flashing their sharp dangerous teeth to this friendly, too-eager-to-welcome-them habitat. Their appearance threatens to raze this place, tear it to the ground until it comes to the same condition as the rest of the world.

For a moment, instinct overpowers all. 

They shudder again, this time audibly, and savor the taste of death for a moment longer. Like an old friend, welcoming the euphoria into every nook and cranny of their body, settling in after years of being dearly missed. 

It was dearly missed. They haven’t killed a thing in so long. 

They feel excited. They feel revived. They feel their purpose again. 

It would be so easy to rip this place to shreds, with their huge claws and gnashing teeth and consuming curse. 

They know they can’t. They hold a responsibility. As one with sole knowledge of the last of life on the planet, they accept their new objective. An objective that goes against the very essence of what they are, and contradicts their whole definition. 

Protect life. 

Their instincts protest with the fury of thousands of heatwaves, pulling a strangled sound out of them and forcing them to hunch over, clutching themself and breathing deeper to keep composed. To keep from spinning into a wild frenzy, destroying everything anyway. 

No, no, destroy, plague, end. Purpose, purpose, fulfill your purpose. 

They mustn’t. 

They pull against the chains, they fight against the cuffs of authority their mind has over them, and firmly refuse. They refuse to listen, for they are determined to keep this miracle alive. For the good of the world. 

They are the monarch of this body. The instincts will submit to them. Not the other way around. 

The ache of not indulging in their purpose is a papercut in comparison to the stab in the heart the world’s bleak oblivion is. They will take the small sacrifice, if it means they don’t have to experience bleeding out of their black, hardened heart, falling to the ground and destined never to die. 

They deny everything they are, in this moment, to perform self control. 

Self control, an oni. An oxymoron, in any context, including this one. 

But they’ve missed the sweet air so much. The taste of blood and dust and loneliness is a tale as old as time, and a story they’ve grown tired of hearing. 

On repeat. On repeat. On repeat. 

Ranboo pushes themself up after their brief period of pondering, returning to their suddenly purpose-filled trek. 

Hope trickles into their chest like liquid gold, shining a light into that which has only ever been darkness. It, like a heart attack, startles and keeps them unsteady on their feet, heart beating in a way it never has before. 

They stalk forward and explore curiously, hungry eyes feasting on the divine landscape like a delicacy, holding it close and feeling satisfaction that they are the only ones to have this slice of heaven, this reprieve, this light in the dark. 

Until they stumble upon another person. 

They jolt, slightly, and hide in the shadows, as their dark form optimizes. 

With observation comes learning, and Ranboo learns all about the strange form, while still understanding none of it. 

A figure with a gentle, impeccable face, eyes closed, with threads of gold spun over his head to make fluffy, curly hair. Kneeled down in the grass, he sits, a nonexistent sun creating an ethereal glow on him. Moss grows on his clothes, and flowers blossom on the vines curling around his wrists and ankles, somewhat chaining him to the spot. The colors contrast the sparkle of his body and the divinity of his presence, so full of life that Ranboo is sick to their stomach looking at it. 

A ring of fungal growth surrounds the figure, toxic fly agarics guarding him from the world. 

Ranboo leans out of the shadows and approaches, never shy. Toxicity in plants and animals holds no fear over them, since reaping them instead is laughably simple. 

They recognize the scene before them. 

A forest, with a ring of mushrooms, and a creature that most certainly is too perfect to be anything human. A faerie. A living being, more full of life than any human being in existence. More than any one tree, any one plant, any one thing, because it isn’t from this world. 

What is a faerie voluntarily doing in hell, when their own realm is most certainly a paradise?

They eye the vines, and think that perhaps, this is not exactly voluntary. With a thud, they plop themself down to sit, careful never to cross the barrier. 

Oni are cunning and clever with words, - even if they rarely speak, their fancy words occupying the space in their mind - so they are confident enough to clear their throat, tilting their head with curiosities. 

The faerie blinks his eyes open, eyelashes shimmering, with a bright, enrapturing blue iris that resembles what the sky once was before only gray.

He notices Ranboo, the only expression of his shock being the way his perfectly-arched eyebrows fly momentarily up his forehead, before he smooths his expression. “Hello,” he says with a calm, smooth voice, like a velvety covering wrapping over Ranboo’s ears.

Ranboo will not fall for these tricks. The cloud of doom clears their vision to such saccharine deceptions.

They do not respond. Mainly because they have not spoken a word in years, since Earth died. Their throat has gone unused, only taken advantage of every blue moon for a snarl or hiss or cough. 

Suffering, with the dust and dryness. 

“Not much of a talker then,” he follows up with, after awaiting a response and receiving none. “That’s okay. I’ll speak plenty for the both of us. I’m quite the talkative one. Call me Tommy. Do you have a name?” 

Oldest trick in the book. 

Ranboo nods. Yeah, they have one. Doesn’t mean they’re going to say it, though. 

Mischief twinkles in Tommy’s sparkling eyes. “What is it? I bet it’s something pretty badass. You’re all tall and dark and mysterious. So, what’ll it be, mysterious person? Can I hear that name of yours?”

Ranboo doesn’t respond, and doesn’t give any indication of being amused besides a flick of their tail in the grass. 

Tommy huffs. “Oh, c’mon. A name would be so much easier than just calling you ‘mysterious person’ every single time. I told you, I talk a lot. You might get tired of hearing it. Fair warning.” His eyebrows fly to the top of his forehead with theatrical caution, like he expects Ranboo to be more likely to take the bait now than they were before. 

Nope. Not even close. 

“Oh, fine, then. I see how it is, and all. I bet you’re the type of folk that enjoy hearing people stumble when they talk, cause it makes you feel all better about yourself, dunnit? You look it. Honestly, I could see it. But I think I’d need a name, to really be able to tell.” He gives a tight smirk. 

Quite the talker, for a faerie. They’ve interacted with a few, and none have been quite like this. So informal, as if the whole “trick them for their name” thing is only half of his objective. Perhaps this one is young and inexperienced. 

Tommy sags disappointedly and pouts. “Damn. I was sure that one would work.”

That startles an abrupt chuckle out of Ranboo. 

Tommy blinks rapidly, staring at them before shaking away the surprise. “Oh, so they do have a voice box. Starting to wonder if you were mute, I was. Alas, you’re not, and you were just ignoring me. You know, ignoring people is rude. So is laughing at them. And being rude to a faerie - well, bud, let me be the first to tell you. Not a good idea.”

Ranboo’s tail bristles and brushes the grass rougher than the last time. 

Ah, he forgot. The fae are obsessed with politeness. They can find offense in the littlest things, part of what makes them so annoying. 

“But,” Tommy says with a sly smile splitting those glitter-sprinkled cheeks of his, “I’ll let you off the hook this time. Consider it a favor. Now you owe me.”

Oh, come on. Insufferable, living creatures are. 

They missed it, in full honesty. 

Ranboo twirls their large, clawed hand, gesturing for Tommy to explain what he wants from them. 

The smile stretches wider when he catches sight of their movement. “Oh, I’m not feeling picky today, silent giant. Silent giant, cuz you’re all quiet and - whatever,” he mumbles under his breath. “Point is, you can choose. So kind of me, I know. I’m just a never-ending source of grace and niceness today.”

Okay, so Ranboo has to give this fae something, but they can choose. Not a bad position to be in. 

They pull a blade of grass from the ground, exerting force into keeping their plague contained so it doesn’t die on contact, and tossing it through to the other side of the ring. 

The blade isn’t very aerodynamic, but eventually it lands on Tommy’s knee. Tommy snorts. “Yeah, right, like I need more grass. I have plenty.”

Grass is a very precious substance now. Tommy should not take grass for granted. 

“Point being.” He makes a big buzzer sound, disapproving of his gift. “Get me something better. C’mon, you’re all big and, big. You probably have something to offer.”

Ah yes, their two characteristics. Big, and big.

Jokes aside, they think about what they can actually offer to the faerie, looking around like something will appear out of thin air. They stare to the right and to the left, even at their hands, like an object will appear in their palms all prim and perfect. 

After a moment of pause, gaze drilling into their fingers, the ghost of a smile passes their face. 

They have their gift. 

The curse gathers at their fingertips once they drop the guard, the reservoir of power loud and strong, thrumming through their body like a song with all the build-up and lack of use. Inky and dark, thickening the air around them and serving as a stark contrast to the gentle, clear air, so weightless and carefree. 

They tap the tip of their index finger to one of the mushrooms, and pull back their hand quickly after, staring anticipatingly at the enchanted plant. This should work, despite it not being an ordinary mushroom. Beyond any form of magic, it is life, which means Ranboo has the power to end it. 

And end it, they do. 

The mushroom withers and loses that plump, full look it once sported proudly, shrinking and curling like experiencing a torturous death. 

The edges of their lips finally pull up into a little smirk, slipping into their element for a moment longer to grant this gift. They pushed themself to accept protecting life, but just for this gift, they can ignore it. 

They shift to a stand, clenching their fists and tensing their arms to shove the curse down into their tail, gritting their teeth with the physical exertion it takes to do. 

The buzzing at the edges of their fingers travels into their palms, and take the passageway of the wrists into their arms. Since there are less bones in these parts of the body, they jump from settling in the core of his bones to interweaving with their veins, traveling along with each pump of their blood, each beat of their heart, until the system circulates far enough for them to reach their stop. 

Ranboo closes their eyes to focus on filling their tail to the brim with the curse, taking deep breaths to keep their mind and body focused. 

Tommy watches bemusedly, waiting to see where such a favor is going to go, while in awe of the withered mushroom. 

To his knowledge, they should not have the ability to die. They’re magic, a bind to this one spot, preventing him from leaving or others from entering. But, he must admit, he supposes they still are living things, so maybe?

Ranboo links their hands behind their back, taking one careful step after another around the circle. Their tail drags across each and every mushroom on the way, beginning the process of decay the moment of contact. Each moment is delicious, the flavor of life their favorite to consume and decimate, like a platter of only the finest by artisans. 

Sure, they could have touched that one mushroom and been done with it. The plague would have spread to the others, since mushrooms are all connected by mycelium. They’ve killed enough to know. But they want to savor this. 

Tommy’s eyes pop further and further out of his skull with each one, turning his head as far as he can to see Ranboo step all around and kill the mushrooms. 

Kill the powerful faerie enchantment - apparently not as powerful as he thought - keeping him in this place. 

With the death of the last mushroom, he takes a deep breath, shaking out his body. A sense of newfound freedom slams into him on all sides, like vicious waves in the ocean during a storm. Then, they carry him safely to shore, urging him on with soft encouragements in his ear. The world is yours, go explore it. 

Tommy tries to stand, but the vines keep him bound. He groans, tears forming in his eyes from pure frustration. He is the closest he has ever been to freedom, and these stupid vines are going to be his bane. 

Ranboo narrows their eyes, brows knitting together on their forehead.

Odd. Would the fae do this to one of their young? 

Even when they kneel down, they still loom over the young faerie. With the tips of their fingers, they grab Tommy’s chin and tilt it up with a focused look, staring him in the eyes. 

Tommy pauses his desperate actions, frozen in the gaze, fingers twitching with restlessness. 

“Who,” they start, voice deep and gravelly from lack of use, “did this to you?”

Tommy’s lip wobbles and he pins it between his teeth to keep it from doing so again. 

Ranboo uses their other hand, lightly brushing over Tommy’s wrist binds and tail tickling the ankle binds, the vines going inky black and receding into the ground, instead of fully dying. Their act of mercy, completing their gift. 

It was unnecessary for them to do all of this, since they have nothing to lose by ignoring the fae rules altogether, but may as well use the power building up inside of them, right? May as well get it out.

With an unsteady step, Tommy pushes himself off the uncomfortable kneeled position, needles of numbness shooting through his legs all at the same time. He yelps, falling to the ground, and Ranboo catches him, forcing the curse to recede before using their hands to hold him. 

Ranboo gasps when cradling him in their arms, resisting the urge to either thrust him away or suck up all the remaining life he holds. Tommy grips tightly onto them for stability, readjusting to his body once more. 

Tommy pulses like a heartbeat, each pulse sending a new ripple of energy to the small slice of impossible paradise nestled in the middle of waste and more waste. He shines golden, like the sun, the light and center of this tiny universe. He is the source of plenty. He is the source of the nutrients in the soil and the clean oxygen in the air, he is the source of the colors and the source of a miracle. 

Tommy is life. He is all the remaining life on the planet. He is the final conscious lifeform, tied to the ecosystem his magic has birthed. 

Ranboo’s face steels, and their pupils round out, expanding just slightly as they stare at the miraculous boy, the final living being on Earth. 

They promised they would protect this life. 

Tommy is this life. 

If it’s the last thing they do, if it’s what they spend eternity doing, they will protect him. 

A strange sense of attachment forms between them, Tommy to his savior and Ranboo to life. 

Ranboo to the gift of fresh air. Ranboo to the eyecandy of color. Ranboo to Tommy. 

Tommy rests his weight on the grass, getting used to the feeling of the blades tickling his feet. He puts all the weight on one leg, then the other, pulling himself away from Ranboo and relearning how to walk. 

One stumble after another, Ranboo repeatedly surges forward to catch him again if needed, as he explores his surroundings with touch instead of sight for the very first time. 

A laugh bubbles out of him, a blinding grin on his face that makes the flowers perk up and absorb the sunshine he radiates. The grass and trees lean in to listen to the gentle tinkle of bells that is his laugh, and Ranboo’s ear twitches like life is including them as one of their own, in awe of the source. 

Tommy falls backwards into the plush grass, swiping his arms and legs emphatically over the soft blades with much more brightness than Ranboo had, and a notable difference between them is that the grass seems to grow taller to meet Tommy where he’s at, instead of die. 

The flora admires their boy, promising protection from the death of the outside. 

Does Tommy even know of the outside? Based on this reaction, he hadn’t even seen the rest of this miracle pocket, let alone what is beyond it. 

It will break his heart. Tommy will see the planet dead, and he will fall in the same grief that has swallowed the rest of their poor, unfortunate souls. 

They assign themself a new objective. To protect Tommy, he must never know of the outside world. 

Ranboo must keep him here, forevermore and longer. All to themself. To protect him. 

Tommy sighs and melts into the grass, a smile lingering on his face to brighten the world. “This is the best bloody thing ever,” he breathes in awe, pushing himself up to stare at Ranboo with reverence. “Thank - I’m so, so grateful.”

Definitely an inexperienced faerie, then.

Ranboo nods with their token stoicism, since it was no big deal to them. It was as easy as one-two-three. Pacing around a circle and doing what they do best, their purpose, something that the faerie could never imagine. 

It was easy, since it was for life. Their charge, who they’ve sworn to guard. 

To guard, they must shroud him in a lie, but they are willing to take that sacrifice. 

Tommy pushes himself up, bracing himself against a tree and staring at the tree in awe, rubbing his hands up and down the coarse bark and growing familiar with the texture. “This is so cool!” He shouts, his stretch of impressed silence over. “Like, look, there's all these flowers.” He dives for the ground, plucking a purple, bulbous plant from the ground, and staring at it in amazement, lightly petting the tuft with his hand. “It’s all so pretty. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to touch this stuff. The rough things, the fluffy things, everything.”

Ranboo sits, crossing their long, bony legs into each other to not inconvenience nature, placing their hands in their lap and supervising him.

Tommy’s brows knit together, and he turns to look at Ranboo more directly. “Speaking of touch, actually. How did you do that? That was faerie magic binding me there. You killed it in seconds. The Summer Court themselves conjured that circle!” 

Tommy steps closer to them, inspecting their figure curiously up and down, seeing them in an entirely new light. 

“Why would they make it in the first place?” Ranboo answers, and Tommy jolts back, startled by the sound of their voice.

It’s an important question to think about. What would the logical reason be for one of their own kind to leave them exiled here in such a hell? What offense would Tommy have had to perform for the Summer Court themselves to intervene and punish the boy personally? 

Something diabolical, Ranboo is sure, but the sunshine boy doesn’t look capable of much harm. Not to other faeries, at least. Maybe to a really dumb human that would accidentally trip into the circle, but it’s not like even that could happen anymore. 

Tommy sighs and sits down beside them, and it makes something in Ranboo’s heart settle. Their instincts have adjusted to this new objective of theirs once seeing Tommy. The golden boy, that Ranboo’s darkness finds intriguing. They must know more. They must learn and touch and feel. They must understand the way he works, and bask in the light he produces. 

“I will tell you, because you asked,” Tommy says slowly, considering every word before releasing it. “You asked, and I feel that I owe you for your gift, since it was far beyond what I had given you.”

Yeah, no kidding. 

But Ranboo doesn’t mind. It cost them nothing to give the boy this freedom. 

They blink, tilting their head, coarse, black hair flopping to one side. Curiosity compels them to wait for the story. 

Tommy sighs again, all long and dramatic. “I just had too many amazing opinions, and I wasn’t afraid to share them. Then the Court got all upset because I was, well, I felt I was way too intelligent for them, but I guess that wasn’t the truth.” He holds his cheek in his hand, head slackening. “They just didn’t like what I was saying, and all. Thought I was a blabbermouth, and I think they got all fed up.”

Despite the humorous tone Tommy tells the story in, with the vivacious inflection of a troublemaker enjoying causing mayhem, Ranboo can sense the gloom between the words. 

“After one too many mistakes, and letting humans slip past cuz I got ‘too stuck in my own monologues,’ whatever the hell that could possibly mean.” He rolls his eyes. “They, ‘relieved me of my duties.’” He uses air quotes, speaking in a mockingly posh tone. “Ain’t the whole point of a faerie to talk and get the person all wrapped up in the words? That’s like, the goal, innit?” 

Ranboo quirks a brow. “They exiled you for talking too much,” they say blankly, before scoffing. That is the stupidest reason to exile anyone, let alone a faerie. Tommy has a point. Their whole schtick is being twisty with words to isolate the humans. What is a faerie who practices brevity? Almost as much of an oxymoron as an oni protecting life. 

Tommy shrugs. “Well, it was more for, what’s the word? My, not-fanciness. Ineloquence, I think it was. I dunno why every single one of their words has gotta be above ten letters, like, c’mon guys. We’re better than this. Do we really need to waste the time and energy?”

“So, you didn’t meet their standards?” 

Tommy throws his hands indignantly. “I guess that’s how it went! Even though it’d absolutely be a privilege for any human to hear my voice, y’know. It’s just so pretty, if you couldn’t tell.” Ranboo could tell. “But those stupid - with those sticks up their asses! They had to be all mean about it, and all! Couldn’t just let a thing be a thing! Had to insult my voice with that whole, holier than thou tone of voice. I speak perfectly fine, I’ve caught humans before, didn’t see much of a problem, did I?!”

Ranboo chuckles, watching the passion and enthusiasm radiate off of him like golden rays of sun. Life is refreshing. It’s new, and interesting. 

“So I was all locked to that circle, and I wasn’t meant to move cause they just got so fed up, right, and they said I could never return! The bastards! S’like they stole the key to my own house, and kicked me out! Locked the door, just for extra measure, cause they just wouldn’t be able to live on, would they? Unless they knew that I was pissed off with ‘em.” He huffs, and if he was a dragon, steam would be hissing from his mouth. “Gave ‘em some sorta, twisted satisfaction. I guess I just… didn’t have what it took to be one of them. Wasn’t good enough, or sumthin.”

