Chapter Text
Ranboo has a headache, again.
He has Tylenol on him, of course, but that using it entails going up to the Tylenol that he got at the convenience store the day before. And doing that would remind him of the most prominent moments of his really strange encounter with the family (?) that was working there (?) with none of the context in between that could maybe salvage the memory. So, he thinks he’ll just suffer.
Which is sort of bad practice, and is also not the first time he’s done something similar to this with other sorts of things (like the time he refused to eat eggs for a month because he was sleep deprived and forgot what they were called and had to try and describe them to a forty year old employee who looked like he was just about to strangle him right there), but, it is what it is.
At least he doesn’t have work, though. He loves spending his weekends at the bakery, where it’s usually just him and Niki on shift, don’t get him wrong, but the surplus of people flowing in and talking to him doesn’t really help with matters. Working on homework strains his eyes and can overall make the headache worse, sure, but it’s also a little easier to forget that it’s happening when time slips by.
And it does tend to slip by. He started working on an essay right when he got back from school, but has since completely missed dinner and managed to finish it and a lab report by the time the sun set. Which happens a lot quicker because of autumn, actually. Woah.
Finished with most of his work (he thinks), he sets it aside to wander over to the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what he has stocked there. Which… isn’t a lot.
See, Ranboo can cook. And Ranboo can buy things just fine (except that one time, with the eggs, and that other time, and the other-); he has enough money to get what he needs, and Niki usually thinks to grab some groceries whenever she comes back to stay for a night, but it’s pretty difficult to remember when to get food. Sometimes, he’ll entirely forget that they ran out, continuously checking the fridge and telling himself he needs to shop before immediately forgetting why he’s sliding his shoes on and going to do something else, and an entire week will pass before he figures out why he’s so hungry.
He’s determined not to do that again. Not because it was all that awful, but he knows that Niki had been concerned, and had insisted that he take a page out of his notebook to make a list of domestic reminders for himself. So, he does. Which is why he’s checking the fridge now, and realizing there isn’t a lot there, and realizing he probably should have gotten more things of sustenance at the convenience store.
There’s some bread out on the counter, at least, so he makes himself a quick sandwich and sits down on the kitchen table to eat it. There are four chairs despite there being two residents in the household and usually just one, but Ranboo tries to forget the inherent loneliness of it.
It’s interesting what he can forget and what he can’t.
Ranboo hasn’t quite mentioned the memory loss thing as a whole to Niki, and he’s not sure she’s pieced it all together, yet. She knows he’s a bit absent minded, which is why she had made the whole reminders suggestion, but she doesn’t know how long he spends staring at the table, wondering where he is. Or how he sometimes gets confused when their cat, Springerle, wanders over, mind forgetting where the cat had come from. Or any of the other more serious memory lapses Ranboo tends to get.
Nobody knows about that, though. Aside from Niki, and maybe his tutor but most likely not, there’s nobody else Ranboo can think of that he would mention his memory loss to. For the most part, he just keeps it to himself, fairly content to drown in it alone. He doesn’t interact with many other people, anyway, so it’s fine, really.
He thinks about the convenience store.
His chest tightens.
The convenience store encounter had been stressful. He’s seen Wilbur a few times and has heard some about him from Niki, but the two had never met before. And then there were Tubbo and Tommy, which…
Despite the two of them not knowing Ranboo, he’s familiar with their names. They all go to the same school, and Tommy, for one, is, well… fairly popular. Tubbo is, too, and those two are inseparable-- which makes sense, for two siblings (?) to be. Ranboo’s pretty sure that he’s in Tubbo’s film studies class, actually, but he’s not surprised that the other never noticed him, seeing as Ranboo’s general approach to school is to avoid being noticed at all costs.
In any case, it’s not like he could talk to him. He utterly humiliated himself, he’s pretty sure, and he may be lonely, but he’s not all that desperate to start conversations that get him bullied. So, he’s not going to talk to them.
It’s been a day. He shouldn’t think too hard about it anymore.
And yet, he does.
He always does that.
Once he finishes his sandwich, he heads back to his tiny bedroom, and starts scribbling a few sentences in his journal. It quickly ends up becoming a messy paragraph of useless details and timid reminders, as it always does. And then, he lays awake for two more hours.
He still has a headache.
--
It’s gone, though, by the time the next day arrives.
Which is good, he thinks. Except, maybe it went away because he slept in a bit-- because he did, and so he was a little more panicked about taking a shower, getting dressed in his usual black jeans and hoodie, and skipping breakfast to drive his way to school instead, but at least he had no headache, haha .
