Chapter Text
“Mr. President?”
It’s late. Far too late to be up and functioning, really. It's near December, and autumn has already made its course on the server. Snow is lightly falling, one of their better snow days compared to others, and it's quiet and serene despite all the recent chaos. The snow barely sticks to the ground beneath, so Ranboo knows it won’t be here very long, but the bitterness of winter will be here to stay for the upcoming months, biting at exposed skin and threatening frostbite to those without winter clothes. It’s cold. Not just because it’s winter (not officially, but most call it that when it’s this chilling outside), but because it’s so late. The temperature won’t change much even when it reaches the middle of the day, which is slightly disappointing, but Ranboo certainly cannot control it. He’ll just have to take some shelter inside for most of the day. Not like he can do so now, however.
It’s been around an hour since Ranboo woke up unexpectedly, and has accepted his fate of getting up at 2 in the morning, knowing there’s a low chance of being able to sleep again. He had walked up the Prime Path and stopped as he finally registered Tubbo, sitting on his bench where he sometimes finds him at these hours.
He looks like he could quite literally freeze to death. His cheeks and nose are pink, as well are his hands, cradling a potion bottle. His hair is brown and messy, more so than usual (Not the color, but it’s dark so it does look more brown. But it’s not actually –), so chances are he, too, hasn’t gotten the most amount of sleep. Which doesn’t faze Ranboo in the slightest, so that says a lot about Tubbo, he thinks. Maybe he should write that down when he gets back. His eye is droopy, from what he can tell (Ranboo doesn’t know about his other one, it’s always under an eye patch), so he’s certainly sleep deprived. His shoulders are slumped. He has his suit on from earlier, but his button up is somewhat unbuttoned, as if he was going to change and then suddenly changed his mind. His suit jacket’s sleeves are off his shoulder, another thing pointing at the tiredness of his President, and boss.
This isn’t the first time they’ve been here, like this, Ranboo is sure of that. One of the few things he is sure about, which definitely says a lot about this (and maybe even himself).
Tubbo turns around to look at Ranboo, an almost spooked expression on his face. He must’ve not heard him walking, even though Ranboo still has his loud formal (let’s be honest, they’re the only shoes he owns) shoes on. He looks exhausted. Then again, he always does. Ranboo’s come to realize that the President may or may not have an issue with overworking himself. Ranboo can see the empty potion bottles and cigarettes next to him on the ground and in his lap. He makes a note to add alcohol to that list. “Prime! You scared me! Don’t do that, bossman,” Tubbo practically shouts. Despite Ranboo’s bad memory, he feels the familiarity of the conversation.
“Oh— uh… yeah, no, sorry. I just.. saw you. What, uh… what are you doing?” Ranboo asks shyly, tail wrapping around his ankle as a way of comforting himself. Ranboo doesn’t need an answer. It’s obvious, really. Tubbo is stressed, and is leading to drinking and drugs. Ranboo’s not one to judge, but he’d need two hands to count the amount of times they’ve met like this in the past week or two, day or night. Actually, he’s not even been here a week, now that he’s come to think of it. Or has he? He doesn’t remember. He barely remembers anything. Which is why he’s not that bothered, being a minutes man and writing down things Tubbo says, regarding the state of the country or anything of a level of importance. But, regardless of his job, the fact that he’s only been here a short period of time makes it more concerning. Most things regarding Tubbo are concerning.
“Just… unwinding, I guess? I can’t.. can’t really sleep. Plus, you know… President stuff,” he answers vaguely. “You… you wanna sit?” Ranboo nods, and pushes off some empty bottles away to sit down. He doesn’t know about the President stuff. At least he doesn’t think so. The sleeping part is what he assumes everyone could understand. But after some one off comments about the amount of work Tubbo has, being President of New L’manburg and all, he thinks he can kind of understand the amount of pressure he’s under. “So… the stars, am I right?” Tubbo comments after a beat, nudging Ranboo’s elbow.
“Yeah. No, they’re uh.. very pretty,” he agrees. “Very… pretty,” he mutters, glancing over at Tubbo. The second he turns to meet his stare, he quickly looks up to the sky.
