Archive of Our Own

The Leftovers

"I bring the skills, you bring the vibes. That's what I was signing up for..."

🖤  💛  ❤️

Cleo does not look at the cobblestone walls of Box, because looking at them would mean picking up on the little bits of BigB's design preferences in the build. That would mean acknowledging they recognize them, and that would mean admitting how well they knew him back when they were married. Double Life Cleo does not need to be here right now, regretting the choices that Last Life Cleo made.

Part of her does not regret. At least, not all the choices. She does not regret bouncing back on BigB after she and Bdubs split off separate ways and they hit the same bar the same night and talked until the phantom hybrids came to chase them home. Bdubs specifically had been that phantom hybrid… and his startled look when his hunting instincts brought him around the corner had been priceless. "Huh? Are you dating BigB now?" he'd spluttered out, loud and obnoxious in his Bdubs way. She does not regret the basket of chips and its greasy paper, nor glass after glass of milk because she so firmly did not want to blame this warm feeling in her gut on drinks in rosy retrospection. She does not regret slipping her hand in his when BigB grabbed her arm, yanking her with a laugh from the stool and taking off running down the street.

"Can I see you again?"

"Can you find me again?"

"Cleo, I'm a moth hybrid! Ex-illusioner! No one's too quiet for me to find."

She does not regret the way he so gently asked permission to lift her off the ground with his wings, or how… pretty she felt when he flew her across an underground city she'd never seen from above in her life.

"Ex-illusioner?"

"In very high demand… You know us. Only hybrids who can see through solid blocks. Every anarchy patrol wanted a piece of me."

"Why'd you leave?"

"You know that dragon bite in your side? I've got one of those too. Took it right in the lungs. Straight-up death loop'd me. Got spiracles modded in instead."

She does not regret falling in love with that cute ex-anarchy nerd who used to rub up and down her back, chin tilted high and one hand swirling as he threaded goofy jokes in with his history and geography facts, always cracking her up so hard, her ribs felt about to burst.

"How'd you get your bite, Cleo?"

"Who do you think built the custom tree around the Slime Dragon's pit? I kind of got between Debbie and one of her spawnlings. Thank gods no death loop for me, though. I barely needed treatment; just walked away with a cool scar. What about you?"

"Mm. Something like that…"

She does not regret those knowing sideways glances. Or the baking. Or the months of touring each other's servers, talking as loudly as they wanted to where no one could hear. Or the long nights in the parkour ring, watching BigB do his thing with expert-level skill. Or the elopement, papers signed and presented to Scott so he could switch their AFK over to BigB's portal. At the time, there was nothing to regret. They've learned, if anything. They came out of that with a re-evaluation of their worldview… a better understanding of their own comfort level and the thought that yeah, actually- maybe they would be fine sharing an AFK server with someone they're merely dating, not married to. As fun and wild and deliciously rebellious as it was, there will be no more spontaneous elopements going forward.

There will be only Cleo. Looking out for Cleo.

All of these things are unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cares about Cleo and BigB, including Cleo, and Cleo is definitely not looking at the cobblestone walls. And Cleo deserves some props for that, because it is seriously difficult to scour someone else's build for their bedroom door when you're absolutely, unquestionably, totally not looking at the walls.

These walls look more like Ren's placement than BigB's. They're stacked deliberately "off," leaving the walls crooked and wonky all the way up. They're the work of someone who threw them down rapidly, sealing the gaps with a crafting touch so expert, it kicks in the secondhand embarrassment. As they descend a staircase to what is apparently the basement, Cleo traces their fingers along one of the protruding blocks, fingertips lingering on a jutting corner. Box is a "messy on purpose" kind of build, painted to life by someone who knew exactly what he was doing and did it anyway (for the aesthetic and the fun) without leaving all his advanced learning behind.

Huh.

Ren and BigB are dead, now. Banned from visiting this server in physical form ever again, and either watching over them in their ghostly free-cam spirits like an invisible choir or else retired to the lounge to wait for the rest of them to wrap the session up. Tango and Jimmy are with them, maybe. Double Life is drawing to an end. Four players are down and out of the series…

… and Martyn and Cleo are the last yellow names on the list. Scott's not standing by her side now. Not anymore.

Cleo brushes their hand down the cobblestone wall again as they reach the bottom of the stairs. The corridor they find themselves in is undeniably a natural cave, because no Double Life player would take the time to add this much ambiance in the form of grime. Yet the place is mined out in a way that indicates it's also part of the build. No cave naturally generates in a 3x3 tunnel all the way down, and the torches scattered everywhere aren't exactly something that would spawn in either. Cleo perks up, turning a full circle. Maybe BigB and Ren keep their bedroom down here?

More stairs. A wider staircase this time, four blocks across and plenty of head room. Clearly intended for regular up and down use. Say… every night? Or every couple on-server nights, anyway? Bingo.

As tempting as it is to bury themself in the dirt of the farm and fall asleep covered in grime and worms, Martyn needs a bed. Or… she thinks he needs a bed? Wild phantoms roost upside-down in trees from their bony tails, but Martyn doesn't have his tail enabled on this server. He'd probably be more comfortable if they find a bed. He's crumpled like a used tissue on the floor upstairs, wrapped in the throes of phantom hybrid narcolepsy. The aching pull of it is dragging at her own code. It writhes through the soulmate bond and laps around her ankles, wrapping her feet like seaweed or snakes. Secondhand, Cleo can force themself through it a lot better than he can.

Down the carefully mined stone steps. Past a glimpse of world border leaking through the right-hand wall. Skip and a hop above a mining tunnel right in the middle of their floor. Who leaves their mining entrance on the path to their bedroom? Cleo almost turns around, heading back upstairs to try again elsewhere, when an iron door on the wall catches their eye. Iron so no zombies wander in, maybe? That does seem likely. Ren's zombie spawner is around here someplace. She can feel the pull of it deep in her chest. If she hadn't had her hybrid bits toned down for on-server play, it'd be a fight not to respond to the distant growls.

Cleo tests the button on the wall. The iron door pops open, nice and easy. She catches it in her hand, leaning in. Aha!

