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"Flying, you, me."
"... It's midnight, Ranboo"
And the dragon boy laughed ever so slightly at that, shaking his head and offering his hand anyways. There was a creature behind the all too tall boy he called friend, tilting her head in the same way he did his.
Standing there asking Tubbo to fly next to the moon with him in a language he barely knew.
… a chance to go flying… when was the last time he’d had that? Gone out flying? Not bumbling along a pathway, not building a new hut a few stories higher - simply decide one night he wanted to touch the clouds like he used to before it all changed. Before he became chief of a land he didn’t ask to run, before the one who’d called him wingman had gone away. When was the last time he’d had that freedom?
Ranboo’s hand was still outstretched.
He took it.
…
You see, when the boy had said flying, Tubbo had expected a saddle, maybe gliding around the village hiding in the clouds, hell even get his dragon and they could race or something not… this. You see, when the brunet had agreed and was excitedly dragged through the village by his scarred hand - it was euphoric. It was all smiles and incredulous laughter from Viking and dragon boy alike, shushing each other as they passed houses and following Enderchest overhead as she flew, following through forests and winding roads until they reached a cliffside that made the shorter stop in awe. Had he never seen this part of L’manberg? Untouched by anyone it seemed, undisturbed by the axes of woodworkers and laughter of rambunctious teens. No fire-filled memories to corrode the place or shipwrecks to mourn from the edge of the cliff, no. It was spotless, and somehow, somehow it was peaceful.
He could see the stars here, he realized. He’d forgotten how bright they shined.
And then there was Ranboo, long hair pulled back in a braid only Niki could have made, face free of the paint it always wore (covering spiderwebs of scars he now got to see illuminated in the moonlight), hearing nothing more than the cicadas and quiet rumble of draconic speak between the two across from him. And then there was Ranboo, who looked over to him in between words as if he didn’t see out of the corner of his eye, who had such a way of wringing his hands together and chirping dragon noises out of nervousness and yet such a smile on his face when Tubbo looked back at him.
Then a hand was offered to him again, the word “flying” now not a hesitant question but the quietest of offerings from someone he barely knew but also felt he’d known for centuries. One from someone who knew so little Norse, from a dragon-raised boy he hadn’t known for more than a month, from Ranboo who was now one of his best friends. Here he was on a winter night - now well into the hours of the sacred dark after traveling so far - stood on a midnight purple wing, extending a hand to help him up, to lead him, just like he had maybe an hour earlier.
This time, however, Tubbo hesitated. Running through the village as the sky surrounded him like an inky black blanket, flying in the earliest hours of dawn, being in the forge after-hours - those were familiar. This… wasn’t. It was putting full trust into someone else, it was looking them in the eyes and saying ‘I’ll follow you,’ it was giving him the perfect opportunity to drop him into the ocean, in a way that was both literal and not. He would never in a million years admit it, but the idea of what this was, made him scared. He’d been sailing, he’d been riding dragons, he’d thrown himself into every fire he’d seen, but the idea of going into the clouds with no harness? No strings in case he fell off?
It was frightening.
Ranboo must've noticed, tilting his head and making a confused noise in the back of his throat (one the shorter could never even try to replicate), causing his mind to only grow louder still. A minute later the other had hopped off his dragon's wing and palms out to him in a different way, a silent question of "are you alright?" in the look he gave him. Not that he would’ve noticed, mind you, but it was a question nonetheless. If he was a sane man Tubbo would've laughed at himself, throwing out taunts for being so scared of something so futile, punching-nagging thoughts in his mind that would’ve made him realize just how stupid he was being. He hadn't even been this scared when he'd become chief, all the times he'd fallen from Bee's saddle, all the times he had to do things he never wanted to do. He hadn't been this scared since he was sixteen - a year that felt like centuries ago - and he looked in the eyes of a death that never let him die, waking up from the flames a whole new man.
Yet he was, now of all times. He was scared but he didn't want to say it, he was scared and embarrassing himself by being such a child, frightened of something so small. He should just go home, he should leave the two to enjoy their night, he should go back to working his sleep away rather than ruining theirs, Ranboo probably didn't even want to fly with someone as much a coward as him-
Then he felt the lightest of touches to his head, a gentle tug on his hands that made him release the gripping hold he had on his hair.
