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The second Ranboo’s eyes open and flutter from the abrupt, bright sunlight streaking through the windows, he groans. It’s today.
Tubbo had told him the night before that ‘it’d be perfectly safe; that it was for the betterment of mankind.’ Ranboo doesn’t disagree necessarily, but he does wish that it wasn’t seen as such a problem.
He breathes in, holds it, breathes out, and lifts himself from the bed, stretching his (freakishly) long limbs.
“Good morning!”
The accented voice comes from behind and startles Ranboo. He jolts his head in its direction and sees a smug-looking Tubbo. Ranboo glares at the shorter boy.
“Excited for today?” he asks, leaning against the bedroom door frame.
Ranboo stands up. “No, I’m not. I don’t see why I would be.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fine!” A doubtful gaze from the taller boy causes Tubbo to stifle a giggle. “It’ll really help you, I’m sure of that.”
“And what if it just ends up hurting me and being super counterproductive? Then what?”
“Then I apologize and cook you a good meal as an ‘I’m sorry’ gift.” Ranboo laughs halfheartedly. “Honestly,” he adds, “if washing your hair is your worst fear, then we’ll just shave it all off.”
Ranboo gasps, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I might! Now get ready, it’s better if we just get it done and over with.” With the last note, Tubbo grins reassuringly and leaves the taller alone with his thoughts.
Pulling junk clothes out of drawers, it dawns on him that he’s truly putting his general safety into Tubbo’s hands. It’s unlikely that the water’d seriously harm him, albeit, but he’s avoided bathing for so long that he’d been given a pathetic intervention. It consisted of Tubbo gagging because apparently Ranboo’s hair texture was ungodly and unforgiving , and if their marriage was to continue, a wash would be necessary.
And he trusts Tubbo with his life . It feels dumb to be so reluctant to let the boy wash his hair. To wash his hair . As he thinks that, he feels even dumber. Maybe that’s another reason to do this: to gain a stronger sense of pride and dignity.
The other calls from the hallway and tells him to hurry up because the water bill is expensive. Ranboo sighs. He breathes in, holds it, and breathes out. He’ll be fine. He changes into junk clothes (the ones he doesn’t mind getting wet), and breathes in, holds it, and breathes out. He’s probably ready. He breathes in, holds it, breathes out, and follows the floorboards to the bathroom, where Tubbo is awaiting him next to the side of the tub.
“All good, bossman?” he asks, gleaming his usual comforting smile. Ranboo nods. He breathes in, holds it, and breathes out. “Alright. Just sit down and rest your neck on the towel. If it hurts, tell me.”
“The water or the towel?”
“Well, both, but specifically the towel, ‘cause if it hurts then I’ll add another. Y’know, gotta have that neck support.”
“Oh, yes, neck support is the number one priority.” He fiddles with his fingers as he sits down on the side of the bathtub. He rests his neck over a towel that’s lying across the tub’s brim, acting as a cushion, except it’s not a good cushion because his neck feels awful.. “This is not awesome neck support, I gotta be honest.”
Tubbo giggles. He grabs a thicker towel and lifts Ranboo’s head up gently, fixing the cloth to provide better support. Ranboo feels warm and his face almost flushes as he feels the other’s fingers bear his own weight, careful not to pinch skin. Tubbo rests his head down softly and looks to him for confirmation.
“Much better,” Ranboo answers. They exchange smiles (Ranboo’s is noticeably dopier) and Tubbo begins to group the bottles of shampoo and conditioner near him.
“Okay, I’m gonna start by getting your hair wet,” he explains, dipping his own hands into the lukewarm water. “If it hurts too much-”
“-if it hurts too much, I’ll tell you,” Ranboo interjects. Tubbo nods.
He feels the liquid weight begin to soak the tips of his hair. It doesn’t feel like anything, but he knows that it’ll be different once it reaches his scalp. He hopes so badly that it won’t hurt. He breathes in, holds it, and breathes out.
A simple splash of water is all it takes to make Ranboo hiss and jerk his head up ever so slightly. “Sorry!” Tubbo exclaims. “I’m really sorry, that was completely on me.”
“It’s- I’m all good,” Ranboo says, in favor of reassuring Tubbo. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m good.” He rests his head back down hesitantly. It did hurt. He breathes in, holds it, and breathes out.
Tubbo dips his fingers into the water again, and is decidedly more tender in the way he bathes the dark hair. The focused, delicate movements provoke a subconscious grin on the taller boy.
When the water meets his scalp once again, it hurts notably less. Ranboo supposes it’s because it’s such a small amount with such minimal contact. He doesn’t doubt, though, that Tubbo’s presence and control helps him.
Tubbo announces, “I’m gonna put the shampoo in now.”
“Alrighty.”
“Does it hurt at all?”
“Not really. It hurts the same amount as it does when it’s sprinkling.”
“That’s a very relatable scale of pain.” Ranboo rolls his eyes.
Tubbo probably puts about a tablespoon or so of shampoo on his fingers. It feels very passive-aggressive.
When the soap meets his hair, Ranboo grits his teeth. Tubbo pauses and asks him if everything’s good, to which Ranboo nods (unconvincingly so, as his eyes are squeezed shut and he can feel his jaw tense). His fingers lather softly against his skin and adopt a rhythmic massage. It makes Ranboo’s head buzz in pleasure and his face softens. With the way the other’s hands are performing genuine magic, he doesn’t need to breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. He feels safe in Tubbo’s hands (almost literally).
