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Tommy’s Different.
Different as in not normal. Different as in a part of the LGBT+ community. Capital D Different, a whole statement. Maybe not a Big D—actually, definitely not as in “big dick”—but in a love is a weird emotion that he’s never felt and is utterly confused about type Different. Like, who the fuck has crushes and what even are those? Do people actually see someone on the streets and go “damn I want their number” or even, just think about sex?
So Tommy’s Capital D Different—aromantic-asexual Different—and he’s never told anybody. Well, that’s until Ranboo and Tubbo came along.
—
This is it.
The moment decides life and death, whether to succumb to the sweet release of a quick death or to persist, demanding life and crawl his way up from hell.
This is when Tommy decides whether he lives, or dies an early death, surrounded by who he thought was his friends.
He chooses death.
“Sorry!” Tommy yells cheerfully, knocking Tubbo’s Sorry! game piece off the board. Beside him, Ranboo cackles at the murderous rage painted across Tubbo’s face.
“You’ll fucking regret that, Tommy,” Tubbo threatens, spitefully grabbing his fallen gamepiece and putting it back in the Start. His piece was two spaces away from the safety zone, and Tommy had to decide to knock out Ranboo or Tubbo with his Sorry! card. Ranboo was looking pitiful—he only has one piece in Home compared to Tommy and Tubbo’s three—and Tommy just really wanted to annoy Tubbo.
They’re just hanging out, typical teenager activities minus the weed and alcohol, of course. Something about branding and reputation, or some other shit. Tommy doesn’t really know, and he doesn’t really care—he can have a damn good time without drinking. Plus, Wilbur said he’d be really disappointed if Tommy went and got wasted without his supervision, and even then he wouldn’t be happy Tommy was drinking. Not that Tommy knows why, he’s fucking 18, a big man if he says so himself.
And he’s also about to lose his life, murdered by who he thought was his best friend. To be fair, Tommy did target Tubbo in the boardgame, maybe the murder is justified? Don’t know, don’t care.
“Tubbo is your turn.” Ranboo nudges Tubbo’s shoulder, who still hasn’t let up his relentless glare. Maybe Tommy, just maybe—but probably not—would have spared his friend, would have destroyed all hope left in Ranboo’s heart and not gone for Tubbo. Maybe a good friend would’ve, but alas, Tommy is not a good friend, it seems.
Tubbo doesn’t stop staring, grabbing the top deck from the card pile without looking. “It’s a two,” he says, again, without looking at the damn cards. What the fuck.
Finally, thankfully, Tubbo breaks his deadly stare and takes his two turns, the pawn originally taken out by Tommy now 8 spaces down the board. They all take their respective turns, until it’s a showdown, Tommy versus Tubbo.
Tommy couldn’t be any more fucking scared.
His last game piece is 3 spaces away from Home, Tubbo two spots away from his. Tensions are high, as it’s Tommy’s turn and everything is riding on the card he pulls, paralleling just a few minutes ago when Tommy sent Tubbo’s piece back to Start, this time, it’s total life or guaranteed death. Tommy will die if he wins, but so will his pride if he loses.
He will not lose to fucking Tubbo.
Next to him, Ranboo is holding his breath having abandoned all attempts of winning for himself, instead he seems to want to make Tommy even more anxious. The weight of the universe, the weight of their relationships, falls on whatever number is on the card Tommy’s currently holding.
He flips it over, it’s a three.
“Ohhhhh,” Tommy brags, “guess who just fuckin’ won, bitch! Me. That’s who.”
Ranboo chuckles nervously, eyes flicking between Tubbo and Tommy. “Tommy, you might want to run,” he warns, picking up the deck of cards and placing them back in the box.
“Yeah,” Tommy agrees, head nodding slowly, “yeah.” With that, he bolts, limbs twisting under him as he rushes out of the chair and towards the sliding glass door leading outside. Behind him, Tubbo’s chair hits the ground, and Tommy knows in that moment that he’s dead. Hopefully, Wilbur and Ranboo and Phil and everyone else will mourn his premature death. After they’re done being sad and shit, he’ll come back from the dead and haunt the shit out of everyone.
“Tommy,” Tubbo pants behind him as they round the large tree, “stop. Fucking. Running.”
