Tommy can see him when he closes his eyes, so he keeps them open.

His arm aches numbly in the darkness as he sits on his bed, knees tucked into his chest.

He is hiding from the monsters that reach for him from the shadows, Wilbur and Techno not there to save him.

They are terrifying.

They scream.

Regret, regret.

Repent, repent.

The monsters climb up the walls. Their shadows block out the moon.

Tommy hides under his blanket.

He wishes Techno had stayed but then remembers the blame, the words that didn't seem right.

When they were out of sight of Wilbur, when they were back in Tommy's room.

"Stay away from him," He had said. "If you know what's good for you."

Do you see me as a killer? Tommy almost wants to say, but he doesn't.

The voices whisper back.

Yes, yes you are.

You reach out with those fingers.

And you kill what you try to touch.

Techno teaches him a new word.

It is called remorse.

It is not a name.

It is a feeling.

It is what you should be feeling, Techno said.

But you are messed up, says his tone.

You are dysfunctional.

You do not bleed like everyone else.

Golden ichor flows out your veins, hero.

It hurts, but you will never die.

It is never your time to.

Maybe remorse is that cold feeling spreading across his chest.

Maybe remorse is the monsters on the walls.

Maybe remorse is the aching in your bones, piercing through and jolting you awake.

Re-morse.

The word could be beautiful.

It sounds like it.

But it is not.

Why must all things heartbreaking be two syllables?

Remorse.

Justice.

Promise. Tommy thinks sleepily.

And next thing he knows, he has closed his eyes, and he can see his face again.

Tommy is in a field.

He knows the word from history books and pictures and the TV.

But he didn't expect it to be so.... real.

He feels like he can feel everything.

He can feel his shoes sink into the dirt at his feet, the grass rising up to his waist, itching against his skin.

He can feel the wind whistle past.

And he can feel the sun fall on his face.

It peeks out from warm, dark storm clouds above.

And then Tommy hears a voice.

"Tommy!"

Tommy looks up.

It's him.

It's the boy.

It's the same brown eyes.

Blurry, brown eyes.

It's Tubbo.

"Tommy! Tommy!" Tubbo laughs and smiles, waving frantically, so different from the scared and tired boy that Tommy had, Tommy had- "Come back home!"

Tommy stares aghast at a perfect little wooden house, so colorful, sitting in the field like it just belonged there.

And Tubbo, just out of reach.

"C'mon Tommy!" Tubbo giggles. "I don't have all dayyyy, big man!"

The wind shifts and runs through Tommy's shirt as he stares.

And oh, Tubbo looked so happy.

And he felt like he had known him forever, not those few moments.

He felt like he could know him forever if he tried, and he so wanted to.

Stare into those brown eyes and laugh.

Someone that he could reach out to and just know, so he wouldn't be so alone.

Names rushed past in his mind, bee boy, clingy, forever, who am I, who am I without you...?

He didn't know what they meant, but he wished he did.

And forever didn't seem too haunting of a prospect with this kid, this person, in mind.

But then Tommy realizes, he realized that forever isn't possible with Tubbo, Tubbo could never be forever, because Tubbo was dead, dead, dead.

And Tommy thinks he felt real tears water up in his eyes, tall grass tickling at his elbows.

"I can't, Tubbo." Tommy wants to, but he holds himself back, cool breeze hugging against his arms. The name feels so natural as it falls, like he could say it a million times and never get tired of it, like he has said it a million times and called it out in familiarness, in joy.

"I can't."

Tubbo tilts his head to the side, leaning against the doorway. The fluff on his hair cushions him. He looks confused as he calls out: "Why not, big man?"

Tommy stares at him, his face lit up by the sun, framed in innocence at the doorway.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

"C'mon dude, it's gonna rain!" Tubbo still smiles at him, beckoning him closer.

Maybe if I was strong enough. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough.

I'm so sorry I ran away. I should've stayed.

I would've stayed with you.

"Tommmmmmyyyy, c'mon!" Tubbo pouts impatiently, but Tommy can't stop staring.

And he can't stop thinking.

We might have been.

We might have been.

And then with panic, Tommy realized something was tugging him back.

He didn't want to leave.

So he ran with his arms outstretched, he could smell the electrical charge in the air, he could feel the grass swish beneath him, he's running and the wind's behind him, he's running towards Tubbo.

Tubbo is there, Tubbo is right there, and he reaches out his arms too.

Tommy runs, and he thinks, maybe, maybe if he gets there.

They will bandage his arm.

They will feel warm.

They will laugh and they will sob and feel all sorts of lucky.

They will celebrate.

They will promise.

But they don't.

The clouds heave with a sigh, or maybe a scream, like the universe knows, a huge yell of thunder.

Lightning illuminates in Tubbo's brown eyes, and they sparkle and dapple with light, blooming.

Maybe, maybe.

If only, if only.

And then he's gone.

And Tommy's alone again, in his bed, the sun not up, cold and alone in the colorless room.

And Tommy couldn't help repeating to himself, over and over again.

We could've lived that way.

We could've lived.

He could've lived.

We could've lived together.

Us against the world.

Maybe he could call out to Tubbo, without concern, "Another time."

"Maybe another time."

But then he remembers.

He is dead.

He is dead.

He is dead, dead, dead.