Clearly, Ren and BigB's plan to create "a base that makes everyone uncomfortable so they won't attract a lot of visitors" (polar opposite vibes to Impulse and Bdubs, who regularly serve food and tea and gossip at their mid-century modern home) didn't extend to the privacy of their bedroom. It's surprisingly rustic and cozy in here despite the fact this very square room is carved out in the side of a cave. Dark oak logs and planks, placed with prettiness and care, line every wall. Even the chests, crafting table, and counter space are made from the same color. So is the bedframe of the double bed, which is draped in perfectly made purple covers. Two goldenrod blankets, still showing a couple patches where the dyeing job wasn't complete, lay folded in a triangle at the end of the bed. For some reason, one of the pair bothered to mine a "window" in the wall even though they're underground. There's a pot with a tiny cactus sitting on the sill. The whole place is so regal and kingly, Cleo blinks twice just looking at it.

Okay. Bedroom located…

… Now what?

They step into the room, walking around both sides of the bed. It… looks clean and neatly made. Maybe a few clumps of pixels shed from loose skin and hair, but those will have despawned to "neutral mode" by now. Her hand attracts them like a needle pointing north. They meld effortlessly to her wrist, and Cleo rubs it a few times as they check the room again.

Look. You shared a bed with BigB once upon a time. They're dead anyway- They don't need it anymore. It's not like they'll stumble back to find you here. And if she and Martyn got confused and lost wandering around Box in search of this hidden bedroom, this maze of stairs and empty landings may confuse red names hyped up on bloodlust, too.

… It's BigB and Ren's bed.

Hm.

Cleo exhales, scratching behind their neck. I wish I had wool to craft fresh sheets and pillows with. But no way in hell are they stepping outside of Box now. Not in the middle of the night with mobs and an entire red army on the loose. Plus, you know… They did destroy the stairs on their way in. If they needed to run back and bar the door, it won't be so easy this time.

Is it worth dragging the pillows and blankets upstairs, but leaving the sheets down here? Cleo debates a few seconds longer, then shakes their head. They check the double chest at the foot of the bed in case there's spare wool tucked away in there after all. There isn't. But there are golden carrots, which is…

… ah.

Cleo shuts the lid of the chest, leaning all their weight atop it. Again, they remind themself exactly why the split up with BigB halfway through Last Life. The sword slice. Straight through the gash in their side… the exposed dragon bite… straight up their empty insides to their hearts, where BigB used to wander his fingers and tease and…

Come on. Go wake Martyn. Go tell him you've found the bed.

HumanCleo and LittleCam are certainly making themselves at home in the kitchen. When Cleo climbs the stairs again, Hums is floating on her back above the kitchen counter, eating a semi-visible sandwich and recounting something to LittleCam that Cleo (who's on the solid plane right now) can't make out. LittleCam's being the finicky cat hybrid he always is, making faces and picking out the wrinkled corners of the meat. Typical. Cleo doesn't even know him that well, and even she knows that's typical. They both jolt when she arrives at the top of the stairs. Both cam accounts go full invisible mode like ghosts, disappearing in a twinkle. But she knows they're there. They're always… there. Cleo can feel their eyes tracking him across the floor.

"You two better stay invisible if you know what's good for you. If the 'Red Army'" - such a brilliantly original name; she rolls her eyes - "wanders in and catches you, they'll know we're here."

She doesn't get an answer. Cleo ascends the next staircase, wandering up to the upper landing. There's nothing upstairs. Nothing but an empty platform, like Ren and BigB always meant to build walls and rooms but couldn't be bothered because they went red by the end of Session 3. Honestly, Cleo can't blame them. Their own home is simple too, with a bed and chests and a spot for Schmoobles and not much else.

Martyn's exactly where they left him, tucked around the edge of the cobblestone wall at the top of the landing. He's curled on his side, arms bunched around the green jacket he's using as a makeshift pillow. Cleo crouches down, pushing their hand against his shoulder. "Hey. Martyn. Wake up."

Martyn squeaks, jolting with a gasp. His eyelids flutter and he shoves one hand back. Cleo tips from their heels to their rear. Their heartbeats kick up about twentyfold. Cleo grabs their chest. Martyn shivers, which Cleo feels in a tingle of jumping pixels down their back. He pulls away, curling in more tightly.

"No, no, no…"

"Martyn?" Cleo waits a few seconds, then touches him again. This time, he screws his eyelids tighter, kicking his legs like he's treading water. He shakes his head, squeezing the jacket like it's keeping him afloat.

Right…

She knows this. She remembers this. This is familiar, from roleplaying married life with Bdubs back in 3rd Life. He's panicking. She jolted him in the midst of a dream and he's panicking. Cleo backs away, pacing the landing for a few seconds while Martyn slips back into his dreams. Then she returns down two drops of stairs, all the way past the exposed border wall and the mining tunnel and the iron door. She digs out the golden carrots wrapped in cloth at the bottom of the dark oak chest.

I can do this.

The golden carrots snap between her teeth, crunching like bits of bone stuck in the rotting flesh she sometimes gnaws on to take the edge off her zombie traits, especially under the mob-strengthening sway of the full moon. Ren and BigB have been holding out if they've stashed this many golden carrots away. She eats a second, browsing their collected things while she does. They have spare armor down here, apparently, though it isn't enchanted. A few extra diamonds. An ungodly amount of sticks. Some torches. Bread, going slightly stale. A second chest by the wall, this one full of snow buckets, reveals salmon left on ice.

Third carrot. Cleo walks around the bed, tugging down the sheets. That will make it easier to get Martyn in. Get him cozy, get him well-rested before their next day as the only yellow lives left on the server. Target Number 1. Wanted dead or alive, without those last two words. They remind themself in dry reluctance that it's better this way. That they too will sleep better once Martyn's no longer pressed against a lumpy stone floor, the cold leaking through their soulbond and stiffening their arm just as much as his. At least a soft mattress and pillow should help prevent a crick in their neck.

Their saturation's maxing out. Cleo eats a fourth carrot anyway, heading upstairs, as their body flickers over with the sense of solid flesh. Maybe this is why BigB and Ren have been sleeping so near their mining tunnel. They've kept a lot of gold on hand. Must've been nice, cuddling up to someone you really care about.

I used to laze in bed with BigB once…

Did Ren pet his antennae the way that Cleo did? Did BigB ever tickle him across the scalp with fluffy feathery bits, arms firmly wrapped around his back until their chests brushed?