“You’re pretty, too, you know,” Tubbo says, poking Ranboo’s cheek before hiccuping. The potions must be getting to him. “Has anyone ever told you that?” He asks, moving a little closer.
Ranboo shakes his head, a light purple blush becoming vibrant on his face. “Uh… n-no— no one… I mean, I look kind of weird, don’t I?” he replies, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. Because no one calls him pretty, no one has ever, it’s not in his book. So he’s left to assume it’s simply never happened, making Tubbo the first to do so. His boss, the first person (possibly) to call him pretty. Which is weird, he thinks.
“Weird’s good though.”
“I mean, you’re, like, a lot prettier than me—“
“Awh, you think I’m pretty, Minutes man?” Tubbo teases, batting his eyelashes at the enderian. Ranboo snorts, trying to hide his face and cover up the awkward comment with a laugh. “Mmm, you’re nice. Too nice. What’s your deal? You got a big secret, Minutes man? I wonder.. hm. Have you, like, killed someone or something?” Tubbo questions, getting all up in his face.
“No, uh… no… no I haven’t, Mr. President.” At least he doesn’t think so. Maybe he has.
“Ugh. Don’t call me that. Call me Tubbo. I mean, we’re friends, right?” Tubbo complains, and Ranboo makes a mental note. “Plus, sounds wayyy too formal. I ain’t that important, am I?”
“I mean? You are the president, Mr—… Tubbo,” Ranboo corrects, glancing over.
“I’m not a good person, Ranboo. I’m an absolute shit person. And you’re nice. Too nice. You need to grow a spine, and— woah, are you good?” Tubbo rambles, suddenly acknowledging Ranboo’s presence again, who, quite frankly, looks like a deer in headlights. Ranboo hesitantly nods.
“Are you ?” Ranboo asks back, brows furrowed in confusion and concern. Tubbo doesn’t seem like a bad person. He seems far from it, truthfully. Maybe Ranboo’s judgment and way of thinking isn’t the best, but he would never consider Tubbo a bad person.
Tubbo ignores his question. “Whatever— You, uh, want a potion? Or fucking.. weed—“ he didn’t realize it was weed, “—maybe? You’re always kind of anxious, man. Like… always ,” he offers.
Ranboo actually thinks about it. He doesn't drink, or do drugs, he never has.. or at least he can’t remember it, and it’s definitely not in one of his books. But, prime, it’s kind of tempting. He takes a shaky breath. “I mean… what’s the harm, I guess?” he shrugs, and Tubbo picks up a joint and hands it to him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He gingerly brings it to his lips, and soon enough, he’s coughing violently.
“Prime! Oh, uh— sorry, shit, sorry,” Tubbo apologizes, rubbing his back and taking the joint away, making sure he’s alright. “First time, I s’pose?” he asks, and Ranboo gives a weak and embarrassed smile. “It’s okay. Here, we can uh— well, when you’re done coughing, I can, uhm.” They don’t talk after that, not until Ranboo’s lungs have officially calmed the fuck down. Tubbo takes a hit, and then turns to hold Ranboo’s face in his hands. He’s not expecting it, but he doesn’t flinch or go running or anything. He practically leans into it. And then there’s hot smoke being blown into his mouth. It almost feels like they’re about to kiss—
Oh.
Oh.
This time, Ranboo doesn’t cough. He simply breathes it all in. Tubbo chuckles at his incredulous expression. “There you go, bossman. Feels nice, huh?” he asks, smiling softly. “Prime, I don’t even remember my first. I was probably like you, though. Minus… minus the shotgunning,” Tubbo adds, and it seems like he’s trying to make him feel better about not getting it the first time. “…You good, though?”
“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. I’m… I’m fine,” Ranboo reassures, giving a small smile. “Just. That was weird, you know? The smoke, I mean. Not— not the shotgunning that was totally not weird between—“ he cuts himself off. “I’m.. gonna stop talking.” Tubbo barks out a laugh in response.
