Chapter Text
Tubbo spends about thirty minutes more than he bargained for standing outside the bakery, awkwardly making a move to walk inside before realizing there were other customers there, before Ranboo finally comes out to flip the sign to closed.
Which Tubbo takes as an indicator to pop out from his hiding spot, standing parallel to the wall, and excitedly say, “Hi, Ranboo!”
Judging by the fact that Ranboo recoils so much that he accidentally slams his shoulder into the wall, he’s going to guess the hiding plan didn’t work exactly how he had been hoping it would.
“Jesus Christ,” Ranboo hisses between his teeth.
“Sorry,” Tubbo apologizes, very politely and remorsefully.
Ranboo just sighs. Rude. “I need to finish cleaning up,” he says, already moving to head inside. “You can just, uh, hang out if you want. Until then. And then, uh, we’ll go to the mall. If that’s- if that’s fine, that is.”
Tubbo grins, pushing the door open for himself and following Ranboo. “Sounds good, boss man! Can I steal food?”
“Please don’t ste-”
“You can have a donut, if you want.”
Turning his head very quickly, both at the promise of donuts and at the voice he hasn’t heard in a little while, Tubbo sees Niki walking in from the backroom, brushing flour off her hands and loosening her hair. Ranboo shifts a little to the side, giving her a small nod, but Tubbo is quick to discard that and immediately abandons his friend to clean up the bakery so that he can talk to Ranboo’s coworker (sister? Friend? Boss? Roommate?).
“Niki!” Tubbo greets excitedly.
She smiles, grabbing a broom and starting to sweep the floor as she says, “Donuts are in the front. Just take one, please.”
Without hesitation, Tubbo bounds over to the rack of donuts and takes one with an obnoxious amount of sprinkles, leaning against the counter that Ranboo is actively trying to clean as he eats it. After one bite, he lets out a shaky breath and says, “Niki. Niki, these are the best fucking donuts I’ve had in so long. Niki.”
“They better be,” she replies, lip quirking up. “I’m glad you like them.”
“You are a saint, Niki.” Tubbo reiterates, because these donuts have single handedly righted every wrong thing that has happened in the past couple of days. Among which have been many. That definitely hasn't been forgotten about, but. Sprinkle-laced and sugary repression has never held anyone back.
Niki just laughs, continuing to clean the floor with more efficiency than Tubbo thought possible. Every time someone tried to sweep even just the kitchen floor at Tommy’s place, they would get distracted by something else and take thirty minutes to do it—Tubbo’s walked in on Wilbur and Tommy bursting into song, using the broom to do a very uncoordinated choreography to something Wilbur came up with on the spot. He had promptly left the room after that.
It hadn’t sounded half bad, honestly, which may be the worst part.
Here, though, it’s a lot less chaotic. Niki’s humming lightly under her breath, and Tubbo is eating a donut (and heavily considering swiping another one, but he knows that Niki is very capable of beating his ass if she so chooses), and Ranboo is silently cleaning the counter and putting away all the desserts.
It takes a while for everything to get cleaned up, yet simultaneously less time than Tubbo had anticipated, and eventually Ranboo nods to himself and says, “We can, uh, go to the mall now, Tubbo.”
“Okay!” Tubbo bounces up from where he was slumping against the wall and grins, making his way out the door and trying to be extra cognizant of the newly cleaned floors.
Behind him, he hears Niki say, “Have fun, you two! I’ll see you tomorrow, Ranboo!”
Ranboo, sounding strangely tense, replies, “Yeah, ha, uh, thanks.”
As soon as Ranboo’s out the door and Tubbo’s turned around to look at him, he seems a lot more relaxed. He considers asking about it, but before he can find the words to, Ranboo takes his keys out of his pocket and starts walking over to the car, gesturing at Tubbo to follow. He slides his hands and his pockets and does.
“How was the shift, boss man?” he asks, sliding into the passenger side and already making a move to pull out one of Ranboo’s CDs. There’s another CD in there, but Tubbo leaves it for now and sticks to the slightly-outdated-but-overall-bop selection Ranboo has stored.
A guitar line picks up, and Ranboo starts backing out of the parking space. “The shift was fine,” he says, looking in the rearview mirror. “A little busy, but not- not that bad, really.”
