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She’s not mad about dropping. There are a million deaths she could mourn instead and a million more things she mourn not having done differently in this fight but instead she gets up from her bed and shakes the sting of healing wounds off. Sure, that was a dumb death, but she has better things to worry about.
Like the ping on her comm, for example. She twists her wrist to look at it, holding her breath at the name that shows up.
Mapicc. The person who now had her beating heart for himself.
She bites down on her tongue to stop a light smile from appearing on her lips. If anything, at least it’s Mapicc and no one else. She can live with the loss if it’s him. Mostly. Somewhat. Not really, but she damn well knows that heart isn't returning to her. Not while he's trying to get to twenty total.
His DM gets her over to spawn. Her backup gear will keep her safe enough to run if he tries to go for another heart, but she's not too worried. He wouldn't, would he? Surely not. Mapicc is an enigma, a puzzle she's never quite been able to solve completely, but that's never stopped her from trying. He's an interesting guy, and his next move is a mystery to her. She can only kind of believe he won't do anything.
iHob is the safest place to meet, a place she knows well and not predetermined by him—just in case he's planning to trap her again—and she waits by a pile of furnaces and chests. An axe sits in her hands, her nails tapping against the wood of the handle, it's too new, not worn enough.
How much is he going to give back? All she can do is wonder. Thankfully, not for too long. A figure comes flying over the sideways tower as the moon sets, his shape colored a fiery orange by the rising sun, the sight of a phoenix, before his wings are swapped for his chestplate and he plummets to the ground. A well-timed wind burst saves his fall.
Zam can't help her smile as the wind ruffles her hair. Mapicc turns to her with a wide grin, bright and radiant as ever.
And then he winces, mumbling a "that was close," as he half-stumbles half-walks over to him, and the gist is up. She has to bite down a giggle at his antics. He's kind of a loser, just a little, yet she can't help but adore it.
They get to talking with ease. Conversation is always easy between them. They're always on the line between ally and enemy but they're still best friends—if you know someone as well as Zam knows Mapicc, you're either arch-enemies or best friends, and she knows which of those they're not. She can read the lack of violence in his posture as he transfers her items from his e-chest to the normal chests lying around. She saw the glimmer of relief in his eyes upon his arrival when he noticed she respawned just fine.
She deposits her new gear in her e-chest too in favor of the trusty gear Mapicc's so graciously returned for her. Though when she puts her armor away, she can't find her old set. Searching chest after chest, it's not until she turns to Mapicc himself that she notices what's happening.
Thankfully, the hand that twitches for strength pots and a shield can relax at the sight of Mapicc simply admiring the pieces in his hands. He holds the chestplate and studies the intricate patterns of the Dune trim on it, eyes gently tracing the gold in the diamond plate.
"What if I just keep it?" he asks, and there is the mischief that pulls the corners of his lips into a grin to show off the white of his sharp teeth. "What if I keep it and give you my set?"
The "don't," that sits on her tongue is swallowed down as her gaze is drawn to the redstone trims on his armor. What would she look like, in his armor? How would he look at her? Now that the image is in her head, she can't quite shake it off. Maybe she likes the idea, maybe a lot.
"What then?" she shoots back, crossing her arms.
Instead of answering, Mapicc gracelessly gets his own armor off and drops it to the ground. The invitation is clear. A scoff escapes her but she does nothing beyond shaking her head and kneeling to grab the first piece; a helmet that won't fit her horn. A thoughtful frown occupies her face before she looks over at the other again, though he's too busy undoing the straps to notice.
"Let me help you." The words are out of her mouth before her brain catches up. Now Mapicc stares at her, frozen on the spot like he's caught, an expression she can't immediately place until he's sheepishly smiling and lowering the chestplate to scratch at the back of his neck. She returns it, laying down the helmet to walk over and take the piece from his hands. "Here, let me see."
It'll be a little big on him, just a bit, but that only makes it more adorable. She fights the blush until she can push him to turn his back to her. Carefully, she lifts the piece over his head to rest on his shoulders. These aren't too intricate to deal with, thankfully. She can't imagine having to help him into a full ceremonious or decorative set—or maybe she can, maybe she enjoys the thought, but she won't.
Her hands work her magic. Straps are tightened with only little complaint. Every time her hand brushes the clothing underneath or even his skin, her heart stops for a beat, they're too close and this is too intimate to be doing out in the open. She keeps her mouth shut as much as she can, trying to keep her frown on her face as she starts to secure the pauldrons on his shoulders and she accidentally brushes the hair hiding away his bare neck. Silently, she wonders what the look on his face must be, but all she can do is imagine him trying to be as serious and focused as her, because she knows him and she knows he must be glaring at the grass to hide the gentle smile.
Only now do the trims on her own armor become evident to her too, the gold lines and patterns she smithed into it using the magic of a smithing table. With great effort, she keeps herself from tracing the lines on the pauldrons or the big circle on the back, light and ghostly as her touch would be, she doesn't want to scare him.