Tommy stops on one side of the tree, Tubbo across from him. When Tubbo runs one way, Tommy runs the other, keeping the same distance between them. “Never, bitch.” He feints going to the left, quickly switching directions to the right.
But Tommy is not known for his physical prowess, and Tubbo reads him perfectly. He yelps as Tubbo’s suspiciously strong body tackles him to the ground, the friends laughing with each other. From inside, Tommy can hear Ranboo also laughing his ass off from the open door, light from inside the only reason Tommy can even see Tubbo when it’s this dark out.
He goes to push Tubbo off of him, but Tubbo’s holding onto him like a monkey, and Tommy is fucking weak. “Get off,” he grunts, pushing and pulling at anything he can grab. Annoyingly, Tubbo clings tighter, giggles vibrating Tommy’s body.
Time for a new tactic. He relaxes his body, arms and legs falling limp and malleable. Tubbo squeezes harder, probably suspecting a trick; well, he isn’t wrong. After a few seconds, Tubbo loosens his grip, and Tommy takes his chance. He pushes Tubbo’s shocked body off of him, jumping to his feet in triumph.
“Sucks to suck, fucker!” Tommy smiles, helping Tubbo to his feet. Since the adrenaline of the brawl is wearing off, the slight breeze is chilling Tommy’s bones, and he wraps his arms around him in hopes to stave off the cold. “We should go back inside, actually. Ranboo looks cold.”
Tubbo rolls his eyes, “that’s a fat lie, we all know you’re the one who’s a pussy, but whatever.” They walk inside, grass staining their jeans and Ranboo smiling softly at them both.
They all plop down on the couch, Tommy on the right, Tubbo on the left, and Ranboo taking up way too much space in the middle for Tommy’s preference. But he’ll give big man Ranboob a pass, just this once. He’s also said that multiple times before, but here he is.
“Shouldn’t we clean up the game?” Ranboo asks. Of course Ranboo is asking them if they should be responsible and to fucking clean up after themselves. Who does Ranboo think Tommy is?
“Shut the fuck up Ranboob,” Tommy says instead, sinking into the soft couch cushions with a content sigh. He’s getting a bit lethargic, eyes blinking slower and slower with each minute that passes. It is past midnight, after all, and Tommy values sleep. Sometimes. When Wilbur tells him to sleep.
Ranboo exhales dramatically. “Just.” He sighs, waving a hand pointlessly, and Tommy bites his lip to stop himself from laughing. Tubbo doesn’t have as much restraint as Tommy, apparently, as he’s doing these little half-sleepy giggles every so often. Tommy’s pogness at fighting must’ve worn him out, which Tommy expects since he’s super good at fighting.
Tubbo mumbles something from across the couch, eyes slipping shut and not opening again. Tommy’s about to demand that Tubbo repeat himself when Ranboo holds a finger up to his lips, shushing Tommy. Who does this bitch think he is? Shushing Tommy? He opens his mouth, ready to spew out nonsensical rambling, something along the lines of ‘Ranboo, you are a bitch,’ when Ranboo’s hand slaps across his mouth.
Ranboo leans in, close to Tommy’s ear, “Shut up.” Damn. Tommy blinks, he did not know Ranboo could be that scary. “Shut up, he hasn’t slept in days.” Ranboo says the last words in a way that makes Tommy wholeheartedly believe him. Plus, that does sound like Tubbo.
Tommy scrunches his eyebrows, licking Ranboo’s hand. Ranboo pulls his hand away in disgust, top lip curling as he reaches across Tommy to wipe the saliva on the armrest. “You are so gross,” Ranboo whispers. Tommy snickers; he’s done his job.
“We should go in the kitchen,” Tommy says. He’s not ready for bed yet, but he also doesn’t want to risk Tubbo’s wrath—again—if he were to wake him up. Ranboo nods in agreement, and they concurrently stand up, weirdly mirroring each other’s movements.
Tommy sits in one of the barstools, leaning forward against the counter with his elbows. Ranboo doesn’t sit down, opting to lean against the island on the other side, on the inside of the kitchen rather than the out. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, no, instead it’s tired, both bodies weary from the day. Neither want to start speaking first in case this weird spell is broken, and awkwardness takes over the atmosphere.
“Hey Tommy,” Ranboo breaks the silence, bending under the counter to grab something. He puts a box in between him and Tommy, and before Tommy can get a good look at it, Ranboo speaks again. “Wanna make cookies?”
