Tommy was surprised that Tubbo had been able to set up his own small concert already, and had been more surprised when he was offered to come without charge. The crowd and the stage were smaller than they'd been at the last show, positioned outside in the warm night air, and Tommy stood somewhere in the murmuring cluster while they waited.
The whispers stopped at some point and Tommy turned his eyes with the rest. The young performer was met with an anticipating applause; he was wearing the jacket Tommy made him and similar flashy face paint to last time. Tommy smiled — he would have felt bad rejecting his friend's offer (they were friends, right?), especially since he'd experienced bad customers and Tubbo had been refreshingly easy and pleasant to work with, but he was actually enjoying the show. The song sounded like the last one he'd performed but he could somewhat make out the lyrics and knew they were different — something about dancing with someone.
The only songs he performed were this and the one he'd sang at the young artists' event, but Tommy still clapped and whooped along with everyone else. He saw Tubbo talking to the dancer, the one who'd been at the bookstore, after the show and the smaller kid called him over with a friendly wave.
"Hey," Tommy said as he approached them. The dancer had a handsome face with one side splotched white with vitiligo and the other staying dark, was thin like Tommy and way too tall.
"Hey, Tommy, have you guys met?" Tubbo cocked his head and looked between the two of them.
"I don't think so," the dancer said hesitantly, and though Tommy knew he'd met them, his face didn't show a hint of recognition. Fair, he probably saw a hundred kids a day who looked like Tommy at his work.
"I'm Tommy," he introduced himself, and shook their hand.
"Ranboo."
Tommy tried to handle the conversation as a 'friend of a friend' meeting another person, but was wondering if he could get his next customer out of this guy. He tried to keep the conversation going after Tubbo left, standing outside near the stage, leaning forward on a fence over the ocean on another pale summer night.
"You're a performer too, right? You were at the young artists' showcase?" He gave up the act and tried to turn the conversation toward what he wanted.
"Yeah, I am," Ranboo said.
"Well, if you're interested, I'm a designer and tailor, so I might be able to make you something to wear for future shows."
"Oh– Well, I've had something in mind, actually." Ranboo scratched his neck thoughtfully. "Is it affordable?"
"Should be," the blond boy answered. "I've worked with Tubbo. You could ask him if you guys talk a lot."
"Well, okay. How should I contact you?" they asked.
"Hold on," Tommy stalled. He took his pencil and sticky notes, wrote on one and ripped it off.
"Text me. Pleased to be working with you."
"Oh– alright, thank you." Ranboo was nervous in a way that made them sound a little surprised by everything. He could be weirdly charismatic though, in a plasticky, salesman-like way, as demonstrated by an impressive practised smile like they'd shown in the bookshop.
"No problem. Stay safe," He wished Ranboo, starting on his way back home.
...
The next morning he went to work. He had a job in a shitty burger van that smelled of grease and exploitation and was too small for him and his giant coworker to coexist comfortably in. Techno was reading — his pink hair was tied back lazily in a bun to keep it out of the way, while Tommy's curls were cut short enough not to be a problem. "Oi–" Tommy poked him with a fishslice. "You're meant to be working. Come on."
"Alright," Techno grunted, got up and started doing his job. Out of everyone, he was actually Tommy's favourite coworker to be stuck in the van with, but he was only part-time and did other odd jobs at a billion different places — he was the only thing Tommy might miss when he got his business off the ground and got the hell out of here.
"How's your whole designer thing goin'?" Techno asked just as he thought it. It wasn't often his intimidating colleague made smalltalk with him, so he decided to take advantage. "I've got my second customer," he bragged. "The kid from the bookshop. You've been there, right?"
"Phil's bookshop? Which kid? There were two last time I went."
"The tall one," Tommy described. "Were you at the showcase, the one for aspiring artists? He was there, the dancer."
"Why would I go to that?"
"I was there."
"Okay, that doesn't mean I was there. You didn't invite me or anything."
"I thought you'd be more involved in your coworkers' lives."
"You never told me you were goin'. Why would I think to go with you?"