(when had that happened? How did he not realize he didn’t have his helmet? He hadn't even noticed he'd been doing it, pulling at brown strands of long hair)
Then he opened his single seeing eye to glance at the dragon boy through his bangs.
(when had he shut his eyes? When had he got so wrapped up in his head that he hadn’t noticed he couldn’t see?)
Then he started to hear the grumbles and growls that were anything but aggressive, comforting gibberish that made Tubbo finally breathe.
(when had he stopped breathing?)
And there were pale hands on his, an ever so hesitant touch that untangled small knots of hair and brought a sense of relief to the frightened Viking, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. And there was Ranboo, hunched over to try to catch his line of vision, peering at him curiously with a quiet coo. And there was Tubbo, who couldn’t help but start to laugh at the ridiculousness of this all, ever so quietly. The jumbled Norse words from the dragon boy’s mouth (reassurances that “no flying! Okay! No flying okay!”), his sudden fear toward something so small, Enderchest’s presence behind them, all of this was ridiculous. It made the boy start to laugh, a giggling that erupted from previously shaken breaths, something that started quiet but then became uncontrollably joyfully loud. Something that made him pull away from the other’s easy hold to cover his smile, a wide toothy grin that mirrored Ranboo’s own. Confused, but a smile nonetheless. Ridiculous, the Viking thought to himself again, finally sobering his laughter with a sigh, looking at the other. Fuck it.
“Alright, alright. Come on dragon boy, let’s go flying.”
…
Getting into the air was the worst of it. Ranboo had assured him he wouldn’t let him fall, murmurs of “trust, you okay, trust” falling into the wind now words he grasped onto as they ascended into the air. It was smooth flying, even he’d admit, but gods it was horrifying for the boy. The fact that he could feel the dragon’s muscle move beneath him, the fact that there was nothing to hold onto other than the dragon itself, the fact that one falter and he would freefall, and on and on and on. So many variables made Tubbo want to punch the other in the gut for convincing him to even get on the goddamned creature.
But, then again, there were soft hums and vibrations of draconic he could both hear and feel as he clung to his friend’s back. But, then again, the way the cold night wind was filtering through his hair made him want to spin and dance and fly. But, then again, Ranboo was warm and the Stormcutter was warm and it made him sigh in a way that was pure serenity. Smile, breathe as he wished to reach up into the clouds.
And where getting into the air was the worst, floating, riding the clouds, gliding - that was easily the best. One second they were soaring upwards, uneven in a sky Tubbo shut his eyes to avoid seeing, and then next they simply weren’t. The next second pressure of the universe above them returned and the Viking could hear an awkward “cool, cool, flying okay” break through the wind, the next second he could feel Ranboo place his own hand over the claw-like grip the other had around him. The next second he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and saw eternity.
Seeing the stars made everything worth it, the flight up, the fear in his chest, the communication mess the two best friends had - it was all worth it and he’d do it a thousand times over to see what he saw now. The sky was blue, no, maybe it was green, or wait, no, there were little hints of gold where the stars met the clouds. It was color, it was comfort, it was astonishing, it was cold, a cold rush of air that filled his lungs as he let out an awe-struck gasp. The sky was speckles of paint scattered across a canvas with no plan other than beauty: and the sky had accomplished that. Gods had it accomplished that, it had done what it said it would but then made it better, better in a way he could never have imagined. Racing dragons on the ocean to feel the seafoam spray was one thing, spiraling toward the sun and leaping off mountain peaks to feel the wind was one thing, training, woodworking, using the forge was one thing but this - this was incredible. He had no other word for it. Tubbo was seventeen clung to his best friend’s back, head on his shoulder as he stared at the stars, their stars, and he had never felt so free.
…
Tubbo was incredible.
Not in the way he’d seen some of the strangers in the village say it to each other, not in the way he’d seen shiny rings and shiny smiles dance in the sunlight, the “I think you’re incredible” said in nothing more but their laughter, it was just… Tubbo. Here, right now. His best friend, one of his only friends, and he was incredible. In the way a rose was, or maybe a dragon, or maybe it was because the universe itself had given him some of their light. He was a brown mess of hair so jostled from the wind it showed his one blue eye, he was a face illuminated in the light of the stars and moon and the glow of his uncontrollable smile, his gaze on the stars giving the dragon boy a perfect opportunity to turn his head ever so slightly and just exist in the same reality as the Viking. Ranboo didn’t need to look at the sky to see the stars because if he wanted to see them all he had to do was look at Tubbo. His best friend.
