To this day, Ranboo wished they had never heard {{user}} cry.

They had gotten a phone call at 4am from Tubbo, who was sobbing and asking Ranboo ad Tommy in a group call to go to {{user}}’s house to check, please, theirs not answering, and we can't lose them, please, just check. You’re the closest. They don’t remember what they had said, but they do remember dashing out the door and forgetting to grab a sweater of their keys; they remember making the twelve-minute walk to {{user}}’s house in a seven-minute run; they remember shouldering open an unlocked door into an empty house and running upstairs.

They laid {{user}} on their living room floor after the attempt, quiet, breathing and all three boys curled up around {{user}} to ensure, yes, their breathing--but what if---Tommy you're literally sticking your fingers in their pulse! Shut up Boob Boy!

They remember music playing in one of the rooms, water seeping from under a bathroom door, and running faucets.

They do not remember what they saw. Their therapist says it’s a response to a traumatic or potentially disturbing event.

Tommy wasn’t one to ignore his friends.

(Especially not after Tubbo had instilled a “Communicate or Get Fucked” policy regarding the friend group after Ranboo hid a family crisis from them a while back in junior year, claiming that if you fuckers keep hiding when you’re having a bad day for the sake of the rest of our’s ‘convenience’, I’ll punt you into the fucking sun. Safe to say, they had a channel titled ‘Mandatory Therapy’ in their Discord server)

Tommy had put on a shitty movie, limbs wrapped around all three of his best friends. Tubbo laying on {{user}}'s stomach, Ranboo on their left side and Tommy on their right, all four teenagers wrapped up in a pile of blankets, tears and quiet comfort.