Chapter Text
“This was a shit idea,” Tommy repeats for the thousandth time, over the sighs of Ranboo and mumbled noises of disagreement from Tubbo. Tommy huffs, shuffling a napkin around the floor with the tip of his foot. “This is your fault, Ranboo. Bastard.”
“I didn’t-” Ranboo exhales quietly. “This wasn’t even my idea.”
“It was mine,” Tubbo openly admits, “and it was a good idea! You just did it wrong.”
Tommy glares at him, throwing his hands up in the air. “How did I do it wrong? My name is Tommy Innit, and I am so incredibly good at doing things, Tubs, I’m not sure you’ve ever, hah- seen me before, pal, but-”
“Unfortunately, I have.” Tubbo holds out an open bag of chips to Tommy, who just scowls at him. When offered, Ranboo tentatively accepts one and bites off the corner of it. It’s not very good, and was definitely overpriced, but. That’s- that’s sort of just how the day has gone.
Earlier at school, Tubbo told Ranboo about this idea to go walking sort of around the area where Wilbur worked and check out the businesses there. Ranboo had agreed; it sounded neat, and he likes being around Tubbo a lot, and he said that Tommy might come along too and that would be even better, because he wants to get closer to Tommy, too. And, well, it would be near places he could photograph, which means he would knock out a lot of birds with one stone.
The problem was that Tubbo… didn’t know where they were going. And so the three of them spend the better part of two hours walking in and out of stores, with no money to buy anything cool and no interest in buying anything in their price range, and have since ended up sitting inside a fast food place.
Ranboo had panicked that they probably came off as weird, sitting inside a place without getting anything, so he stumbled his way through buying a bag of overpriced chips while Tommy and Tubbo argued about whether they should call Wilbur to pick them up or not. By the time Ranboo sat back down, nobody came to a conclusion, and Ranboo immediately yielded the chips over to Tubbo, who is seemingly the only person having a nice time right now.
(That’s a lie. Tommy seems to be having fun, judging by the fact that he keeps accidentally letting smiles slip while yelling at Tubbo. And Ranboo, well. He likes being around Tubbo a lot. So he really doesn't mind.)
“So, uh,” Ranboo starts. He immediately gets the attention of Tubbo and Tommy, which is a little overwhelming. He takes a deep breath and continues, “So, uh, are- are we going to call Wilbur? Or…?”
“I think he’s on his shift, is the thing,” Tubbo replies.
Tommy squints. “Mans leaves his shift all the time to do dumb shit. We can bully him out of it to come over and get us, just real quick.”
“I don’t- if he’s busy working, then, uh- I don’t- that might be a bad idea.”
“No, because, like-” Tommy groans. “Rainbow, are you telling me that you’ve never left your shift to go smoke?”
“No?” Ranboo shifts in his chair. “No, why- what? ”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“Huh?”
“Look.” Tubbo leans over the table to flick Tommy on the forehead before relaxing back. “Why don’t we call Techno? He’s not doing anything, is he?”
“No!” Tommy’s eyes widen. “We’re not calling Techno, he’ll be all like ‘Oh why did you go out and have zero plan, my name is Techno and I always have plans for everything’ and I will go ‘Techno you are so boring’ and he will just laugh and then neither of us will win except him.” Tommy sharply intakes a breath after his semi-ramble and leans over to flick Tubbo’s forehead harder.
“Ow!” Tubbo slaps Tommy’s hand and continues before the other can retaliate. “Would you rather sit here for another thirty minutes or get to go home with Techno?”
“Sit here for another thirty minutes,” Tommy answers.
Tubbo sighs. “Fine, then.” He turns over to look up at Ranboo, who has been idly watching the conversation with slight fascination and concern. Tubbo smiles at him, which sort of shuts down half of those feelings. “So how are you, Ranboo?”
“Uh, I’m- I’m okay, I think, how are you?”
“I’m doing great, boss man.” Tubbo beams. He reaches up and raises his own hand to flick Ranboo’s forehead, which is done with less violence behind it, so it’s more like he’s poking it. Either way, it makes Ranboo smile. “Just to call it even.”
“It’s not really calling it even if- if I wasn’t even involved, but, uh. Okay?”
“Calling it even,” Tubbo repeats.
Ranboo blinks. “... Calling it even?”
“Yep!”
Tommy scoffs from across the table. “I don’t know what you two are talking about,” he loudly proclaims, “But I have Googled some Ice Breaker Questions For Teens, so I have got this.”
“Oh God,” Tubbo mutters under his breath.
“Oh no,” Ranboo says softly.
“‘30 Innovative Icebreaker Questions For Teens,’” Tommy reads aloud. “Okay. Let’s- okay, hold on, I’ve- hah- okay. This says, ‘if you were the eighth Dwarf, what would people call you?’”
Tubbo bites down on a chip loudly and noticeably annoyedly. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I think I would be called.” Tommy takes a long moment to consider, while Tubbo gets up to throw away the bag of chips and come back. After a few minutes of pure silence, aside from the ambience of the general fast food place, Tommy says, “... Big.”
“Big,” Tubbo echoes.
“Big.”
“Maybe you should give us another ice breaker question,” Ranboo suggests.
“Shut up, Ranboo.” Tommy scrolls down the page. “Okay. Who is the wisest person you kno-”
“Philza,” Tubbo immediately replies. “New one.”
“Okay, okay! Let’s see here.” After a few seconds, Tommy shakes his head. “Fuck this. New website, men. This one is by someone named Susan, so I think I trust her.” His finger scrolling down furiously, Ranboo watches with anticipation that quickly translates to dread when Tommy lets out a loud cackle. “Okay, boys, I have found it. Ahem. Susan- Susan says, ‘if you were the Miss World, what would your message for aspiring models be?’”
Ranboo lets out a startled laugh, and beside him, he can hear Tubbo positively lose it. Between giggles, Tubbo chokes out, “Miss- If you were- if you were Miss World- ”
“If I were Miss World.” Tommy looks down at his phone, as if he’s addressing his response to the website itself over the people he’s sitting with, “I would say ‘Dream Big and Be Big’. I think that is a good message.”
Ranboo laughs harder, covering his mouth with one hand to stifle the sound. “That just- That just doesn’t make sense, actually!”