“Mm.” Tubbo hums. He leans his head against the window and decides to take a risk. “And Niki’s fine?”
Ranboo nods. “Yeah, she’s- yeah. She’s fine.”
“Good to hear it.”
“Yeah.”
Tubbo isn’t going to press further than that. There’s clearly something between Ranboo and Niki that the other doesn’t want to discuss, and Tubbo would be a hypocrite if he judged him for that. It’s not exactly like Tubbo’s living in the most functional household either.
Still, he’s curious. Not just about Ranboo and Niki, really—he wants to know a lot more about Ranboo. The two of them have been talking more recently, which has been sort of the highlight of Tubbo’s life as it stands now, but there’s still so much he doesn’t know. So many things he wonders if he’ll ever know.
He looks down at his lap. There’s a little paint mark on his jeans, white and permanent. He’d gotten that mark when he was a lot younger, hanging out with Quackity on a tiny porch and learning how to paint from someone who did not know how to paint. And in the house, someone was sitting over the table, taking a drink and doing his work. Back when he still did that.
There’s a lot of things about Tubbo that Ranboo will never know, either.
“So, mall,” he starts. Shitty conversation starter, but topical.
Ranboo gives a small laugh, at least. Very reliable friend he’s got, now. “Excited to spend all the money I just earned there.”
“You’re probably richer than me, boss man, so you’re paying for all of it.”
“Oh c’mon, not you too,” Ranboo groans, looking over at Tubbo when he reaches a stoplight. Or, rather, just between and above Tubbo’s eyes. “Techno was trying to get me to pay off his student debt at our last tutoring session.”
“Imagine getting an education.”
“We met in a school, Tubbo.”
Tubbo blows a strand of hair out of his face, only for it to fall in the same spot again. Dammit. “Imagine getting a hired education. Higher. Whatever.”
“Mhm,” Ranboo hums and otherwise moves on. “Where are we going in the mall?”
“Dunno,” Tubbo shrugs. “Going to get some fuckin’, food and shit, probably. I’m hungry still. Then we can shop and stuff. At places. And everything.”
“You’re very good at, uh, concrete plans, aren’t you?”
Tubbo huffs. “Fuck off, I usually just wander around all over the place and stuff. I’m putting in noticeable effort for this, you’re just very unappreciative.” He kicks his feet up on the dashboard in protest, and then eyes the central controls. Now that he thinks about it, he isn’t really sure he knows exactly where this mall is. He never pays attention when Wilbur drives. “Maybe open up GPS, boss man.”
Ranboo laughs a little, which Tubbo would protest at, but he’s still in that place where hearing Ranboo not be extremely tense and uncertain while talking to him is making his heart soar a little. Small miracles.
As per command, he opens up the GPS and starts typing in the address Tubbo texted him earlier. “Very good at it,” he repeats again before the AI starts giving him directions. Starting off with a U-turn.
Tubbo’s glad Ranboo can drive well, because Tubbo would have crashed the car by now already.
Tubbo is not a very good driver.
(Understatement, he tried to learn to drive with Tommy and Wilbur after he turned 16 and immediately dented Phil’s car within ten minutes).
He’s really in no place to judge, here.
That doesn’t stop him from smirking and saying, “Good work, Uber-boy,” and taking Ranboo’s half-hearted glare in stride.
--
Tubbo knew Ranboo was anxious before today, but seeing how the other acts within a mall setting is something else. In the kindest words possible, he looks like he may pass out if anyone looks at him for too long, and Tubbo is entirely not equipped to help him.
It doesn’t exactly help matters that he’s dressed in a band t-shirt and black jeans, both having small specks of flour. And the fact that his hair is half-platinum-blonde half-black, and that he has heterochromia, and that he’s 6’6. Standing right beside someone who is far less noticeable, aside from his comparatively short stature, strange bursts of energy, and bright blue eyes. Tubbo probably looks like a polite middle school boy, while Ranboo looks as if he’s a kleptomaniac about to get into an altercation with one of the store clerks. It really should be the complete opposite.
“So where to first, boss man?” Tubbo asks, looking around at the area.
