Chapter Text
Tubbo is in the parking lot, leaning against Ranboo’s car and drawing figures into the window, when he arrives.
Which is fascinating, partly because it is decidedly not their designated rendezvous spot they chose only a few days ago, but mostly considering that Ranboo can barely remember what it looks like sometimes, and it’s his car . It’s a fairly generic black car, too, but Tubbo seemed to remember it well. And he looks excited about it, too, or maybe just the person approaching him.
Ranboo isn’t so sure what there is to be very excited for. He’s not a particularly interesting person, especially when he’s just studying, but Tubbo is there, bouncing on his heels, despite that.
Maybe Ranboo has found himself a friend. Who likes him. Who wants to see him. Who isn’t just… there, because he has to be, because he found himself stuck in that place with Ranboo, of all people, and gave in. No, someone who willingly chooses Ranboo, in some way.
If he thinks too much about it, he’ll get overexcited, like he did before. So he tries to contain himself, chalk up that thought to the strongest maybe he can muster, and give Tubbo a wave.
As he’s clicking the car keys open, Tubbo bounds over. The passenger seat is on the other side, but, well, Ranboo isn’t going to stop him from moving around. He gives Ranboo a bright, toothy smile. “Hi!” he greets, with a happiness consistent with his behavior today, but extremely inconsistent with how he had acted just a day before. Ranboo isn’t exactly unfamiliar with mood swings, though, so he supposes that’s none of his business. “How are you, Ranboo? Excited?”
“For chemistry?” He gets the driver’s seat open, and Tubbo moves back to go into the side. “Not so much, but it’ll- it’ll be nice to have company, haha. Though I should warn you, uh,” he clears his throat and starts the car. “I’m kind of not great conversation when I’m, uh, focused on work. Just so you know. Not that I’m excellent at this overall, haha.”
“Oh, hush, you’re fine,” Tubbo scolds, and if Ranboo’s lip tugs upwards, neither mention it. “And that’s fine, dude. I’m shit at focusing on things, like, half the time. So we should be worried about me .”
Ranboo laughs quietly and drives out of the parking lot. “You’re clearly the number one threat, here.”
Tubbo nods. “Very threatening, dude. Very.” He opens one of the drawers, then looks at Ranboo, “You got any music discs?”
“Just the same one as before,” Ranboo answers. It doesn’t have that many songs on it, and though the two of them hadn’t looped through every track, he worries that Tubbo will get quickly bored. And, well, the other disc is not the right mood he’s trying to preserve here, so. “You can just play something off your own phone, if you want. I don’t mind.”
“Pog, okay, I’ve got this.” Tubbo fishes out his phone. From the corner of his eye, Ranboo spots his thumb scrolling through the songs very fast, and it takes him a few minutes before he settles on one with a small, “Aha! Okay, this is the one, boys.”
Everybody Talks by the Neon Trees starts playing, and Ranboo stifles a laugh.
In his defense, Tubbo is in a similar state, and his voice is giggly as he accuses, “Why are you laughing? This song is good!”
“It is good, it is,” he reassures. “I just wasn’t expecting it. But yeah, I like it.”
Tubbo lets out another laugh, which makes Ranboo full-on smile, now, actually, and he leans his head against the window. He starts singing along with the song in a high pitched voice, something that seems like it would sound genuinely nice if he wasn’t deliberately butchering every pitch for comedy’s sake. Or, Ranboo hopes it is for comedy’s sake, and not just him insulting his new friend in his head. That wasn’t the intent. Oops.
(Ranboo wonders if he’ll hear the other sing seriously, someday. That’d be nice.)
The drive back to his house is one he could manage in his sleep (though, he shouldn’t tempt fate-- knowing him, he could have actually done that before) just off of sheer muscle memory, so he tries to distract himself as to not fall into a spiral of what if you forget what if you forget what if you forget and ending up taking a wrong turn. Tubbo’s voice is helpful in that department, light and free and interspersed with giggles.
It’s… nice. Ranboo likes this, whatever this is. He likes it a lot.
It doesn’t last.
Tubbo’s phone buzzes, and he lets out a loud sigh before dramatically picking it up. His eyes narrow as he reads it, and he stares at it for a few minutes before setting down the phone again. He continues to sing, after, but it’s enough of a disruption for Ranboo to tentatively ask, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, ‘s nothing.” He waves off, tapping his foot to the beat of the next song that had been on shuffle, some rap song Ranboo’s never heard but sounds pretty good. “Just Tommy messaging me. He’s a bit pissed, but it’s alright.”