“Ranboo, king, you are already big,” Tommy retorts patiently. “You just have to dream of big things. Like planes. And girls.”
“I don’t- I don’t dream about either of those things?”
Tommy sighs. “And this is why you are not a model.”
“To be fair,” Tubbo says, still letting out wheezing breaths, “I think Ranboo would be a very bad model.”
“Well that’s just mean now, actually.” Ranboo’s not actually offended. He would hate to be a model. Maybe he’d take photos of models, but he feels like that would be awkward and it’s kind of hard to take pictures of things that walk around a lot, and he thinks that models on reality television probably walk around a lot? He doesn’t know what Miss World even really means, though, so maybe he’s wrong.
“No, like-” With a small pause to let the laughter die out, Tubbo seems to come back to life, wiping the tears out of his eyes with a grin, “Okay, so, like, hear me out. You’re, like, pretty and smart, which I think are the two criteria for Miss World, but I also think that if I gave you heels you would hit the ceiling and fucking die.”
Tommy snorts. “Just fuckin’- just crumple over like a folded up chair?”
“Actually, yeah!” Tubbo says cheerfully. “Ranboo would do that!”
Ranboo mutters, “Don’t call me a folded up chair, that’s just rude,” which earns some more laughter from his friends. But the irritation in his voice is half-hearted, because that probably would happen if he’s to be honest, and Ranboo is also a little distracted by the fact that Tubbo called him pretty again.
It’s not. It’s not like he’s flustered. Because he’s not and that would be wrong because why would that make him flustered? But also, he’s flustered, because he’s been called handsome once or twice by Niki but that always felt a little weird, but hearing pretty makes him feel… different. The world feels more right. And also, maybe a little to do with Tubbo saying it, but mostly not because he doesn’t- Tubbo’s not flirting with him, it’s just a word and- and Ranboo’s being weird about it, yes, but it makes his chest feel a little lighter, and. And, it’s nice to hear it from Tubbo, because Ranboo sort of thinks Tubbo is pretty, too. But he’s not going to say that because that would be weird and wrong, and Ranboo doesn’t want to be weird or wrong.
He sort of just wants to be pretty.
But that’s weird and wrong. And he has scars down his face, anyway, so how pretty can he really be?
When he refocuses, he notices Tubbo still smiling beside him, staring down at the table and idly tracing patterns against it. Across from him, though, Tommy has stopped smiling, and he’s staring at his phone with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. Ranboo gets the feeling that it’s not about Susan’s ice breakers anymore.
Before Ranboo can ask what’s wrong and before Tubbo can notice at all, Tommy says, voice low and careful, “I think we should go see Wil, yeah?”
Tubbo’s head snaps up, but his face seems casual. Cautiously though, maybe, because there’s a bit of tension in his expression that isn’t usually there. It shows a bit in his voice, too, when he replies, “Oh, why?”
Tommy hands over his phone to Tubbo and quickly glances over at Ranboo, seemingly acknowledging that he’s there, before he looks back at Tubbo and whispers, “Him and Big Q broke up, I think.”
“Oh, shit.” Tubbo mutters. “I- huh. That’s…”
“Kinda out of nowhere, innit?” Tommy comments, already starting to stand up. “Ranboo, think you can drive us over to the store? It’s, like, only a couple minutes from where we parked and all. Y’know.”
Ranboo feels a little like he’s intruding, but since Tommy asked him specifically, it would be… kind of rude not to come. So he stands up too, watching Tubbo hand Tommy his phone back with a frown, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
“Thanks, man.” Tommy pauses, Tubbo going ahead and waving to the cashier as he leaves the store, before saying, “You can stick around too, yeah? Think Wil would like the company. Plus, Tubbo.”
Ranboo… isn’t really sure what Tommy means by that, but he pretends anyway, nodding seriously. “Okay, yeah. But- but if I intrude or anything, just-”
“Not intruding, man, don’t worry about it,” Tommy dismisses. “Now, c’mon, or else Tubbo’s going to try and drive your car and he’s real shit at driving.”
“Oh God,” Ranboo whispers in fake horror, earning a laugh from Tommy before he distractedly turns around and leaves the store, calling out to Tubbo.
And, at his heels, Ranboo follows. Both to bat Tubbo into the backseat-- though maybe letting Tommy sit in the passenger seat is a bad idea-- and in an attempt to leave the slight feeling of unease behind him with the bad overpriced chips.
--
The moment Ranboo enters the convenience store Wilbur works at for the second time in his life, he is almost immediately taken aback by three different things.
One, the speaker system is very loudly playing Lady Gaga, which is not a complaint but definitely a question.
Two, Tommy flips the store sign to CLOSED as soon as all three of them have stepped foot in the store, and he steals the keys sitting on the countertop to lock the door despite the fact that this is definitely illegal or at least a fireable offense.
Three, the employee who would be inclined to stop Tommy’s actions is currently sitting on the countertop right where the keys had been, fiddling with a cigarette pack in his hands and looking as if he hasn’t slept in several years.
Ranboo’s suddenly very, very glad he’s never had to handle a breakup before.
He’s also very, very not-glad that he’s here right now, because Tommy and Tubbo both have expressions on their faces that are comforting, and Ranboo is just mostly looming beside a flowerpot near the front entrance as the two of them strike conversation with Wilbur. Which is probably what he’s meant to do, but is also just… incredibly awkward, actually, coming from him .
“Hey, Wil,” Tommy starts, voice gentle even with its naturally teasing lilt. “How are you doing, king?”
Wilbur laughs, voice rough. “I’ve seen better days, Tommy, I’ll be honest.”
“You got Lady Gaga on the speakers,” Tubbo notes, without any awkwardness in his voice. It’s just a statement, really. Some sort of opening.
“I needed her right now,” is Wilbur’s explanation.
Tommy nods, stepping forward to hop onto the counter beside Wilbur, eyes flickering down to the cigarettes before decidedly focusing on his face. “And you needed us too, yeah?”
“Just needed some company, man.” Wilbur throws the packet down behind the desk, which might be some kind of safety concern, but it seems to give Tommy some relief. A few steps away from him, Ranboo can see Tubbo’s eyes still fixed on where the pack would be, on the other side of the counter.
