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There’s a distinct lack of wildlife out here notes Z as his boots flatten the overgrown grass surrounding his tent. No sheep bleating in the distance, no heavy footfall by mobs much bigger than he is, no bees flitting about the air like tiny trails of shooting stars—they’re in the wilderness, or the edge of wilderness, so there should be an indicator of life besides the two entities asleep in their tents. Of course the one and only time he wants activity in his world to alleviate the crushing loneliness clinging to him like a limpet to its shell, there would be none.
He knows what day it is primarily due to Regect’s incapability of keeping the words Valentine’s day out of his mouth in the week leading up to it—he’s all daydreams of dates with a hypothetical significant other and all questions of what Z has planned as if he’s ever cared about the useless holiday in the past. Some part of him hates how excited Regect is to celebrate a holiday that he shouldn’t have an inkling of knowledge about in the first place; another part of him hates, hates, hates that on the thousands of frivolous dates Regect prattles on about, he doesn’t seem to match the description of what Regect is searching for.
He’s mentioned strip mining quite a few times, how he’ll swoop in to assist them and take them out to dinner, or to tour one of Regect’s countless builds littering his world afterward. Z doesn’t want to enter a mine ever again. He talked of an entire night spent under a blanket of stars. He talked of a day spent fishing. Z can’t handle mundanity and he thinks Regect knows that about him and he thinks—knows with a sour hint of frustration that Regect wouldn’t want to spend his Valentine’s day with him at all. His restless pacing ceases as he tilts his head up, swallows saliva down his parched throat, and ignores the ache piercing his sternum that he’s become too acquainted with in the week leading up to today.
He can’t be what Regect wants. He can’t be what anyone wants. Who does Regect have in mind anyway? Another entity most likely because he and Msak are the only players he knows of and Msak has Ptolemy—now that he’s on the topic, he has been pretty friendly with that one guy. Martin? Maturin? Maybe they’ll go to the same restaurant Maturin and Z met up at, share some appetizers and entrées and have a disgustingly romantic evening while Z seethes at home.
“Z! Hey, hey, you’re here! You’re here! Hell yeah!” Regect sprints in fast circles around him before stopping directly in front of him with a clink of the chain around his neck. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he was smiling. Z’s shoulders slouch in defeat, a scowl already forming on his face as he angles himself away from Regect. “Dude, I built a—actually, come on, come on, follow me—“ He tugs on his sleeve on a mission to further ruin Z’s mood no doubt.
“What? What—what do you want, man?”
“Y-you’re gonna love it, I swear on your mom—“
“Fuck you.”
“So, come on! Before Moe wakes up—“ Regect extends a claw toward Z. He doesn’t take it, standing stockstill as he contemplates shooting him on the spot. Isn’t he supposed to be on a date with someone other than Z right now? “Okay, man, okay, seriously, I’ll—you know what—“
He blinks, disoriented and dizzy as Regect teleports them to some field a fairly far distance away from their campsite—their tents are a dot on the horizon—and lets him fall on his ass. “God, warn me before—“
“Ta-da! Isn’t it great? I spent all night building—“
Z squints before heaving himself off the grass. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to be like a—like a heart?” The structure he’s studying is freakishly similar to an anatomically correct heart. He almost wants to ask how Regect knows what a human heart looks like outside of Minecraft, but the question would result in another pointless argument. They haven’t had many arguments lately, at least not high-stakes ones, and Z would prefer to keep it that way. It allows him to indulge in the impossible probability of Regect liking his company, at least enough to stick around and continue putting up with his surly insults and his violent tendencies he never has been able to effectively tamper down.
“Uh, yeah, stupid, it’s Valentine’s day. I’ve only spent like literal days talking about it.”
“Why the—okay, but why is it—“
“The best thing that has ever graced this world? Thanks, I know.”
“I-I was gonna call it an ugly ass build actually.”
Regect gasps in what he used to interpret as genuine offense; now it seems like there’s no real fire behind the gesture. “You’re an ugly ass build.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He sniffles, shoving his hands in his pockets. It is quite impressive how he got his build to appear so accurate, but Regect’s ego doesn’t need the inflation. “Who—whoever you were gonna—uh, you were spending today with will probably like it way more than I do.”
“Uh…” Regect trails off, staring at him with an intensity that has Z ducking his head, an embarrassed heat rising up his neck. “Who was I supposed to be spending today with?”
“Wh—you tell me, asshole!”
“I don’t—oh,” says Regect. Z doesn’t like that conniving tone of voice. “You’re—you’re, like, the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”
“Shut up, I’m so—I’m—fuck you.” His fists clench harder than the one enclosed around the tattered remains of his heart. He is the dumbest person ever. He inhales a tremulous breath before he spins on his heel and is promptly yanked back. “Jesus Christ—“
“Where the hell are you going? I show you my awesome award-winning masterpiece and you’re running away?” questions Regect incredulously.
“Yeah? I-I saw it, didn’t I? Zero out of ten, by the way.”