This mall is the biggest one in the area, which is nice, but also means that it takes a thousand years to walk to the more interesting places. There’s the food court, but it would probably be a little weird to go there first. A couple of specialty stores are around here, too, but anything Tubbo’s gotten from there has ended up shelved and effectively abandoned since. Best bet is probably the clothing stories, because there are some that definitely suit Ranboo’s… taste (he’s not going to call it emo. He’s better than that. But.) There’s a cool one here, Tubbo remembers, that has some t-shirts along with pins and posters and whatnot.
Clothes can get pretty pricey, though. Which probably isn’t too big of an issue for Ranboo, because he works a job and lives in an apartment, so he probably is doing fine from a fiscal standpoint. Tubbo, on the other hand, doesn’t exactly have too much to spare, but he’s sure that worst case scenario, he can borrow some money from Phil’s wallet or something.
It feels a little more honest than outright asking for money, even if he knew that Tommy’s family would likely give him some, if only because Tubbo rarely asks for anything and means it.
He’s not really sure why that is.
Ranboo is tapping his fingers against his thigh, hand clearly restless as he tries to collect his thoughts. Tubbo gives him some time, continuing to walk at a leisurely pace and try to steer the other around the crowds of people, and it ends up taking Ranboo until the two of them are in a less busy place to quietly say, “I don’t know.”
It’s not the most helpful information in the world, but Ranboo seems pretty overwhelmed, so Tubbo can take the reins on this. “We can stop by a clothes’ shop, if you want,” he offers. “Have some cool knick-knack stuff there if you know where to look.”
“Okay,” Ranboo whispers to himself, before he affirms louder, “Okay. Yes. Cool.”
“Cool!” Tubbo takes a look behind them and pauses for a beat before making a 180 and walking in the opposite direction. “We passed it,” he explains as Ranboo stumbles to follow him. “There’s this place I think you’ll like. Has a bunch of band t-shirts and stuff like what you have. And, uh, posters and shit. Pins. I dunno.”
“That seems cool.” Ranboo smiles. There’s something really contagious about Ranboo’s smiles, Tubbo’s starting to notice, because any time he does Tubbo feels a little warmer in his chest. It’s weird.
He thinks that’s probably just how empathy works, but whatever.
“It’s next to a little bookstore,” he continues to elaborate. He wrinkles his nose and looks up at Ranboo, adding, “I don’t like books. Mans can’t fucking read.”
“Ah, that would do it.”
Tubbo nods solemnly. “Are you a book enjoyer, Ranboo?”
“I’d say so, yeah.” He seems to be a little more comfortable now, which is good. The crowded area in the mall seemed a bit more concentrated near the food court, which will be a pain in the ass later, but more convenient now. “I think I prefer, uh, movies. And- and, uh, video games, too, kind of. I haven’t played many, but I think they’re cool.”
“Wait, woah, what video games have you played?” Tubbo grins. “I didn’t know you were a gamer .”
Ranboo laughs quietly. “I, uh, really haven’t played many. I just remember playing some, I… think.” There’s tension in his face again. Goddammit. Tubbo was doing so well.
“That’s cool, big guy, don’t worry about it.” Tubbo awkwardly pats his elbow in lieu of his shoulder, because he’s short. He immediately decides to forget that he ever made the attempt, though, because patting someone’s elbow is kind of awkward. Judging by Ranboo’s face, this decision is mutual. “Anyway, movies are dope, dude. I like them a lot.”
“Yeah! Yeah, I- I mean, I kind of figured. We’re in, uh, Film Studies together.”
“Fuck, you’re right. I forgot about that.”
“To be fair, it’s only September- or, uh, almost October in a few days, but- we only started hanging out, like, two weeks ago,” Ranboo points out, a little nervously. He’s wringing his hands, actually. So maybe not a little nervous. Maybe a lot nervous. Nervous kind of a lot. Words.
Tubbo tilts his head. “Has it only been two weeks?”
“Yeah. We, uh, met the first Tuesday of this month. And it’s the- the last Saturday, now.”
“Holy shit, you’re right.”
It’s felt like so much longer, is the thing. And sure, two weeks isn’t exactly a short period of time, but Tubbo still feels like… like he’s known Ranboo for a long time. And yet, for no time at all, too. Tubbo still doesn’t understand most of what there is to Ranboo, and he still hasn’t mentioned his new friendship to Phil or Techno, so by all means, it should feel like he just found Ranboo recently.