Ranboo’s tail twists in the air, expelling minor spurts of energy, while they stare at Tommy. “I like your voice,” they say. 

It’s refreshing to hear another person’s voice speaking. Especially one with such passion, like a firecracker, sparking and popping and creating bright, brilliant light. 

Passion has died. Art is no more, and comedy is all but forgotten, but this boy reminds them of what enjoyment once was. 

They must hold it close, and never again release it. 

Tommy lights up, eyes sparkling with the compliment, that grand smile stretching across their face. “Really?!” Then, he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers once he hears the pure joy in his voice, and dials it back. “Really?” He echoes, notably more composed. 

Ranboo finds it endearing. They nod.  

Their sudden infatuation with life is confusing, but they will not complain. This is the best thing that’s happened in years, not more of the same wandering, wandering, wandering a plain that is nothing but dust and death. A fate they’ll only be able to envy, and never earn. 

“You know what, silent giant?” Tommy says with an air of finality, hands on his hips. “I like you. You’re my friend now, no objections. You freed me, and that’s a package deal, y’know. Now you’re gonna have a faerie, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He pauses, a moment, like waiting for Ranboo’s objection, before grinning. “Ah, let’s not kid ourselves. You’re a privileged folk, a comrade, I may say. Such amazing company. Some could only dream, y’know.”

Ranboo laughs. Not a chuckle, or a huff. A full-on laugh. Their insides lift, and they feel like they’re floating on a cloud of joy. 

They could get used to this. 

“Aw, c’mon!” Tommy pouts and sags, pushing himself to a stand. Ranboo stands too, ready to follow and guard him wherever he goes, to make sure he never strays too close to the edge. “If you’re gonna be my goddamn shadow all the time, may as well speak, amiright? Like, actual words! I know you can, I heard you. Aren’t shadows meant to resemble the figure? C’mon, gimme a word. A name, preferably,” Tommy teases. 

Ranboo huffs. “Would you give it up with the name?” 

Tommy crosses his arms. “No. I will never give it up for as long as I live. Actually, my single objective will be to get that name of yours, mysterious person, and I will not rest!” 

The two begin wandering through the woods side by side, Tommy focused on the conversation but easily distracted by the scenery. Ranboo dedicates a portion of their concentration on paying attention to how far they are from the edge. 

“What would you even do with it?” 

Tommy can’t take them to the faerie realm to do any of the typical “haha I have your name now I troll you” type activities. 

The most he could do is have some power over Ranboo, but they aren’t sure how that would even work. They aren’t a living being. 

“I would, call you funny names based off of it,” Tommy says with a huff. “The most responsible use of a name, I’m sure. Like, if your name’s Nick, I can call you Nick the Dick, or if it’s Mark, I can draw on your face and go, X Marks the spot!” 

Ranboo snorts, rolling their eyes. “Those were horrible.”

Tommy flushes red. “Well - gimme a second, first! I can’t think up genius in point-two seconds! I’d need a minute!”

“A minute, for a hypothetical nickname, for a hypothetical name.”

“Absolutely. Best use of my time, I think. Actually, I think the rest of the day should be spent like this. Gimme a name and I’ll - ”

Tommy keeps rambling on and on, and Ranboo happily listens. They eventually run out of fond, playful expressions, so they toy with his hair, the soft, silky strands flowing through their fingers like butter.

Tommy pauses, clicking his mouth shut upon the realization he’d left it agape, and rests the weight of his head in their hand. 

Ranboo tentatively pulls it out of his hair. Perhaps they overstepped, and made a severe misjudgement. They don’t understand what such a reaction means. 

Forward, forward action they had performed. They had not given a care to such things since attachments were scarce amongst humanity, meaning they did not understand social cues. They did not understand friendships nor other important relations that creatures deemed necessary for survival. 

Ranboo has never been worried about survival. They’ve always lived and thrived. 

Now comes their first relation. As Tommy claims it, a ‘friendship’, which they do not understand all the connotations to, so they’ll take Tommy’s word for it and follow his lead. 

Tommy clears his throat and continues on. 

Ranboo adjusts to life in the miracle land alongside Tommy. 

Each hour and each day is something brand new. Bright and blinding and awe-inspiring. Curious and different from the outside world. With each second that ticks by, they steadily allow themself to forget the dismal hopelessness of the death and dust in favor of enjoying this while it’s here. However, they don’t allow it to fully slip past them. They must recall it, so they can remember to protect Tommy from it. 

Coming closer to Tommy - not physically, but emotionally, which is a strange, unfamiliar concept - has its catches. One being the guilt that presses on their shoulders, a dull sensation throughout the day. Such guilt shoots through their black heart like a stab from a blade whenever he smiles at them, or laughs, or expresses his love for exploration and the life around him. 

Add guilt to the list of things that are new and confusing for Ranboo. 

Many of the changes have been fun and good, but guilt? Guilt is not. They resign to ignore it and enjoy the moment. 

Tommy spins wondrous tales of his memories in the faerie realm. Fascinating sights and music written by only the most talented. As he tells his tales, nature itself leans in to listen, and while he sings his songs, the flora creates its own music. 

His smooth song is as flawless as the rest of him, so achingly perfect yet so achingly Tommy. 

Tommy is the first fae they’ve ever met to be both so infallible but also have a personality that isn’t the same as most other faeries. He’s perfect because he is new. He is fresh like the dew on the grass, shining in the light that trails the boy wherever he goes. He is soft like the laughter reaching their ears, like the moss on the bark, like the perfectly-arched smile with perfectly-pointed teeth they have the privilege to see whenever he tells a joke or enjoys one of Ranboo’s.

Tommy has Ranboo and Ranboo has Tommy, since there is no one else around. Ranboo saved Tommy, so Tommy has an attachment. Ranboo has grown a powerful infatuation with life, and they can’t think of leaving. 

Tommy and Ranboo sit in a small field, weaving flowers together. 

Ranboo frowns when a flower withers at the touch of their fingers. The curse has been far easier to manage recently, because they took out a lot of their energy on that tree, those mushrooms, and those few blades of grass. It nautralized them of their magic, mostly, but sometimes little bits still come out. 

Tommy watches this happen with awe, similar to the awe Ranboo has whenever Tommy produces life. “It’s so cool how you can do that.”

Ranboo shrugs. “It’s just my thing. I’ve always been able to. It’s much cooler how you can keep all these things alive. Making the flowers smile, making the trees dance to your tune. You really are the purest form of magic.”

With a flustered smile on his face, Tommy stares at his lap, hyper-focused on his flower crown. The crown is composed exclusively of golden and purple flowers, tied together as securely as he can make it, before he tugs on Ranboo’s sleeve. 

Ranboo looks, setting their mess of weeds and grass down, appreciating the beauty of a crown. “It’s pretty.”

Tommy presses a hand to Ranboo’s neck to lower their head, a side effect of such being the purple flush dusting their cheeks. 

Tommy drops the flowers into Ranboo’s coarse hair, fitting it properly around their horns with a look of focus, before smiling in satisfaction once he deems it perfect. Ranboo’s tail twirls in delight, and they smile, playing once more with Tommy’s hair. The hand is slow and gentle, like any move too harsh would kill the boy. And it could, so they keep caution. “Thank you.”

Tommy leans into the hand, staring at the grass and pushing his tongue to his cheek. “S’nothing.”

“Well, I think it’s beautiful.”

Tommy grins, and the leaves perk up, flowers budding and turning to the source of their light. “You got attached super fast, you know?” Not like Tommy was any different. 

Ranboo cluelessly tilts their head, tail twisting in something akin to confusion. They pull their hand back, and ignore the slightly disappointed look in Tommy’s eyes, the way the leaves droop. “I would not know, actually. I am unfamiliar with the customs of relationships.”

Tommy frowns. “‘Unfamiliar with the customs of’ - what, you mean you never had a friend? Or like, a mom? A brother? Anything?” 

Ranboo shrugs. “No. I suppose not.”

Tommy scowls. “Why do you sound so okay with it?”

“Maybe because I am okay with it,” they say blandly. “My purpose was not to find companionship.” 

“Well,” Tommy says, red in the face for a whole new reason. “What if I’m not okay with it?!”

Ranboo blinks rapidly at his passionate outburst. This is one of the things Ranboo finds endearing about him, but the subject on which he directs his passion to at the moment leaves them puzzled, if nothing else. “Why would you not be okay with it?” 

Tommy impulsively grabs the sides of Ranboo’s face, tugging them down to his level again, looking them square in the eyes. 

Ranboo finds the eye contact unfavorable, but they don’t mind it all too much. Not with Tommy. 

“Because I said on day one that you’re my friend. Did you forget somehow?”

They did not forget. They merely did not understand.

“You freed me, you listened to me talk, and you’ve hung out with me, which means that this is a package deal. You can’t just get rid of me after all this. You’re mine. ” His blue eyes shine with an appealing ferocity that Ranboo enjoys seeing up close, and they lean into his hands when they tighten with a promise. 

The aggressive selfishness is something familiar, and it tastes divine amidst the placid peace of their environment. 

Ranboo hums, angling themself the best way possible to be closest in the hold. “Then I am,” they whisper, tail swaying through the grass. “I am.”

Tommy smiles, something dangerous yet pleased, and readjusts his grip to cup the side of Ranboo’s face with one hand and pet their head with the other. Ranboo closes their eyes, releasing a content sigh while letting their muscles slacken in Tommy’s hold, listening to his mesmerizing voice with perked ears. 

Yes. They are Tommy’s, because he says so. His voice is very tempting and Ranboo has few remaining objections. They really have nothing left to do with themself, so may as well do some recycling and put themself to good use like this. 

“Can you tell me your name, friend?” Tommy says softly. It’s the closest he’s gotten so far, to getting Ranboo to actually say it. 

Ranboo hums, a smirk teasing their lips. “No, I don’t think I will,” they reply.

Tommy huffs disappointment from his nose, and holds tighter onto their face. Ranboo’s tail startles, but the rest of them eats it up like sweet candy. They open their eyes, half-lidded, and curl their tail around Tommy’s ankle. 

Tommy glances down to see, and feels them squeezing. He smiles smugly, staring at Ranboo with a vague look of victory. 

It’s this moment that reminds them that while Tommy is the embodiment of all things life on Earth, he is also a faerie. 

A dangerous, sharp, obsessive faerie. A faerie that will take what it wants, when it wants it, no matter what moral walls they must bust through. 

Ranboo can’t find it in themself to care, especially when they are the exact same way. 

“I will wrap you around my finger,” Tommy warns, pressing their foreheads together, and staring intensely at him. “I won’t let you go, if you don’t leave now.”

Ranboo reaches their own hand up and presses it over Tommy’s, leaving it where it is on their cheek. “You won’t need to.”

“You’ll never be able to leave this place,” Tommy says, voice quaking a little. “If you keep going, I won’t ever let you leave.”

Ranboo smiles, something sharp and familiar flashing in their teeth. It’s ironic, is what it is. Tommy won’t let Ranboo leave. It’s almost laughable. Scratch that, hilarious. 

They hum, the sound a deep rumble in their throat, donning their own vicious smirk. “Then I’ll keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing until you break. I never want to leave here.”

Tommy’s jaw drops, and his eyes go wide at the sound of that, like Ranboo just told him he won the lottery ten times over. He shuffles closer to Ranboo, until Ranboo eventually grows tired of the proximity and uses their other arm to pull Tommy into their lap. 

It’s easy. Their arm is big and strong, and Tommy is a delicate thing.

Tommy laughs, the liquid gold willingly pooling in their lap and melting against their chest. Tommy releases the hold he has on Ranboo’s head to press his hand against their chest, feeling around for their heartbeat. 

He finds it under the thin, worn-down Hawaiian shirt, right where it should be. 

The thick beats are like a heavy stone thumping against solid ground over and over, thick tar stubbornly pumping through their veins, circulation slow as their languid breathing. An occasional puff, none of oxygen or carbon dioxide, but the same stale air that they’d been inhaling for ages after the death of Earth. Something new occupies their lungs. Something sweet, the sugar dissolving on their tongue while the air passes through the body. 

Tommy tries to follow their breathing, but gives up when it’s regrettably too slow. “I’ve told you a lot of stories about me, but I haven’t heard any about you,” he says, resting his head against Ranboo’s chest.

Ranboo tucks him under their chin, fitting them together like perfectly-cut puzzle pieces. They curl their tail around him, fastening him in like a buckle and tugging him closer. “I have nothing interesting to say.”

“You’re interesting,” Tommy softly protests, dragging a finger over Ranboo’s shirt. “Very interesting.”

Anything interesting in their life, besides Tommy, is merely a burning memory. For years - decades? Centuries? Millenia? How long has it been? - all they do is wander. Wander the barren landscapes, never finding anything new, and never believing they ever will. Fulfillment was a joke, and purpose no longer existed. 

At least, until Tommy came to shake their world upside down. 

They cannot allow Tommy to know the state of the outside world, and with their careful protection, he will never have to. They will tell no story. They will not interest him in a world that has died. It will only crush him sooner. 

“Not compared to you,” they say. “You are like gold. Blinding and brilliant.” Words they have thought of many times, but never said aloud. “You are the blood of this land. You are the force tying it all together. You are life, and life itself is you. All that remains is precious, and all that remains is you.”

Tommy flushes, burying his face in the crook of their neck. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

Ranboo is indifferent to such a comment. “I’m not. My purpose was never to be one.”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh, c’mon. You don’t have any hobbies? Interests?” Their ‘hobby’ consisted of spreading violence, misfortune, and plague to all things around them. They shall resist such a barbaric action in a delicate field as this. “Maybe poetry could be your new hobby. You could write me stuff, and I could make you more flower crowns in return.”

“My purpose is not to have such a hobby.”

Tommy groans, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. “All about the ‘purpose.’ What about what you want to do? What makes you happy?” He looks up to face Ranboo as they answer the question. 

Ranboo looks back, and answers easily. “Fulfilling my purpose makes me happy, Toms.” The name slips out before they can prevent it, and they find they don’t mind at all. “I am not living and breathing like you are. I do not create my own fulfillment. I follow instinct.”

They defied instinct, and holding Tommy like this rejects everything they are. 

They still follow their purpose. Their new purpose. Their one anchor, the one way they can understand why they do what they do. 

“But,” Tommy says, looking heartbroken. Ranboo wishes they could understand what they said that made him feel that way, so they can apologize for it. “But, you are breathing. You’re alive. You’re alive to me. You’re real.”

“I am real, don’t worry,” they say, running their claws through his silky hair. “But I am not alive. I am oni. Demon. I am chaos.”

Ranboo is chaos, and Tommy is life. 

Tommy frowns. “Chaos. This isn’t chaos.” He leans all of his weight onto Ranboo, and Ranboo holds him easily. “This is actually quite nice.”

Two creatures close together, both equally as impulsive as obsessive, understanding very little about one another except for the fact they are enthralled with each other. In a field of grass, with sweet-smelling flowers and swaying leaves, they are held. The tall tree trunks create a protective canopy to keep away any of the death that looms outside. Gold spins in the air, and rests in their lap, and sugar has never tasted sweeter. 

Just the two of them, in their miracle. 

“You said that fulfilling your purpose made you happy. And you’re chaos. What is your purpose?” 

Ranboo takes a deep breath, despite not needing to, and holds Tommy closer, holding the back of his head and stroking with their thumb. “Protect life.”

“What, just, protect all life? Ever?” Tommy scoffs. “Seems like quite the undertaking. There’s a whole lot of life, y’know. Might take you a while.”

Ranboo holds all that is life in their arms. “No,” they say, closing their eyes and holding life close. 

With Tommy’s chest pressed against theirs, they can feel his heartbeat. The real golden blood, flowing through his veins, with every beat of the heart like an instrument for a song. 

For a moment, for a fleeting moment, they understand the feeling of being alive. 

“It’s never been simpler.”

“You’re quite the silent poet, are you?” Tommy says, swinging his legs in a tree, pulling a fruit from a branch and taking a crisp bite. 

Ranboo sits on the grass below, leaning their back against the trunk of the tree. They hadn’t spoken a word the whole day up to this point, because they hadn’t seen the need to. They didn’t often speak, even before the world died. It was an action reserved for only the most important of times. 

Well, Tommy is consistently the most important of times. 

“I am not a poet,” they say, merely to humor the boy with a response.

“Ah! They speak!” Tommy jokes, not bothering to swallow beforehand. “Why can’t you just be a poet? You’re good at it!”

“Poets speak a lot. I do not. I practice brevity.”

“Look, that!” Tommy points accusingly at them. “That right there! Fancy-talk! All nice and pretty, y’know. D’you enjoy that?” 

Ranboo quirks a brow. “Why are you determined to find me enjoyment? I enjoy myself plenty already. With you.”

Tommy huffs, tilting his head, proposing a question at nothing. “I dunno. It’s just so cool. You can do things with your words I can’t. With all the words I can say - and trust me, that is a lot of words - I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that thing where you put a bunch of pretty-sounding things together and make someone’s chest all fuzzy, like you do for me. And, your voice is all nice. Lil bonus.”

Ranboo scoffs. Their voice is unpracticed. Unused for very long, that now their voice more closely resembles deep growls and gravel than any words. Tommy’s voice is smooth and elegant, and despite the informal vocabulary, falls on the ears like a song.

“I’m serious! Why won’t you just be a poet?” He throws his hands in the air, holding tightly onto the fruit. 

“I’m happy with my purpose.” They really are. They chose a wonderful one, because their instincts settle with satisfaction upon seeing Tommy safe and sound. The instincts cheer with the progression of their mutual relationship, and tempt them earnestly whenever the two are close. Some such temptations, they’ve already fallen to. 

Tommy jumps from the tree, and Ranboo’s black heart lurches, inspecting him swiftly up and down to ensure his safety. “Yeah, yeah, protect life. How’s that going for you? Anything new? Name all the flowers yet?” He sits down next to Ranboo, shuffling to be comfortable and leaning against their side. Then, he points to a random dandelion. “I think that one would be John. John Turnip. Even though he isn’t a turnip, he can still have the name, y’know? Like, humans with the last name Baker, even if they’re a carpenter. What’s all up with that, anyway?” 

Ranboo curls their arm around him with a fond smile, pulling him comfortably close. “You do not understand my purpose. Not the extent of it.”

Tommy hums, closing his eyes. “Then help me understand.”

Ranboo takes a deep breath, piecing together the words in their head before releasing them. “All I must do to protect life is protect you.”

Tommy furrows his brows, keeping his eyes closed. “What? What would that do?”

“You are the life here.”

“What?”

Ranboo sighs. This will be hard to explain. “When I first found this place, I promised myself I would protect this, before I even saw you. Then I found you, and I understood.”

Tommy groans. “Understood what? You’re just saying things. I only have more questions.”

For inspiration, they let the golden, sugary wind blow past them, and instead of thinking all their thoughts, they say them aloud. “You are the roots of every tree, and such are like veins, pumping blood through the body of the ground and the limbed appendages of her trunks. Each branch can sprout a fruit,” they tap the fruit still held tight in Tommy’s hand, “and produce more, endlessly, because you allow them to, and you are so generous to assist them in thriving.”

