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The night was supposed to end quietly.
Just a few drinks with friends. A celebration. A “we survived another week” type of gathering. But now Chance is standing in the doorway of a cabin, holding up a very unsteady Two Time, who is mumbling something about divine judgment and cosmic rivers of glowstone.
“Okay,” Chance mutters, nudging the door shut with his foot. “Walk. Or float. Whatever you’re attempting.”
Two Time giggles, actually giggles, leaning their forehead against Chance’s shoulder.
“The Spawn is calling me,” they whisper dramatically, voice thick with alcohol. “I hear it. It’s humming tonight.”
Chance sighs, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
Right. They’re in that phase of drunkness.
“And what’s it humming?” Chance asks, guiding them toward the bed.
Two Time pauses, eyes squinting like they’re receiving a sacred prophecy.
“…the bassline from that one techno remix you hate.”
“Oh. Inspiring.” Chance grunts as Two Time suddenly tries to kneel. “What are you—? No. Get up. You’re not praying right now.”
"I must!” Two Time declares, raising their hands as if expecting lightning. “The Spawn demands devotion. And offerings. And—hic—respect.”
“The Spawn also demands you don’t vomit on the floor,” Chance says, pulling them upright again.
Two Time looks heartbreakingly serious for a second.
“I would never disrespect it like that.”
Chance snorts. “You would. You almost did last month.”
They gasp, clutching their chest. “Lies! Blasphemy!”
“Uh-huh.” Chance moves them toward the only bed in the room. “C’mon. Sit before you fall.”
Two Time collapses onto the mattress… and blinks at it.
Then at Chance.
“There’s only one bed,” they murmur, as if witnessing a cosmic omen.
“Yeah.” Chance rubs the back of his neck. “all cabins have one bed.”
Two Time’s eyes widen, pupils blown and cheeks flushed pink.
“Sharing… space?”
“Yes. Like humans do. Or… like humans and semi-delusional prophets do.”
Two Time sways a little, reaching for Chance’s sleeve.
“You would share a bed with a chosen vessel?”
Chance sits beside them, steadying their shoulders.
“You’re not a chosen vessel. You’re just drunk.”
“But I feel the glow of destiny!”
“That’s the tequila.”
Two Time giggles again, leaning on him until their temples touch.
Chance freezes.
Every time they initiate contact, he’s done for.
“You’re warm,” Two Time whispers.
“That’s… how bodies work.”
Two Time hums. “Your warmth protects me from the eldritch winds of the Nether.”
“We’re not in the Nether, babe. Well, not literally.”
Two Time blinks at him slowly.
“Babe?”
Chance immediately looks away. “Shut up. You’re hearing things.”
They aren’t. They smile dopily.
“…Chance” They grab his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks a little. “If the Spawn approves our unity tonight, it shall send a sign.”
“A sign?” Chance repeats dryly. “Like what? Fire? Thunder? You suddenly sobering up?”
Two Time stares into his eyes like he has just spoken an ancient riddle.
“…It sent you.”
Chance’s heart drops straight into his stomach.
“Okay, wow, no,” he says quickly, ears burning. “No poetic epiphanies while drunk.”
“But it’s true,” Two Time insists quietly. “It sent you. Someone to keep me from falling.”
Chance swallows hard.
He hates how soft their voice gets when they’re like this.
He hates how much he loves it.
“Lie down, please.” he murmurs finally.
Two Time flops back dramatically, arms spread like they’re summoning divine judgment. Chance pulls off their boots, lifts the blanket, and helps them settle.
When he moves to get up, Two Time catches his wrist.
“Stay,” they say, suddenly small. “Please?”
Chance hesitates only a second before sliding under the blanket beside them.
Two Time immediately curls closer, tucking their head against his shoulder. Their breath is warm; their voice comes out as a slurred whisper:
“If I drift into the sacred realm tonight… will you follow me?”
Chance laughs softly, not mocking, just fond.
“If you start drifting anywhere, I’m dragging you back.”
