Second Thought

As he sits, cheek propped on a fist, computer screen black and white and sharp in his eyes, he finds himself scowling, slamming the thing closed. 

Productivity, he decides petulantly, is overrated. 

The clock ticks; one, two minutes past twelve. 

He yawns.

… Overrated for tonight, anyways.

He stretches hands above his head, atrocious posture snapping into a somewhat acceptable one. His spine pops. Good? Bad? He’s sixteen and he feels old, apparently. 

Scoffing, he makes his rounds downstairs, lights flickering into darkness as he pads down hard-wood halls. It had only taken a few days of frantic scurrying for him to determine a pattern in turning them off, so he’s never left in the shadows for too long. 

The stairs loom, and he lodges a foot on the lowest step, a hand on the last switch.

It’s not as if he’s afraid of the dark, see. It’s odder, more… sentimental, curiously enough, like it’s an old friend. Enemy. Both.

As if he misses the smile, the easy conversation, the arms heavy and close around his shoulders, yet hates the way it shocks his little heart. 

Or it’s just a habit. Societal pressure and human nature, fear of the unknown and all that, evolutionary, et cetera. It could be kind, and it could also be cruel.

Yet he doesn’t think he’s ever truly met the darkness like that. He could be fearing something nonexistent, for all he knows.

He turns the lights off and hears a greeting chirped in his ear. 

Will they miss me? He wonders as the void beckons and smiles like an old friend he’s never known, and the midnight rolls back like waves returning to the ocean.

One, and a monitor blinks, shining blue.

Two. Only black is left, and the fluorescent green of the clock hand.

The house is still, occupants silent, and he is no more than a little thought again, a ghost lost once more to an empty,

empty,

empty

world.

He...

He thinks it's alright. Just a dream.

(And even if it's not, there's no need to fear the familiar, after all.)

Toby wrenches himself upright, dark eyes hazy, and finds the lights still on, his computer now swapping screensavers of llamas and axolotls and video games.

The clock, however, has not yet reached past eleven-fifty.

Sleep is fickle, sleep is rare. Sleep slips through hands like water, or sand.

Sleep also hates him, apparently, because Toby now finds himself yawning his way through yet another damned day of school.

At least he has coffee, though. Nice and sweet enough to rot, like his soul.

“Hello,” He blinks, and receives a greeting in turn from his locker-mate. 

The other boy is immoderately tall, bright-eyed and brighter-souled. “Hello, man!” Asher mock-solutes, whipping his gaze up with a blinding grin. “How’s the day--”

His words cut off with a loud digital scream. “Oop,” He fishes his phone out from amidst notebooks and one hell of a stuffed backpack. "One sec,"

The offending device continues to scream and attract confused stares until he accepts the call.

Originally, the ringtone had started as a joke, the result of a silly and reckless dare.

A week with that sound, recorded straight from hell. Oh, it will notify you, if nothing else.

And it really was funny.

For a while.

Until Asher decided, why not keep it for a tad longer? Just another week? For laughs, for funsies.

It's been a good year and still manages to catch Toby yelping in surprise.

“O-okay, Asher.” He giggles with a start. He raises a hand, a question on the tip of his tongue. “We were meant to talk after lab, I--”

“Jeez, okay, stop it now, who's this?” The phone buzzes with indignance, sandwiched between an ear and a shoulder. “Oh,” A breath, an apologetic flick of widened cerulean eyes. “I see, must’ve forgotten,” 

Tubbo lets his mind wander, and waits, and discovers the clock to be at exactly noon. 

“Okay okay, see you there,” The phone clicks off. “Um,” Asher hesitates, clearly torn, “T-Toby, I’ve… gotta run.” A jerky nod. “I forgot I was meant to be helping my parents move, y’know? Today of all days, too. But, well, family is family, yeah?” 

Tubbo nods, “Okay, it’s okay,” he offers, “I get it.” 

 “We can always talk some other time?”

“Yeah.” 

“Well.” Tommy holds his breath. Hefts his backpack up in his arms. “I really am sorry,” He sighs, lowers his voice, and reaches a hand toward Toby’s shoulder. “Hang in there, alright?” He murmurs. "We can talk on Monday, and you can always text me."

