Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s absurdly humid here. Like, an unholy, frigid sort of humid that builds up sweat on the back of one’s neck. It builds and builds until it slides down with an unnecessary chill. Wiping a hand across it does nothing, and in fact, only makes it worse. Having a damp hand is considerably more awful actually.

Ranboo sighs, tucking his hands into his flimsy pockets. It was supposed to be autumn. You know, the whole dry air and pretty leaves sort of deal. But not here, no no, his part of the world just had to consider itself quirky. Slapping itself right next to an ocean. A freezing ocean. And yet, here he is, slowly perishing in the ever-increasing chill humidity. It makes absolutely zero sense, how can humidity be cold . If only it were a pleasant sort, the kind where a sweet breeze flows over their face, and doesn’t make it look like they've stepped out of the shower every time they step inside. 

Anything would be better than this.

The sun is pretty much taunting him now, only motivating his one-sided feud with the weather forecast people. The clouds just decided they had better things to do today than reveal the blasted sun. It’s early evening, the sun just barely beginning to dip below the treeline- but that only assists the chill assaulting Ranboo’s senses with pointless cold.

The path doesn’t stop sprawling ahead of itself, swimming from point to point on which they travel with a careless lope. An utterly exhausted, disastrous sort of lope that nearly always has them collapsing on the upcoming bench simply because their stupid legs have decided to rebel against their will.

It’s not entirely Ranboo’s fault that the universe is against them. I mean, surely fate must be against them as well, perhaps they teamed up. Deciding to make their life a living hell as their entire weight flops onto the bench with zero intent to leave in their mind.

His job was spiteful. School was a droning isolation of tears, and then there was home. Well, home was basically a box. And that was treating it modestly. It wasn’t the worst necessarily, it had a kitchen. If he could actually consider a kitchen to be a sink and a mini-fridge. It was enough. He had a bed, or a futon, as it was supposed to be called. It had mysterious stains from at least a decade ago, but that’s what you get when you raid a 90-year-old’s estate sale. 

The old hag maybe didn’t deserve her demise, but hell, Ranboo got a bed out of it. Win-win. 

Shadows crawl over the dirt, making their way over the trees until they finally start to twist up their legs. Ranboo had never necessarily been good at keeping time, but they were always home by the time the moon came out. Weird, they must’ve spent longer on that bench than he meant to. 

It’s then that they're alerted to the voices ahead. And from the sounds of it- the very drunk voices. Ranboo shouldn’t have expected anything less on a Friday night, but honestly, do these people have anything else to do rather than puking on the grass? Apparently not, because one of them stumbles to the side, promptly heaving his guts onto the dirt. 

University kids, their sweater insignias displayed. Disgusting. Not that Ranboo can judge, they're a university student as well, but they’re similar only on that front. Ranboo most definitely did not drink alcohol, and would never be caught dead doing whatever those idiots were doing on the side of the road. They didn’t need that, they just needed to get through school, suffer through their job, and eventually get enough money to make the return trip home and start an actual career. 

Ranboo liked it here, mostly. It was a quiet town, the forest was always a pleasant sight to wake up to in the morning, it sprawled outward from the town, surrounding it. Almost as if the town was settled in a large clearing. The ocean isn’t far but hidden by the seemingly endless trees. Sometimes, Ranboo catches themself staring at it. Perhaps it’s because of the fascination with it, how certain trees blend together, undergrowth and foliage mixing into a spatter of similar colors. And yet sometimes it felt like it was more than that. How a forest can be more than a lousy forest, Ranboo doesn’t know. 

Anyway, said drunk university students are stumbling around. And it’s then that the last one drops a bottle. Straight onto the ground. None of them even blink, don’t even register the glass shards now spread over the grass. Ranboo’s not entirely sure how it broke, but it doesn’t matter, as the kids are now just stumbling away.

Jerks.

They could just leave, leave it for someone else. But- they can’t, there’s a trashcan two feet away, and he’s late enough as it is. Surely his roommates wouldn’t mind waiting an extra few minutes. 

Ranboo crosses over to it, examining it. The glass shards are dripping with a disgusting liquid, one that has him glad he’s wearing a mask because the smell must surely be horrid. They shrug off their bag, settling it into the grass as they scrounge around for a folder. Their hands close around it, and they bring it out with a sigh. It really wouldn’t have been difficult to just- clean this up. But no. They just left.

The shards are relatively easy to pick up, and he somehow manages to avoid cutting himself even once! So, that’s an achievement. He collects the shards onto the folder, and when he’s done, brushes them off into the trash can. 

Ranboo allows himself a small smile and claps his hands together as the last beads of liquid roll off his fingers. This was it, his little revenge that no one would see. Even though, thinking about it, he’s more a janitor than someone actually heroic, or like- vigilante-esque. All they did was clean up some trash. But whatever, that’s their graciousness-meter filled for the next week.

Go them, environmental protector of this small, insignificant town that probably still runs on candle wax. Ranboo stuffs his now mostly glass-free folder into his bag and heaves it onto his shoulder once more. His roommates probably weren’t worried, most likely drunk on their own terms. 

And so, their small act of heroism completed, Ranboo’s feet begin to carry them back down the path, utterly oblivious to the eyes watching them from twisted roots and branches. 

Work went later tonight, so much so that the moon is now shining down on them with that ivory stare. It’s a cloudless night, so lucky for them. By that, he means his phone is dead and at least he can see a little over five feet in front of him. It’s completely unfair that he’s surrounded by darkness, hell, for the past week he’d been way later than usual. Maybe it was just the seasons changing or something? But even then, he was always walking home later as well. 

They don't quite remember why, but probably something about work. 

The small forest detour feels longer than it should, and far quieter. No birds call from above, no rustling of branches, no breeze. Just a dense silence that filters through the trunks and branches. It grapples with his mind, and Ranboo finds themself unsure whether to feel comforted, or uneasy. It was always windy here, like, always. They're not even exaggerating in that regard. Not even mentioning the cloud cover. The moon unobstructed was unnatural if not unheard of in places like these. It really was odd.

He readjusts the bag over his shoulders, hyper-aware of the small rustling it makes. Now emboldened by what seems like sixty decibels. If it were much louder it might raise the dead, but for now, the unease only inches down his spine. Settling itself right under his neck. 

This was weird.

Ranboo’s shoes skid over the dirt, spreading crackling leaves and formless dirt on their faint trail tracks just behind them. There’s something almost supernatural, the way sound travels through silence. As if they're trapped in their own bubble, forced to hear the reverberations of their arms brushing against their torso or the scratch of their shoes against the dirt. It’s like a megaphone being forcefully held to their ear, and their movement is on the forefront of their mind as they continue their ambling walk.

What’s worse is that it’s not a bubble, and in fact can be heard from every direction. It paints a target on his back, in a silence such as this.

Maybe he’s imagining it, but it feels like eyes have followed him here. Attracted to the sounds or the harsh breath clouding on just above his lips. It shouldn’t be cold, it simply wasn’t cold tonight. So why do they feel frost creeping up the back of their neck? 

It’s pressing, like walls are closing in over his shoulders, almost like the trees have suddenly decided to creep closer. Spiraling branches reach over, compiling on top of each other to block off the sky. 

Still silent- so uncharacteristically silent, yet oppressive in the way it drags them forward. His heart pulses through his mouth, and the trees are ever-so imposing as they tower over him. They can’t see the sky, he can’t feel his legs- the cold ripples over them, seeping into his skin like a parasite.

With a loud cry, their joints lock. They topple, breathing harshly with shaking hands scrabbling for grip along the forest path. And blinded by their own panicking ferocity, they fail to notice just who steps out of the forest.

It shuffles forward, keeping in tune with the muted tones that drive Ranboo’s mind to static. And when reaching Ranboo’s miserable form, it stops. 

“-ey are you okay man?” A voice tries to reach them through the fog. 

Ranboo can only groan, their heart still beating louder than their own thoughts. The frost trickles away, only leaving a sore, aching pain that twists over his limbs. “W-what?” He manages, through coarse intakes of air.

A hand is held out to him, and Ranboo takes it, visibly swaying as he gets to his feet. The hands take care to steady him.

The voice sounds strained, and if Ranboo were truly able to focus, it’d sound unsurprised. “Fuck- well you didn’t look fine, and before I could say anything you just kinda, fell over?”

That sounded right. With a limp smile hidden behind their mask, Ranboo tries to regain their abruptly lost composure “Huh- I didn’t know I was that prone, to falling over.”

The stranger laughs, and though Ranboo’s vision is still swimming dangerously, he can make out a humanoid shape standing in front of him. “It’s not your fault big man.”

Ranboo rubs their palm over their temple, it aches. Likely from where they had promptly smacked it against the ground. Damn, that really hurt.

“You want any help?” 

Ranboo actually takes time to process this, trying to blink away the blurriness. They somewhat succeed, taking in the stranger who had helped them up. They briefly shake their head, regretting the action as the entire scene lurches sideways. 

With another deep breath, they attempt to take in the scene before them. 

The teen is close to his age by the looks of it, with curly blonde hair that pokes out at uncontrolled angles. His eyes are blue, an electric, bright sort that you only see in edited pinterest ocean photos. To be honest, he looks a bit fake, a little too pronounced with his deceptively simple red and white tee. 

“I'm uh- I’m good.” Ranboo peeks at theur own dirt-smeared knees before glancing at the other boy. “Are you? I mean, you- uh, don’t seem to be wearing shoes..” And he isn’t, not even socks. How the boy hasn’t doubled over in the sudden chill Ranboo has absolutely no idea. 

The blonde snorts at that, eyes glinting mischievously. “Why’re you looking at my feet tall ass?”

Oh god. They've messed up. The kid probably thinks they're a weirdo. Which stranger danger I guess but like they never assumed it’d be about them. They bristle, honestly more shaken than pissed, “What? That’s not what I-“

“-I'm only messing, chill out man.” What helpful advice, jerk. “You look like you’re about to pass out again, so, maybe don’t do that. Or do, I don’t care.” The teen smiles, with perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth that almost seem to glow. “But honestly, no I just like walking through the woods like this.”

Ranboo couldn’t think of a worse hobby. “..You walk through the woods barefoot?”

The stranger practically doubles over with ill-placed laughter. That wasn’t even a joke, not even the foundation of a joke but an honest to god question. The teen’s voice curls, resembling the bird songs that usually wake him up at god-awful hours of the morning. Ranboo can’t help but feel a tad out of place as that booming laughter resounds off the still-dead air.

“Well, yea!” The boy claims when he finally recovers. “Good for the bones you know, a little bit of soul finding for the soles.” 

Their only weakness, Ranboo tries to stifle the small chuckle threatening to overtake him. They sadly do not accomplish this feat, and is rewarded by the blonde’s horrified realization.

Those blue eyes comically widen, a look of terror coming over his face. “Unholy unseelie- I did not mean that.”

“I’m sure. Totally by mistake.” 

“Fuck you! That was completely unintentional because I, for one, am not susceptible to such things.” The boy practically screeches, voice raising in pitch so exponentially that Ranboo has half a mind to cover their ears.

Ranboo stifles a flinch, contemplating asking the boy for a little quiet before shaking it off with a weak smile, still hidden by their mask. Honestly, they're unsure why they keep trying, but it’s easy to forget he has it on. But his headache screams at him, making his skull feel like an anvil balanced on the rest of his stick shoulders, but he’d probably be fine. Probably.

The stranger pauses, hands suddenly fiddling with a small bracelet around his wrist. Ranboo hadn’t noticed that before. “Holy shit, you okay? I uh, forgot about the whole, eating dirt thing.” His words are strung with pity, so dense it practically spills onto the forest floor.

Ranboo can’t find it in themself to reject it, so instead, adopting their best customer service voice, they force their smile to widen, “Yea- just, still shaken up.”

The blonde grins back, and those eyes, unblinking and unsubtle, flash. 

There’s the flickering urge to run as a hand thrusts itself outwardly jerkily, almost suspended by strings as it bridges half the gap between them. “You can call me Tom.” 

They can’t help but stare at the hand, the hand void of scars, calluses, anything that might define it as having belonged to someone. But, it keeps waiting, and Ranboo feels like it’ll be rude if they wait a moment longer. “I uh- nice to meet you, Tom.” Carefully, Ranboo unfolds their fingers, ever so slowly reaching for the hand until they clasp around it. 

“You’re coming this way tomorrow right?”

“Uh, sure? I didn’t really think ahead that far-“

“-Cool!” Tom practically sings, eyes crinkling with an unwavering smile that somehow doesn’t feel real. Sure, muscles were stretched, nerves were firing, but there was nothing behind the gesture. It felt like someone had traced the movement, using linework to scratch just the surface of it, and not actually taking into account what a smile actually is .