“Oh my god, dude, I wasn’t done. You never let me finish anything—“
“Like what? What the fuck else is there you wanna—“
“See, you won’t even let me finish a sentence!”
Z snaps his mouth shut, smacking Regect’s hand off of his shoulder. A beat of silence. “… Well?”
“What?”
Z has to stifle the ever-present urge to beat the shit out of this guy. “You said I never let you finish anything. So?”
“Nah, nah, you missed your chance. I’m not telling you now.”
“OH MY GOD!” Z launches a punch at Regect’s shoulder before he’s aware of what he’s doing, evolving into a one-sided scuffle as he flails his hands into anything solid. He barely knows what he’s punching as Regect unsuccessfully tries to restrain him, but it’s not as gratifying to feel the impact of his fists on Regect’s skin as it used to be. The ache in his chest spreads across his entire body as he hiccups on a sudden sob, aiming one more furious punch at his invisible head before he uses his free hand to wipe his eyes.
“Are you—“
“You aren’t even fighting back, dude,” emerges from his mouth more strained than he’d like it to. He pushes himself off of Regect, hugging his arms around his midsection as he glares at the heart towering over them like the world’s worst monument.
“Yeah because what the fuck was that?”
“You pissed me off and—and you’re wasting my time.”
“Wasting your time? I obviously wasted mine by bringing your ungrateful ass here.”
Z has nothing to say to that. All he wants is to disappear.
“I had some—I had some great plans too because I’m super thoughtful like that—“
Z grits his teeth. “With—with who?”
“Really? Who do you think?” scoffs Regect.
“I don’t know!”
“You, dumbass. I know you’re an idiot but be so for real.”
“I—what? Me?” Z points to himself, mentally face-palming immediately afterward because that action gave Regect some good ammunition against him.
“Yeah, you,” says Regect; he can hear the eye roll in the other’s voice. At least he isn’t making fun of him. “I was gonna take you to a gun range—“
“There’s a gun range here?”
“Not the point!”
“You, uh, you never mentioned a gun range… like when you were talking about—“ Z shuffles in place, biting his lip. “About dates and stuff.”
“It’s called thinking out loud, try it sometime.”
“You wanted—“
“Anyway, here’s your stupid Valentine’s gift. You’re welcome.” Regect unceremoniously shoves a moderately expensive pistol he’s been talking about buying for a while toward him. His eyes widen as he inspects the fully-loaded mag, beaming as he twirls it experimentally. “Um, go have fun or whatever, I’m just—I’ll go.“
“Wait, no—“ His free hand grasps onto a flurry of particles instead of the soothing heat of Regect’s body. Goddamnit. “GODDAMNIT!”
After a few hours of wandering around aimlessly in search of his missing companion, he happens upon Regect’s carrot farm—he still doesn’t necessarily understand the point of a farm for carrots if no one in the group is that big of a fan of them—and cautiously pokes his head through the door. Regect is slumped against the furthest wall, mindlessly inspecting a carrot as he hums a disjointed little tune. He probably should’ve checked here first, come to think of it.
“Hey—“ His voice cracks. “Uh, hi.”
“Here to beat me up some more?”
Z cringes, lowering to a crouch in front of the entity, who crosses his arms like a petulant child. “No, I—we were—we were gonna go to a gun range, right?”
“Psh, yeah. Were.”
“We, uh, we—we still can…?”
“Z, dude,” he says around a sigh. Z’s throat closes. He fully drops to the ground, picking at his cuticles in a state of pure dread. “Just go, okay?”
“But I want to go with you,” he responds, feeling like a bug squashed under a shoe.
“No, you don’t. You—like, deadass you were gonna run away from me, so go live it up. Ask Moe or someone.”
“But I—“ To his horror, tears start pricking the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know, okay, I didn’t know—my bad for getting all weird and shit, but I was—I was—I was really mad that you—“
“Whoa man, chill out.”
“Were making plans with some—don’t tell me to chill out, the fuck?”
“Wait—that I was what?”
Z groans, crawling so he can join Regect against the wall. Their shoulders touch. “Thought you were planning an actual date for someone, uh, for someone else.”
“Uh-huh,” says Regect. “… Jesus, did you seriously get jealous of yourself?”
“No.”
“You totally did, dude! Oh my god—“
“Did not!”
“You did! Did, did, did!” exclaims Regect. The sudden mood switch eases the pain tugging at his heartstrings as he glances away, cracking a small smile.
“… Okay, maybe a little,” he concedes with a slight laugh.
“Ooh, me and Z sitting in a tree—“
“Shut up!” He elbows him before he stands, offering a hand to Regect. “Just—let’s go on our fucking date already—“
“Heh, you’re barely dressed for it—“
“You don’t even wear clothes!”
“All right, bum ass, let’s go then.” He takes his hand, interlocking their fingers together as Z grins. He doesn’t let go as they start trekking toward their destination, swinging their arms together as he whistles an 80s song Z doesn’t know the name of. He wouldn’t have it any other way.