Chapter Text
A rush of sounds hit Sam all at once: horns, shouting… even a crash of some sort. His heartbeat blaring in his ears was the only sound prominent enough to matter. It was so loud he thought he'd have to pull over and heave… or maybe, that feeling was caused by the nauseating wave of nostalgia washing over him. The color drained from his face as he took in the sight of a billboard staring him dead in the eyes as he drove past it. Ten years of what Sam could only describe as “sabotage” loomed over his dashboard, absorbing all his thoughts from the second he made the horrible choice to look outside the car window. A simple action, one that most wouldn't think much of, had now turned both his mind and his life upside down within seconds.
Ten years of becoming disturbingly good at pretending he didn't recognize the names on that board. A decade of clicking "Don't recommend channel" and "Not interested" so many times he thought he broke the YouTube feature itself. One hundred and twenty months of kicking himself for being an ignorant piece of shit and wasting everything right when he had it all.
He could've really been something, y'know? 2015 was a huge year for Minecraft, and Sam was right in the middle of it. He, largely thanks to his crew, had become the cornerstone of Minecraft roleplay. Sure, though it’d sound silly to most employed people, for the time it was a genuine achievement. But that’s the thing with internet fame, isn’t it? It’s hard to make it big in the world of real acting when you’re known online for “Yandere High School roleplays”. Sam knew all of this a little too well. The success of those around him eroded whatever baseless hopes he still had, leaving him in a stagnant limbo of sorts.
The irony of his words stung as they reverberated through his mind; “Well you failed miserably”.
Words he didn’t realize at the time that he’d come to regret from the moment he spoke them at that convention in front of a huge crowd of adoring fans. The memory was clear: a fan asking the trio what they wanted to be as kids before their internet fame. When Grian said he had a passion for acting, Sam made the comment that he’d failed with a snide laugh, unaware his own shortcomings weren't nearly as far behind him as he believed. His own projects left him feeling unfulfilled, his channel a desolate reminder of what once was.
The longer Sam stared at the sign, the more his vision blurred, making it harder and harder to read what it was even saying about his ex friends. Something something… “creators turned creatives”? What kind of bullshit was that? Of all people to be promoting Mojang's new campaign, did it have to be them? Besides, what did they know about—
A loud honk cut through his thoughts, sharp and unwanted.
Before he could react he felt himself get caught in a crossfire of two cars colliding. A ringing vibration stinging his senses along with a daze caused him to quickly whip his head to see that he was, in fact, the cause of the crash. The audible curse of a distant voice could be heard from the driver in the car he hit, a younger person, glasses and half dyed hair. Before he knew it there was a crowd of people already departing from their vehicles, contemplating contacting some sort of ‘authority’ is what he could manage to listen into.
‘Fuck’ Sam muttered, swerving from the road in a reckless manner, hearing the others voice grow slowly humid and farther away. His bosses would kill him once they'd realized he'd dented the brand new car they've lended him.
Is this what his life really has come to? Dodging a bullet as he'd dodge the past he swore he'd not look back on? Was it the way he was appraised, the way his group would glisten in the bask of fame, in the bask of having another's shoulder to fall onto without a faith of what's next?
Whatever it was, it made him feel like he was losing his goddamn mind.
If not to make matters worse, the weather was significantly adding to this frustration of sorts, the same gloomy atmosphere that's been going on for weeks on end, the continuation of this suffering, like he was trapped in a constant phase of mourning. The endless rush of thoughts, addictive as to thinking ‘What now?’ ‘What if?’. But all everything is, is a concept, a concept that he'd grasp a day too late. 6 years a max. 10 years to make him wonder, what made it this way?
———
Staring at the laptop screen for what felt like the 25th hour of the day, Taurtis quietly sighed and turned towards the window, hoping for even the slightest change of scenery that wasn’t just shifting pixels on a screen. Sure, animating and designing was fun and all, but damn was it time consuming. Luckily, it was a rather sunny day, so no clouds blocked his view of the mountains ahead. The landscape of Anaheim had always been nice, and his perspective from the high level of his office lends him something new to see every time he glanced outside.
The screen, however, showed the same 20 seconds of a promotional clip he’d been editing for at least half of his workday now. It was just days until Mojang’s big “Creators Turned Creatives” event, and he was still behind on the introduction clip that’d play to showcase all of the hosts for the night. Something was just… off about it. Missing some flare? Maybe, but nothing he couldn’t fix in post, or send to Grian to mess around with for an hour until it looked perfect. Turning around quickly to the desk behind him, he shot a perfectly-aimed coffee stirrer stick at his friend, hitting the guy right on the shoulder as a quiet snicker escaped them both.