Lost in his odd contemplation, he almost misses the scuff of bare feet barreling past him. “Come visit me tomorrow tall ass!” The voice calls out from the trees, and by god, Ranboo could swear the forest shudders. They just catch a glimpse of the pristine red tee before it slips behind the foliage. 

Coughing gently, as if to dispel the still present, but not quite as brutal stillness. Unnerved, confused, and certainly, a little dazed, Ranboo looks off in Tom’s direction before beginning their slow walk home once more.

He leaves pondering the interaction, plucking at the stray strands of his sweater. Did he- give Tom his name? He throws a look over his shoulder. Oh god, they'd probably messed up that interaction. It wasn’t really news to them, but rather just another failure tallied in their mind. 

It shouldn’t matter much. How likely is it they'll meet the same stranger again? 

“Hey! Tall fucker!”

Ranboo can’t help but jolt, his spine nearly straight as his imperfect posture corrects in splitting fear. His feet trip over themselves as he struggles to right himself, heart hammering through their chest as they face the new threat- “Oh. It’s you.”

Blue meets grey. And none other than Tom is sitting behind him, that blasted smile plastered across his face like a damn advert. He’s practically perched on a bench, the same bench Ranboo had found themself laying on a few nights previously. Honestly they kind of liked that spot. Maybe it was a universal sort of thing, after all, what made that specific bench that enticing to the masses?

“You sound less than thrilled.” Tom snarks, snapping over Ranboo’s fading attention. The blonde is standing now, much closer than Ranboo remembered. How he managed to cover that much ground in what was likely less than a second? Who knows. And he didn’t honestly want to know.

He’s not sure he likes Tom too much. His hands slip over his jacket pockets, eyes anxiously slipping to the ground. Their balance shifts weight from one leg to the other. “I- uh, don’t know you? I kinda think that’s fair? But, but like-”

“I’m joking.” The other says a tad sternly, and Ranboo drops out of their rambling explanation. They nod shakily, attempting a smile only to fail miserably. One day they'll actually remember that no one can see their face. 

The blonde boy quirks an eyebrow up, interest seemingly reignited, and strides a few steps forward. For a moment, it’s almost as if he glides. But Ranboo shakes their head. That’s not a thing, that’s not even remotely logical. 

But it’s odd. Two boys standing on an uneasy path, streaks of moonlight reaching out around them. Tree branches stretch out, letting patches of light and shadow mix together. Tom’s face is covered by the shade of a large pine tree, though it’s almost as if his bright blue eyes glow, like some crappy glowsticks. Scanning him like searchlights.

Tom sets a hand on his hip like one of the blasted entitled customers that swarm his workplace. Ranboo bites their lip, shoving their hands in his pockets awkwardly. “In- in that case then, I guess, I just didn’t expect to see you again.”

That little comment earns him slitted eyes, somehow managing to glare even deeper than before. Though honestly, his eyebrows have knotted themselves so far down that it kind of felt like a squint more than a glare at this point.

“You never know who you’ll meet out here.” Tom snickers, running his fingers over the bracelet on his wrist. In the darkened moonlight, all Ranboo can make out is the twisting of leather and the gleam of something green. 

Ranboo’s unsure why he’s even allowed this, let- Tom or whatever talk to him. He’s usually so careful about strangers, but Tom. Well, he was just another kid right? A weird kid, probably the same kid going to rob them blind and leave them bleeding in an alleyway. But still, it would be rude for Ranboo to leave. 

The wind has yet again decided to leave him undisturbed, forever lost in the seamless bouts of silence that swallow him whole. Or in this case, leave him a socially awkward mess that threatens to overpower his simple brain and simply run away. 

Strands of logic loop over their head, trying to screw their head on properly. That was absurd. Tom was just a little odd, potentially up to something illegal, but then again, he looked college-age. That seemed to be a common theme among some circles. Anyway, Ranboo should just stay polite, stick to the rules, play his part. 

They laugh it off, not nearly as joyful as he intended. Though from Tom’s look of pure fascination, he played it off well. Ranboo pats themself on the back, internally of course. God, maybe they were better at this whole social thing after all. “I don’t think I imagined anyone saying that, especially here.”

“What’s wrong with here?” The naivete shining in those eyes is unnerving, the genuine hurt and the small pity that’s thrown at him is nearly overwhelming. Ranboo actually takes a half step back, something that apparently doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“It’s- it’s nothing, just, a small town I guess.”

“Is it?”

“Well- yea? I mean it’s only got like, five-thousand people?”

Tom frowns, something akin to bemusement flickering over his face. His lips part slightly, as if to question them, before closing.

Ranboo doesn’t waste time, seizing their ‘polite’ exit moment like a dying man to water. “Well-! If that’s all-”

“Do you garden?” The blonde blurts, his eyes intently fixed on Ranboo. The taller can’t help but feel a tad uncomfortable, being scrutinized really wasn’t their idea of a pleasant conversation.

“Huh?”

“Garden.” Tom snaps, and Ranboo feels as if he can almost see sharp canines from behind the teen’s lip. They vanish after a small moment. “You know, plants and shit.”

Groaning inwardly, Ranboo tries his best to repress his utter disdain for this still continuing interaction. Though after a moment of waiting, the blonde shows no sign of relenting, not even blinking as he stares Ranboo down. 

“ A bit .” They finally give in, utterly and completely turned around. This conversation shouldn’t be like this, they shouldn’t feel irritated, and even scared of a simple question. Tom was really weird yea, but like, it didn’t justify Ranboo’s fight or flight. There was no reason to feel as if a meat cleaver had taken liberties smashing every single warning bell their mind possessed. Or perhaps a brain surgeon, removing the left side of their brain with the pitiful reason of, ‘just felt like it.’

But suddenly, Tom’s several steps closer than before. A low songbird calls from the trees, something musical and lilting, nearly overpowering his head with the simplistic ease that it flows with. “You do?” And there’s no masking the hunger in his voice.

Blinking rapidly, Ranboo regains any sense of composure they retain. “Yea- yea, a little. My friend gave me a peace lily, which I’ve somehow managed to keep alive.” The spiraling fear prods at their throat, and maybe- maybe if they keep talking Tom will stop eyeing them like a piece of prey. “A-and my landlord is making me care for his herb garden as part of ‘rent.’ Though I really think it’s just a ploy because he sucks at keeping things alive, like the light in his tenant’s eyes, or maybe even his humanity. Because from what I’ve seen- ”

“You ramble a lot.” There’s a finger poised on the shorter’s chin, and Ranboo’s words trickle into silence. A faint blush stains their cheeks as they splutter.

“Sorry.” His hand rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s sort of a habit.”

That weird grin flashes again. “No- no. It’s fine. I like it. You’re weird.” How ironic. The actual weirdo and the perceived weirdo. Though thinking about it, Ranboo’s not sure who fits into which role here. Oh god. 

Shaking off the feeling that they're about to be murdered by this random kid in the woods, Ranboo recovers. “So- you garden as well?”

Tom seethes, “Wondered when you’d ask.” And it’s as if the air between them has split, snapping and splintering with pent-up frustration. 

The taller takes a step back, the sudden bite and accusatory tone shaking them to their core. Why did the words burn? The irritation in it almost reducing them to a trembling, blubbering mess. Apparently noticing his state of panic, Tom’s head cocks to the side, confusion lacing his expression. Ranboo’s sick of this game, the high-strung strings that seem to entangle around them, each pulling with a different tension. Each snapping when they least expect it.

Such as now, when Tom's face softens. The hardness in his eyes now replaced by a gentle pity. “I run my family’s farm. Grow all sorts up there.”

For a moment, Ranboo’s even more confused. Tom’s pale stature and seemingly unmarred skin not registering with the words falling from his mouth. But it’s rude to judge, and it’d be rude to trust the instincts that scream for his attention. It’d be rude to turn tail and never look back at this crossroads. Ranboo would control himself, he would control his own will, and handle things of his own accord. Damn it all, he’d be stubborn until his dying breath. 

“That’s- interesting. Do you mind if I ask what you grow?” They practically rasp, forcing their jaw to move and telling the unease to kindly shove off.

Tom carefully folds his arms together, puffing out his chest in what he probably assumes is a proud gesture. “Vegetables and a small orchard,” Tom explains, “my family are mostly vegetarians. But we have some flowers as well.”

Oh, he didn’t realize they were self-sustaining. That was really cool. “Do you- like it? Not having to live out here?” The small question perhaps betraying their want for something simple again. Their life was constant, a barrage of schedules and classes. Perhaps only having one purpose, a simple purpose, was intriguing to tgrm.

Tom stares at him suspiciously, likely sizing him up once more before muttering, “Yea, yea I do.”

It’s something simple, words hardly considered worthy of a response, but it’s full of something all the same. As if the answer was loaded with something more, more of which Tom hadn’t expanded upon. Despite everything, Ranboo finds themself intrigued. “I’ve thought about once or twice- just, leaving.”

Tom’s look of alarm is quickly smoothed over, and he moves a small inch closer. His folded arms are tightened around himself, and he looks almost fearfully at the other. “Where would you go?”

“I’m not sure,” Ranboo answers honestly. “Anywhere away from here I guess.”

Tom hums. “I wouldn’t think you’d feel that way.”

"You don't know me." The taller points out, a tad accusingly. But Tom appears to shrug it off, looking entirely unbothered.

"All people out here are boring. They all think that way."

That's not fair. Tom shouldn't be able to shove everyone into black and white, it simply wasn't possible. "You can't be sure of that."

"But I am, they wouldn't trade that, Tom shoves a hand out, towards the town. His lips are curled, utter distaste clearly taking hold of him. He spits his words with something bitter, something jaded and entirely unapologetic, "for anything."

It leaves Ranboo grasping for straws, halfway wondering just what made Tom think like that. But it's nothing more than a passing curiosity. Tom and them are strangers after all. "They just want to live their lives like they always do."

Tom sticks his tongue out, looking entirely childish. "That's just fucking boring. I don't like boring."

"You're literally a farmer."

The blonde jerks with a start, actually taking a dramatic step backward, a hand covers his heart as if he's been burned. God, theater kids, you could spot them from a mile away. "What the fuck -" Tom starts, mock offense straining his voice. "I thought you liked farming." The teen pouts, thought amusement sparkles in his moonlit eyes.

"It's.. complicated. Sorry." Ranboo settles on, hiding a smirk below the cloth covering their face.

"And you are a bitch ."

He's not entirely sure how it happens. But Ranboo laughs, legitimately, actually, and not his small, faux laugh that he usually hands to suburban dads when they make a truly mind-numbing joke. What's most welcoming, however, is the way Tom's face lights up.

By the time they've caught up with the time, Tom's cursing over-excessively, looking at the moon. "I have to go."

Ranboo blinks, looking up as well. The moon has moved past the center of the sky, still streaming light on the both of them, it's past midnight. Stars blink through the clearing, and Ranboo is pretty impressed. The light pollution here wasn't bad, it was actually, bearable. Maybe he just had taken the time to you know, look up. He used to love the stars, always drawn to the shifting of the night sky. Even years later, it's nice to know that they never left, like everything else.

“See you soon tall ass.” Tom chides, and Ranboo blinks back into the present. Tom's smiling at them, still, even after all these hours. And after Ranboo gives him a small wave, the teen glides a few steps toward the trees. The taller sighs, preparing to leave, when suddenly Tom stops, calling a quiet, 'wait.' 

Ranboo complies, turning to face the boy. The teen looks somewhat tense now, stopped a few feet away from them. It's a few moments of stillness, Ranboo feeling the strings tighten and loosen as they struggle to keep up with Tom's seemingly working thoughts. The blonde finally asks, sounding fearful, “Is there something I can call you?” 

But before Ranboo can even begin to think about answering, Tom shakes his head jerkily. “No, never mind. Forget I asked.”

Puzzled, Ranboo nods. The chill has leveled out, easing in and out with a numbing acceptance. It twirls gracefully, settling into thin wisps of fog in the late night air. Ranboo blinks, prepared to say goodbye to the other, but the blonde is gone. Seemingly vanished into the trees. The clouds shifts, dimming the spotlight shining above. 

Ranboo should be getting home. 

It’s as he’s walking, bag thrown over his shoulders, with ruffled hair and an exhausted frame, that he realizes he never gave Tom his name. Oh well, it doesn’t bother him as much as it usually would.

They shuffle further on, moonlight now retreating into the ever-so-familiar clouds with little more than a breeze. The crickets are chirping again, and even the scattering of small animals in the brush isn’t enough to scare them like it usually does. It’s as if a rope has been loosened from around their lungs, and the heavy air lightened until his breathing evens out. With a long draw of fresh sea air, Ranboo takes another step.

