Chapter Text
There’s a Greek myth about soulmates that says every person was once double what they are today. As punishment from the gods for fuck knows what, they were split in two, and now wander the earth endlessly looking for their other half, in the desperate hope that one day they’ll be whole again.
Techno told him about it once, when Tubbo was having a sleepover with Tommy and he and Techno ended up the only ones awake in the house. Techno had made him hot chocolate and spoke in a soft voice until Tubbo finally fell asleep.
Tubbo thinks it’s bullshit.
(Techno always was way too into old, fucked up stories told by men who rotted away centuries ago.)
There is no one out there for Tubbo. That, he knows for sure.
It sounds a hell of a lot more bleak when he says it like that, but it’s really just the way things have always been. Tommy’s his best friend, and Tubbo loves him to death, but he knows he’ll never be the first priority— and if he ever is, it won’t last long. Tommy doesn’t let himself get tied down like that.
Always running forward. Tubbo always dragging along behind.
And Tubbo’s never really made friends outside of Tommy. Most of the time, he doesn’t need them. Wilbur and Techno might’ve been his friends at some point, but they were always Tommy’s brothers, and he was always Tommy’s friend, and plus, he’s pretty sure those bridges are very thoroughly burned.
This is how he meets Ranboo.
He is at school, thinking incredibly impolite things about the Greeks and stewing in his own loneliness.
Tubbo is expecting to spend at least a couple weeks eating lunch with just him and his thoughts— Tommy’s on a kick lately trying to reconnect with Wilbur, so he’s been taking his food over to the rehab center and eating there.
Tubbo is not expecting to be down two dollars at the vending machine, nor is he enjoying it. Humiliating, sure, but he’s mostly upset that he doesn’t get his fucking hi chews. They’re an important part of his diet— he can eat-eat at work, where he can take the money out of his paycheck instead of his allowance, but the sugar high will get him through the rest of the school day.
He glances around the hallway surreptitiously, and zeroes in on a guy who’s stopped to dig around for something in his backpack, split dyed hair falling into his eyes. It’s mostly because even hunched over the way he is, he’s taller than anyone has a right to be and Tubbo thinks that if he’s not going to share his height he might as well share his money.
“Hey, you!”
The guy glances up, and Tubbo meets his eyes from behind his bangs. He stares at him like a deer in the headlights for just a second, before quickly averting his gaze to stare very intently at Tubbo’s shoes.
“Uh. Me?” He asks, looking to both sides and then behind him, all while stubbornly refusing to look anywhere near Tubbo’s face.
“Yeah, you. Tall fucker.” Tubbo leans over to try and get in his field of view, but the kid looks at the wall above him instead. “Do you have money?”
The question seems to catch him off guard, and he blinks a few times in quick succession.
“Like, in general? Or?”
Tubbo rolls his eyes, not like the guy’ll see it. “No, dumbass, like right now.”
“I mean, I guess?” He starts slowly backing away, which lets Tubbo know he needs to change tactics.
“Ok, look, I’m sorry about that, I just— I forgot to bring enough money for lunch, I just need, like, a couple bucks. I’ll pay it back, I swear!” Tubbo doesn’t even bother with the puppy eyes, but if he was doing them they’d be fucking irresistible.
“Oh, uh, sure,” He says, and reaches into his pocket. “I don’t have any change right now, is a five okay?”
“Aw, rich are we?” Tubbo says, plucking the bill from his hand. “Thanks bossman, really appreciate it.”
He’s already gone by the time Tubbo finishes paying and turns around to give him the change.
Tubbo starts carrying an extra five dollars around in his pocket.
(He wouldn’t care all that much usually, and it is only five dollars, but something in him just feels bad at the prospect of taking the poor guy’s money.)
He thinks this is a good way to do some community outreach. It’s an excuse to pick up someone new to mess with, and it establishes him as friendly, trustworthy, and willing to repay favors. He’s not exactly personable, but he can fake it with the best of them and he’s smart enough to know when someone’s worth keeping around. That kid was all too willing to give his money away to a stranger, which either means he’s well off enough to not care, a pushover, or both.
Preferably both, for Tubbo’s purposes, but only time will tell.
He could probably find him if he tried, but Tubbo doesn’t look for the weird guy who gave him money in the hallway.
He’s still a little embarrassed about the whole thing, and he really doesn’t want anyone thinking he actually gives a shit. Especially Quackity, the guy has ears in the goddamn walls and enormous talent in twisting people’s words around on them. He also happens to be the other main candidate for student body president, a title Tubbo is not intent on losing. Tommy thinks the student government thing is stupid. Tubbo kind of agrees, but he also likes being able to throw his weight around a little bit.
He’s not entirely sure how Quackity would turn him looking for some dude into a horrific slight against his character, but he’s still pretty sure it could happen. Worse, he might decide the other kid is an easier target and go after him.
It’s good luck, then, that he’s not even at school the next time he sees him.
