Work Text:
Tap, tap, tap.
Tommy groans, tugging at the knot of his tie and adjusting his blazer. The elevator sure is taking forever. Did this clunky metal cage of death finally break down at last? He jams his thumb against the button, resisting the urge to kick the doors when that does nothing.
All around him, the cubicles are empty—Tommy is the last person to leave. And he would have been the first, had that stupid Quackity not assigned him a new project at the last minute. Fuck that guy, really. It’s a Friday evening. He just wants to get home, chill with Tubbo and watch bad action flicks or play Mario Kart. Not wait for the goddamn elevator to climb ever so slowly from the first floor to the seventeenth.
A ding snaps Tommy from his angry musings. He raises a brow at the opened doors. Finally. It’s decided to serve him. Fucking hunk of junk. They should really get it fixed. It’s been acting up a lot recently.
Tommy steps into the elevator, stabbing the button for the first floor and repeatedly mashing the door close button.
There’s a guy running right at him and Tommy really, really wants to get home.
“P-Please! Wait!” the guy wheezes.
Tommy chants a prayer in his head as well that the guy won’t reach him in time. Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed when the doors screech to a halt, then opens again. What the fuck? What kind of fucking elevator—
“Sorry!” The guy barrels into the car, and it’s only when he’s through, then the elevator’s doors decide to slide shut. Tommy groans internally and leans against the wall of the elevator. It’s fine. The guy’s also getting out on the first floor. It wouldn’t have to stop halfway…
“Hey, um…”
Tommy shoots a glare at the man, and the stranger flinches. He shrinks into the corner of the elevator, fidgeting restlessly with the folders in his arms. Tommy frowns. He doesn’t think he’s seen this guy before. That black-and-white hair, colours split down the middle, and the fact that he towers over Tommy should tickle his memory, at the very least. Few people are taller than him in this off—
Just then, the elevator jerks, almost knocking Tommy off his feet. The other guy topples, folders slipping from his hands and scattering all over the floor. The lights flicker overhead, buzzing wires crackling with electricity. Tommy freezes, hand on the railing, staring back at his own widened eyes in the mirror of the door.
What the fuck?
“What…What happened?” Tommy glances at the digital screen displaying the floor they’re supposed to be on. It’s blank. Devoid of numbers. “Did this fucking thing break on us?”
The other guy staggers to his feet, gathering his papers up. Tommy makes no move to help, storming up to the door of the elevator and slamming his fist against it. No response. Not even so much as a whirr.
“No,” Tommy mutters under his breath, trying to keep the hysteria from his voice. “No, no, no, no!”
A well-aimed kick to the door has the car shuddering. Tommy flinches, stumbling away from the door and falling on his behind. His briefcase thumps to the floor, clasps clattering. This is not happening. Not on his fucking Friday evening.
“Open, dammit!” Tommy cries. He scrambles to his feet and runs up to the door. Squeezing his fingers between the sliver of a gap between the doors, he tries his hardest to pry them apart. “Fucking open!”
“Um…Tommy?”
“What?” Tommy snaps his head back to the other guy standing to the back of the elevator. He knits his brows. “How’d you know my fucking name?”
The guy swallows, Adam’s Apple bobbing. “I…I’m Ranboo. I’m, uh, I don’t usually work on your floor, but…”
“But what?”
“You’re pretty notorious, I guess?” Ranboo frowns. “Wait, notorious isn’t the right word.”
“You calling me a bitch?”
Ranboo’s eyes widen. “N-No, not at all.”
“Why’re you standing there and not helping, huh?” Tommy removes his fingers from between the gap, wincing at the sting on his fingertips. “Help me get this door open!”
Ranboo’s gaze falls on the panel of buttons. “There’s an emergency button over there. We should, um, press that.”
Must Tommy do everything himself? He jams his fist against the button and immediately, a muffled siren wails from the outside. Is there even anyone in the building at this time of the day to help them?
“Well, I guess now, we can sit and wait,” Ranboo says.