He usually likes to get there early. Less people in the hallways brushing past him, and it means he can always be sitting in the back seat in his classes where assigned seats aren’t the expectation. It’s a bit stressful to get there early, sometimes, but it’s worth the precaution. It really, really is.
His first class is English, which is also his largest class. By the time he gets there, a few kids are already sitting in the chairs, and he’s quick to make a beeline to the back corner of the room. Despite his tall stature, he finds that he can shrink into the wall if he tries hard enough, and he gets his notebooks all set up and fiddles with his phone as more and more people trickle in.
Usually, he can go without any problems. Usually, he can tune out all the conversations happening in the room and just focus on scrolling through social media. Usually, nothing bad happens, and he never gets called on and never gets in trouble so he just keeps his head down, takes notes, and passes with an A.
Except, the universe also hates him. Passionately. And a few minutes after he sits down, someone knocks on his desk, and he looks up.
Immediately, he recognizes the brown hair, the bright eyes, and the grin on the person’s face.
This is not good actually this is not good at all what why is he here what did I do to deserve this God I am so sorry what did I do oh God oh no oh no no no-
“You’ve been in my English class this whole time?” Tubbo says, a bit too loudly for Ranboo’s liking.
The universe really, really hates him.
He clears his throat quietly, breaking eye contact with the other and nodding in the direction of his desk. “Yeah. Um. Yeah, I am, I guess. Haha. Interesting.”
Tubbo falls quiet, and Ranboo’s brain immediately skips into overdrive, with running thoughts of why can’t you talk normally why did you have to have a headache and a messed up mind and go to that store why are you still nervous about it nobody else would be nervous what did you do this morning you two must have met before and you just forgot why isn’t he saying anything what did you do until Tubbo’s voice cuts through it, again, and he asks, “Can I sit next to you?”
Ranboo nods and verbally agrees, “Okay,” before he processes what he just did.
You’re an idiot.
Tubbo beams, though, so Ranboo’s glad at least one person is enjoying this experience. “Cool!” he replies, way more enthusiastic than he should be, and he throws his backpack under the desk and sits beside Ranboo.
For a moment, Ranboo thinks that the conversation will be over and he can finally sit and spiral in peace, but then Tubbo asks, voice at the same tone as it was just before, “How come you’re so tall?”
Ranboo blinks. Tubbo… asked this before, right? Maybe? No? It’s kind of a common question, Ranboo thinks. A good small talk question. Maybe? He doesn’t really have an answer for it, though. He’s been wondering the same thing. Being 6’6 isn’t very convenient, and he’s not entirely sure he remembers the day that it all happened.
“I think I just shot up, uh, a few feet in height when I was… twelve, maybe?” Ranboo guesses. That sounds plausible, right?
“No way,” Tubbo replies. Maybe it isn’t, then. That’s not good. Oh God, what did Ranboo just confess? He’s an idiot, how could he- “How come everyone gets to be tall and shit while I’m fucking 5’5?”
Oh. So it wasn’t a weird response. Tubbo was just making a comment on his own shortness. Which he might have made before, actually, when they first met.
Well.
“You’re 5’5?” Ranboo prays that he isn’t being rude here. He isn’t sure when he’s hit joking territory with a person until he makes a joke and immediately faces the consequences. “You’re shorter than my roo-, uh, Niki.” Tubbo knows her, right? Maybe? Does he have to explain who she is? “How do you reach anything?”
Tubbo puts his face in his hands. “Oh God, I am shorter than Niki, aren’t I?” He groans into his palms before moving away and looking at Ranboo again. “I get to make Tommy reach everything for me, though, so I’m spared from manual labor. How do you get through doors?”
“A lot of pain.”
Tubbo laughs, and despite himself, Ranboo musters a small smile. That’s good, right? He made him laugh. That’s good. Yes. Good job, Ranboo. You did it.
“I’m going to steal your ankles,” Tubbo says.
“Oh.” Ranboo takes a moment to consider. “Well, that would be a little inconvenient. I like those.”
“Nope.” He pops the p. “Mine, now.”
“... That would only make me an inch or two shorter, I think. You’d still be around a foot shorter than me.”
“Oh, goddammit, you’re right.” More people filter in, a few glancing at Tubbo and Ranboo, but the latter tries his best to focus himself on the other’s words. “One of these days, I’m going to hit my growth spurt, and I’ll be taller than you. Then, we’ll see who needs help grabbing things. Ha! Take that!”
Ranboo thinks for a second, then says, “I think you, still. If you’re, uh, seven feet or something, you won’t be able to reach down.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Tubbo groans.