“Oh, why?” Ranboo refrains from audibly softening or lowering his voice; he doesn’t want to sound pitying or anything. Though, maybe keeping his tone straight isn’t a good idea-- he’s trying to match Tubbo, but he doesn’t want to sound like a jerk. It’s too late to take it back, but, hm, he should figure that out for future reference.
Tubbo shrugs. “He likes knowing where I’m at, and he knew I was going to hang out with you, but he’s all-- whatever. About it. Y’know?”
Ranboo’s heart sinks. “Oh. I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing, big man?” Tubbo raises his eyebrow.
“Because- in case- if Tommy didn’t, uh, want you to- to come over to my place, or- or something, then-” he takes a deep breath. “Then that’s not great. So.”
“Tommy can take it.” Ranboo glances at Tubbo, and he just shrugs at him again with a small smile. “What? He hangs out with Jack Manifold all the time, and I tend to just dip from the house anyway, sometimes. Y’know.”
Tubbo has a bad habit of saying y’know to things that Ranboo, assuredly, doesn’t know. Or, well, not really, at least. Not in the same way Tubbo tends to mean them.
“Where do you go?” he asks quietly. His place is only a minute or two from here, he notices, before focusing back on Tubbo. He’s back on his phone again, switching the next song over before picking something non-lyrical. It has a nice backbeat, at least, and Tubbo taps his phone to no distinct rhythm as the piano comes in.
There’s a pause, long enough for Ranboo to park his car and end up fiddling for his keys, Tubbo standing behind him, before he ends up replying, “Anywhere.”
“Yeah?” Ranboo opens up the door and lets Tubbo in. Springerle is nowhere to be seen, but Ranboo figures she may be napping somewhere, and he goes to set his things down and check around to see if the place is presentable; he should have done that in the morning, but, absent-minded and all.
“Yup.” Tubbo doesn’t seem keen on describing more, instead looking around Ranboo’s place. “It’s a nice place you’ve got. I like the aesthetic.”
He’ll take the topic change with grace, but reserve the previous topic in the back of his mind, where he’ll soon forget it. For now, he just laughs a little and nods. “Yeah, Niki did all of that, haha. My room is, uh, a bit of a mess.”
“Is it? Can’t be as bad as Tommy’s. Show me the way, big guy.”
Ranboo nods again, leading Tubbo through a small hallway before pushing his door open. He has to duck to get his head in-- nobody had thought to make the doors tall enough, definitely, though it’s not like anyone anticipated someone like Ranboo to appear, anyway-- and he can hear Tubbo snickering about that behind him.
The room, at the moment, is simultaneously messy and clean. See, Ranboo doesn’t have a lot of possessions on him, really-- he didn’t have many when he arrived, and Niki can only pressure him into buying things for himself so many times before she just gives up and reserves it for holidays-- but the few that he does are sort of scattered. The memory book stays in the same location, generally, and since he hadn’t taken it with him for school, it’s laying in a bedside drawer. Aside from that, though, there are a few clothes on the floor and a few empty pill bottles in the trash can, resting atop some takeout food trash. It’s not overflowing at least, which he takes as a win. Still, it’s not the best looking room, with its minor messes and lack of decoration.
Tubbo gives it a once-over, then looks again, then nods. Ranboo lets out a sigh of relief.
“It’s not bad,” Tubbo comments, before immediately going to steal Ranboo’s desk chair. That’s… well, that’s unfortunate, but, fair play, he guesses. “You have, like, no room decoration, though. I thought you’d have fancy band posters or something.”
“That would be cool,” he says, almost to himself. “But, haha, yeah. Not a… not a lot here.” He never knows when he’s going to have to pack things up, or anything like that.
“You’ve got a window, though.” Tubbo gets up, walking over to it. “Can you get onto the roof?”
“It’s-” Ranboo pauses. Then, starts again, tone reflecting his confusion. “It’s an apartment complex?” They’re on the ground floor?
Tubbo sighs. “Dammit. Can you get to one overall, though?”
“I guess you could, if you really wanted to?” Ranboo’s not sure why Tubbo’s asking, but it’s a harmless question, so… “I don’t go up there, though.”
“That sucks.”
“... Does it?”