Maybe he’ll try a new way home tomorrow. Though, asking himself why proves to be a futile effort, as if asking to recall the building structure of a past dream. For now, he tugs at his sleeves aimlessly. The trail following the railroad was pleasant, and at this time of year, he could maybe even sneak a glance of the pond usually hidden by the trees.

Perhaps it’d finally quell the feeling of dread pooling in their gut. The one that was always bubbling up their throat, and threatening to gush onto their shoes. 

Tomorrow would be better. Surely it would. 

Chapter Text

Watching the small path stretch out before him once more is an odd feeling. Work ran shorter tonight, and even his wretched old boss thought the day was wasted by keeping his employees inside. So, just after noon, Ranboo finds himself strolling by the edge of the wood. They had taken a different path today, deciding that changing things up might do them some good. They haven’t been sleeping well as of late, finding themself watching the stars at every opportunity.

So today was the long-awaited day. One that had him strolling with a soft hum and a gentle smile. His steps are light, bouncing and rolling cheerfully down the path. Dare he say it, but he was happy. Things had been enjoyable today, and he even had time to finish up an essay on his lunch break. Passing grade here he comes. Hell, at this point they might even slip into bed at a reasonable hour.

With a smile, Ranboo rounds the next dirt-covered bend. The only paved paths here are the designated hiking routes, set a few miles away from where he was now. His paths usually consist of old logging roads, game trails, and roads weaving to and from the railroad that wind around the various hills into the rest of the neighboring countryside.

The pond is certainly getting closer, as Ranboo had spotted a railroad crossing with a run-down station through a clearing a few minutes back. A gust of airy wind blows past, ruffling their hair as well as scattering a few leaves gathered on the sides of the trail.

The leaves at this time of year are pleasant, and the colors painted by nature’s hand are vibrant, showing grand displays of bright gradients. Autumn is always a satisfying time of year, to see the trees erupt like flames and the crackle of leaves became the normal.

Another waft of wind hits as they shuffle around the next corner. This time, it’s not nearly as welcoming, sending a trickle of cold down their neck. He had never dealt well with the chill.

He shakes it off as he finds his goal. The pond is just off the path now, set aside in a normally beautiful grove of trees. Except it’s not today. And dread hangs over like a suspended marionette.

There’s someone sitting on the bank.

It makes Ranboo uneasy, almost feeling the pleasantness of this whole walk rip away from him in an instant, the figure by the water metaphorically punching him in the gut. There’s no reason for this. No reason for the sudden regret wrapping around his neck.

He fully intends to stroll by, to keep on his designated course, and to ignore this odd little sight.

A voice stops them before they can even take two steps past. "Didn't expect to find you this far out." Something defensive curls around the syllables, sneering and spiteful.

Ranboo stops short, partly from shock, but- something else as well. It's not nearly powerful enough to keep them rooted to the ground, but they don’t exactly want to venture any closer either. "I'm- sorry?"

"That's three." The person sitting by the bank laughs, it’s not a nice laugh. It runs through his ears like scissors, slicing his head to ribbons. "You know, if I wanted, I could pull that stupid name from your fingers." The figure flutters a hand over the pond's surface. "I could fucking watch you bleed."

Familiarity oozes from the voice, but his racing mind can’t put the pieces together. Instead, it picks apart the sprawling shadows, almost dancing around the pond. Freakish and spindly they curve in and out of being human. Twisted versions of existing things.

"Are you even listening to me?" The silhouette demands, though still with a fixed stare opposite him.

Ranboo’s mouth works against him, words teetering to a halt. No sound comes, only validating the accusations thrown at him.

There’s another laugh, but it holds nothing resembling joy. Ranboo can feel his heart stutter, walls piecing themselves together for the storm that is sure to arrive.

Yet nothing could prepare them for the world to shatter.

It’s as if the world has ended. With chaotic cracks and crashes and booms as the trees rattle from their roots to the tips of their branches. It’s finally with a scream that they release, taking off like a shot, wood weaving into rope-like strands. Like a basket they weave, working their way through the maze that is the forest until melding together.

Something hits his shoulder, burning pain sending him off-kilter, into the dirt with a yell.

He stares in abject horror as the trees sew themselves together- ropes and vines and roots and leaves swaying as they form into something new. Something horrific. weaving wood together like a basket. It swirls, encircling ground, sides, and sky, all until he’s sat in the oppressing darkness in a cage of branches.

With ragged gasps his fingertips claw over the dirt, unable to comprehend as the last of his light shines down on him, from the end of the tunnel.

“HELP!” They cry, but no one heeds their call. Beside a figure on the bank, standing at the beginning of the tunnel. More cries follow but that all-consuming laughter drowns them out, the figure twists, and suddenly steps into the hallway.

It’s enough from Ranboo to sob, ignoring the still-shifting scene that is now their reality. Trees bow lower, the ceiling writhing as if it’s laughing with the thing. Yellow eyes bore down on him, streaking down the remaining distance like headlights.

Ranboo’s scrambling backward before they know it, riveted on the eyes that grow ever closer with their surging steps. It doesn’t last long.

His breath hitches as his spine hits something solid, yet alive. Like snakes the wall behind him strikes, pain blooming over the ridges of their back. With a squirming fright he fights, uselessly, and it only serves to his detriment. Harsh branches seize their chance, ripping into his arms only to pin them to the flora behind him.

Harsh laughter echoes down on him, strengthening his futile struggles until the restraints tauten. He cries out uselessly, pitiously.

Two golden eyes beam down the tunnel, now the only light he has as the tunnel seals itself off.

The air burns horrendously, screams of raw fury imaginary or factual resound off the base of their skull. They’re breathing too quickly but inhaling so little air, the world now comprised of dark spots, moving masses that taunt him with inexplicable wrath. The thing drives itself forward, looking less human and less human as its limbs drive out at odd angles, bones snapping and realigning as it laughs.

His binds are unmoving, the branches grinding over his skin, having already torn through their hoodie. They can’t even remember what they’re doing here. On this path, at this time of day. How he wishes for his bed, his home, even his goddamn work. Anything else besides their waking nightmare that beckons them to die. A hysterical laugh ripples over their lips. How pathetic is this, forced to sit by as his end steps closer, unable to do anything but sob.

Humans have always seemed to believe they’re above the unseen. That knowledge and strength of will are enough to fight off the unbeatable. What a wretched poorly kept lie. No, life is confusing, hellish, and impure. Unkempt cruelty and lawless rules keep the world turning, and it most certainly does not adhere to any human notion.

Ranboo’s not sure when man began to believe they were above it all. Well, they’re not. And the unknowable rears its ugly head in delight. Paralyzed by his own fear, Ranboo can only stare as the monster steps closer.

Something resembling a melted hand slams just above his head, rocking the forest as it wails. Ranboo’s shrieks do nothing, only driving more vines to stretch over their already pinned legs.

The thing giggles, golden eyes narrowing in amusement. It’s mirthless, hollow, faux. And when it seemingly recovers from its joy, it speaks. Chilled, gravelly, and rusty, as if the throat behind it has been ripped to shreds and sewn back together again.

“Don’t come this way again.” It croons, commanding and beyond reason. Ranboo flinches, but it does nothing but draw a hiss from the thing still lurching over them. The light shifts, those eyes, those feral eyes shifting just enough for Ranboo to catch a glimpse of its face.

There is no word to describe the fear ripping through their nerves, shattering any sense of reality they have left. With nothing else to keep him grounded, he screams.

Ranboo wakes on an empty path. Dirt has ground into their cheek, and when they finally wake up, they're alone. He's surrounded by empty trees with normal branches, with yellow leaves and an inviting air. Easy light and gentle sky can be seen above the swaying trunks. The pond is still, not even a breeze to disturb it. There’s nothing around him, save for his bag.

He’s unsure why he’s here, unconscious in the middle of the path. Hadn’t they meant to take the other path? Confused, they pick themself up feebly from the ground. Their roommates must be worried by now.

Ranboo has a friend. Which is honestly a little bit of an adjustment. He generally doesn't have time for friends. Unless you counted their roommates, but then again, they were kinda forced to see those people as well.

With most new people he meets, it just doesn't feel right. Nothing really ever works out, and once again, he doesn't have time.

Maybe that's why Tom and them stay friends. It fits into Ranboo's schedule, they don't have to make time for him because he's always just- there.

And sure, Tom's surely not normal in any capacity- with his weird conversations and altogether unsettling manner. But honestly, it's better than nothing.

So to repay the guilt he inevitably faces, Ranboo brought him a present. It's nothing glamorous, just a little thank you for being his friend.

The present is held tight in his palms the next time they see Tom. He's always there, on that bench by the path.

When he leaves, he'll bounce up from his seat, and stalk off into the woods. Still weird.

When they offer Tom their present, they're altogether not sure what they expect. Somehow, they're still surprised, when Tom levels him with suspicion.

"Why are you giving me these?" Tom asks carefully, eyeing the seeds as if they'll bite.

They won't bite. Ranboo made sure of it. "Because- we're friends?" They smile, unseen under their mask.

Tom appears to ease up after that, sliding his gaze to the extended offering. "..And you don't want anything in return?"

"No?" Ranboo says, more of a question than a statement. "Why would I? It's a gift."

The teen can't help but wonder if Tom's even received a gift before, judging the confusion in his eyes.

A cautious hand plucks the packet from his, scrutinizing them carefully.

“Well, you said you had a flower garden. And, they’re my favorite too so I thought-“

“They’re nice. I like them.” Tom doesn’t look up at him, squeezing the packet of seeds so much so that it crinkles.

Ranboo beams. “If you like some I could bring you some more-“

“These are fine.” Tom says, a wolfish smile stretching over his face. “I’ll be sure to return the favor.”

Oh god, no. “You really don’t have to man, it’s just a gift-“

“I want to.” The blonde replies, a bit snappishly. He doesn’t take his eyes off the seed packet.

"Oh."

The silence doesn’t stir. Doesn’t move from its graceless posture and disconcerting gaze. No, it’s a standard awkward silence. But it’s not. No, something stirs underneath this one. Like a beast lurking under the depths of the sea, this one is grotesque. There’s a secret untold in the silence, layer after layer of deception only the unconscious mind can pick up on.

Like an orchestra, it plays, stillness never-ending. A chorus of nothing, yet blazing with something.

Ranboo’s missing something here. Something he can’t quite put his finger on. He had to have skipped a melody or brushed past a violin on the left.

"..See you next time, memory boy." Tom declares, always the one for an abrupt goodbye.

The nickname nearly makes them giggle in sheer aggravation despite how fitting it really is. Tom had been teasing him about the fact he hardly remembered their meetings. But they didn’t have short-term memory, so really it was just confusing altogether.

Tom’s goodbye is nothing short of the normal. Ranboo hates to say it, but he’s kinda used to this by now. All he can say is, “See you, Tom.”

And he's gone. Somehow. Again. God, they’d really have to ask how he got that disappearing act down to a tee, maybe his dad was a magician or something. Ranboo shakes their head with a light laugh, what an odd guy.

“Memory boy,” a familiar voice greets, and Ranboo can’t help but smile. The nickname is just his now, it’s kinda cool and awful. One in the same really.

They turn, recognizing that radiant mop of blonde hair, standing with- someone else? They’re tall, nearly as tall as himself. With a long torso somehow set upon even longer legs and wearing what appears to be a hand-sewn sweater. It looks incredibly comfortable and makes Ranboo think of their own woven blanket waiting for them on their little armchair.

Their social ineptness catches up to them faster than they thought. They fidget with their bag strap, eyes darting to the path. “I- uh. Hello.”

The man gives him a small wave, side by side with Tom. “You may call him Wil.” The blonde motions to the man, yawning as if already bored with this introduction.

“Pleasure,” an easy hand is offered. Ranboo accepts it with a comfortable smile.

It’s torn away in an instant, a greeting replaced by pain. It’s freakishly cold, ice streaking up his arm as he gasps. They release the grip with a flinch, grabbing at their hand as it twitches. He can faintly make out yelling, and blinks back into reality.

Tom is in front of them, blocking Wil from their view as he roars obscenities- So obscure, he can’t even begin to piece them together. Confused, Ranboo looks over the blonde, glancing at Wil. Who’s still smiling lightly.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Wil says, eyes glinting. He addresses Ranboo, “Surely my hands aren’t that cold, yea?”