Wilbur laughs again, but there’s frustration in it, bubbling and seething and wanting to come out despite the restraints carefully held on it. It’s strained and it’s painful, and Ranboo viscerally understands it without knowing anything at all. “You know, you’d think- you’d think if you know a guy a decent number of months, he would maybe communicate things better? Maybe, you know, leave the floor open to some kind of discussion, yeah?”
“I’d say,” Tubbo agrees.
“So you can start to see where I start to get frustrated with Quackity,” and the anger starts flooding out, “because I got none of that! None of it! Not even a single bit of it! You would think he’d fetch me some kind of hint, because clearly I needed to- I needed all the hints I could get with him, but no! He just left! And you want to know the funny part of that, Tubbo?”
Tubbo nods. “Hit me.”
“I knew that this would happen.” Wilbur grins, and oh, there’s some tears in his eyes, but they aren’t the kind that will spill. Ranboo recognizes that. They’re those kinds that sit and sit and sit and never really go anywhere. “Because Quackity- Quackity told me, ever since the beginning, you know, that he was a shit boyfriend, shit person, really- and I told him hey, I’m not too great myself, and you’re hot, so let’s give it a chance.” The song ends, and in the seconds of silence between the song change, Ranboo can hear everything from the whir of the air conditioning to Tommy’s palpable anxiety to the vibration of Tubbo’s phone in his pocket. “And we did. And- and, and look at this! Look at this shit!”
“He was kind of a shit boyfriend then, wasn’t he?” Tommy comments. “He was right.”
Wilbur shakes his head, but the first word he says is, “Yeah. Yeah, Quackity was kind of shit. But he’s a good guy, too. That’s the fucking thing about him, you can know everything about him and you’ll never get the guy. He’s polarizing and bitchy and sly, but he’s also one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. And I believe it, you know, I believe what he said. He’s not even trying to hurt me. He’s just being Quackity. And I knew that.”
“What did he tell you?” Tubbo asks. “When he broke up with you, that is?”
“Something came up.” There’s a gleam in Wilbur’s eye that makes Ranboo want to take a step back, if he wasn’t already pressed back to the wall. “That’s it. Something came up . And it must be something pretty big, because he told me that he has to keep it all quiet. Or else I might get hurt.” Wilbur lets out an abrupt laugh, and Tommy flinches beside him, and Wilbur quiets down, and Tubbo is stiff, and Ranboo doesn’t know who to watch. “When was the last time someone thought, ‘oh, what if Wilbur gets hurt?’”
“Right now, I’d say,” Tommy states, with a pointed pleading look.
Wilbur meets his eyes. There’s a staring contest between them, and the slightest shake of Tommy’s head draws them out of it, and suddenly Wilbur’s hopping off the counter and walking over to the cooler and saying, “Sorry, I’m being a bit of a prick, aren’t I? Sorry you all have to see me like this.”
“I’ve seen you worse,” Tommy pipes up, earning a sigh from Wilbur, which overall lessens the tension in the room and makes the tension in Ranboo’s shoulders worse.
Tubbo walks forward to pull out a soda and a water bottle from the cooler. “Yeah, you’re not too bad right now, I’d say. 6/10.”
“I’m not quite sure how to feel about the fact that both of you have seen worse of me,” Wilbur says, words sad but voice forced to have a positive lilt.
“Don’t think I’ve seen a ten yet,” Tommy jokes.
“You haven’t,” Wilbur meets it with a serious reply. “I’m not good, man, it’s like I told Quackity. I’m too neurotic, that’s my problem.”
“Well, I’m also neurotic,” Tommy argues, “and I’m cool and epic about it. So maybe you’re just lame, big man.”
Wilbur laughs, somewhat fond, “Ah yes, I forgot about Tommy’s therapy strategy: relentlessly insult the patient until they start to feel defensive about entirely unrelated factors.”
Tommy frowns. “You weren’t supposed to say that.”
Wilbur hits Tommy back with a reply, and soon the two of them have worked up a conversation, amicable enough despite the absolute devastation that plagues Wilbur and the anxiety still lingering in Tommy’s body. Ranboo feels selfishly caught between the two as he watches, still an outsider but desperately trying to find some way to speak, some way to help, some way to leave. Some sort of out.
As he watches the two of them talk in mindless circles, Tubbo walks into his periphery and hands him a bottle of water. There’s no readable expression on Tubbo’s face-- it’s guarded, and that puts Ranboo on edge. He tries to say, “Thank you,” in response, though his voice is small.
In lieu of a reply, Tubbo opens up his soda and, ever so lightly, leans against Ranboo’s shoulder.
It’s a good thing, because it gives Ranboo some sort of… anchor, to navigate this situation he doesn’t understand. He has no idea who Quackity is, and he barely knows anything about Wilbur, and the intricacies of heartbreak aren’t something Ranboo remembers being all that familiar with, so it all feels foreign and strange. But Tubbo doesn’t, because Tubbo has grown to be both familiar and new in the best of both ways, and that’s definitely a good thing, Ranboo thinks.
The bad part of it is that it draws attention to him from Wilbur. And in Wilbur’s expression, there’s this sort of knowing look that Ranboo doesn’t like, because he’s not sure what Wilbur is trying to piece together and he’s not sure what comfort he can offer that wouldn’t fall flat compared to Tommy and Tubbo’s efforts.
Voice friendly, Wilbur says, “Oh shit, man, I didn’t- Ranboo, I saw you come in but… seems I got caught up in my own self-pity. Happens, yeah? But, yeah, how are you doing? Doing good?”
It doesn’t seem like a trap. Ranboo wishes he could move one eye to the door. “I’m- I’m good, uh, yeah, I’m- I’m fine and everything. Uh. Thank you for- for asking.”
Wilbur nods, a cordial smile on his face. “Of course, of course. Say, can I ask you a question? Just, humor me.”
Ranboo feels his heart stop, but the entire world is beating around him, so he sucks it up and says, “Yeah, of course. Go ahead.”
Wilbur takes a nice, long drink of water, before he throws the bottle in the recycling and rests his elbows back against the counter. “Have you ever been in love, Ranboo?” and his voice is genuine, Ranboo can tell, and it’s not meant to be mocking,
but it really does feel like his heart has stopped again, and this time, the world has stopped with it. Tubbo’s tense against his shoulder. Tommy’s squinting in confusion. The cold water burns down his throat.