Having the hair absorb the shampoo is weirdly quick, Ranboo discovers, as the second he thinks he wouldn’t mind the massage being prolonged, Tubbo says he’s going to rinse it out.
“Aww,” he half-fakes sadness, “it felt nice.”
“Once your hair is all nice and clean and not wet, I’ll see to it that I play with it like this. That sound good?”
Ranboo hums in approval. He’s starting to feel a bit hazy now. Maybe a hidden benefit of bathing is how it tires him out!
Tubbo cups water in his hands and pours it over Ranboo’s locks. A droplet finds itself on his forehead, and all the tranquility he’d cherished had been replaced with such abrupt irritation. He yelps and Tubbo forces his head to stay put rather than habitually jerk up. He pats the water away with a small cloth.
“You can’t just jolt your head up like that,” Tubbo says, setting the cloth back next to him, “it would’ve made all the water in your hair go everywhere and make things harder for the both of us.”
“Yeah, okay, but I’m not exactly having that thought process when I’m in sudden pain. It’s a fight-or-flight response! Very primate.”
Tubbo scoffs lightheartedly. “Whatever, just try not to do it for the time being.”
“I’ll try.”
More water seeps into his hair and it hurts a bit less when it touches his scalp. That’s something of an improvement, right?
Ranboo readjusts his neck, and in his slight movements, he realizes how heavy his hair is. It’d been so long since he washed that he’d completely forgotten the weight of wet hair. It catches him off guard and he very quickly decides it’s a hidden detriment of bathing.
“Gonna put in conditioner now.”
“‘Kay.”
It’s strange how habitual the heads-ups had become in such a short time.
As Tubbo applies the conditioner, Ranboo braces for any spasms or burns. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he’s completely painless. Maybe it’s the way Tubbo is leading the soap away from his scalp. Or maybe it’s the way his touch has already found a system in which Ranboo doesn’t face any harm. Either way, it feels good , and the pleasant buzz returns in welcoming arms.
“Okay,” Tubbo says as he stops combing the soap through his hair, “the conditioner needs to sit for, like, two minutes for it to work.”
Ranboo nods and opens his eyes. He looks at the other boy and they immediately smile at each other. “Thanks, Tubbo.” Tubbo rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Seriously! I was really nervous to do this, but I genuinely feel really good right now, and it’s thanks to you that I’m not nervous anymore.” In the fluorescent bathroom lighting, it’s hard to tell that the shorter boy’s cheeks have been painted a rosy hue.
“If you’d like, we can start doing this weekly.”
The taller boy ponders on that momentarily. He really likes that suggestion, so he nods his head furiously, prompting Tubbo’s cheeks to flush even more as he laughs.
They sit in a comfortable silence for a minute longer. Tubbo dips his fingers into the water and trickles them around. Ranboo closes his eyes again and tries to ignore the heaviness of his head.
“Probably about time to rinse,” the shorter says. He pours water over and through Ranboo’s dark hair, careful to avoid any more unpredictable droplets. His fingers comb effortlessly through the hair, and sooner than Ranboo likes, Tubbo announces that it’s all done.
The sound of the tub being drained is loud and startles him out of his semi-asleep state. Tubbo takes the top of the towels sitting below Ranboo’s neck and folds it around his hair.
“This is so your hair stays up and dries. Make sure it doesn’t come undone.”
Ranboo places one of his hands steadily on the wrapped towel and holds it as he gets up from the floor. He doesn’t particularly enjoy how sore his bottom is. He watches Tubbo gather the soaps and set them in a cupboard, group all the towels into one large pile and scoot them into a desolate corner, and wipe his hands off on his shirt. They make quick eye contact as Tubbo quickly leaves the bathroom. Ranboo can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
…
After approximately a half-hour, Ranboo’s hair is fully dry. When he reveals his brand new, clean hair to Tubbo, the first thing the shorter can do is exclaim, “It’s so fluffy!” and force the taller down so that he can pat it and run his fingers through it.
“Oh, my god,” Tubbo says dumbfoundedly. “Who knew your hair was this fluffy?” It’s childish how he can’t stop touching the dark locks and making exclamations of surprise.
Ranboo giggles and wishes he could see the astonishment on the other’s face, as now he can only see the floor. “Tubbo, you’re making my back hurt. I wasn’t meant to bend this low.”
The shorter immediately drops his hands to his sides, letting him straighten himself. He’s delighted to see the wide-eyed, flabbergasted expression plastered on Tubbo’s face.
Tubbo attempts to speak, but only lets out fragments and stutters. “Very shocking, I know! It’s my hair, too.” He reaches his hand up to touch his hair again, to which Ranboo shakes his head. “You’re gonna give me back problems if I bend down for you! Let’s go to the couch. I can lay down and you can touch my hair all your heart desires.” Tubbo nods enthusiastically (a charismatic parallel) and leads the pair to the living room.
They settle themselves in a position where Tubbo is sitting criss-cross and Ranboo is lying his head on his lap with the rest of his body taking up the remains of the couch. Tubbo plays with his hair, carding his fingers through and of soft clumps. The buzz returns once more, and the familiar haze drifts upon him.
Maybe, he thinks, this is something that can become routine. It can be cyclic in the same terms of how Tubbo will always cook dinner and Ranboo will always do the dishes, or how Tubbo will be the one to get rid of bugs, or how Ranboo will always sniff out the rancid laundry hidden under their bed. Maybe this can be something domestic and warm and comforting.
He stifles his face further into Tubbo’s lap and falls into a light sleep, wherein his breaths come easy and he’s safe.