Chapter Text
“... So, you’re taking us to a bakery?” Tommy asks, raising his eyebrow at Tubbo.
“Yup!” Tubbo walks a few steps ahead of Tommy and Jack, already feeling a bit excited. “I know a guy who works there now.”
“Pog,” Jack says.
The way Tommy’s eyes narrow can be heard in his inflection alone, “Who?”
“Ranboo,” Tubbo replies.
“The guy we met a few days ago because he came into Wil’s place asking for drugs?” Tubbo opens his mouth to correct Tommy, before shaking his head. “Guy with white and black hair? That’s the one?” Tommy sounds in disbelief, and Jack laughs loudly beside him. “His hair is actually fuckin’ black and white, Jack, it looks horrid.”
“I think I’ve seen him around, actually. Is he the lanky guy?”
“ YES, oh my fuckin’ God, he’s taller than Wilbur! That’s the fucker.”
Tubbo’s sigh isn’t silent, but it wouldn’t be heard over the noises of the other two anyway.
And it shouldn’t be, really. Tubbo should be fine with Tommy and Jack shit-talking Ranboo-- he knows those two, have known them for years, and knows that they only pick on people in a light-hearted sense. They’re not bullies, no matter how angry Tommy gets or how willing Jack is to go along with it. So, it shouldn’t bother Tubbo. Especially since he just met Ranboo, and has zero attachment to him beyond sitting beside him in English and making a few conversations there.
But Tubbo is curious, is the thing. Curious about who Ranboo is, curious as to how he’s never seen him before, curious to try and make a friend with someone before Tommy does it for him. And, well. That’s something.
But it’s not a big deal, is it? Worst case scenario, he forgets about the other entirely, and he and Tommy and Jack go and hang out in other places.
Best case scenario, they go into the bakery, and Tubbo gets a laugh out of the other, and they manage a bit longer of a conversation, and he gets… something from it. Be it friendship, or just information. Ideally the former, but he’s lived long enough to not be disappointed in the latter.
So, hearing Jack and Tommy talk bad about him pisses him off a little, yeah. But he’s not going to call it out. He doesn’t like calling out the shit Tommy says unless it’s light-hearted banter, or unless they’re already arguing, because starting fights with people gets more dangerous as you get older, and Tubbo isn’t going to stake everything on this new guy. Which settles it, really.
He stays quiet even once the conversation shifts away and Jack becomes the subject, now, and he stays quiet until Tommy says, “Oi, Tubbo, what’s up, man?”
“Just got lost in thought,” he says, which isn’t entirely a lie but is his answer often enough to sound like it.
Tommy still buys it, though. At least in front of Jack Manifold. “Well, get out of your thoughts.”
“Nah, leave the boy be, Tommy!” Jack argues, and Tubbo infers that he placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder judging by the agitated noises of disgust the other plays up to let out. “Oh, fuck off!”
“Tubbo, the bald prick touched me!”
“Eh, break his wrist,” Tubbo carelessly suggests.
“Well, okay!”
“Wait- TOMMY!”
And suddenly, the two push past Tubbo and are racing ahead of him, Jack running away from Tommy as the other stumbles on his untied tennis shoes and tries to, presumably, break Jack’s wrist.
Tubbo allows himself a small smile. He cares about those two assholes, and meeting them was one of the best things to happen to him, to date. He wouldn’t mind if the rest of his life ended up something like this-- Tommy threatening violence, Jack screaming across the pavement, and Tubbo getting free-ish entertainment.
It’s just. Sometimes, he gets a feeling in his chest. Something that sinks to the bottom of his stomach, on the worst days, and makes him nearly be sick into a bin. Something that can’t form a single coherent thought, but it drives Tubbo away regardless, locking his bedroom doors and going for walks alone around the same streets Tommy taught him, six years ago, when they first met.
Back then, Tubbo hadn’t known a single thing, and knew everything he had to. He was really good at walking quietly but not good at talking loudly. He could make a meal out of just about anything but he could only order pizza on the phone and nothing else. He knew how to get to a hospital on foot but couldn’t locate a single cafe.