This continued for a while. Tommy was mostly doing it to keep up conversation, and because Technoblade was fun to piss off. Usually he tried to get the best out of whatever time he had with his favourite coworker. He wasn't entirely sure that he was Techno's favourite, though, especially since he spent most of their hours together deliberately annoying him. It was hard to tell what he thought about anything, really. Tommy thought they were bonding.
...
At home Tommy drew in a small sketchpad. He was trying to come up with something for Ranboo; they'd said they had something in mind already, but he could probably afford to practise designing in Ranboo's style. Cool silvers and blues, grace, moon designs–
Tommy's phone vibrated in his pocket. Good timing.
XXX: Hey is this the designer?
You: Yep
XXX: It's ranboo, is this a good time to talk about the order?
You: Sure thing! Got anything in mind?
Ranboo sent a long, apologetic paragraph that Tommy skimmed over and a lot of images of long, frilly silver or white dresses. Okay, he could work with that. He got Ranboo's measurements and tried to map out how much of everything he had to buy, drew more ideas and brainstormed the materials he'd need — he could pick up fabric and things tomorrow.
...
Tommy woke up to a text from Tubbo.
Tubbo: Hey would you be up to get breakfast together at…
Tommy half-read the message and answered yes. He got up and stretched and got dressed — most of his outfits consisted of old second-hand kids' clothes and bright accessories. He took the bus and met Tubbo at a cute breakfast cafe at a table for two. He was pretty sure they were friends by now; it felt like a friendship. And Tubbo had invited him to do something together that had nothing to do with getting money out of each other. That was a friend thing.
Tubbo smiled and greeted him as he walked in, pulled his seat out and sat down. "Hey," the brunet boy said to him, "how've things been?"
"They're alright," Tommy said honestly. "Mostly the same. How about you?"
"Pretty good," he answered. "I mean, you saw the concert, that was cool. I was thinking we didn't get to talk much."
"You were awesome," Tommy told him. "How's that going anyway? You found a job yet?"
Tubbo laughed nervously. "I'm still trying to make this a job. It's getting better, but I'm thinking I should start looking in the meantime."
The waiter came by and they made their orders. Tommy grinned and winked at Techno while he wrote down what they'd asked for, and the older teen looked like he was staunchly refusing to acknowledge Tommy outside of their work together.
"You know that guy?" Tubbo asked as he left. "I feel like I see him everywhere."
"You probably have. He works part-time at a bunch of jobs, including mine. We're basically brothers."
"Maybe I could ask him about jobs." Tubbo leaned back in his chair vacantly.
It was a little longer of mostly silence before their food arrived, Tommy's eggs, bacon and orange juice and Tubbo's muffin and coffee. They talked as they ate.
"So how are things going with your job?" Tubbo asked him.
"Which one?" Tommy took a gulp of his juice. " 'Cause my actual job's been the same, but I'm designing something for Ranboo now."
"Oh, yeah, where do you work anyway?"
"At this burger van. It's awful." Tubbo laughed and Tommy hid a smile in his breakfast. "And that big waiter guy works there?" Tubbo asked him.
"Sometimes. His name's Technoblade."
"Intense name."
"He's intense. We're pretty much best friends though, I'm his favourite colleague." Tubbo grinned in a way that looked like he could tell Tommy was lying. "Alright. That's cool that you're working with Ranboo, though."
There was a pause after Tommy nodded and agreed.
"FYI, I think he has some kind of– memory thing?" Tubbo added. "He's told me a bit about it, but I don't know the specifics."
"Oh, shit, really?" Tommy looked up.
"They don't seem upset about it. Just something you should probably know, I'd talk to them about it," he said with a shrug.
...
It was a day or two later, Tommy was sitting in the food court of a mall, working on a piece of Ranboo's dress over a drink to himself. He'd come to the mall or other public spaces to draw before, mostly because the bustle of customers and the decor around stores helped him to get ideas; the food court was one of his favourite places for art, even when he wasn't hungry or didn't need to design anything new.