Goat horns echo in the distance. Are the reds looking for them even now, or are they too about to start bedding down for sleep? Cleo stuffs carrots in her mouth, poking them with one finger sometimes and trying not to gag as they grow oversaturated, until pink sparks fritz and dance above their head. She doesn't have a mirror or even a water bucket to check her reflection. There was water in the sink downstairs, but she's kneeling on the ground beside Martyn now, who's completely out of it and probably will be for a while now. He's got his undershirt on, at least. It's white. Even though his jacket is off, bunched under him like a pillow, it's nice that he's still dressed. It makes this feel a lot less weird.

The pink sparks crackle. Cleo tightens their eyes shut, forcing more bites down their throat, until they stabilize. The snapping sounds morph into a hum. It's familiar in a way they wish it wasn't, and in a way they'd rather not be thinking about, and they're definitely not thinking about what they're doing inside of BigB's build, inside his and his husband's home, and it's fine and it's fine, and this is for Martyn, because he shouldn't be left abandoned on the floor.

When Cleo checks again, the yellow glow of their eyes that gleams across Martyn's face in the dark is no longer the only source of light in the room. Now there's a pink glow mingled in. The love hearts wrap their head like a crown. They fizzle and pop and respawn over and over again, singing their little cry of Go on- Go on and touch him; you know you want to in a way she has no problem shrugging off. Look, she's not a spawnling anymore. She's been around a long time and grown quite familiar with this song and dance. Cleo scoops Martyn off the ground and staggers to their feet. He grunts, whining and flopping, and isn't a lot of help.

"I've got you," she says, bracing him against one shoulder. It takes a little adjusting, mostly bumping him around with her knee, until she gets him properly situated. His name may contain the word 'little,' but he's not a little guy. He's got a dad bod and everything, though she's grateful at least that his phantom wings are off while they play on the Double Life server. She hoists him up again, like a sack of potatoes, and nearly tips over. The love hearts around their head crackle, bathing her in the glow of increased hitbox collision. Martyn's quiet in his sleep, resting his cheek against her neck. Cleo holds him steady. She sways on every step, and descending the stairs is going to be a nightmare. But she's not exactly 'little' either, and she's proud of her strength, and she grits her teeth on every step and carries him towards the edge of the landing. Then, even though he can't hear her, she mutters back, "Don't get any ideas… This means absolutely nothing."

She left his jacket on the floor. Neither of them can hold it and Cleo debates whether it's worth going back to scoop it up. It probably is. If part of the point in descending the stairs one at a time, bracing Martyn on her shoulder, is to bring him down to the depths of Box's tunnels where hopefully no red names will find him, then they shouldn't leave such an obvious clue about their presence behind.

Halfway down the first set of stairs, Cleo adjusts their grip again. Martyn's completely out of it, not even hugging back. His draping hand keeps bumping against their back. He's still fritzing with confused pixels- pixels that keep trying to phase around her and sort of melt and drip against their skin, only to snap back into place like they're all on little yo-yo strings. Cleo holds one hand to his back as they thump off the awkward bottom step. Neither BigB nor Ren bothered to craft nice stairs, even cobblestone ones. Every drop's an entire block. She staggers on every one, and Martyn's heavy and asleep and the glittery, snapping noise the swirling love hearts make above her head isn't making this any easier. Cleo exhales, then glances past the stack of storage chests to the kitchen on the other side. If Hums and LittleCam are still here, they're keeping invisible as instructed. She can't see them.

"Come on," she says to Martyn, even though he can't hear her. He's a lot heavier than Bdubs. Cleo turns, crossing the hall to the second set of stairs tucked away at the end. These ones slip beneath the indoor wheat farm, which is why they and the bedroom were so hard to find. The walls are closer, which means that when Martyn's arms sway, his wrist brushes over stone. He stirs, mumbling and slightly shaking his head. Still asleep, though. She's pretty sure of that.

Carrying him down a wide hallway with a smooth floor is the easy part. Cleo even manages to hit the button for the iron door with their elbow, then catch the door with their knee before it can fall back. She fwumps Martyn down on the nearest side of the bed. She tries to land his head on the pillow. Mostly does. That startles him half-awake with a snort, hands and legs kicking up. With bleary eyes, he stares up at Cleo like he thinks he's still dreaming. Cleo braces one hand to their hip and looks him over. Honestly, she can't even blame him if he's confused. If she jolted awake and found Martyn staring down at her with pink love hearts glowing above his head, she'd probably write it off as a dream, too.

Martyn rolls his head sideways, falling into dreamland again. After two seconds, he starts to shift so he's curled on his side with legs bunched in, the way he'd probably bunch them if he were hanging from his tail at roost. Cleo stands a moment in the low torchlight, just looking at him then. He's got a thin scar beneath his visible eye, which glows white because it's burned in him all the way down to soul level. Did he have that in their past games together? She doesn't remember. Only that two bright white wounds phased into her skin by Session 2, after their code had fully adjusted to sharing souls with him. There's one on his back: a diamond below his right shoulder.

I wonder if he's got my dragon bite in his side.

She's curious… but not curious enough to lift his undershirt and check. Cleo tilts her head, studying a little more intently. He's rolled on his left side, leaving his right exposed. She isn't about to touch him, because that would definitely be crossing an intimacy line. Still, she peers at it until she's confident that spot on his hip is bright white from the gaping wound underneath, not from the torchlight on the wall.

She pulls the blankets up to his neck. Ren and BigB (It's a Ren thing to do; it was probably Ren) used extra wool to thicken the blanket padding. It's a little weighted. She can feel that as she tucks him in. Yeah. That's good- That's fine. That should keep him cozy enough. It warms her body and that's all that really matters. The trick will be finding the right amount of blanket to avoid overheating herself.

Cleo walks around the bed, takes the torch off the wall, and douses it in the water bucket waiting to the side. The embers simmer. Her eyes glow yellow on the dark oak wall. The love hearts sparkle pink, snapping and popping overhead. She ignores them. This ain't her first rodeo. If she doesn't do anything to extend the artificial flush that comes with being turned on this way, it'll fade on its own in a few more minutes. Martyn will probably ask in the morning how she carried him down here, voice tinged with grogginess, and she'll have no problem answering. She did what she needed to. She watches out for his health, his life, out of duty of being soulmates sharing health even if they didn't base together this season. Yeah, she ate the golden carrots. She got her love hearts up. She did it for the hitbox collision. To carry him. It's not a big deal.

