Archive of Our Own

It gets cold around the city during winter.

It seems like a basic, obvious fact of life, but outside of his temperature sensor, Ranboo wouldn’t’ve truly felt that, last year. An obvious fact, but one he couldn’t grasp beyond a statistic that flashed across his retinas.

Now, he can feel it beyond just seeing a number that means little to him, the cold wind cutting into his coat despite his attempts to pull it tighter around himself.

It’s a small sacrifice for sapience, but still one he wishes he didn’t have to make at the moment. Oh, sure, sensory synthetic skin sounds nice and fancy, and definitely feels like it when you’re in a warm living room and have the luxury of a fire nearby, and are buried under about three of the softest blankets you could find in the house, but currently?

Man, he wishes he had an off-switch for it. At least for the temperature portion, anyway. Truly feeling things is definitely nice. Maybe that should be his new request of the month when he’s getting repairs done?

He just has to run a quick errand for his housemates, and then he can go right back to being a freeloader on their couch and only being slightly helpful when the mood strikes him, like, say, keeping their ever-growing pile of dishes in the sink at a more reasonable level, or cooking dinner and helping Kristin with it when she’s around, even though he just, actually cannot taste what he’s making at all. 

Easy, easy, easy.

If only the stupid electronics/hardware store that they like so fondly wasn’t across town.

This is, however, the fourth time this week he’s been sent out, and he’s getting a bit bitter about apparently being their new errand-runner. It’s snowy, and he’s very careful on the ice that lines the sidewalks, because he thinks, quite honestly, Techno would just turn him into scrap for real this time if he has to take care of another snapped ligament or something for him.

Pause for a shudder. He can imagine the lecture. It’d be full of, “Oh, Ranboo, mate, you need to be more careful, what if you can’t get back home?” and “Rambo, do you know how expensive and time consumin’ it is to buy PEO coated magnesium and then have to melt and cast you a new wrist bone every time you eat the pavement? I’ve got other things I gotta be doin’, man.”

Frankly, Ranboo doesn’t have time for that type of chastisement. He has too much to do! Like, uh, being purposefully unhelpful in the workshop! And rewatching that terrible cooking show that Phil hates because it annoys him everytime he comes upstairs and then spends five minutes dissecting why everyone in it is awful! 

Not to mention how much the housework would pile up with him being out of commission while waiting on that shipment, and then waiting for Techno to actually get around to casting him a new bone, and then having to get Phil to actually pull out the cracked bits and actually put the new one in him, which would be a whole afternoon on it’s own…

Such are the woes of being made of non-regenerative materials, he supposes. Sometimes he wonders if being organic would just be easier.

…No, it definitely would be easier. Then, at least, he could take public transport, because he’d probably have an ID, or something. Stupid high-tech buses. Long gone are the days of just buying a bus pass or just getting on the bus, instead replaced by the mandatory flashing of an ID at a sensor. Not that he was around for that (at least that he can remember), but from what Phil described? It was definitely a lot better. Simpler.

But no, he has to walk through several blocks in the cold because someone decided to push a deadline till the last minute and doesn’t have time to go on his own, and the other someone decided to go and be out of town with his girlfriend on a date or something. Not naming any names, or anything. Insert cough here.

Surely it cannot be that hard to get him a fake ID from somewhere. 

Hm. That’s an idea, actually. It’s not like Phil and Techno aren’t already in some shady stuff. He’ll have to bring that up at some point.

Ugh. Humans. Everything has to be so damn complicated. He doesn’t even get why an ID is necessary to take a bus to a pre-specified stop. What is he gonna do? Get off a stop earlier than he’s supposed to and have to do more walking, which he is already doing? Oh no! What a tragedy!

The small icicle he kicks off an abandoned and snow dusted bench in his shortcut through the park does not offer him sympathy, nor does it shatter on the pavement satisfyingly, and instead disappears into the snow nearby.

Honestly, what does he have to do get a break around here?

…Okay, to be real, he could probably just get into the subway and jump the turnstile, but that runs the risk of someone seeing him do it? Which, actually, holds so much danger, because he could get arrested, and then they’d be like, “Who are you, what’s your name,” and he has to be like, “Hi, uh, surprise! I’m not actually a person! Please, God, let me make a phone call or I’m going to go actually insane!” and then he’d have to get Techno and Phil involved, and they’d be all weird and huffy about it because they just, hate authority in general, and-

Yeah, no thanks. Being cold is fine, actually. This is fine. It’s not like it can, like, kill him, or anything. He’s pretty sure.

…Wait, can he die from getting too cold? Humans get hypothermia, obviously, but he’s… not sure what would happen to him. He’s something of an anomaly, see? Maybe he should, uh, figure that out sooner rather than later, in the event that he gets, like, locked out of the house sometime, or something.

Anyway, the store is right there, so the problem is solved! Temporarily! At least for the next half hour where he tries to figure out what the hell a servomotor is!

List still clutched in mind, a little display in his peripherals that keeps him on task but is easily ignored for something more pressing, the blast of warm air from stepping inside is a welcome thing. He’s been in here a few times, so the clean layout is familiar, even if only vaguely (stupid faulty memory drive has to ruin everything), so that’s a nonissue, even if he doesn’t recognize the person behind the counter.

What is an issue is that he’s… never been in here alone, he thinks. Usually he tags along with Techno or Phil when they’re running errands just to get out of the house, and by extension becomes an extra pair of arms to carry things. Really, mostly, he just lets his gaze wander and doesn’t really pay attention to anything going on, just enough to follow behind and vaguely agree to rhetorical questions that get muttered under breath as products are compared.

So, yes, while this place is familiar… he doesn’t know where literally anything is. Which entirely increases his likelihood of being approached by an employee who’s going to ask him questions.

And- look, okay, it’s just. Logically, Ranboo knows that it is literally what they are getting paid to do, to assist him if he has a question. It’s called customer service for a reason.

Emotionally? Ranboo feels bad making them do anything? They’ve got other things to be doing, surely, that don’t involve helping his sorry ass figure out where to find a new carbon monoxide detector and helping him hem and haw through which warranty is less likely to get him lightly lectured upon arriving back home.

Plus, the fact that they literally cannot say no to him if he’s asking for a stupid request just leaves something unhappy and clunky in his processing. So, really, he’d like to avoid any unnecessary employee interactions, if only for other people’s sanity. 

And his own, he guesses.

Also, talking to anyone outside of Techno and Phil is kind-of… uh. Terrifying.

Ranboo is not good at being a human. In general. Mostly because he’s not one.

Android is probably the most, uh, accurate term, but it’s definitely not the most comfortable one, by any means. It just feels, mm… detached? Dissected from personhood, really. Made to look and act human, but not be a human, all emotions and facets of personality entailed in the falsity. More performance than reality, if that makes sense.

Personally, he’s more attached to the label anthrobot, because it just feels better. Which isn’t very logical, but who said he had to be? It makes sense to him, and that’s all that matters! Not just mimicking human behavior and personality, but being. Not mirroring other people, but being his own person. It certainly sticks better in his own mind. Hell, he’ll even take normal robot over android. He just doesn’t like it. It’s not quite the same flavor of incorrect that it would be to call him a human, but it just feels… a bit to the left. 

Android is not entirely inaccurate, just… a different shade of the same color, maybe, is the best analogy. And he really prefers the reddish-orange hue of anthrobot to the yellowish-orange hue of android. Personal preference, and all.

…Well, now he’s just complicating it even more. Whoops.

Anyway. He also probably sucks at being a human because he’s mostly a homebody, but to be fair? It’s not like he can really do much else? Everything requires money. Or an ID. Or registration, or, or something he can’t provide, and, yes, while he’s already leeching off of Techno and Phil, he feels guilty every time a wire is found fraying during regular checkups, and thus needs more resources drained into him, even if it’s not really his fault.

He doesn’t want to put any strain on their living situation, if possible? So, uh, yes, while he’s sure Phil would be more than happy to accommodate him showing an interest in being more of a person, it’s also not good, like, conceptually. 

