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It was so incredibly hot in Ranboo’s basement. It was almost as if he lived inside the sun and not some suburban middle-class unfinished basement. The little windows by the ceiling did nothing to ease the stifling heat, if not making it worse. The poster lined walls were sticky with humidity, the air thicker than Tubbo’s accent. It was a terrible space, but Ranboo refused to change it.
And despite all of that, there they sat.
On Ranboo’s messy bed, in that disgustingly warm room. Tubbo was sweating even more than his best friend, adjusting his shirt collar as Ranboo spoke excitedly about the new record he had bought.
“It’s vintage, Tubbo!” He insisted, carefully placing the vinyl on his bed, the black covers contrasting the vivid artwork. The smaller one laughed.
“Its barely ten years old, what do you mean vintage, big man?” He teased, to Ranboo’s annoyance. “I’m surprised it hasn’t melted yet, your room is hot as fuck.”
“You know me, I like it warm,” He replied defensively. “It’s not even that hot, you’re being dramatic.”
“I am not,” Tubbo groaned. “Nothing is hotter than this basement, I swear. Invest in an air conditioner.”
“I’m not changing my comfortable room to fit your standards, Tubbo,” Ranboo shot back, wrapping himself in a blanket.
“Are you a lizard, goddamn,” He snickered, tugging at the fabric that Ranboo had pulled around himself tightly. “It’s unhealthy to live in a sauna, you know.”
The argument continued like that, for much longer than necessary. Tubbo insisted that Ranboo’s room was disgusting and Ranboo defended his right to live in a hotbox at all times. It wasn’t a new conversation by any means. Tubbo had complained about the basement since he’d first stayed over, half a decade ago.
Not much had changed since the boys were twelve. Five years later, Tubbo was still a neat freak and Ranboo a whirlwind of grime. A match made in heaven, they had joked. But it was unfortunately true. Ranboo’s room alone was littered with discarded food wrappers, paper, and various pencils and charcoal. If Tubbo hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the charcoal stains on the walls were a product of demons trying to escape.
“I really wish you’d clean those,” Tubbo commented, gesturing at the grey handprints.
“They give the walls character, don’t be like that,” Ranboo replied, smiling at a patch of prints. He had a tradition with those handprints. Every time he or someone he loved did something that he wanted to remember, he would coat his hand in his drawing charcoal and press it against his wall. He wouldn’t write anything beside it, but when he looked at them, he knew what each meant.
“Why couldn’t you have printed them on a book or something?” Tubbo asked, shuffling across Ranboo’s bed to touch one, brushing his fingers over the long settled coal dust. Ranboo sat beside him, touching the same one. “When we leave, you can't take them with you.”
“I know,” He said, briefly brushing against Tubbo’s hand. “I hate it here as much as you, you know that. I just…” He trailed off, stopping his movements before turning over and laying down, staring at the ceiling. Tubbo stayed where he was, thinking.
The pair had met on the first day of middle school, planning their escape from this town they hated on the second. It wasn’t the people, or their friends, or their parents that made it insufferable. But only the feeling of incompleteness. That feeling that only comes from living in the same town, the same house for your entire life. From that very first day, they knew that they were in it together forever.
Sealed with a slightly sticky pinky promise, and an awkward hug, the two sixth graders came up with a plan to leave. It developed more each year, until this one. Senior year hit, and suddenly their plan was tangible. The date of graduation could be seen on a calendar in the grocery store, and they were nearly of age. Seventeen years old, and they were ready to leave their lives behind.
Their plan, wreathed in ribbons of marker and pen, and later charcoal, was suddenly simple. There was no need for long lists, for maps of escape routes, or fake IDs. Suddenly, the plan was as simple as some saved cash and an auctioned van. Running away from your hometown when you turn eighteen was far easier than those midwestern emo bands said. And with the uncaring nature of their parents, it was even easier.
“What’s this one?” Tubbo asked, still examining the print above Ranboo’s bed frame. It seemed newer than the rest, the dust still settling.
“That’s prom,” Ranboo mumbled, eyes closed and head laid on his pillow. “You seemed to really have fun, and you smiled a lot that night.”
“Cute,” Tubbo said, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. It often caught him off guard how blunt Ranboo could be, and if they hadn’t been friends for so long, Tubbo might have said something different. But then again, he couldn’t see himself with Ranboo as anything other than the best of friends.
“You are, that is correct,” Ranboo muttered, cracking open an eye to see Tubbo splutter, going entirely red. He burst into laughter, much to Tubbo’s disdain.
“And you are insufferable,” He declared, shoving his best friend away and lying next to him, glaring.
“It was funny, c’mon,” Ranboo teased, earning only a more prominent scowl from Tubbo. “Fine, what can I do to make it up to you?”
“Braids,” He replied immediately, dropping the sour act and adopting a smirk as Ranboo groaned, grabbing his split-dyed hair with both hands as if to protect it from Tubbo.
“You always pull too hard, no way in hell,” He refused. “I’m forever glad you aren’t pursuing a career in hairdressing.”
“I dyed your hair just fine, and you’re just sensitive,” Tubbo scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t pull too hard at all. Besides, I can’t stand how much you abuse it.”