Of fucking course Tommy wants to make cookies. He voices this (similar to how he thought it), and hops off his stool, meeting Ranboo on the other side. They still don’t speak, quietly pulling out pots. Ranboo grabs eggs from the fridge, and Tommy fills up the required amount of water for the cookies. Luckily, these are just box cookies, not much thought required. Hopefully.
“Ranboo?” Tommy says, “How long do I put these cookies in?” He’s standing there, tray of cookie balls (haha balls) in his hands and the oven open.
Ranboo hums, tilting the box up. “10 minutes.” Tommy nods, sliding the tray onto the middle rock. Perfect, he’ll have hot and ready chocolate chip cookies for him and Ranboo to share at only, he glances at the clock, one in the morning.
The cookies are in, and Tommy wants to spark a conversation with Ranboo, not sure how to handle the silence anymore.
Relaxing next to Ranboo, Tommy asks, “Lego tomorrow?” Ranboo gives a short, startled laugh, and if Tommy didn’t know any better he’d ignore it. Sure, he played the question off as a joke, but Tommy is kind of serious about it, his new hyperfixation appropriating all of his interests.
“Sure, Tom,” Ranboo says, in a weird voice that Tommy can’t decipher. God, how he hopes he didn’t do anything wrong.
“Okay?” Tommy’s almost offended; he didn’t do anything wrong. Unless it’s some unspoken social rule that Tommy skipped over, and he somehow got under Ranboo’s skin. Oh shit, what if he’s in the way? Been way too annoying, and irritable, and just in Ranboo’s way. It’s not the first time a friend got annoyed with him and was too nice to tell him off.
But Wilbur also told him to not hold back, and when he thinks something is wrong, to say something. “Did I do something wrong?” Tommy asks, bracing for Ranboo to rant and let off steam, similar to childhood friends did after one too many jokes.
Ranboo does that laugh again, short but this time friendlier. “No no no, Tommy, please don’t tell me you think you did something wrong?” Ranboo doesn’t give him any time to answer. “Actually, uh.” He stalls, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, Tommy mirroring him by rocking on his heels. “I’ve got something to ask you.”
And oh, if that doesn’t make Tommy nervous, anxiety spiking even more than normal. He's been in this situation before, too. This time it’s not 10 year olds not holding back with their insults, but instead thinly veiled jabs at anything; his personality, face, success, anything. So don’t blame him when his clothes are suddenly too hot for the temperature, and his palms start slipping as the fingers twist together.
Eyes wide and heart racing so fast he can feel the thumping in his bones, Tommy meekly asks, “What?”
Ranboo’s eyes mirror his own, eyebrows rising in what Tommy knows is insecurity. “Uh, Tommy? Again, it’s not you, well it involves you a little bit.” Tommy’s mouth drops open, and Ranboo scrambles. “Well, no, not literally, but uh, how do you know when you like someone?”
What. Tommy’s brain is lagging, thoughts swirling as they attempt to comprehend Ranboo’s ramble there. When his brain does catch up, Tommy asks, “Hopefully, big man, you don’t mean me right?” As a member of the aromantic-asexual community, Tommy would never want to date anybody, nevermind his fucking friends. Gross, actually.
“Wha–” Ranboo’s eyes go impossibly bigger, “Hell no.” Ranboo shakes his head, almost like he’s completely dismissing the idea. “Sorry, no Tommy.”
“What? I’ll pretend I’m not offended,” Tommy jokes, hoping to lighten the mood. It works, the corner of Ranboo’s mouth quirks up in that way that in only does when Tommy says something stupid.
Ranboo opens his mouth, but is interrupted when the oven starts a sequence of beep beep beep. One panicked glance at each other shows that neither wants to deal with waking Tubbo up so they rush to stop the timer, Tommy hitting it before another pattern starts.
“Thank god that didn’t wake Tubbo up.” Ranboo pulls the cookie tray out, breathing a tad heavily from the mad rush. The cookies are a perfect golden brown, chocolate chips melted just right. Tommy can’t fucking wait to devour them later, especially when they're fresh out of the oven, all hot and meltly.
“Anyways,” Ranboo changes subjects quickly, “um, no I don’t like you, or any of our friends, actually.” Tommy can breathe a sigh of relief; that would’ve been one awkward conversation. “But I was wondering how you know if you like someone,” Ranboo finishes abruptly, almost as if he wanted to keep going but stopped.