“What, no bright ideas, Mr. “Corporate Sellout”?” Grian joked, tossing a watted-up ball of paper back at Taurtis.
“Hey, I'm not the only one getting the bonus! Don’t act like you haven’t been all high and mighty ever since they announced it!”
“Yeah, well, maybe I deserve the special treatment when all I’ve done this week is fix your mistakes” Grian mocked, shooting him an unimpressed look.
“My mistakes—?! More like you’ve “assisted me through the very tough creative process”” He retorted. "Last time I checked, helping me is literally in your job description."
Grian gasped dramatically, turning his pc off and facing Taurtis head on. "Right. That's it. We’re going to HR. I'm reporting you for workplace bullying."
"Like you’d have the courage to march up there to report the most unserious argument anyone’s ever heard.”
"No, seriously. You're letting the promotion go to your head already."
“Yeah, yeah, just help with this crap already, I’ve been tweaking it for like— the better part of the afternoon.”
For the next half hour they went back and forth over every tiny detail of the intro. Taurtis would make a change, Grian would immediately point out three things wrong with it, and though Taurtis complained every time, he'd quietly implement every suggestion (or what he’d call criticism) until it was perfect. Finally, when both had run out of energy from lack of both sleep and food, Grian sat up from his ridiculously slouched position.
“Y’know, I don’t even understand how I have a spine anymore– I feel like jello!”
“Yeah, well lets just hope this event is the last one for a while so maybe my sleep schedule can give me more than four hours. Speaking of… can you pass me whatever's left of that coffee?” He said, stretching his arms as much as he could to try and stifle any energy left.
“Taurtis.”
“Yeah?”
Shoving the empty coffee pot in Taurtis’ direction, he continued, “We ran out of coffee hours ago…? It was a whole fiasco? You literally made me go all the way back to the cafeteria to get you more.”
“Oh. Righttt… well, how about as an apology, I go with you to get me more!”
“Because that's the thanks I want,” Grian sighed, jokingly of course, as he finally stood from that horrible chair.
———
Mojang’s cafeterias almost mimicked the restaurant in Ikea, which Taurtis definitely thought about an odd amount of times per day when passing it. Maybe it was because the original Mojang HQ was in Sweden? It didn't matter at this point in time though, because the both of them were starving. Their jobs weren’t unfun or annoying, just… mildly tedious at times. That's why Grian was thankful for the few times they did step out of their office.
“Thank goodness for overpriced pastries,” Grian whispered as they made their way to the tables, all of which were filled with conversations about deadlines, presentations, and last-minute preparations for the event.
“There you are!” A cheery voice –a little too noticeably upbeat compared to the rest of the chattering voices– called from a seat near the window. “I was starting to think you both might’ve been absorbed by Premiere Pro or something!”
“Salex! Hey, sorry about the hold up. Someone had to critique keyframes for an extra half hour.” Taurtis mumbled, gesturing to Grian as they placed down their plates and sat next to her.
“It's okay! I've been in and out of meetings for most of the day anyway! You just worry me sometimes with that schedule of yours s’all.” She said, continuing her own work in between sips of tea.
Taurtis gave her a knowing glance. “Trust me, once this event is over and done with, I'm going to the beach for a weekend. I need the vacation.”
“But don’t you still live in that cozy apartment on East?” She questioned, suddenly a lot more interested in their chatter than the work she was procrastinating.
“I do! It’s great…”
Grian rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his food as he remarked, “He says that, yet somehow ends up at my place every other weekend.”
“That's because your sofa's better, plus you’ve got that awesome spare room.”
“...Taurtis… you have your own flat.” Salex and Grian said in unison, laughing as they did.
“…I know…”
“And yet you still keep stealing my biscuits.”
“Sorry I’m not British and can’t make those stupidly good biscuits!” He frowned, making what was a poor attempt at looking angry while eating.
Salex shook her head, giggling to herself as she sipped her tea. “You two genuinely act like you've been divorced.”
“We've never lived together?”
“No I know, but you’ve just accidentally planned your lives so you practically could,” Her smile sly as she took another sip.
The funny part was, Taurtis couldn't even argue with her.
In late 2018, when Mojang built a second headquarters in Anaheim, California, Grian decided to buy his own place on the edge of the city. It was a decision that took tons of extensive planning, but it worked out in the end. When picking which house he wanted, one of the pros was the second bedroom, calling it “just practical.” Though, “practical” quickly became somewhere Taurtis stayed after late nights at work, editing sessions that never seemed to end, or those rare times they’d record for youtube together. It was… nice. A little glimpse into the past they each got once or twice a week.
