Archive of Our Own ^beta

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. 

Chapter Text

"Already? I usually have a week to get into classes at least!"

"I know, I know, but it'd be great if you could do this for them, for me."

Ranboo sighed and slumped lower into the comfy forest green chair with the white fluffy throw itching the tip of his ear. It was Friday and Ranboo was starting to remember where his classes were. Well, barely. He'd have the room numbers on his shitty iPhone screen for the entire semester until he'd get to the next one. Just a picture of his timetable, nothing fancy. A full load as usual with an online class as a "spare" – not his first choice, but his schedule tended to conflict with what he wanted to take. 

The room looked the same at the rest of the school – a dark green with white accents. It was the theme of Lucid, their tiny town, to be a green-based town due to the richness of the forest and the diversity of its trees. It felt lucid to live in the same space of so much biodiversity. At least that was where he believed the name was from. It was full of parks and recreational spaces, so it naturally became a tourist destination with dark green and white tour buses where Ranboo, when he was a kid, see people peek out at the world around with the carbon exhaling from the back of the vehicle as it panted through the street. Where was he going with this? Her room looked like a copy of nature. Except for her desk, with her maroon desk mat and her corkboard full of pictures of her life and her friends outside of being a teacher, including the one and only: Phil Minecraft.

Miss Puffy was looking at him with soft eyes. She was the spitting image of a hippie trying to become a teacher. Her white and brown curly hair was an entity of its own and often stuck to his black clothes like leeches, curling into the seams of his jeans and crawling on the nape of his neck. He never knew how those hairs were there anyway. Despite her dramatic afro, her clothes were relatively simple. Just a plain red tee-shirt and skinny black jeans with some mary jane Doc Martins and Nike white socks. 

"Can't you just hear me out for a moment?"

Ranboo pinched his nosebridge in annoyance. He wasn't mad that he had work that he was getting, because a full semester of work to be paid for would be glorious. After all, that would be helpful for paying for college and groceries. Not necessarily gas since he would only drive the car if he really had to, which was only in the winter because biking with two inches of snow was never a fun experience. Don't ask him how he knew that.

He forced himself up, using the arms of the chair to re-adjust. "Just... I'm missing chem' for this. What's going on?"

Miss Puffy seemed to light up. Oh Gods, what was he getting himself into? She slid over to her computer and began using her keyboard. "Okay, okay, soooo an old friend of mine wanted to have a catch-up coffee day and I said 'yes, of course! How could I say no to a coffee break?'"

"Sounds like you," Ranboo japed.

"Quiet. So I was talking with him and he was wondering if you could help tutor his kids because they've been going through some stuff and need the extra support since they're a little stubborn. And..."

"You said yes."

"I think you'll be glad I said yes." She turned the monitor to him. "Do you recognize these names?"

Ranboo leaned forward and read the names her mouse highlighed in blue on the bright screen. 'Tommy' and 'Tubbo' were the names listed. "No, I don't. And if I did, I wouldn't remember."

"Sooo if I add their last names, you still wouldn't recognize it?" Puffy said as she typed frantically and Ranboo saw the last name "Minecraft" pop up on the screen behind both of their names like a horror movie reveal.

"No," Ranboo sat back, as if he was trying to get away from the monitor to hide the truth of what Puffy got him into. "You're joking."

Miss Puffy was smiling, the menace. "Nope."

"You had coffee with Phil Minecraft." Ranboo stood up as Miss Puffy stared at him innocently. "The Phil Minecraft. And he chose me to tutor his kids?" He walked to the corner of her room, where there was a hazelnut bookshelf holding an absolute mess of books. He held his head in his hand. "I'm going to be sick."

"You're going to be fineeeee," Miss Puffy reassured him casually. "It's not that big of a deal. And, because it's Phil, he wants you at his place."

"Wha–" Ranboo spun on his heel to see her looking at the monitor again, typing on her mechanical keyboard. "You can't– you can't just say that!"

"I just did. Ranboo, listen," she turned around to look at him cowering in the corner. "You need to do this for him. He's been stressed out of his mind. Seriously, I haven't seen that man with eyebags ever since his company had a huge crisis where they lost most of their progress and he was tryin' to find out how to fix it."

"I–" Ranboo took a deep, nauseating breath. "I–in his house?"

"Yep, here." She stood up and walked toward him. He stiffened as she handed him a paper. "This is his information. You need to send him a text about your availability. He wants to start as soon as possible. I'm assuming you have to talk to Niki and Eret about this."

"Oh god," Ranboo ran a hand through his hair as he processed the Phil Minecraft's phone number and address in his hands, "how am I going to tell Niki and Eret about this???"