Suddenly having to support a third person who isn’t making any income can’t be helpful at all. Even if he doesn’t have to do any of those silly things like eat, he already has to recharge every day or so, which, surely racks up their electricity bill, and he also is just- very, very good at mildly denting the metal framing under his faux skin. And accidentally straining himself too much and snapping wires. 

Try as he might to hide it, he tends to forget about injuries thanks to not really feeling pain (more mild discomfort if he hurts the nerves built into his skin) and ergo forgets to hide any that he accrues. And if he forgets, he doesn’t really tend to get lucky on keeping their visibility on the down low; He manages to get a few cuts that just peak out enough to be obvious, but not enough for him to really take note, or maybe he damages his wiring in the process and screws up his movement patterns just enough to look odd. Inevitably, someone always ends up noticing his minor scrapes and dents, despite his best efforts.

Really, Techno and Phil are stupidly perceptive about whenever he injures himself, even if it took them a full month to notice when he stole all their screwdrivers and put them in the freezer. Like, he wasn’t even subtle about it, it was supposed to be, like, a two-day prank, max, probably more like a few hours, but they just did not notice at all.

At least Kristin got a kick out of that one. Even if it was, uh, kind-of hard to explain when he walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night because he heard her getting something in there, and found her staring at all of the screwdrivers that Phil had been complaining about going missing.

Why was Kristin in the kitchen in the middle of the night in the first place? Because she, apparently, was just, like, going to make a full course meal? For some reason?

Kristin scares him, sometimes. She’s like, also an anomaly, but just by being so strange. He can’t even explain it, she just has a terrifying energy.

She was also his actual first encounter with the concept of pronouns outside of he/him ones, so that was… definitely odd. Before her, he didn’t- okay. Maybe this is stupid, but before getting to know Kristin, he thought that pronouns were like… names. Kind-of. And he didn’t really get why Techno and Phil just, didn’t use his name? Even though they definitely knew it? Yeah, that made him feel really stupid, actually, but in his defence, they’re just odd. Placeholders for names to make speech more comfortable, but certain people have preferences regarding which ones are used, and other people change theirs depending on the day or how they feel or who they’re talking to, and some people make up new ones, and other people don’t even use them at all. Which is wild.

Honestly, Ranboo himself doesn’t have much a preference. Just whatever’s easiest, and, apparently, people tend to default to he/him for him, so… might as well use those, right? Even if it’s not really accurate, but, y’know. If anything were to be accurate, it’d probably be one of the more ‘neutral’ ones, like, uh, it and they? Or maybe even one of those ‘made-up’ ones, like, uh… oh, jeez, what were they called? Neopronouns? One of those? Which doesn’t really- make sense, really, because all pronouns are made-up and not real. Language in general is made up, too? But he is fine. Again, no real preference. Whatever’s easiest.

But back to the point at hand- Ranboo is already a decent amount of strain on their resources, expensive to fix and expensive to charge, so he really doesn’t want to pull more money out of their pockets just so he can, uh, have a little bit more of a life. He’s perfectly content being a relatively helpful roommate who like, never leaves and spends most of his time either talking to one of them, doing housework, or reading or watching TV, or, whatever. 

Techno certainly never runs out of book recommendations, anyhow, always has a new thing to push at him the moment he finishes the last, which… Ranboo’s really hoping Techno’s just an avid user of the local library and isn’t, like, literally buying him a new book every time he puts down another novel or political commentary. Now that he’s thinking about it, he doesn’t think he’s seen any indicators of anything being part of the library, no stickers, or whatever.

…Hopefully they’re just really well taken care of hand-me-downs that Techno already had on hand. Maybe he has a hidden bookcase, or, or something.

Social interaction is hellish almost every time, anyway. It’s like everyone else just has a script, or whatever? Like, a baseline of code to follow, and he’s just left out of the system. Which is like, cosmically unfair. But whatever. Whatever. Literally not the point at all.

What is the point, you ask?

Conquering this mess of a store without looking like an idiot, mainly.

Offering an awkward smile to the employee who looks bored out of their mind behind the counter, Ranboo promptly darts right to the back, putting as much distance between himself and them as possible, if only to avoid a possible encounter.

Okay! Step one complete!

Now he just has to, uh, y’know. Actually figure out what the hell he’s looking for?

Okay. Might as well start with the top of the list, right? Servomotor. Simple enough, surely? Just, look for the, uh, motor section. Or something.

…Is there even a motor section here? Maybe he needs to go to a different store. But Techno only said he needed stuff from here, specifically?

God, it’s a bit ironic that he’s literally a robot and still has no clue about anything mechanics or technology related. He has no clue how he works, to be honest. Or why he, y’know, has thoughts, or whatever. He’s pretty sure that’s not normal.

No, the fact he’s sapient definitely is not normal. That’s why he isn’t supposed to let people know he’s a robot! It’s like, asking to draw attention to himself. Nooo thank you. He’s perfectly fine being a random totally-human-person who just appeared one day, actually!

To be fair, he did kind-of just appear, like, eleven months ago on the side of the highway with no context for him being there, nor anything signifying where he came from. Phil took him home, Techno almost turned him into scrap because he simply did not care enough to try and turn him back on, and a week later, there he is! Powered on, and with his faulty memory and not having any clue how he got where he was, nor any recollection of what came before.

Two months later is when he got nerve tissue, and he regrets it every time he goes outside. At least now that winter’s rolled around the corner, anyway.

It also helps him realize when he’s starting to overheat before he starts getting warning notifications filling up his vision, too much too late, so that’s helpful. He guesses. Grudgingly.

Phil says it’s supposed to help him look “more human,” which is… a little unfair, because he’s very much not one, even if, externally, he looks the part. He gets the sentiment, though. It lets him leave the house, at least. Lets Kristin come over and not be very, very confused. It stops invasive questions before they’re even a thought in anyone’s mind.

Also stops people questioning his personhood, which, like, even with Techno and Phil, it took a bit to drill it into their heads that he wasn’t just a running computer chip with a glorified frame. Like, “Hey! I’m a real person with real emotions!” Well, not by the standard definition of person, or emotions, but… yeah. 

Legally? He’s not really a person. Practically? Uh, when it’s convenient. And parsable, like, as a concept. Mostly parsable, but it’s definitely a little funny to get out of doing a chore he doesn’t want to do by claiming that he’s not real people, and therefore how on Earth could he possibly do what’s being requested of him?

He mostly gets heavy sighs for that one, mostly exasperated, but he still gets out of vacuuming, so check and mate. Vacuums are just so loud, okay? And clunky, and weird to try and maneuver, and he doesn’t like them.

But, yeah, remembering that he’s, like, fully sapient is kind-of a rush some days, and he’s not sure exactly why he struggles with remembering that, but if he had to hazard a guess? He probably wasn’t a person at some point. At some point, he was just running code and commands without a critical or complex thought in his brain. Or, well, motherboard? Eh, that’s basically his brain anyhow.

Maybe it’s part of the assumption that no one else is in the store, because it’s always empty except for a single employee, at least, as far as he’s aware, or maybe it’s just because he tends to have absolutely no awareness of his surroundings when he gets focused on something, or maybe he was just spacing out, but Ranboo ends up running right into somebody while he’s in the middle of half-looking at shelves and wondering why the hell he even functions, anyway.

But Ranboo runs into someone- bumps into them, really, a mild thing, but even so, something tumbles out of their hands and he scrambles to snatch it from the air before it can hit the ground, manages to get his tongue to form a few words.

“Oh- jeez, sorry, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, sorry.”

A hand that’s missing two fingers and has a robotic prosthetic instead takes the box from his hands, and when he looks up, he doesn’t really have to adjust his gaze, all that much. They’re short.

“All good, boss man. Seeing as I wasn’t really paying attention either, I reckon it’s both of our faults.”

“Hah, uh, right.”

Whoever, uh, whoever this is, he’s certainly interesting.