Tommy settles in, like storytime has just begun. 

“When you smile, the world brightens. The edges of my vision grow fuzzy, like a nostalgic filter. The flowers perk up, the leaves rise, and the grass lifts, all to mutually cradle and adore the one who had brought them all to existence from nothing in the first place. The wind itself tastes sweet, just as sweet as the one who breathes in the cool air, laughing innocently among the flora and blessing the world with a joy fresh as spring. That alone makes you worthy of all the protection I have to offer.”

By the end of their speech, Tommy is grinning into their side, clutching tightly onto them. “See, just like that,” he breathes. “You can be a poet, if you really try.”

Ranboo’s eyes widen a margin, and they flush purple. “You sneaky boy.”

“C’mon, that was incredible!” He opens his eyes. “Like, you compared me to tree blood! You managed to make my breathing sound cool! That takes talent, man.”

Ranboo chuckles, and they rub their neck sheepishly.

“You even managed to make it sound like…” Tommy trails off, voice soft. 

They lower the hand from their neck, looking down on Tommy, using their free hand to cradle his face and have him look at them in turn. 

Tommy’s blotchy face meets them, with slight moistness to his eyes. “You managed to make it sound like I was important. Really important. You said I was - ” he takes a deep breath. “You said I was worthy of all this.”

Ranboo tenses, hand tightening on Tommy’s face, and their demeanor suddenly turns dark and dangerous. They clench their jaw, tail bristled and flicking with irritation, but not with Tommy. 

No, never. Just the ones who put those thoughts in his head, that he wasn’t important. 

Tommy whimpers, and Ranboo immediately relaxes their hold, staring Tommy in the eyes. “You are worthy,” they breathe, with fury pushing every word to a quake. “You are worthy of all I have to offer. You are the most precious thing in the world.” They brush away the hair that falls in Tommy’s face with a gentle hand. “I have seen the world, time and time again, and everything else it has to offer pales in comparison to you.”

Tommy sniffs, and a tear falls from his eye. One that Ranboo quickly wipes away with a caring thumb. 

“You are life, and I will protect you. You are the only thing worth protecting, and you are my new purpose. I will spend every hour of every day with you until you understand your worth, and even after that. Never question my choice, or my oath.”

“But,” Tommy blubbers, voice thick and head tight with resisting the downpour. “Why did they get rid o’ me? Why was I not good enough?” He chokes on his words, hiding in Ranboo. 

Ranboo gently shushes him, running their claws through his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp for comfort. Tommy melts, leaning into the actions. A dampness taints their dilapidated clothing, coming uncomfortably in contact with their skin, yet they do not mind it. They will protect, and they will love. 

“You are the sunshine,” they whisper. “You’ve poured your light onto me. You’ve filled an empty corpse with warmth. You’ve made the unfeeling feel, and you’ve given the undead life. A purpose, and a privilege to love.”

Tommy chokes on a sob, shaking his head. “You saved me,” he gasps. “You're worth so much to me, and.” He burrows himself in them again. “Never go, never let me go, never ever.” He repeats similar statements until the words lose their meanings. Until they’re only sounds, falling on their ears. 

Ranboo nods, and holds him tighter, curling their tail around him. This is one of those moments where their instincts have tempted them, and they fell into it. They’ll continue to fall, and fall, no matter how much of an impulse it may be. “I will, sunshine. I will,” they breathe reverently, like Tommy is made of gold. 

He is. He is pure gold. 

“As you have claimed me yours? I demand you to be mine.” They pull him to their chest, holding close and tight and caring. “I want you to blind me with your light. I want to be alive, for the sole purpose of being closer to you. And as you have desired, this place will never be left, because I will hold you in my arms forevermore, and I shall sit in solitude in this very place, cradling the one thing that has ever mattered.”

They never knew they had so much to say. They never knew they had so many affections to give. 

“I’ll be yours, poet,” Tommy breathes shakily. “You don’t need to demand.”

“I will,” they growl. “I will, and I’ll keep you all for myself in this place. I will chain you to my wrist, if I have to. I have an obsession with life. You are my sweet little thing, my precious artifact, and I will never share you.”

“Good,” Tommy says. “I don’t.” He chokes. “I don’t want to be shared.”

“Let’s play a game,” Tommy says, dangling from a tree. Ranboo supervises him, just in case an accident were to happen, but is more trusting in Tommy’s abilities to hold himself up. 

They quirk a brow, pausing what they were doing before. Which was not much except for watching in the first place. “A game? What kind of game?” The games Ranboo would play with humanity were cruel and painful. They brought enjoyment to them and only them. They don’t want to play those kinds of games with Tommy. 

Tommy hums, lost in thought. “Hide and seek! I’m great at hide and seek. After five minutes you’ll be whining like ‘oh boohoo, he is such a good hider and I cannot find him! I surrender!’ ”

Ranboo smirks. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

Tommy readily accepts the challenge, a fire burning in his eyes. He grins, dropping from the tree and competitively shaking his fists. “I will destroy you!”

“Oh yeah?” Ranboo opposes gleefully. “If you can hide for five minutes, you win. If I find you, I win. Thirty seconds, go!” Ranboo covers their eyes. “One, two, three - ”

Tommy rushes off as fast as possible, grass and leaves rustling under his feet. He searches the familiar woods, encountering plush bushes and babbling streams, tall trees and thick moss. Huge canopies of leaves, allowing only spots of sunlight in, give a gorgeous polka-dot effect to the forest floor. 

“Ready or not, here I come!” Ranboo calls, falling dead silent after that. They don’t want Tommy to know where they are, no. It’ll ruin their method. 

They close their eyes, perking their ears up, clearing their senses. The wind rustles the leaves together in the rhythmic pattern of nature. The air wanes and waxes, flowing one way with the inhale and another with the exhale. It tumbles in and out through the forest, like ocean waves, washing over the flora before pulling back, and repeating the process indefinitely. 

Ranboo evens their own breathing with this pattern, in when the wind pulls one way, and out when it blows towards them, pushing everything forward. 

With their eyes closed, they step onward, searching for the sugary scent that had lured them here in the first place. Of course, it’s all around them, thick and rich, but they search for the strand hiding in plain sight where it is infinitely stronger. 

They search with their nose and tongue for life, not their eyes, and finally catch it, a shot of honey startling him. Still, they are diligent not to let it go, following it through the maze of trees and flowering plants to where they know Tommy is. 

Trunks of trees and blades of grass watch them in their ways, reporting of their destination to their prince. Ranboo scoffs, and almost considers it cheating, until they play their own sneaky card. 

They call out to the shadows, of which there are many, and request that they temporarily quiet the gossiping plants. 

With each step forward, the potency of the air grows and grows, until they finally open their eyes, staring at a thick, flowering bush. The broad, golden flowers blanket the bush, obscuring the view of crevices to make it harder to see inside. 

Ranboo smiles, bending over to see through the leaves. “Tommy?”

They hear the sudden rustling of leaves and a startled hiss. “Oh-m-god-”

The bush shakes and Tommy tumbles out, leaves in his hair and scratches across his skin. Ranboo takes exceptional care when helping him pluck them out, skin healing immediately after each splinter is pulled from his body. 

Tommy isn’t happy about the help, and instead decides to sulk. “How did you find me so fast?! You put a tracking device on me or something. I swear. Or you cheated. You peeked, didn’t you?!” 

Ranboo laughs, patting his head. “You shine very bright, Tommy. It was easy to see you.”

Tommy scowls. “Best out of three! I can do it this time!” 

Ranboo smirks. “Fine. But this time, it’s my turn.” They push themself up to their full height, rushing off without a warning, looking awkward running with their long, bony legs, but their whole body exudes fun from head to toe. 

“It’ll be hard to hide with a body so big!” Tommy shouts, slapping his hands over his eyes. 

Ranboo ends up losing, only because Tommy asks a flower for help. He refuses to admit that Ranboo was actually a really good hider. 

Ranboo and Tommy walk side by side through the trees, as they always do, and Tommy is never any less happy to do it. 

He latches onto Ranboo’s hand, and Ranboo does not object. It’s comical, the size difference, and how far up Tommy reaches to hold their hand. When Tommy squeezes patterns, Ranboo returns them. 

Their game the other day - a game that had provided laughs and smiles for hours upon hours - triggered a thought of Tommy’s. How far could they explore? What else is out there? “What if we left the woods?” 

Ranboo’s hand tightens on Tommy’s, and they remain silent.

“Yeah, like, what if we went to explore? See what else there is?” 

Ranboo shakes their head. “It’s boring. And I won’t let you leave. I told you, remember? Mine, and that means, stay.”

Tommy huffs and sags with disappointment. “But what if you came with me? We could still be together n’ all, adventuring buddies, but - ”

“No, sunshine,” Ranboo reprimands. “I will not hear of it.”

After a silent protest, he sighs. “Fine.”

“Poet!” 

Ranboo’s ear twitches and they perk their head up. Poet is quickly becoming Tommy’s choice of name for Ranboo, and uses it accordingly to address them. 

They hear Tommy’s call and heed it immediately, venturing through the woods and following the sound of his voice. “Sunshine?” 

They find Tommy sitting gently in the grass, a halo of light surrounding him, the wind and plants flexing to make him most comfortable. He stares in awe at his cupped hands, and Ranboo carefully approaches, looming down to discover a delicate lifeform in his hands. 

Tommy stares reverently at the creature, pupils dilated with infatuation. “It’s a bird,” Tommy whispers, holding it up to them. 

Ranboo is familiar with such creatures. When life was abundant, they would encounter many. Feathery little things, capable of both majesty and irritation. Easy to kill, merely a tease. 

He will not kill this one. 

It is small, small enough to only curl its little talons around Tommy’s pinky. It sings a quiet song, reserved only for the two of them and the grass to witness. 

Ranboo could so easily tap its head and watch it disintegrate. But they will not. They are not cruel to this field of life. 

“It’s adorable,” Ranboo says, staring at it like they assume Tommy wants them to. 

Tommy smiles. “Tell me a poem about it. About its wings or, whatever.”

Ranboo chuckles. “I’m not your mere source of entertainment, sunshine.”

Tommy pouts. “But I love your poems. Please?” Tommy purposefully makes his eyes bigger in hopes to tempt them. 

Ranboo will humor him. 

They run their hand over Tommy’s hair, an action that Tommy quickly leans into, and smile. “You would like a poem?” 

Tommy nods excitedly, holding Ranboo’s arm to keep their hand there. 

Ranboo does not understand the meaning of the word poem. They do not understand what is so special about the way they speak. They think and release their thoughts. That is all they do. Nothing else to it. 

Tommy seems to have a fascination with it, like they are an artist, a master of their craft. 

They have had many thoughts. They have had millenia to refine the way they think, learn new speaking patterns, and increase their vocabulary. Though, they would rarely release their thoughts. It would stew in their mind and remain, soaking and growing damp before being discarded for the next thought, and the thought after that. 

Here, they can let them go, fly into the air, and it is as freeing as shackles falling from their wrists. They’ll give Tommy what they think he says a poem is. 

“The servant of death and the heart of life waltz on a sparkling floor of plague and gold.”

Tommy settles in, buzzing with excitement for storytime. 

“Their locked hands squeeze tightly, their nails digging into the others’ skin and drawing otherworldly blood. Nature had never witnessed such a courageous partnership in all of its natural days. However, natural days are over, and the realms of possibility the world used to inhabit have been rejected. The endless swirling of hot and cold winds whip into a hurricane, not yet seen, wrecking the whole world and leaving the two safe in the center.”

They are dangerous for each other. Too dangerous, but Ranboo finds it invigorating. With this thought comes a surge of instinct, thick and purple clouding their mind. A haze falls over them, and their pupils expand while they stare at Tommy. They bend to be more level with him, brushing golden curls away from his face with half-lidded eyes, tail loosely curled around him. 

Tommy doesn’t mind, staring in awed wonder with sparkly blue eyes, cheeks shining with gold. He straightens his back like it would help him see better, and he stares on at his poet, leaning into the tease of contact from their chilly hand. 

Ranboo’s body is cold to the touch, like a corpse. They are not a living being, and no warmth runs through their blood. 

Tommy is different. He is warm. He is alive, he is sunshine. With each pump of his heart is another ray of sun, light resting generously over the landscape. 

“The servant is tempted by the appeal of life’s musical heartbeat,” they say like a deep thunder in their chest, a knuckle gliding over Tommy’s cheek with the action of pushing hair away. “They are too tempted. Falling hard, falling fast. Dangerously fast. Though, as is their nature, the peril satisfies them, forcing them to endlessly hunger for more, like a masochist at the mercy of a sadist.”

Tommy swallows, never once breaking the direct line from Ranboo’s eyes to Tommy’s. “Then let them fall,” he breathes, chest stuttering. 

Ranboo’s lips curl into a smile. “So it will be.” The bird flies away when Ranboo cups Tommy’s cheek with their other hand, angling his head further up. “So it will be that the servant satisfies the cravings given to them by their purpose. Hot and cold are charges, perpetually repelling each other and preventing one to come in direct contact with the other.” Their eyes flash with intent. “But natural days are over, and the cold is enticed. Cold dares to break barriers, and touch what it couldn’t.” 

They lower themself and carefully peck his forehead, a fleeting contact that lasts hardly a moment but changes the whole beat of the Earth’s heart. They pull back, savoring the pleasure of witnessing his reaction. 

Tommy is an inferno. Rapid-fire, with a response to everything. Whether it’s sincere or humorous, he can find words. 

Here, he has none. He is utterly speechless. Jaw agape, a gasp seizing his chest, eyelids fluttering. 

Ranboo enjoys it while it’s here, teeth flashing with the small hint of a smile. 

Tommy is silent until he takes a deep, shaky breath. “Again,” he breathes. After a moment of continued stupor, he follows himself up. “Life asks the - the servant to do it again.”

Ranboo hums, eyes flitting over his wanting expression. “Merely asks, when he could do so much more,” they whisper disapprovingly. 

For Tommy to get what he wants, there is a price he must pay. An easy one, Ranboo made sure of that, because now that they’ve done it once, they can’t stop themself from wanting to return and do it again. 

Tommy’s hands curl around the arm with the hand in Tommy’s hair, nails digging into skin and leaving cuts. “Life demands it of them,” he says firmly, taking a page out of Ranboo’s own book. Pride swells in their chest, and they perk their ears up to hear his voice better. “Life will pull all his tricks on them. Life has been holding back for them. Life has been careful. Life could do so much more.”

They are sure he’s right. It’s the danger they were looking for, settling in their bones and keeping their oni heritage fulfilled. 

Such a cataclysmic love, and Ranboo can’t get enough. 

“Then, I want you to show me,” they say like an order, jaw clenched. 

“I will,” Tommy states firmly, eyes going wide and shining with a new lunacy. His nails draw some of Ranboo’s tar-like blood, the dark purple substance oozing slowly down their arm. 

Ranboo thrives on it. 

Tommy has paid the price. He has earned it. He has earned his prize. 

Ranboo leans forward again and presses another peck into his forehead. Then another, and a third. 

Tommy leans into the actions, closing his eyes, and Ranboo is quickly learning it’s a signal of enjoyment. Pressing closer to the gift of contact to have more of it. 

“Life is extraordinary. Life has taken my breath away,” Ranboo says, the hand not cradling his face curling around his back to have more of a hold, tugging him closer. 

“You have taken mine,” Tommy responds, pulling his nails from Ranboo’s skin. 

Ranboo grins. “May I keep it?” 

Tommy chuckles. “As long as I can keep yours.”

Ranboo rests their chin on Tommy’s head, and Tommy adjusts accordingly. “You can have this one, and every single one after that.”

They sit there for hours, before Tommy eventually pulls away with a yawn, stretching out his limbs to hear all the satisfying pops, resting his back flat against the ground. 

The moon shows its face, daring to pacify life itself. Life itself yields to it. 

Ranboo rests next to him, contact over. The moment now is no less enjoyable, but their brain no longer whirrs with those impulsive nudges, and instead melts into the ground, solidifying into rational thought with each cool breath of night air. 

Tommy idly feels for Ranboo’s hand, and Ranboo assists him, holding their palm face-up. Tommy finds it and locks their fingers together, sighing in satisfaction. “Y’know, poet,” he starts calmly. “Beyond all the… stuff we do, I really do care for you.” He turns his head to face Ranboo, and offers a genuine smile. “You saved me, and you keep showing me new things. You make me feel happy, and you’ve done so much for me.”

Ranboo lets their head sag against the ground and returns the smile with only their lips. They don’t need to show teeth, there is no need for a threat. “My pleasure.”

“Kinda makes me think, y’know.” Tommy clears his throat. “Did - we went fast, right? We just kind of met, and hit it off. Don’t other people have some sort of build-up to this? All natural, and stuff. This… this isn’t natural. This isn’t normal.”

Ranboo scoffs. “Natural,” they huff. Nothing has been natural. Tommy is unnatural. Ranboo is unnatural. Everything about their connection is abnormal. “And so what if it isn’t normal? I don’t love you for being normal.”

“Okay.” Tommy cranes his neck up. “But I shouldn’t have gotten attached this fast,” he whispers hesitantly. “I don’t - I don’t like how quick this happened. It scares me.”

“I scare you?”

“No, no!” Tommy is quick to assure. “This. This thing we have going on.”

Ranboo chuckles. “Thing?” 

Tommy flushes, looking away in embarrassment. “Well, yeah.” 

Ranboo strokes the backside of his hand with their thumb. “Define ‘thing’ for me, sunshine.”

Tommy blows air through his lips, a cloud of thought floating around his head. “A… a.” He drawls in reluctance, stalling his answer. “Family?”

Ranboo nods. “There you go. Well done.”

Tommy’s eyes shine, and he gazes onwards with a new energy, eyes focusing in. “You mean - we could be a family? We - this could be like a, a family?”

“Depends,” Ranboo says, resting their other hand on their stomach. “What is the dynamic? What am I to you, in this newfound bond? Help me understand.”

Tommy narrows his eyes to think. “A… brotherhood.” He smiles. “A siblinghood. We could be that. I could be your brother, and you could be my… sibling?” 

“A siblinghood,” Ranboo echoes cluelessly, narrowing their eyes at nothing like the canopy of leaves would suddenly help them understand. “What does a sibling do?” 

“You’re my older one,” Tommy says, piecing together a definition. “You’re all, protective and stuff, and super cool. Older siblings are always cool.” Ranboo chuckles fondly. “But you also goof off with me, so, not like a parent. Just sometimes.”

“And a younger brother? Is the younger brother the one the older loves and protects? Does this mean you are my responsibility?”

“Now and forever, sibling.” Tommy’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah, that does not roll off the tongue. I’ll just keep calling you poet. But, you’re my sibling! Don’t forget it.”

Ranboo nods, playing up sincerity for a joke. “Of course, little bro.” They ruffle Tommy’s hair. 

Tommy laughs, pushing their hand away, before frowning and squawking his indignance. “Hey! How come your little nickname is so much more smooth for me?!”

Ranboo laughs too, clutching their stomach and squeezing Tommy’s hand. “It’s the ‘cool older sibling’ powers.”