He gazed over the room and customers like he'd usually do for inspiration; he spotted a taller figure wearing a headband and glasses with his hair split-dyed in black and white. If Ranboo had seen Tommy they didn't seem to recognise him, he recalled what Tubbo had said about their memory — but Tommy raised his hand to them and smiled hopefully anyway. They must have remembered him or put two and two together, since they smiled and waved in answer and led themself to a table close to his. They greeted each other with a 'hey' each.
"I'm working on your order," Tommy told him, holding the pieces of fabric he was sewing up for them to see. "If you've got anything I should change, I'd be happy to hear it."
"Well, I'm not sure how any of this works, exactly." He cocked his head, looking like he wasn't sure how what Tommy was making would be a part of what he'd asked for. Tommy explained a bit of sewing technicalities that they seemed to be half taking in. "I've got the design here," he finally added. "I'm still working on details, though." Tommy leaned over the side of his seat to get the sketchpad out of his backpack.
Ranboo leaned toward Tommy in his own and examined the sketch — Tommy felt himself holding his breath nervously. "Yeah, it looks great, thank you," they said at last.
"No problem," Tommy replied, putting the sketchpad back down. He turned back to his work, but through the corner of his eye and a few half-conscious glances caught Ranboo writing in a small journal, tapping their fingertips on the table either nervously or to the music in the mall and looking a little starry-eyed at one of the waiters. Tommy snickered and slid his sketchpad toward himself on the tabletop. He wondered how creepy it would be to use an in-person view of Ranboo to adjust his design. He'd gotten most of the idea approximated, enough to start working on the small parts, but could still afford to fine-tune it. He thought about frills and length and shapes; he hoped he'd guessed Ranboo's colours accurately enough since flipping burgers with a pink-haired gym dude wouldn't allow him to buy more fabric at this point.
He drew over his lines until it might have been hard for an onlooker to understand what he'd drawn and ended up finishing the piece he was sewing over another drink. He paid, put everything back in his backpack and waved to Ranboo as he left. The apartment complex was close enough to walk to; it was across from a beach whose water had the first notes of evening sparkling on it, it was still summer but would probably have been starting to get dark otherwise.
...
The entrance bell rang and the door closed behind him. Tommy walked up to a tall woman in a dark outfit standing at the reception desk. He knew Techno was friends with the other manager of this store and had been told Philza ran the place with his wife.
"Hi, is Ranboo here?" he asked her, and held up the bag he had Ranboo's dress in. "We organised for me to drop this off at his work."
"Yeah, he's here," she said, called Ranboo's name behind her and Tommy craned his neck to see them arrive politely from an employee room.
"Hey," Tommy said, and gestured with the bag again. "Got your thing."
"Oh, awesome," they said, approaching him and flashing a polite smile at his boss. "Hold on–" Ranboo rifled through his pocket for money and handed it to Tommy. "Is that all good?"
"Yep, nice working with you!" He smiled, closed his hand on the cash and held Ranboo's order to him. They exchanged thank yous and goodbyes and Ranboo gave their pasted customer service smile. Tommy left the store and found himself waiting at a bus stop next to Tubbo.
"Hey–" he leaned his back against the bus stop shelter. "Hey," Tubbo said back. He was dressed in a pink and cream flannel shirt over a white tee, and star-shaped earrings glinted in his ears. "So, good news, I got a job."
"Oh, nice," said Tommy. "Where?" It had been a week or two since the two of them had met at the cafe and talked about jobs.
"Part time at this little corner dairy, just until I get somewhere with music."
"Sounds like ass. That'll teach you what having a normal shitty teen job is like." Tubbo laughed. "Well, you're encouraging," he said, smirking.
...
They had talked on the bus and only parted ways when Tommy left the elevator for his apartment. His second customer had been a success, he'd gotten two down and actually made a friend doing it — maybe two if Ranboo hung around. He hadn't expected this to be as easy as it was; was working with customers less of a hassle in this sort of job, or had he started off lucky? He probably shouldn't count on things being like they were forever, but he already wished he could quit the van and just draw and sew.
He'd done enough today, he sprawled his tall body on his bed; the room was hot enough to take off his jacket. He put his playlist on shuffle and peeked at the first song before he closed his eyes with his phone blasting music in his hand.
Wallows - Scrawny