It wouldn't be smart to leave the freshly extinguished torch resting on bare wood, even if it's dripping wet. Box isn't a flammable base, but this room would trap smoke like a flooded cave steals every drop of air. She wraps it properly, tucks it away, then slides beneath the covers. Neither she nor Martyn are whisper-thin. There's very little wiggle room to find a spot that won't leave her dangling at least one leg off the bed. She sucks it up, scooting semi-close, and folds the blankets behind her in a little wall. Martyn's facing away from her, softly breathing, with his hands resting near his cheek. At some point, their heartbeats steadied out again. Whatever he's dreaming about must not be so bad anymore.

The cave air is cool, the dripping stalactites and distant zombie growls occasionally breaking through the quiet. It does feel like they're underground. The room is square and simple, but there's a certain comfort in it. An ugly, defensible base. A soft, cozy bedroom. Cleo traces her fingers back and forth across the sheets, wondering which side of this bed was Ren's and which was BigB's. She has another thought then, which makes her chuckle low in her throat.

I guess we're both sleeping in our ex's bed tonight…

Did Ren and Martyn ever bed-share back on 3rd Life, the way she did with Bdubs? Ren's affectionate, but an enthusiastic bed-sharer he is not. Bdubs, insatiable gossip that he is, is the one who who whispered in her ear that Martyn and Ren had formed their little QPR. He said it over breakfast, cracking eggs on the furnace edge. And Bdubs is also a blatant liar, so who knows if that was ever true.

You know… That is kind of funny. Isn't it? That while she and Bdubs were roleplaying husband and wife in the Crastle, tangled in each other's arms in bed (with Impulse occasionally bundled up at the foot of it, itching to sleep anywhere that wasn't alone), Martyn and Ren were maybe exchanging pinky tucks and giggles and happy thoughts in their little QPR? And now that she's the one engaged in a platonic allyship with Scott, Martyn's practically scratching at the door like he can't bear to be without hugs and body warmth? With that giant floating heart he built in the middle of the ravine - in front of her door, by the way - his intention to woo her hasn't exactly been a secret. He's chasing butterflies and roses while she's growing zucchinis in the garden, back towards him the entire time.

Maybe that doesn't make sense. Maybe it's late and she's tired and it isn't funny at all. But it is a bit curious, how they've sort of swapped roles. She and Martyn twirl in parallel, clicking through the same dance on opposite sides of the practice studio. They're dancing to the same song. They're just doing it out of step.

Grian did say this game unravels us, processing every line of code in our souls before it blends soulmate pairs together with the match it feels is best…

And that's very interesting. Because there are only 14 players, meaning 7 soulmate pairs. Someone has to be the last on the list. Someone has to be the leftovers. The two with nothing in common. The two slapped together so the system can call it a day, checking out for the night. Grian and Scar were no surprise to anyone, except maybe Grian and Scar themselves. They mingled effortlessly back in 3rd Life, and even in the server hub they seem to share a lot of interests- their taste in bars and food, their interest in the arcade, the way they spook themselves on purpose by playing scary games…

Scott and Pearl, as much as Cleo is loath to admit it, were strong and committed to each other back in Last Life. Evidently, the code of this game agrees. Bdubs and Impulse? Not a big surprise. Cleo maybe wouldn't have minded basing with him again, though picking up where they left 3rd Life - juggling their Last Life separation in between - might have been an awkward start. Ren and BigB blindside literally no one when you stop to think about it. They're both cheery and friendly, but turn on a dime. Ren's physically strong with an air for leadership while BigB's knowledgeable about a million things and seems to enjoy taking orders. They fit like bread and butter. He and Cleo fit like bread and jam.

Tango and Jimmy were some surprise. Cleo never would have pegged them down together. Joel and Jimmy, sure. Etho and Tango, yeah. That checks out. Even Tango and Impulse, long-time friends. But even Scott and Cleo, as jaded as they are, can't help but mumble an acknowledgment that the game seemed to know what it was doing better than the rest of them. Tango and Jimmy get along like a ranch and fire (and they would know) while Joel and Etho seem more in sync together than Cleo's ever seen either of them before. Not that she knows Joel particularly well. He based alone the past two seasons. But Etho? The way he gazes at the back of his soulmate's head when Joel isn't looking? That one caught her a bit off guard. But if Bdubs had anything to say about it, he kept his lips firmly buttoned. Cleo's never seen so much as a tremble, his love and devotion swiveled completely to Impulse instead.

That leaves her and Martyn. Everyone else is so in sync, and by the laws of assigning soulmate pairs, someone had to be the last two names on the list. Maybe neither of them fit anywhere. Maybe they're the spare parts that come in the box of a tiny building kit, waiting and waiting together but largely ignored. They're the leftovers. Which seems fitting for two ragged people huddled in bed together down in a cold cave basement. She's old and rotting. Martyn's tattered and exhausted all the time. They're not like the rest of the gang. They have nothing in common. Nothing at all.

They're Cleo and Martyn. He's reckless and stupid. He got them both killed when he punched her off the edge of the ravine and she hit ground instead of the river just a few blocks away. Martyn can't be trusted because Martyn is a mess with venom in his teeth. He'd betray any ally in a heartbeat and Cleo's had enough betrayal to last a lifetime.

Martyn can build his crimson heart in the center of the ravine. He can wheedle and plea and beg her to forgive his Day 1 discretions… Take him back; take him under her wing. But it's all a game to him. It's a role he plays. He does not love her. She is not lovable, or at least not to him. She's been loved and held and hugged throughout her many years of play, but wild Martyn is a special breed, and there is nothing about her that a backstabbing, vicious survivor like him could romantically desire.

I bring nothing. Nothing but my caution. I'm not as 'easy' and 'forward' as you might think, Martyn. I'm not excessive in my affection. You gain nothing by wooing me with attempted charm that casual allyship wouldn't also bring.

She's pathetic and useless in a death game like this one- a liability more than anything else.