A burn scar covers half his face, and his brown hair mostly obscures his eyes, so he can’t really tell, uh, what color they are? But, uh, from what he can see of his face-

Look, Ranboo’s never really understood, like, attraction in any way. At least, in the utterly human sense. Objects and things, he’s understood, look nice aesthetically, like flowers and matching colors and things, but he’s never really experienced that same type of thing regarding people? Like, uh. Like, he supposes the words romantic attraction would suffice for explaining what he doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t really fit what he’s trying to describe, either.

Well, whoever this is, they look nice. Objectively. Like, aesthetically. If that makes sense. Not in the drippy, oversaturated way that everyone looks nice on TV, or anything, but more… real? More tangible. Like, the scars on his face convey a message that this is a real human person with real human experiences and not carbon-copy cutout number four million and sixteen.

He’s also got a phone in hand, held up to his ear, and oh, man, he totally interrupted something here, huh? Is it okay to just walk away? Is that normal behavior?

Ranboo opens his mouth to apologize again and then go back to figuring out where the hell he’s supposed to find all the things Techno and Phil need, and is promptly cut off by this guy talking before he can get a word in.

“Tommy, I’ll call you back later.”

The person on the other side of the phone, Tommy, apparently, is not very happy about this arrangement, because Ranboo can hear him complaining about it as this guy hangs up mid-sentence.

The guy holds out a hand, and oh! Ranboo knows this one! This is a handshake!

He accepts it, and the stranger’s hands are warm. Or maybe he’s just super cold. Probably the latter, actually.

“I’m Tubbo,” he offers, and oh! Oh, this is like, a full introduction, oh man. This feels formal.

“Uh- Ranboo! I’m, I’m Ranboo, I mean.”

Apparently, the way he flounders over his own words is entertaining, or something, because Tubbo subtly laughs in that way that people do when they don’t want to come off as rude, or be too obvious about the fact that they’re laughing, just a brief huff through the nose and the uptick of lips.

“Well, Ranboo, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but…”

“Oh, no, yeah, that’s- sorry, again, I’ll get out of your way.”

Tubbo nods, a terse thing, and Ranboo promptly speedwalks his way away, because good lord, that was awkward. At least that Tubbo guy wasn’t rude or anything. That’s definitely a positive.

And back to figuring out what the hell a standard servomotor even looks like.

…Maybe he should start with the new carbon monoxide detector. He knows what that looks like, at least.

Yeah, that seems easier. There’s only four things on the list, anyhow, so, yeah. First the carbon monoxide detector, then picking up some servomotor specific continuous-flex cable and a new surge protector power strip, because those are the things he actually knows what they are, and then he can bite the bullet and probably end up asking for help finding that motor.

He really needs to actually pay attention next time he goes out shopping with Techno or Phil, jeez. Kristin’s definitely a lot more of a force of personality whenever she takes him with, as rare as it is, so it’s a lot easier to pay attention, when she’s chattering at him literally the entire time he’s following along, asking his opinion on everything, but most of the time, they’re grocery shopping. Or getting side-tracked into looking at nail polish colors. Or types of wine, as if Ranboo has any clue what the difference is between any of them, what constitutes a wine being sweet. But they’re definitely not looking for things for Phil and Techno’s work, so they’ve never been here.

Well, at the very least, after he starts actually, uh, using his eyes, armed with Techno’s debit card and a reusable shopping bag, he does manage to reorient himself in the building, actually head in the direction he needs to be.

Right, right, right. So, uh, regular electrical stuff is in that aisle, so that’s, noted, and home safety is right there, so, that… probably has what he’s looking for, right?

It must be his lucky day, because right after he scans past the fire alarms, there it is! One item of four!

Oh, man. There’s different versions. Oh, shoot.

He doesn’t know the first thing about what makes a carbon monoxide detector a good one, if he should buy the more expensive one because more money equals more quality, or if this is one of those cases where sometimes things that are expensive… are worse? Or, are at least just scams, something cheaper could do the same job with the same level of accuracy.

Oh, and there’s whether or not he should get a battery-powered one or a plug-in one.

Mmm.

Maybe he can, uh, text, text Techno? Maybe he can take a break from whatever project he’s working on to give him some more directions?

Honestly, Ranboo isn’t sure what Techno really expected, sending the guy who doesn’t know the first thing about shopping on a shopping trip. Maybe for him to be more, like, good at existing.

Well, sucks to be him, because Ranboo sucks at living in a society!

…Not a flex, actually. That’s just not even close to a flex.

Ranboo glances around, finds himself utterly, self-consciously alone, and pulls out his phone, and…

Hey, wait a second. Wait a second.

Doesn’t this place literally do deliveries? Like you can order online?

Why the hell is he here in person?! He could be at home right now!

He grumbles under his breath as he pulls up Techno’s contact (literally one of four saved on his phone, the fourth being the pizza place that Phil likes), and hesitantly drafts a question.

[Ranboo] Hey, uh, you wouldn’t happen to want a specific type of carbon monoxide detector, would you?

After about thirty seconds of waiting, and no answer nor indication of his text even being read, Ranboo looks back up at the shelf.

Well. He guesses Techno is busy, he was probably kidding himself when he thought he would get an answer relatively quickly. Maybe that’s why he was sent in person, to get things faster than a delivery would take, if the project is that urgent, that he needs a motor for. Everything else they probably just needed, didn’t make sense to place an order if he was going to need to be at the store anyhow.

Techno doesn’t answer within the time it takes him to decide whatever, to just get the combination plug-in and battery detector. He’ll just… come back if Techno responds before he gets to check-out.

Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Okay, one thing down. What’s next, what’s next… continuous-flex cable? Alright, that’s… something. Where would that even be?

Mm. Okay, circling back to the electrical aisle can’t hurt too bad, right?

Apparently it, in fact, was a good decision, because he finds the power strips, but no luck on the cable. It’s… probably near the motor, actually, now that he’s thinking about it. Crap.

Well, at least he definitely knows more specifics on this one. Fifteen feet long should probably do it, considering he’s seen Techno get caught on how much allowance he has with their old one enough times to know it’s probably an issue. Or, at most, an inconvenience they could do without.

Hmm. Hmm-hm-hm. Okay. Well, that’s another thing lit up green and flicking itself off his checklist, disappearing from his vision.

Servomotor. What is that.

Time for some aimless wandering, he guesses. Though, realistically, he knows he’s gonna admit defeat like, five minutes in and trudge his way back to the front of the store to ask pretty please if he’s allowed to know where the product he’s supposed to be purchasing is please?

He, uh, he guesses he’s holding down the aimless part of his wandering pretty well, because as he wanders past an aisle he’s passed a few times already, someone calls out to him, which- admittedly, startled him, because the list was just, completely covering their silhouette in the corner of his eye.

“Are you good?” Someone asks, familiar voice, and, oh! This is Tubbo again.

He’s got a similar bag held in his hand, hanging at his side where Ranboo’s is tucked into the crook of his elbow, though it looks like Tubbo’s had more success regarding the whole shopping thing that he has.

“Uh,” Ranboo forces himself to turn around, laugh awkwardly to brush it off. “I’m, I’m fine?”

Tubbo frowns at him.

“You sure? You’ve walked by me at least four times in the past two minutes.”

Ah. So he has.

Awkward.

“No, uh,” well, what can he say, exactly? The truth, he supposes. “I’m, just a little… lost. I guess.”

“What, you need pointed to the exit?” Tubbo asks, and, Ranboo can’t tell if that’s serious or a joke.

“No, I just- I don’t, uh, usually? Go here. I mean. I’m picking some things up for my housemate? And I…”

“You can’t find what you’re looking for.” Tubbo finishes.

Ranboo nods in ashamed defeat, shoulders slumping.

“Help?” He tries weakly, and, Tubbo raises an eyebrow at him. He thinks. It’s a little hard to tell.

“Why don’t you go ask whoever’s working for help?”

The look on his face must be downright dismal, because Tubbo snorts at him and, thankfully, thank God and whoever wrote his code and arranged his wiring, he takes pity on him, walks over to where he is.