Ranboo really needs to process what just happened. They almost kissed– or at least it had felt like it, felt like it was so close yet so far, and only ended up with him getting grass-air blown into his face by the President who may or may not be mentally unstable. But who is he to judge? Which is a one off thought most likely designed to distract his brain from this awkward and confusing moment. Because suddenly the President is looking a lot prettier and despite his enderman instincts begging him to look away from his eyes, he feels like if he looks anywhere else he’ll never see them again. Which leads him to another spiraling thought of not wanting that as reality.
They fall into a silence, and Tubbo’s taken the joint back to smoke, while Ranboo processes and spirals. “I’m surprised you even tried, honestly,” Tubbo comments, leaning on him. “But… then again, you’re a bit of a yes-man, aren’t you?” He stops at that. Maybe that’s another conversation for another two a.m. smoking session. “Good effort, though. Even if it is a bit odd.” Ranboo feels like dying then and there, with Tubbo leaning on him and carrying all of the heat in the world. It’s so cold out, but Tubbo feels warm. He chalks it up to him maybe getting sick and certainly not anything else. Which is not something he wants to think about now, and Tubbo probably isn’t thinking about it so it's weird to think about it, and–
“…Yeah. Uh, thanks.” Wow. Smooth, Ranboo. Very smooth.
“…You wanna try again?” Tubbo quietly offers, leaning the joint towards him. “I mean. you can, like, try on your own, or…” Ranboo almost thinks it's just an excuse to shotgun again. Nonetheless, he nods. They do the same as before, with Tubbo taking his hit, as experienced as he seems to be, and cupping Ranboo’s face. Ranboo’s hands come up to hold Tubbo’s wrists in place. He doesn’t know why he does it. Tubbo doesn’t, either, but he doesn’t complain. Ranboo’s nose scrunches as the smoke is being blown into his face, and Tubbo laughs at it. Even after that, Ranboo’s hands are still in place. “Woah, guy, are you like… trying to hold me hostage?” Tubbo jokes. Ranboo’s face flushes and quickly takes his hands away. Wow. He actually might be one of the most awkward and stupidest people on this server, if he had to give the title to someone, it would be himself, judging off of this not so great moment of his.
“I’m— I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I—“
“Bossman, it’s literally fine. I was teasing you. No harm done, okay? Chill,” he assures awkwardly, laughing at Ranboo’s panicked apology. “Jeez, maybe you’re the one who needs all this shit. Not me. Then again.. based on how you look right now, you’re probably a lightweight, eh?”
“I.. Don’t know? I’ve never… drank. Or done drugs until… right now,” Ranboo admits, and Tubbo nods.
“Well.. Yeah, no, that’s fine. I mean— you don’t have to, uh… start. Like, drinking, I mean?” Tubbo says, putting a hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, who tenses up. “It’s totally your call, bossman.”
Without saying a word, Ranboo impulsively decides to grab the potion bottle. It’s probably the lack of sleep, or maybe even the weed, and even in his non-sober mind, he knows it’s probably not the best idea. But, for some reason, he does it anyway. “So, you don’t wanna—“ he practically chugs the entire thing down within a couple seconds, “—…drink it fast,” Tubbo says. The last part comes out quiet, obviously shocked that Ranboo did that. “…Well. That’s.. certainly a way to start.”
Ranboo wipes his mouth with his sleeve before coughing a bit. “That… does not taste good. How— How do you even keep drinking that?” Ranboo questions. Tubbo just shrugs. “That’s– ew, Prime, that is.. Ough, how do you drink that? Or even, like, want , to?”
“I mean, you kind of get used to it after a while, bossman,” Tubbo admits.
A while. That’s.. An interesting way to put it, isn’t it? Because Tubbo is, what, 17? And he’s used to alcohol, which is definitely concerning in Ranboo’s eyes. He did just drink as well, though, but that was his first time so it’s not that bad. It makes him worry for Tubbo. Like how the bandages and eye patch do, because he can’t help but wonder why they’re there, they’ve been there since they had first met. It crosses Ranboo’s mind most times he looks at him. In meetings, Quackity tends to mention the date November 16th quite frequently, and Tubbo tends to tense up beside him each time. He wonders if that date has anything to do with it. If something happened, then. Whatever it is, it’s safe to assume Tubbo didn’t deserve it.
