Work Text:
"Thank you, LightBrite-underscore-Luke for the 40! 'When are you going to do that cooking stream? You hit the goal like 50 times! Thanks for the streams!'"
Ranboo wanted to ignore it, of course he had to read it. "The cooking stream, I promised that like a long while ago. Y'all really love holding things against me, huh?"
The kitchen?
When
was
the last time he used the kitchen?
“I don’t really remember the last time I used my kitchen!”
Lies.
“I’ll see if I can clean it up tonight and have the stream- Oh, chat you HATE this world- soon.”
The last time I used it was to make brownies. I didn’t want to smoke and wanted something to do for spring break. I got weed and I made it into brownies.
His stomach turned, he wanted to end the stream and not think about it.
The messages fly by, some people complaining about the usage of the word “soon” but others showing genuine happiness! “I have an idea, if I end stream and you guys
don’t
post that you miss me, I’ll make the stream happen in a week’s time?”
He clicked off his main monitor, going to OBS to put a stop to the building up anxiety attack.
“I saw a yes! Welp!”
Clap.
“That’s the end of the stream! Thanks for coming down! I’ll read some donations and be off!”
-------------------
He’s 1 week clean.
Going cold turkey was the worst thing he’d ever experienced.
Ranboo felt so
itchy
like he just rubs himself in tons of poison ivy every 10 minutes. Every time he saw the poster that hid where his stash was, he needed to just look at it. He needed to sniff the liquor in the cupboard, or else he would need to scratch
and scratch and scratch
at himself.
It was almost a natural instinct after school to go to the hole in the wall and smoke. After a really tough stream, where chat would keep being annoying and damn near disgusting, his body would just lead him to the wine he’d been buying off a friend.
Cleaning up a kitchen with the stench of weed and loads of alcohol in it is understandably very difficult. Ranboo could vividly recall all the steps to making cannabutter, but box cake mix was too much for him to think about.
“Mom, is it okay if I make my own dinner tonight?” His voice shook, he was going to pocket the delivery money for weed for the first time. Buying from a dealer with a friend fronting the whole thing. “I know you said I’m a little young to be in the kitchen with all the dangerous stuff, but I want to make my own meal.”
He felt a cold shiver, the hair on his neck standing up. “You can keep that pocket money, just know you have to budget the food while your father and I are out. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Remember, we’re coming back at the end of this month, so in about 28 days. Don’t do anything stupid. Good night.”
“Goodnight Mom! Love y-,”
The dial tone played. She hung up, without a ‘love you’.
That was okay. He’s sure she still knows what he meant.
His thoughts are too
loud
.
He needs to smoke. Everything is quieter when he smokes, and when he drinks, Ranboo can’t even understand the TV.
He needs to hold the neck of a bottle. He needs to, it’s a need. It’s something that he yearns for, in the way that bad romance movies describe want, he’s willing to give everything up for a drink.
He wouldn’t dream of interrupting Phil’s stream, Kristin’s sick today, he’d just feel horrible for making them any more worried. They want to help, sure, but there’s still 3 weeks before his trip to the UK. They
wanted
Ranboo with them, if he annoyed them, they’d want him gone and far away from them.
Ranboo starts with wiping flour off the counter, nearing the trash can to the edge and wiping it off. He wets a cloth for the harder spots, like how one of his friends told him to. The sun bounces off the countertop directly in his eyes, he’s still somewhat sensitive to sunlight after wearing his sunglasses for a week straight. He goes to pull the curtains, but he comes to a stop.
Fatigue sinks into his bones.
How… disappointing.
Under 10 minutes of actual house work-
“AND YOU STILL CAN’T DO IT RIGHT? WHAT KIND OF STUPID BOY DID I HELP RAISE?” Dad picked his words like he was going for the world’s thorniest rose. “HOW IS IT THAT YOU’RE THIS DAMN LAZY?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.” He meant it too, he stayed up making a budget for the next 2 months of food and bills. Dad wanted his little boy dead, didn’t he? Who would even want such a lazy kid? “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He was useless, he was everything Dad didn’t want him to be.
He stood up again, fighting his way through the lazing in his bones. He organized the cutlery and some plates, taking to washing them as he struggled to stand. His hands shook scrubbing dishes, wrinkling quickly as he fell numb from the boiling hot water. Ranboo couldn’t stand that well anymore, his knees buckling every other second, having to shift knees often.
His phone sounds.
Wilbur Soot
hey ranboob. heard from phil that you might just be over in the uk in a bit, wanna call?
Ranboo
Sure man! Can we call in a bit? Im doing some stream set up, i can tell you about it later! :D
Wilbur Soot
stream SET UP not stream right now! join vc
“Hi Ran! How are you doing today? I am so invested in your day today!” Wilbur excitedly talked into the mic, seeming genuine in his words.
“Wil! I’m doing-I could be better, but I really am ha-happy you’re on call with me! What’s up?” He put up a façade, smiling when there was no camera on to try to fool himself.
Wilbur didn’t notice, thankfully. “I am just so energetic! I got done with some boring stuff, and wanted to check in with you! Tommy was offline, Tubbo is working on that TubNet thing-”
Again, ever the replacement.
“So I needed to see if you’re just as looking forward to things as me! I heard about your cooking stream! What’s that about?”