“I don’t want to bother them? I mean, um. Just, if- if you, like, have five seconds.” His voice comes out weak, squeezing his hands together.

“Look, I get it. Customer service is abysmal for any party involved.” Tubbo sympathizes.

Oh, oh, good. Oh good! He understands. Okay, maybe he can just, uh, point him? In the right direction.

“You got a list or something?” Tubbo asks, sets a hand on his- well, not quite his shoulder, not quite his back, somewhere in between.

“Uh. Well, not, like, a physical- I need like, a servomotor? And, and continuous-flex cable. For that. If, if you like, know, uh, where… that would be.”

“Well, no wonder you can’t find it,” Tubbo remarks, pats approximately his shoulder consolingly. “They do not sell that shit here.”

“Really?”

Oh, man. Techno’s gonna be soooo mildly disgruntled about that. Man.

“Well, not- I guess you could place an order through here and have it delivered for you. Did your flatmate do that?”

“I don’t know? He didn’t say.”

“Seeing as you’re not sure,” Tubbo starts walking to another aisle with the confidence of someone who’s definitely been here before, knows his way around, and Ranboo follows like a lost puppy. “You got anything else you need here?”

“Uh…” Does he? No, that’s everything, he’s pretty sure. He doesn’t have anything else on his list, which, he just dismisses at this point, considering the rest of it’s worthless anyhow. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, there you go, then.” Tubbo’s taken to comparing different lightbulbs, and turns to scrutinize him again, consequently making him straighten, a little, out of nerves. “What’s he working on, anyway?”

“I’m… not sure? Probably uh, a commission, or something. I don’t know, he hasn’t let me in the basement for all week, actually. Something about something being dangerous?”

“And you didn’t sneak a peak?”

“Uh, well. He usually doesn’t like when I’m down there anyway, considering I’m mostly distracting him, like, on purpose, so, like, unless he needs my help with something…” Ranboo tactfully leaves out that “help” is code for “getting a routine check-up on my internal processing and making sure all my wires are still working fine.”

Tubbo huffs out another one of those quiet laughs, goes back to his lightbulbs.

“Don’t ask many questions about what he’s up to, do you?”

“I mean. No. He tries to explain some stuff sometimes, but most of it scares and confuses me, honestly.” Ranboo earns another almost-laugh for that one, and chances poking a bit into something that really isn’t his business at all. “What, uh, what are you working on?”

“Nothing terribly exciting.” Tubbo says, but he has a bit of a smirk on his face, something almost mischievous in his tone. “Just a bit of probably illegal renovation work, you know how it gets.”

Ranboo huffs out a surprised laugh.

“You- Yeah?”

“Our landlord is not going to be pleased with me.” Tubbo grins, and seems rather proud of this fact, instead of concerned about getting kicked out.

“What are- what are you even doing?”  

“If my landlord didn’t want me to do my own utilities, she should’ve simply sent someone to fix our plumbing problems the first twenty times I asked.” Tubbo explains, calm as ever.

“Twenty times? What, like, within a week?”

“Over the course of like, three months, but still. Empty promises with that lady.” Tubbo shakes his head with dismay that is clearly being played up for the bit. “Now I have to go behind her back and do it myself so we can have a functioning shower. It’s really horrible.”

Tubbo does not sound like he thinks this is horrible. Or, at least, is an outcome that he’s not entirely upset about.

“Does- are, are your roommates fine with that? Like-”

“Tommy’s cool with it.” Tubbo shrugs. Oh, he was on the phone with him earlier, wasn’t he? “It’s either that or continuing to have a not-working bathroom for the next six months until our lease contract breaks.”

“You know- not to, like, judge your life decisions, but I’m not sure if that’s the smartest? Idea?”

“Eh. I mostly know what I’m doing.” Tubbo seems like he could care less, and also seems like he’s decided on a lightbulb, because he puts one back. “You wanna go check out together so it’s not weird as hell? That cashier is giving me weird vibes, I get why you didn’t want to get near ‘em.”

Ranboo has no clue what Tubbo means by “weird vibes,” but, well!

“Oh, uh- yeah? Yeah, sure.”

That is actually, uh. Kind-of really relieving? Even if Tubbo is still a stranger, they’ve established a tiny bit of a rapport, now, so that’s… helpful. Emotional support stranger, and all that.

At least he’ll be able to actually do the check-out thing on his own. Thankfully, this is not his first time actually purchasing something, even if it’s never been, like, for himself, so he, like, knows how debit cards work, and everything. And! And, he has Techno’s pin number in a helpful little box up above where his checklist used to be, so it’s fine. No issues will come up there, surely.

“So do you live near here, then?” Tubbo asks as they walk, and mm. Is that even… information he should be giving out?

…Being vague should be okay. Even if- okay. Tubbo just seems like he’s trying to make small talk, so it should be fine. He’s been helpful and amicable so far, so. Even if he has, like, ulterior motives for asking, or, or whatever, Techno and Phil can, uh, take care of themselves if he just, like, tries to show up, or, or whatever. Right? Right.

Just shove down the stranger-danger instinct, and it’ll alllll be okay.

“Uh. A few blocks away,” is the answer he settles with. This district is, uh, pretty small, anyhow, and he didn’t give a direction, and he’s pretty sure there’s more homes situated on the other side of the center of the area, too, so. That should be okay?

“I’m just asking because you seem like someone I would’ve remembered seeing around,” he continues on, and, oh! Oh?

“I- uh, really?”

Tubbo just stares at him, and uh- well. Okay. Maybe he has a point, or, or whatever. Despite his best efforts, he is going to draw attention with the, the like, manufactured heterochromia and black and white hair. And the being stupidly tall thing, obviously. Whoever designed him certainly wanted him to look unique.  

Maybe that was the point?

Ranboo can’t say he quite recalls anything about android-like robots in the news, at all. Or heard any mention of it. And surely, surely Techno and Phil would know something about where he came from if that was common knowledge? As far as he knows, he’s one-of-a-kind. So.

“...Yeah, uh. I guess you’re right,” Ranboo laughs nervously, a filler more than anything while he composes himself. “I, uh, don’t really get out much. So.”

“No?” Tubbo asks, but they’ve made it to the cashier, so the conversation gets cut off due to just, like, the awkward customer service interaction.

Tubbo checks out first, and Ranboo hovers while he waits his turn, and, sure enough, Tubbo’s definitely bought a few plumbing supplies.

Hm.

Tubbo elbows him (gently) when he checks to see if Techno had responded to his text yet.

Nope. Hasn’t even read it.

Okay, well, he’s just gonna have to deal with what Ranboo’s bringing home, then!

Ranboo does look up with Tubbo’s nudge, though, and he gestures at the cashier, and, oh! He’s done. Okay.

Awkwardly, Ranboo gets his own checking out done, and no issues with Techno’s card, thankfully, he thinks he might’ve melted into a puddle of embarrassment if it declined, or something.

“Hey, you wanna see if your flatmate ordered something?” Tubbo prompts, and, oh, right.

The cashier just raises an eyebrow at this, looks at him pointedly.

Uh.

“Um. I guess, uh, my housemate might’ve ordered something through here? I’m, I’m not sure, exactly, but. Y’know. He, uh, sent me to get some things for him, and…”

The cashier goes back to their computer.

“What’s his name?”

“Techno? Techno Blade?”

A long pause while the cashier, assumedly, looks up information, and Ranboo glances back at Tubbo, who just shrugs unhelpfully at him.

And then the cashier picks up the phone.

“Oh, I don’t even know if he’s going to pick up.” He mutters, mostly to himself.

“Why not?” Tubbo asks, and Ranboo hums a little as the cashier types in his number, clearly.

“He’s kind-of busy right now. Which is why I’m here and not, y’know, him. Also, he just, like, hates phone calls.”

Techno, apparently, picks up, which is just rude, actually, picking up the phone for a random stranger and not even looking at his text.

After confirming that it is, in fact, Techno, the cashier drones on with a bored disposition.