Sit and wait? Sit on their asses and wait? Isn’t there anything else they can do? Tommy gives elevator another once-over. The doors are shut tight—no amount of strength will be able to move them. The buttons don’t work and the display is broken. The lights still flicker—Tommy half-expected them to have gone out by now.
Begrudgingly, Tommy settles himself in the corner farthest from Ranboo, leaning his head against the wall. He fishes his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. Of course, there wouldn’t be a signal. Why would there be? Tommy rests it on the ground beside him, resisting the urge to hurl it at the wall. He sighs, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes.
“So, uh…”
Tommy jolts, heart leaping to his throat when he realizes just who’s sidled up to him. Ranboo sits cross-legged beside him, still hugging his papers to his chest as he fixes Tommy with an appraising gaze.
“What?” Tommy growls, scooting against the wall and squashing himself against it. “Personal space, you bastard.”
Ranboo blinks. “O-Oh. Sorry.”
He shifts away, but Tommy doesn’t move. He’s rather comfortable in whatever position he’s ended up in—cheek pressed to the cold metal, his briefcase resting between him and Ranboo like a barrier. Maybe he can get some sleep till the rescue people arrive. Surely, they can’t take that long, can they?
“So, um…How are you, Tommy?”
Tommy cracks open an eye, injecting as much venom as he can in this one glare. This time, Ranboo doesn’t so much as stiffen. Instead, his expression holds curiosity, like he’s genuinely interested in Tommy’s life.
Fuck off. Tubbo’s the only person who really cares.
“Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
Ranboo goes quiet. “I-I’m sorry. I just…I thought you might want some, uh…company?”
“The only company I need is my dreams.”
Okay, maybe that came out harsher than Tommy would have liked, but he’s determined to ignore Ranboo for as long as he can. He shuts his eyes and turns away from the lights, drawing his knees up to his chest.
Someone must have heard that bell. When Tommy wakes up, someone would have opened the doors. He’d be able to leave and get home to sleep in on Saturday. Yeah, that sounds good. All he needs to do is to drift off, let himself become dead to the world…
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Maybe an eternity.
Try as Tommy might, he remains awake, the anxiety, the worry, gnawing at him. What if no one heard the siren? What if no one’s coming to get him out? What if…?
Tommy flinches at the cold fingers against his shoulder.
“Hey, you…you good?” Ranboo tries. “You’ve gotta calm down.”
Tommy gathers his things and crawls away from Ranboo as the latter withdraws his hand. Tommy glares at Ranboo, but the latter isn’t even fazed. He merely stares. Stoned like a statue, Tommy snickers internally.
“Are you alright?” Ranboo asks again.
Tommy swallows, hand against his chest, trying to calm his palpitating heart. “I’m fine.”
Silence settles over them, save for the sound of Tommy’s frantic breaths, ever so loud in the deafening quiet. Tommy doesn’t like it, the silence, that is. Ranboo, on the other hand, appears calm and collected, almost as if he’s been trapped in an elevator before.
Either that, or he’s just a really reserved guy in general. Reserved and meek. The complete opposite of Tommy.
“Take deep breaths,” Ranboo says. “You need to calm down and conserve your oxygen—”
“Don’t talk about it like that! I’m getting the fuck out of here, okay!” Tommy loathes the way his voice cracked at the end there. “I’m getting the fuck out of here and I’m not going to…”
“Breathe.”
Tommy gulps. He watches as Ranboo’s chest rises and falls ever so rhythmically as he returns to his cross-legged position. It’s as if Tommy is staring at a yoga practitioner, doing their weird poses by the seaside.
“In, and out.”
It’s as if a switch flipped in his head. Tommy forces himself to listen, timing his breaths with Ranboo’s. His pulse still skips, and his heart still stutters, but at least he’s not hyperventilating. He’s not using up more oxygen than necessary.
“There. Better?”
Tommy huffs. “I didn’t need your help, Ranboob.”
Ranboo merely smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Tommy grits his teeth. This guy talks like he knows everything. It gets on Tommy’s nerves. He doesn’t want to see Ranboo again after all this. He wants to get home and chow down on his dinner and slumber all the way till afternoon the next day.
