Chapter Text
He’s afraid of the rain.
He doesn’t remember why he’s afraid of the rain-- which is, for Ranboo, an unfortunately common thing. He doesn’t remember why he’s afraid of the rain, why it feels like it stings his skin as he runs quickly in the pouring rain to the nearest shelter, to wait out the rain. He doesn’t remember why he stares out at it unblinking, his mind going numb and feeling like the static electricity that comes off the old TV in the basement of the orphanage that they use to watch old VHS movies on it when the Sisters are asleep.
But Ranboo is afraid of the rain, even though he can’t help but watch it trail down his bedroom window as the dull light of his desk lamp illuminates the room just enough for him to read.
It’s not an interesting book. The Sisters keep an eye on everything that they have, always, constantly-- most of Ranboo’s clothes are tailored hand-me-downs from men that the Sisters know in their life, because once puberty hit Ranboo’s limbs went through a taffy pulling machine and stretched out longer than he had expected, and he stood at a good, awkward, awful 6’6” tall.
But it’s not an interesting book. He would have much preferred to check out The Golden Compass or Howl’s Moving Castle, but those were books he would bury his nose in and read parts of in the library during his weekend trip, remembering the page numbers he left off on when the nuns decided it was time to round up all the children and get them back to the orphanage; instead, it’s a book that the nuns had suggested to him, about the life of a saint that Ranboo didn’t care much about at all.
He’s old enough to be confirmed in the church now, and even though he knows the nuns aren’t going to force him to go through it, they push him towards it with gentle nudges, giving him suggestions of books of saints that they think will entice him enough to go through with it.
But Ranboo doesn’t… He doesn’t know.
He’s the oldest kid at the orphanage; everyone else is five or six or, at most, eight, other than him, no one has ever wanted to adopt him. He’s the awkward helper with the younger kids, he’s known how to change a diaper since he was eleven, he’s helped with the Sisters’ church lessons with the younger kids since he was twelve, most adults who come to the orphanage think that Ranboo is just a volunteer, not a child looking to find a home himself.
He’s been at the orphanage since he was four and left outside of it during a rainstorm. Maybe that’s where his fear of rain comes from-- maybe his parents abandoned him here. Wouldn’t that be another cruel addition to his life?
Ranboo tries to focus on the book in front of him, but it’s written so blandly. The Sisters think he is pious just like them, don’t they? He knows all the prayers by heart, not because he is devoted to the religion but because it’s the only thing he’s been raised with.
Is it bad to question your faith?
Ranboo has been having a lot of those thoughts lately.
Is it bad to question everything you’ve ever known?
He flicks off the desk lamp and sits in the darkness for a moment. His fingers interlace in the same way that he’s been taught to pray, but he just rests them in his lap as he leans back in the old desk chair and looks up at the ceiling.
His room is quiet. He hears a few quick loud footsteps down the hall; a few boys, roughhousing at night. He’s old enough to get his own room, which is nice because he doesn’t have to share with anyone, but it feels lonely to not have others sleeping in a bed not too far from his.
The younger kids are full of energy tonight. Someone was adopted the day before; usually, adoptions come in waves, and they’re all hoping and praying to the Lord that they’ll be next.
Ranboo remembers the days when he would kneel at his bed to pray before the nuns turned out the lights and begged God that he’d be the next kid to go.
He was a good kid; he was helpful, he was kind, he was humble, he was everything the nuns raised him to be.
But nobody ever wanted him.
Not even his own parents.
A curt knock on the door interrupts his thoughts, and Sister Anne pokes her head in. She’s the youngest of the nuns, but still, pretty old. Wrinkles circle her face gracefully.
She opens the door and sees him sitting at his desk in the dark which, is, admittedly, a little odd. “Ah, sorry-- were you in the middle of prayer?”
Ranboo forces a smile, forces a nervous laugh. “No, just-- just ended. You’re okay.”
Sister Anne nods. She leans against the doorframe, opening the old wooden door a little more to fit in. She’s one of the sisters who respects Ranboo’s space, and would probably let him check out a copy of 1984 or anything by Edgar Allan Poe if he wanted to. Her lack of seniority prevented her from doing such, unfortunately.
“Right, well. Just got the little ones to bed, and wanted to say goodnight.” She has some sort of accent. Ranboo has asked multiple times, but his poor memory-- his poor, absolutely awful memory, paired with everything else he has-- prevents him from remembering where she’s told him she’s from multiple times. “Sleep well, Ranboo.”
“You too, Sister.” He forces the smile out again, and Sister Anne nods, shutting the door behind her.