Miss Puffy sighed as she went back to her computer, the chair sliding on the plastic as she did so. "They'll handle it better than you, I'm sure. Now come over here so we can finalize some details."

---

"You're working for Phil?!" Niki's eyes went wide. She grabbed his hands and squeezed them, hard. "Ohhhh, I'm so excited for you!"

"I'm not!" Ranboo exclaimed, spine as stiff as a board.

"What's going on?" Eret called from the kitchen. They were baking the morning bread, the smell of it fresh as it was clearly almost done. 

"Ranboo is tutoring Phil's kids!" Niki yelled back.

"Holy, really?" They sounded impressed, but not completely since he didn't bother to come out of the kitchen. "That's pretty damn good, kid."

Ranboo wanted to shrink in on himself. Why him? What was with all the attention all the sudden? Couldn't he be a piece of bread, blending in with the other loaves, only to be picked up by someone, bought, and then cut into pieces to be eaten away? There was no thought when buying bread unless you were gluten-free. It was just something you ate, nothing more. 

"This is fantastic!" Niki was beaming like crazy, it was hard to look at her. "Oh, he's so nice, you're going to love him!"

"What if I mess it up???" Ranboo found himself saying. "I just–"

"Oh, please, he's the nicest man on earth, boo," Niki finally let go of his hands – they were a little numb from her strength and were now getting tingly from the blood rushing back into it. She did a twirl and then looked at him with her bright, shining eyes. "You're going to be fine, Ranboo, really."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ranboo was processing what she was saying,  "you know him??"

"I don't know him, but rather..." She tapped her chin, finding her words. "You know the guy we don't talk about?"

He blinked at her like a deer. "Uh..."

"Strip pole!" Eret called from the other room. She had oven mitts on with pictures of the Peanuts cartoons on it. Niki's choice.

The hazy memory of curly brown hair and a blank pale face he couldn't remember came back to him like an arrow to the shoulder. "Oh. Yeah, him."

"He's one of Phil's kids."

Ranboo inhaled sharply through his teeth.

Niki grimaced at her past. She never talked much about him after what happened, but Ranboo was there to see it, so he knew. "Yeah, he's the bad one, but Tubbo and Tommy were rather nice. Tubbo especially."

He took in the information. "Niki, I'm going to die."

"Are you kidding?? This is exciting!" She was beaming. She might as well have been a star, her newly dyed white hair matched her teeth, the light reflecting off of her and making Niki her own part of space; blinding and small but wonderful. She walked over and into the office and Ranboo had a sense of silence. The world grew quiet other than Eret's movements from the kitchen, the sounds of dough slapping the table passing through the wall to him. It was too early for the store to open, but Ranboo could hear the wind of regular morning people on Saturday excitedly telling of the smells of pastries. Ranboo wished he was preparing tables for customers and standing at the cash register watching the glass outside where silhouettes leaked through the glass panes. Niki and Eret, the main bakers, hurrying about to get all the before-opening baking done so they had fresh food for the customers ready to go. 

He was interrupted by the sound of the office door closing and Niki coming back to him with a paper and pencil in hand. "Tell me what times you need off, okay?"

---

Ranboo was driving a solid 25 miles and was curling up inside. He didn't have a previous discussion in person with Phil, but rather a simple line of text messages:

(Ranboo)

Hey! This is Ranboo. You had talked to Miss Puffy about having me mentor your kids. I'm grateful for the opportunity to do so. She also said you had an idea for a schedule in mind, and that I were to be tutoring your kids at your house. What times were they free?

(Phil)

Hey mate, glad u got back to me. I was thinkin something like Tuesday and Thursday evenings? Maybe around 7? Is that good with you?

(Ranboo)

That's perfectly fine. Should I prepare anything for them for this upcoming Tuesday?

(Phil)

Just get their ducks in a row. They've started the semester but are already relatively unorganized already and I think they got an assignment coming up? So if they want help with that then it'd be good. Just want you to get familiar with them first I guess.

(Ranboo)

I understand. I'll be over on Tuesday at 7.

(Phil)

Awesome, see u soon kid.

Ranboo realized he was driving on the wrong side of the road to park in front of Phil's house and sighed as he approached a T-intersection and U-turned much harder than he wanted to. Phil's home was in a mediocre neighbourhood, which was surprising considering how much Ranboo assumed he would make working for an integral computer company, but he didn't dwell on the matter. He admired Phil, yes, as everyone in town did, but he knew that, deep down, he was a person as well. He scraped his knee on the concrete sidewalk as a kid and had to learn how to ride a bike just as Ranboo had done. It was simple a lot to think about.