“It’s my fault.” Ranboo blubbers, feeling his heart rate spike pound through his chest as the last traces of freezing fire work their way into slight tingling sensations. “I’m sor-“

“-HEY!” Tom practically shrieks, a look of panic, desperation, and fear flickering across his eyes. Ranboo feels his brows come together in a silent question, but Tom ignores him. “You can call this ‘ne memory boy, get it? Because his memory is shit?” Tom runs a hand through his hair, looking at Wil with a forceful stare.

Wil raises an amused eyebrow. “That’s lovely Toms.”

To be honest Ranboo’s already checked out. His hand is pale, still trembling, and the marks of Wil’s hand around his are even paler. It almost looks blue, and with no answers to be had, they shove their hands into their hoodie pocket.

“Damn right it’s fuckin’ lovely. I am the loveliest you’ll ever meet.” Tom says snidely, eyes glittering with barely held-back malice.

Despite the lingering anger that sits in the air like smoke, Wil only appears to brush it off. “Tech and Phil would definitely disagree with you on that front.”

“They don’t know shit.”

“Pretty sure they’re eons older than you actually.”

Watching the two felt like a tennis match, each trading a hit before inevitably fumbling and crashing to the ground. Ranboo wasn’t even the referee, no, he was in the crowd, forced to watch this hellscape of a conversation. If only he had left early. Took his out and left. Left the whole thing really.

He misses home. A lot. Ranboo had friends back there, just a small group, but nonetheless, friends. He doesn’t even want to be here, in this dead-end town with a cheap college. His scholarship was nice, really, it’s the only reason he’s here. How he loathes that. They never should’ve left home.

“Exactly. They’re old.” Tom snorts, and it earns him a punch from the other. The boy gasps dramatically, turning his gaze to the taller. Wil apparently doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but Ranboo does. They actually take a step back right as the blonde launches himself at the brunette, limbs in a flurry as he attacks in any way he can.

Ranboo feels himself in the crowd, fixed with a blank excuse for a smile. God, they were really here weren’t they. They had to watch- whatever was happening. He liked Tom, he really did- But sometimes, the boy was just too much for Ranboo. Ranboo just liked to keep things simple.

When the two finally calm down, it leaves a winded Wil, adjusting his now cracked spectacles, and a red-faced Tom. The blonde looks absolutely exhausted, hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

“So- are you two brothers?” It’s the only reasonable explanation they can come up with. Because surely they are, the two have to be. However, no one replies. The abrupt cessation of movement is enough for them to curl their shoulders, trying to appear smaller before two pairs of appraising eyes.

It’s Wil breaks first, doubling over in a fit of hysterical laughter. Tom joins him, and the two are nearly in tears by the end of it. Ranboo is left standing there, clutching his bag awkwardly, as the two continue to holler and shout. To be honest, it goes on far longer than what would be considered polite. But whatever. This is normal at this point.

The brunette recovers first, gasping for breath as his hand rests over his heart. “Seelie above- no. You think I’d want to be related to this- this gremlin?”

Tom makes a noise much like an old disgruntled cat before a mischievous gleam catches his lifeless eyes. “You know- he does have a point. We are like brothers.”

“Don’t start. I will cry.” Wil folds his arms across his sweater, answering out of what seems like pure routine.

“With happiness I’m sure. Because we’ll be brothers.”

The taller groans, eyebrows raising as he feigns exhaustion. The man glances at Ranboo, “Is he always like this with you?”

“Um.” Based on Tom’s face, they’re absolutely going to regret this. But, what the hell- maybe he just liked to ‘live on the edge.’ “All the time actually- he never shuts up-”

There’s a squawk like an offended chicken, and suddenly blonde hair is barreling toward him. Two arms wrap around their waist and a strangled “shoot-” is all they manage before they slam into the ground, kicking up dust as the two topple. The blonde is on top of him, looking entirely murderous.

“Traitor!” Tom accuses, pointing a finger directly between his eyes. His victim laughs- then coughs thickly. God, he didn’t realize Tom could hit that hard. Guy must’ve been in football or something.

Thankfully- Wil must come to his rescue, because the blonde is suddenly spitting up soil beside them. With a pitiful whine, Tom lies on the dirt, seemingly defeated. “Fuck youuu.”

Ranboo sits up, staring with a stupid smile as he’s gotten his revenge, or, Wil got the revenge for them. Revenge people. Cool.

The only one remaining standing extends a hand, which Ranboo stares at. With another moment's hesitance, he finally takes it. It’s not cold. It doesn’t hurt. Once on their feet again, Ranboo dusts off their legs with a soft chuckle.

The man eyes him with cold interest, intrigue plaguing his expression. “You know, it leaves me wondering,” Wil asks carefully, smoothly, like bluffing his way through a poker game. “Tom always calls you memory boy,” he hesitates, perhaps considering his ask, “why is that?”

The blonde doesn’t give him a chance, cutting across him with a glare that clearly told them to keep your fucking mouth shut. “He doesn’t have the best memory. I told you that already shit head.”

Wil grins, teeth looking sharper than before. “I was only wondering what his na-“

“Shut up.” Tom hisses, “Shut the fuck up.”

Wil practically sneers, all while maintaining that overly faux smile. It never reaches his eyes, “Calm down Toms, it’s a fair question-“

But Tom isn’t having it, fitfully tugging at his own sleeve. He looks distressed, furious beyond belief. Ranboo is honestly surprised the boy hasn’t stormed off by now. Tom breathes in deeply, retaining a steel in his eyes. “Don’t even start, Wilbu-“

Momentary alarm flashes over Wil’s face, who quickly rounds on Tom. “I get it.” He snarls, fangs bearing. Wait, fangs?

In the next moment, they’re gone. God, Ranboo’s really heading off the deep end now. With a slight panic buzzing in his chest, he decides this is a perfect moment to escape, to slip away from- whatever these two were arguing about. To be honest he’d much rather not be involved. “Well- this uh- this has been great but-"

“Oh, nonsense!” Wil chides, neck cracking in his speed to look at them. What the hell- the man’s hand slaps on his shoulder a tad harshly, rocking their balance. Ranboo’s knees buckle, but they remain standing. They don’t miss the lethal glare Tom sends toward the other.

“I was just leaving actually. Don't let me spoil this- gathering of friends."

The hand leaves his shoulder not a moment too soon, Ranboo shudders.

“I’ll be off then,” Wil waves, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” The man waves an elegant hand, a tad presumptuously mind you, and sweeps off. The two remaining boys are left to watch him stroll into the trees.

“Well- that was. Abrupt.”

Tom snorts, “Fucker."

A sound of agreement hums in their chest. "Well- he's uh. Pretty odd. Yeah."

“He just wanted to get under my skin.” Tom flicks his wrist as if swatting an irksome fly. He looks bothered, way too bothered for what it was.

“It uh- seems like he did a good job?“ They say intelligently. Yea, well done Ranboo. You’re doing great.

Tom throws him a nasty glare, almost covering the sharp snap that jerks his head to the side. “Just a branch,” Tom grumbles irritably. “Don’t worry about it, memory boy.”

Memory boy. It’s an odd nickname really, just because Ranboo hardly remembered their conversations doesn’t mean he has short-term memory. Tom’s just being rude, like always. Well, he’s not rude per se, just layers his true feelings with a frosting of spite.

But it stirs something else. Tom said he’d been calling him that for months, and when he thinks about it, Ranboo doesn’t remember if Tom has ever actually called him by his real name. Something fearful strikes him in the gut. Have they actually, introduced themself before?

He can’t remember. “H-hey Tom?”

The blonde grunts, still staring after Wil’s long-since retreated back.

“Have I ever- actually like, told you my name?”

There’s something indecipherable in the way that Tom turns to face him. It’s slow, scarily slow. And the other’s face is wary, cautious yet leaning on the side of something hopeful. Almost verging on triumphant.

Ranboo almost runs, having the feeling creep up their spine. But that would be rude. So they root themselves to the concrete, ignoring the increasing warning signs nagging at their mind. Tom is their friend.

“I can have your name?” Tom asks carefully, ever so carefully.

In part of his head, Ranboo can’t help but pity the boy. A name, well a name is something simple, the fact that Tom never expected it- it doesn’t sit well with him. “Well, yea- of course. I mean, we’re friends right?”

“Yes.” Tom smiles immediately. Once again, his blindingly white teeth catch Ranboo off guard.

“I uh. Well.” It’s almost as if their neurons have stopped firing. There’s no apparent reason as to why their head is screeching for them to retreat. It’s Tom. Just Tom.

“Um, my name. My name is- uh.” Forcing his tongue to follow through is harder than Ranboo would’ve thought. It’s just a name. No harm done here. With one final push, it falls from their tongue. “It’s Ranboo.” Their face grows cold, and it’s almost like their heart has skipped a beat or two. He stumbles, sudden weakness gripping his limbs.

Tom’s eyes flash, and his smile somehow grows even wider. “Thanks.”

The world feels frigid, and the short reply rakes down their skull. Ranboo blinks, feeling almost as if the ground has shifted sideways. “I- what?”

“You look tired.” Tom murmurs, sweeping forward to pat them on the shoulder. It feels as if it’s made of lead. “You should get some sleep.”

They find themself nodding along, the words stringing an odd chord in their chest.

“I’ll see you soon, Ranboo.” There’s something heavy in the way the name curls. It spins and twists out in the open air, yet it doesn’t seem to fully reach their ears. Their gaze flickers, and the sluggish notion of rest tugs on their eyes.

The forest hums another note.

Getting home is a blur. He must’ve been zoning out, because he can hardly remember a thing. It’s as if entire days are just- gone.

Sighing, he turns to leave, but something tugs him forward before his own feet can move on their own accord. It’s as if a rope has wrapped around his throat. It tugs. And their feet flounder as they try to right themself. They can’t scream, they can’t yell for help- this is their own body. How are you supposed to call for help with that?

Ranboo walks with something hollow swirling in his gut, almost like something had been carved out by a knife. Nonexistent blood rolls down his hands, as if he had been the one to do it himself.

It’s strange. And he thinks that the entire thing was strange actually. Oddities have stacked and towered until he simply can’t ignore them any longer. This was weird. And by god, they’ve gotten used to that word in the past few months.

It’s weird like those glass-like brown and blue eyes focusing on his every movement. Like the thickly dressed words and heavy undertones. Ranboo’s not a complete idiot, there was obviously something happening there. Not that they could piece it together of course.

Tom was strange, no doubt about it. He carried with him an aura of caution, of danger, one Ranboo couldn’t separate from his own fear-filled heart. Despite all this, Wil was worse. So much worse.

If Tom was a wolf, the brunette was a snake. Slithering and writhing with a silver tongue until you realize its coils have locked around your throat. He sighs, surely it was just his anxiety messing with him again, nothing more.

Nonetheless, Ranboo decides they don’t like Wil very much.

Chapter Text

Days pass, and Ranboo only catches sight of Tom once. The blonde stands in the center of his path smiling brilliantly. Ranboo greets him as always, but this time, he doesn’t get a reply. Tom merely shakes his head, and suddenly thrusts a package toward Ranboo. 

It’s wrapped in a thin parchment, tied with a small piece of twine, Ranboo, utterly bemused, looks up. Of course, his friend is nowhere to be seen. There’s a faint buzzing in his chest as he inspects the package. 

Through unwilling hands, he unities the bow, unraveling the paper. A simple sandwich lies inside, which, weird but okay. Was this Tom’s way of repaying the favor? Ranboo doesn’t know.

They don’t see Tom for another week. And considering it’s been- well, a long time since Tom and them started talking, this is a huge red flag. Like over the top, someone just handed you a mysterious envelope full of cash kind of red flag. 

Ranboo tries to not let it bother them, maybe his friend was just out sick or something. Same as them really, they’re thinking they must’ve come down with something recently. So they really shouldn’t be worried, not really.

That reminds them, Ranboo should really call the doctor sometime soon. At least if he wanted to adhere to the promise his roommate threatened him with. But it doesn’t seem extreme enough for a doctor or anything, so he’s been trying to power through it.

It started sometime last week, with Ranboo trying to eat their normal breakfast of leftover pizza or something. They could barely stop themself from dry heaving as something metallic flooded his senses. It was pallid in taste, absolutely rotten and filled to the brim with what smelled like lead. Anyway- it left them throwing away the whole surely rotten box of food. 

That disgusting, gritty taste never seemed to leave his mouth after that. It only took another day to figure out that the food wasn’t what was wrong, it was him. Toast, salad, ice cream, even water granted him that sickening, overwhelming iron aftertaste that left him swimming on his feet. 

Having to eat felt like a battle, one he was starting to consistently lose, forcing down that wretched food felt more heinous than cutting off his own hand. Their roommates were getting worried of course, but all Ranboo said was that they had switched to a new eating plan, thus evading suspicion for a little longer. 