“I’ve got someone here claiming that they’re picking up a delivery for you.”

A pause, assumedly as Techno talks, and the cashier glances over at him suspiciously.

Which, uh, isn’t helping the building nerves, actually?

“What’s your name?”

“Uh. Ranboo.” A pointed pause. 

Oh, hell. They want a last name.

Ranboo doesn’t have a last name.

“Ranboo D’angelo?” He tries weakly, and, honestly? He actually just completely stole Phil’s last name. Oh, man, he should’ve stolen Techno’s, that would’ve been more convincing if they thought he was like, related to him, or something.

“Ran-bow D’angelo, they’re saying.” A long, terrifying pause after just, absolutely butchering his name, but he’s used to it, at this point. Techno has a bit of a running joke, seeing how many ways he can massacre it in one conversation. His running record is something like seven, at the moment. “Alright. Have a good day.”

More silence as the phone is put back on the receiver.

“So?” Tubbo prompts, much, much more assertive than him, clearly.

“I’ll get your package.” The cashier drones, clearly uninterested as hell.

Okay. Okay. Good, good, good.

Tubbo and himself watch them walk off towards the back of the store.

“So…” Tubbo drones, filling the silence, clearly. “D’angelo, huh?”

“Uh… yeah?” Ranboo can’t actually tell what that tone means, at all?

“Any chance you’re related to a Philza D’angelo?”

Oh! Oh?

“Um… distantly?” Ranboo lies, shuffles a bit, half-hugs himself. “He’s, like, a distant cousin, but we live together. Why, do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s- he always orders a bunch of weird shit through our warehouse- like, why the fuck would anyone need like, thirty seperate whisks at once?”

That tears a fully unintentional laugh out of him.

“I- uh, actually think I have an answer for that one.”

“No shit?”

“Mhm, mhm. No, um, so like- they, they were trying to make like- God, I don’t even know what it was, really, but they were trying to make a machine, right, that, like, used whisks as like, the tool, or whatever, for their like- I think it was a commission to like, harvest something? But they kept-” Ranboo interrupts himself with another laugh. “They kept getting, like, the pressure settings wrong, or, or like, the- the speed? Wrong? And they just kept breaking them. Something was, like, wrong with their math or whatever, and they just- they broke so many of them before it finally worked. Like, so many.”

Tubbo laughs too, now, a louder thing, something that’s a bit stilted in the beginning as it tries to break out through his teeth before he gives up on holding it in.

That’s another strange thing about humans, something that he’s unintentionally picked up on doing, too. How many ways people can laugh. To fill awkward silences, out of amusement, even pitch and tone and cadence change. It’s just a little bit crazy, how it’s practically a complimentary language to regular speech. Though, that could be said about facial expressions too, he supposes. It’s just odd.

Human behavior is odd, and wildly infectious, Ranboo thinks as he finds himself grinning along with Tubbo.

“Oh God, surely not?”

“No! No, yeah, it was, it was bad. It’s like- it got to the point where I was like, making scrambled eggs, or something, and Phil came over and literally just, snatched my whisk out of my hand? I had to use a fork the rest of the time, right, and it’s not the end of the world, but it’s like- c’mon, man, I’m not even going to eat these, I’m making these for you. You could've waited like, five seconds, now this is just horrible."

“Damn,” Tubbo says, filling up more silence with a snicker, continues on. “Oh, no shit, I knew your name was familiar, he keeps getting into long-ass conversations with Jack Manifold, mentioned that you have terrible taste in cooking shows and keep watching the same one on repeat.”

Oh, that’s funny, actually. Ranboo has no clue who that Jack guy is, but, hm.

“Uh- okay, I have- I’m- you have to keep this a secret?”

Tubbo leans in conspiratorially, “Oh?” 

Honestly, Ranboo can’t help but laugh a little again.

“I don’t actually like that show at all, I just turn it on when I hear Phil coming upstairs because it annoys him so much.” 

Tubbo cackles, this time, and Ranboo joins in before checking his texts again, and, oh! Good, he wasn’t being ignored, Techno must not have realized he sent a text, then.

[Techno] plug-in, probably, if you haven’t already checked out.

[Techno] also— d’angelo?

Okay, he didn’t have to point that out. Oh, he’s getting teased when he gets home, for sure.

[Ranboo] Well, I got the plug-in one with the battery back-up thing, so.

[Ranboo] And I panicked? They wanted a last name, I don’t have one of those!

There’s no response, but his texts are read, and there’s a thumbs up reaction to his first message, so probably okay, then? Probably okay.

“I knew you had an evil side to you.” Tubbo proclaims happily, and Ranboo can’t quite help another quieter laugh.

“I don’t know if- I don’t know if that’s evil, it’s just, like, being mildly annoying on purpose.”

“Evil.” Tubbo restates, reaches over and pokes him lightly. “Evil like the devil. Like, uh, like those chocobo things from- fuck, what was it, Final Fantasy? Evil like those.”

“Like the what now?”

“Oh, you haven’t- shit, here,” Tubbo pulls out his phone, and a few seconds later, shoves the screen into his face, and on it, is the image of a giant yellow bird, clearly from a video game, but vaguely reminiscent of, like, an ostrich? Or maybe an emu. Ranboo doesn’t really know what the difference is, anyway.

“Oh, that’s cute, actually.”

“No. Not cute. Evil. The cuteness is how they get you. Evil things, they are.” Tubbo insists, takes his phone back. “The little beady eyes are lying to you. They will kill your whole family.”

“I- okay, either- either way, I’m not sure I’m like, very comfortable being compared to a giant bird-”

The employee coming back with two boxes cuts their conversation off once more, one of which being slightly heavier than he expected, which- okay, he’s made of metal and wires, yes, but not heavy metal. So, like, he really hopes he’s not gonna have a dent in his metal skeleton where his bag sits over his arm, jeez.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit overdramatic, but the point is, one of those boxes is heavy.

But, the boxes have Techno’s name and stuff on them, so it’s probably what he asked for? He could’ve been more specific, sending him here, told him that the motor and stuff was an order he had to ask for, not something to wander about aimlessly trying to find, but…

He supposes he did get a decent conversation out of it, so there.

Speaking of said conversation; as they step back outside, successfully paying for each of their respective things, and are promptly hit with a burst of cold air- God, he forgot how cold it was out here, Tubbo continues.

“You got anywhere you’ve gotta be right now?” And that’s only mildly concerning.

“Um.” Well. “I should… probably get home? And everything?”

“No more errands to run, then? You’re not busy?”

“No?”

“You wanna go on a walk with me?”

“What, right now?”

“Yeah,” Tubbo shrugs, the essence of nonchalance as he stretches, and, uh. Hm. Hm-hm-hm. Is this even safe? “I’m gonna go get Tommy from work, but, y’know. You’re interesting enough, I want to get to know you.”

Well. Tubbo does know Phil, even if only vaguely…

Plus, isn’t that a concept. Someone outside of Techno and Phil and Kristin wanting to talk to him.

And… well, he has been thinking about not being cooped up in the house so often, hasn’t he?

“I… okay?”

“Sick,” Tubbo says, and before he can really get much more out, Tubbo’s holding his hand and dragging him forwards, and the vigor with which he does so is a little amusing, especially because it’s such a blatant contrast with the dreary weather and wind cutting up through the streets and turning his face pink, drags a laugh out of Ranboo’s mouth yet again.

“Where- where are we even going, anyway?” Ranboo gets out, and Tubbo slows his pace after the initial burst of energy and thrust to get them going, lets go of his hand, which he uses to pull his coat closed again and stick right back into his pocket.

“Not far,” Tubbo answers, vague, again, but… for some reason that doesn’t raise more alarm bells. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re heading further into the shopping area, not in a residential direction.

“Right.”

“So, hot stuff, you said you don’t get out often?” Tubbo drawls, and Ranboo honest to God sputters.

“I- sorry? Hello?”

Tubbo just straight up cackles at his reaction, elbows him again, not as gentle, but still not harsh.