Ranboo still doesn’t know what to think of the newfound realization of how pretty Tubbo is. It’s not like he didn’t know he was pretty prior to this, but the new knowing of just how pretty he is. Because there is no way he hasn’t come to realize how Tubbo’s blue eye glistens in the night. Maybe he’s crying. Ranboo doesn’t know. He’s not even sure if he should ask about it. It’s probably not the most professional thing in the world, nor was the shotgunning, and nor is the thought of kissing Tubbo as that was happening. He barely knows him, and this is happening.
Tubbo would hate him if he realized, wouldn’t he?
Tubbo is still smoking the joint beside him, staring out into the open air and Ranboo watches as the smoke leaves his mouth and lingers in the chilled air. He seems at peace, but also the exact opposite of peaceful at the same time. Ranboo doesn’t quite know what to make of him.
“You know, for an enderman, you stare quite a bit. You know that?” Tubbo comments. Which, wow , that’s embarrassing. Does Ranboo really stare that much? “Not— not that I mind, per say. I just… I don’t know.”
“I… I didn’t realize, uhm— I just.. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I said I didn’t mind.”
“I know,” Ranboo responds, fiddling with his suit cuffs (he thinks that’s what they’re called) and looking back at the President. He wants to look longer, but he knows his enderman half won’t appreciate it. “Well— I, uh, kind of know? Like I don’t have to? But, uh, I just want to, I think. Uhm. Sorry. It’s— it’s late.”
“It is, yeah. Good… good observation there, Ranboo,” Tubbo adds, blowing out more smoke. He coughs a bit. “It’s, what, two?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Ranboo confirms, nodding to himself. It’s probably closer to three, by now. When Ranboo had originally woken up, it was closer to two, and it feels like it’s been a while. Maybe it has only been five minutes. Ranboo couldn’t check if he wanted to, he doesn’t have his clock on him.
Whether it’s two or three in the morning, it’s too late regardless. They have a meeting in the morning, and they unfortunately can’t miss it, so they’ll be there and sleep deprived. At least they’ll be sleep deprived together, probably falling asleep in the meeting room. Ranboo’s getting cold, but he’s sure Tubbo is colder. He almost wants to offer his jacket. He glances back to Tubbo. He’s still smoking, but he’s moved on to cigarettes. If Ranboo knew any better, he’d think it was some kind of self destruction. “Isn’t that bad for you?”
“I don’t know. Probably. Doesn’t really matter much to me.” Tubbo shrugs and meets his eyes for a moment before Ranboo has to reluctantly look away. “Why?”
“I just… I don’t want you to get, uh, sick or anything? You’re– you’re my friend,” Ranboo clarifies, “So, you know.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Minutes man. You shouldn’t.”
“I think I probably should.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Tubbo counters, “It’s not your issue to worry about me, Ranboo. So don’t. That’s from your President, and boss.”
That just makes Ranboo worry a bit more. He feels like he’s prone to worrying sometimes. About everything, really. Some would say it’s somewhat of a blessing, because it means he can care and show some empathy, but he’d see it as some kind of curse because who in their right and sane mind, can be okay with worrying about every little thing to ever happen to those around them, even when they’re told it’s not their place to worry. There’s something wrong with him. Right now, he’s thinking about Tubbo, though.
He feels like the potions are finally kicking in, because he’s hit with a wave of nausea. Tubbo seems to notice and takes his hand, firm in his. “Just relax, yeah?” he instructs, and it’s much easier said than done. Maybe that’s why suddenly his anxiety has gotten worse. Does alcohol even have this effect on everyone? Because, wow, Tubbo seems near unbothered. He did say he had practice or something, though, didn’t he? Or did Ranboo make that up? Turns out, not having a good memory and drinking alcohol may or may not be the best mix when it comes to remembering things from, what, five minutes ago? He didn’t even realize his memory could get worse to begin with. Not like he knows how long it’s been bad, or anything because he doesn’t. He’s been here a little under a week, he’d say, and doesn’t remember anything prior. He’s not even entirely sure how old he is, but his memory book says he’s seventeen.
“Is it normal to feel like the world is spinning?”