Ranboo feels something tickling their head, and slowly blink their eyes open, vision all fuzzy like they’ve opened their eyes underwater. They grumble, smack their lips together to rid of dryness, and look to see Tommy over them, wearing the awed look he seems to always have on his face when he’s looking at Ranboo. 

The weight on their head are fingers buried in their coarse hair, the flower-crown that they’d kept on given new life with fresh buds. They can only hope Tommy was careful not to cut himself on Ranboo’s horns. “T’mmy?” They mumble sleepily, their morning voice more like a low-tone vibration than anything intelligible. 

“What was that?” Astonishment shines through Tommy’s voice, blue eyes sparkling. 

Ranboo rubs their eyes with their palm, blinking more violently to chase away the morning blur. “What was what?” They yawn, stretching out their long limbs. 

“You were making this noise.” Tommy narrows his eyes at Ranboo’s head, running his hand through their hair. Eventually, he makes the bold move to scratch his little nails against their scalp, arm movement awkward with the effort to dodge the horns and leaves. “It was like this.” He tries to demonstrate what the noise was like by humming, but it doesn’t help them understand. “Yeah, so, not like that. But, close enough.”

Ranboo leans into the action, and now they feel like they can understand the appeal. It’s comforting, and the weight is a good reminder of the presence of their loved one. It sends tingles of warmth jumping down their spine like electric sparks, so nice and new. 

They close their eyes and sag once again, curling themself close to the heat. Something loosens in their chest, a hook disconnecting from its place and falling to the ground to release what it was holding back. A hook they never knew of, keeping things they’ve never known. 

They feel in the ground the vibrations they create, a deep rumble from somewhere in their chest that resembles a purr. It is not aggressive, it is not sharp. It is round and fond, and a thing they’ve never heard before.

Their ear twitches and their tail repeatedly sways, brushing over the grass. They sigh, a chilly puff of air falling from their lips. The grass shies away from it, afraid of them and the eternal night they bring. 

“Yeah,” Tommy whispers, his blinding grin brighter than the first light of the sun. “That’s the one. I didn’t know you could do that.”

Ranboo hums, trying to open their eyes and make the weird noise stop. “Me neither.” They feel pacified, their muscles hundreds of pounds heavier and keeping them from moving. Comfort weighs over them like a blanket, something they can’t shake off. 

The grin turns into a smirk, and Tommy leans down to be closer to Ranboo’s ear. “I’m going to abuse the hell out of this, y’know?”

Ranboo chuckles, absent and airy. “‘M sure you will, sweetheart.”

Tommy pats their head before pulling his hand away, finally granting Ranboo reprieve from the sensation. “Don’t worry. I’m not mean. I won’t hurt you.”

The flowers in their hair chase Tommy’s contact, and so does Ranboo, but they hold back for the sole purpose of not accidentally giving Tommy a cut with the horns. They shuffle to sit properly up, yawning again and waking up more refreshed. The blanket tumbles down their back, falling to the ground and pooling around them to release them from the languid state. 

“I know you won’t.” Ranboo reaches up, fingers grazing the flowers. They can still feel the buzz of warmth and life from Tommy’s magic. A sleepy smile worms its way onto their face. 

Tommy stands, grabbing Ranboo’s arm and trying to pull them up. “C’mon, let's explore now! I was thinking up a bunch of knock-knock jokes while you were still sleeping.” He smiles deviously. “You’ll have to listen to them all day!” 

Ranboo playfully groans, allowing him to tug them along, making a show of dragging their feet. “What if I just slam the door?”

“I will continue to knock and knock and knock and - you’ll get fed up by the end of the day, you’ll be dying of curiosity to know who is there.” Tommy pulls them through the cheery woods, and they gladly follow. “You’ll be like, ‘oh Tommy, I merely can’t stand it any longer!’ ” He theatrically throws a hand over his forehead with a bad vocal impression of Ranboo. “ ‘I simply must know who is there!’ And then I’ll be like, ‘well, you’re in luck! Great thing you talked to the guy behind the door!’ I could tell you all the secrets of life, I could, but I think the secret of the knock knock jokes is far more - intriguing. Fancy word. Learned it from you, y’know.”

Ranboo chuckles, endeared to their boy. “I think both are equally fascinating.”

“Yes, but are my secrets as funny as a knock knock joke? Not nearly! Therefore they are dumb and unimportant and stupid. I would much rather tell jokes. Knock knock.”

“Nope.”

Tommy glares at him and knocks his fist against a tree. “Knock knock!” 

“Uhh, do you hear something?” Ranboo perks an ear into the air. “Because I don’t.”

“Ugh, c’mon!” He tugs on their arm like a child with their mother. “Knock knock! Answer my door!” 

“Wouldn’t it be my door, if I’m the one answering?”

Tommy scowls, face red with adorable frustration. “Answer the door anyway!” 

Ranboo hums indecisively. “I think I left my oven on, actually. I should probably go check that.”

“Your oven is fine, you don’t know how to bake.”

“Yeah, but I just got this brand new cookbook, and I wanted to practice a pie recipe.” 

“Oh wow. So you’re going to go enjoy some pie while your neighbor is standing outside? How rude.”

“Aha!” Ranboo points accusingly at Tommy with a smug expression. “So the person behind the door is my neighbor! Now I don’t need to ask who’s there!”

Tommy stutters for a response, opening and closing his mouth. “I - no - that’s not what I meant!” 

“No, you said he was my neighbor!” They sing. “I win the game!” 

“This isn’t a joke! They aren’t your neighbor!” 

“I thought it was a joke, Toms,” they say, crossing their arms disappointedly with glee pushing on their faux-serious tone. “A knock-knock joke.”

Tommy groans, releasing Ranboo’s arm and throwing his hands. “This is impossible.” A hint of a smile passes over his face. 

“Now now, Tommy,” they chastise. “Is that any way to speak to your family? Hmm?” 

Tommy grins, before clearing his throat and trying to stop. “I dunno, is it? I don’t see any of my family around, cuz the door is closed.”

“So now you’re the one behind the door?” 

Tommy snorts. “Yeah, and what of it? I’ve been waiting for you to let me in, jerk, it’s cold out here.” He rubs his arms with his hands and goes, “brrr.”

“Seeing as though you are literally sunshine, I don’t see how this is a problem for you.”

Tommy thwacks them. “You’re a mean older sibling. You won’t answer my knock-knock.” He scoffs. “Only the lowest quality siblings ignore a knock.”

“Lowest quality, huh? Then, maybe I should just leave - ”

Tommy grips onto Ranboo’s hand and squeezes with a vice, almost digging his nails into their skin. 

Ranboo huffs fondly. “Thought so.”

With more jokes and teases, they stroll aimlessly through the forests, then something painfully familiar singes their nose. 

Outside air. Dust and death. It nips at them, and Tommy must not notice, because it’s faint and something he has never known before. 

Ranboo looks onwards, pupils turning to thin slits. They clench their jaw, and hold Tommy’s hand tightly in return. “C’mon, let's turn around.”

Tommy quirks a brow, looking at their tense face and addressing the growing concern. “Ranboo? Is something wrong?” 

“No, no, it’s all fine. I just want to go back the other way.”

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, before following Ranboo’s line of sight, squinting his eyes at the landscape like he’s trying to see the same offending secret that Ranboo is glaring at. “What’s over there? What are you looking at?” 

Ranboo huffs out of their nose and stares at their feet. At the grass that cushions their every step, heaven on their soles compared to the dust and rocks. They grit their teeth together and take a few deep breaths to compose themself. “Nothing important.” They smile at Tommy, more strained than normal. “Let’s go back.”

Tommy frowns, not quite convinced. “You look upset. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” They think of a way to distract him. “But are you fine after being picked up so fast?” 

Tommy tilts his head, nose wrinkled. “Picked up? What - AHHH!” He screams when Ranboo scoops him up, holding him bridal style with vivacious laughter. Tommy scrambles to grab onto their neck for stability, before realizing that Ranboo has him in a secure hold regardless. 

Ranboo presses their foreheads together, a dopey smile melting their face. “I wouldn’t drop you, don’t worry, love.”

Tommy laughs and tests the waters by releasing their neck, allowing himself to be held. He kicks his legs, looking down to see how far off the ground he’s being carried. “Okay, you can put me down now.”

With an energetic smirk, Ranboo runs - pointedly away from the edge of the forest - with Tommy in arms, shouting to the whole world, “Look out! I’ve got precious cargo!!!!”

“What - poet!” Tommy shouts, trying to wiggle out of their grip. Ranboo holds strong, however. “Let me - let me down!” A laugh trickles into the words. 

“Never!” They press a kiss to his forehead, before peppering more and more all over his face. 

Tommy doesn’t stop laughing, trying and failing to push them away. “Stop it! Stop - hah - I’m serious!”

Ranboo breaks into laughter again, turning their head so they aren’t swatted by Tommy’s flying hands. “You don’t seem too serious to me.”

“I’m the most serious ever,” he responds, crossing his arms proudly. 

Once Ranboo deems them a safe distance away, they set Tommy safely down onto the ground, patting his head. “Of course you are, sweetheart.”

Tommy pouts. “Is that sarcasm I’m hearing?”

“Never,” Ranboo says, voice dripping with fondness. 

Disaster avoided for another day. They aren’t sure how many days exactly they’ve been here, they haven’t bothered to keep count, or how long they can stay, but they hope it’s long enough that months bleed into years, and years into centuries.

Ranboo hasn’t done much today. Tommy’s been off on his own, doing his own little thing - “having some quality think time!” he had proudly declared before marching off into the woods - and the only reason Ranboo feels secure about it is because they’ll feel it in the air when Tommy gets too close to the edge, and they’ll be able to find him in time. 

They do nothing other than sit under a tree, appreciating the moment. Drinking it in, and etching every single detail in their mind, so that hopefully thousands of years from now they’ll still remember exactly what this bliss was like, even if they’re somewhere different by then. 

Tommy has offered for them to try the fruits he presents. Berries from bushes. Fruits from trees. Vegetables they find feasting off the soil. Ranboo always refuses, because they have no need for nutrition, and do not care enough for the taste of things.

They resign to a calm afternoon by themself, but plans change when green vines shoot out of the ground and wrap around their ankles, waist, and wrists, binding them down. With only seconds of struggling, they realize they could easily kill the plants with a touch of their tail, but instead they keep still, intrigued by this development. 

Obviously, the vines are Tommy’s doing, but exactly what and why he’s doing are the important parts. 

“Poet,” they hear from above him, craning their neck up to see Tommy leaning against the tree. 

He looks different. The light shines on him strangely, framing him as less an innocent, bright boy, but instead something powerful to be feared, highlighting his sharper edges. His eyes don’t hold that trademark blue, but instead a honeylike color, danger flashing in them. Something saccharine sweet oozes from his voice that typically isn’t there, but usually is always present when faeries speak. 

Tommy, giving way to his nature, and indulging in what it says. Ranboo understands, and they’ll play along for him. 

Tommy kneels down, cupping the side of Ranboo’s face. They stare on, waiting patiently for what he wants to do. “Tommy,” Ranboo greets in return. 

Tommy lays down on Ranboo, curling his arms around their midriff and tightly locking himself in, hooking his chin on their shoulder and resting his head against Ranboo’s. “I want to hold you.”

Ranboo fights the binds with the want to return the embrace. “You could have asked,” they reply. “Or you could have said nothing at all, and you would have my permission.”

“It’s not about permission. ” Tommy grips onto Ranboo’s clothes and tightens his fists, the vines following their cue to constrict them with more force. “Poet, tell me a poem.”

“About what?” It could be about anything in the whole universe. 

“Anything. Anything. Just speak, and paint me a pretty picture. I want to hear you. I talk so much, and you talk so little.”

Ranboo thinks, clicking their tongue. Anything? They can do that. “Every day, I’m full. Every day, you lift me up. A new life, I live.” 

Tommy waits, and when Ranboo doesn’t continue, he frowns. “Tell me a longer one.”

“Well, what if I don’t want to?” Their lips curl up, and they expect most of what comes next. 

“It’s not about that either,” Tommy says with ferocity climbing in his throat, like an animal using its claws for purchase to pull itself higher and higher. “You are my poet. Tell me a poem.”

Ranboo smiles. That’s more like it. They like that fire. It reminds them of themself. “Misery aches for company, but never before have they been lifted up by who they linger with.” Tommy sighs, melting like butter against Ranboo. “Despair would sob an ocean, but they are so parched for contact that they only can curl uselessly, twitching like a dead bug. But light pours onto them, filling them up, quenching their endless thirsts.”

They curl their tail around Tommy, the one way they can contribute to the hug since they can’t move their limbs. 

“Agony writhes, begging for reprieve that will never come, envying a means to an end. Not until it brushes the wonder of life, do they change their mind, a single inhale setting them on a new branch of a path that had only ever been a straight line.”

Tommy uncurls his hands around Ranboo, curious about the soft thing suddenly around him, and reaches for it. 

“Time was once like a solid - ” Ranboo’s breath stutters when Tommy grabs it. Oh boy. That’s a sensitive body part. “Like a solid bar of chocolate, sharp edges and definite shape. With each passing second, it melted, until it became a liquid. Formless, undefined, impossible to read.”

Tommy lightly runs a hand over the tail, so achingly gentle, but with a smile Ranboo can feel against their skin like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

It’s distracting. It’s so distracting, because Ranboo wants to sag and lean back and enjoy the soft feeling. Comfort was something they’d never heard of before meeting Tommy, and now they are bombarded by it. They want to melt and feel the nice tingles that run up and down their body with each mere touch. They want to have this family while it’s here. They want to indulge in what their new nature says they need to thrive. 

They want and they need.

But they push on, because they are his poet at this moment, and they need to protect life. They need to tend to its needs and wants. They need to care for Tommy. 

“It drizzled and… poured over the calendar, making it - it impossible to identify different days, and, and, different months. It was all th’ - the same.” They stammer, losing their words. 

The sharpness of their mind slowly rounds off at the edges, introducing a new fuzz. A white fogginess clouding their thoughts, keeping them from coherency, gradually filling more and more of the space.

Their breathing labors, suddenly thick and heavy. Slow and shaky. 

“Time… pooled over it all, and it would bl - eed into itself, folding across each other to make the world, to make…” 

Tommy introduces a new component into the mix. He scratches his nails through the tail, careful not to injure but diligent in ensuring that Ranboo feels it. 

They can’t find words anymore. 

The gradual fog that had been wafting into their mind? This is instant. Their brain is nothing, turned to mush, with so much indistinction that they can’t tie the remaining words floating around together anymore. They’re too far away from each other. 

A weight falls on their eyelids, and they don’t bother to resist. Their body tingles with a numb sensation, slackening their muscles and leaving them to hear a soft thud as Ranboo’s head knocks into the tree. 

The two linger in silence until Tommy speaks up, glee clear in his voice like a fisherman after staring at his net and seeing what he managed to trap. “Why did you stop?”

“I,” they breathe, hardly able to focus. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“What? You can’t what?” He tilts his head, staring at Ranboo like they are prey. 

“I can’t think,” they manage to gasp, hands and ears twitching. “It’s so distracting, stop it.”

Tommy holds the tail with one hand and roughly holds Ranboo’s face with the other, forcing them to snap their eyes back open, only to be met with his intense glare. Then, Tommy blinks, sobering up a little bit. The golden shine in his eyes recede, leaving a flatter yellow. “Am I hurting you?” He whispers, his hold softening into something gentle. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Ranboo hurries to shake their head. “Don’t. But, I can’t,” they swallow. “I can’t… speak like… when…” they close their eyes and fall slack, their forehead resting on Tommy’s shoulder.

The gold returns to Tommy’s eyes with the confirmation, sharp and dangerous once again. He strokes Ranboo’s cold-to-the-touch cheek with careful fingers, staring at the little marks his nails had left from the previous hold. “Then you don’t have to. I can let you be silent.”

He lightly plays with Ranboo’s hair, prompting Ranboo to perk their head up. Taking a page out of Ranboo’s book, he brushes away the loose locks covering their forehead, staring with delighted intent before curling his fingers around their jaw. 

Ranboo tastes their own medicine for the first time, and they think it's their favorite flavor.  

He gives a quick peck. Nothing crazy. But it’s enough to make Ranboo hum and lean into the action. Tommy laughs, staring at them with vicious adoration. “It doesn’t matter if I know your name, Poet, or whatever kind of family we are. You’re one of mine, and you always will be, and I’m never going to let you leave this forest without me right next to you.”

The pleased rumble in Ranboo’s chest appears once again, something Tommy can hear in crystal clarity thanks to being pressed right against them. “‘M one o’ yours.” Tommy smiles, pressing himself closer in their chest to hear better. 

This is perfect. This is way too perfect, in every way. Comfort and family and safety, and the reminders here and there that no matter how volatile their two species are, their sincere care for the other is priority before any desire. 

But beyond that, Ranboo’s instincts say screw all that family stuff, this is perfect because of the warmth settling in the spaces between their bones, completing them wholly. They tremble with each right touch, and being with their little brother like this makes them so happy. Such a simple word, but it’s all they need to describe this bliss. 

Tommy finally lets go of their tail to hold onto their head, keeping it in place and pressing another peck into their hair. “You’re perfect,” Tommy says, taking the words right from Ranboo’s stuffed brain. “You’re perfect because you’re mine, all mine. Who else do you know? Who else is there?” 

Ranboo chokes on air, trying to breathe, and fails to come up with a response several times over. Finally, they croak something out. “No,” they pause to inhale. “No one.”

Tommy grins, eyes wide with crazed delight. “That’s right. I get to have you all to myself, because I’m the only person in your world.” Something deep in him finds immense satisfaction in the fact that Ranboo literally cannot be anyone else’s. They don’t know anyone else. 

They are reserved for him, and all their heart can store is him. 

“You are my world,” Ranboo breathes, blinking their eyes harshly to keep attentive. “You are everything in it.”

“I’m the only thing you should pay attention to.” Tommy holds the sides of Ranboo’s face with both hands to make sure they’re alert. “Ever. Nothing else is ever important. I want your attention, and I want all of it.”

Ranboo nods their compliance, because they would never want to take their eyes off Tommy anyways. He is the single most interesting thing in the whole world. 

Temptation screams at them. It takes its claws and digs into their brain, into skin, so violent and sudden and like a tidal wave that they shudder in Tommy’s hold. 

The overwhelming urge to do something on impulse returns, and this certain something very well may be the most important thing they do. And they want to, so achingly bad. They want to give away this piece of themself, because they don’t want it anymore. They don’t care for themself, they want to put themself to better use. It’s Tommy’s, all Tommy’s. They are already his. 

They take a deep, trembling breath, preparing themself mentally for what they’re going to do. “Ran - ”

Tommy quickly slaps his hand over their mouth, startling them badly enough that they don’t finish. “No.”

Ranboo’s eyes go wide. No? Isn’t this what he wanted from them in the first place? Their name? Their being? For them to belong, to be had, wholly and truly? 

It’s all Ranboo wants. To give themself up, and they’ve found someone worthy they trust to hold them with gentle care, without breaking them. 