And then, there was Tommy. Tommy, with all the backends to places Tubbo didn’t think existed but always wanted to see. Tommy, with his bright stories and loud laugh and way of making Tubbo feel like he could belong somewhere quietly without having to shrink. Tommy, with his warm left hand taking Tubbo to the first building that’s ever earned the place home, maybe the only one in the entire world.
And then, there was Tubbo, running back to that same home all those years later with no explanations and a single question.
Tubbo owes Tommy more than the other knows. And, from what Tubbo’s heard, Tommy has needed a Tubbo ever since he was born. The two of them are inseparable, and to Tubbo, there’s no place in the world that matters if Tommy isn’t in it.
At least, he used to think that.
Now, he’s not so sure.
But that makes the feeling worse, and Jack is nearly out of view, and the bakery is the next right turn that the two of them are going to miss if they keep heading in that direction.
So, Tubbo shoves down the feeling in his chest and blames the feeling in his abdomen on hunger, and he races down to catch up with the two of them.
--
When they get to the bakery, Ranboo’s presence is not remotely hidden.
Which makes sense, seeing as he works the front desk and is the one taking their payment and handing out pastries. It’s just surprising, because Tubbo is used to seeing the other disappearing into his clothing and always taking classroom chairs in the corner, not with sunlight hitting his face and a lavender work uniform donned in a place that has a warm sugary scent.
“Hi, what can I get you?” Ranboo asks, voice as quiet as ever but at least a little more stable, which Tubbo figures is practice. That same practice clearly doesn’t extend to the people asking for pastries, though, and he catches the exact moment Ranboo’s eyes flicker in surprise.
“Hey, Ranboo!” Tubbo greets and mentally crosses his fingers, hoping he’s not overbearing, even though he’s far surpassed that point. “How’s it going?”
Ranboo opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again. Before he can say anything, though, Tommy chips in with, “Can you get me a slice of apple pie?”
“It is three in the afternoon,” Jack criticizes.
“Fuck off, bitchboy.”
“Uh.” Ranboo’s gaze goes between Jack and Tommy, then strays to Tubbo, before he nods. “Yeah, of course. Uh, did anyone else want anything?”
“I will take a banana muffin, if you’ve got those.” Tubbo requests.
Ranboo nods. “Mhm, mhm.”
“I’ll just steal from Tommy, don’t worry about me,” Jack reports, earning an immediate hit on the arm from the other boy. He laughs loudly, then yelps as Tommy starts scuffling with him. From the desk, Ranboo mumbles something about horseplay, and Tubbo can’t help but take Jack Manifold’s pain as a viable conversation starter. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Those two are just like that,” he explains, and once Ranboo gives him a hesitant nod and starts getting the slice of pie cut, Tubbo continues, “How’s your shift going?”
“It’s been okay. A little, uh, a little busy, but- that’s Saturdays for you, haha.” There’s a stressed undertone in his voice, but his hands are steady as he places the slice into a bag neatly. Professionalism is a work of art. “You? Or, uh, not your shift, sorry, that was stupid. I just meant your, uh, day?”
Tubbo stifles a giggle and gestures at the two people still going at it behind him. “Been stuck with these two for the whole afternoon,” he explains in a deadpan, for humor’s sake. “This is the second time Tommy has tried to physically injure the other.”
“Oh.” Ranboo grabs a muffin, a little bit of apprehension in his eye. “Well, that’s not good.”
“Nah. Happens often.”
“... Right.”
There’s a lull in conversation, punctuated by Tommy yelling, “ SHIT ,” loudly behind them and the two of them exiting the bakery. Ranboo and Tubbo stare at them as they leave, then stare at each other.
Then, Ranboo hands Tubbo the items, and Tubbo punches in the credit information needed, and Tubbo finds that he doesn’t quite want to leave the bakery yet. He’s not leaving without more conversation with Ranboo, he decides.
Mentally, he grasps at straws before getting the first (second? third?) icebreaker he can find, “Niki runs this bakery, doesn’t she?”
Ranboo shakes his head. “Kind of? She, uh, runs most of it, but she’s not officially the manager, yet. She’s going to be, though. I think.”
“Do you work here because of her?”
