They’re too ashamed to admit that they keep a compilation of Wilbur saying trans rights bookmarked, or that sometimes they wish that Phil was their real dad instead of just an online father figure.īile rises in their throat. The thought of telling anyone makes Tommy’s chest feel like a crumpled newspaper and their stomach feel like a sack of bricks. To their friends, Tommy is just the annoying teenage girl that’s ‘one of the boys’, when Tommy is neither of those things. “Do your weird fucking friends know about this, Victoria? Do they?!”
The thought makes them sicker than the binder does. It’s long past the time they were meant to start it’s nearly eleven at night, and they were going to start at nine-thirty. They were meant to record with Wilbur and Charlie and Phil and Tubbo tonight. The red-circled double-digit number in the corner of the app tile makes them pause, before they let out a quiet curse that falls on nobody’s ears but their own. Tommy’s shaky exhale fogs up in the frigid air, and their thumb hovers over Discord.
#Endless sky map full password#
It takes them three tries to put in their password correctly.
#Endless sky map full cracked#
They pull their cracked phone out of their pocket, fingers trembling. They barely notice the cold soaking into their socks as they trudge through a particularly deep pool of half-melted slush. Tommy flinches at nothing but their own memories – another sting. The very thing that got them in this situation is tight against their chest, a comforting pressure, but it makes them feel sick to their stomach at the same time. Bees die after one sting, and it’s the same words piercing them over and over. Their mother’s screaming echoes in their head, stinging like a particularly angry bee. Their father’s disappointed expression flashes behind their eyelids with each blink. The pinpricks of light that the stars dust across against the night sky are ignored as Tommy stares ahead at the pavement, continuing to force one leg in front of the other. Thick, drifting clouds fracture the moonlight into thin slivers muted light bounces off the snow-blanketed rooftops where the streetlamp glow doesn’t reach.
The wind cuts through Tommy’s clothes and bites at their skin. They have to move, they have to keep moving. Tommy doesn’t know where they are, but they keep walking.
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