After's space

Many Mondays had passed by the time he finds them. Preciously resting on top of a beat up chest which used to store their spoils from their adventures. They're scratched to all hell, cracks in the glass waiting to erupt at even the slightest point of pressure. The leather strap rough, stitching loose in some places while tight in others. There's a pattern on one side, in a dirty yellow thread out of uneven stitching; a circle with a small slice cut out as if it was an open mouth waiting to consume the ghosts which haunted its wearer. Of which he had many.

But they were his. They were his dad's. And they're one of the few pieces of his dad that he has left. One of the few marks on this world he had left.

His dad always made a point of not leaving a trail behind. For someone could very easily trace it back to you. "Leave no crumb behind" was a mantra he could practically recite before he could sing most of the simple songs that they sung at school. Despite that, he made an effort for his son, as he grew older, to plant some roots. Even if those roots were replanted elsewhere more times than he was comfortable with, he had done it for his son. For his safety.

One day, though, he'd vanished. Without a single word. Just a simple acknowledgement as he put his son to bed, a reminder that he'd see him at the beginning of the week. He'd suggested, without explicitly stating so, that he go spend the weekend with his Pai and brother. They'd not had a weekend as a trio in a long time, and he'd had some important pieces of work to deal with. He knew there was a risk of his dad not returning, that his boss would lord something else over his dad's head. Holding him hostage in his own contract despite having fulfilled what was required of him. His dad's boss was sneaky like that.

The weekend was fun despite that knowledge weighing him down. He'd spent half of it with his Pai and brother, doing nothing of importance, just living as the age they were. The pain they'd endured previously seemingly vanishing behind laughter and song for just a moment. That moment didn't last long before he was whisked away by his uncle, put to work tinkering with a new machine he'd made in hopes that the pair could get it functioning smoothly before making several to inhabit his uncle's home. They had finished for the night with only a few tweaks to fix and bolts to tighten, with him being sleepily guided to Sunny's second bed, suffocated in plushies and pillows.

He hadn't stayed over on Sunday night; anticipation skyrocketing as he waited to know what his dad had spent his time doing. If the terms of his deal had finally been deemed complete. If he could finally be free from it all.

When Monday arrived, and he had awoken to a thin layer of dust on his dad's still made up bed. Which couldn't really be deemed a bed as it was just a single pillow and duvet on the cold cobblestone floor, a remnant of his time before. He had all but sprinted to his Pai's house at the bottom of the hill, tripping over weeds and his own feet a few times. Without caring if he woke up those several blocks away, he'd rushed in, shaking his Pai awake before his emotions became overwhelming.

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Resting his head on his Pai's chest, he was comforted with coos and the feeling of his Pai's chest vibrating as he hummed a soft melody. It was one from before the big upheaval. From when he still lived in a slanting tower of stone. Words would not, could not, come out of his mouth no matter how hard he'd tried.

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The idea hits him one day when he's at the Town of Fobo for a week, giving his Pai and Richarlyson a reprieve from him and his almost manic stewing. He hadn't spent a night at the Shit Shack since that first Monday. It was too soon. There was never going to be a day that wasn't too soon for him to be emotionally ready.

If he, somehow, found a way to contact Cucurucho to find where his dad's final coordinates on the Island were, maybe he could find him. It was a stretch, and he knew that, but he'd try anything. His dad would do the same for him. He'd attempted to explain it to his Uncle Tubbo, he had prepared diagrams and red string connecting his ideas on a spare corkboard he'd found laying around, but he'd quickly realised that pursuing Tubbo's aid fruitless when he finished and saw Tubbo's apprehensive face. He had Sunny to think about after all, he was their only parent and couldn't risk it.

He pleaded his case to anyone that would listen, receiving the same pitying looks and excuses that he had started to become internally bitter, despite his love for them. He'd worked solo for the following months, going on ventures to theoretical locations that he'd overheard some nights when he'd pretended to fall asleep.

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PAC E MIKE WOWOW