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Scars painted in gold by the hands of a painter, pottery molding itself together in strains of glittering stardust. Shattered once, a cold sharp sound ringing out through the warm air as it drops, cracking, breaking into thousands of pieces. It picks up its pieces and it tries to put itself together. The pieces don’t fit, they scratch against each other, catch on skin, rip it apart down to skin and bone. Tears of liquid despair cascade down its clay face, long since solidified by the heat it lived in for so long, the heat it had once been accustomed to, the heat it now hated, the heat it couldn’t live without and yet. How it longed to be able to rid itself of the unbearable heat, the cracks in its skin. Only when you pick him up does he feel whole, complete. Only then does he feel truly cold, as if that heat inside him, imbedded in him from years of burning, skin searing melting, breaking apart and scarring, trying to pick up the pieces, breaking again, the pieces not sticking together anymore, as though all of those years go away, dissipate and dissolve into nothingness when you hold him.
Up in his studio, clay staining his jeans, shirt and apron, loud blasting music shoving itself through his mind, tearing his thoughts apart, Herobrine pieces together the clay slowly, methodically as though fixing this pot would fix him. As though the small golden lines his paintbrush left on the pearly white clay would fix his own scars. A soft breeze blew in from the window, the sounds of the city floating up to him in the wind. Cars honked, people yelled and laughed, children cried, someone banged on trash cans, a broken beat, scars drenched in gold. He can’t hear these sounds, but he knows their there just as he knows as he sits here on his stool with the uneven legs his boyfriend is jogging up the stairs to this door, knocking on it despite having keys, the door cracks open and Herobrines head peeks up slightly as Steve walks in cheeks stained a soft pink at having climbed up the stairs with bags of groceries in his hands. The man gives Herobrine a small nod and disappears in the kitchen of their small apartment. The song blasting through his ears stops for a moment, and he reaches for his phone, hitting pause and taking a deep breath as he welcomes the sounds of the world back into his life, letting his thoughts flood him again.
“Welcome back.” Steve’s heavenly voice, laden with gold, echoes from the kitchen. Herobrine gives a small huff of laughter.
“How’s your day been darling?” He asks, setting his phone down, letting his headphones rest on his shoulders.
“Not too bad.” Steve replies as the stove crackles to life. Herobrine stands, leaving the broken pot and golden glue on the potter's wheel. Walking to the kitchen, the wind breathing on his neck, he can hear Steve humming a tune he’s making up on the spot and Herobrine can’t help but smile. He takes his headphones off, placing them on the counter and he hangs his apron on a hook, smiling as he enters the kitchen, swaying a little joining in on the humming. Steve hummed louder, switching to mumble the words of the song, Herobrine could hear the smile in the man's voice. The pan on the stove sizzled with green and orange vegetables, that Steve stirred every now and then in time with his swaying.
Herobrine danced closer to him, pressing himself against Steve’s back, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, chin on his shoulder and they swayed together as Steve added the rice and meat to the stir fry he was attempting to make. Herobrine had been starving and waiting for Steve to get home to make one of his amazing dishes. Sometimes it felt like his food was the golden glue holding his skin together, his love sprinkled into everything he did, in the loving touches he’d give him late at night the small kisses in the morning when the soft sunlight would caress Herobrine's face along with Steve’s soft fingers, all of it the golden glue holding him together. They hummed and swayed until Steve stopped, and he sighed, leaning back slightly into Herobrine’s front as Herobrine leaned into him.
“Do you have any idea how much I adore you?“ Herobrine whispered out, planting a kiss on Steve’s neck.
“I love you too.” Steve gave a small laugh. “But you’re getting clay dust all over me.” He placed the wooden spoon aside and turned off the stove. Steve turned around, wrapping his arms around Herobrine and placing his head on his chest. Herobrine's chin rested on Steve’s head. Steve looked up and pressed a kiss to Herobrine's lips, temporarily frying his brain. “Go clean up, I’ll get dinner ready.” Herobrine leaned in to kiss him again and Steve ducked suddendly, giggling when Herobrine stumbled forward. He turned around, feigning offense.
“How dare you.” He said dramatically, a hand over his heart. The corners of Steve’s mouth twitched up in a goofy grin.