“I’ve got a roof at home,” he explains. He sits back down and spins around a bit in his desk chair, gesturing with his hands. “It’s really, really cool. I’m usually the only one who goes up, because I can only access it. ‘Cause, y’know, I’m up in the attic. But it’s really cool. You can see the stars real well up there, and it’s pretty quiet on a good day. Nice to just sit up there, y’know?”
Ranboo hums. “That sounds really nice. Is it… is it, uh, dangerous?”
He shrugs. “Maybe? I dunno, dude. I don’t care too much about that kind of thing. I can take it.”
Ranboo isn’t sure how to explain that Tubbo could not, in fact, take a fall from a roof of his house without seriously injuring himself or worse, but judging by the slightly mischievous look in Tubbo’s eye, he figures the other already knows. Which… makes him a little confused, honestly, at the implications of that, but he decides not to question it. There’s a lot about Tubbo that doesn’t make sense that he just… elects to leave be. He would be lying if he said that it wasn’t both a bit concerning and refreshing. God knows Ranboo’s probably left Tubbo with a similar impression, but with Tubbo, it feels like his secrets are a lot… different, from Ranboo’s.
For one, he knows that if Ranboo was in the passenger seat, receiving a random text, it wouldn’t have just been a sibling figure mildly pissed.
But, hey, maybe that’s presumptuous. He’s… hm.
The door is pushed open a little, and Ranboo and Tubbo both look over. Despite Ranboo’s brain immediately jumping to nonsensical conclusions involving some stranger being in the house, maybe invoked by the previous thought rabbit hole he just went down, it’s revealed to just be Springerle, who Tubbo looks positively delighted to see, judging by how he falls to the floor and holds his hand out immediately to let Springerle approach him.
Ranboo smiles a little, pulling out his lab notebook for organic chemistry and settling himself on the bed. Tubbo has seemingly entirely forgotten about homework, eyes shining as Springerle curls up beside him, and he quietly whispers, “Oh my God,” with overflowing softness in his voice.
Even if it’s not for Ranboo, it makes him feel a little warm inside. “You’re good with animals,” he notices.
“Yeah,” he replies. Springerle blinks lazily before shutting her eyes and purring, and Tubbo’s own eyes widen. “Oh my God. Well, now I can’t do homework. Look at her.”
“Pfft. She distracts me and Niki a lot, too, it’s just her effect.” Ranboo starts scanning his eyes over what he had written, trying to figure out where he left off before. There’s a large empty space for materials and warning labels for chemicals, aside from a few sprawled notes so that future him wouldn’t forget to include something obvious, like a beaker. Beyond that, just the conclusion, it seems. And all the other worksheets he has to do, but that comes later. And the reading, and the-
Springerle purrs, again, and Ranboo takes a deep breath. He shouldn’t get overwhelmed. Especially not with Tubbo here.
He gets started on the conclusion, the room filled with nothing but Tubbo’s quiet comments towards the cat and the sound of pen scribbling across paper. It’s a comfortable sort of silence, which is nice, because Ranboo was really worried he’d end up lost in the attempt to be a good host, but it seems like Tubbo is… content, in this minimalistic messy room, with a sleeping cat and a weird kid sitting on the bed.
Ranboo’s not sure how. But it’s nice, nonetheless.
Tubbo ends up getting up, eventually, leaving Springerle asleep in the middle of the floor. Instead of going back to the desk chair, which Ranboo had figured he would do, thus why he’s writing in blue ink on his bed instead of a more logical place, Tubbo nudges Ranboo’s shoulder and moves to sit beside him on the bed.
Well. Okay. That’s… objectively less efficient, but, alright. Whatever.
Tubbo looks over his shoulder, which makes Ranboo feel a little self conscious, and squints his eyes. “Oh, shit, you’re doing lab stuff?” Ranboo nods, and Tubbo sighs. “I like labs, they’re cool, but I hate having to like, describe it ‘n stuff. Why can’t they just take my word for things, why do I gotta talk about, what, the degree of error and everything?”
“Well, I think in the field of science, they can’t, uh, just take you at your word.”
“Bullshit. I’m very credible.” Tubbo crosses his arms. “If someone doubts my chemistry expertise, Ranboo, I fully expect you to vouch for me and say, uh, Tubbo is the best person alive and also awesome. ”
Ranboo smiles. “I think I can manage that, yeah.”
