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“Good morning, Dad.”
Gold sniffed the air dramatically, letting himself be intoxicated by the scent of pancakes that had woken him up. His father paused his cooking for a second to look at him with a smile.
A month had passed since everything had returned to normal. A month since his father, along with the color gang, helped him escape the Minecraft Glitch that had captured him several months prior.
Finally, his life was starting to smell like something other than redstone and stone.
“Good morning, my little prince,” Mango replied, flipping a pancake mid-air with a spatula. He used the nickname that, at some point in the past, Gold would have told him to stop using, but now it sounded just right. “Did you sleep well?”
Gold nodded enthusiastically, leaning over the counter. Next to the pan his father was using, there was a massive bowl of freshly made blueberry pancakes. His favorites.
He couldn't help but smile with relief as his father gave him a gentle squeeze, wrapping his free arm around him.
Sometimes he still woke up at night with memories of the void and the silence of the Farlands; he feared he was living another dream and would wake up alone once again.
But fortunately, every time he woke up, he was at home, safe with his father, and nothing could ruin that…
“Hmm… smells delicious,” a third voice said, entering the kitchen.
Gold’s smile dropped like a dead weight, replaced by a barely disguised look of annoyance.
Purple appeared in the kitchen, well-dressed in a white shirt and a purple vest that matched his hair, which was styled back in a small ponytail with a few loose strands of bangs.
Gold couldn't help but look at himself. His pajamas were wrinkled and his hair could easily pass for a bird's nest. He had barely finished waking up.
Then he looked at Purple again. He frowned and looked away.
Mango looked up upon hearing the voice.
“Good morning, Purple,” he greeted with the same warmth. “I’m making pancakes.”
Purple approached the counter, leaning in slightly to get a better look at the pan and the overflowing bowl beside it.
Blueberrys.
They were all blueberrys.
One of his antennae twitched, and the expression on his face shifted for just a second. It was something small, almost invisible—any untrained eye would have missed it. But it seemed Mango had learned the young man’s micro-expressions, because he quickly asked:
“You don’t like them?”
Purple blinked rapidly.
“I do! Of course. I mean… they’re fine…”
He backed away slightly as Mango turned toward him.
“I can make you a different flavor if you’d like,” Mango said naturally. “There’s banana, raspberries… I think I have walnuts too, if you prefer them savory.”
Purple shook his head too quickly, lowering his antennae.
“No, really. It’s fine…”
Mango held the spatula still for a second and looked at Purple with a bit more severity.
“Purple, we’ve talked about this many times…”
The purple stick figure swallowed hard, looked at the blueberry pancakes, and then back at Mango.
“…Raspberry,” he admitted in a low voice.
Mango smiled as if he had just earned a personal achievement, before ruffling Purple's hair and starting a new batch.
“That’s better.”
Gold crossed his arms, totally lost at the exchange. Was his father really going to make raspberry pancakes!?
Just… why!?
If Purple didn't like them, well… he should just deal with it!. He liked them, and now he was going to have fewer pancakes just because of him.
Mango finished the new batch efficiently and turned off the heat.
“Alright, you two,” he announced lightly. “To the table.”
Gold went first, dragging his bare feet slightly across the floor. Purple followed, walking straighter, adjusting his ponytail almost by reflex before sitting down.
Mango placed two glasses on the table.
First, one in front of Gold.
Warm milk. With a bit of foam on top, as always.
Gold couldn’t help but let a smug smile spread across his face as he glanced sideways at Purple.
I’m first.
Then he served the plates.
This time, the first one to hit the table was Purple’s: a perfect little tower of raspberry pancakes, still steaming.
Purple looked up slightly, his antennae moving gracefully, and an almost imperceptible little smile appeared on his lips.
Touché.
Gold drifted his teeth.
Mango then placed the blueberry plate in front of Gold.
Finally, he served himself a couple of pancakes—a mix of blueberry and raspberry—and prepared a cup of coffee.
Then, he placed the jar of maple syrup in the center of the table.
Terrible mistake.
Two arms reached out at the same time from each side of the table.
Silence.
Gold and Purple looked up. The jar was trapped between both of their hands.
Small sparks flickered from both their eyes.
Then, Gold pulled the jar toward his side, but Purple held it firmly, jerking it back toward himself.
Gold tried to open the lid with his free hand.
Purple twisted the jar in the opposite direction.
The lid creaked.
Until, suddenly, a larger hand descended from above and snatched the jar away with insulting ease.
They both blinked before meeting Mango’s serious face, looking at them with a single raised eyebrow. That had to be the most perfected "dad look" Purple had ever seen in his life.
“Care to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Nothing,” they both replied in unison.
Mango rolled his eyes with infinite patience and, without giving the jar back, calmly unscrewed the lid and poured syrup for each of them—practically identical amounts. Then he served himself and placed the jar far out of reach of both teenagers.
The rest of breakfast passed without further incident, aside from a few challenging glares between Gold and Purple.
When they finished, Mango set his empty cup aside.
“Alright. Time to clean up.”
Gold stood up immediately, nearly pushing his chair back.
“I’ll help.”
He began stacking the plates quickly, grabbing his father's glass before he could do it himself.
Mango smiled softly.
“Thank you, my little prince. You’re a star.”
Gold puffed out his chest just a bit.
Purple, for his part, who was still sitting with his plate in his hands, hesitated.