The car hit the curb of the sidewalk before rolling off and Ranboo put the vehicle in park and shut the car off. He didn't bother putting in a CD because he needed the ride to think about what he was about to experience. And here he was, experiencing that. Ranboo stared out the window at a lovely porch that held a part of the roof up with black pillars that had enough character to catch glances of kids through car windows. The house itself was a deep red with those white accents, making it look like an emo cartoon barn. Ranboo snickered at himself and noticed that next to the front door, white with glass near the head, was a large window that was glowing yellow from the inside. He groaned at himself for procrastinating getting out of the vehicle. 

He took a deep breath. 

In,

2

3

4 

And out,

2

3

4.

"Fuck this," Ranboo muttered and shoved the car door open. He shut it – much gentler – and opened the backseat where he grabbed his backpack and locked the car. He forced his feet to move, even though his knees were locking on him. 

As he walked up the driveway, he could hear chatter through the walls, distinct voices he didn't quite recognize through the muffled nature of the home. He took the large plentifully-coloured stepping stones up and tip-toed on the steps toward the front door. He noticed a screen-door in front, the black grid almost restricting in its nature, like jail bars. Was he being freed, or was he going into prison?

He stared at the simple doorbell for a stupidly long time, taking in the lever-like quality of the cream-yellow button, noticing the imprint of fingers that left a dark ring on where one would press it. He closed his eyes and looked away, positioning his hand to ring the doorbell, getting closer, closer, closer–

Ding!

Ranboo halted back and frantically straightened his clothes and cleared his throat. He straightened himself as he heard some form of laughter behind or in front of, the bars and then footsteps toward the door. Oh, Gods, he was not ready for this. He didn't have enough papers, or pens, or pencils left from his stationary run in the middle of summer, and he totally forgot to get dividers, now that he thought about it; and– shit, did he have enough gas to get home? At least he wouldn't have to drive next time, since he knew where it was, so he was probably fine, but what about–

"Hey, you made it!" Phil, the man himself, opened the door with a smile. His blond hair was short on his head, his cheeks rosy and... wow, Ranboo didn't know he was that tall. 

"Ah– yes, that I did." Ranboo facepalmed internally. Good going, idiot, stumbling on your words as a first impression? Really?

"Come on in, come on in," Phil gestured with his hand and moved to the side.

"T–thank you." Ranboo walked in hastily. Gods, he was walking into Phil's house.

The warm lighting broke his vision from the golden sunset of outside. It wasn't quite the autumn equinox yet, so the days were still long, but the bright light felt like the sun, warm on his skin, whatever he had exposed to it, that is. The kitchen was small and compact and a little ways away, dressed with granite counters and brown cabinets with a stainless-steel fridge. A 6-seated matching dining table acted as a wall between himself and the kitchen. Beside him was a more simplistic, modern grey couch with a matching loveseat and armchair surrounding an encased black fireplace that was likely electric with a widescreen TV hanging above it. Ranboo was trying not to get distracted by the countless photos around the home. They practically covered the walls.

"Well Phil?" A kid with curly, blond hair perked up from the living room, "is it pizza?"

"Not... quite." Phil's voice wavered. Oh boy. Ranboo knew where this would be going from his experiences of tutoring. "Kristin?"

A figure with silky long black hair looked up at him. She was clearly animated in the way she reacted, her eyes large and full of genuine emotion that Ranboo had felt, as he did with most of the parents he tutored, her motherly warmth from just her eyes alone.

She– Kristin stood up. "Yes. Boys, this is Rahn-boo, and he will be your tutor this semester."

The two boys in question poked their heads over the back of the couch and looked over at Ranboo. One, a brunette with a round face, looked at him with curious eyes. The other, the curly-haired blond asking if it was pizza, had a much more distasteful look.

The blond sputtered and looked between both parents in disbelief. "Why would you– I said–!"

"Tommy, can't we hear her out?" A different voice, the curious brunette, cut him off.

"Hear them out? After I said that we'd be fine?!" He stood up with vengeance in his pale blue eyes. "Fuck no! I said I'd pick up that damn assignment and you didn't even trust me with that!"

"Tom, come on, now?" Phil walked over to the kid, red in his face with anger. "You have–" 

"Fuck you!" Tommy snapped back like an injured dog. "Clearly you don't trust me to be doin' my school shit, so why should I be hearin' you out? Fuck off and leave me alone!"

He dashed for the stairs off to the side and ran up them, footsteps as loud as they could be.

"Tommy..." The brunette gazed distantly over as to where he left.

The sound of a door slamming was dizzying. Ranboo felt like he was swaying, pushed by the wind, a piece of wheat reaching up toward the sun and finding... nothing and everything.

"Leave him be," Kristin advised the abandoned kid. The brunette sighed and slumped their shoulders. 