There’s a pause, before Ranboo hesitantly replies, “... Yes.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.” He seems more confident this time, at least.
“Hm.” Another silence. “Tommy’s brother knows her. Wilbur.”
“Yeah, he’s, uh, been around a few times. We never talked, and I don’t think he knew I was there, but I, uh, saw him.” Ranboo nods along as he speaks, then freezes. “Oh, that sounds really creepy, actually. I just meant I was, like- I was there, but he didn’t-”
“Nah, I get it, don’t worry. Wasn’t creepy ‘til you pointed it out.”
“... Yeah, okay, yeah.”
Another silence. Tubbo considers just giving up, going to join the other two outside (where the hell did they go, on that note), but then Ranboo starts the conversation, next, with a question delivered in a tone that makes it sound like he was swallowing it just as he asked it, “Are you Wilbur’s brother?”
Ah. That question. See, Tubbo could explain the long and short of it, or he could take the route that makes him sound enigmatic. Or maybe just vague for no real purpose. But those two can be mistaken for each other pretty easily, he realizes. “Kind of.”
“Kind of.” Ranboo repeats.
“Kind of, yeah.”
Ranboo seems to carefully process that for a second or two. “... Okay. I mean. Okay, yeah. That’s, uh, fair. I’m… kind of Niki’s brother, so.”
“You’re her brother?”
“Kind of.”
“Oh.” Tubbo blinks. “Kind of.”
“Kind of, yeah,” Ranboo echoes, and then, even stranger, smiles with it. He has a nice smile. It’s not the first time Tubbo’s seen it, but it’s the first time it felt all-that genuine.
Tubbo smiles back.
He’s a thousand times more curious about a thousand more things, but he hears the door push open and the tell-tale footsteps of Tommy rushing in. Voice breathless, he asks, “Where the fuck are- what are you doing, Tubbo? Jack Manifold nearly killed me, and you’re just-”
“I’m purchasing the thing you just bought, Tommy.” He sounds a bit like a tired parent, which would be interesting if it didn’t happen so often. “Where’s Jack?”
“Outside. We found a place to sit, c’mon!” He grabs Tubbo’s wrist and starts pulling, waving with his other hand at Ranboo. “Bye, Rainbow! Thank you!”
“It’s Ranboo,” he corrects quietly.
Tubbo shoots him another smile before he’s pulled out of the bakery, yanking his arm away from Tommy’s wrist and scowling at him. “I nearly dropped all our shit, Tommy, be careful. ”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” Tommy waves off. “Now, come with us! There’s this grassy place, Jack said he saw a bee, so you’ll like it.”
“Holy shit, a bee. I’ve never seen one of those in my life!” Tubbo fake-gasps, and Tommy gives him a glare. His sarcasm is justified, though. You go on a three hour long tangent about a topic once, and suddenly it’s your whole brand. “Lead the way, boss man.”
“I will be the best leader of ways,” Tommy states boldly, and immediately trips on his shoelace and falls face first into the dirt. Jack laughs maniacally in the distance, which serves as a helpful oh, that’s where Jack Manifold went! and not a cry of concern for his lungs.
Tommy grumbles in the dirt, then throws one of his arms straight up in the air.
When Tubbo helps him up, he makes sure to reach with his left hand.
--
When Tommy and Tubbo step back into their house, change jiggling in Tubbo’s pockets and a key in Tommy’s hand, they find that the living room is empty but that there’s faint talking in the kitchen.
“I don’t want him in the house,” is the first thing Tubbo can make out, coming from the distinct voice of Phil. It’s enough for him to piece together the other person in the conversation, and in a few more seconds, the subject comes to him. “I’m sure he’s a fine person, Wil, but I just don’t want that here.”
“Tommy likes Quackity fine,” Wilbur retorts, “and I haven’t seen Tubbo having a problem with him yet. It’s just Techno, who isn’t even going to be here-”
“I don’t want him in the house, Wil.”
“Well, where else am I meant to go? You don’t like it when I’m out of the house too much-”
“Where did you get that idea?” There’s a heavy pause. “I don’t want you smoking, Wil, there’s a difference . I just- I worry, you know that. And I don’t think Quackity’s a good influence on you.”