“Pog.” Tubbo shuffles a bit before moving to lay on his stomach, kicking his short legs up and down behind him. He rests his cheeks on his palms and says, slightly muffled, “I forgot what homework I had to do, so I think I will simply not do it.”
“That seems like a bad idea.”
“Nah. We could, like- oh, oh, we could like-” Tubbo straightens a bit, looking up at Ranboo with a grin. “We could, like, play a game or something. Y’know?”
“... I really have to finish this homework, Tubbo.”
Tubbo waves his hand dismissively. “You can multitask, yeah?”
Ranboo’s not entirely sure he can. But, Tubbo’s looking at him with an earnestly excited expression, and, well. He’s not good at saying no to things. “... I can try?”
“Pog, okay, okay, uh.” Tubbo pulls his phone from his pocket and opens Google. “What games do people play together, usually, that’s like… not auditory, but, speaking? Like, uh- uh, oh- two truths and a lie, or something.”
“I’m not a very good liar.” Ranboo flips to the next page. “You can kind of, uh, tell, when I’m lying. Sometimes. Yeah.”
Tubbo doesn’t seem particularly concerned. “I’ll just stare up at the ceiling, then. I’m kind of a shitty liar too, boss man. Sometimes.” The last word is said a little quieter, and Ranboo understands completely from just that.
“Same,” he replies.
“Yeah.” There’s a pause. Then, “I’ll go first. I’ve got this.”
“Okay.” Ranboo continues writing on the pages, shifting on the bed as Tubbo hums in thought beside him. There’s a few minutes of contemplation, which aren’t as stifling as Ranboo would have expected them to be.
He tries to focus himself on the work, but Tubbo’s hair lightly brushing his arm and the other’s small movements distract him. He is not going to be very productive today, is he?
Eventually, Tubbo lets out a near-cheer, and he bounces on the bed excitedly. “Okay, I’ve got them, I’ve got them. Okay.”
Ranboo sets his pen down to look at the other, staring at his bangs instead of meeting his eyes, and the other grins before holding out his hand and raising a single finger at a time to his verbal counts. “One, when I was younger, I was so fucking determined to be a professional gymnast that I would, like, go to the local gym every day until I completely broke my arm and had to stop. Two, Tommy’s brother, Techno, kicked me out of a chess club in freshman year because I was on my phone most of the time and still won, like, every game. Then, oh, three- three, okay, uh.” There’s a quick pause, then he blurts out, “Before I was twelve, I committed a total of four kinds of crimes, but committed some of them a few times. Never got caught.” He gives a proud smile and pokes his three stuck-out fingers into Ranboo’s knee. “Well, big man? Which one is it?”
Ranboo blinks, mind already scrambling to piece together what Tubbo just said. He realizes fairly quickly that he may be at a disadvantage, here, since there’s a chance Tubbo has told him something about these things before and he’s totally forgotten them, but he pushes that thought aside and tries to logic out what Tubbo said, instead. He figures that the second one is plausible, at least, since it seems like something that Tubbo (and Techno) would do. He’s not sure if Techno would have any say in the chess club, though. He… sometimes does stuff with the school, Ranboo thinks. Does he play chess? Maybe. Ranboo can’t really remember that.
But… the second one is plausible, at least. The first one sounds random, but it’s detailed enough that Ranboo figures it has to be the truth, especially with the confidence Tubbo said it with. Which… leaves the last one. Which makes sense, because Tubbo being a delinquent who plays phone games in a club is something Ranboo can envision, but him being a childhood criminal is not. It’s just… not the sort of thing he sees out of Tubbo. Plus, he hesitated before saying it, so.
“It’s the third one,” Ranboo concludes. “That’s- that’s the lie, that is. The third one is a lie.”
Tubbo’s grin widens. “Nope! It was the first one. I broke my foot, not my arm.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Ranboo complains, which earns a laugh out of the other. “The entire rest of it is true, you just- you just changed that one part? ”
“Yup!”
“Wow.” Ranboo fights back a smile. “I feel betrayed.”
Tubbo just sticks his tongue out at him, flopping back on the bed. “Whatever. Your turn, boss man.”
“Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“You-” he feels a bit of warmth he’d gotten from being around the other die in his throat, leaving the words hesitant and afraid, “-you’ve committed crimes? Before you were twelve? What- what did you do? ”
Against his expectations, Tubbo laughs at that, too, eyes twinkling a little bit. In a way, it looks a bit like there’s something laying underneath it, but Ranboo doesn’t want to overthink that, doesn’t want to stress over something that could be a trick of the eye. He tries to trust Tubbo’s words, instead, which cheerfully state, “Yup! Did a bunch of crazy shit, big guy. Bank robberies, rigging cars to explode, you know. The usual.”
He blinks. “Oh, okay.” Huh?
Tubbo just giggles more. “Your turn, Ranboo. Give me some truths, give me some lies.”
“Okay, uh, hold on.” Ranboo moves his notebook to his bedside table, despite part of him screaming at him to just cancel this entire game so he can pass his classes and do the only thing he’s seemingly capable of doing. He tries to rationalize it by reminding himself he has a guest, and he doesn’t need that much sleep, anyway. It helps just enough.
Ranboo’s memory proves itself to be a massive barrier, again, because not only can he not remember exactly the things he’s mentioned to the other, but he also can’t remember most of his own life. How can he find descriptive enough truths for this, like what Tubbo gave him, when he doesn’t even know his own birthday? Should he just settle for something simple? What if that makes it boring? He doesn’t want to be boring, but if he’s honest about this, that would just be depressing, and he’s not going to throw memory loss in as one of his clauses, exactly-- Tubbo doesn’t even know he has this issue, barely anybody does, so what’s he supposed to-
Okay. He takes a deep breath. There has to be something here. There has to be at least a few small things he can say.
“I, uh.” He starts speaking, despite not having anything to say. He’s an idiot. And Tubbo’s looking at him now, expecting something. God, he’s an idiot. “Uh- uh, I- sorry, give me- give me a second.”
“Take your time, dude.” Tubbo goes back to scrolling on his phone.
Okay. Okay.
There are a few memories Ranboo can remember, across his life. They’re faint, and he doesn’t know everything about them; he can’t tell how old he is in them, or exactly his location, or who is who in the memory. What he can tell, though, is sensory things. He knows the primary scent, or how the air felt, then, or what he was touching. Hearing. Seeing. How he felt. Even if it’s wrapped in a layer of fog and fatigue, he can manage that, at least.
There’s one he knows, written several times across his memory book, that he’s determined not to forget. It comes to him, now, mind thankfully not hazy enough to entirely lock it out and give him a headache as punishment for the ultimate crime of trying to reclaim himself. He lets the memory embrace him for a moment-- the gentle press of a small hand atop piano keys, a warmer and larger hand encasing his own, and the sweet, sweet melody it had made together. It’s not his only memory of playing piano, but this one has always felt so fond, like something resembling home. The thought of it makes him want to tug it closer, to become entirely shrouded by it until he becomes the music a younger version of him, somewhere, had created.
But the memory does not go much farther than that, and even though it’s been years, he’s still never figured out how the song ended.
In any case, that’s one of his most beloved memories. There’s another, somewhere, too-- he had been outside, he thinks, wind brushing his bare arms, back when he would readily show those. In his hands was a cold bowl, and his mouth tasted like blackberries. Ranboo’s had better fruits, really, across his life that he can remember, but nothing changes the way that blackberries are considered his favorite. Because, though the memory is nothing more than a snapshot, they were there. And they are important. They must be.
He’s left Tubbo waiting for a while, he realizes. The other isn’t openly expressing his impatience, but Ranboo can only catastrophize, not knowing how he would explain the extended silences. But, he’s got two truths, now, and just needs a lie.
Which may be harder. Because, as Ranboo’s mind is so keen to remind him, all the truths he thinks he can remember could all just be fiction, anyway. Fake. Lies. His fingers, certainly shaped to play piano well, could have been doing something so much worse instead, and those hands covering his may have just been his own orchestrations. The blackberries could have not been blackberries at all, could have been poison, or some curse, or anything warranting the fate that Ranboo was left with. Blackberries and piano could be the missing pieces to his crumbling world, but he is nothing to them. And the things he thinks are part of his so-called world may be nothing at all, too.
“I...” He starts, softly, and Tubbo immediately snaps his head to look back at him. Then, he corrects his mistake, and goes to stare at the ceiling as promised. Ranboo clears his throat. “I, uh, used to play piano. I… my hair is, uh, it’s naturally- naturally blonde, not the other way around. And. And, uh, black- blackberries are my favorite fruit.”
It’s pathetically simple, compared to what Tubbo had said. Ranboo wishes there was more he could give.