Tommy licks his lips; is he really going to come out to Ranboo right now? Weirdly enough, he’s not all that scared to. “Well Ranboo, funnily enough, uh, I don’t know?”
Ranboo blinks slowly at him and Tommy grimaces slightly. Jesus christ, that was a shitty explanation. “Actually, I mean, I’m aroace. Er–I’m aromantic asexual, meaning—”
“I know what it means.”
Tommy’s head spazzes a bit at the interruption. What the fuck does that mean. What the fuck. How the fuck. “Care to explain, Ranboob?” Tommy says, confused to no end.
Sniffing, Ranboo does explain. “Well, I’ve been searching up meanings, you know?” Tommy does know. “And I came across aromanticism and asexual-ism—is that a word?” Tommy does not know. “Anyways. I feel like I’m somewhat on that spectrum?”
Tommy huffs in amusement. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling you.”
“Alright. Pog ‘cause same.” Before Ranboo can get over the little mind-frying, Tommy continues, “And I’ve know for a while, just haven’t told anyone.” Damn, why didn’t Tommy come out before? This is honestly so easy. Maybe it’s because Ranboo is just like him, with how relieving it is to not be alone.
“Oh um, well, I’m not like, fully aromantic though. Just demiromantic,” Ranboo says, face all red and flustered. Good. If anyone should have an easy coming out, it’s Tommy with all the hiding and overcompensating he’s done.
Tommy nods in acknowledgement, “Still pog. Any reason you’re letting me know this now though?” He is wondering why Ranboo asked him if he knew what liking someone was like.
Ranboo does a so-so motion with his hands, top lip doing that one kinda movement. “Little bit. I figured that Big Man Tommyinnit would know what crushes and stuff felt like with all the, uh, bragging you do.”
Fair enough. It’s Tommy’s turn to be sheepish. “Well, when you’re scared that everyone will think you’re fucking weird, or some shit, you tend to—or at least I tend to—try to prove them wrong, you know? D'ya feel any better? Like, validation better?”
Ranboo nods, seemingly knowing. “Yeah, a little bit,” he confirms, “Also I think our cookies are cold by now.”
Tommy groans. Of course they fucking are. Still, he’s going to eat the damn cookies, cold or not. And they are good, so good in fact, that Tommy eats three of them before deciding to save the rest for later, probably when it’s day time and not extremely late at night.
“You guys made cookies?”
Tommy and Ranboo jump at the sound of Tubbo’s voice, not unlike deer caught in headlights.Tubbo glares at them, rubbing his eyes. Please be a happy Tubbo, please be a happy Tubbo, Tommy begs internally.
“Gimme some.” Tommy lets out a sigh of relief, although he wishes Tubbo was still sleeping and catching up on all the hours he seems to miss. But it’s still nice to have a happy Tubbo—or at least content—than an angry one. And Tommy experienced Angry Tubbo not too long ago. Ranboo hands some cookies to Tubbo, and Tubbo munches into them, seemingly content with Tommy and Ranboo’s baking skills.
“What’re you guys doing?” Tubbo mumbles with his mouth full, almost gibberish. Tommy’s known Tubbo long enough that he can understand Tubbo, and it seems as if Ranboo can understand him too.
And there’s also the question itself; Tommy’s not sure if he has enough energy to come out to two people tonight, despite how much he would like to come out to Tubbo. But he also thinks that coming out will be refreshing, not having to hide around his best friends and pretend to like (gross) someone.
Ranboo beats him to the punch, though, answering semi-frantically. “Just talking, y’know?” Goddamnit Ranboo, would trying not to be suspicious, for once, kill him?
Tubbo narrows his eyes, eyes lingering on Ranboo before moving to Tommy. “Tommy?” Tubbo challenges, letting off of Ranboo and trying his best to break Tommy. But Tommy’s not going to let him, he’ll never break, no matter how unwavering Tubbo’s eye contact is and how much his heart hates keeping secrets from his friends the moment he’s confronted face to face.