“Get washed first, I hadn’t realized before but you’re full of dust.” Steve said dusting off his shirt. Easy silence coated the two as they stared at each other. Herobrine pouted and Steve stepped forward giving in. With a smile Steve pressed their lips together, cupping Herobrine's face in his hands.
Herobrine had kissed many people in his life. Women and men: had held and been held by many of them, revealed himself emotionally in ways he’d thought he never could. And yet, not one had been able to paint his scars with gold like Steve could. Not one could erase his past with a single innocent kiss as the dying sun cast shadows across their hardwood floors, bathing everything in golden light. When they pulled away Herobrine's cheeks were awash with color, Steve’s eyes glinted with the sun. Violet eyes sparkling as they looked into his eyes.
A smile crept onto Steve’s features, lighting Herobrine's nerves on fire. “Now, go change into clean clothes so we can eat.” Steve broke away from him, returning to his spot near the stove. Herobrine left towards their shared bedroom, passing by the broken pot.
As he entered their room, digging through his drawers and pulling out clean clothes a thought came to him. “Hey Stevie,” Herobrine called out.
A small “Yeah?” Echoed out from the kitchen.
“Could you take a look at that pot I broke? I’m too impatient with it.” He slid his shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper. “I think I’ll only end up breaking it more if I try to fix it.” Steve’s laugh echoed back to him and Herobrine's heart swelled. He threw the rest of his dirty clothes in the hamper and hopped out of the room, slipping into clean sweatpants.
“Stop laughing at my misfortune Steven.” Herobrine said, cracking up. He reached the kitchen and helped set the table. He hesitated with the third plate. “Is Alex joining us?”
“Nope.” Steve said, popping the ‘p’. “She’s on a date with the nice lady from the bar.”
Herobrine gave a small nod. “The one from the other night?” Steve nodded. “Damn Alex scored.” Steve snorted and came up next to him to grab the plates.
“Come here so I can fill your plate.” Herobrine came over, salivating at the mere thought of eating Steve’s food. He hadn’t cooked anything in a while, opting to order food instead of cooking, but when he did decide to cook Herobrine looked forward to it for the whole day.
“About that pot,” Steve said as they sat down to eat. “We can fix it together so that I can show you how, and if one day I’m not here to help you fix it, you can fix it without me.” Herobrine nodded, digging in as Steve started talking about his day. Herobrine loved watching Steve talk. His arms would gesture around wildly, he’d break off on tangents and side stories that weren’t important, his eyes would shine if he’d get excited about something. It was truly amazing. Herobrine would never call himself unlucky for as long as he lived for being able to witness Steve simply existing. Herobrine offered his commentary here and there, cracking jokes, smiling as Steve laughed.
The sun had set well below the buildings when they finally got up from the table. Herobrine slipped the dishes in the dishwasher as Steve put away the leftovers. Easy silence draped over the two as cars sped by on the street below them, and the water splashed over the dishes. Herobrine turned the water off, drying his hands and turning to Steve.
“I’ll wait for you to start fixing it.” Steve gave a thumbs up.
“I’ll put these in the fridge and I’ll be right with you.” He flashed him a smile and Herobrine felt like he’d fallen in love all over again. Heading towards the living room he stared at the pot he’d dropped earlier today. Herobrine sat down on his uneven stool and turned his attention to the window. The stars glittered in the sky, the moon hung by a fishers hook pulling it over the horizon, casting light down on the city who never slept. Steve’s soft footsteps came up to him, pulling up another stool Steve sat down.
“Alright,” his voice dripped with gold. “It looks like this piece and this one fit together.” He picked it up, gently painting the edges with gold and firmly sticking the two pieces together, blowing on it softly. When his hand pulled away, the pieces stayed intact. Steve picked up another piece, paintbrush in hand, and looked up at Herobrine. “Would you like to try?”
Herobrine shook his head. “I’m the one that broke it, it seems fit I don’t touch it anymore.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed, the cogs in his wonderful mind turning. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve done enough.” He said with a half hearted grin.
Steve worked in relative silence as Herobrine watched. Finally Steve gave a small sigh. “Did something happen?” Herobrine remained silent, opting to stir up more golden glue together.
“Was it your family?” Steve asked carefully.
“I had a nightmare the other night,” Herobrine put the small bowl down. “It’s been bothering me. I keep hearing what my brother told me before I got disowned.”
Steve pieced together another piece, letting out a breath once it stayed stuck. “Would you like to talk about it?” Steve set down the pottery.