“Uh,” he stutters out, trying to think of what to say. Because, obviously, the answer is no. He hasn’t, and he’s never felt heartbreak, so this isn’t really relevant. Unless, of course, Wilbur means love for friends, in which sure, he has love for Niki and Techno and everything, but- but he thinks Wilbur means romantic, and Ranboo doesn’t know about that. He doesn’t think he does.
(Ranboo has yearned before. He has yearned for a lot of things-- experiences he could never have, memories he’s likely lost for the indefinite future, newer towns away from here. He can’t say he’s yearned for a person before, really. He- he has, but. Never like that. He feels as if he would know if he had.)
And so, with some hesitation, he answers, “... No. No, I can’t say I have.”
Wilbur accepts that answer, and the world moves again. Ranboo doesn’t. Tubbo’s still leaning on him, but he feels far away, too. “That’s a fair answer, Ranboo. It’s a hellish thing, I’d say. Fucking brilliant, but pretty shit too.”
“It- It seems that way,” Ranboo replies.
And suddenly, Tubbo’s moving beside him again, hand shoved in his back pocket. “Shit,” he says, “Left my phone in the car. Ranboo, gimme the keys-”
“Don’t trust him with your car, Ranboo,” Wilbur advises.
“Come with me, then,” Tubbo insists, and everything is moving so quickly, but Ranboo takes his hand and lets Tubbo pull him outside despite the fact that he could swear he heard Tubbo’s phone buzz just a few minutes ago.
His memory isn’t failing him this time, it turns out, because by the time they get to the car, Tubbo takes his phone out of his jacket pocket to show Ranboo before putting it in again.
Ranboo raises an eyebrow, about to ask why Tubbo would lie to Wilbur and Tommy, before Tubbo gives him a semi-serious expression. “You seemed like you were freaking out there a bit, boss man,” Tubbo says. “You okay?”
Oh. That’s… really considerate of him, actually.
It makes him feel a little worse, because he just stopped someone from supporting a person they’re close to because he himself was panicking at a generic question that he knew the answer to. How awful of a person does Ranboo have to be to cause that? God, Tubbo’s just- Tubbo’s just being considerate, and Ranboo appreciates that, appreciates him, appreciates the fact that he has him, but that’s too much and everything is still too much even from far away, and,
“I’m okay,” he lies. And it’s an obvious lie, and Tubbo can tell, based on the way his eyebrows furrow, but Ranboo shakes his head and tries again, saying, “I’m fine, really. It just… just took me off guard?”
Tubbo seems to accept the lie for what it is, and a fleeting thought of how do you deserve this passes through his head. “It’s one of those Wilbur questions,” Tubbo explains. “He, like. Wilbur sort of gets psychoanalyze-y of other people when he’s upset. Tries to find some kind of common ground and go off there, I think. I can’t really tell. Just try not to let it get to you too bad, yeah?”
It already has, Ranboo thinks, but he nods. “Okay. You’re- that makes sense, I think. Yeah. Thank you.”
“‘Course,” Tubbo says with a small smile. “I was getting a bit stressed there too, honestly. Tommy’s better at this all than I am, ‘cause he and Wil have some sort of boundary of when to back off the other and they both, like, get each other. I kind of get Wil, but I don’t, too, you know?” He leans back against the car with a sigh. “I’m not good at emotional stuff, I don’t think.”
“Really?” Ranboo can’t stop himself from saying. “I- I feel like you are. I mean you, uh. A bit ago when I, uh, kind of started crying when you gave me a paper crane? I feel like- like, you helped then, I think.”
“Shit, really?” Tubbo lets out a startled laugh. “I had no fucking clue what I was doing, dude. I was telling myself that I couldn’t fuck it up because I didn’t want to like, upset you, but I realized I had no idea what I was doing and I was like, shit.”
Ranboo smiles, slightly. “You did fine, I think.”
“Yeah?” There’s something in his voice that makes Ranboo feel warm. “I bet you’re good at that sort of stuff, too. You’re a gentle kind of person. Thoughtful, I’d say.”
He feels his face warm, just a little. “Really? Thank you, Tubbo, I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” Tubbo taps his fingers against Ranboo’s car, before heaving a sigh. “I don’t want to head back in. Maybe that’s shitty of me, but. I don’t- ugh. Yeah.”
“No, I- I think that’s okay,” Ranboo tries to reassure. “It’s, uh. It’s a bit stressful today. I think- I think you’re okay. And trying not to overwhelm yourself is- is good, so.”
Tubbo smiles again, poking Ranboo’s cheek. “See?” he says, a touch of gratefulness in his tone, “you’re good at that.”
Ranboo averts his eyes, looking at a stray yellow leaf in the parking lot. “I- I try.”
Tubbo nods, before straightening up. “We should head back, though. Wil needs us.”
“If you’re okay with that,” Ranboo says.
“Yeah.”
By the time they head back in, Wilbur looks even more exhausted. The music is turned off entirely, which leaves an unsettling air inside the convenience store, and the only sounds in there are the continued whirring of a fan, Wilbur tapping his fingers on the countertop, and Tommy’s voice.
“You should really go home, man,” Tommy insists quietly. “See Philza. It’ll make you a better man.”
Wilbur lets out a half-laugh, half-sob sound. “Philza wouldn’t be a little bitch over a breakup.”
“That’s the spirit!” Tommy cheers.
“Is it?” Ranboo stays near the door frame, beside Tubbo, who checks his phone with a small frown on his face. Part of the white lie, Ranboo hopes. Tubbo’s a very good actor.
“I think Dad’s mostly just repressed,” Wilbur admits. “Very emotional, caring guy. Also extremely repressed and distant. Love him for it. Hate him for it. Like father, like son.”
Tommy frowns. “Now’s not the time to wax poetic about you and Dad, Wil. We need to get some positivity into you. Some mindfulness, maybe.”
“Tommy, you’re really not qualified to talk about mindfulness,” Tubbo comments, finally sliding his phone in his back pocket.
“I see a therapist, you bitch. She tells me to do mindfulness a whole lot. And then I don’t do it. And then she says ‘Okay, Tommy, let’s take another approach.’”
Tubbo sighs. “That doesn’t really help you out here.”
