It’s unusual for them to be quiet, especially with each other. Still, they haven’t spoken for the past half hour, at least, sitting three feet from world spawn, looking at the ragtag collection of half-built houses that surround them.
Cleo takes a ragged breath. “You told me to leave you behind.”
“I did. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t forgive you for that.”
“I know.”
Hermits work fast; Hermits with motivation to focus work even faster. For a half-finished township, it’s certainly beautiful, even in the places where backs and roofs and interiors are not put together. It’s also solid. Foundations that won’t fall easily, windows that are easy to shout between, an outline of a town hall in the dirt.
“You left me too, though.”
“I did.”
“Cleo—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’d do it again. If you thought it was best.”
“So would you.”
“Still.”
“I know.”
They’re quiet again. The sun is setting. Soon, they ought to go inside. The air is getting chilly in the way only nighttime air does. It burns the inside of heavy breaths between them. The sunset reflects off of newly-fashioned windows. It is red, but they only see it in the reflections. They are not facing west.
“I had faith you’d turn up again,” Cleo said, “but if you hadn’t. Is it bad that I’m still furious about if you hadn’t?”
“I mean, I don’t think so? I’m pretty mad about it too.”
“Where’s that leave us?”
It’s a new moon on the horizon tonight.
Joe shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Cleo. Believe it or not, I’m not very good at interpersonal relationships?”
Cleo snorts.
“I mean it! Like, on the one hand, I’m angry? But on the other hand, Cleo, Cleo I’m - I’m terrified, Cleo. I’m just absolutely terrified.”
“Of what?”
Joe clenches a fist. He unclenches it.
“Losin’ you, I think.”
“…yeah. Same.”
“So like. I don’t know where that leaves us.”
Cleo reaches for Joe’s hand next to her. Carefully, they clasp. They aren’t looking at each other. They haven’t been yet. It’s hard to watch the new moon rise, small and distant, if you’re facing a sun.
“We’ve been mad at each other before. So, each other, I think. Even if we can’t forgive it,” Cleo finally says.
“Good,” says Joe. “I don’t know what I would have done, otherwise.”
“Neither do I,” Cleo says. “God, what does that even say about me, that you’re meant to be one of my constants.”
“That’s gotta be terrible for you.”
Somewhere, Bdubs is yelling about beds and creepers, which means it’s probably about time for both of them to go to their own half-built, solid home bases. It is, after all, getting late.
“It’s worked out better than you’d think,” Cleo says, and the two of them turn to each other and stand, the stars above them, and the torchlight of town having finally replaced the sunlight of daytime. They remain holding hands until they finally get to their own bases, at which point they part until the next dawn comes.
(And it will.)