“What, um, what do you do?” Ranboo asks. “I’ve never been to your floor before, apart from today.”
“Errand boy,” Tommy mutters. He used to intern here, before he was offered a full-time position. No other companies got back to him, or they did with rejection letters, so Tommy was forced to accept this role. It wasn’t like he was treated badly, but at the same time, he didn’t feel like he belonged.
“That sucks. I mean, I was kinda there before, so…”
Tommy quashes the sense of solidarity rising in his chest. Solidarity between himself and Ranboo. Ranboo’s just a stranger he’ll probably never see again after today. He needn’t care about the man.
“What do you know, anyway?” Tommy glances over at him. “You look like the kind of guy with lots of money in your bank account.”
“Do I?”
“You fucking wanker.”
Ranboo throws up his hands in defence. “N-No! I mean it! Uh, do I? Look like someone with a lot of money?”
Tommy laughs, the first semblance of mirth he’s tasted since he got out of bed. “No, you don’t. You look like a peasant.”
Ranboo pouts. “That’s rude.”
“You know what we call people like you? Demanding.”
“How am I demanding?”
“You’re unsatisfied if I call you rich, and you’re unsatisfied if I call you poor.”
Ranboo folds his arms. “That’s because I’m a middle-class worker. Like you.”
Tommy chuckles. “Like busy bees in a beehive.”
They go quiet once more. Tommy isn’t quite sure what to talk about now, but he hates the density of the silence.
“How’s life?” Ranboo asks suddenly. “You live alone?”
“Rooming with Tubbo. My, uh, friend.”
“That’s nice. Does this Tubbo work here too?”
Tommy shakes his head. “Tubbo streams and shit, so he’s always at home or in the studio. He’s the one bringing in all the big cash while I’m working my butt off here and—”
Tommy sighs, running a hand through his hair. What kind of power does Ranboo possess to make him ramble so much? He’s only known the guy for, like, a couple of minutes or so? Why’s he blurting out his whole life story to this fucker?
“I see.” Ranboo dips his head. “I’m sure you’ll be able to rise quickly. As long as you’re diligent and—”
“Look, I didn’t even want to work here.” Tommy’s lips twist into an ugly snarl. “I had nowhere else to go.”
“Nowhere else?”
“No one wants me. I’m just…” Tommy slumps against the wall. “I’m just…unwanted, I guess.”
Ranboo inches closer. Tommy pretends not to see.
“Unwanted?” Ranboo asks.
“Yeah.” Tommy curls into a ball again. “Unwanted since day one. Maybe that’s why Dad left. Maybe that’s why Mum told me to get the fuck out.”
“I…I’m sorry.”
“Only Tubbo cares.” Tommy buries his face in his knees. He doesn’t want Ranboo to see this. He can’t let Ranboo see. How unsightly it would be to show this side of himself to a complete stranger—someone who works here, even. What would Ranboo tell the higher-ups? Oh, their new data analytics guy doesn’t have the willpower to rise up to challenges and—
“Well, I would…” Ranboo clears his throat, as if buying time to think. “I would like to care, if you’d let me.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll leave like everyone else does.”
Ranboo doesn’t speak. Tommy lifts his head ever so slightly. Ranboo presses his lips into a thin line, staring at the ground. Pensive. Contemplating.
“I won’t leave,” Ranboo says, finally. “Not now, at least.”
Not now, he says.
Reassuring. Just like everyone else. Only knowing platitudes. How to please Tommy Innit clamouring for attention. How to get Tommy Innit to shut up. How to get Tommy Innit out of your face.
It sickens him to his bones.
“Tommy?”
“Don’t you talk to me, prick.”
Tommy turns his back to Ranboo, trying to ignore the man. He can still feel Ranboo’s very real presence beside him, though. Maybe he’s trying to figure out what went wrong. Maybe he’s trying to make it up to Tommy. Maybe he’s…
“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay, but…”
Tommy urges his throat to stay silent, but his mouth moves, almost automatically. Almost hopefully. “But?”