Martyn's the type to cackle with boogeyman aggression or red life insanity, scarlet sparks crackling from his eyes and lighting up his face as he grips one palm to his cheek, flapping his dismissive other hand in a Whoopsie! kind of way. He'll grief and steal and backstab all he likes, swinging his words as casually as he spins his UUID card around his finger while waiting in line to use the vending machine back at the hub. He's manipulative and bright with energy and laughter and fun. He's playing death games the way they were meant to be played. He makes and breaks alliances as he needs to, treasuring no one deep down beyond himself. He's fighting for survival like a snake in a gladiator pit. He's a gaslighter after her own heart.

This realization changes nothing. Cleo does not need a wildfire man in her life any more than she needs a proud history buff with feathery silver antennae and cookie-patterned moth wings. She and Martyn are the leftovers of the game. They fit so poorly together, they never even made it as far as becoming allies- fist fighting as early as Session 1. He's a blazing mess. She's a flash flood sweeping in with silent storm. There is nothing in either of them the other could ever love.

Oh, come on. How long does it take a few ignored love hearts to disintegrate anyway?

Another goat horn echoes in the night, though it's fainter now and far away. It's answered by the usual trilling response, but there are no shouting voices or thumping hoofbeats tracking them to Box's door. Are Scott and Pearl with them right now? They went off with a bang, Scott exploding in the fireworks that took him out from behind.

Will the reds find them here? Will they kill them in their sleep? That's a question for the ages. Cleo flutters her eyelids shut. She nestles into the pillow, tucked beside Martyn in Ren and BigB's bed, and tries to drift into her dreams. She isn't as sleepy as Martyn is, even with secondhand narcolepsy tugging at the edges of her code. She tries anyway. She does try.

That softness doesn't last for long. At some point, Martyn stirs awake again, gripping his pillow like it's made of clay or honey and he's trying to haul his way up. She can feel the way his fingers bend even if she can't see it with eyes still shut. Martyn's… confused, maybe. He rolls over to look at her, a soft "Mngh-?" slipping from his teeth. She can feel the press of his tongue against his gumline. He blinks at her and she can feel that too. They didn't used to feel his blinks. Maybe it's stronger now that they're lying right beside each other in the bed.

They can feel Martyn gazing at them, his breathing low and still. Faintly, Cleo tightens their fingertips against the bed sheets. Don't even think about it, they warn in their silence. Not now. Not ever. Certainly not today. She's kept up her walls far too long to bring them down now, soulmate or not.

She waits for Martyn to reach out and brush her hair aside, or maybe whisper that she's beautiful. It never comes. Instead, he rolls over, pulling the blankets close around him. He tugs a little hard. Cleo grunts. Martyn doesn't answer, slipping back into the quiet arms of the night. Cleo can feel the tingle of pressure against the gaping hole in her side. She squirms, twisting against the bed. Martyn feels it too, because he rolls over again before long, like the touch of cloth against that open gash pulled him even from his dreams. He half sits up, holding one hand now against his head.

"Nnggh… What time is it?"

"Middle of the night," Cleo mumbles back. Martyn stiffens, like he'd forgotten she was there. She rubs one hand up and down her torso, tracing the edges of that ancient bite wound. It's so familiar they don't twitch, though Martyn jolts. "Go back to sleep…"

"Can't," he mumbles, stretching his arms back as he yawns. His shirt rides up, the wrinkles and hem brushing across the gaping hole, and this time Cleo actually does wince. It's stranger when the touch is not her own. Martyn continues, low-voiced even though they're alone in the basement and no one's around to overhear. "If I'm up, I'm up. I take catnaps, actually. I've got insomnia."

Insomnia? Cleo blinks. They brace one hand against the bed, pushing up.

"You've got-?"

"Narcolepsy and insomnia both," he confirms, and rolls his eyes. "And the night terrors… and the sleep paralysis. I know. It's fun to be a phantom. Gods, I hate people who don't understand how lucky they are to enjoy a good night's sleep. Or people who brag about how little rest they need to pull off a good day's work. I hear two seconds of bragging and want to rip them into shreds."

"Huh. I've got that too. Well, insomnia, anyway." Cleo double taps their knuckles to their chest. They're still dressed in daytime clothes, not having bothered to connect to the ethereal "wardrobe inventory" where they keep their spare skins. She'll share a bed with Martyn. She won't change skins in the same room as him, even if he is asleep. They're not close enough for that. "Only, mine comes from being sort of dead. I have a hard time drifting off. My body doesn't really know how to shut down. It helps sometimes if I lie inside a coffin, but Ren and BigB didn't exactly build one of those."

Martyn considers this, still flexing his arms to push the soreness away. Then he twists around. "Wait. So you're saying you got my narcolepsy through the soulbond… but I didn't get your insomnia?"

"It… sounds like you already had insomnia-"

"So it transferred from me, but not from you? Oh! So I'm, like, the dominant one in this relationsh-"

He doesn't even get the word out before Cleo lurches up and smacks him across the face. Maybe she wouldn't if she were still green life, but the slap is so instinctive that for half a second, it felt like going red. She and Martyn both fall back, nursing stinging cheeks. Martyn winces, hiking his shoulders, and rubs the sore away.

"I deserved that," he says, and Cleo practically kicks him out of bed.

🖤  💛  ❤️

The moon's high above, though they keep away from Box's few windows even when they tread upstairs. The red names have spyglasses and might be peering in. Martyn's hungry, which is so annoying because it flares an itchy desperation in her own stomach even though she's still highly saturated from the golden carrots, but when he admitted that and their eyes met, she told him point blank that he wasn't allowed to eat those, too. One disgruntled soulmate with active love hearts is more than enough. His lips twisted in wry understanding, eyes trailing across the glowing pink blobs still crowned atop her head.

"Come on, Cleo. Am I really that bad a catch?"

"Two 'Yes's or one 'No,' Martyn. I don't suggest you cross that line."

So now they're upstairs. Hums and LittleCam, who are both incapable of sleep while in spectator, are half-visible again. They're leaning against the counter in their pajama skins and Hums is painting Little's nails. Whatever words they're speaking don't carry down to this plane. Still, they break off mid-conversation, both looking at their twins in bewilderment, like they didn't think they'd wake this early. Martyn greets them with a tight-lipped smile and lifted hand. Cleo merely shrugs. She doesn't need anything from upstairs. She's not even sure why she followed. Mostly to make sure Martyn doesn't do something stupid or pass out on the floor again.