“Don’t do it, Poet, don’t do it.” The honey fades in his eyes again, shoulders shaking. “Not like this. You aren’t in your own right mind. It’s been me - this has all been me. I’ve been, I wanted you under my control so badly. I wanted to play with you. Don’t give it up. You don’t want to - trust me, you don’t want to.”

What if they do? What if that’s all they want? What if Tommy is wrong, and the influence isn’t controlling them? 

Tommy shuffles away from Ranboo, letting them go, releasing the hold he has over their mind. 

Ranboo takes a deep gasp of air like they just came out from a long time under the water. The fog disappears like someone opened the door to the bathroom after a shower and all the steam can escape. After a few deep breaths, they feel like they can tie thoughts together again. 

Tommy clenches his fists, then swiftly lets go, and the vines obey his orders, retreating into the ground and returning Ranboo’s mobility. They pull their arms from the ground, shuffling to be upright, shaking their limbs out to rid it of those last numb traces. 

He watches, face flushed shamefully red. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I got carried away.”

Ranboo narrows their eyes, because that can’t be right. Tommy can’t possibly be apologizing about this, right? “What? Tommy, what are you apologizing for?” 

Tommy stares blankly, dumbfounded. “For - for what I just did. I - Poet, I tied you to the ground.”

Ranboo glances left and right, giving a shrug. “Yeah? And? I knew I was in good hands.”

“But what if you weren’t?” Tommy nervously fiddles with his hands. “What if I didn’t pull back and I was hurting you?” 

Ranboo smiles softly, sensing the problem, and grabs Tommy’s hand. “Sunshine, I knew I was in good hands. Even when you were deep in, you checked to make sure I was okay. I trust you. I do.”

Tommy doesn’t look convinced. “And you’re sure it isn't the magic saying that?”

“Look at me, sweetheart.” They take a deep breath to demonstrate. “I have a clear mind, and clear speech. I am myself, I remember what you did. And I still love you.”

Tommy flushes deeper, the ghost of a smile passing over his face. “I love you too.”

Ranboo curls their arms around Tommy and pulls him closer, holding him in a loving embrace. Not anything possessive or wanting, but welcome and accepting. Tommy crumbles, falling into their arms. 

They stay there until they sleep, and Ranboo unfortunately doesn’t feel the warnings in time. 

Day turns to night, which turns to day, and Tommy slips away from their grasp stealthily, tiptoeing through the forest to make sure they aren’t awakened. Ranboo sleeps soundly, the memory of comfort and indulgence thick and fresh in their head, leaving them dead to the world. 

They don’t hear the shadows. They don’t taste the air. They can’t tell until it’s too late. 

When it happens, the light dims. Plants shy away, and the air immediately loses that sugar. 

They jolt upright, eyes wide, panting frantically. This must be a nightmare. It couldn’t have happened. 

Not wasting another second, they use a tree to pull themself up, running for the edge. They feel like they can’t go fast enough, like they’re moving in slow motion, running through syrup. Through trees they zoom, under branches they slide, over roots and rocks they jump. 

It was all futile. 

They slow when they finally see him, standing at the very edge of the forest, gazing mutely at the desolate landscape. Ranboo winces, and carefully approaches. 

The wind doesn’t blow and ruffle fondly through his hair like it always does. The light of the sun doesn’t ripple off of him. The air doesn’t smell as sweet and optimistic. They don’t hear his voice, rattling off jokes and saying words just to have his voice occupy the space.

He sags, arms at his sides, staring at the field like something new will pop up, hoping something new will pop up, even with the crushing feeling in the back of his mind that nothing ever will. He, for the second time Ranboo has ever seen, is speechless. Fully speechless. 

His mouth is too dry for words. His mind is too gloomed to think. He feels what every other creature is feeling now. He’s finally tasted helplessness. 

Ranboo stands beside him, staring on in a mirror of his actions, not daring to advance. Not speaking, nor grabbing his hand, nor doing anything to shatter the fragile peace, the frightened peace. 

They can feel his tremor from the vibrations in the ground. They can feel it in the stutters of the wind gusts, they can see it in the dimming light. 

A tear falls onto a blade of grass, which carries it safely to the ground. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, and more fall out. His head tightens and his features screw up with the pain in his heart. 

Ranboo sighs. “Tommy…”

“Nothing important, huh?” He whispers, voice thick. 

Ranboo frowns, having the decency to flush and duck their head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy takes a deep breath in, nearly choking on it. 

“I was trying to protect you from this.”

“Why?!” Tommy shouts, shattering the fragile peace, tugging his clothes in anguish. “Didn’t I deserve to know?!” 

Ranboo doesn’t raise their voice, or hurry to respond. They take their time to piece their response together. “Knowing would have done nothing, except for depress you. We can’t do anything, Toms. All we can do is feel the cold it brings. And it isn’t a good feeling.”

Tommy can’t argue with that, even though his cheeks steam with tears and he aches to protest, he yearns to revive and hold a world that has been gone for too long. 

“This is where I came from, Tommy,” they explain. “The whole world is now this. For, I don’t even know how long, this has been the Earth. I’ve sunken in despair, Tommy. I’ve marinated in it. My touch is cold and my heart is stone and I’ve coveted death.”

His eyes shine with mist, Tommy sniffling and holding his arms comfortingly. He shakes his head, trying to deny what he hears. 

“I wanted an escape, but I didn’t bother to think about one, since I thought there wasn’t one. But then I found this place.” The smallest smile appears on their face despite themself. “This place is the last bit of life in the world. That’s why I changed my purpose. That’s why I devoted myself to you. I haven’t smiled or laughed or felt anything other than misery in what feels like lifetimes.” The smile falls. “All we can do is stay here, in our miracle. In your miracle.”

Tommy sobs, clutching his stomach, knees buckling. His fingers dig into his clothes and pull like it would do something. He falls onto his knees, body aching with a pain deeper than any physical sensation. 

Ranboo kneels too, rubbing a careful hand up and down his back in a vague attempt at comfort. Tommy leans into it, searching for any respite in this melancholy. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” Ranboo whispers. “I’m sorry for keeping this a secret.”

“Don’t, don’t be,” he gasps. “I wish I never knew. I’m sorry, for going too far. You told me not to - ” he chokes and crumbles. 

Ranboo pulls him in and wraps him in a protective embrace, a shield from the dangers of the outside. But they can’t protect him from the emotions anymore. No. Now he knows, and they can’t do anything about it. 

He doesn’t return it, but he lets himself be held, crying softly into Ranboo’s chest. Few sounds. An occasional whimper or strangled sob, but mostly, it’s just an exhausted flow of tears from a despondent boy. 

The world is gone. It really is only them. All they have is each other, and they need to cling on with a white-knuckled grip to ensure it stays that way. They can’t let the vacuum of the outside take one or the other away. 

He feels sick. His head spins, his face heats up, and his head is so tight he wishes it would just explode and he didn’t have to deal with this knowledge. 

All he wants to do is escape. Curl up in the same escape Ranboo has been taking, and ignore the outside forever. 

Forever. Forever. For until - well, not until the end days. The end days are already here. Somehow, he is the one light of life, the one living being, to remain. 

Ranboo meant it, he realizes. Ranboo meant it when they said he is life. He is all of life that is left. He is endangered. Life is almost extinct. Life is hanging on by a thread, and he’s the one keeping it all together. 

He’ll hang on. He’ll hang on as tight as he can, and he’ll call the vines to help him. He’ll hang on and take Ranboo with him. 

“Take me home,” Tommy whispers when the tears finally slow and he’s ready to forget. 

Ranboo doesn’t say a word, instead pulling Tommy up like they so easily did before and cradling him for comfort, walking them away from the edge. 

The light blurs where the forest ends, to ensure that they have a hard time seeing it next time. Tommy never wants either of them to ever pay attention to it again. They have life here, so they should enjoy it. 

Ranboo agrees wholeheartedly.

“Tell me a story,” Tommy whispers, the two sitting down in a field again and talking to decorate the time after such a drastic event. “Tell me a nice story. With a happy ending. Please.”

He needs distraction. He needs to remain in their little escape, in their miracle woods. And maybe he can forget the horrors he’d seen. Maybe things can be good again, with his sibling. 

Ranboo frowns. There are two profiles of stories from their life they could tell, and neither are fun. From before and after the Mass Death. All the stories before consist of violence and plague, that may or may not have been directly caused by them. All the stories after is a misery Ranboo hopes Tommy never has to see again. 

It seems they’ll have to make something up on the fly, or borrow a human story. 

“A human boy named… Aiden, opens his door after hearing a knock, and sees a box on his front door.” Tommy settles in, closing his eyes to envision the scene. “Aiden, curious, opens the box. He had not ordered anything, to his knowledge, and his older brother - his caretaker - hadn’t done so either.”

“What’s in the box?” Tommy mumbles. 

“Well…” Ranboo thinks, narrowing their eyes. “Why don’t you choose?” 

Tommy smiles, just a bit. He likes this game already. 

The flowers perk up, and the light returns. Ranboo’s tail twists and brushes proudly against the grass, happy to finally make their boy smile again. 

“An egg,” Tommy decides. “There’s an egg in the box. A big ol’ egg, big enough for an omelette to feed five people.” 

Ranboo chuckles. “An egg?” 

“Yep. The egg is blue and shiny and wonderful.”

An egg. Okay, they’ll need to adapt their story to fit this new component. “He tears the tape and opens the box to see a grand, glorious blue egg. He gawks at its size, attempting to pick it up, but it’s too heavy. Then, he tries again, but accidentally drops it.” Tommy gasps. “But, the egg cracks, and yolk does not come out. No. Instead, a creature wiggles out of the shell.”

Tommy scoffs. “That isn’t how eggs work!” 

Ranboo playfully smacks him with their tail. “Shhh,” they say through a little chuckle. “Don’t talk about it. Anyway, a creature comes out from the egg, and Aiden watches in awe.”

“Do I get to choose what it is?” Tommy says, the words themselves bouncing with that typical Tommy happiness. 

Ranboo snorts. “Sure, why not?” 

Tommy smiles. “Can it be,” he pauses, taking a second to cough. “Can it be a dragon?”

“Oooh, good choice,” Ranboo says, deviating to a new path. It’s like roleplay. They can’t think too far ahead in the story, because Tommy might add something new and completely change the whole tale. “A dragon. A beautiful blue dragon with glittering scales, about the size of Aiden’s shoe.”

“What’s the size of Aiden’s shoe?” 

Ranboo thinks. “I don’t know. I don’t know how human measurements work.”

“Can I choose?” He says eagerly, clapping his hands together. 

Ranboo breaks out in laughter. “You want to choose the human’s shoe size? What’s next, choosing his undergarment color?” 

Tommy breaks out in loud, wheezy laughter, coughing it away once it grows too intense. “Yeah!” 

“Okay, then, Toms. Go ahead, the floor is yours.” They gesture to the space in front of them. 

“Okay, shoe size? Fifteen.” 

“Fifteen?” They don’t know how big that is, and they doubt that Tommy does either. 

“Yep. Fifteen. Big ol’ fifteen. And the color? Ehh, what about pink? Polka.” He clears his throat to rid it of hoarseness. “Polka dots!”

Ranboo smiles. “Pink polka dots, got it. Aiden picks up the small dragon, and wonders why the egg was so heavy. Piece by piece, he takes the shells and puts them in the box before throwing them away. He doesn’t want anyone to see. Then, he goes inside his room and finally takes it all in. A dragon, in his home!” 

“A water dragon.” 

Ranboo nods. “A water dragon. She sprays water from her mouth at Aiden’s face, soaking his hair. What color hair, Toms?”

“Hmmm, black. Give him a white stripe, though. Gotta look cool.”

“Black, soaked hair. Gotcha. Aiden has his existential crisis, and decides that he has to keep it a secret from his brother. Or else his brother might call… the human government. The… FPI.”

“FPI?”

“That’s the human acronym for the government, correct?” 

“I thought they called the monarchs judges,” Tommy says, scratching his head. “The ones who rule in the courts. Like, how we have faerie courts.”

“But then, what - what happened to the kings? Aren’t the kings who control the land?” 

“Uhhh…”

“Whatever. I’ll just say, The Government. The governing system is up to interpretation.” Ranboo clears their throat, immersing themself in the storytelling once again. 

The two sit there, Tommy relishing in the happy story about the friendship of a water dragon and a boy, and Ranboo glad to provide escapism from the outside. They sit with their laughs and smiles and warmth, and nothing else matters. 

After a while of doing things like this, for hours, days, the somber feelings fade away, and they can live in their little bubble. 

Ranboo finally successfully makes a flower crown, using red and gold flowers and tying the stems together the best they can. Sure, it's still nowhere as wonderful as the crown that Tommy gave them, but it doesn’t instantly fall apart, so they count it as a win.

They hold it carefully, hands tensed to resist the temptation of transferring their curse to them. 

Such temptations have been louder recently. They haven’t properly killed anything in so long, and the curse’s shadow darkens some light of the forest. The endless fog of decay follows them like a cape, trailing after where they step, eagerly listening for orders from its ruler. 

However, Ranboo has been giving it none, and it grows restless. The want to release plague and spread violence itches underneath their tight skin, and they feel claustrophobic with all the pressure compressing against them. Squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, waiting for the moment Ranboo pops and finally releases famine and extinction. 

They resist. They grit their teeth and resist harming the delicate atmosphere. 

“Tommy?” They call. 

Tommy turns, placing his own flower crown onto the grass with consideration before staring at the one Ranboo holds. He smiles, and gives them a tiny applause. “You did it!” 

Ranboo smiles sheepishly. “I had a good teacher.” 

They curl their tail around Tommy’s ankle, fingers curling around the crown to gently bestow it upon his head. Tommy dips, waiting to receive the honor. It falls gracefully onto him, resting over his ears and curls. 

Ranboo pushes some of his locks away, staring him in the face with a smile. Matching crowns, gorgeous flowers. 

Tommy looks up and flushes. “Thank you,” he says. “It’s perfect.”

Ranboo shrugs with a hum of disagreement. “It’s not perfect. It’s not as pretty as yours, but I did my best.”

Tommy places his hand on top of Ranboo’s, rubbing his thumb across it. “It’s perfect.” He smiles up at them. “This is perfect.”

They smile back, after a tentative moment. 

Tommy stares at them until his smile falls, and he’s only staring. “You... you’re an oni.”

Ranboo nods. “You knew this. I told you.” 

Tommy nods back. “Yeah. You came from that place.” He shivers. “You had to live in that for so long, and you came here, and you protected me from it. You saved me.”

Ranboo nods again. “I did. The little bit of life that remains is precious, and I am not foolish. I cannot let it go to waste.” They cannot bring a curse upon this place. They cannot harm any more lifeforms here. They cannot be frivolous. Life has a hard enough time on his own. 

“But you’re an oni,” Tommy insists, speaking like something just clicked in his mind and he had a revelation. “You - you could have, you should have dragged me down with you, into misery. It’s your “purpose.” It - well.” Tommy pauses, catching the fault in his own words. “It was your purpose. Before you… changed it.” 

Ranboo sighs. This was bound to come up eventually. “Misery aches for company, but never before have they been uplifted by who they linger with.” For the longest time, that was their end. That was their fate, doomed for all eternity. “Until I met you.”

Tommy’s eyes shine adoringly, and he shuffles closer to Ranboo, curling his fingers around their hand. “You rejected what you are. For me.”

Ranboo hesitates, staring at the ground. Their face flushes purple. “I did.”

“You did that before you even saw me. Before you even - ” Tommy stutters, eyes watering. “Before ever knowing me. You cared without even seeing me.”

Ranboo curls their fingers together, and Tommy reinforces the hold. “Yes.”

Tommy feels foolish for crying so much, but these are things worth crying over. These are emotions worth feeling, and worth sharing. He won’t hold back when it comes to Ranboo, because they’ve been vulnerable. They’ve seen and heard the innermost parts of each other.

Tommy coughs, trying to clear his throat and rid it of thickness, curling his fingers into a fist to fight the tremor. Ranboo feels their hand being squeezed, and squeezes right back in return. 

“Theseus.”

Ranboo’s eyes go wide and their ear twitches, head snapping up immediately at the sound of that. “What?” They breathe in disbelief. They feel the raw power in the word. They feel it in the air, adding a filter to the moment. Blurring everything with magic, Ranboo needs diligence to stay afloat. 

“Theseus,” he repeats carefully, staring Ranboo right in the eyes to make sure they’re paying full attention. “My name - the real one - is Theseus.”

The explanation doesn’t do anything to soothe the swirling thoughts in their head, and if anything, serves to speed them up. They stammer for a response, only managing unintelligible sounds, before they pull themself together. “Wait, Tom - Theseus - sunshine. You, you just…” 

“I know,” he whispers, eyes shining a brighter, more brilliant blue than Ranboo has yet to see. “You’ve given me your utmost devotion. I want to give it back.”

Ranboo, instead of immediately wasting energy on coming up with a response, processes this. They take their time to breathe deeply and let the name settle in their mind, a whole portion of their brain dedicated to guarding and remembering it. It etches itself into their head, glowing golden amidst the darkness. They hold firmly onto Tommy’s hand, giving it a little shake, like a promise. 

“I’ll take good care of it, Theseus,” they whisper back, cradling his face. Tommy is quick to lean into it, not wasting even a second in closing his eyes and using his other hand to hold Ranboo’s there, even though Ranboo wouldn’t ever dream of pulling away. “I promise. Thank you for trusting me.”

Tommy coughs out a cry, pressing his lips firmly together to end the quivering. “We’re family. Please, call my name. Whenever. Always. When you need me, or want me, or anything in between, just, please.” Words tumble from his lips like an endless cascade, a violent waterfall, and he hides his face in Ranboo’s chest, voice devolving to voiceless whispers and meaningless mumbles. “Don’t leave me alone.”

Ranboo goes from cradling his face to curling their arm around his body, pulling him close and squeezing his hand rhythmically to remind him that they’ll always be here. “I promise. I’ll never. I’m,” they consider, having a whole argument in their mind that lasts a millisecond. They know what they want to do. “Ran - ”

“Stop,” Tommy says again, his thick voice full of force. “Stop, stop, just stop it, please. Don’t tell me,” he begs, pulling on Ranboo’s clothes with desperation. 

“Why not, love?” They respond. “Why? I’m already yours. I revere you. I’m in my right mind. I want to.”

Tommy whimpers, shaking his head frantically. “No, don’t, because, when you do, I’m not going to resist using it, like, all the time. And, you won’t want it, please.”

“What is the point of the name if not to be used?” Ranboo asks. “What if I want you to use it? What if I want to hear it from your voice every second of every day?” 

Tommy keeps shaking his head. “No, no no no, you’ll grow tired of it, and you’ll regret your decision, and you’ll wish you took it back and you won’t wanna be family anymore.”

Ranboo tightens their hold. “Impossible,” they growl. “Impossible. I’ll never change my mind. You don’t understand. This is what I want. I promise, it’s what I want.”

Tommy doesn’t seem to believe them. 

“Theseus,” they say. 

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Believe me. Theseus, believe my promise. I want to give this to you. I want to return my devotion. I request that you let me.” They request, not order, because they care enough not to force this upon him. They are considerate enough to understand his plight, and they’ll accommodate for it. 