“Yeah,” Wilbur agrees, sounding a little out of breath, “But I’m a good influence on him. I know it.”
“You’re a good kid, Wil, but Quackity’s- I don’t know about him, alright?”
“What happened with him and Techno-”
“-was Techno’s fault equally, yes, but I just don’t want-”
“-I’m not going to let him cause trouble, you know that-”
“-Wilbur, I do not want- ”
“ What the hell am I meant to do, then? ” Wilbur suddenly shouts, and Tommy flinches beside Tubbo. Their hands find each others. “Niki isn’t free enough, and- and Fundy is wherever he is, and I don’t- who am I meant to spend time with? What am I meant to do? Why am I even in this fucking- this fucking place, if I don’t- if I can’t-”
“Let’s go upstairs,” Tommy murmurs to Tubbo, and Tubbo wordlessly sets the extra change on a coffee table and leads his best friend up to his room, where the noise is the most stifled, and the outdoors is right there to access.
Family arguments under Phil’s roof used to barely happen. Given, with three-- and now four, but it had been three, back when things were at its best-- it was bound to pop up every once in a while. But Techno didn’t like to hold grudges when it came to the people he cared about, and Wilbur loved his brothers enough that hurting them was unbearable, and Tommy breaks when pressure is too strong.
When Tubbo came into the house permanently, though, the arguments started happening more. Wilbur had been off to college for a good part of it, which Tubbo had seen in the few years where he was having sleepovers under the guise of being Tommy’s best friend and listening to the other rant about how much he missed his cool older brother.
When he was nineteen, though, and Tubbo was fourteen, Wilbur came back. And then he left again, to do something off in Europe for an entire year, before he officially moved back into the house. Tommy had been euphoric, Tubbo remembers, and he had probably felt similar. But Techno and Phil had always been tense about it.
And then, the family arguments happened. That’s when it all really started.
Mostly between Phil and Wilbur, really, about him dropping out of college or his smoking habits or his ‘boyfriend’, but sometimes, the rest of them get involved. Except Tubbo, who watches from the sides. Who shares nods across the room with Techno when the two have found themself in the kitchen at three AM, who checks in on Wilbur after the other storms out of the house and wanders back in smelling like smoke, who holds Tommy’s hand and takes him up to his room like he’s doing now to calm the other down.
Tubbo’s heard worse fights, if he’s being honest. But, he’s never told the other’s that. And he’s not entirely sure it matters. It hurts worse here, almost.
Maybe it’s because, despite Wilbur’s behaviors leading up to the explosions that hit the kitchen every once in a while, Tubbo’s still convinced his presence in the family worsened it all.
But, there’s nothing he can do. Nothing, except take Tommy up to his bedroom and allow the other to play pop songs way too loud, and try to work on his homework while Tommy whispers, every once in a while, about what they overheard.
“They were talking about Big Q, weren’t they?” Tommy rhetorically asks, and Tubbo can only fit in a hum before the other continues. “What’s wrong with Big Q? I don’t get it.”
“Techno doesn’t like him, I guess.”
“But that’s not it, is it?” Tommy’s voice gets more hushed, like he’s trying to talk it out with himself. “I don’t get it.”
Tubbo supposes Tommy wouldn’t, which isn’t a bad thing. Some things Tommy catches onto really quickly. But others are a bit easier to miss.
Wilbur has been seeing Quackity on and off for a while, Tubbo knows. He can’t pinpoint the exact length of time, seeing as the two of them kept it secret for a while, Wilbur afraid that his family wouldn’t approve of him dating a guy who had some feud with Techno from before Tubbo’s time in the household, and Quackity afraid of… something. It had been the first time Tommy met Quackity, and the two of them hit it off right away, while Phil had a more convoluted first impression.
But that’s not all there is to it, really.
The thing is, Tubbo knows Quackity.
In fact, Tubbo has known Quackity longer than Wilbur has. And the first day Quackity came into that household and their eyes met, Tubbo pulled him aside and begged him not to tell anyone how the two of them knew each other. And Quackity, with understanding in his one eye, agreed in a heartbeat.
And so, the two of them kept their distance in the presence of family, and to the rest of them, it looked like the two had neutral impressions on each other, and went their separate ways.
