Chapter Text
“Tommy?” leaves his lips in a whisper, before his eyes open to darkness. Blue moonlight refracts through the textured windows of his shared room.
“Dreaming of your ex again?” a voice calls from his left.
“He’s not my ex,” he answers. It's a reflex, even though the words leave his lips clumsily in his newly-awake state. He kicked off the thin blankets that did little to keep him warm. His toes are cold, but he won’t wear socks. He never voluntarily wears socks to sleep, even though he’d prefer it. Tommy owns all the comfortable pairs. When he stands up, the carpet isn’t much of a relief, either. The cold seeped through the material, and it did little to prepare him for the shock of bathroom tiles.
Ranboo drowsily nods down at the sink and shuts his eyes real tight. He stays there, hands gripping the porcelain rims surrounded by cheap, cracked tile. His eyes remain closed until his brain boots up, and for long enough that spots dance in his dim vision when he does open them. He reaches for the toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste, as is his routine. He brushes his teeth, tries to blow off the too-long bangs growing over his eyes, spits out the foam before lifting his bangs again. He contemplates getting a haircut.
“I love your hair long. It’s so silly.” Blunt nails dragging up his nape, clawing at the back of his skull. A sweet shudder down his spine, and an unsubtle gasp from the boy across him. Pursed pink lips, bitten down as if in concentration, and a deliberate tugging of his locks.
“Fuck,” he swears at the memory. He lifts his hand, stares at it a moment, before closing his eyes, as if he could avoid the sight of himself. He closes his hand over his too-long hair, and pulls. It’s not the same, but it brings him right back.
He made a little noise involuntarily. It hurt the first pull, but it hurt good. It was soothing. Pleasurable, even. It hurt even more the second pull, enough to move Ranboo away from Tommy. “Ow.” “Sorry,” the blond had murmured, something far away in his voice.
Ranboo looked up, and he was stricken by how round Tommy’s eyes were. The tugging became soft, methodical, and he caught on. Tommy liked it when he made noise. He could tell because the other inched closer each time. He didn't even have time to think of it as odd. It felt good. Tommy’s attention was completely on him, but it wasn’t unnerving at all. His eyes were closing, relaxed, when he felt those lips against his own.
“Shit.”
He spits out what’s left of the foam. Asks himself, ‘Why was I dreaming of my– Tommy?’ Ranboo thinks about calling. Of course, he doesn’t.
“I thought you were showering,” asked Bill. “You were taking too long brushing your teeth.”
He verbally shrugs with an ambiguous “hm.” The moonlight’s moved across the room. He checks the time. ‘He’d be waking up by now.’ He picks up his phone, but the screen doesn’t respond. Dead. He replaces Bill’s phone on the charger and leaves the room to make breakfast. It ends up being pop tarts and whatever’s left of the milk jug. He contemplates going back to sleep.