This wasn’t sustainable, but to be honest it felt like a mind over matter sort of deal. He just had to suck it up, it’s not like he could just not eat. That was just a stupid idea really, but then again, even the thought of eating anything made their stomach twist itself into knots. 

That fucking deer. 

It’s the only three words that actually reach his brain as he books it across the path. Their legs are pumping, blood boiling as they throw a dirty glare at the still charging animal.

Ranboo hadn’t even done anything! He’d just stood there ! Now, this ravenous beast with practical knives strapped to its head is rushing at them, determined to impale them. They’re not one to curse, but holy shit.

They should’ve stayed at work. They should’ve done literally anything else! But no, Ranboo just had to walk home. Never had they thought that that’s what would get them killed. 

The monster gives a deep roar, or the deer equivalent of a roar; which mostly sounds like a congested kazoo mixed with a cow. It only spurs on Ranboo’s scrambling efforts. His bag is long gone by now, thrown to the ground with a squeak of fear as the thing turned its unrighteous anger on them.

The hooves are catching up, those thundering hoofbeats are getting louder and louder. To be honest he probably doesn’t have much time left before his skull is worn like a crown on that thing’s head. Maybe this is the deer’s revenge for human hunting efforts. 

The path is narrowing, but not nearly enough for any low hanging branches to catch the antlers swinging side to side like a fan. A fan of blades mind you. It's almost like a wood chopper, ready to cut him to bits should he slip up. He laughs, before remembering that he most definitely does not want that on his gravestone .

With a gasping, exhausted heave of air they press forward. They have no plans on dying today, thank you very much. But it still doesn’t answer the question, how are they going to avoid this? 

They barrel over yet another bend, and nearly sob. Just ahead, lay a downed tree. A tree they will in fact have no time to climb before their reckoning arrives.

They have little choice. He swerves left, shoes skidding across the dirt as the barrage of sound thunders past, unable to give chase. He clbers up and over the side of the path, into the woods. The forest is denser here, obviously, there’s no path to follow. The underbrush scrapes over his jeans, and Ranboo knows he’ll have to throw them away after this. Ripped jeans could only be so ripped after all. 

Branches hang onto his clothes, raking over his skin as he pushes through. This wild dash is all they had between them and the animal, they only had to push further . 

Ranboo doesn’t stop running, sure that he can still hear its roar from behind. God. That thing has a mission to run him through. 

It had been fine though ! When Ranboo had been on his usual way home, he had turned a corner to find the seemingly gentle animal grazing. It was very cute, mind you. It was less cute when it froze, all limbs seizing up. The wind was loud, but Ranboo had been confused in the moment. How had they scared the little guy? The animal’s head jerked, full black eyes meeting his. 

Their legs moved before their brain managed to catch up with them. So there he was, sprinting through the forest with a suddenly extremely angry deer behind him.

Trees whirl past, feet sinking into the dense dirt as they run for their life. Stray bushes and undergrowth claw at their clothes, yet they're all ignored as their wild sprint continues.

The hoof beats eventually fade away. Leaving him a sopping mess of sweat, blood and tears. But he keeps running anyway. He can't afford stopping only to be trampled.

They throw their head over their shoulder trying to ascertain whether the deer has followed; when something slams into him. Or rather, he slams into it .

They shriek, hitting the ground and bouncing back with bloodied hands. The shadow leers, their surefire doom mere feet away. As a last ditch attempt they throw their arms over their head, praying that it’s enough to keep his brain in one piece.

“-ory boy? What the fuck are you doing man?“

What ? Slowly, Ranboo drops his arms, breathing like a fish out of water. He blinks trepidatiously. “ Tom ??”

“Yea it’s me dumbass.” A hand is thrown between them, and still spiraling, Ranboo takes it. 

Ranboo is pulled to his feet. "Why are you- out here?" In the woods. Looking like a mud covered hooligan.

"This is like, my backyard dude."

Oh, yeah. Forest kid. "Ah."

Tom cocks his head, eyes lighting up as if he’s just had an idea.  "..You know, my place isn't far."

"Oh?" To be honest it surprises them. They had been pretty sure the kid lived in a tree or something.

"Yea, and since you're here and everything.." Tom trails off, implications sending Ranboo's mind whirling. Tom never talked about his family much. And yes. Ranboo was a thousand percent sure that meeting them would explain oh so many things about his weird friend. But he can't. Not tonight.

Everything is bright here. Much too bright. Easy sunlight filters through the leaves, golden air touching every surface with a lazy lilt. His head aches with the intensity of it all. “I- I need to get going I think.”

Ranboo thought they had ran into a brick wall . But Tom stands there, rooted in place with a tilted head and far too eager smile. “Why don’t you stay? You said you wanted to meet my family right?”

They have to decline, they can't just stay . “Sorry, I- really have to get home. My roommates are making a huge dinner tonight, and if that deer comes back I’m dead.”

“Stag. It was a stag.” Tom corrects rather harshly.

“Sure. Whatever.” Ranboo misses Tom’s momentary scowl. “Yea, nice seeing you, like seriously, but I have to go.”

"Are you sure?" There's something inexplicably ominous about the tone. Almost as if static has raised around the edges, blurring the sound of wind and voice. 

Ranboo shrugs, eyeing the other a little more carefully. "..Uh, yea. Again, I'm sorry but-"

"-You've apologized to me five times now. You can't say no."

They’re getting a little irritated at this point. Yes. They did have to go. And no matter what Tom said, they were going to leave. They have a dinner to attend, after all. All they can hope is that they can actually eat it this time. He takes a step back. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you.” They say bluntly; this time, they do catch yet another of Tom’s sneers. “I'm leaving. We can talk tomorrow or something." He manages to turn around, taking less than a half step the way he came before Tom's now eerily calm voice calls out.

“ Ranboo .”

His head practically splits in two. As if a giant knife has sliced open his brain and jabbed at his eyes for good measure. 

“You can’t leave.” Tom hisses. “I won’t let you. Not after all the work it took to get you here.”

Something tight slithers around Ranboo’s chest, over their legs, under their arms, looping easily over their wrists as they suddenly can’t move . They can’t move . “W-what the hell?”  

“Turn around.” 

And like a puppet, their body obeys, spinning them around as tethers tug at their joints. Tom stands feet away, head cocked and hands locked in an exaggerated position. Like those crappy superhero movies always had their actors doing. “Tom- What is this? I don’t-”

“-Shut up.” The blonde snaps, and his hands jerk, dark mutterings filling the air. Ranboo can’t help but think it’s his name being drawn into the space. Shadows forming as they chant - Ranboo , Ranboo , Ranboo.

The voices twist, forming into something more than words, something tangible. Like a long string being molded by formless hands, stuck through a needle as Ranboo suddenly feels their lips threaded shut. They whimper, only for cotton to be shoved deeper, more threads stabbing at their voice until all that remains is a silenced shriek of agony in their mind’s eye.

“You know, I really didn’t expect this. A human, giving me their name.” Tom smiles, taking soundless step toward him. “Just like that-” He snaps his fingers, and the rebounding force is enough to shake the trees around them, looming over like predators about to slaughter their prey.

Ranboo doesn’t understand, confused as to why their feet won’t move . They helplessly tug at the invisible bonds but Tom only laughs, familiar and cold. “That won’t help you, not now.”

Tears threaten to spill over, but his hands can make no attempt to swipe them away. Their trembling is enough for Tom to notice, who sweeps over fretfully. “There’s no need to be fucking scared . Seriously- I don’t understand why this is hard to understand.” His eyes gleam, “I’m only taking what’s mine .”

Ranboo doesn’t reply. He can’t. But ‘Tom’ apparently grows irritated by this. “You’re boring when you don’t talk. Speak .” The command almost sounds rhythmic, flowing up and down with a beat that the forest repeats back.

Their lungs expand, air forcing itself down their throat while they gag. The strings have been pulled, leaving only the marred remnants of their throat. “ W-why ?” He manages, still fighting against the impossible hold. 

The thing snorts. “Quite simple innit? I owe you a favor, I’m just paying my dues.” He glances up at the moon briefly. “You hate your shit life, job, school. I can’t see any other way than to remove you from it right? And- I can’t leave a dumb favor unchecked.”

“I-I want to go home.” Never did they think they’d wish for the crooked door and falling apart stairwell, the tiny bed and mini armchair in his room. Or even his roommates, as chaotic as they are, they’re still important to him. 

“I’m repaying my favor, I told you that.” Tom speaks as if the simplest thing the world, shrugging it off as if it’s nothing. 

Ranboo whines, regret and pity and everything desperate sleeping into their voice. “There’s some other way- you, you don’t have to do this-”

“ Ranboo. ” 

The betrayal burns.

The forest repeats the command, swarming with shadowed mutterings of- Ranboo, Ranboo, Ranboo .

“What is that-? I- I don’t-” Confusion swirls, gathering and festering until it’s all that remains. 

“What’s your name?”

“I-I what?”

“Your name. Say it.” It’s spoken with barely repressed glee, something flickers in Tom’s eyes. Traces of gold shine through, and Ranboo has no idea what’s actually held within that deep, unnatural blue.

“But-”

“ Ranboo .” It commands. 

Ranboo. That’s his name. Ranboo Beloved. Threads rip ‘Ranboo’s’ mouth open, lips and tongue ready to form the simple response that Tom’s word orders. And yet- nothing comes. Something hollow rips from his chest, spilling out an assortment of lies . 

Ranboo. Ranboo. Ranboo- The trees chant in unison, harmonizing in a horrific glee that crashes onto the forest floor in droves. Ranboo. 

No sound ever leaves his throat, nothing but the void of something once present. 

“You see? Do you get it now?”

More tears spill over, ensuring that the realization that Ranboo is not their name cuts deeper. Ranboo Beloved is not their name, yet somehow they know who it belongs to. “Give it back.”

“No.” Comes the flat reply.

“Give it back. ” He pleads, and still the other shakes its head. The moonlight shines, shedding another layer of the illusion, and suddenly the other’s skin shimmers, fading in places that expose shifting bark below. 

“I won’t.” 

“ Please. ” ______ begs.

The writhing mass only smiles, with its too bright eyes and writhing skin. With a mouth that blooms like flowers and hair that curls with wheat grass. Its vines snake forward, and something unmistakably similar to a hand brushes over their stray tears. “You gave me a gift. It’d be a dick move to just toss my efforts aside yea?”

“It’s mine.”

“We’ve been over this.” Tom sighs, a shade of anger hiding in its words. “Think yourself lucky nothing else took it before I did.”

That doesn’t even make sense.  “You can’t own it-“ 

“-You belong to me, and your name is mine. There’s fucking nothing that can change that.” It’s spoken unkindly, and at ______ flinch, the cold eyes suddenly soften. Turning to a well of endless pity. “However, there’s still a hole that needs a name. So- there’s an alternative for the time being.”

______ dips his glare in acid. The hollow emptiness of their soul only spreading.

“Think of it as a filler, just something to take up that shitty void of yours for a while.” Tom draws its fingers back, flicking now-growing thorns from its mottled skin. 

The glare only deepens, ______ still struggling to attempt to throttle the moving garden’s apparent throat. 

“I’ll call you Ran.”

And ______ feels something seep into the emptiness, something small. Something eerily similar to cotton stuffing itself into the puzzle piece. And newly named, Ran hangs their head in defeat.

“Ran, you’ll stay with me, with my flock, and never return here. And when I think you’ve earned it, you’ll have your true name back.”

“I don’t want to go with you.”

The blonde shakes its head. “Tell me the truth .”

And like something being hooked from the depths of his psyche, Tom pulls it straight from his mouth like a poison. “ I don’t want to go with you .”

“ Ranboo, you’re being unreasonable.”

“ I’m being unreasonable .” The threads spin.

Tom smiles. “Tell me you’re wrong.”

Their jaw moves jerkily. “ I’m wrong .”

“You’ll come with me willingly.”

“I’ll come with you. ” Like words etched into a script they read off their lines, their tongue feeling foreign as threads twist over their throat. Dark things sing into his ear, and his bonds tighten as every syllable graces the air.

The blonde laughs, a boom shaking its chest as the teen-like ‘thing’ doubles over. With a voice like a bird song it cackles, eyes screwed shut as its shoulders shake and hands clasped over its middle. “Now- That’s more like it bitch!” Its large grin is overtaken by something darker, by something unexplainably cruel. “Well, let’s get going then. We don’t have time to spare.”

Their thoughts are murky, like trying to find a needle in a swamp. They dig their hands into the depths, pulling and pulling, yet nothing comes up. His brain doesn’t comprehend, merely experiencing rather than thinking.