“I did mindfulness once in a parking lot,” Ranboo says. He regrets it, because now Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur are all looking at him, and that’s been happening a lot today and it’s really not ideal, actually. His fault for getting involved in someone else’s business, he guesses. “I got too stressed, uh, trying to figure out how to do mindfulness to- to actually do it. And I was in a parking lot and it was, like, really cold. So. I kind of just went home and listened to music for a few hours, and that, uh, worked fine.”
Tommy barks out a laugh. “King shit.”
“Are you also a Lady Gaga enjoyer?” Wilbur asks. “There’s a right answer to this.”
Not really? “I think so.”
“I approve of him, Tubbo,” Wilbur concludes, hopping off of the counter and running a hand through his hair. Tubbo opens his mouth to reply, but eventually shuts it, and Wilbur grabs the pack of cigarettes off the floor and puts it in his pocket. “Alright. Let’s go home.”
“Not with the cigarettes,” Tommy argues.
Wilbur shoots Tubbo a knowing look, while Ranboo awkwardly switches his gaze to look at Tommy, who is looking at Wilbur, and Tubbo is glancing over at Ranboo between meeting Wilbur’s gaze, so it’s all a really convoluted process that happens in under a minute. After Wilbur and Tubbo wrap up their silent conversation and right before Tommy gets suspicious as to why Ranboo is staring at the back of his head, Wilbur huffs and puts the cigarette box back where he got it, near the register.
Tommy grins, grabbing Wilbur’s hand and tugging him out of the store. Ranboo follows, and a few seconds later, Tubbo trails behind him.
Despite the fact that Tommy doesn’t have the keys to Ranboo’s car, he’s very much trying to open up the passenger door by vigorously shaking the handle. Ranboo rushes forward before the alarm can set off to unlock it, which means that Tommy successfully propels himself into the passenger seat in a strange tangle of long limbs.
Wilbur, from outside, suggests, “Maybe we should go back in my car? So Ranboo can get home?”
“Oh shit.” Tommy, with a dramaticized groan, pushes himself up and gets out of the car, racing Wilbur to his own car and winning, tugging at the passenger door handle in the same fashion until Wilbur unlocks it, too.
Ranboo gets inside the car, checking in the back seats to make sure that nobody left anything in the car by accident (not that it’s a big deal, he could just take it to them at school, but then he’d probably forget and that would be bad).
Search concluded with the confirmation that his car is mostly empty, he’s about to put his foot to the pedal when he notices Tubbo still outside, standing right beside the driver’s side.
Ranboo rolls down his window, creating a brief moment where the two of them are looking at each other through slowly moving glass, before the window stops moving and Ranboo asks, “Do you need something?” at the same exact time Tubbo asks, “Can I ride home with you?”
There’s a second of silence. Outside the car, Ranboo can hear Tommy and Wilbur still bickering, before Wilbur shouts out, “C’mon, Tubbo! You can ride in the front, still! Take a leaf out of Cain’s book!”
“Actually,” Tubbo calls back, “Can I hang with Ranboo for a bit?”
“Sure,” Wilbur agrees, at the same time as Tommy yells, “No!” Unlike Tubbo and Ranboo’s situation, Wilbur immediately sighs and starts backing out of the parking space, leaving no silent tension there.
Once Wilbur’s driven away, Tubbo comes around to the other side of the car and gets in the front seat. Ranboo rolls his window up and starts the car, waiting for Tubbo to say something.
He doesn’t.
It’s only when Ranboo’s about to enter the main street again that he spares a glance at the other and notices Tubbo’s expression. He’s looking out the window, which means that Ranboo can’t see a lot of his face, but from what he can make out, he can see the thin line his lips are pressed into and the white-knuckle grip of his hands around the edge of his jacket. Every once in a while, he sniffs, but he’s definitely not crying, which eliminates one worry but leaves a couple questions with it.
Tubbo’s a good actor, Ranboo remembers. He knew that Tubbo had been stressed before, but had he been this stressed? And Ranboo hadn’t noticed it?
“Tubbo?” he asks, voice slightly hushed and nervous. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Tubbo answers, voice just as tired as Wilbur’s had been before. “Can we- can we just, like. Drive around for a bit? Sorry, I figure you’re busy, but-”
“No,” Ranboo reassures, “no, you’re okay, don’t worry about it. I don’t, uh- I didn’t have much to do, really, so, yeah. I’m- yeah, we can just- just drive and everything.”
Tubbo nods, still looking out the window distantly. “Cool.”
Ranboo gives a tentative thumbs up, mostly to himself since Tubbo isn’t looking, and starts to drive out into the main street. There are at least a few paths he can take, he thinks, to kill time.
As the silence in the car stretches longer and longer, he breaks again and asks, “Do you- do you want music, or- or do you just want to, uh. This?” Ranboo wishes he was good at much of anything when it came to comforting, really. He’s not sure Tubbo knew what he was talking about, earlier, to be honest. Ranboo has never been all that good at helping people.
Tubbo doesn’t seem to mind that much, though his shoulders are still tense, and he instead asks, “What’s the other music disc for?”
Ranboo raises an eyebrow, trying to remember what Tubbo is talking about, before it dawns on him. “Oh!” he says out loud, even though he probably should have internalized that. “That’s, uh. It’s another disc I have, it’s just, uh. The songs were a little- little sadder, so I didn’t want to play them for you when we were, like, first hanging out. Felt a little- a little much, you know.”
“Yeah. Do you- do you reckon you could play them now?”
Usually, Ranboo only listens to it when he’s really, really upset, since some of the songs can trigger… something in him, and it’s a little too much to handle when he’s not already feeling his worst. But, Tubbo’s upset right now, and Ranboo can probably handle it when he has company, so he doesn’t voice his concern and instead says, “It’s in the compartment. You can go ahead and put it in.”
“Thank you,” Tubbo breathes out, all in one breath. He quickly reaches forward to retrieve the disc, putting it into the disc player and waiting for the first song to start up.
The familiar piano chords already threaten the corners of Ranboo’s eyes, but somehow, the thought of crying feels equally as cathartic as it does scary. The tears don’t come down, either way, but he finds it’s not as intimidating as it tends to be.
