Chapter Text
The wheat fields covered the horizon he looked over, and it was never a sight he could hate. He always found himself back here at this field, and it always changed every season. From forest-green lush spinach to string-thin soy beans to pale bent barley, it was always an interesting field of study for him. Tall corn that reminded him of horror movie corn mazes, or the annual corn maze in town; canola that made the ground look yellow in its bright haze; potatoes buried deep under the ground only to be torn up to see the sunlight for the first time. It was always something new.
He leaned back on his shitty black Honda hatchback that actually wasn't his. It was his mom's, but he drove its hanging frame around. That stupid car and its two-hundred and fifty thousand kilometres it has collected over the years. He couldn't believe it wasn't more than that. The carpeted seats were tearing on the drivers side near the bottom by the door and the wheel was loosing its coating so it felt rough to hold. The console half-worked. It didn't really open all the way, and if you made it go all the way back it would get stuck like that until it decided it wanted to go back on its own terms. The passenger side was fine. The backseat looked like it had dust coated over it. He wasn't sure when the last time someone was even in the backseat. Maybe him back then. The actual outside was fine. No severe bumps or scratches, but a few here and there from accidentally hitting curbs when he was learning to drive for the first time. Most people in this tiny town actually knew how to drive, and thank the Gods for that if they're out there.
The sun was starting to set, but not quite. It was that weird time in-between the two. "Golden hour" as it was dubbed. In the title's defence, that was an accurate description. The lighting from the sun turned acutely yellow and it felt like the world was drenched in gold. The wheat looked much brighter than its usual dull buttermilk that he began to fancy even on its own.
This was Ranboo's favourite spot and time to be out on his own. The quiet of the gravel roads in the middle of who-knows-except-him-where with the pale blue sky and the lull of the wind pushing through the crops and natural wildlife. Occasionally he'd see a bunny or coyote. If he was lucky, he'd see a deer or two, but there weren't any bushes in the field he looked at for them to hide in, so they were a rare occurance. He wasn't sure what farm owned the field, or why he even liked looking at this field in particular, but he had spent much of his spare time here, even if the occasional car passing by made him feel rather embarrassed as the cloud of gravel dust they left behind stung his eyes.
Niki told him that he should have at least one day off before school began, and he begrudgingly agreed after Eret was sighing and telling them to take their argument outside. It wasn't that he wanted to, but Niki had been on his ass for doing too much schoolwork and work during the summer. 'It's a time to relax,' she told him, 'and you need to learn how to do that.' Whatever. He didn't need that. Really, he got bored when he had nothing to do. He felt like a hummingbird, that constant need to move-move-move or else his heart would stop and he would die. Well, that was a little dramatic. He didn't think he'd actually die. Probably sleep forever, which was like dying but more peaceful. Maybe. He didn't know.
Ranboo sighed as he turned his attention to the sky. It was relatively cloudy. The shapes were hard to compare to regular everyday things, so Ranboo let the abstract shapes take over his mind in how they formed. He wasn't anywhere near to what an artist could be, but he loved looking at the shapes and lines and he tried his hardest to understand how artists looked at things. He read books upon books about the artistic mind but he still never seemed to get a grasp on the creative aspect. Perhaps he was doomed to be analytical for the rest of his life.
His phone went off in his pocket, a customized warble noise that caught his attention. He groaned internally and picked it out of his pocket. An email about meeting Miss Puffy for applications of tutoring. He held it up with both of his scrawny, pale hands with fingerless leather gloves covering the palms and typed a simple email reply about possible times before hitting send and placing the phone on his stomach. School. A dreaded but loved thing. He hated the people but loved the learning. Hated the competition but loved the teaching. He was caged but he was free. It was a peculiar feeling to be mixed about the thing you're forced into for the first eighteen years of your life, but he was almost free of the burden. Two more years. He bought his calendars in advance of the remaining years and that was his special money he used for extra items outside of gas and food. It was his personal priorities, okay? And his personal priority was to count down the days. Two more years of purgatory. Not hell or heaven per say, but purgatory, because he'd either fight his way out or succumb to the grind of life like this damn tutor job because apparently doing regular schoolwork plus a part-time wasn't enough for his busy, busy head.
Ranboo saw Miss Puffy shoot another email at him and he dodged it by shutting off his phone and shoving it back in his black jean pockets. Tomorrow, he thought to himself. He'd answer tomorrow because today was about the fluffy white clouds and dancing wheat fields.