While he gets out the bread and starts hunting for the kitchen sword to slice it with, Cleo goes upstairs to pluck up his jacket. She drapes it over her arm and carries it back down, but Martyn's got his hands full and doesn't acknowledge it. She tosses it on the unlit furnace. No way in hell is she wearing it, even though that would make it easier not to forget it and leave it up here for the reds to find.

"We'll have to milk the cows before we go tomorrow," Martyn says, cutting the bread. The little sword seems to be a struggle for him. Cleo watches, one hand to their good hip until the blade thunks against the base of the crafting table. "They've got swollen udders. Ren and BigB won't be here to do it."

"Mobs don't feel pain. They'll be fine."

"Feels wrong, though. They might not be in pain, but it can't be comfortable."

"Let's kill them, then. Better we get the steak than the reds."

"Fair. Are you hungry? We've got… bread and things. There's a bit of steak, mutton, and pork. Pick your poison."

Cleo softly groans. They lean over, bracing one elbow on the counter and one arm across their stomach. "Honestly, I ate so many golden carrots just to get the love hearts up that I'll be glad if I get through this without glitching. On-world meat tastes like pixels to me anyway. I've kind of gotten used to it, but it doesn't really matter. No, I don't want anything."

"Same, honestly." Martyn picks a choppy chunk of bread that didn't slice right from the loaf and pops it in his mouth. He shrugs. "'Just anivore problems,' I guess. I like cow souls, though. Back in the portal hub."

"Cow souls are good. It's too bad mob cows don't taste like hybrids do."

"Mmhm."

They slip into silence. The kitchen sword chops against the crafting table again. Cleo watches, chin cupped in their hand. Martyn glances up for a flicker of an instant, then lifts one hand to block his eyes. He tries to slice the bread again, one-handed.

"I'm fine," she says. "Honestly, it's not my first time on love hearts, Martyn. Don't stress about the eye contact. It's seriously not a bother to me."

"Okay… Just remember you said that."

"Seriously, it's fine."

"Thanks for bringing me downstairs," he says, and his voice is lilting now, like the embodiment of rising shoulders. He finishes the bread and re-wraps the loaf in a cloth. It goes back inside a storage chest. He starts pawing around, looking for some sort of flavor he can add. "I do appreciate not being left sprawled across the floor."

"Yeah, well… Sorry you've got narcolepsy."

"Oh, it's fine. My condolences for your insomnia, my dude."

"Mmhm. I don't always have it."

He glances up. It sparks eye contact. Cleo shrugs, not pulling her chin from her hand. She twirls one finger in a circle.

"My zombie traits come in different flavors. I'm 'freshly dead' - basically human - when I respawn under a new moon in the server hub. Like Hums. The bigger the moon, the more rotted I am."

"So those blue flowers are natural, then? Do they…" Martyn tilts his head. "Do they grow straight from your skin?"

Cleo glances up, even though she can't see her flowers from this angle. She reaches up, tracing her fingers across the petals in her hair. They're blue. She tugs faintly and feels the responding pull against her scalp. "Yeah," she says. "I see you've got some too."

Martyn blinks. He also tries to look at himself, then moves away from the storage chests and peers at the infinite water source block in the sink. "Huh… I didn't notice, actually. I've got a few of your zombie traits, but this one's new to me. Did you get anything from me? Besides the narcolepsy, of course."

"Nothing that I've noticed. Oh, so I'm the dominant one here!"

That gets him to snort. "Well, that's no surprise. I wouldn't have it any other way, honestly."

"Don't."

"Yes, ma'am… Okay, give me a tip: what can I do to make plain bread better on-server?"

"Blaze powder."

Martyn sighs, slamming the cupboard trapdoor cover shut again. "I don't think they have any of that. Nice to see you actually appreciating Nether products, though."

"I'm not appreciating. I'm not agreeing I'm happy you ducked into the Nether before figuring out who your soulmate is. That's just the flavor I would use."

He ticks his tongue in disappointment, flopping back against the counter. "There's no hope on-world for anivores, is there? Hook me up with a good soul any time. Well… bottoms up."

Again, the space between them fills with quiet. Hums and LittleCam are ignoring them now, back to talking and painting nails. They've mostly gone invisible again, though you can see their outlines if you really squint. Cleo watches Martyn eat just because there's nothing else to do. She can feel he's still tinged with sleepiness around the edges, but he doesn't look like he's on the verge of passing out.

She clears her throat. "I'm surprised you haven't said anything about… you know. Scott."

He picks off one edge of the crust, setting it aside. LittleCam instantly flicks a hand to send it flying, though he's in spectator and it passes harmlessly through. Martyn says, "Well, I'm not happy it worked out this way, if that's what you're saying. I wouldn't have minded talking strats and doing the weeding and cow feeding and laundry alongside you, you know."

"I meant because he's gay."

Martyn drops another bread crust beside the first, barely looking at her now. She can feel a flutter in their heartbeats nonetheless. "What difference does that make? That doesn't excuse you two from cheating on me and Pearl."

Cleo scoffs. "Are we really doing this again?"

"I'll do it as many times as you bring it up." Martyn swivels back to face her, this time ripping an entire crust piece off the edge of his bread. For some reason, he goes to eat this one instead of tossing it aside. "Look me in the eyes. Look at me, all of me, right here." He spreads his arms and legs, apparently trying to indicate the entirety of his being. "Tell me I look like a man who would cheat on his own soulmate."

Cleo glances over him, ruffled haystack hair and black bandana all the way to his bare feet. He normally wears crocs, but he must have kicked them off before he came upstairs. Martyn has stereotypical 'dad bod' and a wildly scruffy chin. He carries himself with poise and confidence and dignity in everything he does, even when he's been caught red-handed swiping resources from chests that aren't his own. She says, "You look like you think the sprinkler and snorkling are 'hip dance moves.'"

Martyn claps one hand to his chest, leaning back. "Whoa! Whooooa. Hey, ask anybody here- I was the coolest person at the Last Life party, and that one had Lizzie and Mumbo."

"You asked me, though."