Tommy breaks, “Okay, okay. It’s nothing bad. Jus’,” he waves a hand around, stalling for words to come to mind. Hopefully he doesn’t say something damning, so he gives Tubbo the vaguest answer ever. “I came out to Ranboo?” Tommy doesn’t even have time to see Ranboo or Tubbo’s reaction due to his face palming the moments the words come out ha, just like him, and embarrassedly phrased like he’s unsure of his conversation with Ranboo as well. He peeks through his fingers to see Tubbo’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide.
“Oh, uh, cool. I didn’t mean to like, pressure you or anything, bossman.” The surprise in Tubbo’s voice isn’t shocking to Tommy; his answer was probably the most surprising thing he could’ve said. “Er–well, bossperson? If you are–I don’t know how you came out.”
“I also came out,” Ranboo pipes up, and Tubbo turns to him in shock too. “As demiromantic and asexual.” Tubbo nods, and Tommy couldn’t be more proud of Ranboo. Good for him, coming out in confidence.
“And I’m aromantic asexual, so I’m still cis,” Tommy clarifies. “D’ya know what that–they mean? Like aromantic and asexual?” Tommy asks, wanting to make sure Tubbo knows exactly what he and Ranboo are coming out as.
Tubbo shrugs. “A little bit? I know what asexuality is, but not too much about aromantic–being aromantic.” Tommy looks at Ranboo, trying to ask with his eyes about who should explain it to Tubbo. They can’t seem to do the secret eye communication very well, so Tommy decides he’ll explain aromanticism and Ranboo will explain demiromanticism.
“Basically,” Tommy starts, “I don’t feel attraction or a want to date. Like, I don’t feel love—the typical romance-y type shit and don’t want to date ever.” Tommy licks his lips, not too shabby for having to search up the flag and definition any time he’s thinking about the exact definition.
Ranboo nods absentmindedly, mouth opening to start his definition when Tubbo interrupts. “So no date,” he points at Tommy, “and sometimes date?” He points at Ranboo with the other hand.
Tommy’s got to give it to him, he caught on pretty quick. “Yeah, I feel love and a want to date when I have a deep emotional connection to someone,” Ranboo explains, “but you’re pretty on point there.”
Grinning smugly, Tubbo crosses his arms, and god if the three of them weren’t having a vulnerable conversation right now, Tommy would wipe that smirk right off. Sadly, Tommy can’t help himself from smiling with Tubbo, happy just from another friend knowing something so intricate about himself.
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that right?” Tommy teases, shoving lightly at Tubbo’s shoulder. Ranboo snickers next to him, smiling just as giddily as Tommy and Tubbo.
Tubbo huffs a small laugh, “what did I even do?”
“Know too much,” Ranboo says, a smile contradicting the serious tone in his voice.
“Wouldn’t that mean I’m not an idiot, though?” Tubbo raises one eyebrow, and Tommy knows that he and Ranboo just got bested, by a small little man, no less.
Ranboo knows this too, if the opening and closing of his mouth reveals anything. He clasps his hands together, standing up from his stool like an old man. “Welp, that’s the stream for today.”
Tommy chuckles, throwing his head back slightly, “You can’t just, just use your fuckin’ stream outro to avoid Tubbo’s question, king.” Tommy tilts his head, reconsidering. “Or maybe you can” Looking Tubbo dead in the eyes, Tommy enters his streaming persona, “Boys! That’ll be the stream for today, eh? Daily streams at 8pm bst for the next week, so just hit the little follow button to see when I’m next live.” He waves a hand at Tubbo as if he were in front of a camera, “Goodnight!”
Smiling, Tommy waits for Tubbo and Ranboo’s reactions, not at all surprised when they’re looking at him with two extremely different expressions of shock—Tubbo’s of disgust and Ranboo’s of impressment.
Tubbo recovers quicker than Ranboo, “And you’ll not stream for another week.” Tommy sighs, it’s true, he wouldn’t stream for a week, maybe two, if his little outro there was real. Maybe he should stream soon, actually.
“I’m actually tired, though,” Ranboo says, yawning, “we should go to bed.”
Tommy yawns immediately after Ranboo finishes, Tubbo as well. He tiredly nods his head, whatever excitement from the past few hours leaving his limbs fatigued but his heart happy.
They shuffle their way into the main room, Tubbo waving goodnight as Ranboo and Tommy settle down on the couch. As Tommy’s eyes slip shut, he can’t help but smile, overjoyed with how his first time coming out to people turned out.
Maybe he’ll tell Wilbur next if it's this easy.