“Kidding, sorry, just kidding. Fuck, you should’ve seen your face though.”

“I- I just don’t even have a response for that, honestly.”

“No, seriously, though,” Tubbo picks up where he left off. “You don’t- what do you do with yourself?”

“Oh? Um. Well.”

“Like, hobbies, I mean?”

“Oh, actually… I read? I read a lot.”

“Yeah? Anything good?”

“Uh, honestly, just mostly whatever Techno recommends me. Mostly nonfiction stuff from him, but I like more, uh, general fiction, actually.”

“What’s been your favourite so far?”

“Um…” Ranboo frowns. “Well, I liked Lord of the Flies. Even if it’s a little, uh…”

“Marketed towards middle-schoolers?” Tubbo, once again, finishes his thought more succinctly and with a significant amount of more grace than he would’ve achieved.

“...Yeah. That. I don’t know, I think the like, delving into the psychology of that very specific subgroup of people was interesting? The, the description-work got a bit, uh, tedious, but I think the concept was interesting. Even if the plot was a bit scattered and awkwardly developed, and everything. I would’ve- I think if I found anything that explored the more, uh, mental aspect of being in a situation like that, it would be more pulling. Like, instead of being all person versus person and society, if it was more person versus self and nature, I guess?”

“That’s fair, I get that.” Tubbo agrees, and there’s a lull, and Ranboo tactfully avoids the ice on the sidewalk, because, again, he really doesn’t want to get broken again.

“Uh, what’s- do you? Have a favorite book?”

“Eh. Not much of a reader. I did like Slaughterhouse-Five, though, when I listened to it. Always been a bit more partial to science-fiction type stories. Supernatural shit has always been cool, too.”

“Oh? I haven’t, uh, read that one.”

“I don’t know if it’s much your speed.” Tubbo shrugs. “Definitely one of the more famous books out there.”

“Mm. Well, uh, I might check it out anyway?”

“Yeah, you would say that. Nerd.”

“I- excuse me?” Tubbo’s laughing though, and it wasn’t, uh, harsh, by any means, more of a light jab, so they snicker along as well. “I, uh, agree with you on the supernatural thing, though, it’s definitely cool to see what people, like, come up with?”

“Yeah. Even if a lot of it is just the same cliches and tropes over and over again.”

“Mhm, mhm. Uh, so, you, uh, mentioned Phil- you mentioned a warehouse? What do you do for work, exactly?”

“Nothing exciting.” Tubbo bemoans, kicks a stray pebble right off the sidewalk and over the small pile-up of snow into the icy road. “Just doing shipments and stuff. Phil’s just an insane person who actually picks up his shipments instead of just having them delivered to his house. Mostly I’m finishing up my bachelor’s in organic chemistry so I can work on my master’s in nuclear chem so then I can get a lab job. Internships don’t exactly pay the rent, even if they’d be more exciting right now.”

Oh. Oh, wow. That’s, like, wow.

“...Right, and I’m the nerd.”

“Hey!” Tubbo hits his arm lightly, though he’s smiling. “Asshole, what do you even do for work? Are you a writer? You seem like a little writer boy, aren’t you?”

“I- hello? A little writer boy? What does- what does that even mean?”

“You write, like a little writer boy.”

“I- actually, I don’t write, at all, so there. Also- also, who are you- who are you calling little, you’re like, three feet tall, max, I could, like, dropkick you!”

“Fuck you!” Tubbo laughs, and it’s loud enough that it draws the attention of someone on the other side of the street, but they quickly move on.

“Hah, uh, in, in all seriousness, though, that sounds really cool. Like, uh, nuclear chemistry, actually. I don’t think I could ever. You, uh, must be pretty smart, actually.”

“Thanks,” Tubbo sounds a little, uh, sarcastic, maybe? Or maybe that’s just his tone. “Nah, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it, at least the basics. Having a good teacher helps, too.”

“Mm.”

“Seriously though? You don’t write? You seem like a more creative-arts person.”

“Do I?” Hm. That’s… hm.

Ranboo’s never really thought about other people’s perception of him, before. Like, at least not in that light. Worrying about whether or not he’s truly passing as human? Sure. Worrying about if he’s being annoying when he’s not intentionally trying to be a pest? Definitely.

He’s never thought about, like… how other people read him, personality-wise, though. Hm.

“Yep.”

“Oh. Well. I guess I’ve… never really considered that I could try that before. Hm,” he frowns at the ice under his feet, because it’s… true. He’s never really… considered creating anything before. Could he even, feasibly, do that? Or is there a limitation on how much sapience he has? Is he even able to be considered a person if he can’t create? Can’t make something from his own mind?

“I’ve got a feeling you’d be good at it.”

“I- Tubbo, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but we met an hour ago.” Approximately. He could get the exact time, but, y’know. “You, like, literally do not know me. At all.”

“Well, maybe we should change that, is what I’m saying.”

“...Are you, like, propositioning me to be your friend? Is that what this is?”

“See? Big words. Writer.” Tubbo punctuates his statement by stopping mid-stride and grabbing onto the door of a building, pushing and holding it open. “And in all fairness,”

The way Tubbo spoke, there, implied he would be continuing his sentence, but it just fully stopped without a justification.

“...In all fairness?”

“I mean,” Tubbo snickers, gestures with his free hand at just, all of it, does not elaborate further, and then makes a shooing motion to get Ranboo to go inside, which he does, and, oh!

This is, uh. Like, a coffee shop? Really?

Well, at least it’s warm in here. And not terribly busy, either, which is a plus.

“And there’s Tommy.” Tubbo mentions, points out a blond boy of a similar age in the middle of checking someone out with the most painfully fake customer service smile Ranboo’s ever seen. Which, like, to be fair, he hasn’t seen many, but still.

Ranboo hums, absently checks the time, and- hm, hm, hm, Techno texted him again, like, seven minutes ago. That was probably right when he was leaving the store with Tubbo, wasn’t it?

[Techno] when are you getting back home?

Oh, well… now, it’ll probably be… what, twenty minutes? Give or take, depending on if he gets caught in some of the sparse traffic. Considering they went the opposite direction of home to get here. So.

“Um. Well, uh, it was nice talking? To you? But I really should get home, I think Techno needs whatever I picked up for… whatever he’s doing.”

“Aw, lame.” Tubbo complains. “Let me buy you something for dragging you all the way out here.”

Uh. Okay, nice thought and gesture, and all, but wasted money, considering he can’t drink? Like, at all? Like, he’s pretty sure he would entirely malfunction?

“Oh, you don’t have to-” Ranboo grabs Tubbo’s sleeve when he starts making his way to the counter. “Really, it’s, it’s fine. I-”

“Nope, too late.” Tubbo announces, goes to walk away again, so Ranboo sputters the first lie that comes to mind.

“I’m, uh- I’m aller- I’m lactose intolerant?”

Nailed it.

Tubbo seems completely unconcerned with this.

“Alright, almond milk it is then.”

“Tubbo, really-”

It seems Tubbo was completely right about it being too late, because he is simply ignored as he walks up the counter. Man. Stupid humans and their stupid inherent generosity.

He’s just wasting money. And Ranboo doesn’t have anything but Techno’s debit card to pay him back! And that just won’t work!

Ugh.

Well, speaking of Techno, he should probably answer that text, huh?

[Ranboo] Maybe twenty minutes? I got a bit distracted by something.

Techno responds almost instantly, this time, so that’s good, at least.

[Techno] you’re alright?

Hm-hm-hm.

[Ranboo] Yeah, I’m alright. I’ll tell you when I get back.

Another thumbs up and an awkward minute of waiting, Tubbo returns with a drink in hand and a, dare he say, mischievous look on his face.

Ranboo (painfully, agonizingly) accepts the drink, whatever it is. It smells like vanilla coffee, which. Yeah. Makes sense.

“I can’t pay you back,” he admits awkwardly. “I, I only have Techno’s debit card on me right now, I-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Tubbo waves off. “I made Tommy use his employee discount anyway.”

