Chapter Text
The first session of a new life series always felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
Not because anybody was dying. Not yet. Not today. Today was jokes and forming alliances and everyone pretending that they weren’t assessing who would betray whom.
Tango could feel it. The tension. The countdown.
Voices started overlapping immediately, laughs and yells filling the air like static before a lightning strike.
“Rules first, chaos later!” That was Scott. Tango had only met the friendly cyan-haired man a few times, but his accent was unmistakable.
“The only rule in this game is chaos!” Grian shouted cheerfully, looking up from his crafting table.
Jimmy laughed, the sound brighter than the midday sun. Something warm and familiar and dangerous twisted in Tango’s chest, curling around his heart. He shoved it down.
——
They had decided to settle in a nearby plain, dotted with small groves of trees and patches of tall grass that swayed gently in the wind. A nearby river twisted through the terrain, sunlight glinting off it.
It was beautiful.
Peaceful.
It wouldn’t stay like that.
Tango started towards the nearest tree, more muscle memory than conscious planning.
“Here.” Jimmy’s voice was warm as he pressed an axe into Tango’s hands. Tango’s stomach did a triple axel. They still worked together like one of his redstone contraptions.
“Alright,” Scott said, already shifting into organizer mode. “Here’s the plan: split up for tools, food, and a slightly defendable base, then we work together on a small mine. I can mine for materials, you two can figure out who’s doing the base and who’s doing food. Meet back here to work on the mine at—” He checked his communicator. “4:30.”
Void. Tango thought. How does the man talk so quickly? “I can build. Jim, you good with getting food?”
Jimmy nodded. “That’s what I was gonna suggest. Teamwork!” He nudged Tango’s shoulder.
The contact was brief. Casual. Nothing.
Tango ignored it.
——
By mid afternoon, they’d fallen into an easy rhythm that felt almost natural.
Scott gathered resources with an almost inhuman efficiency, finding veins of coal and iron everywhere he looked.
Jimmy bounced between tasks, switching from scouting to herding animals to collecting random useful objects, presenting them to Tango and Scott like an attention-starved golden retriever puppy.
Tango built.
Nothing big or flashy— just a starter base carved into the side of a hill near the river. Scott had chosen the location. Near the water, hidden amongst the grasses, plenty of space to expand down.
They weren’t officially a team, but they all knew they would stick around. Nobody had to say it.
——
Time always seemed to move faster when Tango was building, though what he was doing was less building and more carving.
Before he knew it, he heard Scott and Jimmy’s voices outside.
“Tango! It’s 4:30! Let’s go!” Scott called.
“Already on my way!” Tango responded, halfway out of the newly built home.
——
They spent the rest of the evening mining. It went surprisingly well.
Scott handled planning.
Jimmy handled morale.
Tango, unsurprisingly, handled actual execution.
By sunset, they had enough torches and food to last a year.
“I’m gonna go finish up our house. You two can come if you like?” Tango reluctantly stood up, brushing off grass. Jimmy and Scott stayed where they were, still watching the sun sink below the horizon from the west side of the hill.
“No thanks. We’ll join you in a minute.” Jimmy said after a moment. Scott hummed his agreement.
Tango returned to the base, trying not to focus on the way they fit together easily, like flame and matchstick.
——
“Looking good, Tango.”
He nearly dropped the newly-crafted furnace as he whirled to see Scott leaning against the doorframe, framed by the sunset behind him.
It took him a moment to realize the other man was talking about the house.
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks. It’s, uhh, almost done.”
It seemed that Tango’s brain shut off when he was flustered.
Scott gave him a questioning look, but didn’t linger on his awkwardness. “How’s the food situation looking?”
“I got some cows.” Jimmy entered right on time, handing Tango some beef.
Tango swallowed as Jimmy’s fingers grazed his wrist. It was stupid. It didn’t mean anything.
Jimmy’s fingers tightened as a concerned look bloomed across his face. “You alright there?”
Tango prayed he wasn’t blushing. “Yeah, just, uh— just tired.”
“We all are. It’s been a long day. Let’s have dinner and head to bed, yeah?” Scott’s voice came from closer now as he took the food from Tango’s hand and threw it into the furnace with some coal.
“Right! I’ll grab some water for us to wash up.” Jimmy said cheerfully, already grabbing a bucket and heading for the exit.
As the door shut, Scott arched a pristine eyebrow at Tango. “You’re really tired, huh?”
Tango avoided his gaze. “Yes. I’m tired. Just tired. Nothing else going on.”
Scott made a quiet noise, but dropped the subject when Jimmy returned with water.
——
Dinner was surprisingly domestic. Jimmy had somehow whipped up a halfway-decent meal— a rarity during the Life games— and they enjoyed it together, easily gossiping and joking like they were out to dinner and not desperately clinging onto shreds of the calm before the storm.
Outside, the world carried on— players yelling, mobs hissing, the river flowing— but inside was a perfect sanctuary.
Everyone knew it was temporary.
——
Tango placed the final plate in the improvised dish rack, half-listening to Jimmy and Scott argue about something of no importance. It felt… odd. The peace. The comfort.
——
“Tango, you still coming mining with me tomorrow?” Jimmy asked, flopping onto the middle bed.
“Of course.” Tango replied, because there was no world in which he would refuse an offer like that.
“Day one: success!” Jimmy cheered. “We’re, like, professionals.”
“Based on prior experience, there have been at least three deaths so far.” Scott said, sitting on the left bed and crossing his legs.
“And none of those three have been us!”
Us.
That one word landed deep in Tango’s chest and stayed there. It echoed. And somehow, it filled up a void he hadn’t noticed before.
——
Night fell completely. They sealed the door and lit a small fire.
Tango busied himself with cooking and organizing and whatever else he could do to feel useful.
“Good night lads. I’m off to sleep.” Jimmy’s voice was slightly muffled by the pillow he was shoving his face into.
Tango hummed a response.
“Night Jimmy.” Scott murmured, not quite surreptitiously, pulling his overshirt off and tossing it to the end of his bed. “Night Tango.”
Tango stayed up.
Just enjoying the quiet.
The silence was nice.
The firelight was gently flickering, hissing and popping every now and then.
For a moment, he let himself feel.
The warmth.
The comfort.
The dangerous, traitorous, fragile happiness in the voice whispering this is good, this is safe, we can survive this.
He felt a tickle in his throat.
He coughed.
Paused.
Coughed again, sharper now.
Perfect. He thought. A dust allergy? Here? Now?
The third time, he raised a hand to his mouth automatically, trying to muffle the sound.
When he pulled it away, something was on his palm.
Not blood.
Softer.
And yellow.
A single flower petal was sitting there, crumpled.
He stared. His brain refused to process.
After a long moment, he looked around the stone room.
No flowers.
No openings.
No possible way for that to be here.
His chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with the coughing.
He closed his hand, crushing the drop of gold as if hiding it would make it go away. It crumpled in his fist, warm and fragile and real.
He stiffened as the petal remained very much there, then walked over to the furnace and promptly dumped the petal inside. He watched the fire consume it. Watched the tiny flicker of sunshine curl in on itself, blackening to ash.
He waited.
He waited for a lightning strike or another coughing fit.
Nothing happened.
“Allergies.” He hated the way his voice shook, hated the way the small charred petal seemed to say yeah, alright. Sure.
He retreated to his bed, chest still tight.
Somewhere deep inside him, something had taken root.
He didn’t sleep much that night.