He saves the thought for another time and keeps driving. He’s not sure where Tubbo wanted him to go, really, but he figures he should stay close enough to his house so that in the case that Tubbo wants to go back home, he can take him there. He resolves to get stuck in one of those main-road loops, where all the smaller streets converge into one big one, and go around it a couple hundred of times until Tubbo gets tired. It’s not the most challenging road to go on when he’s been there a thousand times, so.
Tubbo’s still quiet in the passenger seat, every once in a while checking his phone before going back out to stare at the window. Ranboo tries to convince himself that maybe Tubbo just needs space-- it’s not like Ranboo doesn’t understand that in theory, really. Even if Ranboo sometimes just- just wants someone to be there when he’s upset, he’s equally as terrified at letting anybody see what’s wrong with him, having to explain the memory issues and the visions and everything. Maybe, he reasons, this is Tubbo’s way of saying that.
Which, in that case, which it may not be, Ranboo would want to interfere. But he doesn’t know how to, so he’ll- he’ll stay quiet for a little longer. That has to be the best call, here.
As he hits a stop light and relaxes a little in the driver’s seat, contrastingly to how rigid Tubbo still is, he steals another glance at him and thinks about everything that just happened with Wilbur.
Ranboo doesn’t know Wilbur at all, really. Nor does he know anything about Quackity. That’s already been established, if it isn’t already immediately obvious to everyone in close vicinity with how Ranboo and Wilbur interacted back there. So… Ranboo can’t say he has much personal investment in their breakup, since all he’s really gathered is that Quackity and Wilbur both have self-image issues and Quackity dumped him without an explanation. All of which sucks, but… isn’t very much, regardless. And Ranboo’s sure he missed a lot of it, too.
He had also walked back into the conversation about Philza, also someone who Ranboo’s never met, but has even less of an understanding on. He seems complicated, with how Wilbur contradicted himself while describing someone as close to him as his father, and Ranboo doesn’t… really understand what’s happening there. Philza sounds less like a father and more like a mythical creature that doesn’t really exist.
He should ask Tubbo more about him, maybe, sometime. But, maybe it would be better to just meet Philza, instead. It’s not like that’s unlikely, considering that Tubbo’s family probably has a decent understanding of who he is, between his tutoring sessions with Techno and his friendship with Tubbo.
Speaking of. Wilbur had made that comment, hadn’t he? About approving of him, directed at Tubbo, before they left? It… leaves a strange taste in Ranboo’s mouth, though he’s not sure why. Maybe it was just all a little bizarre to him.
Especially since Wilbur asked him if he’s ever been in love. Him, specifically. And sure, he may have known about Tubbo and Tommy, since they’re related and all, but it still felt off. And he’s glad Tubbo let him catch a breath of air after, too, because while he had answered the question, the uncertainty he felt was a little jarring.
He hasn’t been in love, objectively. He knows that. But it’s one of those things, like some of his memories, sometimes, where he feels like he should be thinking of a specific event that he can’t ever remember. Sometimes, he never finds it out, or realizes he’s thinking about something else. Usually, though, there’s something there.
There’s no way Ranboo’s been in love in the past. That’s just unlikely; even if Ranboo’s some sort of hopeless romantic, kind of, and has thought abstractly about the idea of finding someone that he can just be himself around and absolutely adore and protect and have someone who makes him feel worth something and not like he’s some failure with a low survival rate-- even if all of that, it’s just. It’s just not likely it ever happened. He feels like he would remember something like that: finding someone who he genuinely believes would stay with him and care for him despite all his flaws and despite how awful he is. He feels like he would remember something as unlikely and rare as all of that.
Dream told him once that he can still get a job and get far in life even though he’s insane. And he knows that Dream usually is right about things like that, and he gave good examples that were all true, but still he… doubts that getting far in life and being happy are both things he can have. Or that he could have the second one at all.
Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, really. He doesn’t really need to be that happy. He would like it, because he’s- he’s a little sick of being miserable, but. His memory won’t heal, and he will never have enough money or time to see a therapist, and he will never be consistent about taking medicine, and that’s just how that is. As long as he’s able to do what he has to do, he doesn’t mind how he feels.
On that note, he should take some photos here, maybe. But Tubbo’s still in the passenger seat, and he doesn’t want to make the other sit through his photography, so he tries to shove down the now pressing urge to do that, and instead makes a U-turn to keep looping in circles.
It’s worth it for Tubbo, he tells himself, even if it feels wrong.
He wonders if Tubbo would be upset, if he explained the photography and everything, and why he needs to do it, and how important it is. On one hand, he would, because everyone would and he’s never told anyone but he can imagine it because why would anyone ever be okay with knowing they’re friends with someone as crazy as him?
On the other hand, it’s Tubbo. And, stupid as it may be, Ranboo trusts him.
He turns his head to do a visual check in on Tubbo again, only to see that he’s no longer facing the window. He’s sitting normally, now, aside from the fact that his shoulders are still tense, and he looks back at Ranboo in slight confusion when he looks at him.
“Oh, uh, hi,” Ranboo says.
“Hey,” Tubbo replies casually.
How does Ranboo approach this? He- hm. “Do you- Do you feel any better?”
Tubbo shrugs. “I’ve felt fine this whole time, boss man. Just needed a sec, you know?”
It’s been a little longer than a sec. More like ten minutes, Ranboo thinks. But- fair enough, he supposes.
“Are you sure?” he checks one last time. “I don’t- it’s okay if you- if you weren’t, that’s okay. It’s okay if you are, too, I just- yeah.”
He goes quiet, and Ranboo immediately realizes that he probably fucked it up, and he shouldn’t have pushed Tubbo like that, he really shouldn’t have. He wants to apologize, but he feels like that would be wrong, too, and he feels stupid and large and helpless and wrong in the driver’s seat, stuck at a notorious stoplight that stays red for a very long time wondering what he did wrong.
His spiral is cut short when Tubbo says, words sounding very carefully chosen, “Just a bit stressed, I’d say. From the Wilbur and Big Q thing, overall.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” The song switches and the light turns green, and Ranboo’s still holding his breath despite it.
“No,” Tubbo responds. Ranboo doesn’t reply, content to leave it be, but a few minutes later Tubbo shakes his head and says, “Yes. Maybe. I dunno.”
“I’ll listen,” Ranboo offers one last time, before he tells himself to stop pressing.