Woah.
It was as if it had only struck him now, the fact that they were friends. The fact that the boy had stayed when he was the first one to find him, the fact that he stayed through the language barrier, that he'd stayed through his memory loss and dragon-esc tendencies and lack of social skills - he'd stayed and every day promised he wouldn't go. And Ranboo had done the same in turn. He'd sat with him on bad days where the shorter was quiet and stiff, collecting his favorite flowers ("Pink tulips, don't let me forget" he'd told Enderchest when he first found out, "Pink tulips Boo, don't forget," she'd said back time and time again) and always being one step away. And the almost-stranger had sat with him on his good days too, ones where the Viking was energetic and dragged him along any for any plans he had for the day. He'd stayed without hesitation or doubt, and then the other had done the same.
Over and over, no matter what the situation, because they were best friends.
And that was what made him smile the brightest, not feeling the arms around his waist tighten as a particular gust of wind made Tubbo laugh (a wonderful thing he wished he could never forget) nor was it the dragon's quiet rumbling of "safe-flying, good, good-stretch, love" that he couldn't help but repeat back instinctively, it was the fact that they were best friends. And he wanted to tell the stars themselves over and over until they too felt his joy.
Then he heard laughter again, and he couldn't help but join in, crackly dragon-esc clicks mixed with shouts of joy! joy! joy! to the moon itself. Then the stars began to fall across their canvas and the two felt unstoppable. Galaxies had started to spin and Tubbo had begun to excitedly tap his chest again and again (a bit too hard, but he didn't quite have the heart to tell him that) yelling oh-so-loudly in his ear - and all he could do was stare at his best friend's smile, at the stars.
"Look! They're flying! They're flying, Ranboo!" He was repeating, over and over in between laughter and sometimes not even louder than a whisper. But he heard it all, nodded along to it all with a smile, a hand resting on Tubbo's clasped ones as the blond wished he knew more Norse, wished he could tell him he'd go catch some of those very stars if it made him happy. Wished he could look at the other and say "let's chase them then."
Enderchest, he knew, could feel the way he longed to be able to speak, the way he wanted to race into the galaxies above to chase after the stars - but against her better judgment, she stayed. Stayed quiet, stayed simply gliding on a wind current, two pairs of wings unfurled and eyes closed as she took in her partner's joy. Ranboo could feel her comfort, hear her comfort, little chirps of "Ranboo-happy, love, love-calm" that made him smile even more. It was incredible. Incredible, and entirely theirs.
…
At some point, later on, when the sun had almost brought forth her light - Tubbo’d felt safe enough to let go of him. The dragon boy had quite honestly thought he was half-asleep, the way he had been doing nothing more than existing, doing nothing more than smiling at the world around them (and at him every once in a while too, a something he would give right back every time), but it seemed he was awake all along. It kind of made him want to laugh again, just a little. All the energy from seeing the stars, all the excited tapping and punching and shouting had turned into this. Nothing more than existing, existing in the best way possible.
At some point, later on, when the sun had almost brought forth her light - Tubbo’d felt safe enough to let go of him. He had taken a hand from his once death-tight grip and lifted it towards the ever-fleeing morning stars, leaning back ever so slightly with a look of awe that was glee in its most innocent form. Ranboo wanted to bottle it up and hold it close, that awe, that smile. He wanted to take his friend by the hand and show him that he didn’t have to be afraid to fly, use Enderchest’s as a stage, and spin, and laugh, and then do it all a thousand times over. But for now, he simply smiled, simply watched.
“... Hey bossman, sun’s comin’ up,” Tubbo had said some eternities later with a yawn, headbutting the dragon boy lightly before he dug his chin back into the other’s shoulder. The statement made him blink owlishly, a small “oh” being breathed into the night seconds later, a matching yawn that caused his hair (once a braid now picked apart by the nimble crochet hooks called wind) to tickle the other’s nose just enough to make him sneeze. Ranboo barely moved - had time really gone so fast?
