He woke up, aching. He had fallen asleep not an hour earlier, and he was still tired. He was always tired. There was nothing to live for. 

He looked to the side. There, on the wall, were two jackets. When had they gotten there? He didn't remember them being there yesterday. The first was dark blue, and had a hat hanging with it. The hat was black tricorn, rimmed in white, and the jacket had epaulettes on the shoulders, brown. It was his jacket. From back when he had been.... Something. A person. A man. Proud. It couldn't be here, could it? He had given it to....

Tubbo. 

Tubbo had forgotten his jacket, and Tommy had given him his. A slight smile twitched on Tommy's face. Those days had been simple, better.

He shook his head. Don't think about that. He was this now. Thinking of anything else was useless.

He couldn't help it. How was Tubbo doing? Ghostbur had told him that Tubbo looked broken, like something on the inside had cracked. He apparently couldn't sleep without Tommy's old jacket. Something seemed wrong about all of this. They were supposed to be together until the end.

No. Ghostbur hadn't said that. What was wrong with him? The jacket wasn't there at all. He had been staring at the logs. That was all that was around here. Logs.

Tommy wondered if Ghostbur spoke to Tubbo about him. If he had, what did he say? Did he ever tell Tubbo how much Tommy missed him? He said he had given Tubbo a compass, just like the one he had given Tommy.

Tommy pulled out the compass. The name scratched into the side was clearly made hastily, by an unskilled hand. Sloppy. Jerky. Cut too shallow.

Beautiful.

Looking at the thing made Tommy feel wrong. Like he was half of something better. This was meant to be in a pair. The words.

"Your Tubbo"

His Tubbo. His friend. His best friend.

He stood up, and looked into the sky. It was blue, as always. A direct contrast. A mockery to Tommy's pain. He couldn't see it. It was faded, muted. A shadow of itself. It always seemed half red to him.

He stood up slowly, stretching out. One of his shoes was missing, and that made it awkward to stand. But what else could he do? He had to push on.

Tommy walked out into the fresh air.

There were bees, buzzing somewhere nearby. Bees. Tubbo. His heart ached, broken. As if half of him had been taken away. His other half. His friend. Tubbo.

He turned around and glanced at the jacket in the wall again. There was a hole in it. Right over the chest, a tear. He raised his hand unconsciously to the same place on his own chest. He put his hand through a rip in the side of his shirt, feeling at the skin over his chest.

There had been something there, once. A scar. An arrow. He had snapped off the shaft, but it was still there. He could feel it. The rush of pain, the mask staring at him, painted eyes looking like black pits. Just an inch to the right, and it would have gone through his heart. His own arrow flying, slamming into the smile, throwing chips as it broke the mask.

Shattered.

Just like Tommy.

Tommy collapsed. He knelt down at the water's edge. When had he walked over to it? Yes, that was longing. They had both been broken that day. He had seen the look in Tubbo's eyes. But he had let the mask take him. No, it wasn't his fault. Both of them were shattered. Broken discs. He wanted one chance. One conversation. It didn't matter what Tubbo had said, what he had done. He was the only light. The only light to drive back the darkness of those two terrible spots of paint.

Tubbo put a hand on his shoulder. Tommy turned, astonished. Was he here? He tried to place his hand over Tubbo's. It wasn't there. If only....

If they could talk. Next to the water. Tommy thought back to that time. He had made invitations. They would have talked together, right here.

Tommy looked over at the broken-down chairs. Was that ivy his imagination?

Days past upon days. Waking up, crying himself to sleep. A blue sky, split in half by his perception. An existence of brokenness. A shadow of himself.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about Tubbo. Would he come? Could he? Tommy was wandering in the dark, with those too-black eyes watching him. Lost. Helpless.

Another day. Another day. Another half-blue sky. Faded, gray. Just like Tommy himself. Awkward, ne shoe. Worn-out sole. Staring at the compass. Pointing toward his sanity. Visions of arrows. Broken in half, drawn out of a mask, drawn out of him. 

He regretted nothing. All of the pranks, all of it. He would do it a thousand times. He longed to see Tubbo's face lit by the light of a torch in the night again.

He was dead. A body, with no mind.

Half a man.

Maybe less, from all this time without proper food.

Half a man, at best.