Yet Salex could tell they missed the way things used to be on occasion: hectic youtube schedules, traveling a lot, maybe even the tension of a little drama. Weird things you don’t miss until long after they're over. But she never brought it up directly. No one who worked there really did, aside from the whole new event, since that was about the lens creators could bring to the team. It’s like when a friend has a famous person as a family member– nobody wants to make it awkward, so they don’t bring it up, but it’s always in their mind.
Instead of doing so, she just began to stir her tea as her eyes wandered around the room, admiring all the employees and work they’d contributed. “They've gone all out for this thing, haven't they? I’m so proud!”
Taurtis followed her gaze, glancing at the various badges and stacks of branded items that sat on a nearby table waiting to be sorted.
“It’s a bit surreal,” Grian admitted.
“What is?” Taurtis questioned, trying to make sense of the both of them.
“Y’know… being on this side of it?”
Salex nodded, adding, “I was just thinking that earlier! Like, you spend how many years showing up to conventions because somebody else invited you... then suddenly you're helping create one.”
“It's weird watching people panic over things we never even thought about.” Taurtis mentioned as Salex nodded in agreement. Grian, on the other hand, looked shocked that the other two weren’t also kept up at night by every little detail, even back then.
“Even when I was just doing a meet and greet I was nervous about every aspect of it! You two are crazy.”
“I used to think conventions just... happened. I was so focused on having fun and making sure the fans were happy that I didn’t have time to overthink everything like you.”
“Conventions do!” Salex laughed. “Provided that about three hundred people and a whole office building have all collectively lost sleep over it first.”
They all shared a laugh at that, maybe a little too loud as someone at a nearby table pointedly cleared their throat.
Avoiding any awkwardness, Grian started again, with something neither of them expected to hear him say directly. “Y’know...I do miss it sometimes.”
Salex and Taurtis shared a glance, mentally asking what Grian meant, not knowing what he could’ve been referring to.
“The… uhm, Youtube stuff? The making of the videos?” Taurtis asked quietly, not wanting to push the subject.
“No… more like the pace,” Grian clarified.
Salex nodded, reminiscing a bit herself. “I miss getting excited over the smallest things. Like finally getting everyone's schedules to line up so we could film together! Taurtis, don’t you remember how we'd spend eight hours in a Skype call without even noticing? That was always one of the best parts.”
“Yeah… I do, those times were fun. Though I don’t think my sleep schedule ever recovered.”
Another quiet pause settled over them, despite the noise coming from the busy halls. But still, none of them said anything— not because the conversation had become awkward, but because they needed a break from the constant flow of chatter. Besides, those years had been loud, chaotic, exhausting even. And though some of the happiest moments of their lives were cultivated through a screen, one of the most important ones happened in just three short days.
———
Three days. That’s what it said on the billboard. Three days until that stupid event praising his ex friend’s accomplishments or whatever the bullshit Mojang was trying to put on display. A funny amount of time, because that’s about how long Sam assumed he had to live before his boss hunted him down for making the bumper of the new car look like he hit a family of deer. Deer that had won.
He would’ve just driven straight home like usual, ignoring the telltale signs of disaster by drowning it out with some crappy radio station to pretend the whole thing never happened. He'd gotten pretty good at doing that. But this was too noticeable to ignore.
Besides… he had that girl to worry about. The one his car most certainly dented the shit out of. Glasses, half-dyed hair, a familiar tone to her voice. She had her phone in hand before he'd even snapped back to reality to process what had happened!
She'd seen the company logo, and definitely had taken photos of the license plate as he veered off into the distance. Would she call the losers from management with a strongly worded phone call explaining exactly how one of their employees had fled the scene? He wouldn’t be able to lie his way out of it, because every scenario in his head led to the same conclusion: him being fired.
Begrudgingly pulling up to the front of the terminal, he did his best to wipe the sweat and stress off of his face. He swung open the car door, nearly hitting one of his coworkers in the face in the process while he swung the keys in an anxious manner to try and ease any of the nausea he’d built up.
“Samuel! Great to see the way you respect company property, ey?” His boss shouted from across the motor court, his tone pissed in a way that destroyed all hope about that girl not calling the assholes at management. “My office. Now. And don’t think you can get out of this by taking a 20 minute “break in the bathroom” when really what you’re doing is trying to pick the exit door lock,” the man scolded.
The walk to the 2nd floor office wasn’t physically all that far away, but it felt like a millenia to Sam. It reminded him of those silent car rides home with his father, just waiting for the second he’d snap and yell at Sam for being a nuisance the whole day. I guess some things never change.
———
Reaching the office felt like a milestone as much as it felt like a punch in the gut, as now he’d be biting the bullet on the inevitable.