But, Tubbo doesn’t verbalize that, if he’s noticed it. Which he likely has. Instead, he just talks through it, as if Ranboo hasn’t just failed to deliver in every way. “So, here’s my thinking. Blackberries- blackberries are kind of a weird fruit to have as a favorite, right? Like, like they’re cool and all, but, they’re kind of a weird pick. Versus, your hair being blonde would explain a lot, because your dye job is like, good and shit. I tried to dye my hair blonde once as a brunette, and it was a disaster. So, I think that’s right. And… eh, fuck it, you probably played piano. So, last one.”
Ranboo blinks. He… hadn’t expected Tubbo to get that wrong. But. Well. That’s… hm. Maybe he isn’t awful at this?
But he’s deceived him.
That’s the point of the game, idiot, he chides himself, despite knowing that’s not where the feeling is coming from.
“Actually, uh. Blackberries are my favorite fruit. My hair is naturally black,” he replies slowly.
Tubbo looks at him with wide eyes, sitting up a bit to look at his hair. “Holy shit, no way. How the fuck did you dye it, then?”
I don’t remember. “A lot of pain.”
“Yeah, I imagine. Jesus.” Tubbo settles back, and smiles. “Good job, man, that was good.”
“Thank you,” Ranboo says softly. There’s something really comforting about Tubbo, Ranboo realizes. It’s not this pressurizing sort of… pacification, almost; it feels genuine, and nice, and freeing.
It would feel nicer if Ranboo’s emotions weren’t so turbulent, maybe. But, it’s good to have a tether. Even if the anchor he has doesn’t know that he’s that, and even if he shouldn’t rely on people like that. Maybe he isn’t. He doesn’t know. Would he even know?
“Want to do another round?” Tubbo asks.
Ranboo glances at his notebook. “I should… I should really do my homework.”
“‘Kay.” He pulls out his phone again. “You get half an hour max before I start bothering you again. Can I play music?”
“You can,” Ranboo uncaps his pen again. “And, okay. I just hope you don’t get bored or anything.”
“Nah. You’re good company. I’ll just chill.”
After that, conversation fell quiet, and music overtook the room. It was all fairly mellow beats, which Ranboo appreciated for concentration’s sake, and he did his best to turn his attention to finally finishing up his lab and pulling out a few spare worksheets despite his mind wanting to wander astray. To the memories, to Tubbo, who is texting someone, Ranboo thinks, to everything ensuing right now. It’s… a lot. It shouldn’t be a lot. But it feels like waves of realizations and new experiences, rolling over him and he almost feels as if he’s breaking underneath the weight of it, to be replaced with a better version of himself. Or a worse version. He isn’t sure.
It’s just… hard. To conceptualize. But it’s also easy-- being around Tubbo, spending time together, his anxieties being quelled just by the other saying a few words of encouragement that Ranboo doesn’t hear often, it all feels as easy as breathing. Which isn’t the easiest thing when he’s stressed out, but most things are like that, aren’t they? It feels nice, but it’s that very thing that makes Ranboo hesitant to trust it, and then it becomes difficult. The things that feel like they could almost come naturally to him if he just lets it become barriers the instant he starts thinking too much about them.
He wants this. But he’s stopping himself from having it. Him, and his mental illnesses, and his inability to remember a thing, and the hovering likelihood that the closer he grows to someone the more likely it will hurt to forget. Something he doesn’t want to put on the other, because Ranboo tends to forget that Niki is real, sometimes, and keeps that to himself, and Ranboo forgets large details about Techno, too. But with Tubbo, it feels like there’s so much more risk.
He has a fresh chance to have something. Something he’s wanted for as long as he could remember to want. It’s just unfortunate that he can’t have fresh chances without obtaining something impossible to get.
So he’ll keep pretending that the worst isn’t coming, and he’ll keep pretending this can last forever until he’s struck with another bout of fear and feels like the world will end in a second. He’ll keep running, for now, and running straight into walls over and over until the concussions restructure his brain to one that is more fit for finishing chemistry homework to the sound of music leaving the phone of the closest thing he has to a friend.
He isn’t good at lying to people, but he never stops trying to lie to himself. He wishes he had even the slightest fighting chance to be honest.
He manages to get through most of his work quickly, the thirty minutes Tubbo allotted to him extending for reasons Ranboo can’t discern. He progresses far enough that all he has left is reading a scientific article, which is technically an assignment he doesn’t have to do until class the next day but he really wants to look over first, before Tubbo shuts off the music and sits up.
