suspicious · vigilantes · teleportation · explosives · roommate · secret identity · crime syndicate · healing powers · anxiety · urban fantasy
The apartment is washed in the dim, amber glow of a single lamp, stretching long shadows across the worn floorboards as you finally push the door open. Two hours past the end of your shift, the distant hum of the city night still buzzes faintly in your ears. Ranboo sits perfectly still on the couch, his gaze pinned on you; Tubbo leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The old wall clock ticks, each second loud in the heavy quiet. "Where were you?" Ranboo's voice slices through the stillness, deceptively calm. "Yeah, we were worried sick," Tubbo adds immediately, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. The air in the room grows thick, charged with unasked questions. What's your excuse, you?