Chapter Text
“Still no MCC win for me,” Tubbo says.
It’s been four hours since he’d pulled Ranboo through the double doors of their extension and into what was—ostensibly—their new life. It still smells of fresh paint and drywall dust; Ranboo’s bags are tossed into the loft and sheets and pillows are piled on the sofa behind them. Tubbo is jittery and he knows it’s not from the tournament or the fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.
Aqua and Blue are battling it out and he doesn’t bother paying attention.
He’s waited months for this...and now. Now. It's their first night, they're alone, and...
“And no rainbow coin,” Tubbo adds. This was the first MCC that Tubbo hadn’t actually tried too hard. It was also the first time he hadn’t cared as much. Funny, how priorities can change. Tubbo leans away from his keyboard and closer to Ranboo. Ranboo seems to take the hint and leans in, too, close enough that his hair brushes against Tubbo’s cheek. It tickles. “I’m not even all that disappointed.”
“But you played really well?” Ranboo turns his head as he talks. His mouth is very close to Tubbo’s ear. And that tickles. “Didn’t help that I was here, distracting you.”
Okay, yeah, that sends a peculiar sensation down his spine. Tubbo is not used to being this close to anyone. Especially when that person is—
“Okay, yeah,” Tubbo says. He nudges his chair side to side with one foot. It gives the little illusion of some space, despite his shoulder bumping repeatedly against Ranboo’s upper arm. “It was definitely your fault.”
“Tommy would agree with you,” Ranboo says. He’s almost laughing. His voice is warm; it sinks into Tubbo’s skin. Hours and hours of voice calls had nothing on the real thing.
Tubbo tilts his head up. God, Ranboo is close. And at this point in the night, after an eleven hour flight and the drive home and the entirety of the tournament, his blond hair is standing on end, bushier than ever. It makes a halo of light out of the overhead lamp, and the rest of his face is thrown in sharp relief by the light of the monitors. There are little smudges beneath his eyes. He has to be exhausted, but he hasn’t moved from Tubbo’s side for the last three hours.
Tubbo’s heart clenches. So does his stomach.
“Dickhead.” Tubbo rolls his head, loosens his shoulders. It had been a long tournament and his attention had been...uh, very split. But still. “I can’t believe he tried to guilt me about it all. We were too far behind in points, anyways.”
“He really wanted that rainbow coin.”
“Why can’t he just enjoy the game, bro.” Tubbo tilts his head back again. Ranboo is so close. He has this little half-smile, his eyes half-lidded from fatigue. Tubbo could just lean forward— “The gays won anyways.”
Ranboo’s surprised laugh is deep, sharp. It vibrates down to Tubbo’s toes and he curls his hands around his chair’s armrests to keep himself from moving.
“I mean, yeah?” Ranboo says, still laughing.
“Big day for the rainbow community.” And Tubbo does move his arm, just enough to brush Ranboo’s. He’s glad when Ranboo takes the initiative and returns the touch, brushing the back of his hand over the knuckles of Tubbo’s own. His skin is cool to the touch. Tubbo almost shivers.
“They don’t even know it.” Ranboo turns his hand over and envelopes Tubbo’s, fingertips gentle against fingers, hesitant, a little unsure. Something near his heart lurches.
“I still can’t believe you’re here.” Tubbo’s voice had dropped to a whisper. He doesn’t realize it, not until Ranboo answers, voice so soft Tubbo mostly feels the words.
“I still can’t believe I’m here.”
They’d said the same thing at least five times throughout the championship, but this time, they are only centimeters apart, close enough that Tubbo can feel him breathe. In the dim light, Ranboo’s eyes are dark gray, streaked with silver. He is so close.
Dodgebolt continues in the background; Tubbo had muted himself but the rest of the team’s voices are a background drone, shouting or groaning in equal measure. Tubbo doesn’t care.
In fact, all he really cares about is the space between himself and Ranboo. He hesitates, then—
They both close that distance.
It is a tentative brush of skin against skin, dry lips finding the shape of the other’s, the motions only a concept before this moment. There’s pressure and release, careful and uncertain.
But it's electric—a buzz along every nerve, gooseflesh under his jumper, yet somehow heavy and enormous and infinite inside his chest. He’s clinging to Ranboo’s hands without realizing he’d moved any other part of his body.
Ranboo pulls his head back slightly, just a bare breath away. Tubbo could see the question in his eyes before he says anything. “Was that okay?”
Dumbass. Of course Ranboo would doubt literally everything, even their first kiss.
Tubbo knows Ranboo will have to stream later, that tens of thousands of people are waiting for him—for them. The expectations are too high; they're probably still trending on Twitter.
But right now, he's claiming all of this, every moment, every minute he can.
“Don’t stop, you idiot,” he says, and Ranboo is laughing against his mouth, and Tubbo is smiling, and Ranboo is kissing him again.