“Hi,” Ranboo says quietly.
Tubbo sighs, which isn’t a great sign. “Tommy wants me home,” he explains, before opening his mouth to add something else. He seems to second guess himself, though, and ends up not elaborating further. His eyes look duller, almost.
“Oh. Uh- Do you want me to, uh, drive you back?” Ranboo knows where Tubbo’s place is, sort of. Not really. He should know where it is, he had written the address in his memory book. He just… isn’t so sure how to get there, exactly, in terms of relative buildings in the area. Tubbo wouldn’t be upset if he asked him to lead the way again, right?
Tubbo’s quiet for a few seconds, lost in thought, before his phone buzzes again. He looks down at it, reading the new incoming message. The screen is only open for a second, not long enough for Ranboo to even get close to catching a word of it, before Tubbo shuts it off and turns it over. His voice is decisive when he says, “No.”
Ranboo nods slowly, confused. “Uh, okay. Do you want-”
“Can I stay longer?” Tubbo cuts him off. There’s an undertone to his voice, one that’s almost pleading. Ranboo isn’t so sure what to make of that. Especially when his voice falters a little more as he adds a small, almost squeaky, “Please?”
“... Yeah,” Ranboo agrees. “Yeah. I, uh, don’t have much here we can do but- but it’s not like anyone else is, uh, here. So, you’re- you’re okay to stay. Yeah.”
In a single rush of breath, Tubbo replies, “ Thank you. ”
“Nothing to thank me for?” It shouldn’t sound like a question.
Tubbo looks down at his phone again. “Can I call Tommy’s dad to let him know?”
“Sure, yeah, of course.”
“Thanks.” Tubbo gets up, clicking a few buttons before putting his phone to his ear. He steps outside of the room, shutting the door and leaving Ranboo alone. For a moment, he considers if he should follow, just to make sure Tubbo doesn’t do anything to the rest of his apartment, but he figures that this phone call will be a pretty quick ordeal and that he’s safe to just… stay. And let Tubbo handle it on his own.
Not that he thinks Tubbo would- that Tubbo would do anything, really. He just. Ranboo doesn’t like it when things get moved around slightly or- or minor things go missing. That’s all. Not that Tubbo would do that, and- he’ll be back anyway. It’s fine. Fine .
As if sensing the absence, Springerle slowly draws herself awake and climbs up onto the bed. Ranboo places one hand in her fur and allows her to curl up in his lap, the article set aside with the rest of his things as he waits for Tubbo to come back. And, with that, tries to figure out things they can do in the meantime. Ranboo doesn’t exactly have many games in his household, or snacks (is the fridge even restocked?), it really is just him and his cat. But, there’s probably something here, isn’t there?
Tubbo returns before Ranboo can settle on an actual idea, and he puts his phone on Ranboo’s desk before sitting on the bed again with a small grin. Ranboo can’t really read how the conversation went just off his facial features, but he figures it was probably okay. A normal conversation with a… sort-of dad. As normal as those things can tend to get.
Ranboo should call Niki and check in, on that note.
“So, what should we do?” Tubbo asks, reaching out to pet Springerle as well.
“That’s a good question. I don’t, uh, have a lot of things we can do here.”
Tubbo hums. “Got any movies?”
“Oh!” How had Ranboo not considered that? “I have a few. Most are, uh, horror ones. I think Niki has some she left here, too, but it’s mostly that.”
“I can take a horror movie,” Tubbo replies with two thumbs up.
“Okay. Uh, do you want to move to the living room, or- I can just, uh, play some from Netflix or something?”
“Mm.” Springerle shifts closer to Tubbo, and he hums. “I’m cozy here, I think.”
Ranboo nods, gingerly leaving the bed so as to not disrupt his pet before getting up to grab his laptop. He types in the password quickly and is quick to minimize the windows he has open, a significant amount of tabs on most of them. He pulls up Netflix, keenly aware of Tubbo watching over his shoulder, and signs into Niki’s account. He starts leisurely scrolling down them, asking the other, “Did you want to watch horror specifically?”
“Up to you,” he says. “I can take horror. Or comedy, or something.”