“Okay,” Ranboo replies quietly. Good work, Ranboo. You just insulted the other person’s ability to calculate height depth. You were doing really good at this whole friendly conversation thing, what went wrong? You idiot. You idiot, you absolute idiot, you moron, what’s wrong with-
“Don’t actually fuck off.”
Ranboo looks back at the other, making eye contact with him before breaking it again. “Oh. Okay.” Way to jump the gun there, Ranboo. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence, and then Tubbo asks, “Where do you live?”
“Uh.” Where… does Ranboo live, actually? You know where you live, you complete idiot, shut up. “Near the bakery? I think?”
“You think?” Tubbo raises his eyebrow. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t question much further into that part. “I like that bakery.”
“Yeah. I work there.”
“You do?” Ranboo nods. “Oh, sick. What days?”
“Uh, weekends. Most of the day on weekends.”
Tubbo grins. “Could I come by the bakery on these weekends, then?”
“I… can’t stop you?” It sounds like a question, leaving his mouth.
Tubbo leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. “Damn right.”
Ranboo opens his mouth to ask a question, something along the lines of why would you want to do that or why are you sitting beside me or hi what do I do when someone who I don’t live with is actually speaking to me who are you I’m sorry hi ah aaah aaaaaaaah, but soon enough the last few people get into the classroom, and the teacher starts talking.
So Ranboo tries to shut out his anxiety, fails every time he sees Tubbo looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and starts taking notes.
--
On his way back home, Ranboo gets a text message from a person he never likes to see text messages from.
He reads the text to himself a few times in his head as he continues walking, this time in a different direction than his house, running on autopilot to get there and miraculously not walking directly into traffic as he does.
Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place.
Ranboo doesn’t know what usual place means. At the same time, he does. Can picture the way the concrete feels under his feet, how the air almost shifts to be colder in that area, how unbearable it can be in the winter. The feeling of standing out there for hours, how his hands hurt once he’s done, how he always gets strange dreams the night after. How his pockets are always made both heavier and lighter. How being there feels like suicide.
Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place.
He worries, a little, that he’ll get home too late. But, the cat has food and water set out for her, so she’ll manage okay. And it’s not like Niki is coming back soon, either. Ranboo could disappear for a few days and nobody would bat an eye. It’s not the first time he’s considered that, and it won’t be the last.
Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place.
But where would he go? Not to the bakery, no, or to his high school. Maybe one of the parks or something, but Ranboo hasn’t been around too many. He hasn’t been around a lot of the town at all, actually. Or maybe he just can’t remember it. It’s the same sort of feeling as the one he gets, now, when he thinks about disappearing for days, and how he must have done that before. Why he can distinctly remember his own lack of permanence, but can’t possibly rationalize why he would be so temporary.
Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place.
Because he’s worthless? Because he can’t remember much? Because the memories he can recall from his past the most distinctly were all in different places? Because he remembers senses and emotions but he can’t remember who was there? Because he doesn’t know if he’s anywhere, even when he is?
Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place. Meet me at our usual place, Ranboo.
He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it in his hand. It’s already cold here. God, it’s going to be unbearable in the winter, isn’t it? Has he already thought that? How many thoughts are just retracing his steps?
I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.
It doesn’t matter. Because he’s here, and he hears footsteps, and he knows that even if he doesn’t leave a single fingerprint at his house or at school, even if he could be forgotten there just as fast as he forgets himself, there’s at least one place that is emptier without him.
Head down. Phone back in his pocket. Hand outstretched, cash placed on it.
Welcome home.
--
It’s late when he gets back home.
Which sucks. Because Ranboo has a test to study for in his psychology class, which is in a few days from now, but still. Missing a day of studying makes him feel panicked and guilty, which means he messages his tutor asking if they can go over it in their next session, which makes him feel even more panicked and guilty, even though his tutor never seems to mind and it’s technically the point of seeing a tutor. It makes him feel awful, though the good grades are worth it, but disappointing the other isn’t, but is anything worth it, and-
techno: yeah sure we can meet tomorrow if you want
-and his tutor never minds. Right. He should get better at remembering that.
He confirms a time with him and writes down the information in his notebook, calendar, planner, and phone, just so he doesn’t forget. He’s forgotten a few times in the past, which the tutor hasn’t questioned (“You show up more to my tutoring sessions than anybody else, and that includes my brother,” he had grumbled to Ranboo once, who nodded awkwardly and gave a small thumbs up to the other), but still. He’s determined not to miss any more.
He finds himself staring at his phone even once the messages have been sent until something soft nudges his leg, and he looks down to see Springerle purring and curling against his ankle.
Carefully, he crouches down and smiles at the ragdoll cat, petting it leisurely and softly cooing at it. “Hi. Sleepy, huh?” Another purr is drawn from the cat, and Ranboo moves his arms to scoop her up and start to carry her to his room. “C’mon, you can listen to music with me.”