"Well, maybe we should swing the other way; admit we both cheated on each other and won't admit it. I never asked Pearl out. I held her hand so she wouldn't fall while we were bridging over lava. I helped her down a few blocks and picked her up a few times. We may have held each other during the night when I was weak with narcolepsy and unable to fall asleep down there. I don't know what transferred through the soulbond, but you obviously you got the signals all wrong and took it out on me without waiting to hear my side."

His heart's beating fast anyway, and there's a certain tremor in his fingers that he's definitely staring at and Cleo couldn't miss if she tried.

"It's not the way you touched Pearl that bothered me, Martyn. It's the way you thought you could run off and that I'd wait around until you came to find me. I'm not putting my life on hold for anyone who doesn't make a good faith effort to look for me."

"I did look!" He lifts his head, eyes sparking now, and they make eye contact again. Cleo double blinks and squints, shoving aside the tickle of endorphins that ripples down her back when she meets his gaze. Now is not the time. "Pearl and I didn't even duck into the Nether until we'd been in the Overworld for several days. I thought iron armor might be smart - You know, so I didn't end up exploding like Tango, snapping himself and Jimmy back to spawn in the process - and Pearl and I went caving together to get nicely suited up. Ask pretty much anyone, though. We came up above ground, wandering around and looking for you. I would have…"

He hesitates, broken bread in either hand. His eyes drop. They dart up again, though his expression remains all cold and dull.

"I would have run to you, Cleo… if I'd only known. I just thought it might be smart to gather all the limited-edition resources I could before other teams landed hands on them first. I could have been your ride or die until the end. Any time. Any day. I didn't even hold it against you. I get that you were mad, but I never… Look, all you had to do was take me back." He turns and gestures around Box then, indicating something and nothing and everything in a way that makes her grimace. "I could have been your person. I wanted to be your person. I don't know what else you wanted me to do."

Like every time he asks, Cleo holds back from spelling it out for him. Maybe she sort of spilled it already. It's whatever. It's the stupid love hearts or something. Her nails bite against her cheek. The words Apologize for running off like an entitled brat who thought I'd put my episode on hold and leave Hums to upload empty nothingness content while I waited for you to grace me with your oh so lovely presence, echo in her head. She looks at him, shifts her gaze to Hums and LittleCam, then glances at him again.

"That's crap, Martyn," she says (in an exhausted way that probably makes it far too obvious she would like to say something else). "And even if Scott had left me to team with Pearl, I wouldn't have taken you in. I'm fully capable of watching my own back."

Martyn stares down at the two pieces of bread in his hands. Cleo blinks again, harder this time, to force the swell of lovey-dovey thoughts to the back of her mind. When Martyn lifts his eyes again, they're tired and quiet in the dark. Still glowing, though. Glowing gold. They both are.

"I could have loved you better than Scott could…"

"You do not get to say-"

"And it's not because he's gay," Martyn cuts in, chin tilted up, and he's so haughty that Cleo rolls their eyes again. "And it's got nothing to do with being queerplatonic allies with him instead of romantic ones. I like QPRs; I've had a few myself. Jimmy, Netty, Ren to name just a few. Technically I did have one with Pearl and BigB, but that was a long time ago: right around and for a while after EVO. That was- Well. Never mind."

"I don't want to hear it, Martyn."

He flicks a dismissive hand. "Look, I know we've barely spoken across the years. Our paths have really only crossed in Grian's games, except maybe that one time I caught you when you fell off a wall in the hub. I don't know if you even remember that. I… I love you the way that Scott loves you. With my…" He hesitates, like the word is soap or lying on his tongue. Hmm. Martyn squeezes up his eyes, cringing his shoulders, and Cleo stares at him with tight lips as he fights through every word. "… loyalty. I stepped into Double Life ready to play a role. And every time we play and I'm hooking the mods beneath my code, it killed me to know I'd be waking up alone again."

"You had Pearl." Then she corrects herself. "Well, You could've had Pearl. You could've. Literally nobody stopped you. You dumped her, as I recall. Flat-out told her you were breaking up. I don't know how I wasn't supposed to interpret 'Oh yeah, he cheated on me' from that."

"Pearl was convenient." Then, immediately, "I didn't mean it; don't tell her I said that." He gives up on the bread, slapping the two pieces on the crafting table. They shimmer, rearranging themselves until they're whole again. He doesn't seem to notice or care. "Scott's on red now and he's not about to place the affectionate memories of playing House with you above his own survival. You can talk big about 'two separate health bars means extra defense' all you like, but that's not going to carry you to the finals. You'll get us both killed if you go gallivanting back to him now."

"Who said I even care about getting into the finals? I'm not a PVP whiz- I'm just here to chat with friends and play a game."

"Aw, I can carry us through the PVP. I just need you on the sidelines, cheering me on and eating while I whack down anyone who thinks they can take us head-on. We're the last yellows; that's gotta be a good sign. Surely you feel the rush of glory pumping in your veins. Victory's so close, I can almost taste it on my lips. Tastes better than plain bread- that's all I'm saying."

"I don't feel much of anything when I'm not a new moon spawn, Martyn. After all, I'm mostly dead. I get my rushes from roleplaying relationships. That doesn't include mine and yours."

Martyn says nothing, picking his fingernail at the edge of the crafting table. He's given up eating, it seems. Then he lifts his head. "Do you like holding grudges? Feeling angry? … Does that make you feel alive? When you look at me and tell yourself you hate me… do you feel alive?"

Cleo frowns. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction. "I wouldn't say I hate you. I don't really hate anyone. I'm angry at BigB for stabbing me up the side when I trusted him with all my hearts, but I don't think I hate him. Or you. I guess I feel confused? Like… why? Literally, why… why would you push me off that cliff when we were so close to solid land? It wasn't even a real sprint-punch, Martyn. If you wanted it to be a joke, the least you could have done is picked me up and given me a hefty toss. Not just slammed into me like that."

"If you don't hate me, why haven't you given me a chance, then? I think I've groveled enough. It's been weeks at this point. Months, if you want to count the time we spend in our AFK servers between sessions. It's been so long."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you can't just treat me however you want and then throw yourself a pity party and expect me to drape myself all over you in response? That's not how this works, Martyn. It's not how I work. If you want to start a relationship with me, you can't start it off by thinking I'll wait around while you go out with all your friends."