He’s at the diner covering Slime’s Saturday shift, leaning on the counter and halfheartedly pretending he’s not just messing around on his phone every time one of the more responsible staff members walks by. He’s been slowly getting more and more bold with it— he even watched porn once just for shits and giggles— but he’s not actually looking to get fired.
Every once and a while he scans the room to make sure no one is trying to get his attention or anything, but it’s a pretty quiet place so there’s rarely much need.
There’s a little bell over the door, and it jingles merrily as the tall kid walks in— Jesus Fuck, he has to duck a little to make sure he doesn’t hit his head, and it’s unfair. He’s wearing big black sunglasses that cover about half his face but Tubbo knows it’s the same guy, he’s not exactly inconspicuous. He sees Tubbo at the register and clearly recognizes him too, because he stops in his tracks and immediately flushes bright red under his glasses.
Tubbo grins and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Hey, it’s you!”
“Oh, uh, yeah…” He mumbles, hunching over his posture and looking around, presumably trying to find an excuse to run away.
“Hold on,” Tubbo says, holding up a finger as he fishes around in his jeans for his wallet. He pulls it out triumphantly and proudly presents the kid with a fiver by waving it in his face. “Here, for the other day.”
“Oh, you really didn’t have to—“
“I said I’d pay you back, didn’t I?” Tubbo interrupts.
“I guess…” He says, slowly taking the money with mismatched fingerless gloves. He blushes even heavier when Tubbo presses the bill into his hands and their skin brushes, which is definitely something to keep in mind.
“Now,” Tubbo says, leaning over on the counter. “What brings you to this fine establishment?”
He shrugs helplessly. “Food?”
Tubbo quirks an eyebrow. “Any food in particular? You gotta give me something to work with here, bossman.”
He looks down and mutters something about lunch. Tubbo decides to take pity on him and grabs the little menu card from the bar to push it towards him. The kid glances between Tubbo, the card, the bar, and the tables behind him, but eventually succumbs to Tubbo’s invitation and sits down delicately on one of the barstools.
Tubbo pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and leans over them on the counter as the guy decides what to order, watching intently as he fiddles with the laminated edge.
Eventually he orders a burger.
Tubbo grins at him again. “Can I get a name with that?” He asks, hoping against hope he doesn’t pick up on the fact that Tubbo definitely does not need his name for any real reason.
“Ranboo,” he mutters, fiddling with a loose string on his glove and thankfully not calling the bluff. Weird name, but it’s not like Tubbo can (or should) say anything.
“Alright,” Tubbo says, scratching down the order and clipping the page to the coiled wire over to the kitchen, internally celebrating yet another win. He’s on a roll, he thinks. Then, he leans on the counter again.
“I’m Tubbo,” he says.
“I know,” Ranboo says, and immediately makes a face. He looks like he’s about to start talking again, but Tubbo cuts him off.
“You know? Didn’t realize I was that popular!” He lies. “Or maybe I’m just popular with you?” He teases, winking.
“No, you’re definitely popular,” Ranboo says.
Tubbo blinks, wide eyed and surprised and humble.
“I mean, you’re the student president, right? So you’re at a lot of events, and stuff…”
“I guess, but I didn’t think many people cared about that sorta thing.”
Ranboo shrugs.
Tubbo can feel the conversation awkwardly petering out, so he casts around for a save. Luckily, he does actually have a job to do, so he tells Ranboo he’ll be back and goes to check up on the other tables.
When he returns, Ranboo looks up and puts the notebook he’d brought out back into his bag.
“Did you just start working here?” He asks. Tubbo frowns.
“…No?”
“Ah,” Ranboo flushes again, waving his hands in apology. “Sorry, it’s just— I come here all the time, but I’ve never seen you working here before?”
“I mean, I don’t usually work Saturdays?”
Ranboo hums, nodding. Then he gets up, takes his plate to the dish rack, and walks back to pay. After he does so, he pauses, hovering indecisively.
Tubbo smiles wide. “I’ll see you around?”
Ranboo nods stiffly, and speed walks out of the diner. Tubbo notes, with an unfamiliar twisting in his chest, the tip is a five dollar bill.
[8:24 PM] TUBBO: Hey bossman
[8:27 PM] SLIME: Hello Coworker Tubbo Underscore!
[8:30 PM] TUBBO: Yeh thatsa me
[8:30 PM] TUBBO: ANAYWAY
[8:31 PM] TUBBO: Do you minfld if we switch some hours around
[8:31 PM] TUBBO: :pleading_face:
[8:31 PM] TUBBO: ?
[8:31 PM] SLIME: Sure!
[8:32 PM] SLIME: Whadya want?
[8:32 PM] TUBBO: Uhh saturdsy? I cann give u wensday
[8:33 PM] SLIME: Ay okayy
[8:33 PM] SLIME: I’ll write that down in my Calendar!
[8:33 PM] TUBBO: Ty i aprrciate it