The echoing sound of a lock clicking into place sinks his heart.
He doesn’t want to flick his light back on and continue reading the book and wondering what Sister Marie wanted him to figure out from it when she recommended it to him; he didn’t want to dig out his journal from under his pillow because today wasn’t that eventful, today nothing happened, nothing was worth remembering from the day.
(These are the days he remembers too well, he finds-- days where nothing seems to happen. Days that tend to loop. Maybe the routine helps him remember. He doesn’t know.)
The echoing of the locked door still rings out in mind, and he stands up and walks over to his bed, before flopping down onto it and wincing at the sound the old springs in the mattress make.
He looks back up at the ceiling.
He’s going to be stuck in this orphanage until he ages out, isn’t he?
The next morning, the storm passed. At some point in the middle of the night, according to the little boys in the room next to him, the power went out. They only noticed it because their alarm clock’s time had gotten frozen at 3:00 A.M. on the dot.
For some reason they found it funny. Ranboo doesn’t understand kids that well.
The kitchen is as chaotic as it ever is; even though a good ten-or-so odd kids live in the old converted church orphanage, the only people who work on the lands are the Sisters, an absent social worker, and a gardener. Everything is taken care of by the four nuns, including breakfast.
Which, this morning, is pancakes.
“Ranboo, can you get the formula out from the fridge for me?” Sister Anne greets him with a smile, and a baby on her hip. He nods, and awkwardly shuffles around two girls who are debating over whether three or four pancakes make the best stack of pancakes.
He’s able to reach up and hit the top shelves quite easily, with the way puberty hit him like a truck. The orphanage doesn’t tend to have babies that stay long, but they usually have at least one or two under the care of the nursery.
He grabs one of the bottles, too, and pours it in before tightening the cap to give to Sister Anne. She hands it to the baby on her hips, one with curly hair named Helena.
Ranboo remembers when she was dropped off-- it was a cliche, left-on-the-doorstep-in-a-basket story, the only thing to her name was a yellow blanket and the letters “HEL”, so the nuns called her Helena.
“Thank you so much, Ranboo. You’re such a good kid.” Sister Anne smiles at him. It helps that the nuns all wear the same habit, easy to identify them in public. They’re all different heights, too, drastically-- Sister Anne is the shortest. She has the accent Ranboo can never place, and the wrinkles that are more graceful and pleasant than the other nuns.
“T-Thank you, Sister.” He flusters under the compliment.
It’s Sister Joan that enters the kitchen next. Sister Anne is taking care of baby Helena and a toddler, and Sister Marie is trying to organize a line for the kids to get breakfast. Ranboo simply grabs a few pancakes on his own, weaving in front of the other kids.
The other kids don’t seem to complain much, because he is the oldest. And he helps them with the coursework that sister Joan assigns, and was the one they would go to if they woke up with a nightmare.
Was the one, until the nuns had to start locking him in his room.
“Good morning, children.” Sister Joan’s presence alone quiets all the kids except the baby and the toddler, who coo under Sister Anne’s attention. “It’s Saturday, which means it’s cleaning day.”
The kids groan. Ranboo doesn’t mind cleaning that much. Sister Joan pulls out her list.
“David, Christian-- you’re helping the gardener today.” The two boys who had been talking about the power outage give each other high-fives. “Make sure to remember your boots , it’s quite muddy out from the night before. Sarah, Elizabeth, Allison, you’re helping Sister Anne in the nursery today...”
Sister Joan continues to dish out chores for the day. Deep-cleaning the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the entrance. Some organization to the classroom, the single room that is also the chapel that is really only decorated with more educational books, a few desks that can easily be pulled around the room, and a chalkboard on wheels.
“And Ranboo.” Sister Joan’s glance falls upon him. She’s easy to recognize, with her fairer complexion and thick glasses and mole on her chin. “Today, you’re going to be coming with me to the store.”
A few kids laugh, but Ranboo lets out a sigh of relief. Going shopping with the sisters was probably the easiest chore. He would usually get cleaning the classroom, but maybe God had mercy on him and decided that he would be allowed to go somewhere that wasn’t the town’s local library or the park with the other kids, for once.
The idea of interacting with other people in a place like the grocery store is-- it’s scary, to Ranboo. But it’s a welcome change.
He’s glad he took a shower the night before, because Sister Joan dismisses everyone to their chores immediately after the dishes are rinsed and put in the old dishwasher to clean, and leaves the room, expecting Ranboo to follow her.
Which he does. He knows what it’s like to be on the bad side of the nuns, especially Sister Joan, so he doesn’t waste any time following after her.
