Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Tommy had been exiled across the sea, he’d sent Tubbo many flower bouquets: one of blue hyacinths and white tulips, one with both pink carnations and white orchids, and one of lilies of the valley. At the time, he didn’t know that there was a meaning behind them. He just thought that his friend had been trying to bribe him into pardoning his crimes with corny actions.

Nevertheless, he’d pressed every flower he’d received in a book, dried them up, and kept them. He thankfully had the foresight to hide them in a chest in his oldest house before Doomsday, and to never tell a soul about them, so they survived the devastation as well as Dream’s odd obsession with possessing anything that once belonged to Tommy. They’d remained in their own little bundle, collecting dust, for months.

And then Tommy died. And Tubbo’s heart stopped.

Not literally, he was arguably still alive. Sometimes, he even managed to breathe, think, and function like he would have before.

But his world was suddenly tilted and drained of all its colors. Everything felt wrong. His chest felt heavy. His ears wouldn’t stop ringing. And all he could think of was that he’d never thanked Tommy for those damn flowers. His friend had died in a dark room, away from the sun rays that moobloom hybrids like him needed to thrive, and without knowing that what he’d made had been received and appreciated.

That kind of injustice was infuriating.

Enough that, in a fit of rage, Tubbo had dug up the chest he’d hidden that bundle in, stomped out of the house, and dumped them all in a hole with every intention of burning them and forgetting all about them. Forget about the cruelty of the world. Forget about who had been taken from him, again and again. Always by the same motherfucker who just wouldn’t give up. Who refused to let others possess what he couldn’t.

The match in his hand was already lit when an oddly flat voice stopped him in his tracks. “Are you refusing that apology?”. His best friend was floating a few inches above the ground right next to him. His dull gray eyes were wide in a poor imitation of surprise. His body was translucent, his head cracked open and bleeding, his clothes covered in dark brown splatters. The flowers that always bloomed from his skin were wilted and dead.

Ghosts weren’t a novelty in the Dream SMP. Ghostbur had quickly become a beloved member of the community, and even Glatt made his appearances from time to time, often bringing with him an entire gym. They were an element of life that they all had to grow accustomed to. And yet, for some reason, seeing that oddly nonchalant version of Tommy there in front of him bothered him more than he ever thought possible.

He now understood why Phil could hardly stomach Ghostbur’s presence, even if the cheery ghost had never hurt a fly. It didn’t matter that they weren’t malicious entities; they were still a distortion of their loved one. A poorly made facsimile. Seeing his best friend’s expression so vacant as he glanced between the still-lit match in Tubbo’s fingers and the hole he’d dug grated on his nerves an unreasonable amount.

Despite his irrational irritation, Tubbo let the meaning of the words of the ghostly version of his dead friend sink in, and, instead of setting those old flowers ablaze, he blew out the fire and picked them back up. “Apology?” he mumbled, confused. None of the bouquets had come with a letter. They’d all been by themselves, as if they could be enough alone to mend a bridge they’d both burned beyond repair.

The ghost nodded. Carefully, he plucked out one of each kind of flower from Tubbo’s arms, then held them up, one at a time. “The Lily of the Valley is a symbol of rebirth and humility. They can be used for joyous occasions, but also to bid farewell to a loved one. And, when gifted by themselves, they’re often a way to apologize when you don’t know how else to. One that you’re not necessarily expecting the recipient to accept” he explained. His voice remained flat throughout. That version of Tommy didn’t seem to possess any of the passion his alive counterpart once had. It made Tubbo wonder if his world was now devoid of color, too.

The lilies were the last of the flowers Tommy had sent him. A sick feeling started churning in his stomach at the knowledge that they’d been a goodbye. It had been his best friend’s way of telling him he’d given up on him, and he’d never even known.

That tower he’d spotted when he’d finally gathered the courage to venture off to Logestedshire… had it always been meant as a diversion so that Tommy could run to Techno undisturbed? Or had that goodbye been meant as something final? Had his friend planned far enough ahead to know? Had he had the chance, or had he been forced to make a tough decision in a hurry when already stressed out and… and unwilling to live on?

All those were questions he’d never get an answer to. He could have. When Tommy was still alive, he could have asked him. But… he’d been so busy stewing in his guilt and escaping his own thoughts that he hadn’t.

He’d been a coward, and now he’d forever live with his unanswered doubts.

“Pink carnations are meant to show your gratitude and appreciation to someone. Mixed with white orchids, which are a symbol of humility, they’re meant to symbolize repentance, and they are a way to make amends after a heavy fight. Together, they’re an olive branch of sorts” the ghost continued, oblivious to Tubbo’s internal turmoil.

That was the second one Tubbo had received. It had been right after the party he’d been told about, but not invited to. Or so he’d thought, at the time. Tommy had seemed hurt by the fact that nobody had shown up; he had insisted that he’d sent out plenty of invites, and it was crushing for him to realize that none of them had been received.

Back when they’d discussed it, Tubbo had been somewhat dismissive. His friend was just being dramatic, he’d thought. How much fun did he even expect to have at a party with people he resented deeply? Did he even like those he supposedly wanted there? If he had, wouldn’t he have been a bit more attentive when trying to deliver their invitations? He had been utterly uncharitable.

Looking back now, he knew that all of his assumptions had to have been wrong. He’d been wanted, and, as always, he’d let his fear of rejection stop him from supporting his friend the way he’d needed him to. And, now that Tommy was dead, he didn’t have any more chances to make things right. He couldn’t even properly apologize for not taking his pain seriously. He’d failed his best friend, and he could do nothing about it.

“Blue hyacinths are symbols of peace, tranquility, and new beginnings. They’re often associated with raw and heartfelt emotions. They’re quite a powerful message. And white tulips are a universal sign of forgiveness and of starting over after an argument. This combination makes for both an apology and the acceptance of one” the ghost concluded, before handing him back all of the flowers he’d taken, and floating away. He didn’t stick around for a chat, and Tubbo didn’t know whether to be upset or relieved about that.

He’d been left alone with the knowledge that, from the very beginning, Tommy had been trying to make amends with him in his own way. He’d been reaching out. He’d given Tubbo far more grace than he’d received. He hadn’t given up on them until the very end.

And now, Tubbo had been left to carry the weight of that forgiveness he hadn’t earned on his own.

He hugged the dried flowers tight to his chest, slid down to the ground with his back to his old home, and let all the tears he’d been suppressing with anger water them. There was no point in his grief. Those flowers were just as dead as the moobloom who’d produced them. And yet, with nothing else to do, he allowed himself that one mercy.