Ranboo nods again, scrolling through most of the recommended ones before returning to the top. He’s not really sure what Tubbo’s tastes are, but… “Well, I also have, uh. If you don’t- if you do, then that’s- that’s alright, but, uh, if you don’t want to watch horror, I- have you seen The Office ?”
Tubbo’s shoulders relax, which alerts Ranboo to the fact that he was tense beforehand, but the sparkling of his eyes distracts him from that fleeting fact. “I have! I like it loads.”
“Okay!” Another ground to bond on! Score! “Do you, uh, do you want to watch-”
“ Yes.” Tubbo, suddenly, sounds a lot more excited.
“Okay.” Ranboo hits the search bar and locates it, clicking the very first episode and starting it up.
If Ranboo thinks about it too hard, the situation feels a little off-kilter. There’s the lingering tension between Tubbo and his family that Ranboo could very well be imagining but feels real nonetheless, and there’s Ranboo’s general apprehension towards his own memory issues manifesting through a silly kids game. They don’t have any snacks to watch with, and it’s a strange time in the middle of the afternoon, and Springerle keeps shifting around and distracting them. They still don’t know each other too well, and Ranboo can convince himself that all of this is practically surreal if he tries hard enough.
But, all the same, it’s a good memory. It’s a good memory, because neither of them go on their phones or are bothered by more messages, and both their homeworks stay to the side-- a first-time sort of thing for Ranboo-- and The Office is a good show, and Springerle is soft, and at some point, Tubbo leans his head against Ranboo’s arm and fully relaxes his body, and Ranboo’s heart skips a beat for reasons he’ll think about later, and it’s a good memory. It’s a really nice one.
Ranboo won’t allow himself to take that from him.
It’s not the first time that he hopes he’s given that choice.
--
When they finish the third episode, Tubbo lets out a small yawn, and he makes the begrudging reach for his phone.
He sighs, and Ranboo’s already mostly anticipating it when he says, “I actually have to go home now. Can you drive me back?”
“Sure.” Ranboo closes his laptop and stands up, stretching a bit before opening the door for the other and walking him through the apartment. “You’ll have to remind me of the instructions to get there, though.” He grabs his keys off the table, and Tubbo slips his shoes on. “I know the exact location, I think, but don’t know how to find my way there.”
“Sounds good, boss man.” Ranboo gets the door outside for him again, and Tubbo smiles at him. The two get situated in the car, and music starts playing again underneath the sound of Tubbo’s clumsy instructions. Ranboo follows them closely, even when he thinks he knows what the next one might be, or one of them is particularly vague. He thinks he likes listening to Tubbo, even when it’s just car instructions.
Even beyond that, though, they make some idle chatter between. And it feels natural, starting light (and for Ranboo, hesitant) banter with him and watching as Tubbo tips his head against the window and laughs loudly. It feels freeing, and the conversation slips between street directions and paraphrased quotes from the show they just watched together with ease. It’s one of the best car rides Ranboo’s ever been in.
Getting to Tubbo’s place doesn’t take too long, and it flies by with their conversation. Soon enough, Ranboo is parked outside, and as Tubbo gets out, he can see another person open the door. It’s Tommy, he’s quick to realize, and Tubbo spares him one glance before looking back at Ranboo.
“Thanks for letting me chill with you, Ranboo,” he says, with a grin on his face.
Ranboo smiles back. He’s done that more these past few days, with Tubbo, than he has other times, he thinks. “Of course. Just- just let me know if you ever want to- yeah.”
“Oh, I will.” Tubbo starts to walk away, but not before leaving Ranboo with a final, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. See you!”
“Bye!” Ranboo calls out, waiting for Tommy (who seems aggravated, but Ranboo can’t figure out why from inside the car) to usher Tubbo in before he starts driving back.
When he returns home, he learns that there isn’t food stocked in the fridge. He should be more upset by that, but he instead goes to jot down the details of Tubbo coming over and makes the decision that food can wait an extra day. It’s a sort of ultimatum only someone like him is forced to make, but thankfully, there’s not a ton of people relying on him to make it-- Springerle always has food, he makes sure of it, and Niki won’t be back for a few weeks, he thinks.
With the details of the day written, he gives the reading a once over before putting it away. He clicks open his phone, sends Tubbo a quick see you at school tomorrow text, and puts on music to fall asleep.
He can’t remember his dream that night. But he knows that as he drifted off, the thought on his blackened and barely conscious mind is playing piano with someone he doesn’t know, again-- someone he’s always wanted to.