Tommy thinks, deep within a memory he holds close to his soul, that at one time he was happy.

Or maybe not happiness, but a sense of surprise, maybe comfort.

Spontaneity.

But not the type that scares you to the bone.

Even though he doesn't know the words for it, he still remembers.

A summer night in a city.

Chicago or New York, maybe.

He sat on a barstool, small and tiny.

He drank Diet Coke from a glass bottle.

In a cupcake shop.

It was late at night, late enough to be naughty.

And as he looked at the long queue of people lining up next to a shiny metal railing, holding the cold bottle at his fingertips.

Tommy dimly remembered feeling alive.

---

Tommy doesn't know how many years had passed since he went to that cupcake shop.

He just knows that he is 28, a far cry from the small boy that sat on that stool top.

A lot had changed since then, not just physically for Tommy.

People grow apart.

That's all Tommy would say.

But maybe it's that feeling he gets when he lies on his bed in his house, and the remembrance of the memory.

He sees fluorescent low-hanging lights now, and pink frosting.

Or maybe it was the sense of loneliness, that made him reach for his phone in the darkness and type into his contacts a name he thought he would never type again.

It wasn't anger or sadness that kept him from it, it was the sense of moving on, he rationalized.

He took a deep breath and he typed:

hey, remember that one cupcake place we went to when we were were kids?

The response is swift, to Tommy's surprise, almost like he was waiting for Tommy to text him, even after all these years.

Tommy wonders what he's doing up.

It's midnight.

hey! long time no see! uhm, we went to a lot of places when we were younger, which one are you talking about?

Tommy stares at the text for a few moments.

He used to be a social butterfly when he was younger but look at him now.

He finds himself hating the way that the text is sent, all stiff and unlike him.

hey! long time no see!

Pffft. Who even said that.

He was typing in all lowercase too.

He used to always type in all caps like he was screaming for all the world to see.

Maybe he has changed.

They weren't boys anymore.

It had been 10 years.

Of course he had changed.

Tommy's greatest fear, he guessed, was that he, himself, hadn't.

it had diet coke in glass bottles. the cashier had to pop them open for us. and it had red bar stools.

The three little loading bubbles appeared on the screen, and Tommy holds his breath.

oh yeah, i remember that one! in chicago. i don't quite remember the name...

Tommy's breath hitches and his fingernails tap the screen.

could you find the name for me?

The reply is somehow even more swift.

i'll try to find it.

Tommy wonders how he became such a fast typer, he used to take forever to type out sentences.

Tommy remembered helping him with it.

Guess he didn't need help now.

When Tommy is about to set his phone on his bedside table, a vibration shocks his palm.

It's another text.

maybe we could look for it together? we live pretty close, i'm just a few streets down. coffee at 6? or whenever you get off work. i'm flexible.

Tommy feels a sense of dread but also a sense of longing.

He doesn't really like meeting people face to face.

Well, maybe at one time he did, but that was a long time ago.

He gulps down his fears and sets his thumbs on the screen.

Just an hour or so couldn't hurt, right? He just wanted to know the location of the cupcake shop, and then he could get out of there.

i get off work at 5. i can make 6.

The response is bubbly, or as bubbly as one can be over text.

great! see u at 6 then!

see u. good night.

Tommy pauses, and then adds something out of habit.

don't let the bees bite.

And then he puts down his phone and turns away from it, because he's afraid that if he looked at the response, that little thing inside of him would break.

Coffee.

Weird.

Tubbo never liked coffee.

But they had always said that when they were older, they would sit in coffee shops and order the blackest coffee on the menu, not drinking them but holding the steaming mugs in their hands, looking like detectives from old movies.

But that had been back when it was Tommy and Tubbo against the world, us against the world.

Now there wasn't even an us anymore.

---

"Good night," Tommy said from the top of the bunk bed. He had insisted on the top because he was the guest, and Tubbo had to keep his guest happy, right? He thinks and then says something.

"Don't let the bees bite."

"Bees don't bite, silly, they sting!" Tubbo said sleepily.

"Shut up," Tommy grunted affectionately. "It sounds better."

"Well, it's not accurate," Tubbo replied back. "Besides, the bees like me too much. They would never sting me."

"It's an expression, dickhead, just say something back."

"Hmmm.." Tommy could almost see Tubbo chewing his nails in the darkness, a habit he picked up while thinking.

"Don't let the moths eat your face off."

"WHAT!? They can do that!?"

"I don't know, I don't know anything about moths." Tubbo snorted back.

"Now I'm not gonna be able to sleep, sweet jesus-"

There was a silence, and suddenly they were laughing, crickets chirping outside.

"You're so fucking weird." Tommy giggled out, before yawning.

"Good night, Tubs."

"Good night, Toms."

And they would text that, almost every single night.

Until one day they just didn't.

---

Once there was a story, and it went like this.

Once upon a time, two boys in a village became inseparable.

They laughed and they played and they ran.

No god nor mortal could ever recreate it.

One day, a traveler, no, a monster came along.

He played and laughed with them.

And little by little, the monster made them fall apart.

The monster took one boy, leaving the other.

And for the rest of his life, that boy would remember.

Everything would've been better.

If he had just

stabbed

that motherfucker

through the heart.