And yet, there’s something about how he feels when he’s around him that makes it seem… longer? There’s a comfort to Ranboo, is the thing, something that Tubbo only really gets with Tommy—who he’s known for a while, so, there’s that—except, even more different to that. Because Tommy is his best friend, and Ranboo isn’t his best friend; he’s fine with having two best friends and would even consider Jack Manifold one of his, and even Wilbur in a weird way, but Ranboo just… isn’t that.
Maybe he is. Tubbo wouldn’t know too well.
But he knows that the craving to know Ranboo, to be around him often, to tell him everything that he’s seen and show him all the places Tommy used to take him and watch shows with him and talk to him as often as possible—he doesn’t get that with his other friends. He could go literal months without talking to Jack, and that would suck, but he knows that once he swings back to talk to the other, it would be the exact same it used to be.
And it’s not that he thinks that things would change with Ranboo, exactly. It’s just… he wouldn’t want to do that. At all. He feels this compelling to be around the other constantly, and he can’t tell why. He doesn’t know anything about Ranboo, but he feels like he knows everything, and wants to continue to know everything he can. He’s never felt like that with a person before.
He blinks, and refocuses. His feet have led them to the shop he was trying to go to, and Ranboo’s still at his side, expression equally as reflective.
Tubbo wants to ask him what he’s thinking. Tubbo wants to shake himself until he can understand what he was thinking, just now. But there’s other shit to do, now, aside from sorting his emotional stuff in the middle of a mall when he all but tries to pay attention to his feelings in the first place.
So, voice confident and assured and not thinking about Ranboo, Tubbo says, “Here’s the place!”
“It seems cool,” Ranboo replies with an approving nod. “Do we just, uh, step in?”
“That’s how shops work!” Tubbo demonstrates for him by walking inside, waving hello to the store clerk that he faintly recognizes before grabbing Ranboo’s wrist and pulling him to the t-shirt collection. “Edgy stuff. Edgy stuff for you.”
“I’m not edgy, Tubbo,” Ranboo protests, but his eyes seem interested when it catches a certain band’s logo, and soon enough, Tubbo’s lost him to the fabric.
He leaves him to it, his job done, and goes off to look at pins for himself. He has a couple of pins and patches for one of his jackets back at the attic—he has to wait until it gets colder to wear the jacket, since it has faux fur in it and it’s really warm and cozy, but he needs to stock up on stuff to shove on it still.
He already has quite a few with something about the environment on them, as well as a few with bad jokes, because they annoy Tommy and Tubbo likes annoying Tommy. He’s been debating one of the pride ones for a while, because he feels like it would be cool and he’s sure nobody would care, but at the same time, even though he has certain labels and shit he goes by, he doesn’t really care about them.
His approach with his own identity—not in a deep way, just like, gender and sexuality and shit—is summed up by fuck around and find out.
This is funny, Tommy once pointed out, because you’re asexual.
Yes, Tommy, Tubbo had replied, very tiredly, you figured it out. Good job.
Tommy had been very proud of himself that day.
There aren’t any specific pins he wants, anyway, so he takes his time looking through all the ones they have in the little bowl that they keep them in. It’s an inconvenient place to put them, but the customers in the store aren’t interested in pins right now, so it’s only Tubbo, shoving his hand into a bowl of metal things that lightly poke him in search of something cool.
The only thing he ends up coming up with is a single pin with a yellow and white cloud on it, which Tubbo mostly just finds neat. He carefully holds it in the palm of his hand before wandering off to browse somewhere else.
The whereabouts of Ranboo completely slips his mind until he’s off in the poster aisle, trying to figure out if any of the bands are ones that Wilbur listens to, and he feels someone nudge his shoulder. He turns around to see his friend, who is currently holding nothing in his hands, and also looks a little freaked out.
“Hi,” Ranboo says breathlessly. His face is a little pale. “Sorry, got, uh- I, like. Got lost. Kind of. Yeah. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, boss man, don’t worry about it.” Tubbo looks down at the pin in his hand, then back up at Ranboo. “You feeling alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am. Don’t worry about it, haha. Uh. Yeah.”