Springerle technically isn’t Ranboo’s cat. She was initially Niki, hence being named after a German pastry, but when Niki started staying over at Puffy’s place and Ranboo grew very close to the pet, the two of them decided she could stay with Ranboo. Niki is the one who takes her to pet examinations, if ever needed, but Ranboo had ended up finding a significant amount of comfort in caring for her, and has done so since.
It’s nice, having proof that he can care for another living creature. Ranboo has a faint memory of killing a plant-- he’s not sure how old he was but knows just about any age is plausible, in that circumstance-- and being distraught over it. Knowing that even if he can’t quite care for other people or himself as well as he would like to, he can be a good pet owner, has brought him significant peace of mind.
(He thinks he did cry, actually, the first day she fell asleep in his lap, all curled up, and he didn’t move even when his legs went entirely numb.)
Ranboo deposits the cat onto the catbed in his room, turning on a playlist as promised and pulling out his math textbook. Doing math homework shouldn’t be too difficult, seeing as the teacher is much stricter about doing well on tests than the daily homework. It’s mostly a participation grade, which Ranboo is determined to keep as high as possible.
He allows the world to fade out around him just a bit, to the sound of the music and scribble of paper, Springerle fading in and out of sleep in the distance and the sky growing darker and darker with every hour. His eyes burn, but he refuses to give up until every problem has been solved, and he knows he’s only going to have bad dreams in the night, anyway. So, he just works, and works, and works, until his wrist hurts but the graph paper is filled up with diagrams and circled answers, and he finally puts everything away in his bag.
The best part of living alone, Ranboo thinks as he settles into bed, is being able to play music to fall asleep. Something about it calms him, even if he has to keep the volume low enough that it doesn’t get through the thin walls and raise noise complaints from other apartments, and he’s found that it’s extremely hard to sleep without it.
Just before he sleeps, album on a soothing loop in the background, he brings out his notebook from his drawer. His memory notebook, to be exact-- the same one with the tutoring dates transcribed and a list of chores to do, but also the things he wouldn’t dare put into a planner or calendar. Things like memories, and tracking his symptoms, and recounting his scarce appointments. It’s nerve-wracking, to put all of those things into one book, but he’s been extremely cautious with it, hesitant to take it out of the house and holding onto it very closely when he does.
He’s made his mistakes, before, with being reckless. He doesn’t intend to make them again.
Ranboo skips past pages of the notebook, eyes flickering over it idly. Some pages have neat, small print, with bullet-points of the entire day and small doodles beside them. Other pages have stains that make the ink bleed and frantic handwriting that nearly tears the page. Some are entirely filled with text, while others have single words on them. A rare few are solely illustrations, on the days where he was tired or too apathetic to try and transcribe anything in detail.
When he gets to the next clean page, he starts writing down everything that occurred in the day that he can remember. Some memories, he knows, will always be gone-- most of the time, he can never remember the mornings of weekdays, and some school events slip his mind-- but he manages to capture most of his conversation with Tubbo on the page, which is mostly what he needed to do.
Finally, after everything is done, he shuts his eyes and curls up in his bed, long legs tucked up just slightly, and waits for the dreams to come, faint guitar in the background as he slips into darkness.
--
his head is pounding pounding pounding pounding, like there’s something in it trying to get out. what is trying to get out? hello there? hello there? suddenly, he’s terrified of being alone. hello! hello! hello! hello! something reaches inside him, and he screams himself hoarse, and his head hurts more than anything, and he watches himself crumble to the floor in pain as something stands over him.
as he looks up, he sees a figure that he thinks he should know. but he can’t remember it. do you know me? do you know me? can you please explain? hello there? do you know me? are you good? are you good? are you good?
his migraine leaves, and yet the pain gets worse, and the figure shakes its head slowly before walking away. he forgets all his questions.
--
When Ranboo goes back to school that morning, he sees someone sitting in the chair beside him. For a moment, his brain blanks, and he can’t place the name of the brunet with a yellow hoodie waving in his direction with a smile, but after a few seconds, the word comes to him.
Tubbo. Someone he met at a store, of some kind. Someone he doesn’t know. Someone he wants to know. Maybe. Or maybe someone he would rather never see again.
Despite his uncertainty, Ranboo takes a seat beside him, and moreso watches than listens when the other greets him with a, “Ranboo! I’ll be sitting here now permanently, if that’s alright with you. Did you sleep well last night, big guy?”
No. Do you have Tylenol? He wants to ask.
Instead, he replies, “Yes.”
Ranboo has a headache, again.