The car ride to the grocery store is quiet, other than the hymns playing through the old cassette player. The nuns never buy anything for themselves; most of what they own personally are gifts from other people; vehicles included.
Ranboo doesn’t know cars, but he at least knows that the car is some sort of mini-van.
Once they get to the store, Sister Joan hands him the re-usable bags to carry and pulls out a notepad with a list of groceries on it. The weekly grocery trip takes the nuns up to hours to complete; especially if any of the younger kids go with them. Half of the trip is then taken up by wrangling kids.
Maybe Sister Joan just needed a break and that’s why she asked Ranboo to come.
“Alright, Ranboo.” Sister Joan’s voice is a little less piercing when there aren’t nine other kids and two babies to speak over, but it’s still powerful. “There are a lot of things on the list to get, but most of them I can get myself.”
Oh.
“Then, um, why--”
“--Why did I ask you to come?” Sister Joan interrupts as they enter the building. The carts are right next to the entrance, and Sister Joan makes sure to grab one of the bigger ones “You’re almost an adult. You’re better to deal with than the younger ones. Plus, if you wander off, I don’t have to go hunting for you for two hours and find you burying another in the frozen meat section.”
Ranboo remembers that. David and Christian had to scrub the floor for two weeks after that and had extensively long talks with Father Patrick on that Sunday.
“Aren’t you--”
“Worried about your face blindness?” She’s quick to answer questions, as she usually is. “No. You’ve never had a problem identifying any of us. Not to mention, we’re always in our habits, so you just need to look for a nun and you’ll find me. The odds of running into another nun on a Saturday morning at this grocery store are slim to none.”
“Ah. Okay.” They’ve already walked into the store, and Sister Joan directs the cart over to the produce section. She picks up a watermelon curiously.
“Go find something to buy for yourself.” Sister Joan says, but not in a nice way. More of a get-out-of-my-way-please kind of way. “Not to expensive, not too much sugar.”
“Y-yes ma’am!”
And just like that, Ranboo wanders away from his caregiver in a grocery store that he doesn’t know the layout in, and where he will most likely get lost in and forget his way out, with strangers around him that have unrecognizable faces.
The store is playing an unrecognizable tune, but it’s bright and colorful and Ranboo nods along with it, not hearing much of the words. He wanders through the produce section, looking at all the fruit they have available.
Sister Joan is most definitely expecting him to find something that he can either eat quickly on the ride back, or store safely out of the reach of the other children, and fruit isn’t that easy to store, so he wanders into the other aisles.
It’s quiet for a Saturday morning. Summer is just around the corner-- not that it matters much for the orphanage, since lessons are mostly year-round and only stop during Lent and Advent-- and bright, beach-themed decorations decorate the store alongside the locally grown food on display.
Everything is bright and colorful, and Ranboo can’t help but be distracted by the flowers on display at one corner in the store. It’s nothing like what he’s seen Gardener Lou do with the plants and herbs and vegetables in the yard, but the flowers smell pretty and look pretty.
Even though it’s not food, maybe I could get a few to decorate my room? He knows the odds of him being adopted in the next few days are absolutely zero, and a little more life into the dusty office-turned-bedroom would make at least a week or two more liveable, until the flowers withered. When they die, he can press them in the pages of his journal.
That would be nice--
“Anything catch your eye?” A voice catches him off-guard, and he jumps. He turns around, and sees a woman behind him. Her hair stands out the most, blonde but half-dyed pink.
“Ah, no, I was just-- looking.”
“You’re free to look, too.” She smiles. The nametag on her apron says Niki.
He’s never seen anyone with pink hair before. His own hair is dark, with a few strands turning gray, adding on top of the awful mess that God has placed on his shoulders.
“The Dahlias and Zinnias are really in bloom now, and the colors are great this time of year. We’re also getting in a few sunflowers later next week, if you’re looking for anything bigger.” She explains, pushing some of the dyed-pink hair out of her way.
“Oh, no I can’t get anything that big.” Sunflowers would be too big for his room, even though they are a nice flower.
“Are you thinking of a special someone?” She gives him a look that flusters him immediately.
“Ah, no-- no, I don’t. Um. Have anybody. Like that. It’d be for my room, if anything.” He tries to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands.
“I’m just teasing.” She laughs. “Well, if you’re looking for something for your room, we have some Amaryllis and Lillies. The store next door has more house plants, if that’s what you’re looking for.” She adds, ducking behind the counter that was hidden behind all the display and grabbing a few flowers Ranboo couldn’t recognize.