… Well, that’s definitely a lie, because Ranboo’s eyes are flickering all over the place, and he’s slumping down on himself a little, and his breathing is a lot shallower. Tubbo feels guilty for abandoning Ranboo—he probably should have put the pieces together and thought hey, if his friend gets stressed out being in a mall overall, maybe leaving him alone in the busiest section of a small store isn’t a good idea, either.
But, apologizing to someone while they’re actively distressed is probably not the best move—at least, not until Tubbo gets them out of the situation they’re in.
“Well,” he says, a little too loudly. “I bought just one pin. If you didn’t get anything-” it doesn’t seem like he did, “I’ll just buy this, and we can head to the food court, yeah?”
Ranboo nods very quickly, and Tubbo makes his way to the clerk to buy the pin. It takes only a minute to do, but with Ranboo at his side anxiously looking around and tapping his foot, it makes time feel a lot slower.
Eventually, though, they’re free, and Ranboo exhales a semi-audible sigh of relief as soon as they’re out of the store and in less-crowded air. Tubbo makes the executive decision not to show him another store and instead heads straight over to where they can get food, because he’s starting to feel a little hungry and it may help.
“What kind of food do you like, boss man?” he asks as they walk.
“Uh, hm. I like- like, just normal stuff. I guess. I like sushi?” It sounds like a question, which is something Tubbo has grown accustomed to when talking to Ranboo. “I don’t think I really, uh, have a favorite food.”
“Fairs. I like sushi, too.” Tubbo nods approvingly. “Are you a spaghetti enjoyer, Ranboo?”
“... Sure.”
“Good.”
“Can I ask why-”
“Just thinkin’ about it.”
Ranboo blinks. “Spaghetti?”
“Yup.”
After a small pause, Ranboo gives in with a nod before seemingly moving on. Tubbo beams and continues almost-bouncing in his steps towards the food court, navigating them around people.
Ranboo still seems to be a bit nervous, which Tubbo debates apologizing for. He figures he should just plan to hang out with him in more chill places, like that meadow or some park or something, but he doesn’t want to assume that. At the same time, though, there are only so many places you can really go here, and sure, Tubbo knows lots, but he doesn’t want to frequent the same place over and over.
Showing Ranboo the places he’s familiar with makes them feel a little newer, at least. Which is cool.
It just makes him think. About if he’s ever actually going to up and leave this place, like Wilbur did—though, Wilbur came back, he guesses. He doesn’t actually know anyone who’s really left, full stop; Quackity’s trying, and Techno might for jobs or higher education or something, but nobody else has really left. He wonders if it’s possible.
Tubbo looks over at Ranboo, towering above most of the other people in the mall and fiddling with his hands. Ranboo seems like the type of person who would leave this place, Tubbo thinks. Not that he’s all that sure where the other came from, to be fair—he kind of just… showed up, in his high school, in his classes, with zero explanation of how Tubbo has literally never noticed him before. Maybe that means he’ll get out, too.
Tubbo half wants to ask the other to take him with him.
He doesn’t, though. Partly because Ranboo can’t read his mind, and also because Tubbo isn’t sure if he wants to leave.
It’s an endless cycle, because sure. He likes the area fine, going to the mall with Tommy and pestering Wilbur at his job and hanging out in the cool bits in town and nearly getting banned from the library and talking to that one worker still at the ice cream store. It’s nice, and it’s routine, and it’s not too boring yet, so long as he has Tommy, kind of.
But also, people at school are talking about big stuff. Colleges, and whether they’re going to the one that Techno went to or if they’re going off like Wilbur to somewhere much bigger and cooler and farer. Figuring out if they have money to do it, or if it offers majors—all that stuff. And Tubbo just… doesn’t know.
Part of him just wants to skip college. Skip out on all that, because his teachers tell him he’s bright and smart and talented, some real special kid, but he’s not. If anything, he’s burned out and he likes math, sure, but he’s sick of doing it all the time. And he likes space, sure, but only the cool videos he sees on the Internet, not the crazy calculations and shit he has to do worksheets and presentations on. It seems pointless, spending the money that he has no way of getting yet to go to a school thirty minutes away to get a pointless degree and student debt and just, what, get some job and do nothing for the rest of forever? And be stuck?
The thing is, Tubbo knows he’s a dead end. He’s known that since the moment he was born, and he still knows that now, age 17 with too much ambition and nowhere to go.