"Sorry 'bout him. Gets real roudy whenever we try to help him..." Phil sighed and shook his head. He placed a hand on Ranboo's shoulder, "don't take it personally or anything."

"It's okay," – Phil was holding Ranboo's shoulder, be normal Ranboo – "O-on the odd occasion, I get some kids who don't want the help. Do you think he'll turn around?"

"I mean, I'm sure Kristin will give him a talking to," Phil chuckled and looked over at Kristin, "right?"

She laughed, not like an evil laughter but rather a laughter that found the tantrum ridiculous, like it was another Tuesday with Tommy. "Don't worry about it too much, boo. He's just been like that. Got it from his dad."

"Kristin," Phil warned with a playful tone.

"Tubbo, why don't you set up at the table? I'll go talk to your brother about this, and maybe he'll join."

"I doubt it," he sulked under her sweet eyes, "he's been against it all week."

"But you haven't."

The boy nervously rubbed the back of his neck. 

"I'll go have a chat with Tom. Phil?"

"Ah, yes," Phil turned to Ranboo. "You'll just be here at the dining table. Best to be in open space, after all."

"Sounds good." Ranboo walked over, still feeling light from watching the argument that transpired from earlier, and placed his bag beside one of the chairs near the wall. He unzipped his bag and searched through the stuff he brought. He did bring dividers. Thank past Ranboo for that.

"Tubs, could you get your stuff?" Phil said from above.

"Uh, yeah, sorry." Ranboo heard shuffling and footsteps. He could see Phil move away 

The boy sat down across from him and stared at him.

"Uh, hello," Ranboo waved dumbly at the other. "I'm Ranboo. Or Ran-boo. I don't care either way. Since this is the... first session –" he said this lightly as it was only the brunettes first session and not Tommy. This wasn't Tommy, right? Fuck, why did he have to be so bad with names? "– I don't expect much since we just started the semester, so instead we'll just be organizing for classes. Do you, uh, have a binder?"

"Y-yeah, I do," he moved to his backpack, a simple green with black outlines and a few pins Ranboo couldn't make out, and pulled out... well, he said it was a binder. It looked nothing like one. The fabric was practically off the binder, save for the few protective seams clinging on for their lives. The plastic underneath definitely met with a few chemistry spills, or maybe drinks? The zipper was broken, and it was obvious the inside was full of what the brunette had done last year. 

Ranboo had seen worse binders, but it nevertheless put him at a disposition. "O-kayyy..."

"I swear it isn't as bad as it looks!" He defended. "Tommy's is worse."

"I'll believe that." Ranboo leaned back in the wooden chair, the back meeting the bottom of his shoulder blades. "Tell you what, let me get you a new one from my car."

"Uh– really? Are you sure?" The kid stared at him, enamoured at the consideration.

"Yeah, it's no big deal," Ranboo fished his keys from its spot in his bag and they jingled as they breathed in the air of the Phil household. "I'll be right back."

"Wait," Ranboo heard the chair slide on the wooden floor, "I'll come with you."

"Ah, sure," he blinked at the other, who had his hands on the table.

The two walked in silence, only being broken by their footsteps on wood, the door squeaking as it opened, and then the crickets in the night air as their feet slapped on the stones and concrete. Ranboo's car honked and blinked thrice as he unlocked it from afar. He moved to the back and opened the back, letting the hydraulics take over holding it up, and dug in one of the fabric boxes that stuck to the carpet for a binder that would be suitable for the year. He'd probably need one to store important information in, too, from the previous years. 

"Sorry about all that," the brunette mumbled into the crisp autumn air. "Tommy gets real angry sometimes and I dunno why."

"It's not a big deal," Ranboo fished out a fabric and a 2-inch binder and stepped back to close the back. "You know, one time a kid threw a textbook at me, so I've had worse."

"What????"

"I dodged it, I was okay," Ranboo specified as he realized saying something like that out of the blue was worrisome from the other's tone. "but it's nothing to worry about, really. Who do you think I usually tutor? Kids who are doing well in school?"

The boy went quiet. The boy. Was he Tubs, Tubbo, Tom? 

Well, he had the chance now to ask. "Say, uh, I didn't catch your name in... all that."

"Tubbo," he shifted on his foot. "It sounds really stupid when I say it sometimes but it's 'cause it's a nickname. I'd... I'm dyslexic, so sometimes my writings a little wonk and it always seemed like I was writing the word 'Tubbo' when I was writing 'Toby.' Tommy started callin' me it and it just spread like crazy so I'm used to it."

The story, although a defense, was very helpful. Ranboo would actually remember that better. "Tubbo," he repeated. "I like your name. Ah, nickname. It's... unique."

"Yeah," Tubbo's lips curved, "kind of like yours."