Tubbo chuckles and puts an arm around him to keep him steady, after noticing Ranboo’s sway after a moment. “I’d say. But it’s okay. You’re– you’ll be fine. Uh, probably. Just, like, tell me if you feel like you’re going to be sick. You– you might,” Tubbo acknowledges. Ranboo would definitely prefer if he didn’t get sick all over the place, in front of his boss no less, but at least he’s not alone, or anything.
It feels colder, all of a sudden. Then Ranboo realizes Tubbo has moved away a bit, so some warmth has left him. He’s usually cold, he thinks. When Tubbo was leaning on him, though, he felt warm. The potion in his system is almost making him want to pull him back and fall asleep because he feels dizzy and the world is spinning and Tubbo is so pretty in the moonlight with the lighting on the one side of his face with the eyepatch covering his eyes, and his hair covering his face.
It feels like his legs are going numb. Everything feels numb, actually. Which isn’t quite a feeling he’s all that familiar with, so that’s that. This whole thing, minus Tubbo, is unfamiliar in a way that’s almost uncomfortable. Everything is uncomfortable right now, actually. There’s no way this is how Tubbo usually feels when he drinks, is it? Because this is making Ranboo never want to touch it again and maybe advise Tubbo not to as well, but he knows he probably won’t listen anyway because he’s just a stubborn person. Or at least that’s what it seems like. He seems like he’s stubborn.
“I’m never doing this again.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have offered,” Tubbo apologizes, “That was— wow, that was kind of dumb of me.” He still has his arm wrapped around him. Ranboo feels both really aware and really zoned out at the same time, which he didn’t know was possible. “Are you gonna be sick, bossman?”
“I think. Maybe. Prime, I’m really sorry, Tubbo. I didn’t— ugh, I feel horrible. The world is spinning.”
“Mhm. Yeah, no that— that happens. Not much I can do about that.”
It’s getting so warm. It’s the middle of the night, it shouldn’t be this warm. He feels like he’s hallucinating. Because this isn’t real, is it? Or maybe it is and he’s imagining it’s not, which is kind of confusing and it’s all confusing—
“Ranboo? Do— fuck, do you need me to walk you home, or something? You look like shit.”
“No. I’m— I’m okay, I think. This is just really weird.”
Ranboo starts to want to go home and sleep it off. But they have a meeting in a few hours and he knows he won’t be able to get any sleep because he won’t be able to sleep so maybe it’ll be better if he stays out in the freezing cold with Tubbo because he’ll have company and he will be warm because Tubbo is warm, so another part of him wants to stay and—
Ranboo sighs loudly. “Sorry. I don’t, uh, know what’s wrong with me. I’m.. are you going to stay out here, all night?” he asks, deterring the conversation from his drunkenness that he’s not particularly fond of.
“Probably. I don’t think I’m going back to sleep, not that I want to or can, anyways. I got work to do, if I go back to my house. President shit. It sucks,” Tubbo admits, and he looks around for something to smoke or drink, and then he realizes he’s run out. He makes a face of disappointment. “Bummer.”
“I mean, maybe it’ll be better if you, uhm, stop? We– we do have a meeting, right? Not… not sure how people would feel about you showing up with a hangover?” Ranboo suggests, looking down at the ground. The snow is still sticking. It won’t be for much longer. “Especially if, you know, you need to, uh… make decisions?”
“I’ll be fine , Ranboo. Trust me, yeah? So, you know, it’s alright. But, uhm… that’s life, I think.”
“...What’s life?”
“I… don’t actually know where I was going with that. Sorry. It’s probably the potions.”
“Prob– probably. It’s… it’s okay. You, uh, don’t need to apologize. I don’t think so.”
Ranboo truly doesn’t know what to say anymore. He’s starting to realize he probably doesn’t have the best conversational skills, but it could just be the alcohol messing with his brain, for all he knows. It probably is. If Tubbo asks, that’s why. Not like he would ask, anyway.
It still feels like the world is spinning, and it feels like his thoughts are going a million miles an hour. So fast that he barely knows what he’s thinking about, as it just kind of runs through fastly and leaves him within an instant. If this is the effect of alcohol, he’ll definitely pass on it anytime in the future that Tubbo offers. Which is an odd thought because that would imply that he expects this to be an occurring thing. Which he doesn’t. Because it’s probably very unprofessional and who knows what people would even think of it all.