---
Phil was sitting at the wooden kitchen table with the laptop screen light burning onto his face. When he blinked, he could see the screen hazily in the darkness under his eyelids. He was exhausted and felt like he was getting nowhere. The previous fight he had with his last two kids in the house – Christ, last two and not his four – was keeping him rattled. The sound of Tommy slamming the door still echoed in his mind and Tubbo's clear face of apprehension before following his adoptive brother upstairs was worse than the white computer screen. C's and D's were what the two were getting last year, and he could see the patterns beginning already, and it had only been a week. He was trying to look out for them. Phil didn't want a repeat of what happened with Will. So, he had a brief chat with them as the school year began about having a tutor to help them through the year this time. It wasn't an insult. It would never be one. If anything, he was worried Tubbo would take it harshly.
He groaned softly and placed his head in his hands, surprisingly soft for the stress he was enduring. He didn't want to go against his son's wishes, but he couldn't have them fail high school. It wasn't like they were growing to be like Will. If anything, they were the opposite since he graduated and left town for "a better place." Instead, Tommy and Tubbo were... recluse. Especially after Techno's recent departure for college, that smart young man. Phil noticed the steady decline in grades, from B's to C's to low final exam grades than their previous two years. He first asked if Tommy wanted a therapist during the summer. That was a bad idea. He then brought up the tutor idea today, and that went just about as well as he expected it to. Not true, he expected better. A glimmer of hope that had the insecure teen agree with him for once.
Tubbo seemed indifferent both times. The two were always inseparable. He had seemed at least a little interested in the tutor idea, but still went to follow Tommy upstairs. Two ducks in a row. Even if they took different paths in life, they'd still have a strange connection like shocking electric wires. Tommy, deeply into film and practically bounced off the walls after getting the cinema job, and Tubbo, who could drown himself in computer cables and code and music. They went everywhere with each other, even if it was to the other's detriment sometimes. That was a relationship, to do things with one another even if it was something you weren't comfortable with doing alone, because it meant you were doing it together.
A soft hand touched the tip of Phil's spine and brought itself down to rest. The other hand joined and both found their places on his shoulder blades. Phil would recognize those hands anywhere. He leaned back to look at his wife, Kristin, whose radiance was bright under her black hair and soft eyes. The laptop light lined her face delicately, as if it knew whose presence it was in. Phil was forever grateful that he was not alone in this endeavour of raising children.
She gave a soft smile. "You can't sleep, can you?"
"Not one bit," he leaned back into her, exhaling a sigh. "I think I've been staring at this website for too long. I'm seein' it when I close my eyes."
Kristin hummed and gently rubbed his shoulders as she stared at the screen of tutors. "They should have someone to rely on. You and I are too busy to help them with homework after school."
"I know, I know, I just..." Phil's face scrunched. "Tommy."
She wrapped her arms around Phil's neck and placed her chin on his head. "Can we blame the hormones for that?"
Phil snickered at the excuse. "Maybe, maybe."
She lingered on top of him for a while longer before letting go and pulling up a chair next to him, not caring about the noise of it scratching along the wooden floor. "Do you have any favourites?"
"Ah–" Phil placed his fingers on the touchpad and moved his simple Windows cursor over a few options. "Theres this one. Or this one here. Or... maybe this one?"
Kristin scooted closer and squinted, her pupils reflecting the light of the screen, the words curving over her eyes. She rested her hand on the touchpad and had the cursor hovering over the potential options with focus etched into her brow. "I think they would be the best option."
She had the mouse cursor hovering over someone named Ranboo, which was a new name Phil hadn't heard of before. The kid was ghostly pale and wore a black and white mask. Their chin-long brunette hair looked course but soft with black underneath. Their eyes were the most striking, a green and blue to make an opposing pair. The description about them was brief but plentiful:
Hello! You can call me Ranboo (Rahn-boo or Ran-boo). I am in my second-last year of high school and hoping to become an engineer. I excel the most at Math and English, going into Advanced Placement of the subjects. I make sure to have organization a priority alongside learning, as being organized is important to keep learning.
The kid sounded practically perfect for the job since Tommy hated both math and English and Tubbo was, well, dyslexic in the most respective sense. Their contact information was listed under the paragraph, but Phil would be messaging Miss Puffy first about the possibility of Ranboo. That would just be a way to catch up with one another after years of passing by one another.
"They sound good to me," Phil finally said.
"Great," Kristin smiled as she opened the kids profile in a new tab and shut the laptop closed. "It's time for bed, then."
Phil sat paralyzed briefly at her change in demeanour. "Uh, I could send the email now–"
"Shush," she put a finger over his lips. "Theres always tomorrow, Phil. For now, it's time to sleep. I'm tired."
Phil sighed and, instead of arguing, followed his wife for a comfy 6-hour sleep. If he was lucky. He'd email her when he first got to work and ask for a brief meeting about tutoring, and then he'd continue his actual job. But that was now tomorrow's problem. She was right, as she always was. After all, there was always tomorrow.