He just doesn’t want his life to stop there.
But what other choice does he have?
Wilbur can stay under Phil’s roof, working a job that he half-likes and playing music to a small audience and hanging out at his friend’s when he can, just to get out —and he can do all this and it’s fine, it is, because he’s Phil’s son, and whatever happened to him that made him come back different , it’s enough for Phil to mostly accept that.
Tubbo isn’t Phil’s son, though. He’s not even Wilbur’s brother. If he burns himself out doing university work and runs himself in circles with undecided majors before giving up and dropping out, there’s no house to come back to. He can’t chase after Techno or Wilbur or even Tommy, because even if they’re going nowhere, they have a chance to try again.
And he doesn’t have that chance.
Ranboo meets Tubbo’s eyes, gesturing that the two of them have ended up in the food court. Tubbo shakes himself a bit, drawing himself back to reality and leading the other to a booth seat that’s empty (it is normal food court levels of dirty, of course, but no spilled drinks, so it’s a steal) and scanning the area to locate the one guy who always gives out free samples.
He ends up finding him, and the two of them split off—Ranboo says something about grabbing some regular fast food, just a burger and fries, since there’s sadly no sushi place here, while Tubbo gets one of those free samples. Then, he joins the other, getting himself the same thing he assumes is sitting in Ranboo’s plastic bag, too.
After, he heads back to the table, the other a few steps ahead of him, and they sit down.
It’s then that Ranboo removes the contents of his bag, and Tubbo pauses.
“Ranboo?” he asks weakly.
“Yeah?” Ranboo seems a little distracted, trying to rip the bag in a way that he can set the food down atop it, rather than the table itself.
“Did you-” Tubbo pauses for a second time. Then tries again. “Did you only get fries?”
Ranboo bites one fry, both timidly and inoffensively, and Tubbo wonders where he found this guy. He’s not even using a condiment, he’s just- he’s just eating fries. That’s all he got. Holy shit.
Tubbo feels taken aback, almost. “ Why ?”
“... I like fries,” Ranboo explains quietly. “You’re bullying me.”
“You know what, boss man?” Tubbo pulls out his cheeseburger and cuts his losses. “Keep eating those fries. You eat ‘em good.”
“Thanks, man.” Ranboo smiles a little, which makes stopping the oppression worth it. Which entailed oppressing him in the first place. So the oppression was worth it, but it wasn’t. Schrodinger’s oppression.
Tubbo just really likes Ranboo’s smile. That’s all.
And he probably shouldn’t watch the other eat, but.
… Unrelated to the fries, maybe . More related to Ranboo.
Ranboo likes reading Poe’s works and actually does his organic chemistry labs. He gets straight As in most of his classes, Tubbo assumes, and he has some talent in other stuff, too, like photography. He’s cool, but he’s also smart, and Tubbo can see him going somewhere in another city to a fancy school. Liberal arts, maybe, or something more research-based. Somewhere nice.
Or maybe he’ll stay here, too.
Tubbo can’t get a good read on him. Yet. He wants to, though. He really does.
Ranboo finishes a few fries before using one napkin to wipe the salt off his fingertips and then, delicately but absentmindedly, picks up another napkin and starts folding it.
Tubbo watches, intrigued, as the other starts folding it quickly into various triangles. It ends up becoming more and more narrow, and Tubbo ends up grinning a little as it becomes what looks like a crane. He leans forward abruptly, startling the other, but before Ranboo can get a word out Tubbo is saying, “Show me how to make the bird boys.”
“Oh! Uh, well.” Ranboo grabs another napkin and pushes the rest of his over to Tubbo, who cleans off his hands, too, and picks one up. Ranboo waits for him patiently before resting his on the table and instructing, “So you want to fold one corner over the other to get a triangle. And then, uh- fold it again.”
Tubbo follows his instructions patiently, and he pays attention to the others once they come. They progress rapidly in difficulty, he’s quick to notice, because Ranboo seems really good at folding tiny, long triangles, while Tubbo’s just completely fucks up and dissipates entirely into a sad, angular blog of napkin until Ranboo saves him. Twice.
In the end, he gets something… vaguely resemblant of a crane. It’s falling apart and barely recognizable, especially compared to the aesthetically pleasant one Ranboo has, but it’s… something.