“I can’t remember most of it, no specifics come to mind, it's just,” the cold leaking through the window cut through him and it felt like it was exposing his cracked skin, wiping away the gold Steve had worked too hard to paint on. “Nevermind. It’s stupid. I mean, it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them. You’d imagine I’d be over it by now.” He said, avoiding Steve’s eyes, looking at anything else. “Maybe they were right.” Steve looked at him, a clear question shining through his eyes, placing another piece on the pot. “They uh… when they cast me out… My brother told me what had happened was my fault. Had told me I was the reason everything fell apart.
Steve set the pot down carefully, taking Herobrine's hands in his own. “Look at me.” Violet met white and the cool night air breezes through the window. “You have a right to feel what you’re feeling.” Something in Herobrine stirred and he coughed, breaking eye contact for a second. “Hero, whatever happened with you and your family was not, and could never be your fault. Whatever went down, whatever words were exchanged between you and your brother, nothing could change the fact that you are kind,” Herobrine snorted, looking down a little. “You are!” Steve laughed. “You are kind, gentle and so magnificent and I’m glad I met you.”
Herobrine couldn’t explain it. Even if he wanted to. Even if the urge magically struck him to tell Steven how much he loved him, appreciated his very presence in his life. The words were failing him and he hoped the simple expression in his eyes would communicate all the things he couldn’t when his throat choked on his tongue and when he couldn’t think anymore through the haze of confusing emotions and feelings he wished he could surgically remove. He wished all of this confusion could go away, that the gold holding him together through Steve’s careful mending could be wiped away and he wouldn’t be broken anymore.
“Hero.” Steve said, shifting on his stool, gripping his hands tighter in his own. “I have never been sure of anything in my life as you know well by now. I have always second guessed myself or something I have done or committed to.” Steve cupped Herobrine's face gently. “But I have never before been so sure of something as the love I feel for you, and how sure I am that whatever happened between you and your family was not, and never will be, your fault. Herobrine blinked his eyes quickly, trying to dispel the watery feeling they’d adopted. He disconnected his hand from Steve’s and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I love you too.” His voice was watery and the pot between them was standing there, begging for attention, begging to be fixed. Hero looked down between them and smiled. “It’s almost fixed.” Steve smiled.
“You give it a go now. I’ve gotta call Alex and make sure she doesn’t need saving from this date or anything.” He gave a small laugh and leaned in to press their lips together. Cars honked on the street below them, the restaurants and shops shooing away late night customers, and it was just the two of them up here in their own little world. Steve retreated to the couch and flipped through whatever channels were on as he dialed Alex’s number. Carefully Herobrine glued the pot back together.
Minutes passed and blended together as the moon hung high in the sky. Whatever show Steve was watching was drowned out as Herobrine focused on mending the cracks in the clay. He held up the pot, at last, fixed. He sighed out as he set it back down on the wheel and stood wiping his hands off on his pants and walking over to the couch. He collapsed on it, draping the blanket over both of them and set his head on Steve’s shoulder.
The two of them would watch the channel until it switched to the history channel. The tv would keep droning on in the background as they both fell asleep on that blue couch, in their small apartment, hours later Herobrine would awaken, head in Steve’s lap and gently get up, waking Steve up to lead him to bed where they would crawl in under the blankets, to shield themselves from the cool night air. Wrapped in blankets, surrounded by extra pillows and Steve’s arms, Herobrine had never before felt so whole. His worries and troubles dissipated as Steve’s heart beat strong and steady in the man's chest. Herobrine matched his breathing to the rise and fall of Steve’s chest as his fingers pulled through Herobrine's hair.
A stray strand of moonlight shone through the window with the billowing curtains, caressing the pot on the wheel, drying in the cool night wind. The heat is still a part of its creation but yet something that would not define it. The cool night air brushed along it’s clay face, tear tracks visible yet dry, and your hands hold him as he sighs out, blankets surrounding him and the cracks in his skin melded together with gold, drying as you embrace him and offer a sanctuary for his broken bones, somewhere safe where he can lay his heart in Steve's hands, clay skin cracked and Steve sits him down on the couch and wipes his worries away, patches him up with glue and gold, kissing his heated lips with his own, cold as winter, cool as the touch he so craves.
Herobrine had never before felt so whole.