Ran doesn’t have a choice as they're tugged forward, puppeted limbs flailing to obey. How is it that it had come to this? What had they done wrong? Why was he deserving of- whatever this is?

He sniffles, but isn’t spared a thought by the thing practically skipping ahead of him. The moon rises, streaks of light pouring through the trees. Their roommates were probably worried, but what did it matter? He knows enough.

Ran sees the spider shed its wolf-like hide, the web exposed for all to see. He’s definitely going to be late for dinner.

Chapter Text

Ran can only scowl as they’re tugged forward. Like a dog on a leash – submissive, compliant. It’s like holding food away from an animal, just out of reach. The animal yearns to lunge, to seize its prize, but it never will. Not when the holder stands tall, laughing as it tugs the reward away at the last moment, snatching it away from the animal with pure unfiltered malice in their eyes. Ran knows Tom could give back his autonomy, give back his name, but it won’t. The thought is too much to deal with at the moment.

He has to be positive. Everyone is answerable to someone. Whether it be a cashier or a judge, everyone has a superior, all he can hope for is that his captor meets its own. Ran’s name will be his once more. They’ll walk free from these woods, and they’ll kick dirt over Tom’s rotting corpse. “Nasty thoughts you have, aye?” The other chides from a few bounding steps ahead. Tom walks with a slight bounce, stepping lightly over the trail.

Ran can’t help but hiss, tightening his crossed arms. Maybe the action would provide some form of comfort to him in this disaster of a world. Tom could be lying, but Ran’s in no position to doubt anything as of now. Tom continues on, apparently unbothered by Ran’s disgust, “You’re my flock. Of course I see your thoughts. It’s a bond between us. If you let it, you could see mine as well.”

Because that’s just what he needs. “Your thoughts are be best left to the imagination,” they bite.

The shorter cackles, moving a branch out of the way for Ran to sidestep, “You know, you’re not the first mortal to tell me that.” Ran doesn’t reply, sure it’s a ploy to pique their curiosity. Well, it won’t work. Not when they’ve just learned that Tom can apparently read their thoughts. They direct their attention to the way it stalks through the woods, it’s fascinating — in an odd way.

Tom is silent, feet not making a sound as it prances down the path. It’s as if its feet never shift the dirt and grass below it. As if its leather shoes never budge the pebbles and sand. He could be a ghost. Ran, on the other hand, looks like an idiot. Tripping over their own feet as they crash through the forest terrain. They’re a tangle of long limbs and puppet strings, forced along behind the puppeteer. And though he may be a marionette, it doesn’t stop exhaustion from setting in.

He’s never been one for hiking, and this path can’t be anything more than a lousy game trail. It doesn’t matter if this walk is voluntary, not when his joints begin to ache and shudder. He’s completely lost all sense of direction, not that he had any to begin with. But — thinking about it, Ran’s sure they should’ve at least reached the coast. Their forest wasn’t that big. Yet their walk grows longer, the evening spirals down, and so does the path. The trees grow taller, now almost larger than life. And the air, it grows sharp, so dense it seems to take its own form. It’s indecipherable yet still present, it weighs on their shoulders, curling and digging in a shade deeper with every single step.

Shadows grow, and so do the eyes that peek out from the shadows. The path — game-trail winds and crisscrosses, weaving through the brush and underbrush.

“We don’t need roads, tall ass.”

Ran wants to be rational, to disagree, and to fight the very insinuation that Tom can read his thoughts, but no fight comes to him. Survival takes hold of him instead. Whatever the case, it doesn’t change the fact that Tom’s a fucking–

“Don’t swear, Ran,” Tom throws its head back, frowning like a disappointed parent. One who Ran would love the chance to beat to a pulp. “You’re less fun when you swear.”

He can say whatever he likes because it’s his own damn head.

“You’ve never sworn, not to me,” Tom pouts.

Ran needs to survive, but the urge to slap this guy is strong.

Tom shakes its head with a grin, “You’re my flock, I have as much a right to your thoughts as you do to mine.”

They sigh, “So jack-all then?”

“If you give it time, you’ll see.” It teases. As if that wasn’t cryptic as hell. Ran snorts screw Tom. This entire situation was so unthinkable, so insane. There’s no possible way he could’ve even dreamt it.

The trees stretch further down the path, growing denser still. The walk follows a similar path, winding further and further, longer and longer — until it seems too impossible to go on anymore. Yet it does.

Their stomach aches. Pining for food which doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon. Besides, even the thought of eating makes them want to heave. For weeks, they had barely been able to keep anything down. Everything they had eaten practically tasted like sand. Metallic-like and slimy. To eat it, they had to pinch their nose and hold their breath, praying that it’d stay down.

"Don’t worry, that’ll be fixed when we get home.”

“Huh?”

Tom scoffs, pushing aside a branch for Ran to step around. “That sandwich I gave you? It had some, side effects I guess you could say.”

Sandwich? Sandwich… Oh. That Sandwich. “What the hell did you do to it?” His words twirl with sudden venom — The distant memory of the meal bringing a scowl to his face.

“It was just a little preparation. A little adjustment.”

Ran bites their tongue, hard. Blood filling his mouth. “Preparation?”

The other ducks its head, shrugging. “I knew you’d be coming home, so I just figured—“

“—How long have you been planning this?” Desperation blinds them.

Tom laughs, it bounces from foot to foot, treading down the nonexistent path with an excited little bobble, "Since the day we met, obviously."

Oh god, “That was months ago, Tom… What the hell?“

The blonde groans, slapping its palm against its forehead before snapping its head back to glare at Ran. “Unseelie below, don’t be like that. You humans have families right? I don’t see the difference.”

“Humans, or me, don’t like being forced into things. Kidnappings aren’t a point of contention. It’s just wrong. Flat-out, straight as my high school— wrong.”

“Memory bitch, you came willingly,” comes the snarl, the thin-lipped glare that twitches with a barely-held-back smile.

“You made me agree!” Ran practically shrieks — feet flying forward in a flurry of movement. No thoughts, no intention — only emotion. Rage in its purest form filtered through a swamp of fear.

Tom has no right. None. Not one single fucking inch of leeway. Ran is his own person, his own goddamn person. He’s not a pet, he’s not this beast’s friend — and he’s not going to give up. Perhaps in another situation, Ran could be proud of themself for trying. But trying, isn’t succeeding. Not at all.

Their legs lock before they can even make it two feet. Magic digging into his joints as angry tears well up in their eyes. “You sick, twisted monster!” They cry, feet from the other, “I just want to go home!” Tom’s expression doesn’t change, it doesn’t even flinch, but tension plucks from behind its stare. Ran can feel it, the boiling irritation and a tipping point, quickly approaching.

There’s nothing more he wants than to push that point far beyond the point of falling.

Ran breathes, drawing himself up. Mind whirling and mouth moving before he has a chance to stop it. What is foresight, what is instinct, when emotion overpowers plain logic? “I never wanted to join your stupid family–!“

Something snaps. A sharp object meets their cheek as their head jerks. Ran stumbles over themself, toppling into the dirt as the forest thrums with intensified magic. Red drips onto the ground in steady droplets. Unadulterated betrayal stinging throughout the air. It evens out, spreading and oozing until Ran is left shaking on the leaf-covered ground.

Tom is glowering at him, silhouette draped in shadow as his blue eyes flicker to a feral yellow. Ran’s cheek burns and his shaking fingers brush against the mark with a small gasp, “You– you just..“

“It was a branch.” Tom bites — a vine twists over his temple, this one is covered in thorns, though in another moment it fades into what appears to be a windswept strand of golden hair. “You should watch where you’re fucking going.”

There’s no branch to be seen.

The taller is splayed out, still cowering away from the other. This couldn’t be happening. Dirt spreads over his ripped jeans, and several scratches rake up his skin from the underbrush. Blood rolls freely down his mottled arms, dried and fresh, blending together in a gradient of vermillion. Not to mention their face, which is sure to have a harsh red mark from where something hit them.

Silence returns, no longer accompanied by the wind, or anything more. Ran could cut the dense air with a knife, though truly, if he had one.. it’d be more likely to find a place in Tom’s skull.

There’s a small chirp, and suddenly, Tom’s eyes are inches from his own, “You’re bleeding.”

“I, yeah?” Ran coughs, scooting a small distance away before tendrils snake around his upper arm. He’s yanked forward again, closer to the inhuman thing.

Tom studies the small cut on the bridge of Ran’s nose – with narrowed eyes and a bemused expression. “You– didn’t tell me you were bleeding.”

The human tugs against the vines to no avail, “It doesn’t matter.“

“Yes, it does.” Tom replies, shuffling away a small touch to fold his arms over his knees. He looks like a child, and his eyes peek out over his knees. Almost guiltily. “You’re not supposed to get hurt.”

They don’t really know how to reply to that, considering Tom is the one who hurt them. Emotionally, physically, for god’s sake maybe even spiritually. Who the hell can even control someone because of a name? It sounds absurd – It is absurd. Yet here they are.

Tom unravels itself quickly, rolling forward onto its knees quicker than a shot. Its eyes are blown wide, a seeming new determination clutching at his demeanor. Whatever it’s about, Ran really wants no part of it.

“Hold still…” Tom murmurs, unblinking, “And don’t fucking scream, it’s unseelie loud when you guys scream.”

Ran stays rooted to the ground, watching in horrified curiosity as Tom begins to mutter. The wind picks up, apparently intensified by the melodic rhythm that bends the forest’s will. No words are spoken, at least, not in any recognizable language. It’s a manipulation of the air, and it curves and spirals and crashes around them both.

Trees sway, grass curls, animals fret – until finally, Tom rips open its eyes. Ones that glow a familiar, sickening yellow. It’s as if all life has been extinguished, and the eyes sit in their sockets with a taxidermied-type falseness. Its expression is almost slack, morphing into something unfamiliar and cold. And then – it falls away entirely, dripping into thorns and leaves and flowers. Moving vines twist up every inch of what could be considered skin. It’s as if a garden has invaded a corpse, and the boy’s too-sunken cheeks and feeble fingers look as if he’d been rotting amongst tree roots.

Tom is not human.

And if he was, he’s certainly not anymore.

Sprouting over its dead skin is an array of ground coverings, flowers, and other such things Ran really doesn’t want to think about. It’s one of these small white flowers that resemble white potentillas that Tom pricks from its palm.

After an apparent moment of contemplation, Tom holds it close, where another surge of mutterings commence. They have no time to think as Tom waves a sudden hand, letting the forest burst with whispers. It seems to exude from every surface. The bark, the leaves, the very sky trembles with the power of a simple wave. When it’s finished, it lets go — and the flower is carried into the wind– a sudden strong gust carrying it and its mutterings along.

The forest is silent – but then it speaks.

Stay still. It coos to Ran, as if soothing a child.

Something reaches out of the darkness, something cool, something unknowable. It reaches for their cheek, unseen but recognizable as a gentle hand. Fingers as cold as ice brush over their nose, and Ran closes their eyes, unwilling to watch their sure death. The cut twists, unnoticed by Ran as they drive their entire attention on the star-covered darkness of their shut eyes.

It cups his cheek, holding him kindly for a moment. Maybe two.

When it finally draws away, it doesn’t leave silently. Stay safe little one. It chides, though no noise reaches his ears,

When stillness returns, Ran squints, feeling the chill presence dissipate into thin air.

Tom is sitting a few feet away. legs crossed and head cocked as it seemingly examines him, “There was nothing to worry about, only a sprite.”

“I– I don’t–“

“I offered her a flower, and she healed you as payment.” Tom shrugs, as if what’s been said isn’t complete lunacy.

Ran offers no reply, stuck on the ground. Haunted by the still woods once more.

“Your cut should be fine.” Tom chirps, rocking back onto his heels before rolling forward. Its eyes no longer flicker between colors — and now stay fixed at an alarming yellow. In some way, they look far more alive than they did moments ago. “Try it.”

They comply, grazing the area with their thumb and forefinger. There’s no cut. “I don’t- huh?” Their thumb doesn’t catch on the wound, it’s as if it was never there in the first place.

Tom grins, stretching before standing. “You’re not bleeding anymore right?”

Ran shakes his head, technically he is, but Tom doesn’t appear to notice. “I– I suppose so. Yea, I’m all– I’m fine.”

“Good.” Tom huffs, before offering a hand to Ran. “Now. Come on tall ass. We’re going to be late.”

With a shudder, he takes the crawling vine-wracked hand, pulling himself to his feet. Is this truly what life has become? Having lost his identity, his home, his life all in the span of a day. And now here he is, taking the hand of his kidnapper.

Oh woe is him.