He gives it one long look before shoving his hands in Ranboo’s direction. “Take it,” he says. “As a… gift. It’s very cool and awesome and you should have it.”
It’s none of those things, but Ranboo gives Tubbo a smile, anyway, and accepts it. “Thank you,” he replies, and he sounds entirely too happy for Tubbo to have given him a complete piece of shit shape. In turn, he hands Tubbo his own crane, perfect and standing tall, and for a brief second, Tubbo feels almost emotional about it.
Certainly not helped by how Ranboo softly comments, “You can have mine, too. I like making them for people, not that I’ve, uh, made too many, but. If you or, uh, Tommy ever want one, I- I can make them. So.”
Existential thoughts and psychoanalysis be damned. When Tubbo looks at Ranboo this time, all he can think is this one is a keeper.
He doesn’t say that, of course. He just responds, a little too honestly, “Thank you, big guy,” and picks up his cheeseburger again. As a deflection tactic.
From there, they talk about random stuff. Ranboo seems less concerned about people now, so Tubbo takes the chance to try and prompt him into random conversation topics. Tubbo can’t tell if it’s the fact that he’s currently eating and not avidly able to hold a conversation himself, or if it’s because Ranboo is dead afraid of awkward silences, or maybe even the two of them growing comfortable with each other, but Ranboo ends up commanding most of the conversation.
It’s fantastic. It’s splendid. It’s positively great, genuinely.
Tubbo likes listening to him talk. And he gets the small feeling, maybe, that Ranboo hasn’t gotten to do that much. It’s the sort of thing you can just tell about someone, he figures.
Eventually, they finish their food, and Ranboo throws away both their trash while Tubbo tries to figure out what to do. There’s more of the mall to see, sure, but he doesn’t want to stress Ranboo out again, and it’s getting semi-late. Not enough that the sun’s down, but enough that Tommy is probably getting clingy, again.
Which. Is half a joke, and half sort of a question, because Tubbo gets why Tommy’s like that to a pretty big extent, but, still. He’s met Ranboo, hasn’t he? He should be fine with this. And he probably is, Tubbo hasn’t even checked his damn phone.
So why would Tubbo figure that he isn’t?
He doesn’t know, really. He doesn’t.
But he tells Ranboo, without any specific reason, “We should head back, now.”
“Sounds good,” Ranboo replies, and the two of them head back out to the car.
Tubbo leans his head against the window as he always does, playing a random song off his playlist and watching both the cars around them pass by as they go. Closer to home, his gaze ends up shifting towards Ranboo, and he finds himself staring at the other for the thousandth time that day.
He’s not sure why. It’s probably really fucking creepy. But he’s just- just curious. He’s so fucking curious. And the two of them are friends now, so it’s less him trying to sort that shit out, so it’s just… entirely curiosity. Wanting to know more. Wanting to be closer. Wanting to understand him.
It’s strange how strongly he wants that.
But Tubbo wants a lot of things, anyway. It’s less about the why and more about the fact that he can’t get most of anything.
He turns his gaze back to the window right in time for them to end up home, and he grins at Ranboo as he gets out of the passenger side.
“I’ll see you, uh, at school next week?” Ranboo says, sounding uncertain, still.
“Yup!” Tubbo comes around to the driver’s side and pokes at the side until Ranboo rolls his window’s down. Once he does, his smile widens and he cheerfully says, as loud as possible without getting noise complaints or injuring his new friend, “ GOODBYE, RANBOO!”
“Jesus Chri-” Ranboo gets out before Tubbo’s turned around and skips back to the house, knocking on the door until someone lets him in and watching as Ranboo rolls his windows back up and drives away.
Tubbo wonders where he’s going. Even though he’s most definitely going home. Is there another stop there? Is there somewhere else he’s going to be?
Tommy gets the door open, and Tubbo sobers up a little. Still smiling at Tommy, and laughing at the comment he makes, and agreeing to play video games with him, but he feels a bit of himself settle down almost in discontent.
He’s off going to the same place Tubbo’s going, Tubbo imagines. Right back home.
(Tubbo thinks about the mattress on the floor, again. Maybe he couldn’t leave even if he tried.
At least he’s got company here. At least he’s got that.
Even if friends move faster than the things he puts in his bloodstream.)