Ranboo looks back at Tubbo, and he looks kind of zoned out now. He seems deep in thought about something. What that something is, he may never know. “Mr. President?”
“Thought I said you could just call me Tubbo, minutes man,” Tubbo responds, shaking out of his own little world and meeting his eyes. Ranboo looks away after being reminded of his distaste for eye contact.
“It’s getting kind of.. Late? Early? I don’t– Uh. It’s like three, I think. We should… should we head back? Because, you know, meeting. Uhm. Unless you just want to stay here and stay up. I can– I can, like, keep you company, or something. Since you’re drunk and uh, high–”
“You’re drunk and high too, Ranboo. Remember?”
No, actually. Managed to slip his mind just like everything else inevitably does. Then he realizes this will certainly be an interesting entry in his memory book, on the thought of his bad memory. Then again, Tubbo doesn’t really know about it, nor does anyone else because he hasn’t been here that long at all, while Tubbo has been here a couple months and so has everyone else, he thinks. He wonders what Tubbo would say when he finds out about Ranboo’s issues. Or what anyone would say, really. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”
“We can just chill until sunrise. You know I like to be early to meetings anyway. Unless you want to go back to your house? No shame in wanting an hour or two more of sleep, boo boy,” Tubbo offers, looking down at the ground. Ranboo almost wants to say he looks like he’s thinking about doing something. He doesn’t, though. Of course he doesn’t. He can feel an odd shift in the air, however, despite the lack of odd comments or something that requires anyone to be the slightest bit concerned for either of them. Then again, Tubbo seems adamant about people not worrying about him. He finds himself wondering why exactly that is.
Ranboo certainly won’t ask.
He feels like his thoughts are repeating themselves, like a broken record that’s on its last life. Which isn’t the kind of poetic comparison he’d particularly like to make, because that’s more depressing than anything. Maybe his memory book will be just like that, repeats of the same days like he’s stuck in a time loop. Which would be kind of counter productive, even. What would even be the point of his journaling if everyday was near the exact same as the last?
Ranboo is kind of feeling like he’s losing his mind right now, honestly.
“Jeez, you look horrible.”
“Mhm. Mhm. That– mhm.” Is all Ranboo responds with, because he kind of feels like if he talks a lot he’s going to throw up, so he’ll stick to nodding or humming or something .
“Let’s head back, Minutes man. Cool down before the meeting,” Tubbo says, sitting up slowly and extending a hand to Ranboo. The potions and everything else that have been used up are still sitting on the bench, and Tubbo doesn’t seem like he’s planning on disposing of it. Ranboo takes his hand and brings himself to stand. He feels more dizzy. He can tell that Tubbo knows, because he holds onto him like he knows he’ll fall if he lets go at the wrong moment, and isn’t gambling to find out when that moment is.
“Okay. Thank you.”
“No problem. Uhm, sorry for the alcohol and weed. Since it kind of sucked,” Tubbo apologizes, “Uhm. Yeah.”
“It’s okay.”
“Maybe we can hang out. After the meeting tomorr— err, today , sorry. Play chess, or something,” Tubbo suggests, “If you want.”
“I don’t know how to play chess?” Ranboo counters. It’s not supposed to be a decline of Tubbo’s offer, but he could very well take it as such. He really doesn’t know how to play chess, doesn’t even really know what it is. “So. Not— not sure if you want to play chess with, uh, with me?”
“I can teach you. I don’t think it’s that hard to pick up,” Tubbo says. Ranboo nods. “Alright, then. Uhm. You good to head to yours now?”
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, no, I’m good. I’ll be fine,” Ranboo assures, and Tubbo lets go of him so they can go their separate ways. The meeting is in a couple hours. It starts at nine, doesn’t it? Tubbo likes to get there early, though, so he has to be there by 8:30 because he and Tubbo usually walk together and get there early before anyone else. And then who knows how long it’ll last for, maybe a couple hours, and then Tubbo will teach him how to play chess. All because he took a drink and a smoke with him in the middle of the night. Well, despite how weird it is, it’s not a big deal.