It seems to be enough for Tubbo, because he slumps down in the passenger seat and runs a hand through his hair, sighing and saying, “I dunno why I didn’t expect this from them.”
Ranboo stays quiet, even as his brain bustles with more questions. Have they done this before? Are things usually tense? Did they have a fight? Did you get caught in it? Is everything okay at home?
Dumb questions. Ranboo’s glad he’s trying to keep his lips shut, here. What the hell is wrong with him?
“Both of them are kinda- well, I dunno,” Tubbo immediately backtracks. “I don’t know how to describe ‘em. I guess it’s like, Quackity always seemed a bit, like, unwelcome in our house, not really because of Tommy or- or Tommy, but Wilbur and Phil fought about him a lot ‘cuz him and Techno don’t really get along.”
“Oh,” Ranboo says.
“Yeah, I mean.” He hesitates. “I think he’s fine. Big Q, that is. He’d soften around Wilbur and everything, and he was always nice to Tommy, and he initially was really polite around Phil and all. But, like, I dunno. He’d seem kind of soft with Wilbur, then it’s like he wasn’t there, and it was just Wilbur and some, like, I don’t know. Mannequin? I don’t really like the thought of Wilbur flirting with a mannequin, but, you get it.”
Ranboo nods. “I do, I think.”
Tubbo sighs. “You always get it.”
And it doesn’t sound much like a compliment, but not like an insult, either, and it’s probably going to be one of those things that eats away at Ranboo for the rest of the night.
“Sorry,” he says, before he drowns in it.
“No, you’re fine, I just-” Tubbo looks at Ranboo at the same time that Ranboo glances back at him, and his eyes immediately dart up to his eyebrows to avoid the brief glimpse of whatever he saw in Tubbo’s eyes. “I don’t really get you. But that's- that’s not a bad thing, I like that, actually. Just- I dunno. I don’t really get what I’m saying.”
“That’s okay.”
“Yeah.” And he’s back on track, again. And Ranboo moves on with him. “Wilbur’s really emotional. Like- sometimes he’s all weird and not upfront with anything ever and stuff, but usually he kind of cares a lot about everything and it’s really nice but also kind of fucks him over, I guess? Heart on his sleeve sort of person. I don’t really understand that.”
“You seem to keep your cards, uh, close to your chest,” Ranboo says. “Not in like a bad way, but-”
“Nah, you’re right,” Tubbo agrees. “And kind of in a bad way, too. It’s not good, being whatever way I am now. It’s the best way I could be, though,” and Ranboo doesn’t understand that at all . “Either way, it wasn’t going to work with them, I don’t think. Happens. Wilbur will pull through, and I reckon Big Q must be.” They are on their second U-turn, now, and Tubbo goes back to staring out his window. There’s another moment of silence, and Ranboo is content to let it simmer, but after a few minutes Tubbo mutters, half under his breath, “It just kind of sucks. Being sad.”
Ranboo… doesn’t know how to respond to that.
He- there’s a deeper meaning behind that. He knows that. It’s- it’s some insight about Tubbo, something he wants to know and remember because it involves Tubbo and Tubbo is important to him. But, there’s a lot of information here, a lot of important information, and Ranboo just wants to help but he doesn’t understand much of it at all.
He understands being sad, and he understands tension, sort of. He understands something bad happening to you and having to pull through it anyway. He understands sitting in a car and venting and playing music (albeit, he’s usually alone, then). The pieces need to connect, though, and Ranboo is terrified of overstepping on something that he can recognize is important to Tubbo, so he’s not sure what to say and how much of it he can say.
Quietly, he tests the waters by replying, a little late, “It… it does. I think it will- I think they’ll pull through, though, like you- like you said. And-” he’s saying too much. He’s saying too much. He’s saying too much, “-and I… I think you will. As well.” Too much, too much, too much-
Tubbo turns his head and makes eye contact with Ranboo. In the infinitesimally brief moment the two share before Ranboo continues driving and Tubbo’s eyes dart off to look across the dashboard of the car, Ranboo sees the afternoon sunset light up Tubbo’s eyes and the sadness laying in his face to be vulnerably transparent, and Ranboo hopes that his own expression can convey some sort of empathy, a silent I hear you.
With the way Tubbo’s lips quirk up, just a little, he thinks it may have worked.
“Thanks, boss man,” Tubbo says, eyes back to tracing various things in the car. “And thank you for driving me, I don’t- don’t bother remembering any of this shit, Ranboo, I’m just rambling, but I appreciate you listening. Just forget it, yeah? I think we’ll be fine.”
Don’t bother remembering any of this.
Tubbo doesn’t know, does he? He doesn’t know about the memory issues, because Ranboo would have never told him that, but he- but if Ranboo had told him that, it’s not exactly like he would remember, so- so maybe he knows. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t sound like he does. He can’t tell if this is some general statement or if it’s targeted, which he can never figure out about anything because he feels like it has to be targeted but it probably isn’t. Tubbo isn’t malicious enough for that, but Ranboo also doesn’t know that, either.
What’s wrong with you?
None of that matters, though. The car is going at a constant 50 miles per hour on a road that has less cars than Ranboo would expect, and sad music is still playing, and Tubbo is in the passenger seat and Tubbo is sad and Tubbo’s mind has to be going faster than Ranboo’s car because Ranboo’s heart is racing, too.
“I think,” Ranboo starts, “that, uh. That if it involves you, I’ll- it’s- well, like. I think that you’re- that you’re important enough to remember, and everything, so. I- but if you would- would rather me forget, that’s-”
“You think I’m important enough to remember?”
Ranboo couldn’t have told Tubbo about his memory loss, then. If he had, Tubbo would know that every entry in Ranboo’s notebook mentions him. Tubbo would know that aside from the one day at the start of their friendship, where Ranboo saw Tubbo and could not place a name to his face, Ranboo has done everything he could to remember everything about Tubbo. Even when there are things more important to remember, like the places he still needs to photograph for Dream and the deadline for turning in projects and the food items he needs to buy but kept postponing for weeks.
To Ranboo, Tubbo takes precedence.
Because Tubbo’s his friend. And Dream is his friend and Techno is his friend and Niki is his friend, but none of them are Tubbo. And that makes sense to him.