His eyes drop again. Cleo waits. She waits for the apology, and she waits so long and hard in the silent kitchen that her nails dig into her palms and she can feel the burn, half-dead though she may be.

Martyn finally says, "I could've been your person, if you'd given me a chance. I don't know if it's the mod talking, but it sure as hell isn't love hearts. Feeling what you feel, having this… connection has been tearing me apart. I can't even look myself in the eyes at this point and lie and say that I don't love you. I want to provide. I'll do the work. I'll put in the hours. And I want to stand beside you and wrap my arms around you and draw my sword and kill anything or anyone that cuts your skin. You've gotta be feeling that too, even though you're pretending that it's hate. And it screws me up every time I wear these mods, because I know I'm good enough… I do loyalty and honor really well, actually. It's not 'Martyn's never loyal.' It's 'Martyn's hella picky with his hearts.' I look at you…"

For the first time since he started talking, he lifts his eyes to hers again. Cleo blinks, fighting back the spark of warmth edging in from the corners. Martyn swallows. She feels it, loose crumbs of bread sliding down his throat.

"I look at you… and I know that Grian wasn't lying when he said this mod reads our code and pairs us with the right person. It's like-"

"I don't believe in 'right people.'"

"What do you believe in, then?"

"AI and RNG. Not even AI in this case, actually, because that implies some intellectual examination of our code. It's just RNG, Martyn. Everybody's random and you and I got slapped together because we're the leftovers. It's fitting when you think about it. We both gnaw the meat off rotten flesh. I've felt you scrounge for bits and pieces just to take off the hunger's edge. We're leftovers, like the soul-eating scavengers we both are. We scavenge for leftovers and found each other. That's the one thing we have in common."

"You don't believe that…"

Cleo shrugs. Martyn clutches the front of his undershirt, grimacing hard and searching her face for some trace of hope he isn't going to find. She says again, "The soulmate mod's just RNG."

"No it wasn't. You're just afraid of getting hurt again."

"Whatever, Martyn. See, this is why we have problems. You can't come flouncing in like this and acting like you know me better than I know myself. I never wanted your enchanted armor gifts. I never wanted the heart on my front lawn or the presents or anything like that. I wanted trust."

Martyn frowns, hand still gripping his shirt. The way he pulls it keeps brushing the hem across their twin gaping side wounds. "That's funny, considering you never gave any of that to me. You just went and accused me of 'cheating' from the start so you could justify giving all your love to Scott. I could've been your person, Cleo."

"Yeah. You could've been."

"… I see."

"Look," they tell him, and don't even know why they even bother. Maybe it's late and maybe she can blame it on the love hearts or maybe deep down, maybe there is something she won't admit to. She pulls back from the counter, straightening up. "I don't hate you. I never hated you, but I hate this entitled attitude that you can just 'have me' because we're soulmates. It's this 'Cleo's always dating somebody' or 'Cleo's so easy' reputation that's been slapped on me, and I can't date a guy who thinks he's 'special' and can just 'sweep me off my feet' while doing the bare minimum. This game's almost over, Martyn. You'll be free of me soon enough."

"I don't think-"

"-so take a long walk and a couple showers when it's done and all the mods have been washed down the drain, and if you still want me… Then take more showers and more walks and wait a few months to get your head on straight. You don't know me, Martyn. Real life isn't roleplay. This game and its soulmate assignments are just pretend. If you still want me, after you've taken the time to chat with me and have fun and chill together outside this game… then."

She leaves the sentence at that. 'Then.' Martyn blinks back at her. His eyes search her face. There's a question in it. He makes eye contact again. Cleo, faintly, inclines her head.

"I mean, there are only 14 people on this server. That's only 7 pairs. I don't believe we're 'destined' for each other. I don't believe I'm 'destined' for anybody, if I'm honest. But you can try again… if you want to. I don't hate you. If you want this, you just need to take your time. That's all I ask. Just… get to know me because I'm Cleo. Not because I'm your soulmate."

"Right. Um… Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll take some time to think. I… Yeah."

Cleo turns her head away, gesturing with a tilt towards the hidden staircase down the hall. "It's getting late. Let's go back down to bed before the reds hear us shouting or you pass out again. I can feel the narcolepsy taking its toll on you. Bring your jacket."

"… Right." He sweeps the last bread piece into his hand and stuffs it in his mouth. He chews on the way down the stairs, jacket swung over his shoulder. His footsteps thump. She feels the sting on her heels. His bare feet pick up the cold a little more than hers do when she isn't soulbound.

"I'm sorry if I scratch you," she says over her shoulder. "I have been told I 'dig' in my sleep."

"I know." When she half stops on the edge of the last stair, he adds, "Scott hasn't been a blabbermouth, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh. So Bdubs, then?" That's lovely. He even gossips about that, I see. "I know you've sort of got a thing with him going on… both phantom hybrids."

"Nah… I've just woken to a lot of destroyed sheets and pillows on these lonely server nights." He offers a lopsided smile. Or at least half a smile. So saying, he flips his hand around. "I've got claws, you know… so your scratchy-scratchies have got me ripping things apart. I've taken to tossing my bed when I get up. It means I respawn at spawn instead of in my base, but them's the breaks. Glad it's not you tearing at our skin, though."

Cleo breathes for two seconds in the tunnel, watching torches dance. Torches placed by Ren and BigB days or weeks ago. Then she starts walking again, shoulders a little stiff. She gives her head a shake. "Martyn?"

"Yeah?"

"When they take us down to red, I'm going to wake up in my red life base. I'm not setting my spawn here. After tonight, we go our separate ways."

"Cool. Yeah. Got it… You're the boss."

They crawl back into bed, pulling the purple sheets up high to their necks. And if Cleo's still got love hearts and hitbox collision because they never did wear off, and if Martyn wraps one arm around her and she sort of wiggles close to embrace it for just one night of soulmate on soulmate contact down in the caves of Box, and if they're both breathing at each other's hair and maybe she traces her fingers across the delicate edge of his borrowed dragon bite scar and they're both suffering a bit of insomnia and hold each other while still awake for a little too long, arms and legs all tangled up, well…

… that's no one's business but their own.