“I…I’m moving soon. That’s right. I’m moving.” Ranboo coughs. “Going back home to California.”
“You from California?”
“Yeah. It’s a distance from New York.”
It is far.
“But for now,” Ranboo says, “I can care. I can be your friend, if you’d have me.”
Tommy turns his head back to look at Ranboo, who holds his hand out in invitation. His eyes gleam with a sort of warmth that Tommy doesn’t remember seeing from anyone besides Tubbo when he first got the job. It makes Tommy want to trust him. To trust Ranboo.
“I…” Tommy chokes on his words. Is Tommy willing to do this? To give his heart out for want of someone’s kindness? Even just a sliver? Is he willing…?
Ranboo becomes blurry, colours swirling in Tommy’s vision like on an artist’s canvas. Before Tommy realizes what’s happening, he’s enveloped by a cloak of cold. Not the kind of biting cold that leaves your teeth chattering and your skin dotted with goosebumps. It’s the sort of cooling cold that kisses you on a refreshing fall evening, that caresses your hair and tells you that everything will be alright.
“All good now?” Ranboo asks, sitting back on the ground and watching Tommy. Tommy wipes at his eyes, biting his trembling lip and harrumphing. How improper to sob like a newborn in front of a colleague he hardly met. But he senses no malice in Ranboo’s voice.
“I’m…” Tommy lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m good.”
“Great.” Ranboo smiles, clapping his hands together. “Now that we’re friends, let’s talk about…uh…what kind of movies you watched.”
“Movies? Aren’t you going to ask about my favourite colour?”
“That’s a date thing.”
Tommy scrunches his nose up. How’s that a date thing? Ranboo’s weird.
He learns that Ranboo’s favourite movie is Rocketman and that he liked playing video games. Ranboo used to be part of the Dungeons and Dragons club back in college, and was the Dungeon Master more often than not. Tommy has no idea how long the conversation lasted—longer than he expected, at least—but it was the best conversation he’s ever had with someone other than Tubbo for a while.
He’s never been gladder that Ranboo’s around. If he were by his lonesome, he wouldn’t know what he would have done.
Then, a clanking sound has Tommy jolting. The elevator begins to move, and Tommy gasps at the sudden drop of his stomach. It descends an inch or so. Tommy’s jaw drops as light peeks in through the widening gap in the door.
“Holy shit! We’re free, Ranboo! We’re free!”
Ranboo doesn’t say anything. He only smiles.
Tommy spins on his heels and turns back to the opening doors. There, on the other side of it, is none other than Tubbo, a couple of firefighters and the building’s janitor, Phil. Tubbo weaves through the throng of people and throws himself at Tommy, crushing his friend to him and rendering Tommy breathless.
“What the fuck, big man. You’re really fucking late for Mario Kart.”
“The elevator stopped on me. Couldn’t fucking do anything.” Tommy places his hands on Tubbo’s shoulder and eases him away. Tubbo huffs, arms akimbo on his hips.
“Well, anyway, worry me like that again and you’re ending up in next week’s stew, buddy.”
Tommy shivers. Tubbo has always listed creative ways to kill him, and at this point, Tommy should be fearful for his life.
“Glad to see that you’re both alright,” the pink-haired firefighter says, adjusting his hat. “Time for us to head back to the station.”
“Oh, wait. There’s another guy with me in the elevator. It was…” Tommy turns his head, only to come face to face with an empty car.
“Ranboo?”
Nothing but Tommy’s briefcase remains in the elevator. Did Ranboo slip past them, or…?
“Did you just say ‘Ranboo’?”
Tommy furrows his brows, turning to the source, to Phil. Phil wears a strange expression, a mix between puzzlement and shock.
“Yeah, Ranboo. Why? What’s wrong?”
Phil folds his arms. “That’s impossible. You couldn’t have met Ranboo.”
“Why?”
Phil turns away, pulling his hat down to shadow his eyes. A chill runs up Tommy’s spine, as he waits for Phil’s answer with bated breath.
“Because Ranboo…died last year. When the elevator broke down.”