So, of course, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t you be?”
“I dunno,” Tubbo answers. “I think there’s more important things to remember than, like, whatever is happening with my brother and his ex and my take on all of it.”
“But it’s you,” Ranboo explains.
Tubbo turns to look at Ranboo. “... Huh?”
Ranboo meets his eyes, confused. “You’re my friend, Tubbo.”
“Oh.”
“... Did you not know that?”
Ranboo has spent the past month (he thinks?) with Tubbo afraid of this. Afraid that he was seeing something that wasn’t there, that because he was lonely and weird and stupid that he was getting attached to someone instantly, thinking they were his friend and everything, when that wasn’t reciprocated. Maybe all acquaintances do this-- Ranboo’s driven Niki around, before, and they aren’t really friends. But he’s never driven around Techno before, and they’re kind of friends, so he doesn’t know. Is this a friend thing to do? Was any of this a friend thing? Has Tubbo ever called him his friend before, or did he make that up? He has a bad habit of making things up, and he isn’t sure why Tubbo would want to be his friend, so it’s possible.
Maybe he’s wrong for writing down little facts about Tubbo in his memory book, maybe he’s wrong for hanging out with Tubbo and Tommy, maybe they talk bad about him behind his back and the worst part is he wouldn’t even care because it’s not like he would remember,
and maybe he’s catastrophizing.
Because Tubbo’s smile-- the one that Ranboo wrote about in the notebook, because it was important to him, contagious and nice and good-- crosses his face, and he quietly affirms, “We’re friends.”
“I don’t drive strangers around in my car, exactly,” Ranboo jokes, and Tubbo laughs. The laughter makes up for the fact that Ranboo isn’t sure if that’s a true statement.
“Seriously, thank you for all of this,” Tubbo says for the thousandth time. “You’re a really good listener, you know? And a good person. Like, just- just a good one, you know?”
This road seems to go on forever, but that might be due to him having looped it several times. He wonders if Tubbo would mind him taking an exit to catch a photo, but he thinks the other would ask questions, and his camera is at home, and his morality is there too so he doesn’t really understand Tubbo’s point and isn’t about to bring up a question like what he had just considered.
“Thank you, Tubbo,” he says instead.
“Yeah.” Tubbo hesitates before reaching forward and stopping the disc player, pulling out the CD and carefully storing it away. The silence in the car feels almost deafening, but despite the anxiety still rampant in Ranboo’s mind, he has enough trust in the fact that the silence will stop soon enough.
And sure enough, Tubbo pulls out the other CD, instead, and puts it in, claiming, “I think it’s bop time now. No more sad shit, it’s driving with Ranboo hours.” He’s grinning, again, and Ranboo doesn’t know what to make of that but he’s going to take it as he’s grinning so it must be okay enough right now.
He doesn’t think it’s all around okay. But maybe it is. He still doesn’t know Tubbo well enough for that. But it’s okay enough, and Ranboo can work with that.
He feels okay enough, too.
“Do you still want me to keep doing loops here?” Ranboo asks. “Because, uh, I don’t know about you, but I’m a little worried that some of these cars are going to get a little confused why I’m just- just going between two main streets over and over again.”
“Mans got places to be,” Tubbo justifies, which Ranboo doesn’t think would really hold up well. “But, yeah, we can go somewhere else. Just, not home yet. Haven’t met my quota of Ranboo time.”
Ranboo raises his eyebrow. “We’ve been hanging out all afternoon, though?”
Tubbo looks unimpressed. “Did I stutter?” He leans back in his seat, huffing out a dramaticized sigh. “I’m clingy. We know this.”
“I don’t think you’re clingy.” Ranboo puts on his turn signal and heads off an exit, praying that this sort of takes him somewhere close enough to their houses that it doesn’t take hours to get back. “I think you’re just nice.”
“That’s you,” Tubbo claims.
Ranboo proposes the compromise, “We’re both nice, then.”
“I meant what I said earlier.” Tubbo lets out a yawn, which is a good sign if it means he’s relaxing, but also Ranboo isn’t a thousand percent sure that his friend falling asleep right now would be a good idea in this context. “You’re one of those good people. Y’know, how Wilbur was talking about like- like, we were both bad, and everything.” Ranboo had been thinking about that, actually, but he wasn’t going to bring it up. Tubbo seems fine to talk about it, though, oddly enough. “I think that you’re, like, good. Just inherently.”
“Well,” Ranboo carefully counters, “I think that everyone is inherently good. I don’t think there are any, like, just entirely bad people?” Not even himself. Which is a high compliment for someone that is barely a person. “So… I don’t know about that, exactly.”
“Hm.” Tubbo lets the light-hearted song roll over them for the duration of a chorus, before replying, “Fairs.”
Ranboo hesitates, more than he already has, increasingly feeling like he’s walking on a tightrope, afraid of the fall but content returning to it over and over again. His voice is the quietest it’s been all day as he asks, “Do you think you’re a bad person, Tubbo?”
It takes Tubbo a long time to reply. His mouth opens with what seems like a reply, before he shuts it again. He gives Ranboo a long look between failed words, even, before he eventually settles on, “I don’t know, boss man. I hope not.”
“I don’t think you are,” Ranboo says.
“Hm,” Tubbo repeats.
He reaches over to turn the music up before leaning back again, the sunset turning to darkness that pools inside Ranboo’s car. It feels suffocating in the warmest of ways. A personification of autumn, crafted by two teenagers in a car talking about two other people’s breakup and morality. With a lot of mutual spiraling, evidently. But warm, too, in the way that smiles are, and laughs at bad jokes are, and switching CDs are, and caring for another person who cares for you when neither party can understand it, and being presumptuous and clingy and stepping on the tightrope. The warmth of knowing you’ll forget something a little bittersweet, but at the very least remember the name of the person who you find it okay to spend those bittersweet moments with.
Leaves fall. Ranboo is overly attached, again. And Ranboo doesn’t understand at all.
The songs play louder with their nostalgic, bright tune, and the two let it play out in otherwise comfortable silence. Even their loud thoughts fall a little quieter. The car feels like the safest place in the world to have a life-changing realization, right now, and that may be true-- but have you ever been in love and do you think you’re a good person can wait for a day when there isn’t a boy in the passenger seat at the centre of an answer.