“... Boo, come on, let’s get back to the island,” He pushed again gently a few silent minutes later, looking at the clouds below as he felt the vibration of the hum he got in response.
And then there was silence.
And then there was a nod, a light chorus of “yes”s and “right”s laced with draconic throughout - some of the only draconic Tubbo knew. The words “yes” and, and the smallest confessions of fear. It was barely uttered, but it made the brunet stop, blinking at the sound. Fear? Of what?
Oh. Wait. He was afraid for it to end, wasn’t he? The bliss, the sailing, the way they just sat there, doing... nothing. He was afraid for that to stop. Fear because he thought once they reached the ground they’d never see each other again.
Oh, Tubbo thought again, this time wishing he could apologize for something that hadn’t happened, something that wouldn’t happen.
He wanted to say sorry anyway.
But he didn't. Instead, he did nothing but hug him a little harder as they began their rocky descent to the cliffside, the apology on the tip of his tongue never reaching the air. The air was a little colder now, and yet it was only bearable because of the person he sat with, the person who thought their friendship would collapse as soon as they hit the cliffside.
They were homeward bound, yet it felt as though it was home they left behind in the clouds.
…
Tubbo was being laughed at by a dragon. Two, actually. Which fuckin’ sucked - now that he knew what it sounded like. Especially because he now knew what dragon laughter sounded like. It was a crackling type of sound, a choppy exhale of breath that made the brunet want to smile as bright as the sun and glare with the force of a battle axe at the same time (something he did a bit of both of, in the moment).
Smiling was much easier though, he thought to himself as he continued to lean onto Ranboo’s shoulder, gravity taking much longer to root him back into his boots than he remembered. Sue him, alright flying this long, sleep-deprived and without any harness, it was jarring. Especially when getting back to the ground involved hopping off of two sets of Stormcutter wings and landing on a cliffside as if nothing had happened. Sure, of course, totally normal.
Y’know what, maybe he should punch the dragon boy for laughing at him.
(He did just that, earning another bark of laughter, though this time a bit less pointed and a bit more joyous, a laugh attached with a dragon-ish exclamation that made them both smile.)
Then suddenly, it was quiet. The end of an adventure, albeit a short one, but an adventure nonetheless, and… neither wanted to leave just yet. Not yet. What they’d had in the sky was so calm but here? On the ground? It was… rocky. Tubbo would have to go back to his hut and fire up the kiln once more, slumped over a desk as he tried and failed to build something that never seemed to stand, he’d go back and see his one-eyed scarred reflection in the water as he washed his face for the day, he’d face the tribe that was his. Responsibility no man should hold so so young.
And Ranboo, he’d, well, quite frankly Tubbo didn’t even know what he would go do.
They’d be back in reality, and that was final.
“... I guess I’ll be getting back to the village,” He said then, far lighter than he’d meant for it to come out. Softer, as if the simple sentence itself would break the other.
And, it seemed it had, in a way. A small ‘oh’ left him, shoulders beginning to hunch, curling in on himself as his dragon nearby gave a warbling cry. He couldn’t help but notice the boy made a noise to match, resting in the back of his throat so quiet it was nearly unnoticeable. But Tubbo noticed nonetheless, he noticed and gave a smile from under his bangs, reaching out to squeeze the pale arm across from him. It was comfort, or at least a worthy attempt.
“Hey, hey it’s okay boss man, next time we’ll fly longer, yeah?”
There was a happy trill that followed these words: hesitant, the smallest bit broken with the sadness that had been there seconds earlier, but… happier. A smile was hidden beneath it Tubbo noticed, a smile at the thought of flying again, touching the stars again.
“... Next time...? Flying? You, an’, an’ me?”
It made Tubbo laugh, the way he spoke the words so afraid, so scared, and oh so hesitant when the answer would never in a million years be a no. It made Tubbo laugh, not a howling cackle, or a wheeze so loud it made him feel breathless, it was smaller. Kinder, in a way.
And then he nodded, pulling his hand away from Ranboo’s arm and tucking it into his pocket with a smile, rocking on his toes. The morning light made the other’s hair look gold, he thought absentmindedly.
It was warm on the cliffside.
“Next time, without a doubt.”