BLIND | DreamSMP

XXXII - Quarter 'Til

"Ranboo?" Tubbo called from down the hall. "What time is it now?"

"Half past one," Ranboo responded.

He had been watching the clock since a quarter after, his leg bouncing with trepidation as he waited for Fundy to appear. They had agreed to meet that afternoon, but thirty minutes had passed with no sign of the fox-man.

"Are you sure he's coming?"

"I don't know. He said he would."

"Maybe something came up."

Ranboo sighed and refocused on the yellowed face of the clock, watching the ornate hands jerk forward with precisely timed movement.

"Ranboo?" Tubbo shouted.

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."

"What do you want? A sandwich?"

"With pickles, please."

"Got it," Ranboo yelled back, rising from his seat and heading towards the kitchen.

He passed through the plain dining room, navigating around the simple wooden chairs and rectangular table, and entered the kitchen. Polished oak counters lined two of the walls, a stove and icebox inlaid amongst the many drawers filled with cutlery and crockery.

He selected a porcelain plate with an intricate print of blue birds that circled the rim, the avians perched on a thin vine from which elegant flowers sprung, and a plain knife, then set the tableware down to grab the bread from the breadbox, placing the half-eaten loaf on the plate before cutting two even pieces with the knife and returning the rest of the bread to the bin. Tubbo liked ham in his sandwiches, but they were out, so instead he found scraps of turkey breast from their dinner and arranged them over one of the bread slices. On top of the meat he placed a slice of cheese and several leaves of lettuce, finishing the sandwich. The water in the pitcher had been sitting long enough to make it taste stale, but Ranboo fetched a tin cup and poured a drink anyway, picking out a drowned gnat that had floated to the surface.

He picked up the plate and the cup and walked back out of the kitchen and dining room, past the clock, and down the short hall, pushing open the slightly-ajar door at the far end. There was Tubbo in bed, covers pulled up around his ears, resting as he had been since they had arrived back in L'Manberg a day ago. He roused himself as the food and drink was set on his bedside table, and grinned at Ranboo, his eyes taking a moment longer than they should have to focus on first the secretary's face, then the sandwich. Ranboo propped a pillow against the headboard and helped Tubbo to sit up, handing him the plate before dragging over a chair so he could be with his friend as he ate. It was quiet, save for the subtle sounds of chewing and swallowing interrupted by an occasional gulp of water, until even the crumbs had been cleared from the dish; it was then the comfortable silence finally ended, replaced by casual conversation.

"You make good sandwiches. They always taste better when you make them," Tubbo said.

"I mean, it's not like I do anything special. It's just bread and toppings, y'know?"

"Yeah. But you still make them better."

"Thanks I guess," Ranboo said, quirking his lips. "How're you feeling? Has the headache gotten better?"

Tubbo groaned. "It's as shitty as it was before. And my collarbone is just as bad. It makes a weird noise when I move it– see?"

"No!" Ranboo yelped, jumping up from his seat to carefully but firmly hold Tubbo's shoulder still. "You're not supposed to move it! The bone might not heal right, and then it could be messed up forever!"