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I’m not clingy

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“Big man, what are you doing?”

 

Tubbo glances up, from the ground beneath him, hands clasped around a bunch of thrones roses. He looks at his best friend.

 

“I was picking flowers.”

 

Tommy gives him a look of confusion and judgement before sniffing, “Weirdo,” He says as he sits down beside the boy, folding at the knees, fingers curling around the grass beneath them.

 

Tubbo rolls his eyes, “Don’t judge me, I need them for the bees.”

 

Tommy grins, “Your bee house? I’m pretty sure they’ve got enough fucking flowers.”

 

“You can never have too much,” Is all Tubbo says, turning back to the grass, hands getting back to the task at hand; pulling the roses up by their stems, uprooting them.

 

“Woah, Tubbo,” Tommy says suddenly, grasping the boy’s fingers and gathering them into his palms. “You’re fucking bleeding.”

 

Tubbo shrugs, “The thorns, they’re prickly.” 

 

Tommy frowns at him, “Why don’t you just, like, choose a different flower?” 

 

Tubbo shakes his head, “I like these. You like these.”

 

“What does it matter what I like? It’s for the bees,” Tommy snorts, “You’re losing your marbles Big Crime.”

 

Tubbo grins at the nickname, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Why’re you holding my hands? That’s a bit clingy of you,” He taunts, pulling his fingers away.

 

Tommy tightens his grip, “Not clingy,” He says.

 

Tubbo raises an eyebrow, “Sure,” He agrees, “You gonna let me go?”

 

Tommy stares at him.

 

“Tommy,” Tubbo says, awkwardly, “Let me go?”

 

 “Are you going to let me go?”

 

Tubbo frowns, “What?”

 

“I said,” Tommy says, slowly, “Are you going to let me go?”

 

Tubbo laughs, “You’re the one holding on to me.”

 

“Am I?”

 

Tubbo looks down at their hands, “You are.”

 

“Tubbo let me go.”

 

Tubbo laughs again, “I’m not holding on.”

 

“Let me go Tubbo.”

 

“Tom - Tommy, I’m - I’m not-“

 

“Let me go.”

 

Tubbo ducks his head, “No.”

 

“Let me go.”

 

He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

 

“You can. Let me go.”

 

Tubbo hums in disagreement, “Uh uh,” He trembles.

 

“Please. Let me go big man.”

 

“I can’t. What am I, without you?”

 

There’s silence. 

 

Tubbo glances up through his eyelashes, vision blurry. 

 

Tommy is smiling.

 

“Yourself.”

 

Tubbo sobs.

 

“Let me go Tubbo.”

 

Tubbo clutches the roses in his palm, watches the way the thorns jut out and stab him, watches the blood trickle.

 

He gets up on shaky legs, and stumbles towards the clearing. 

 

He falls gracelessly, heaving with sobs. 

 

He places the flowers down next to the grave.

 

“I’m not clingy.”