The man poignantly sighed, sliding a sheet of paper across the desk before sitting down to face Sam head-on. “You know we don’t tolerate bullshit here. No matter how silly the job might sound on paper, it's still a job. You deliver the food with a smile and you leave. How hard is that?!”
“I was on the highway. It wasn't a customer's car. I… the road distracted me.”
“The road? The thing everyone drives on with barely a problem?” His boss questioned, clearly used to Sam blaming everyone –and thing– before himself.
“I mean yeah, there was this billboard that was distracting and it took my eyes away from the road. They should really stop putting those signs up if it’ll cause issues like these!”
“Samuel… you don’t really think I believe that crap, do you? Let's cut to the chase– keeping you is only doing us damage. Therefore, The only reason you’re still employed here is because our next catering gig is a big one. We need as many people on hand as we can get. I hope you’ll take this one with the respect everyone else already does with ease.”
“Catering? But I’ve never–” Sam was quickly cut off, his boss not caring about whatever excuse he was about to halfheartedly toss his way.
“Yes, catering for an event. And because we clearly can’t trust you on your own anymore, the other employees you’ll be accompanied by have been instructed to make sure you don’t pull any more of this… crap.” He gestured, trying to represent his exhaustion in a motion Sam would understand. “Can you believe that? Other people have to go out of their way to fix up things that a thirty-something-year-old should be able to handle.”
“I understand your concern, but I don’t need some people babysitting me.”
“Well, I don’t think you understand. This hasn’t been just a one time thing, Samuel.”
“It was an accident!” Sam pleaded, his case not helping him whatsoever. “The billboard, it–”
“Did the billboard grab the steering wheel and ram the car into the back of another vehicle? No. I didn’t think so. This is it. If you can’t get through one final job without messing something up, you’re fired. We’ve– hell, I’ve made enough excuses for you. You can’t keep playing “boy who cried wolf”. Next time? We won’t be there to save you from management with the whole “finding your footing” crap.
Sam, to his own dismay, felt emotion stinging in his eyes.
“Here. This tells you all the information you’ll need for Friday. Be here at least an hour beforehand to change and get ready. We can’t have slip ups. This is… a huge deal for us, as I’ve said.”
As Sam swiped the paper from the desk, his stomach dropped. The address. The event ITSELF. This had to be the universe playing another cruel trick on him.
“Mojang Studios…? In Anaheim?” He whispered, completely beside himself about the whole thing.
“Yes, for their event bringing back the success of their convention… Minecon? I believe that is the name of it? That whole campaign for Creators Turned Creatives.”
No, no fucking way was he going to this shit.
But, at the same time, he really didn’t have any other option, he needed this job, no matter how humiliating it was.
He tried to think it over, decide if he was really going to do this, but his mind was already occupied with being on overdrive. He could take his leave now, hell his boss sure wasn't gonna stop him from leaving on his own accord, and that certainly would be the most obvious option…
But he never was good at doing the most obvious option, was he?
Without another second of hesitation he crumbled the paper in his hands lightly, cursing under his breath as he unwittingly accepted defeat.
“Good to see that you're thinking it over, first time I've actually seen you focused on the job, Samuel.” His boss muttered, snarky and brass, and god he hated this guy. That anxiety from beforehand swept over him with a more intense emotion seething through his blood as his boss acted so ‘mature’, so above the others, planned out and composed, everything Sam isn't, and that really ticked him off. “Hey, and make sure you don't oversleep. Like I've said before, if you were even paying attention rather than sulking.”
Sam huffed, annoyed with the lecture, wanting to leave this stuffy room with papers and flyers of things he didn't even care about! I mean, why should he have to care about any of this anyway?! It was just a stupid delivery job.
“Samuel? You with me?” His boss snapped. Sam shot back a look at the man before him, dazed out once more into a trance of irritation. “Yeah, yeah, I'm listening.”
“Good to know… anyways, before I was so rudely interrupted, I want you to remember this– this event is important to the company and business around us, and you might think this is just some “cracked up delivery job”, but don't blow this chance for the rest of us. You're not the first guy to mess up big-time, and I fear you're certainly not the last.”
Finally finished with his statement, his boss seemed to be staring daggers at Sam. “Well?”
‘Well…?’ Sam breathed back under his breath. “Anything else I should know, or are you done scolding me like a rabid dog.” Sam tensed his muscles, he felt sick.
“Always quick to shoot back a snarky remark, are we?” his boss laughed, unentertained and light. “I don't have the time to be dealing with this right now, just do as you're told and get the hell outta my office, England.”
Just like that Sam rushed out of that chair, almost slamming the door behind him in frustration if it wasn't for that stupid door stopper.
He really was gonna do this thing, huh?