It’s a lie that should hurt to keep.
But when Tommy asks his questions, Tubbo holds back everything he knows about Big Q, and his tendencies, and how the best parts of him fade into his worst, and instead says, “I don’t know, big guy. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.”
Tommy huffs, but Tubbo knows it’s not anger directed at him. He’s angry at the abstract concept of things being tense, because Tommy hates the feeling of something wholly good being tainted with bad more than even Tubbo, and that’s why Tommy goes to a therapist once every week. In the meantime, Tubbo lets his frustration fly out and tries not to take it personally, turning over to the second page of his chemistry homework and allowing the other to fume.
By the time dinner comes, Wilbur is the one who knocks on his door before slowly opening it. There’s no indication that he’s been crying, which is either good or awful, and his voice is affectionate albeit tired when he says, “Dinner’s downstairs.”
Tommy gets up and brushes past his brother (anger, again). Tubbo stands up, too, but first asks Wilbur, “Are you alright?”
“I’m alright, Tubbo,” he responds, which is Wilbur speak for I’m not okay but we’re not going to press on it. “Head down and grab some dinner, yeah? I want to hear about what you and Jack got up to.”
Tubbo considers mentioning that he saw Ranboo again, today. But, the mood doesn’t feel quite right, somehow. So, he just nods, and he makes sure his shoulder doesn’t bump Wilbur’s when he walks past him, but their hands hit each other anyway.
When he looks over his shoulder at the other, he sees Wilbur pressing his palms to his eyes.
He keeps walking.
--
Tubbo really loves Tommy.
Of course he does. He’s here, isn’t he? Sitting on the rooftop of the house that Tommy lives in, and welcomed him into. And if Tommy told him to come down, he would, faster than if anybody else said it. Even if it was just for a bit. Even then, he’d come down.
But Tubbo sometimes wishes he could be Tommy instead of love him, instead.
Sure, he has the superior haircut compared to whatever Tommy is attempting to pull off, and the same with fashion sense. The two do about equal in academics when you average it, but Tommy’s more likely to score a few Ds, and he’s a lot more polarizing of a person compared to Tubbo.
All the same, sometimes Tubbo wonders what it would be like. How it’d feel to step into the other’s skin, be able to laugh loudly and be charismatic and ask girls out on dates and befriend good people and piss off bad ones. He knows Tommy struggles, but part of him wonders what it would feel like to not have that written all over his face, scribbled in the vacancies of a confusing past. He wonders, all the same, what it would be like to have it open and bare, like how most people know of Tommy’s anger issues, and draw some connections with how well Tommy can coach people through breathing techniques.
Tubbo craves to be known, and craves to not be. Craves to walk through hallways and say hi to people without receiving weird looks or starting a million conversations and successfully ending ten. Tubbo craves to have his heart set on things that make sense, like family and higher education and relationships, instead of collecting tiny objects under floorboards and befriending the strangest of people.
Which takes him back to Ranboo. Again. Who is one in a million in a world where there’s eight thousand of those. Tubbo’s set on knowing him, period. Tubbo’s set on cornering him after class, and inviting him to hang out, and dragging Tommy into it- no, he isn’t, actually, on that part.
Tubbo wants something to be his own. Not a hand-me-down, or an attic space, or a list of mutual friends, or a shared sky of stars. But he can’t expect anything to be his own, can he, when he already has all his personal secrets and just about forces himself into everything else other people have?
He doesn’t deserve to try, sometimes, he thinks. Trying has led him nowhere when luck has taken him everywhere. But yet, he keeps trying. Like some idiot.
So, he’ll talk to Ranboo on Monday. And he’ll probably see Wilbur and Quackity hanging out in the living room, together. And he’ll act like he doesn’t know the things that he does, and that he’s telling the truth more than he’s telling white lies, and that he isn’t the single-handed cause for things falling apart. Because he isn’t. Kind of.
Now, though, his stomach hurts. And the sky is bright. Tubbo starts counting each and every star.
When he hits the tenth, he gives up, and he slides back through the window to go to bed.
He wakes up three hours after he was meant to, and starts off his morning with another lie.