The hall around them bustles with life. Its floor is covered not with hardwood but linoleum. Either way, it hides in the shadow of a rainy day.

“I know.” Another little nod. "It's fine." He's used to it.

Tubbo watches his friend go, and watches the clock tick, 

One. 

Tommy’s blue gaze is truly apologetic, at the very least. 

The dim afternoon rolls into a pitch-dark night. The storm eventually fades, as does the light in the house when sunset flits past in a gray blink.

Toby moves to flick on a desk lamp, then waits and works until he’s stuck in a personal spotlight of quiet light, lo-fi music warbling over the striking silence.

The house is empty and mechanical in its chatter. 

His phone rings in a blast of lyrics, and he picks it up, sleepy eyes not straying from his books and papers. “Dad?” He listens as his voice chirps to life like the bored old microwave in the kitchen. 

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad responds, “Sorry I wasn’t able to pick you up from the--the biology--you know the one. I know you’re all grown and responsible now, right?”

“Yeah, the lab?” Toby breathes with a tired smile, “Yeah, it was fun.” 

“Well,” A pause. In the background, voices cheer. “Don’t forget the rest of your homework, got it?” He reminds, still chipper. 

“Physics, yeah, I know.” A beat. “Is… Eric’s with you, right? And mom?” 

“Yup!” A cheerful sound, “Wanna talk with them?”

“No, it’s fine,” Toby shakes his head, “I can hear them in the back." He adds for the sake of manners. "Sounds like you’re having fun.”

“We are! We're just running around the mall, really, but it's very colorful and interesting. It's nice to take a break every now and again, eh? How was the lab, kiddo?" He finally tacks on as an afterthought, "What did you learn?”

“Oh, it was fun,” Toby stammers cheerfully, “W-we were learning--it was just an introductory day, right, but it turns out there’s a pretty big difference between what procedures--”

“Cool!” Dad interjects, “I--um, be there in a sec!” His voice turns away, growing faint for a second as Toby waits. “Sorry--right, right, where was I?”

“You asked me about the lab,” Toby prompted again, chin propped loosely on a hand. The phone buzzes next to his ear. 

“Of course, of course, so, tell me, how did it go?”

“I--well, it--" The darkness pools around his feet, in the shadow of the desk. "...Yes, it went well.” He repeats.

“Yes, yes, lovely.” Dad agrees, utterly polite. “So, Toby, I know you’re not a big fan of restaurants and such, but, we’re heading to one in an hour. If you’d be done with your schoolwork by then, I’d be able to pick you up. Only if you want to, of course.”

“I….”  

The darkness blinks like a cat.

“Toby? You still there?"

“Yes, I…” 

Who is he to intrude? It’d be… off, nevertheless. Better one to be slightly alone than to bring suffering to a group like a contagious disease.

He runs a thoughtful hand over his computer. A sticker catches on the pads of his fingertips. He flips at peeling edges, shades it with an oversized hoodie sleeve, and watches it glow with withheld light in the dark. 

He remembers a quarter, and a second, a crank of the worn steel lever, bright lights blinding-- then there it was, slid from a metal slit into his hands to the sound of happy cheering chatter. 

It had been earned at a store or such a year, two, (three?) ago, still bright and gleaming and crisp, all new and perhaps, he'd once thought the bright little thing to last eternally. If not physically, then as a glow in his mind.

Like a beacon, maybe. Of...

Of what?

He seemed to have forgotten, again. Family, perhaps? The bond between blood?

Family, Asher’s memory offers, is family, eh? You know how they are. 

Does he? 

He did, he thinks. 

He thinks again, and… 

And… 

“I--I think…”

The clock ticks to two. 

“I think I’ll be busy, tonight.” A nervous laugh. “I’ve got… lots to do,” A sigh, “You know how it is.”

Maybe he hoped there would be denial, or a chuckle, another try, a second thought--

"I do," An affirmation, instead. "I know you're a responsible young man."

He hesitates. Maybe if he begs, or, "I... I guess I am."

"Well, goodnight, then."

What if he-- "Wait--"

A click.

"... Goodnight," He whispers to the droning silence. "At the very least, it's my mistake, this time."