After a moment of thoughtful pause, Tommy burrows closer. They hear no objection. 

They smile, and lean close to Tommy’s ear, so that only he can hear. So that the grass and trees and flowers cannot eavesdrop, so that no one else can be given this ultimate secret. “Ranboo,” they whisper, cold breath tickling his ear. 

Tommy gasps, a soft whish past his lips. Now, it’s his turn to ingrain and clutch the name, holding it close and tight, guarding it in his heart and locking it away, throwing away the key so no one can steal it. “Ranboo,” he echoes, like to solidify the arrangement. 

Ranboo’s lips curl up to smile. “Yes.”

Tommy bounces excitedly in the hold, craning his neck up to be closer to Ranboo’s ear. “Ranboo,” he says with a quiet huff and a smile of his own. “You’re Ranboo. My poet. Ranboo.”

Ranboo perks their ear up to hear his voice better, shivering slightly at the ripple of golden magic that bombards them, quaking the ground beneath and flipping all the tables over, shining brightly, blinding. 

A trail of bright sparkles enter their bloodstream with each syllable, manipulating their nervous system and jumping down each of their vertebrae and teasing with every touch. It starts from the core and extends outwards, like a growth, solidifying its roots before overtaking its host wholly and absolutely, leaving them nothing but a vessel for Tommy. 

They hadn’t expected how much a name could affect someone who isn’t alive, but they aren’t opposed to this development.  

“I am,” they say. “I am, I am.”

“I’ll take good care of your name, Ranboo. I promise.”

“I believe you.”

“I’ll be gentle.” 

“You don’t have to be.”

Tommy grins. “You’re perfect.”

Ranboo grins sheepishly in return. “I am no mirror, love.”

When Ranboo’s power bubbles too close to the top, when it comes in a wave so strong that they can’t stand firm in the midst of it, they succumb. They fall into their old ways, allowing their very existence to flow into nature. 

They never do it for very long, and not in very big portions. A few blades of grass, secretly throughout the day, when their tail brushes over them. They’re small, insignificant, and more of them pop up every time Tommy smiles. He won’t notice. They crumble to dust and blow away, and the landscape hardly looks any different. 

A flower or two, or maybe a whole flower bush, on the worst days, but that’s okay too. When they make Tommy laugh, more sprout up immediately. 

They must indulge little by little, so that they don’t explode. Keep a small air hole for it to leak out, instead of waiting to be pumped so full that they pop. 

It’ll work. It’ll be fine, and Tommy will never know. Things will be okay. 

“Ranboo,” Tommy says, smiling. 

A shiver travels down their back, and they turn immediately to greet him. 

They still need to get used to how much of a hold life has over them. It used to have no hold, no hold at all, but now they bend the knee. Now they bow before it, their humble servant. 

They smile back. They like being put to good use. “Theseus?”

Tommy chuckles. “Can we play tag?” 

Ranboo leans down, looking him lovingly in the face. “I would skin a whole civilization of humans, three generations over, if it would do so much as make you smile. Yes, Tommy. We can play tag.”

Tommy lights up, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. Then, he hastily taps Ranboo and zips away before they can think about it. “Tag! You’re it!” 

Ranboo huffs, furrowing their brows and pulling their lips with competition pulsing through their veins, rushing forward to catch him after a while of charging themself up. “You can run, but you can’t hide!”

They hear Tommy’s laugh jingling like bells from somewhere in the woods, loud and boisterous and slightly hoarse. 

They charge through, lurking behind trees and twisting every which way to find him, searching among the shadows. “I found you!” 

Tommy clutches his stomach with more pleasured laughter, trying his best to run. He braces against a tree after giving up, taking deep breaths and shaking his head, grinning like a madman. “Wait, wait, no, pause.” 

Ranboo slows and approaches him calmly. “You okay, Toms?” 

Tommy leans his weight on the tree, wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm. “Yeah, Ranboo, I’m fine. Just wasn’t prepared.”

Ranboo quirks a brow. “Wasn’t prepared? You started the game!” 

Tommy laughs again, wheezy and out-of-breath. He clutches his head, giving a shrug. “I’m done with tag.”

“We just started!” Ranboo adds their own incredulous laugh to the chorus. 

“Yeah, but now my legs are all tired and I can’t breathe right! You know how I prioritize my precious lungs. Full, they must be, so I can scream to my heart's content! I do have so many things to say, and it would be an utter shame if the world didn’t get to hear them.” Tommy pauses for a moment, looks saddened, before clearing his throat and shaking himself out of it. Ranboo idly comforts him by patting his head. “Let’s… let’s sit down.”

Ah. As it should, the revelation of the outside world still weighs on Tommy’s mind. To soothe him, they grab his hand and link their fingers together, pulling him onwards to where they know a nice stream is. “Of course.”

Tommy idly follows, leaning some of his weight against him like he can’t support it himself. That’s okay. If he’s tired, Ranboo is more than happy to help. 

They reach the little stream, and Ranboo sits down, pulling Tommy into their lap. “You may need to drink some water.” 

Tommy hums, closing his eyes and leaning against them. “Later. Just hold me, Ranboo.”

Ranboo does so. They cradle their boy and protect him from exhaustion. “Tommy, why are you so tired?” He’s usually super full of energy, the wind propelling him on and the grass cheering for him, leaves applauding loudly. “We haven’t done much today.”

Tommy shrugs. “I feel lazy today. I wanna sleep.”

They chuckle fondly. “We just woke up a couple hours ago.”

Tommy turns his head to bury his face in their chest. “I knowwww,” he whines. “But I wanna sleep more. I’ve been getting all winded n’ stuff. I deserve my beauty rest.”

Tommy is definitely more than deserving of beauty rest. He is a beautiful creature. He is a beautiful thing. 

Blue eyes with flecks of honey, a perfectly-shaped face, gold spun over his head, and a flawlessly huggable body. A source of sunshine and morning dew, a laugh that revives the plants, a smile that the flora yearns to cause. 

He is adored by all who lay eyes on him. Even a harbinger of death itself was made weak at his hands. 

“Okay, love,” they mutter, curling their arms and tail around him. 

Tommy grins, releasing a sigh and melting onto them like butter on bread. “Call me that again, Ranboo.”

A shiver passes through their body. “You don’t need to use my name every time. I’d do that regardless, love,” they say through a chuckle. 

Tommy hums, reaching up to scratch the underside of Ranboo’s jaw. “I know.” His lips pull into a smug little smirk, something Ranboo revels in seeing. “But your reaction is so entertaining.” As if to demonstrate, he continues. Seems that Ranboo can’t get off the hook that easily. “Ranboo, say it again.”

“Love,” they answer on impulse, a puppet string dangling from the marionette cross brace hooking onto the folds in their brain. They smile, because following the simple order is basically instinct. It may as well be their own free will, because they’d do the exact same thing regardless. 

“Again, again, again.”

Ranboo leans close and personal to whisper soft things in his ear, things only meant for his ears, upon his request. 

Tommy may be able to sing and shine. The trees bow to his will and curl to perfectly frame him. The environment bends to shield him, like each stalk is a knight and every flower must do its best to be brave. Each weed must sacrifice and be a valiant warrior for their king, each blade of grass, the backbone of this mini-society, must toil for the rest of them to succeed. They lean on each other, keeping the other parts of themselves afloat, and one tiny imbalance could be the thing to teeter the supports and collapse the whole structure. 

Tommy may have such a magic, and Ranboo may not have honey-coated words. Ranboo may not have a gorgeous voice that, in its truest form, rings of velvet and rolls off his tongue as an orchestra of all the instruments in the forest, conducted expertly by his lips. They may not be like Tommy in the way he breathes life into empty vessels, invigorating the smallest of things to turn it into an extraordinary sight. The branches curl and the trees stretch after him, surrounding him in a hold that is less controlling and more adoring. 

“I may not be as wonderful as you are. I may not be the gift you are to the world,” they decide to voice aloud. 

Tommy enjoys hearing their “poems”, despite them not really being poems at all. Only Ranboo’s innermost thoughts, straight from their heart. Their tongue is their quill, and their heart is the bottle of ink, time a blank parchment for them to decorate with their declarations of the world, their observations of space, their experience in the story they’ve crafted. 

Ranboo considers them nothing but mere passing thoughts, one to be released after another, freedom coming with the relief that is having their intricate words heard. 

Tommy is the dirt under their feet, the soft soil cushioning each step, the sun shining in spots through a thick-leaf canopy, only made thicker to shield from the outside. The wind singing, blowing through specific spots in the trees like a whistle, like a fantastical flute. The sugar in the air, sweet in all the ways that matter, and sweet because of how it reflects him as a person, and his relationship with Ranboo. 

Ranboo would be old parchment and ink. Ranboo would be ruffled shirts with oversized sleeves, several patches sewn into the material but so well-loved they can’t think to replace it. Ranboo would be the smell of sandalwood and melted wax, the scents clinging to their clothing with too many nights hunched over at their desk scribing their thoughts. Ranboo would be those gravelly, hushed words whispered in the dead of night, with the default tone of a threat, but under the veil are as warm and safe as any cabin fireplace, or any thick jacket.

If they ever were allowed - they think they are now - to have a personality besides wither and plague, they’d like it to be that. It sounds nice, and pleasant, and like a character that is entirely separate from them, one they can never be. 

Maybe, one day, being here with Tommy enough, they can morph into that character. It doesn’t have to feel awkward, or detached. 

“I may not be as magnificent, I may not hold such power and divinity with my every breath like you do, but I’ll do my best to provide you with all the joy and wonder you instill in me every single day. Hopefully, I can return even a fraction.”

They’d expected a fluster, perhaps a flush, aiming for a smile both curling around Tommy’s lips and Ranboo’s heart. However, the reaction of a scowl and the cross of his arms, Tommy pulling back, had surprised them. The wind hesitates, noticeably swaying one way then another, like nature’s parody of a double-take. “You take that back right now. You better, Poet. Take it back.”

Ranboo’s brows knit together and they shake their head. Not a denial of the order, but in confusion about the intention behind it. “I don’t understand. Have I said something to offend you?” 

“Yes, you bloody did,” Tommy hisses, blue eyes flashing with darkness. 

Ranboo frowns, mentally scolding themself for whatever they had done to insult him. 

Tommy sits up straighter, snapping his fingers in front of Ranboo’s face to get their attention. “No, no, don’t you go thinking again, poet. Now you listen. I’m offended because of how stupid you are.” He smacks him across the cheek, little heat in the action. “You idiot!”

Ranboo quirks a brow, sitting and allowing themself to be slapped. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

Tommy looks just as furious, if not more so, upon hearing the apology, releasing a gruff sigh that’s more of a thinly-veiled growl than anything. “I’m not a genius with words, so excuse that and all, but I’m mad because you think you’re worth less than you are. You think you’re worth less than me.”

Ranboo blinks rapidly. No, that’s… they’re death amidst life. Peasant among royalty. Darkness tarnishing light. Tommy was gracious to allow them here, and slightly foolish for it. Ruining the perfect canvas of the miracle with the stench of their vicious curse. 

“You’re thinking long thoughts,” Tommy realizes. “I see it in your eyes. Tell me your poems. I want to hear them. They deserve to be heard.” 

“This is your domain,” they say, opening the door for the thoughts to filter out instead of bouncing around like ping-pong balls, each tap against the wall tickling their brain until it turns into an uncomfortable itch. “You are something extraordinary.”

“So are you!” Tommy shouts. “You are just as - as magnificent as you say I am, and everything you do is just the coolest thing ever. You’ve given me plenty of joy!” Tommy sighs wistfully. “Your wonders are beyond anything I’ve ever seen. You’re so new, and I'm so like every other thing here. Every blade of grass. Every tree. I’m the same as them. We are similar. You stand out in the crowd, you draw the eyes of the forest. They stare in awe, Ranboo. You are an entirely new flavor, something we’ve never tasted, and you are the only one of your kind here.” Tommy speaks on behalf of every gust of wind and crinkling leaf, the grand representative of them all. “You have returned more than fractions. You have returned by manyfold.”

Ranboo is struck into silence, falling forward slowly to join their foreheads again, a cosmic clink to link two parts of the universe that never should have met. That disjointed feeling finally clicks into place, and finally, they are alive. They are a person, and they are adored. They are unique, and hold characteristics others in the miracle do not possess, and that is what makes them wanted. 

Their head spins with the overwhelming rushes of adoration they feel for this one person, this one entity, and they lean more heavily into him, eyes fluttering and threatening to fall closed. 

Tommy’s fingers tickle the sides of their neck, adventuring over their skin, before finding their hair and winding into it, hooking himself in so that Ranboo couldn’t push him away even if they wanted to. Which they don’t, they could never imagine them wanting to do such a thing, ever. “We are equals,” Tommy whispers. “I told you. We are family. You are my sibling. My friend. Neither of us is above the other.”

Their tail curls around Tommy like a hug, the only way they can respond to Tommy’s thoughts - his poems, based on their definition of poem that definitely isn’t correct, but it doesn’t need to be - when they feel so dizzy with love and so far deep into a feeling of belonging that it’s like sinking into blankets. Warm and familiar, with a tender call of welcome home, welcome home. 

“You are not my slave, or anything that came to serve me. I told you you were mine, Boo, but you’ve never been imprisoned. You’re my family, my poet, my best friend for all of eternity. Those are the ways where you’re mine, Ranboo.”

The name is both cementing the arrangement and a challenge, like daring Ranboo to try and oppose it, and they aren’t so foolish as to rise to the fight. Finally, they find their words, and use the quill of their tongue to write Tommy a letter of response in real time. “Such that the sunlight picks up the poet’s pen, and humbles them with their own art, have you said all this to me like a promise.”

Tommy finally smiles. “Now you’re getting it,” he whispers. 

“And now, you can be my poet as much as I am yours,” Ranboo says, not shy to let the dopey smile of theirs shine clearly in sight, brushing their nose against Tommy’s. 

Tommy chuckles, lowering his tone and spinning threads of gold around the two of them, binding them for the rest of time in all the ways that matter. “I’m not a poet. I don’t have a way with words like you do.”

“Ah ah ah, Theseus.” They see what he meant, about the reaction. When Tommy’s hands tighten slightly in their hair and the wind flows from his lips in a defined whoosh like a gasp, their heart glows. Giving him a taste of his own medicine cures them of any illness they may have. “Neither am I. I am no poet. But by your definition of poetry, we are both poets, writing a story with every second we stay here.”

“I’m not elegant with my words like you. I can’t do flowery language. I’m not… you’re the poet.” 

Ranboo’s hand skims Tommy’s back, sending jitters through their fingers. “You are elegant with your actions. Flowers bloom at your touch. The poetry I say? It’s only describing all that I see. You. Poetry are the experiences. It is an action. It is done in real time, and the words on the page are only residues of it. Only relaying the story for someone else to experience. Only a description that can never capture the real majesty. We release our honest thoughts, and we make each other feel. What, if not poetry, could that be?”

“I love you,” Tommy whispers on a whim. “I hope you know that, Ranboo.” Ranboo can feel it. They don’t need to hear it to know. They feel it like a heartbeat when they dig their hands and feet into the soil, they hear it like a music piece in an ambient wood, each living thing singing its heart out for them. They see it in the beautiful landscapes, a picture painted pretty all just for their eyes to witness. 

“I do, sweetheart,” they whisper back. “I do know it, in the deepest parts of myself.”

Ranboo’s fingers brush the leaves of a bush, glancing around cautiously to ensure Tommy isn’t around to witness, only intending to kill the ones at the edge. Their magic bleeds through the veins of the leaves, however, and sinks into the branches, winding through the bush like a maze. They watch in horror as it recoils, trembling in fear, leaves rattling and tearing itself against the thorns that were definitely not there before. 

It shrivels into black, coarse and chalky, like chaff, and with one tap and blow, the wind carries it towards the exit of the miracle, discarding it. 

Death has no place amongst life. 

Ranboo grimaces, feeling their eyes sting. 

It’s a constant pushing and pulling. The tide calls for them, reaches its hand out, but they know that they will pollute the waters if they go in. But the sun shines bright and overbears their skin, and they are so tempted to cool off. 

They want what they should not have. They have it. Their evil, sharp claws have curled around it, hoarding it selfishly. They choke it, on accident, with how tight their grip is, and it dies in their arms. They see an eerie vision of the one in their arms being Tommy, and their heart mourns.

They refuse to let this happen. 

It mustn’t. It can’t. It won’t.

After that, Ranboo starts to notice the things wrong with Tommy. 

The coughs are no coincidence. His sudden quality of being winded is no mystery. 

Daggers dig into their body, handle twisting to angle the blade outward, surgically removing their skin layer by layer and leaving their muscles to burn with the exposure to outside air. Sugary air, salt in the wound. Their tail flicks irritably when it hadn’t before, and the constant impulse to clench their fists, like pumping air, has them captive. 

His velvety voice is replaced by a hoarse, wheezy one. He is generally more sluggish with his movements, slow and leaning his weight on Ranboo, relying on them to be their aid. At first they hadn’t noticed. 

Now they do, and they wonder how they ever missed the signs. Tommy is deteriorating. He’s growing weaker, and thankfully, they caught it early. These are the early, benign signs of the plague. Sure, several menial plants have already folded to their hand, but Tommy is resilient. He can pull through this. 

“Tommy!” Ranboo calls. “I need to talk to you!” 

He appears from between the trees instantly, eager to answer the call like he was waiting on the edge of his seat for the moment Ranboo sang his name. “Yeah, Poet? What’s up? Got the newest sonnet about - oh, let me guess.” He sits himself down, rolling his shoulders and rubbing at his aching back - secretly, Ranboo frowns watching the movement. “It’ll be all about the fashion sense of the trees.” His grin curls up, and he’s waiting for Ranboo to return it.

Ranboo honestly doesn’t feel like it. Not at all, not upon noticing that the grin doesn’t make the spots on the forest floor ripple, or make the leaves applaud as loud, or give the flowers and grass beneath them the energy to lean into it. 

The world is just the tiniest bit dimmer, losing a smidge of that token enthusiasm, and it’s such a small disappearing that no one would have noticed. But Ranboo thinks a lot. Their mind is a chamber for words and ideas to skip around, and with so many of them, it was inevitable they stumbled upon this conclusion eventually. 

They wonder if Tommy can feel it too, and chooses to ignore it, out of the desire to revel in his bliss or keep up facades for Ranboo. The thought of either option being true pierces their chest with a poison-tipped dagger. 

“Huh? Howsabout it? Bark and all? Some good material from the, hah, fellow poet in the room.” Tommy bounces in his seat, excitement tickling his pulse with each pump of his heart at the prospect of being similar to his cooler older sibling. 

“Tommy,” Ranboo says somberly, setting the mood of the conversation. 

He slows down, face falling, adjusting his body language and the language of the world to focus on Ranboo’s every word, to hang off of each thing leaving their mouth like divine instructions, like he would die if he didn’t hear it all. 

They slot their hand under Tommy’s, rubbing over each of his knuckles with the pad of their thumb. “Are you feeling okay?”

Tommy wrinkles his nose, answering with a familiar scoff. 

Ranboo’s ear twitches. Something is hidden within that scoff. Something knowing, something forced. 