Instead she helps him with the boots and drops the helmet on his head before hurrying with the leggings so she can stop being so vulnerable at spawn, it's been long enough already.
And then it is her turn and … oh. The trust she has to have in him to turn her back. The faith in him not to stab her through the gut right then and there. She swallows the lump in her throat and nervously clasps her hands together in front of her.
"Y'know, I've always thought red looks good on you."
She hums, turning to look over her shoulder at Mape, who holds the chestplate in his hands and fiddles with it, looking about as nervous as she feels. At this, he offers a shy smile, then a wider grin like he needs to defend his tough reputation. She'll leave him to it, turning back again and smiling to just herself.
Mapicc is careful when he settles the armor in place, starting with the leggings and the boots. She helps where needed, like a foot pointed outward so he has space to work, but mostly she helps by keeping her laughs to herself so he doesn't get distracted by having to glare up at her, amusing as that would be. She wouldn't want him to rush through this, not when he's putting so much care into getting the pieces to fit properly.
Then comes the chestplate. He's gentle with the straps, claws kept away from her bare skin. Once it's at least a little secure in place, he makes sure her braid isn't getting stuck underneath with utmost care.
She tries to focus on the difference this set and her own have when Mapicc continues to put everything in place. Like the pauldrons that are pointier, or the layers the front of the chestplate has to almost make it look like a shell of a creature. They're more … aggressive, where her own are elegant, flashier, prettier, in her own words. Not that Mapicc's armor isn't pretty, but it's so much more like him. She'd never smith it in such a way—maybe a couple seasons ago, but not now.
"Why red?" she asks, trailing the red lines across her chest. They glitter and glow in the sunlight. It's magical, but she'd never tell him that, in case he might think it's lame for something to be magical. He'd say it's supposed to be intimidating.
Mapicc pauses, and if he shrugs Zam can't see it. "I don't know. It's cool, right? Makes me look scary." There it is, exactly as she thought. "Like I'm always ready for a fight or getting out of one."
"Like blood?" She hums. She supposes it does look a little like blood. Though, Mapicc's eyes do a much better job at showing off blood and the bloodlust that comes with him. Everything about Mape is red, just like everything about him is to show off he's ready for a fight. "I think it's cool."
"Yeah, I guess it looks like blood."
"And blood looks good on me," she says, a huff of a laugh escaping her. He's not even wrong, is he? There were definitely times where blood looked good on her, where she'd always be covered in it. Past seasons. Hell, even this one.
"It does." At least he doesn't deny it. Then he laughs too. "Last season … it was almost boring, man. I like it when you wear red … or when you're covered in blood."
Because it reminds him of himself, because Zam also loves it when Mape wears a hint of yellow, like they're always looking to own each other a little bit. She says none of it out loud. Wouldn't that be a crazy thing to say? Not much crazier than saying she looks good covered in the blood of her enemies, but she still can't get it past her lips.
"I do too."
Mapicc's claws graze over the armor a little. He's done, she knows, but he hesitates before stepping in front of her to admire his work. With some effort, he grins again.
"See? Told you we'd look good in each other's armor!" Something twinkles in his eyes, a searching expression he wears, figuring some unknown thing out about her as soon as she replies, the twitch in the corner of his lips betraying some kind of nervousness.
She shakes her head, the look on him too much, too blatantly something which she won't name but knows by heart at this point. "You didn't say that, you just wanted to steal my set."
He blows a raspberry at her. "Well, I'm still right. Look at me, I look good, Zam!" He twirls in place, showing off the gold trims like he's showing off a dress. At the giggles she can't keep in, he looks victorious. "You also look great, by the way. Not better than me, but …"
But still damn good, she mentally finishes for him. She knows what he means. The set instills some confidence in her, and maybe that's part of why Mapicc made it the way he did, to make it intimidating and so others know it's intimidating too. It's not enough to decrease the distance between them now. Maybe it'll never be enough. Maybe they'll always do this dance of wanting to be closer than they are, but it will remain impossible forever.
She wants to reach out. Like a fire in her chest, she wants to reach over to trail the Flow pattern on the helmet before slipping her fingers underneath to scratch behind his wolf-like ears. She wants her own expression to soften so she can watch Mapicc's eyebrows pull together and his smile freeze as he struggles to breathe in because he's unable to say out loud what he feels.
"You look silly," she says instead. Her shoulders might shake with her giggles, but she quietly mourns the loss of this moment when Mapicc rolls his eyes and pulls out his sword, holding out the hilt for her to take.
She tries to push her feelings down into a corner of her mind to ignore—an impossible task—as they trade swords too. She'll just have to live with it. They can have this moment and no more for a while, because they aren't teammates this season, they can't be. It's fine.
She can have this moment, and wait impatiently for the next.