Two Time sighs happily, nuzzling him.
“Then I’m safe.”
Silence settles.
Soft. Heavy. Comfortable.
Chance can feel their breaths syncing without meaning to, Two Time’s inhales slow and deep, Chance’s a little shaky, matching them anyway. The room is dim except for the weak orange lamp in the corner, buzzing like it’s trying to stay awake with them.
Two Time shifts, just a little, their forehead brushing Chance’s collarbone. It shouldn’t feel like anything. They’re drunk, both of them are. But Chance feels every point of contact like it’s burning straight through his skin.
He stares at the ceiling, jaw tight.
He should sleep.
He should definitely not think about the soft way Two Time said “stay.”
But his mind is loud, louder than the quiet room.
He glances down.
Two Time’s hair is messy from the wind outside. Their lashes rest against their cheeks. Their mouth is parted slightly, peaceful in the way only drunk people or saints can be.
They look… gentle.
Much gentler than they ever let themselves look when fully conscious.
Chance’s chest aches.
He tries shifting a little to the side, to get even an inch of emotional distance, but Two Time makes a tiny sound, almost a whimper, and fists a handful of his shirt like they’re afraid he’ll vanish.
Chance freezes.
Completely.
“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”
Two Time doesn’t answer, but their grip loosens into something softer. Their hand stays curled over his heart.
God.
They’re going to kill him.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time feels strange, slow, syrupy, unreal. The alcohol makes everything warm and floaty, but the feelings… those are painfully sharp.
Then Two Time stirs again, half in a dream.
“Mm… the sky’s shifting…” they mumble.
Chance blinks. “The sky?”
“Yes…” Their voice is foggy, distant. “I see it turning… violet. The color it uses when it’s pleased.”
Chance gently strokes their hair back from their forehead, not thinking, just reacting.
“Timey,” he murmurs, “you’re dreaming.”
Two Time opens their eyes halfway, pupils unfocused.
They look at him.
Really look.
“Are you a dream?” they whisper.
Chance almost chokes. “What—? No.”
“You feel like one.” They swallow, voice hoarse. “Warm. Like… like a blessing.”
Chance’s heart squeezes.
He can’t tell if this is the booze talking, or something deeper that Two Time would never dare say sober.
“I’m not a blessing,” he says quietly. “Just… me.”
Two Time hums, eyelids heavy.
They move closer, nuzzling into the curve of his neck.
“You’re safe,” they murmur. “You make everything quiet.”
Chance’s breath stutters.
He hasn’t made anything quiet in his whole life.
But Two Time says it like it’s undeniable truth.
Their fingers absentmindedly trace the fabric of his shirt, grazing the skin underneath. It sends a warm shiver up his spine.
“Timey,” Chance whispers, “you’re gonna regret all this in the morning.”
They shake their head, nose brushing his throat.
“No regrets. Not… not with you.”
Chance shuts his eyes.
He can handle teasing.
He can handle banter.
He can handle Two Time yelling about divine signs and cosmic visions.
But this softness, this vulnerable, intoxicating tenderness
this is too much.
He swallows, opening his eyes again.
“You’re drunk,” he says, more to himself than them. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Two Time’s voice is a sleepy murmur:
“I know exactly who I’m holding.”
Chance goes still.
Two Time drifts back toward sleep, breathing evening out again, but their arm stays wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer until Chance can feel their heartbeat against his ribcage.
And slowly, despite everything, Chance lets himself relax into them.
Just for tonight.
Just for this warm, blurry, impossible moment.
Two Time exhales softly, almost smiling.
Chance whispers into their hair, so quietly even he’s not sure he said it out loud:
“I wish you’d say these things sober.”
Two Time shifts, eyes fluttering, voice barely audible:
“…maybe I will.”
Then they fall completely asleep, heavy, warm, trusting.
And Chance?
He holds them a little tighter.
Because for once, the silence isn’t scary.
It’s full.
Safe.
Sacred.
And he doesn’t want the night to end.