“Course I am. You’re here, Ranboo. And, y’know.” He flushes. “That’s perfect, yeah?”

Ranboo melts, mind blurring at the sound of their name from his lips. They can feel themself being wrapped in golden strings, coaxed to sink and forget about the thoughts on the edge of their tongue. It almost works, too. If they were any less alert, the warmth worming its way between their ribs may have distracted them. 

Clever boy. 

“Not quite.” Ranboo takes a deep breath to clear their head from the saccharine honey, attempting to word this gently. “Something’s wrong. And I’ll give you a chance to fess up. What is it?”

Tommy stares them in the eyes for a solid second, hoping that their resolve breaks, but sighing when it doesn’t. “It’s not too big a deal. I just have a lil headache sometimes, and I get all tired when I run. That’s kinda it. I cough sometimes.” Tommy chuckles. “But you know me. Always talking myself hoarse. Bound to happen at one point or another.” He draws himself in nervously, looking up at Ranboo with adorable doe eyes, the crisp blue of the sky before them. “I didn’t want to worry you, since it isn’t a big deal.”

It’s a bigger deal than Tommy paints it out to be, because they can see the physical effects bleeding into the environment. 

Still, they sigh and resign to leave it at that, since they don’t need him to give a long speech when they already know the majority. They just wanted to make sure they were on the same page. 

What to do about this dilemma?

The solution Ranboo comes to?

Never ever, and they mean ever, release anything ever again. 

It sounds easier than it is, because dark fog festers in their core, rotting and bellowing its miserable call, primal instincts yanking them this way and that like puppet strings. Unconsciously, they release it, and gasp in horror each time the chaff of a leaf whishes by, each time the grass leans away from their step to avoid being the next victim. 

No matter how much of a white-knuckled grip they keep on their magic, ordering it to stay put, it rebels against them.

No, no, it says. You changed your purpose, remember? You control us no longer. Now we control you. 

Ranboo collapses one day, in horror of what they’ve done. Whispers nauseate them, vision pulsing in and out, and they realize they made a mistake in defying their purpose. 

In abandoning their purpose for a new one, they can no longer control the old one. It’s not like their entire being switches to atone for their purpose. They are still equipped with the body and tools to perform the old one, with a built-in craving to fulfill it. 

They always were this way, with the desperation to fulfill their purpose to feel the rushes of satisfaction and pleasure once it's complete, knowing they are a cog in the machine of the world ticking properly. Oh, the curse of not being alive. Having no power over who they can be. 

The extension of this mistake was demonstrated by themself truly, when their tail brushed a mushroom. 

Nothing much. Just one mushroom. One little guy, and they pull their tail away before they can cause too much more harm. 

It shows Ranboo’s complacency, how they’ve let their guard too far down, when they don’t immediately panic. 

After the first mushroom shrunk and died, so did its neighbors. Eventually, the whole cluster was like a char on the side of a tree. Ranboo stares in horror, hand over their mouth, once they realize what they’ve done. 

It doesn’t stop. Mushrooms they have never seen or touched start to do the same, shuddering and sending its one last cry out to the world before turning black. Before being made in Ranboo’s own image. 

They stumble through the woods as fast as they can, weak in the knees and panic settling heavily on their shoulders. A veil of thick air blankets the whole forest, fighting against the sugar and the flora. The flora wants nothing to do with it, shrieking and protesting, but eventually buckles under the pressure, allowing the infection to sink in and inject expiry into the roots. It doesn’t listen to them, when they tell it to stop, to leave, to do anything other than take this forest as its next victim. 

No, no no no no no no -

“Theseus!” They shriek, throat tearing with anguish. “Theseus, my light of life!” They choke, voice dropping to a whisper. “Please, please.” 

With the speed of a raging bullet, Ranboo courses through the woods, using all the power in their legs - so much they can feel how sore it will be later - because any second wasted could be one second too late. 

The cape of malady draped elegantly over their shoulders trails behind them, taking the lives of all the fungi as they whirl through. The flowers in their crown wither into black affliction on their own right, one of the few things to not blow away. Only turn into as foul as they are, as black as their purposeless heart. 

They wish they could take off the cape. Take off the crown of corruption that death had anointed them with long ago. Ruler, ruler, ruler, the death excitedly shouts, calling to them. Their skin buzzes with excitement, a phantom feeling that has been so long shut away rattling at its cage, pulling at the bars, breaking free. 

No. They reject it. They mustn’t succumb. 

But it’s your calling, your nature, yours yours yours 

“Shut up!” They wail, tears falling from their eyes. “I can be more than death! I am not your ruler!” 

Their instincts that they’ve listened to since their conception pound against their skull, putting them at risk to slip under. 

Lead us, lead us, they chant hungrily. Lead us onwards, give us more. 

It tries to convince them, to rope them back into it, but they grind against the chains, they pull and fight and claw and scratch, feral in their desire to be finally free. 

Not even in their escapism can they escape. Misery loves company, and Ranboo was mistaken. Tommy was not lifting them up, even if it felt like it for a time. Ranboo was dragging him down. Down, down, like they always do. As is their nature. 

Another second and they may have relented, slipped into the achingly familiar role, but then they spot spun gold amidst frightened grass and break the spell. 

They harshly pull the branches out of the way, not even sparing a moment to notice the way they recoil before dropping off the tree, to see Tommy. He lays scarily limp on the ground, the grass doing its best to support him, and their heart lurches forward, ice slithering into their veins like a viper and stomach turning to lead, dropping to their feet nailed to the ground. 

They fight the dread and usher to their side, kneeling down to look over him, hands flitting but never touching. Tommy’s pale skin reflects no light, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wheezes with every breath, curling into himself and clutching his stomach. “Ran… boo…” 

Tommy independently latches onto their hand, and Ranboo gasps, almost tearing it away if not for the rhythmic, familiar squeezes he gives like a special code. 

They’d expelled enough on the mushrooms to be able to contain their malady, thankfully. Tommy won’t directly be hit. 

“Tommy,” Ranboo whispers like a prayer, cupping his cheek and swiping a thumb under his eye, finger dragging over the dark, baggy skin. Tommy desperately presses into the contact, a shaky breath falling from his lips. The wind is too weak and afraid to imitate him. “I’m so sorry. I did this to you.” They swallow. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m a monster, I’m…” 

They trail off, hunching over Tommy’s quaking body and choking on sobs. 

“I’m hurting you, love. I should…” 

Ranboo can only think of one solution to this. 

They must leave. When they leave, the claws and fangs of death that have sunken into the flesh of the world will loosen, and follow them where they go. 

Their soul purposes are to protect life and destroy it. They shudder, so so confused. Which purpose is real? Which is fake? Are they kidding themself? Tommy will perish if Ranboo remains here. They will snuff out the last light of life, because they can’t help it. It’s in their nature and they can’t disobey. 

But they love him. It’s the first time Ranboo has ever felt love curl around their stony heart, thawing the ice, shining a light that had spread from their head to their toes. It was bliss, it has a hold over their mind, and they love him more than they want to indulge. 

Their love and their instinct battles in their mind, both wanting priority over the other, even though they already know what they’re going to choose. Their mind is made up, and has been for a long time. 

Tommy has given them a gift unlike anything else in the world. So unique and inspiring that Ranboo had so many feelings to feel and thoughts to share. 

They must leave, to keep him safe. 

“I must leave you,” they whisper, regretting the words and already missing Tommy like they’d miss a limb. An ache so crushing and overwhelming that it overpowers their ability to think thoughts, effectively muting the one and only control they have. 

Tommy tenses up, clenching his jaw, and through those muted blue eyes, a steely determination settles. “Ranboo, my Ranboo,” he says, putting all the sugar he can into those names. 

Ranboo convulses, swaying on their knees and barely keeping themself afloat. The name sends sparks down their spine, tingles in their ears, and a dreamy smile to frame their face despite the situation. Their tail sways happily, and distantly, they recognize what Tommy is trying to do, struggling and thrashing underneath the blankets of pleasure that drown them. 

His eyes shine amber, a swirl of color blending before the transformation occurs, as they assume their full faerie control, gripping onto the chain that is their name and using it against them. “Ranboo.” His hand caresses Ranboo’s cheek, introducing more sparks through their skin, and Ranboo melts, sighing and helplessly chasing the touch, malleable and ready to command. 

Ranboo remembers what Tommy actually is, beyond the beauty and gold. A dangerous creature with a silver tongue, able to take what they want at any time. Ranboo has been agreeable and obedient, so the problems have been minimal, and they have respect for each other. That doesn’t change the fact that this is Tommy. This is another side, but it’s just as much Tommy as the rest of him. 

Even through the pain, Tommy has this power, because it haunts his core more than life possesses him. 

“I need you here. You’re going to stay here with me, forever, do you understand?” Tommy says gently, but underneath the calm tone and the sugar in his eyes, harsh authority cuts them into a command.

Ranboo blinks rapidly in hopes to chase away the airy sensation in their head, clearing some of the fog. “But, but love - ”

Tommy uses his other hand to cover Ranboo’s mouth. “Shhh, Ranboo, shhh.” 

They suddenly find their tongue heavy, a thick syrup coating their throat, words impossible to string together. 

“That’s it, that’s good.” Tommy’s free hand ruffles Ranboo’s hair like a well-behaved pet, and Ranboo dips their head to allow him, careful with their horns. “You don’t want to leave me, do you Ranboo?” 

Tommy had taken a honeystick, found a fresh hive, and scooped up heaps of honey, resting the stick over their head and allowing the sugary gloop to ooze over their brain, dripping down and growing his influence. Warmth floods their senses, and a sense of peace washes over them, through the stress of the situation. They lean into the hand, arching their head up to follow obediently. 

The last of their resolve disintegrates, Tommy stealing the final pieces and replacing them with thoughts of him, him, him. Swaths of silky fabric and gentle wind cushion them, trapping them in bliss, releasing false feelings into their mind to lull them into a dream-like state. 

They have no objections, because how could something that feels so good and tastes so sweet ever be bad? 

The cloud of death settled over the environment boos them, shuns them, but they cannot hear. Their ears are stuffed with cotton, and only Tommy’s hoarse-yet-still-wonderful voice can break through. 

Suddenly, leaving feels like a stupid concept. How could they ever think of something so silly? They don’t want to leave. Never ever. They couldn’t imagine it. It would feel like their heart being ripped out, as well as every other vital organ. 

Tommy is vital to them. Tommy is their heartbeat and they cannot go. 

Their eyes flutter closed, and they nod, releasing a sleepy hum. 

“That’s right, that’s good. That’s so good, Ranboo, well done.” He smiles tightly. Even though his teeth are not nearly the sharp ones Ranboo owns, they pose a threat anyway. 

Ranboo preens with the praise, gratification flooding them hearing that they’ve made Tommy proud of them, that he approves so highly. Their muscles go slack and unwind, every part of them given away. They smile, so dopey and soft that it melts right off their face, into their pile of mush and devotion. 

“I need you here. I need you now more than ever. You will not leave, Ranboo.” The hand tightens in their hair. “You will stay by my side.”

They shiver, hearing their name, every time. Tommy says it so right. No one else has ever said it like he does. No one else ever will. No one else will ever say it in the way that unravels them from the inside out. No one else will ever say it in the way that makes them vulnerable and gentle. No one else will ever give them this feeling. 

Ranboo should stay a while, now that they think about it. Tommy is their brother, and they should stay. They will. They will dutifully follow orders and be good for Tommy.

“Why would you think of leaving?” Ranboo doesn’t know. “You… you didn’t. Why don’t you just forget it, Ranboo? Forget everything that isn’t important.” 

Ranboo senses their grasp on reality slipping, and they feel less and less like themself with each passing second of the honey drenching them. 

Tommy recognizes that this is a big ask and requires a bit more coaxing than the other suggestions. His fingers dance on Ranboo’s cool skin, sending jitters through their body, even past the point of contact. Into their arms, legs, curling over their muscles and compelling them to crane their neck down. 

Far, far, farther they bend their back, folding over themself and lying almost flat, their ear beside Tommy’s mouth. “Ranboo,” he whispers. 

Their hair and tail fur stand on end, lip trembling with the weakness across their being. Their very soul trembles, a soul that they didn’t have until they met Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, so wonderfully Tommy. The only thought in their head. The thing they inhale, the one their body yearns for, even down to their smallest atom. 

“Ranboo, Ranboo,” he says in their ear, just a tease, dragging it out for his enjoyment, relishing in the tingles they can feel up and down their back when he presses his hand into it, tracing the spine under taut skin. He strokes up and down their back, the contact introducing more buzzing into their body, and they follow it in a wild frenzy like they’re intoxicated on it. They sway slightly, even in the hold. Tommy grins, lips pulled with dark satisfaction and angles so sharp Ranboo could cut themself on them. “My beloved, my beloved Ranboo.”

That’s them. They are Tommy’s beloved, and their heart jumps for joy, blissfully ignorant to the danger. 

Tommy pulls his hand away, disconnecting it from the bone and chuckling when Ranboo whines. He places it right back, more playing. His finger drags over Ranboo’s vertebrae, outlining each one individually, the sharp edge of his nail tickling their skin. 

Ranboo wonders how one person could flip them so inside-out. Steal their brain from their head, because they certainly don’t own it anymore. Tommy has his hands totally around it, bending it to his will. Ranboo is left a pliant body for him to toy with, with no mind to control it on its own. 

He decides to toy with their mind, instead. Tossing it over and over in his hands and taunting them by placing it right in front of their face, with the knowledge that Ranboo can’t reach for it, and won’t ever do so, because Tommy doesn’t want them to.

“Ranboo, darling.” The honey glows with a dark backdrop, inky black as a night in a human city, or as a pool of tar. Ranboo gasps, nonetheless, with the new inflection that unravels them but tangles them up deeper in Tommy’s web at the same time. “You don’t need to remember. All you need is this. You want this, Ranboo, ” he whispers softly in their ear, alluringly bright and brilliant as he always is. 

Tommy brushes his hand against the top of Ranboo’s head, scuffing their hair, before pressing a little kiss into their forehead, stealing more and more from them. 

The memories in their head separate and shatter, fragmenting into smaller and smaller pieces until nothing is identifiable. All they can remember is Tommy and his touch. All they can remember is the sound of their name, and craving Tommy’s voice saying it, whispering in their ear, delicate fingers brushing cool skin. 

He curls a lock of their hair around his finger, and it accurately represents the situation. Ranboo is wrapped around his little finger, at his mercy. 

Ranboo forgets ever proposing the idea to leave. They forget their woes and leave their worries behind in the cloud of bliss. 

“That’s good,” he whispers. “What a good mind you have, listening to suggestions so well.”

Ranboo smiles airily, not present in any shape or form. 

“Now, you can be calm, Ranboo.”

The thunderous sound kickstarts in their chest, loud rumbles and content purrs. Tommy strokes their back like he would a pet, and even without the influence of the name, Ranboo is convinced - under not-so-stressful circumstances - that they would still be eating this up like candy. 

This dark sort of affection has them in a vice grip. It is reminiscent of their nature - volatile and destructive - while still new and magnificent. It makes them tingle in the best ways. 

It’s a shame that they must hide under more veils to enjoy this level of carefree love. Hide, hide, hide from the plague slowly closing in on them from every side, running out of safe spots to take refuge. 

They’ll keep hiding deeper and deeper, instead of facing the outside. They have each other, and that is enough. 

Once the plague settles into the land, it never really goes away. The repulsive stench of rot springs up left and right, as well as paling leaves and dry grass, cracking under their feet. 

Tommy deteriorates, growing weaker and weaker with each passing day, until he can no longer stand up himself, until he hasn’t laughed in days, until pain stabs at him from every angle. 

When Tommy is asleep, the spell wears off. 

Ranboo blinks their eyes, and their memories tie themselves together again, after a long, disorienting process of not knowing how to move their limbs and not remembering a thing. 

Then it all comes flooding back, the dread trickling in every time, worse with each cycle. 

They must think of a plan to protect life. Life clings onto them with a vice grip, refusing to let them go, but Ranboo must force him to. 

They wish Tommy would force them to stay forever. They long for it, but their concern is Tommy’s life, above all else. It is their purpose, their objective.

Ranboo takes a moment to think about why the name has so much power over them, besides Tommy being a faerie. It shouldn’t have such power. Other faeries have tried to manipulate them in such ways, but it’s never worked. 

They can’t control a corpse. 

Now, Tommy has poured his life into Ranboo. Ranboo is alive, accepted as one with the miracle. They’ve been revived, even though they never were alive before this, and turned into something with a personality that can be taken and bent to a certain will. 

Tell me a poem. My poet, my poet. 

The plague smells familiar, like rot and death and ash. They breathe it in, hating how they revel in it, savor the taste on the tip of their tongue. 

Ruler, ruler, it chants. Ranboo sighs, sagging, staring down at Tommy. 

Pale as a sheet, cheeks sunken in, breathing so heavily they can hear it like an alarm. He puts all of his energy into keeping Ranboo here, even though he knows that Ranboo is the one killing him. 

Ranboo doesn’t understand. Tommy is committing a suicide. Why must he be so stubborn?!

It’s harder and harder to resist the pull, temptation banging on the shield around their brain that they set up mostly for Tommy. They can’t succumb to their old purpose, or else Tommy will be harmed too badly, but they need a way to fulfill the new one while solving the problem of their lingering curse, painting the trees chalk white and leaving them all without leaves, a thick cloud of their fog occupying the space instead. 

The whole forest is sick. The creeks have gone dry, soil cracked and void of nutrients, and the flowers wilted long ago. The wonderful colors that once were starred in their poems muddle into pale yellows and browns. No smiles invigorate the flora. No laughs decorate the space. No games, no stories, no carefree walking with long conversations about everything under Tommy’s sun. 

Their scourge of an illness wraps its slimy, vicious claws around the forest’s neck, and squeezes, suffocating them and holding tighter and tighter with each day. It waits on the edge of its seat, impatient and vibrating with excitement, tugging on Ranboo’s resolve in the vain hope it’ll loosen. 

Tommy has no control over the plague, and neither does Ranboo. It’s gone out of their hands to stop. There is nothing they can do. 

Unless, what if they left? 

What if they left, and…

Their idea halts, and they perform a mental double-take, because they feel like they had this exact train of thought before. An odd sense of deja vu washes over them, those same disjointed sensations from before breathing down their neck. 

Tommy… Ranboo proposed the thought, and -

They click their tongue, rubbing their forehead with the other hand planted on their waist, trying to pull the fuzzy memory from their head. 

The shadows chitter, calling a testimony, saying they had witnessed it all. Ranboo resigns to listen, absorbing the story, and it makes sense. Tommy used the influence he had over them to drag them back and alter their memory. They can’t just leave again. They can’t try to waltz out. Tommy will catch them. Tommy will drag them back, and sink them so far down in the bliss that they won’t ever be out of it. 

Ranboo swears under their breath. They need a new plan, something Tommy can’t foil, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to make these pieces connect. 

How can they lift the curse to cure Tommy without leaving? 

They toss it around and around in their brain like pasta dough, but draw a blank. No conclusions appear. Nothing matches up. 