The rest of the walk is silent, and the day slowly creeps away until gentle evening light covers the way.

Ran hates to admit that he’s fascinated by Tom. It’s odd, to see someone so full of life, yet unable to coexist with it. It leaves Ran baffled, watching the other flutter from object to object, dead eyes gleaming as he spots another animal or plant he deems interesting. It’s as the two descend another hill, that the creature comes to a halt.

Even though his view is obscured by Tom, Ran can see what lies just ahead. It looks to be a wall of branches. He can hear voices, likely just beyond the leaves. It’s a tree, and indescribably massive. It could be a willow, if Ran really pays attention. But what’s a tree of this size doing in a normal forest? Ran purses his lips, then again, this really doesn’t feel like a normal forest anymore.

“We're going in, don't try anything dipshit." Tom scoots closer to nudge him. Ran doesn’t have permission to flinch. The monster strays ahead, brushing aside the willow curtain with a vine-curdled arm. Golden light streams through the opening, chatter and laughter growing louder.

Tom beckons them forward, and Ran has no choice but to obey. Oh god. He really wishes he had stayed home today.

It's a giant tree. A giant willow tree with branches the size of semis spanning overhead. The willow branches almost serve as drapery, forming the slightly swaying ceiling overhead.

Swarms of fireflies provide warm light, blinking lazily as they drift and swoon – but that’s not the horrifying part. Ran finds himself surrounded by monsters of every shape and size, they all meld and laugh and dance with the unnaturalness Tom has already introduced him to. Teeth and claws and scales and fur– beasts lurk in the space.

“Cool innit?” Tom queries, letting the vine curtain slip off his arm. “We only get this many on proper nights.”

“What– what do you mean?” Ran practically squeaks, he’s avoiding looking at the rest of the area. At least Tom’s a familiar sight in this horrific situation.

Tom rolls its eyes, clapping a hand on Ran’s petrified shoulder. “This is a party, dipshit. Equinox party to be more ‘spe-cif-ic’.” Ran could not answer why Tom says it like that, but it drags a sigh from them. They finally manage to turn their head, looking out onto the ‘Equinox party.’

To be honest it looks like any other college party. With small groups of giggling masses and extremely tipsy attendees. God, minus the whole cryptid-horror thing, Ran might just pass away from social anxiety. Now he’ll just pass away from being ripped to shreds. They can’t decide which one they’d prefer.

Ran looks to his left, to where Tom is situated. Only he isn’t there. In fact, there’s nothing but an empty space next to him, he hadn’t noticed Tom’s hand leaving his shoulder. Shoot.

Being alone really isn’t their cup of tea. Actually, anything else would be preferable to literally being abandoned at a party by the only person they ‘know’. Ran can’t even spot Tom in the crowd. This sucks actually.

The familiar feeling of panic settles in their chest, yet they can’t even fidget for comfort. No, the spell or whatever magic Tom had thrown at them holds strong. “So. Come here often?” A voice drawls, and Ran blinks, now registering the figure staring up at him.

They’re rather short actually, a brunette dressed in a massive coat. Ran is half expecting someone with pale skin and fangs or something– but to his surprise, this person isn’t monstrous in any way. They look like him. A non-fanged and non-corpse-like person. Christ, they would sob in relief if they were allowed to move.

“Are you–” Their hands twitch, “Did they.. Get you too?” Not the most eloquent of asks, but Ran needs to know. He needs to know that he’s not alone.

The boy has bangs long enough to cover his eyes, and an odd scar taking up the right side of his face. He’s dressed normal enough, with soft boots and faded slacks that look as though they’ve been streaked with bleach. Though the winter coat he’s wearing looks expensive. It’s thick, almost hide-like. And painted a dusty white and spotted with grey. It shines with care, though there’s no doubt that age has started to wear down the edges. Truly, It’s an impressive piece of clothing, but surely it isn’t that cold right?

The boy quiets, registering the words with a pursed lip of consideration. He then shudders violently, lowering his voice as his eyes glimmer fearfully behind sweeps of brown hair. “Yea, you gotta be careful around them too. If you’re too loud they’ll start with your fingers.”

Ran has the urge to cheer, because he was right. These things do want to eat him. However, the feeling fades, replaced with the realization that these things do want to eat him.

“Actually, they start with your ankles. And they’ll slowly take off piece by piece, making sure you’re still alive until they finally reach your heart–“

“TUBSO!” A voice suddenly cries, the boy’s eyes widening fractionally before something tackles him from the side. Ran looks away, unable to watch as they’ll surely tear the boy limb from limb–

The sound of laughter breaks him from his stupor, and Ran opens his eyes. Tom is rolling on the ground with the other boy, both laughing and cursing stupidly. Fuck. They briefly wonder. He’s with them.

The two wrestle, ending with the brunette as the apparent winner. Still laughing, they pull each other to their feet. “I haven’t seen you in ages bossman! How’s it been!” The brunette chirps, seeming way too comfortable in Tom’s stupid presence.

The other waves a hand. “I’ve been around bigman, just had something come up.”

Ran realizes that oh. He’s talking about them.

The brunette seems to know this and turns to look at them a little more carefully. “If you let him off, will he run?”

Tom shrugs. “Dunno. But it wouldn’t really matter, I could send Tech after them. It’s been a while since he’s had a proper hunt.” The two laugh again, apparently completely fine with Ran having a mental breakdown. Tom bumps them gently. “You’re released, just stay within the clearing.”

The command follows through with a chill acknowledgment, the harsh strings breaking as Ran about falls to their knees. A hard hand on his shoulder makes him thrash, but the hold only tightens. “They’re new.” Tom explains, almost seeming embarrassed.

The other snickers. “That was obvious. You should’ve seen their face when I started talking about dismemberment–“

“You didn’t scare him did you?” The harsh tone breaks through Tom’s words. That irritating protectiveness shining through. The other shrugs it off lightly, a small smile tugging at his face. It makes Ran recoil back a step or two.

Tom layers another glare, before relaxing the tension in his shoulders. He looks at Ran, then to his friend. “You may call this one Tubbo. Tubbo, you may call this one Ran.”

“We’ve met.” ‘Tubbo’ grins, and Ran has half a mind to wrap their hands around his throat.

“Tubs and I have known each other for a few decades now. Cool innit?“

Seeing that a response is apparently needed, Ran complies. “..Yeah.”

Another body propels toward the group, slamming into Tom with a high-pitched cackle. Both nearly tumble to the ground, with Tubbo merely rolling his eyes. Ran can only take so much tackling, theses things are worse than a football team, jesus.

"Eyr– what the fuck–" The vine monster cries, struggling against the other. Through what glimpses Ran can get of their fight – The new one seems to look like one of those standard devil costumes from spirit halloween or something. Except Ran doubts that the horns, highly detailed claws, swaying tail, and sharp red gradient curling over his skin are anything but fake.

The demon-looking monster tugs at Tom's arm, not even sparing a glance at anyone else. "I want to show you something bitch."

It's another Tom, joy.

"I'm not going anywhere with you hell-based bastARD–!" Tom shrieks as Tubbo roughly shoves him, allowing Eyr to gain the upper hand. Seemingly against its will, Tom is dragged off into the crowd.

"Uh.."

"They'll be fine." Tubbo grunts. "Or not." And there it is again, that creepy grin. "Honestly they're probably going to dance."

"Dance?"

"Are you really that blind?" That’s rich. Coming from the guy with bangs. Or– wait that kind of solidifies his point. "The giant circle of dancing folk."

Ran looks past the mini groups and small crowds gathered under the tree, past the log tables and small fire. Passed the giggling girls ducking behind trees, and passed the lake, where he swears he sees a fish the size of a man dive under the surface. And there, at the edge of the grove – there’s a rhythmic stomping, multiple bodies twisting as they rush in a circle. Ran can even make out Tom and Eyr, excitedly prancing about and looking like complete idiots. The dance doesn’t seem to follow a pattern, it’s wild, with waving limbs and strangled shouts.

Even if there’s no apparent pattern, but they must be dancing to something? Where’s the music?

“It’s the wind.” Tubbo replies, as if reading their mind. It clicks then, and Ran knows it makes sense. A faint whistling hums in the air, tingling with something they can’t quite comprehend. Whatever it is, it’s loud enough for the incensed whoops and caws and shrieks to mix with it, meld with it. How could something so incomprehensible make so much sense?

There’s a slight shifting next to him. And Tubbo yawns, looking at the circle with him. "You know, you're kinda boring. I might ditch you too.”

Ran now realizing he has no more conversation to offer, simply shrugs. "Sor–" He gets no further. As a fist collides with his shoulder. With a sharp hiss they try to draw away, but a quick hand wraps around their collar.

They’re yanked down to eye level, and Ran finds himself staring at two bright eyes, green and blue swirling deep within each iris – sanctioned behind slitted, pinpricks pupils. The rich colors twist and wrap into something that reminds them of the sea. Something bright, something dark, something undisturbed beneath the deep waves. "If you want to keep fucking living– stop staying that shit."

"Excuse me?" They try to tug out of Tubbo’s grip, but he yanks them forward again.

"Don't say that either,” And by god it sounds like a threat. “Listen, you're in a place where words have power. Everything has a price."

Given Ran had literally lost any amount of human rights he possessed earlier, that was a relatively obvious thing to know. "I guessed that much."

"Did you though?” Tubbo snorts, angling a brow. “Because it sounded like you were about to apologize to me."

"Oh."

"Yea, oh."

Ran’s brow furrows as they take in the other’s smug sneer. Perhaps they’d been a little hasty, or maybe they’re just too polite altogether. Tubbo has actually given him some nice tips, and– has been rather polite. "So, why are you giving me advice?" If words have meaning, wouldn’t that include this extremely helpful information? Does that include actions?

Tubbo pokes him again, nodding. "Good. You're learning."

Okay, that makes sense. Ran has so many more questions, but wouldn’t that mean they’d owe another debt? "..What do you want?"

Their collar is released, and they hesitantly draw back to their normal height once more. "I want you to hold my coat,” The boy chrips back, and suddenly the overcoat is shrugged off his shoulders. There’s no follow-up, only the sharp “Catch–!” being their only indicator that something’s even being thrown toward them.

However, they do not, indeed, catch. And something slams into him, nearly sending him sprawling. They recover quickly, tearing the thing off his face. With a confused whine they look at Tubbo, and back to the thing in his hands.

“Look after it. I'm gonna dance.” The ‘coat’ is massive, and weighs way more than it looks. Ran only gapes, not even managing a nod – but Tubbo seems satisfied. The other, with a wave, heads off into the crowd. Leaving Ran with his speckled coat.

Weirdo.

The grass under their feet is trampled by running feet, and the air thrums with something they can’t quite identify. It’s a party alright. With roaming groups and laughing drunkards as what looks to be something golden slopping onto the ground from plastic cups. Yes. These things apparently still use red solo cups.

Apparently, even these monsters couldn't stoop that low.

Ran’s been pretty much abandoned, left to the side with a coat in hand. Maybe they could leave. But as soon as they have the thought, a command burns in their chest.

Don’t leave the clearing.

With a sigh, Ran settles himself where he is. Forced to watch and altogether not inclined to join in on whatever the hell this is. While scanning the crowd, someone familiar catches his eye.

Wil.

The man is lounging by what looks to be a bar, sat next to another thing with what looks to be massive ram horns. ..Neat.

The other suddenly waves, and Ran can feel his stomach curl as he returns it. It’s not, friendly – not with that customary sneer and his glinting eyes. It almost feels like it’s meant to mock them. It makes too much sense that Wil’s one of these things. Of course he is, the guy was weird from the start.

They can’t help but wonder how many people they know that aren’t people at all.

“So you’re flock?” A voice asks, and Ran reels, spinning to find the voice. And oh– there. A man on the shorter side, with blank eyes staring daggers into his own. And the guy is freaky. Like it reminds him of a horror movie makeup sort of bond villain mafia boss kinda guy. He’s got a large hat angled atop his head. Charms and herbs attached by strings dangle from the edges, weighing it down in some aspects. He kind of reminds them of a bird.

'Phil' is much more spindly, yet no less dangerous with two massive wings hulking over him. His fingers end in claws, easily folded over a staff with what looks to be a bird skull adorning the top. To be honest he looks flighty, with a shrill grin and constantly shifting hands.

However, this man is nothing compared to the one that stands behind him. He’s got the stature of a giant, and must be close to or over seven feet tall. Red eyes glare down on them and scars lace over his skin like spiderwebs. He looks considerably more human than the rest, though he’s accompanied by a braid of thick pink hair and two tusks, yes, tusks. “I- sorry?”