A glance behind Tubbo proves that Tommy is glaring him down. Uh-oh.

“...Did I do something?”

“What?” Tubbo follows his gaze, sees Tommy looking downright furious with Ranboo’s gall to exist in the general vicinity, and promptly flips him off. Tommy flips Tubbo off in turn. Or maybe he was just aiming that at Ranboo, too. “You’re good. Tommy’s just a dick.”

“Oi! I can hear you, dickhead!” Tommy half-shouts across the store, and then, definitely pointed, “Stay away from my best friend you pathetic, tall-arse wrong ‘un! If I could physically kick you out of this store permanently, I would! No one wants you around here!”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, he’s a lot.” Tubbo seems unconcerned with this behavior.

“Is this- does he do this? A lot?”

“Well, he’s pretty clingy sometimes.”

“Tubbo-”

Tommy’s next shout is cut off into an, “Hey!” as someone comes out from the back and starts attacking him with a dishtowel, and Ranboo’s attention is redrawn to Tubbo when he clears his throat.

“So, like I was saying,”

“Like you were saying,” Ranboo agrees with a hum.

“My intentions were- I’ll see you around, is what I’m saying?”

“Uh… right. Yeah, um. See you? It was, uh, nice to meet you, and everything.”

“Wil, you don’t understand!”

“Look at me. What I understand- what I’ve just happened to notice is that you’re yelling at customers, by the looks of things. You’re yelling at customers again, and it’s not great for business, we have to actually make a profit, Tommy. You’re yelling at customers and you’re driving them away, that goes directly against-”

“Nice meeting you,” Tubbo agrees, ignoring the background noise of Tommy getting lectured by his… manager? Probably? Anyway, Tubbo holds out a hand again, so Ranboo shakes it, yet again.

“Yeah.”

There’s a long beat of silence- well, not really silence, not with Tommy’s manager lecturing him in the background, and not without heavy complaint on Tommy’s end.

Ranboo points his free thumb behind him, towards the door.

“Uh, I’m just gonna…”

“Yep.” Tubbo agrees, so Ranboo just… inches his way out of the door, and thankfully doesn’t incur more of Tommy’s wrath in the process.

Man, it is cold out here. Quieter, though, which is a plus. Less yelling.

And now he has a warm drink? Which is… good for the temperature, but he can’t exactly, y’know, drink it, and-

Hm.

There’s writing on it, actually. Sharpie.

Scribbled, angled, all uppercase handwriting.

Send me a text sometime?

-Tubbo :D

Oh, that’s… a phone number, too?

Ranboo glances back into the building, and Tubbo’s turned back towards the counter in the store, and both him, Tommy, and Tommy’s manager are all chattering amongst themselves, completely oblivious to him looking back.

…Hm.

Hm!

Okay, maybe today wasn’t total misery.

He just made a friend, he thinks?

Like? Like on his own.

Holy cow, right?

Mm. Mm-mm-mm, he needs to get home now, oh boy.

Well. Better get walking, he supposes.

Again, he passes a bus stop, and curse everything about modern technological design that makes it a feasible thing to just, push everyone without an ID onto the streets, something that, he knows, if he brings up to Techno, will get a long, roundabout speech about the political motivations behind such ‘innovations.’

But, he gets home safely, holding his drink for warmth. Not without many internal complaints about the wind and the snow and the cold, but he gets home, and the door is unlocked when he lets himself up the stairs and inside, stomps snow off his shoes in the process.

“I’m home!” He calls from the entryway, toes off his boots and awkwardly manages to get them on the shoe rack, considering he only has one available hand at the minute.

“Kitchen!” Is the typical response, letting him know where to find them, but that’s not Techno’s voice, that’s Phil’s voice, who is supposed to be out of town, he thought?

So, Ranboo does, indeed, round his way into the kitchen, soft, warm orange light filling up the space with the smell of food cooking, and- oh, it is rather late, isn’t it? He supposes he was sent out during the late afternoon, but still. Well, having coffee just seems even more silly now, doesn’t it?

Ranboo drops his shopping bag (Gently! Breaking anything would be a bad idea, probably) on the kitchen island’s counter and sits himself in one of the stools, setting his coffee down and shrugging off his coat.

“How was your day?” Phil asks conversationally as he makes what he’s pretty sure is pasta.

“Pretty good, actually, pretty good. Weren’t you and Kristin..?”

“She wasn’t feeling well,” Phil answers his mostly unspoken question. “Went home early.”

“Oh.”

Well, now that’s just another reason he didn’t have to go brave the freezing streets today.

…He’s not that upset about it, anymore, though.

“There you are.” Techno sounds tired as he comes up behind him, sets two hands on his shoulders, but he’s not… like, he doesn’t even have his work apron on, when Ranboo tilts his head back to look up at him when he leans against his stool? “Get everything?”

“And a little more. Hey, couldn’t you’ve just, like, had all that actually delivered here?”

“I could have,” Techno says, and doesn’t elaborate, which people just seem to love doing today, don’t they? Instead, Techno reaches over his shoulder and grabs his coffee, makes a confused noise. “Did you buy this?”

“No, actually.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say, considerin’ you can’t drink, would not have been the smartest move.”

“Not really, no.” He agrees.

Techno must actually read the writing on the cup, because he makes a “Heh?” noise.

“Who the heck is Tubbo?”

“I made a friend?” Ranboo says, but he comes off nervous, so it sounds like more of a question. “He, uh, was- he had me go on a walk with him, so. Y’know. Compensation drink, I guess.”

“...You told-”

“I said I was lactose intolerant. It did not stop him. I- I can’t exactly just say, that, y’know, I don’t eat at all, just, in general.”

“Aw, mate, you made a friend?” Phil asks, and he straightens up to nod an agreement, taking the cup a bit closer on the counter when Techno sets it back down.

“Mmhmm. He, uh, helped me figure out that you had to actually place an order for that motor thing, and you couldn’t just find it in the store, so I had to ask the employee for it. Which you forgot to tell me.”

“Yes. Forgot.” Techno agrees, but he sounds vague and ominous. Phil hums in that way that he does when he disagrees, and it’s just-

They’re acting strange. Canceling plans and neglecting to tell him vital information and being indistinct and concerning. Purposely obtuse.

“...What’s going on? You guys are being weird.”

“Nothing, nothing.” Phil smoothes over, steps away from his pot of pasta to look at his coffee cup, which he lets happen, even if he’s still clearly covering something up. “Aw, you got someone’s number? Techno, he’s got more game than you do!”

Phil’s grin is shit eating as he slides the cup back over to him across the countertop, and without missing a beat-

“Ah- hey! Hey, now, that is just- this is bullyin’, Philza, this is targeted, undeserved harassment.”

Ranboo snickers despite the ball of nerves trying to tie the wires in his chest into fraying knots.

“That just sounds like, uh, like, well.”

“Bitchless behavior?” Phil offers, and Ranboo points at him.

“That.”

The sound Techno makes is wounded.

“Both of you? Really? My two best friends, betrayin’ me, once again, this is what I get for tryin’ to lead a good life, harassment and treachery.”

“Oh, hush, you baby.” Phil moves to whack Techno with the end of a so-far unused spoon, but Techno moves out of the way too fast. “You bully us all the time!”

“That is true, that is true.” Ranboo adds in helpfully as he brings up his phone under the counter to add a new contact, playing with the edge of the paper lid.

“Speakin’ of bullyin’ you guys,” Techno promptly steers the conversation away from his own detriment. “Phil, you will never believe what I heard on the phone today.”

Oh no.

“Techno, please.” Ranboo’s already begging, which, he knows from prior experiences, means he’s already lost. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“What?” Phil asks, laughing a little, amused, clearly.

“I’m mindin’ my own business, right, and I get a call-”

“If I could, I would redo it. Right now. Please, Techno.” Techno promptly ignores his pleas.

“-About one Ran-bow D’angelo tryin’ to pick up a package for me.”