They groan, kicking the dirt, and a surge of roots, roots, wither the roots floods their senses from restless instincts, bored and missing them. Missing them with reckless abandon, and they can feel the longing from the other part of themself they’ve been ignoring. Their true purpose, their use in the world. 

It clicks. 

Tommy doesn’t have control over the plague. Ranboo doesn’t have the control to stop it. 

But, they do have the control to empower it. They can wield it like a weapon. 

Ruler, ruler, it chitters excitedly in their mind, the crown of thorned wither roses a heavy weight on their head. The familiar sensation of the death cape drapes from their back, and Ranboo doesn’t chase it away. 

The only way Ranboo has even a chance at saving Tommy is to fall back into their old ways. To die, once again. Then, Tommy will have no power over them, and they can leave. They can leave, and the fog can lift, and Tommy can heal. 

Ranboo will have to walk back into the remains of the world, wandering for all eternity in a desolate landscape. Their purgatory will only be made worse with the knowledge of their mistakes, attacking the last bit of anything that ever mattered to anyone. 

Obviously, these thoughts don’t excite them. Their hands tremble and tears come to their eyes. They’ll be purposeless once again. The one thing their body pines is a purpose. To fulfill purpose. Here, he’s caught between two purposes. Out there, they’ll have neither. No life to kill, no life to protect. 

No one will listen to their thoughts. Their “poems” will never see the light of day again. Neither will their smiles, or their laugh. Their voice, a voice they had grown confidence in, will return to hiding, Ranboo shrinking into himself like a recluse. Once again, they will be a dull mute, a numb corpse wandering the paths of misery that other undead have dragged their feet along much before them. All doomed never to see each other, to stew in loneliness for as long as the clock ticks. 

All of that punishment pales in comparison to watching Tommy’s smile fading away. The horror in their stomach when they found him limp on the ground will forever be unmatched. The echoes of laughter twirl around the chamber of their mind, wrapping around their heart and trying to comfort. 

It does little, other than reassure their plan. The numbness is worth it. The desultory fate awaiting them is one they will jump headfirst into, if it means Tommy can be happy like that again. If the cloud will lift, and Tommy’s miracle will heal. If the world can have that pop of color, the pungent scent of sugar in the air, with applauding leaves and enthusiastic grass. If the flowers can bloom and giggle with each other, gossiping about their lovely boy. If the bushes can stand solid once more. 

If the ecosystem can heal. Even if they aren’t around to see it anymore. 

They cannot be selfish today, despite them always being selfish, even with Tommy. Today is an act of sacrifice. 

Today they leave Tommy behind. 

First, to do that, they need to remove every trace of Tommy from themself. Every light. Every smile. Every love of life. For this to work, they need to welcome what they had rejected. They need to regress, and swell, and emerge as ruler once more. 

They must be hollow. They must not resist, and give the calls of their instincts what they want. What they always wanted. They will stop the rebellion by permitting what it is doing, and drawing it away themself, simmering in their own corruption for an undetermined amount of millenia. Perhaps infinite. 

The personality they’ve come to identify with, what they’ve come to enjoy, will perish and wither and blow away as the chaff does. They will be a blank portrait. They will be defined by what they cause, no other characteristics to them. 

They stalk through the shadows, glancing around at the familiar fog and malady seething hatefully amongst the skeletons of lifeforms, pulsing illness into the ground and fighting the last pieces of resolve. 

The fear of losing themself - the themself they fooled themself into thinking they could keep - pushes at the edge of their mind. They quite like thinking for themself. Deciding for themself. Wanting and having hobbies, having relationships. Having fun. 

This must be done, regardless of their feelings. They never were meant to feel. This was all a mistake. Ranboo should never have crossed paths with Tommy. They are exact opposites, and they cannot occupy the same space. It leaves an imbalance. Ranboo resembles life too much, and Tommy resembles death too much. 

It doesn’t work. Tommy will die, and Ranboo will have this turmoil that they weren’t meant to ever experience. 

Ranboo’s suffering never went away. They were just transferring it to Tommy and stealing the life from him all along. 

Ranboo perks their ears, sucking in a final, resigned breath, before opening their arms up, offering a broad hug to the fog, like the father welcoming a long lost son home. “Come back to me,” they whisper, opening their vessel, feeling the golden goodness bleeding out of them to be replaced with black and purple. 

It slams into them full-force, like an eager son happy to be home, and Ranboo staggers back with the force of it, clutching their chest and drawing in more chilled, tainted air. They tremble, hunching over, stumbling to find balance after the unequal distribution of weight. 

After gaining composure, they feel complete again. Purpose pulses through them, running through their tar-like blood, crusting a layer of hard rock over their heart to protect it from anything and anyone. The smallest smile curls over their thin lips, sharp teeth flashing with a stain of blood in a whish of memory over their head. 

Reason spirals around them, digging into their deepest creases. Filing in and out of their ears, billowing through their body, wrapping around them and sinking in. 

Ruler, ruler, it calls, and Ranboo wildly accepts, consenting to their crown of thorned black roses, dark cape billowing over their back and pooling at their feet. Their eyes darken, the purple no longer pools of adoration for the sun, but steely and flat, the only thing in them a goal. 

Show us, show us, it shouts, excited to have them back again. Excited to have their monarch's didactic hand to guide them along. 

Ranboo grins. It wants a show? They’ll give it a show. 

They haunt the ground like a shadow, warping and traveling onwards until they face a challenger. A tall lifeform. A tree. 

They gaze upon it, craning their neck up, disdainful glare twisting in their eyes. 

A dark hand reaches up, power popping and pulsing from each claw, jumping from fingertip to fingertip. It warbles, hissing and spitting drops of its curse onto the ground, and like an acid the lifeforms that are touched heave and perish. 

The pads of their fingers brush the old trunk, drawing company in this misery. Recreating it in their image. Turning Tommy into the odd one out. 

Tommy always has been the odd one out. Ranboo was never unique. Tommy is the only life, and everyone else is dead. 

The tree fractures from the point of contact, bark shedding and trunk crackling, until it withers and becomes a mirror of Ranboo. 

Their hand lays flat on the spot, taking deep breaths, waves of satisfaction rolling over their muscles like a massage. They sigh, resting their forehead against the remains of the tree, tail swirling random patterns into the air. 

Tommy, from a few yards behind them, wakes up convulsing, curling further into himself before spewing a vomit helplessly onto the ground, eyes stinging with the pain. 

Ranboo’s hand skims the tree when they pull it off, turning to face the now-awake boy. They greet him with nothing other than a blank stare and a neutral mouth, gone mute once again. 

“Ran - ” Tommy coughs, twitching and gagging. “Ranboo, stop, don’t go.”

The name has no tug. It has no effect on them, nothing other than a title that does not belong. 

Monarch, monarch, oni. 

Faeries could never control dead bodies. 

Tommy can no longer force them to remain. Tommy can no longer hurt himself. Ranboo wonders, distantly, why they’d bother to twistedly protect a lifeform when their purpose is destruction, but then they see Tommy’s face and decide not to question it too much. 

“Please.” Tommy tries pushing himself up but falls flat on the ground, frantically crawling to reach them. “Please, don’t leave me here, I don’t want to be by myself, Ranboo please.”

Even at the expense of his life? What idiocy. If he dies, there will be a lack of company anyway. Ranboo cannot understand the motivations of life. Their existence is purely methodological. A cog in the machine. All they understand is purpose and use. 

They must leave. Tommy cannot influence them. This is for his protection, does Tommy not comprehend what is at stake? 

“Ranboo, please.” He sobs, tugging at his clothes and falling at Ranboo’s feet. “You’re my - you’re my best friend. You’re my sibling. You’re my family. ” He chokes on his words, swallowing the thickness down. “You’re the last thing I have.”

Ranboo almost breaks, a slight falter in their face, but they stand solid. 

“Please, please, stay. I can’t live without you.” He looks up, pale blue eyes shining with tears. “I don’t want to die alone.”

He would not die if he merely let Ranboo leave long ago. If he allows Ranboo to leave now, he will be alive. So he will not die alone. He will not die early, alone. 

His tear-stricken words are the thing to pull Ranboo out from underneath the veil of apathy, the monster sighing and kneeling down to be his level, grabbing his chin with two fingers in a way that could have been labeled as gentle. 

Their eyes bore into his soul, staring at something they don’t have. Tommy closes his eyes, tries to turn away, but Ranboo keeps him focused. “Theseus.” The word falls quietly from their lips, but power swells in the innotations of each syllable. 

His muscles lock up and he gasps, staring at Ranboo with widened eyes and frozen frame. 

Ranboo shushes him, a defining order, coming so close their noses almost brush, their foreheads almost touch. “Stay,” they whisper in his ear. Tommy leans in, trying to bridge the gap, but Ranboo pulls away before he can do that, watching him stumble when nothing but air is there to catch him. 

Tommy sobs, lip quivering, and he finds he can’t form words anymore. Nothing comes out. Betrayal burns through their stomach like acid, but even stronger than that is the frosty bite of loneliness, threatening to consume more than any curse ever could. He shakes his head, gripping at himself in the illusion of comfort, a wail rising from all the forest in unison, adding to Tommy’s broken song of sobs. 

They loom to their full height, turning without looking back, the cape billowing behind them and dragging over ill lifeforms, sucking their last breath away.

The trees bend to stop them. In the branches’ efforts to block their path, they snap off the weak trunk, falling limply on their path and crunching under their foot. Tommy’s final attempt to keep them here, since his sewn mouth prevents him from calling out and the order keeps him chained to the ground. 

Ranboo must be okay with loneliness. Tommy will have to be okay with it, if he wants to live. This is all for him. When Ranboo leaves, he will be cured. 

Ranboo completes their objective, stepping further and further away from a life they were only allowed to see and never have. To touch and destroy, not to touch and adore. 

It’s all for Tommy. They sacrifice everything for him, in the faint hope that it helps. With the knowledge they’ll never be able to return, they walk away from the only place they ever could call home. The only place they were ever loved and not feared. The only place where laughter sounded more beautiful than screams. 

Tommy’s barrier of light does little to fool them. They can smell the outside world. Taste it, even. Ash and dust and death. 

With each step closer to the edge, the shrieking of the wildlife grows louder. Their instincts offer to silence it, but no. Ranboo says to leave it. And it listens, because they are its monarch. 

Maybe with enough time without them there, the miracle can revitalize. Maybe it can grow into something bigger and better without them there. Maybe it can thrive. 

They reach the edge, one step more and there would be no grass. Only dirt as dry as the once-creeks. Only rocks and pebbles, making for toiling walks. With clenched fists and full lungs, they commit, crossing the border. 

The atmosphere change is immediate. The pressure in the air rises while the cleanliness of it plummets, the smell of rot the primary sight, sugar fading with the distance. 

It is a struggle to take each step forward, a buried part of themself aching to return and bundle Tommy up in their arms, but the rest of them silences it. 

No. No more of that. They don’t deserve it any longer. They’ve spoiled it, and this is their one chance of redeeming themself. 

They walk far far away, long enough that the cloud lifts and follows, settling all into their body once again. It only just now hits them that they’ve done it. They did it. It’s all over. This little phase is over. This period of sunshine and smiles is over. 

They cling onto the happy memories like their existence depends on it, and some part of it does. They replay them in their mind, since to forget would be worse than a death sentence. 

The loneliness creeps in, tail dragging in the dirt, when they realize they’ve walked far enough to not be able to see the forest in the distance any longer. 

They sigh, eyes stinging, digging their nails into their upper arms in a substitute of a hold they were given generously, once upon a time. 

Routine settles upon them again. The days blur like they had, seconds bleeding across each other. A recognizable melancholy returns to the beast, the only thing to occupy their broken heart, aching in their chest. 

The memories of the sunshine are the only comfort. The handholds and soft words and even softer actions are the only thing to keep them sane, and the thoughts bounce around their head to guarantee that they remain fresh and that no details are lost. 

They review his name, his name like holy knowledge. Theseus, Tommy, life. 

The realization sweeps over their mind that there never was a Mother Nature after the mass death. There was the son. The sun. Their sun. 

A happy sun that does not shine past the gray and brown muddling the sky with pollution. Bright blue eyes that no longer watch them from above, a friendly, colorful void over their head, house to living creatures that are long since extinct. 

They dig their claws into every single scene, holding it close to their chest with the vain hope it’ll mend them, promising to never allow it to fly away. 

Tommy is safe. Tommy is alive. And this thought is the only thing to ever make them feel like they ever warranted existing in the first place. 

Once again, their dead body stumbles over the skeleton of a planet, growing more numb with every second they can’t fulfill their purpose. 

Their only source of satisfaction is from their new purpose. Protect life, which they managed to do in the end. Just barely. Just in time. 

At the expense of a life of sorrows, Tommy lives to see another day. At least they could have done this for him. At least they managed to leave him with this parting gift. 

Tommy feels it when Ranboo leaves the forest, curling up on the ground and sniffling. 

A hammer bashes against his skull, fracturing the bone over and over. Their muscles throb, fingers twitching, and they feel like the only movements he can make without lighting himself on fire. His stomach churns, folding over itself, and if he had anything more to throw up, he would have. Tears flood from his eyes like an avalanche, and the part that hurts the most is that Ranboo isn’t here. 

He wants Ranboo’s hand in his hair. He wants to be laid in their lap, rocked soothingly back and forth with quiet whispers meant to calm him, held in loving company until his last breath falls from his lips. 

The sickness is settled too deep into the heart of the forest for anything to ever fix it now. Even if the source has disappeared, it’s run its course. The ending is inevitable. 

All he wanted was Ranboo’s company. That’s all he wanted. He knew he was going to die, if not due to Ranboo, then to natural causes somewhere down the line. Dying alone, trapped in that circle by himself, is the one thing Tommy was ever afraid of. Tommy figured, may as well die now, well-loved, held close like a treasure. 

No. He doesn’t even get that. 

He falls flat on his back, his heart beating languidly in his chest. Vines curl slowly around his wrists, and his brows knit together, because he hasn’t had that kind of control over the forest (he would have definitely tied Ranboo down) in a while. Then, he spends three seconds glancing down at the cool weight around his hands and ankles, keeping him bound to the dirt, and gasps. 

Just as Ranboo found him, he is bound. Trapped, with nature’s cuffs, and he despises it. He had enough of being imprisoned! Why must they return?! What offense have they committed?!

He thrashes in their grip, struggling for freedom, fire erupting up and down his skin. The black, ugly vines tighten their hold, and Tommy can only think of this as karma. Out of desperation to remain alive, he fights it, even with the agony searing his body, powerful stars sparkling in his vision. 

A vine curls up from the ground, twisting and turning, snaking up his chest like a viper - goosebumps form over his arms and legs, a shiver racking his spine - wrapping over his mouth to mute his gasps, suffocating him. 

He scowls, clenching his fists and pushing through, rushes of adrenaline allowing him one last spurt of that classic Tommy impulsiveness. He sinks his teeth into the vine as hard as he can, a sickening squelch and the taste of some purpley-black ooze bleeding from it making him gag and spit it out.

It rattles like a snake, shaking out, before hissing at him, the ooze spit in his face like venom. 

Then, it forces its way into his open mouth, and at first he thinks it’s another way to gag him, but realizes that he’s sorely mistaken. 

It shoves itself down his windpipe, deep and deeper into his throat, spindly needles shooting out from little pads in the vine and stabbing at his insides. 

He screams as it rips his throat to shreds, the vibration only making things worse, tasting blood in his mouth and feeling it trickle down his esophagus, choking on the slimy vine. The cold metal feeling suffocates him, and he coughs, trying to get it away, trying to gasp in air. Blood pools in his stomach when he swallows the blood, gulping around the vine and thorns in hopes to breathe easier, only leaving cuts inflamed with the new air he gulps in. He ends up swallowing the vine too, burying himself deeper into trouble.

He convulses and sobs, tilting his head back like it’d help him at all, kicking his legs and pulling on his arms. 

Snaps from his now-broken wrists and ankles dispatch thousands of sparks through his nerves, the gasoline of blood interacting with them and burning him up. He pounds his head against the grass, trying to g et away, but it obviously doesn’t work. 

The vines stain red with his blood, all the ones tying him down and the one in his mouth. 

Why must this be dragged out?! Does Ranboo hate him this much?!

No. He knows they don’t. He could never mistake those words or feelings for anything other than truth. They know the love from his sibling is true. 

But it’s so stupid. Why couldn’t they just stay with him?! Why did they have to be noble?! Why do they still have to be a good, loving sibling, even when they aren’t here?!

The vine in his throat doesn’t feel very good or loving. It’s warm and sticky, tasting sour next to the bitter metal, poisonous sludge oozing down his throat. 

He coughs, blood sputtering out of his mouth like a faulty fountain, his face and hair stained with the thick red each time he coughs or sobs. Blood dribbles out the side of his mouth, pouring over his chin and staining his neck. 

A vine pokes his back experimentally, searching around their spine and shoulder blades for position, and Tommy tries to recoil. It stabs his chest, shredding effortlessly through skin and flesh like a blade. He howls his pain, squeezing his eyes shut - avalanches of tears pour out, mixing with the blood - and shaking his head, the scattered fragments of his skull being ground up into a fine powder, a migraine surging so loud he can’t think. Blood pours from the vine, tumbling over the wound, a dark red stain weighing his clothes down, leaving them to stick unpleasantly to his skin. 

It pools under him, leaving a puddle in the grass and soil, expanding with each second of leakage. With the blood, so does his fight drain from him, the life in his eyes fading with every second. Asphyxiated bawling rings from him, one after the other. 

He wants this to be over. Why must he be tortured?! He can’t beg anymore, but he can scream, the vines not caring for his plight. 

The blade-like vine curls around the snake-like vine, and in a loopy mind state he mentally giggles at the thought of these plants each having a little personality. The littlest of escapes he could possibly make for himself, even though the blade vine drags him forcefully out of his thoughts when it tugs upwards on the snake vine, its fangs catching on Tommy’s throat and expanding the cuts, macerating his gullet. 

The needles poke through his neck, starting from inside Tommy’s throat and visible through the skin on the outside. 

With one final retch and desperate, gurgling gasp, eyes wide open, his lungs drowned in blood, he falls limp, head tipping to the side. 

The forest shudders, succumbing to the curse.

The blood spills from his open, slack mouth onto the grass like a cursed syrup, a steady stream of metal. Rivulets of blood stream from his neck, from the tips of the needles, only adding to the viscous puddle under him. A sheen of glossiness layers over his eyes, expression blank and apathetic. 

Made perfectly in death’s image. 

His clothes are more blood than cloth, veins empty and without a pulse to pump it forward. 

A motionless body rests there, the vines resigning to tie it down for all eternity, coiling tighter around it like it hadn’t done enough. It must torment it even in death. They settle in their places, feasting on the satisfaction of its exuding blood. 

With time, the body grows stiff. Cold to the touch. Cold to the core. No organism survives. Not one. 

The forest becomes another hollow skeleton, the same as the rest. Corpses will wander and stumble upon this landmark, never able to be told the wonderful story of all the gold that poured from this place, all the honey that was said, all the warmth that was performed. 

It will just be another case of the same. 

With that, truly, the last light of life disappears forever, dismal wanderers roaming their grave, none ever thinking of a smile again.