The shorter rolls his eyes, it doesn’t feel very friendly. “You’re Ran? Tom’s little mortal?”

“I think little is an understatement old man.” The pink one grunts. Its voice is deep. Much deeper than Ran was expecting. Yet, no anger curves the words. If anything, he sounds bored.

Bird guy waves an irritated hand. “You’re still taller mate, that makes this one little.”

“So what does that make you?”

Ran almost feels his jaw drop, for fuck’s sake he hopes none of these beasts take this out on him.

“Better quit while you’re ahead.”

“Now, why would I ever quit? I think that’d be very detrimental to the brand.”

“Oh fuck off. Your brand died off in ‘72.”

Pink snorts. “Exactly, got to live for them right? It’s not my fault they all up and died.”

“Sure, sure. I’m so sure them chanting the ‘blood god’ as they kicked it was total coincidence.”

“The seelie and unseelie courts chewed me out for that. Be kind Phil, be kind.”

“So.. who are you guys exactly?”

The two stop in their tracks at Ran’s interruption, both meeting his eye. “Has the kid not introduced us?”

Ran tugs at his sleeves. “I’m – I don’t know.”

“You may call me Phil.” The bird guy smiles, and Ran really wishes he had done anything but that, because sharp, angled teeth gleam out at them.

Pink appraises them once more, towering over the two. “You may call me Techno.”

Before Ran can really take in any of that information. A shout steals his attention away from the men and Ran spots Tom once more. Who’s roughly shoving his way through the crowd, apparently having escaped Eyr’s hold. Why does the world hate them? Tom’s glowing eyes find the coat in his arms. “Tubbo gave you his coat?”

It’s an odd question as it seems, and the two other men suddenly join Tom in staring, something close to realization appearing on their faces. Whatever emotion it is though, they don’t want any part of it. They don’t want to risk the anger of, whatever these things are. “I– uh–“

Tom sees this as an excellent time to shriek. “What the FUCK!” Tom squeals. “He doesn’t even let me touch it! That’s not fair.”

Confused, utterly confused, Ran holds out the coat, a silent offer that makes all three beasts take several steps back. “I didn’t mean– I–“

Techno glances at the coat, almost fearfully. “Kid. Take it back.” It’s odd. Tom and the others look like the coat has teeth. Bemused, Ran tucks it closer to himself once more.

The tenseness in the air oozes away, and as always – Tom seems to be the one to bounce back first. “Are you trying to get us all killed?” Tom suddenly asks, looking surprised more than anything. “He will literally skin you and us alive if he sees you handing out his coat.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t even notice he had it.” Techno mutters, and does he really have to end every sentence with a growl?

“Anyway…” There’s a gruff snort. From who, Ran can’t tell. Phil continues. “This is the flock. Me, Techno, Tom and well– Wil. I haven’t seen him about though. He’s probably off sulking elsewhere.”

Ran interjects, “I– I saw him earlier, Wil.”

“You did?” Tom asks, more like demands.

“He didn’t come over. He just waved.”

“Good. The fucker knows what’s what then.”

Phil rests a hand on Tom’s shoulder, an easy smile on his face. It doesn’t match his cold, lifeless eyes. “Did you two fight again?”

“Not exactly,” The blonde snorts, waving an irritated hand, “he just asked for Ran’s name a while ago.”

“He did?” Phil's smile doesn’t drop, but it flickers with something dark, something that makes Ran shiver, what’s left of his tattered soul quakes in its boots. “I’ll speak to him.”

Tom chuckles. “Dadza’s gonna beat some kids.”

“You lot are going to be the death of me.” Phil replies snidely, rubbing his face with an angled claw. There’s a heavy, spindling sigh. “But I should have a conversation with the kid. Can’t have him doing that shit again.” The older man suddenly turns to leave, but not before sparing Ran a final glance. “Nice to meet you mate, see you at home.”

What.

“Oh shit, that reminds me, Tech?” Tom leans over, practically covered in the taller thing’s massive shadow. There’s a gruff snort as its eyes scan the younger. “Fucker. When’s the dance going to start?”

“Why would I know that?“

“Listen bitch, I asked for your op-in-ion.”

“You asked a question. I gave you my answer.”

“This is why no one loves you.” Funny, how Tom, when always bested in a conversation, turns to petty insults. It’s not so funny that it works more often than not.. Ran would know.

“I think we all know Phil’s favorite. And it’s definitely not you, runt.” Techno leans over to ruffle Tom’s hair, which kind of ruins his illusion– the writhing vines peek through for just a moment, and Tom screeches, shoving the hands away.

Ran is pretty sure it’s meant to be lighthearted, everyone here treats Tom like some sort of feral cat. However, they weren’t forcibly dragged through the forest and had part of their soul stolen. So they might have a differing opinion.

Tom and Techno banter for a little while longer, until a bored grimace touches the taller. “Alright, Squid looks like he needs some company, or bullying. Go ask Niki about the schedule.”

“Hasn’t the dance already started though?” Ran intervenes, and Tom rolls his eyes.

Techno shrugs, looking off to the side now. “That’s just folks being idiots, the real event hasn’t started yet.”

Ran nods, that makes sense they guess. This apparently, seems to be Techno’s take of leave, he takes a few steps into the crowd, but Tom chirps. “Hey–!” Tom growls, reaching out to grab Techno’s sleeve before suddenly recoiling as if he’s been burned. “I– er, tell Squid he’s a bitch.” Tom mutters, holding his shaking hand. The man gives no reply, merely shoving through another group of hissing monsters with – no heads. Wait, that’s a lie too. They’re… holding severed heads. Their own perhaps?

Lovely.

The shorter hisses. “..Socially anxious bastard.”

Ran almost laughs. Almost. To cover it up, he instead asks, “Who’s Niki?”

Almost on cue, there’s a loud splash, and several heads turn, leading Ran to follow their line of sight. The pond. Except it’s not still and empty any longer. A woman seems to be peeking her head out of the water, pink eyes shining with thin pupils. None of the clearing seems to be paying her any attention. There’s another splash, with a massive, scaled, pink-tinted tail whipping out and back into the water.

A mermaid? The fins are sharp, jagged, torn, and nearly shredded. Marred scars run down the length of her, telling Ran the mermaid has likely been through more than he can imagine.

“That’s Niki, she’s a lady of the lake.” Tom supplies quietly. Once again reminding Ran that oh yeah – their life sucks and they’re surrounded by horrifying monsters.

The quiet comment draws the mermaid’s regard, and she sweeps her gaze to Tom. It’s calculated, even cold. It oozes with something frigid, unrelenting, and bitter. Her skin glistens in the low golden light and gives off a dull, bitter glow. She’s pale, deathly pale, with hair that’s almost pure white. The rarest tint of pink shines in every strand, but it seems drowned out by the stark paleness that reaches over her. To be entirely honest, she looks like a corpse. Though that seems to be a common theme among these monsters.

What’s worse, is when that stare snaps to them. It retains its cold demeanor for the barest hint of a moment before it seems to seep away. Softening ever so slightly as her pupils dilate, just the tiniest amount. It could almost be comforting if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying.

“She keeps the peace, keeps people in line. Don’t want anyone to lose their heads or their mortals.”

“Mortals?!”

Tom shifts for a moment. “Uh yeah, the last one didn’t– nevermind.”

That is most definitely not an acceptable answer, and they whisper yell back “What happened to the last mortal?”

Tom blinks again. Face paling considerably. “Uh. Fuck.. Nothing much, not really.”

“Oh come on.” Another voice sneers from behind, and suddenly Tubbo shoves his way between the two of them. “The fuckin’ pixies tore them limb from limb.”

“You weren’t joking about that earlier?” Ran murmurs, staring at Tom as if the other would have any sort of rebuttal.

The other only shrugs. “It was the Trow’s fault.”

Tubbo snorts. “Fair. I mean, really– why go to all the effort of a changeling if you’re not going to protect the actual one?”

“You’re scaring them.” Tom then mutters, elbowing Tubbo.

The shorter boy makes a show of folding his arms. “Oh yea? Well have you considered that maybe they’re a bitc–“ The brunette is cut off by a punch to the gut.

Ran chooses to look at his shoes while the other two explode into a meaningless fight. He’s pretty sure they’re just playing around, but nonetheless, he doesn’t care.

The Equinox is announced not much later, by a rather loud splash and Niki’s piercing glare. To be honest, Ran doesn’t catch most of the words being said, it’s all taken over by the blank thrum in his chest. “The dance.. about.. begin!”

Ran has no time to prepare before Tom has snagged his wrist. The monster suddenly grins, sharp teeth glinting. Unsettling as always, but Ran can’t find themself to be bothered at the moment. Tom drags them toward the circle on the other side of the clearing, but not before Ran has tossed Tubbo back his coat. The boy beams, pale complexion reflecting the light. The sight makes him feel just a little bit better, a little more human. It doesn’t last.

Tom shoves him into a crowd, all gathered in a circle. Though now, Ran can see inside. It’s a perfect circle of grass, looking untouched and healthier than anything Ran’s ever grown. It looks like it’s been kept this way for a reason.

There’s a burst of light, and they’re suddenly pushed forward from behind, forced to begin walking. It’s a rush, a blur of limbs as they run to keep from getting trampled. What the hell?

Someone’s cackling, laughing as the wind practically roars past. Ran can’t tell up from down, the hiss of hollow air echoing in his lungs as he maintains the speed. “You’re supposed to dance.” Tom whispers beside him. Ran’s in no state to reply.

Seconds to minutes to hours. It's all a blur of color and sound. The rhythmic pulsing of music being pulled through the air in a discordant him. It's as if his conscience has been pushed into a meat grinder, leaving him a fumbling mess of scattered thoughts and senses.

It's only when two hands connect with their shoulders, shoving them forward, that they can truly focus on what's happened. They’ve been thrown into the grass circle, and with a racing heart they can only watch. They're all still dancing.

Their feet hurt like hell, and Ran’s pretty sure there’s no point in even trying to stand again. Had he been dancing with them?

It takes a long moment to register that the dancing beasts are singing, dark and low, indiscernible from the breeze sweeping over them. He crawls backward, confused, until something stops him from going any further.

Fuck. They look up, terrified.

It’s none other than the red-eyed one. Techno. Looking down with an unsatisfied glare. Quickly scrambling, they try to pull away, but a sudden hand on their shoulder keeps them rooted in place. “It’s too late now kid.” His voice is quiet, almost pitying as he leans over.

Surprised, and still panicking, they feel their mouth move before their brain can catch up. “I never wanted this.” Ran admits, trembling.

Techno nods his head again. “I know. But that’s not going to help you now, is it?” The two of them are in the circle, alone. The rushing circle of monsters circle faster yet, their hysterical laughter plucking at horrific strands in his mind.

“What are they?” He manages, stuck staring at the crowd.

“Fae.” Oh. That name is familiar. Old folktales string a chord in their memory. Not like it matters much now. He’s effectively been tossed in the lion’s den, why should it matter what they all are?

A flash of green catches their eye – Ran follows it, almost subconsciously. Eyes, gleaming with a sickening emerald. Wil is beyond the crowd, watching them. Through the gaps created by still chasing, dancing, wild fae, he cocks his head. The 'fae' doesn't look human any longer. Not with that sickening gray pallor and flickering form as the forest sways behind him. His sharp teeth gleam and a pair of skeletal-looking wings are folded against his back. Ran can’t seem to look away, trapped by the hot glare – until Techno suddenly grabs them, tugging them to their feet and into a makeshift sort of hug with ease. All he can see is Techno, and it’s suddenly easier to tune out the world.

The soles of his feet are burning, and Ran knows he's practically stepping in pools of blood that have gathered in the bottom of his shoes. How long had he been dancing? Too long, at any rate.

The chanting grows louder and faster yet, with a torrent of wind twirling around the grove. “It’s almost over.” The fae (man?) mutters. “You shouldn’t fight anymore.”

Ran blinks, words not registering as they should. “What.. what does that mean?”

“You’re family now. Accepting that quickly will make everything easier on you.”

“I – I don’t–“

Techno squeezes his shoulder, eyes staying trained on his own. “Kid, you’re stuck. Make the best of it.”

“Who are you?” He’s not sure why he asks, because Techno looks the part of a monster. He is a monster, and yet..

The chanting ceases. The circling fae coming to an abrupt halt as all eyes turn toward the pair in the center.

“That’s not the question you need to be asking." Techno stops Ran from looking past him, from looking at the fae. His eyes are a deep crimson, yet, a softer brown peeks out from underneath them. Or– a faint memory of brown. "More importantly–" the taller shakes his head, a half grimace on his face. "Who are you?”

The world erupts in white light.