“Really? Uh, thank you.” Maybe if I ask nicely, Sister Joan will let me get one instead of some food.
“It’s no problem!” She gives him a thumbs-up. “If you need any advice for flowers or plants, just let me know.”
“Thank you, Niki.” Niki blanks for a moment at Ranboo’s response, before her fingers brush against the nametag on her apron and she seems to remember.
“Anyway, you can get back to browsing. Have a nice day!” She waves, before going to collect a few other flowers to put in a bouquet as Ranboo glances at some of the other flowers and plants on display.
He grabs the small pot that’s labeled Amaryllis. Hopefully Sister Joan will say yes to it, but he decides it might be better to browse some of the aisles to find her or find an alternative thing to get.
The breakfast aisle has the only other people Ranboo has encountered the whole grocery trip. It seems to be another family-- a dad, by the looks of it, and two sons. One has brown curly hair tucked neatly into a beanie, and the other one is blond and wears a bright red shirt. The father wears mostly green, and has hair long enough to be pulled back in a low pony-tail.
Ranboo can’t help but feel two things upon seeing them. One, a twinge of jealousy, a family , a parent who loves you and wouldn’t leave you on the steps of an orphanage, that he quickly buries down because he reminds himself to be thankful for the roof over his head and the sisters that take care of him.
The other is something he can’t place. Admiration? One of his own hands goes up to his hair. He’s never had his hair any longer or cut any different than what he’s had his whole life, but the long hair on the dad looked… It looked cool. He wished the nuns would let him grow his hair out, but when it gets too shaggy it’s to the backyard with the other boys for a haircut with the gardener Lou.
He isn’t too bad with scissors, at least. Maybe, in another time, Lou would be a hairdresser.
Ranboo nervously looks at the cereal and pretends to be more interested in it as if he was caught staring. Which. He wasn’t caught staring. But it’s rude to stare, so he turns to brightly-colored cartoons on the boxes of cereal too sugary to buy.
“ Phillll , Wilbur’s making fun of me again!”
“What’d he do?”
“All I did was get something off the shelf that he couldn’t reach, and he got upset at me for helping him!”
“I could’ve fucking reached it--”
Oh. Ranboo flinches at the curse. Right. Some people just. Talk like that. He looks even more intensely at the box of cereal with a cartoon rabbit on it. He wonders what it tastes like.
“You were standing on the bottom of the shelf! You could’ve brought the whole damn thing down with you!”
“I am very careful and strong and adept and that wouldn’t have happened!” The younger boy says. Ranboo doesn’t need to look (or recognize a face to begin with) to know the looks the younger boy was getting was incredulous. “See, look, I’ll do it right now!”
“Tommy, no--” The pleas from his father fell on deaf ears, and Ranboo noticed out of the corner of his eye as the boy grabbed onto the edge of the shelves and scaled it up to grab something on the top shelf.
“You’re impossible.”
“But I didn’t knock anything down, did I?”
“Well, you haven’t come down yet.” The dad-- Phil, was it?-- looked around in the aisle, and his eyes fell upon Ranboo.
Oh, now he got caught watching. His face flushed immediately, and he nods awkwardly to the family before turning on his heel and walking away.
That entire situation could’ve been dealt with better, a mean voice in the back of his head croons at him. He ignores it, and goes into the next aisle, holding the plant close to his chest.
“What the fuck was up with that kid?” Ranboo can hear the conversation still, on the other side. It makes sense, since the shelves weren’t too high (he could easily reach the top shelf, but he was also freakishly tall, which didn’t help) and were probably not that thick.
“I dunno, but you really scared him, Phil.”
“I didn’t mean to.” A sigh. “Didn’t even send anything his way… Alright, Tommy, come on down. You’re in the clear.”
In the clear? Send my way? Ranboo wonders. He doesn’t hear a crash or anything on the other side, which means the blond boy-- Tommy-- must get down safely. But he doesn’t hear any shuffling on the shelf, either.
Which is weird.
He doesn’t focus on it too long, because Sister Joan comes into the aisle from another direction and notices him immediately. The cart is really full. She pushes it forward to meet up with him, and stops when she notices the potted plant he’s holding.
“Is that what you want to get, Ranboo?” She asks.
“I-If that’s okay with you.”
There’s something about the emotion Sister Joan gives off. He can’t tell what it is. It’s a positive emotion-- a spark, perhaps? “Yes, it is. I’m sure Lou has a small mister or watering can around that you can borrow for it. Nice to buy something other than knockoff candy, for once.”
That was good.