“Techno.” He complains, but the damage is already done.

“Maaate.” Phil practically coos, and Ranboo is so damn happy that he physically does not blood vessels with which to flush. He does have hands he can preoccupy with putting a number into a phone and eyes with which to keep firmly pointed at the screen, though, even as he leaves the contact name blank for now.

“I needed a last name! I don’t have one! What was I supposed to do, I was trying to come off as normal?”

“Uh-huh, keep tellin’ yourself that.” Techno drones unhelpfully, now moved over to inspect the pot on the stove.

“I will, actually, because it’s the truth?”

Oh, wait a second. Speaking of last names.

“Actually, uh- I do, hm.”

“Yep?” Phil prompts as he shoos Techno away from the stove, probably afraid his complete inability to cook anything is going to infect the pasta from vicinity alone.

“So it’s. It’s cold outside.”

“Observant.” Techno deadpans as he starts actually looking through his shopping bag.

“Thanks, I try. It’s cold outside, and it- kind-of sucks to walk through, right?”

“It would, yeah.” Phil agrees.

“Yeah, it would, because that’s what I was doing all afternoon. So, uh, my train of thought is, right, can I- can we figure out how to get me, like, an ID or something so I can, like, actually take the bus?”

Phil pauses. Looks back at him.

“Oh, shit, you’ve just been walking everywhere, haven’t you?”

“Uh. Yeah, that’s kinda the point I was making, exactly? I’m just tryin’ to minimize my like, damage-done-by-ice ratio as much as possible. It’s really icy.”

“No, that’s a good shout.” Techno muses as he starts taking a knife to the tape on one of his packages. “Uhhh, that was a little bit of an oversight on our part, actually.”

“I mean- it’s not like I could go outside last winter, and everything, so. Y’know. This is kind-of a first.”

“I’ll look into that.” Phil promises over his shoulder, and, uh, turns off the burner on the stove, for some reason. “But in the meantime- Ranboo, mate, you wanna see something?”

…The grin on his face is not reassuring at all.

“I’m scared to say yes?”

“Oh, are we doin’ this now? I thought we were waitin’ till after dinner.”

“Well, he doesn’t eat anyway, so.”

“I- what is happening?”

“Nothing, nothing. C’mon, follow us!” Phil’s grinning, and it is concerning. At least Techno seems more put together, and all, but, uh. Ranboo’s on edge, for sure.

“Is it wrong to say I’m scared for my wellbeing?” He asks as he’s led towards the basement, and Techno just snorts at him.

“Uhh, nah, I think that’s reasonable. Phil does look like he’s about to kill us both, to be fair.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Phil tosses over his shoulder, but it doesn’t have the fake exasperated hint that it usually does, more cheery, still.

The basement is- the basement’s pretty big, really. It’s two mostly finished rooms that detach off the bottom of the staircase in opposite directions and down a single step. To the left, is the workshop area, door always open as per usual, but a glance inside, and Ranboo can’t really see many projects happening in there, despite the fact he’d been sent out for supplies today. To the right is a familiar door that’s always closed, a room he’s been told is just mass amounts of storage and the water heater, and things.

Phil doesn’t go to the left. Phil goes to the right.

“I do genuinely think I’m about to be murdered, actually.”

“Shut.” Phil rebukes, and opens the door, and Techno gently nudges him down after Phil when he flicks the lights on, and…

There’s not, uh, storage? In here?

For, for starters, the floor isn’t concrete anymore, instead hardwood with a large, white fluffy rug in the middle, and the light fixture has changed on the ceiling, from a bare lightbulb to a sleeker ceiling track that shines gold and produces much warmer light, and…

Well, to be honest, it barely looks like the same room he’s peeked into a few times.

The water heater and things are obscured by a purple curtain on the far right side of the room, but the- the most noticeable thing, right upon stepping in, is the fact that there’s a loft bed that’s right against the window, against the cleaned-up brick wall, new curtains and a new windowsill, a desk with a computer and a lamp underneath it, a wardrobe and a full-length mirror and a bookshelf with like, so many books on it, and-

“Surprise?” Phil says, still grinning, holds his hands out a little awkwardly.

“Yeah, uh,” Techno clears his throat. “We figured you can’t exactly sleep on the couch forever, and all, so. Consider it an early birthday present.”

“We had to get a little creative with how much space we had, and it’s kinda awkward that it’s in the basement, but-”

“Didn’t exactly have anywhere else. We checked, for the record, walls are thick enough that you can’t hear us in the workshop, at least if we’ve got both doors closed.”

“Also had to rework the heating to get this side of the basement too, actually had to get contracting work for that.”

“Yeah, Lord knows that was expensive, but I doubt you exactly want to be freezin’ to death in the middle of the night.”

“If you even can, but, probably best to not test it, yeah?” Phil laughs, now, almost tittering, slightly nervous.

Uh.

“I-” Ranboo has a moment where it doesn’t, uh, really. Click? Exactly? “You… made me a room?”

“Yep.” Techno’s voice is- is almost awkward. No, definitely is awkward. “S’not a big deal- again, you can’t exactly stay on the couch forever, and I figure you’re probably startin’ to get annoyed with not havin’ your own space, or whatever. Again- early birthday present.”

Ranboo finds himself exploring, almost, and it’s not- a huge space, but it’s, it’s got all the requirements, and his fingers find his- his bedframe, and there’s a familiar charging cord affixed to one of it’s walls, climbs up and disappears towards the end with the pillow, because Ranboo doesn’t sleep, really, but he does go into a stasis-state when he’s charging, and…

Oh.

Oh.

If Ranboo could physically cry, he thinks he would be right now.

“Yeah, that bed gave us a fucking headache and a half,” Phil laughs. “Ikea furniture is the worst.”  

“I honestly think it was easier reinstallin’ the outlets in here.” Techno agrees.

And, and-

“Is this-” A slightly shocked laugh escapes him again. He’s… been doing that a lot today. “Is this why you kept, kept sending me out to do things?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“It was,” Phil fills in where Techno refuses to, leaning himself against a free wall. “You are frustratingly efficient with getting shit done, that’s why Techno didn’t tell you that you had to go ask for that order, he was hoping it would stall you longer.”

“Really?”

“But no, you just had to go 'nd make a helpful friend, I literally just got done settin’ up that bookshelf when I heard you get home.” Techno complains.

“So?” Phil asks, with a gesture towards the room. “You like it? It’s kinda empty right now, but I’m sure you’ll find some stuff to decorate with later. This was kinda short-notice.”

“I…”

Ranboo looks at that charging cord again, very aware of his true needs even when pretending he needs something like a bed, at the bookshelf that holds- half of it has all the things he’d mentioned were his favorites, the other half new titles. He looks at the general color scheme of purple and gold, his favorite colors that accent the black and white, and…

“Yeah. Yes, it’s- I-”

Dimly, he realizes he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Thank you,” is all he can really get out coherently.

Techno just walks over and claps him on the shoulder again.

“Alright, let’s go eat, I haven’t since this mornin’ and I am hungry.”

That draws out another laugh, and so, they do, leaving behind his- Ranboo’s room to be used and truly explored later, when he’s alone.

Well- Techno and Phil eat. Ranboo just sits nearby and listens to them complain about every inch of their latest project, all the hang-ups they ran into and all the rushing they had to do to not draw any suspicion, but that’s… that’s routine, at this point. Being there just to be part of the conversation, that is.

And, later that night, when Ranboo finally flops into his- his own bed for the night, and looks at his phone, remembers his new friend in the coffee left undrinken on the countertop, he, not without a lingering feeling of hesitation, sends a text to the unnamed number he’s saved.

[Ranboo] Hi! Is this Tubbo? I’m really hoping you actually gave me your number and not some random person’s.

And, a few moments later-

[Unknown Number] yep all me hot sutff ;)

[Unknown Number] why thr fuck do you type exactly hwo you speak thats fucked up

Ranboo laughs at his phone, in his own room, and goes to change the contact to Tubbo’s name.

Yeah.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.