Fuzz filled Ranboo’s head, and a buzzing feeling sat in his legs. He felt a familiar itch come onto his arms and back. “I promised a cooking stream to my chat, so I guess I have to follow up on that! I’m just-I’m resting right now. Cleaning took a bit out of me, my entire kitchen’s messy and I just can’t move. I’m way tired, but I’ll clean when I can-I guess.” Stumbling over words, he scratched at his elbow.
“Oh! That’s really fun sounding! Are you going to make cookies or something? If I did a cooking stream I would make some cake! I know that you made cake for your YouTube when you were starting out! That’s a fun call back if you choose cake!” Wilbur’s voice gave way to a grin.
His back was covered in a sheet of cold sweat and needles, thousands and thousands of needles poking him. If he could use his miserable legs to stand up he could get to the wine cupboard and just-
“Uh, maybe the masses are tired of cake! What about like-scones or something?”
“Hmm. You raise a good point, maybe my tweet this month should be me asking about scones.” Wilbur left an air of silence, enough to make Ranboo want to cut his brain out. “What about any big plans with friends? I’m going out to a pub with my bandmates!”
Pub means alcohol. What he needed so much, maybe talking about it would make him feel okay. Maybe his throat would get dryer and yearn even more for a burn.
“The pub? What do you nor-normally drink? I’ve never gone before, since Phil’s invite is going to be my first time in British land, it’d be good to get an idea of what to drink to look as cool as-as you.” He sat up straight on his spot on the couch.
“Don’t flatter me too much, it’s not like your choice in drinks gets you anywhere with the ladies, Ran! I don’t like drinking as heavily anymore, but I do drink
very
responsibly!”
Ranboo laughs to himself, eyes subconsciously looking over to the beer cans by the floor of the kitchen breakfast bar. “Yeah, but what do you drink?”
Wilbur shifted in his chair, the sound coming through clear on Ranboo’s end. “I mean, I just ask for whatever my friends want. A draft beer, gin and tonic, wine, whatever they want is whatever I want.”
Ranboo uses the hand in his lap to claw at the holes in the couch. “Yeah, but what do you like-find yourself having most the time?”
He chuckles nervously. “Why are you asking so much? I don’t think Phil, me, or anyone would be bringing you into a pub anytime soon! That’s more of a like-family thing to do! Going to the pub for the first time with your dad, that’s like a whole thing!”
“I just wanted to know. I’m bored-I better finish up the kitchen. Aren’t you filling up my slot in Twitch Rivals later? Go get ready!” Ranboo grit his teeth. “Go play with Tommy and Tubbo, I’m sure they’d love to play. My whole shtick is getting tiring anyways, I see that Tommy’s online already. Go talk with him.”
He didn’t want to sound so angry. He wasn’t angry. He didn’t hate Wilbur.
“Bye Wilbur. Good luck!” He left the voice chat.
He left the voice chat.
He
left the voice chat.
He
could now go drink in fucking peace.
Finally having some power left in his knees, Ranboo raced for the wine.
His practiced hands made it easy to dig for his favorite, Pinot Project red wine. It tasted
god awful,
it was his dad’s least favorite, an act of rebellion for Ranboo was both drinking and enjoying the wine. He uncorked it with his teeth, dropping his phone onto the floor. He kicked it away from him as he drank the wine straight from the bottle.
Ranboo smiled, he laughed as he poured it down his throat. He was happy. He was happy. The itch was gone and long forgotten, replaced with a joy he’d yet to feel in what seemed like years. He didn’t even consider his sober streak, lowering the bottle to breathe a little. A river of red overflowed in his senses, ambrosia giving him all he ever needed.
He’d finished the bottle quickly, considering it was only half, he didn’t worry much. He started on a Budwiser in the cooler, smashing the empty bottle against the trash can’s side. A giggle left his lips, leaning down on to the floor to pick up the glass shards. The fact he was worried about the cooking stream was comical.
Ranboo kicked over his phone, the screen a little roughed up. A few notifications, his dealer telling him about something, and a message from someone else. He didn’t care, he couldn’t care. He opened the other bottle, finishing it and gagging at the taste, meaning he was getting his mind back. He was thinking again, he had to think again.
He had to think, he needed to think again. He had to think about the fact he got mad at Wilbur for nothing, nothing bad or anything. He had gotten mad at someone he looked up to for not accidentally feeding into his addiction, deflecting onto his friends. Thinking about the fact he just made someone
worry
about himself by getting mad out of nowhere.
He drank.
He just drank.
He just broke his streak.
With that, Ranboo slid down onto the floor. The smashed bits of glass right where he laid his hands. Spilling some beer, he smashed his ankle on a stool, reeling back from the pain. He felt something grow in his throat, a burning, a cry. He yelled for something.
Something? He was yelling to be saved.
Ranboo grabbed another can, laughing to try to offset his brain from thinking about crying. It never worked, but worth a try.
He closed his eyes, and wished.
“You can’t have your wish come true if you say it out loud! Everyone knows that!” Ranboo looks over to his dad, shaking his head at him.
“I said it so you would know. I wish for my son to be happy!” He sat back in the porch chair.
Maybe he meant to say it out loud.