“Fine, but on one condition,” Ranboo said, sitting up and relinquishing his grip on his hair. “We play two truths and a lie while you braid, it will be funny.” Tubbo rolled his eyes at the condition, painfully aware that Ranboo had chosen a game that was usually played by giggling girls at a middle school party to talk shit about other kids. But if that’s what it took to let him fix the disaster that was Ranboo’s hair, then so be it.
“Sure, just don’t be weird,” Tubbo warned, opening and closing his hands to beckon his friend over. Ranboo took out a record and set it gently on to his player, letting the tone arm fall and the music play. “What’s this one?” He asked, having not heard the song that Ranboo was playing.
“It’s called striptease by carwash,” The black and white haired boy answered shortly, sitting himself down right in front of Tubbo, his face uncomfortably close. “Go ahead.” Tubbo needed no more prompting, taking a chunk of Ranboo’s hair and sectioning it into three pieces.
“You’ll go first, I want to concentrate,” He muttered, tongue poking out as he crossed each strand over itself.
“Alright,” Ranboo mused, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought. “I’ve been bitten by a snake, I’m incredibly straight, and I once stole a bike.” Tubbo laughed, accidentally letting go of the half-finished braid.
“You’re-,” He cut himself off, shaking his head and grinning. “I’m guessing the straight part was the lie?”
“You bet,” Ranboo said, his grin wide. “Biggest lie of my life.”
“You’d think the aromantic wouldn’t be gay, but here we are,” Tubbo joked, restarting the braid that just wouldn’t stay together.
“Just because I don’t care to date doesn’t mean I can’t find men attractive, Tubbo,” Ranboo snickered, jerking his thumb at the various band posters on his wall, all of which had suspiciously attractive boys plastered across them. “Besides, you get it, don’t you?”
“Awfully subtle way to call me gay, Boo,” Tubbo said, though he was right.
“We’ve got a lot in common, and that includes our rampant love for men and women.”
“You’re unhinged today.”
“I’m unhinged every day.”
“Shut up, it’s my turn now,” Tubbo responded, tying off one of the braids and moving to the white side of his hair. “I have three sisters, I can ballroom dance, and I once owned a motorized scooter.”
“You don’t have three sisters, do you?” Ranboo said, and Tubbo laughed, shaking his head. “No, don’t tell me yet! I refuse to believe you can ballroom dance, that has to be the lie.”
“You’ve met both of my sisters, how would you get that wrong?” He said.
“You mean to tell me that you of all people know how to dance?” Ranboo replied incredulously, as Tubbo laughed. His friend’s complete and utter lack of awareness of anyone but himself was downright comical. He was by no means self-centred, but sometimes the only things that Ranboo perceived were right under his nose.
“I took dance classes for like five years, where were you?” Tubbo teased.
“Show me,” Ranboo suddenly insisted, batting away his hands and standing up from his bed in a smooth motion, holding out a hand for Tubbo to take.
“You’re kidding,” Tubbo replied, nonetheless taking his friend’s hand and naturally standing in position. “There isn’t even any proper music on.” He gestured to the record player, having that same song on repeat. It was hardly slow dancing music, the lofi beat unsuitable for soft movement.
“I’ll put on something else then,” Ranboo said, stepping away to rifle through his records, suddenly seizing one and taking it out of its folder swiftly. It was a plain cover, no marking so Tubbo didn’t know what the record was. He swapped the carwash record for the unmarked one, letting the tone arm fall once again. There was an unpleasant scratching sound for a split second before the song began, soft acoustic guitar filling the room. “It’s called Astronomy, now show me,” He said before Tubbo could ask, bounding over and taking his hand.
“It’s been a while-,” Tubbo began, Ranboo ignoring his words and spinning them around, his free hand on his friend’s side. He yelped in surprise, avoiding Ranboo’s toes and moving with him. The movement was slow, stepping in time with the beat, back and forth. The dance became more of a swaying motion, moving about the room as if it were a ballroom.
“You just had to choose a song about love for this, didn’t you?” Tubbo said, slightly out of breath. It took a lot of energy to lead the dance, while also what he could only imagine was Ranboo’s smug grin.
“It seemed fitting for a dance, leave me alone,” He responded with a chuckle, raising his arm to let Tubbo spin under it, holding him under his back as he dipped. “You’re good at this.”
As the music crescendoed, Tubbo let his movements get larger, grander. Ranboo was taken by surprise, almost losing his balance as Tubbo moved in sweeping circles. Their feet still moved in sync by some miracle and the shorter boy laughed, spinning out with his free hand outstretched. He spun back too fast for Ranboo to catch and crashed into him awkwardly, sending the pair tumbling back. Fortunately, Ranboo’s bed caught them, Tubbo falling on top of his friend.
“Well, I guess you didn’t lie,” He breathed, adjusting himself so Tubbo was lying more comfortably on his chest. It felt like his blanket with the other boy there, and he welcomed the extra heat. It was often like this, the boys were no stranger to closeness. They spent hours in silence, just existing together. Their joint breaths were like white noise and Tubbo found himself falling asleep in Ranboo’s company often.
Maybe it was the mutual hatred of their town, their lives. Or maybe their friendship was more than the title of a 2000’s pop punk song. Not that they cared. That was the thing about Ranboo and Tubbo. They didn’t give a damn about what their friendship was, or why it existed. It was there, they were happy, and they were seventeen.
What more could they ask for when they had vinyls and dreams?