“B-but… you always tell me it’s not necessary for me to help you clean up…”
The sentence came out small. Insecure.
Mango looked at Purple, surprised by the tone.
“Because it isn’t necessary,” he replied calmly. “Neither of you has to do it.”
Purple lowered his gaze.
“Then… why does he…?”
Mango leaned the plates in the sink and turned toward both of them.
“Gold used to clean them sometimes when I had to leave for work early. It’s something he started doing on his own.”
Gold shrugged, feigning indifference.
“It’s no big deal.”
The purple-clad youth looked up slowly.
Mango walked over to him and put his hands on his shoulders.
“My little prince, if you want to help, you can. If you don’t want to, that’s fine too.”
Gold felt something snap inside him when he heard that nickname.
No. NO. NO.
The tension in Purple’s shoulders eased a bit.
“I’ll… dry the dishes.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
Gold clenched his jaw but said nothing.
He turned to the sink, took another plate, and rinsed it with more force than necessary, splashing a bit of water.
When he finished, he held the plate for a few seconds before handing it over.
They both looked at each other.
As if the other person was going to set it on fire just by touching it.
Tension.
Purple began to dry it with meticulous movements, almost exaggeratedly perfect.
The golden-haired boy watched him out of the corner of his eye.
“You missed a spot.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
Purple turned the plate, checked… and, sure enough, a tiny, treacherous drop was sliding down the rim. Gold smiled with satisfaction. The younger one dried the drop without saying a word.
A few minutes later, they finished cleaning everything, and Mango leaned lightly against the counter, observing the result.
“Hey,” he said warmly. “It looks perfect.”
Both of them stood very still.
Mango took a step forward and, without warning, draped one arm over Gold’s shoulders and the other over Purple’s, pulling them close.
“Good job, boys.”
Gold closed his eyes for just a second, leaning almost imperceptibly toward his father.
Purple did too—more subtle, but seeking the same warmth.
When their eyes met again, it only triggered a silent, cold war.
The morning continued in a similar fashion: if Mango asked for something, two shadows sprang into action at the same time. If he needed help, two pairs of hands appeared.
Mango was confused; he knew something was going on with both boys, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was. Nothing was overtly hostile, yet it was dangerous nonetheless.
In the kitchen, they nearly dropped a glass jar when both tried to "better" its position. In the living room, they collided while trying to pick up the same cushion, and in the hallway, a shove that was a bit too hard sent a painting tilting precariously. Mango had already been forced to intervene a couple of times.
He had scolded them gently at first. Then, with more firmness when a lamp nearly ended up on the floor.
It was already afternoon when Mango let out a tired sigh, making a mental list of things the house was lacking. He had to go grocery shopping.
“I’m heading out for a moment,” he announced. “We need to pick up a few things.”
“Do you need my help?” Purple asked, as he had been doing all day.
“That won’t be necessary, honey, I’m just going to—” Mango stopped, coat hanging off one arm, unable to find his car keys in their usual spot by the entrance. “On second thought… could you go get the car keys from my room? I must have left them there.”
Purple nodded instantly, his antennae twitching with excitement.
“Of course.”
And he bolted up the stairs.
He smirked to himself as he ran down the upper hallway. This time, Gold wouldn't be able to get ahead of him; Mr. Mango had explicitly asked him for help, and Gold wasn't even there. He would be the one to go downstairs with the keys in hand and hear the "thank you" directed only at him.
He pushed the bedroom door open gently, and his smile vanished instantly.
Gold was standing by the dresser, keys in hand.
The metallic jingle filled the silence between them.
“What are you doing?” the younger one asked, indignant.
Gold didn't even flinch.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied with a half-smile. “I’m going to give the keys to my father.”
Purple felt something burn in his chest.
“He asked me,” and before Gold could react, Purple stepped forward and snatched the keychain from his hand.
The metal bit into his fingers. Gold frowned.
“Then you should’ve been faster.”
He snatched them back, this time with more force.
Purple’s antennae quivered before he tried to grab them again, but Gold was more agile: he stepped away with a quick pivot, backing toward the door.
“Too slow,” he mocked, sticking his tongue out before heading into the hallway.
That was the last straw.
Purple lunged at him without thinking, and this time, Gold couldn't dodge.
They collided hard and both hit the floor with a thud, rolling down the hallway amidst shoves and hands scrambling for the keychain. The metal jingled, trapped between their fingers as they pulled in opposite directions.
“Let go!”
“NO, you let go!”
Gold rolled over, trying to gain the upper hand, but Purple gripped his wrists, halting his movement while the keys changed hands over and over.
In the middle of the struggle, their tumbling bodies got too close to the edge of the stairs. They went over, rolling down the steps, blow after blow, tangled in each other, never letting go of the keychain for a single second, until they landed as a single mass of limbs on the foyer floor.
But the fall didn't stop either of them.
They kept wrestling right there, breathing heavily, rolling across the floor while the keychain remained trapped between them like some kind of prize.
Until, once again, a third hand descended between them and firmly wrenched the keys away.
“HEY!”
The shout cut through the air like a whip.
Both froze on the floor, still clutching each other's clothes. They looked up slowly.
Mango stood over them, the keys dangling from his hand while the other rested on his hip, a terrifying severity reflected on his face.
Gold let go of Purple. Purple pulled his hand away immediately.
Silence fell, broken only by their ragged breathing.
“I don't know what is going on with you two today,” Mango said in a firm voice, “but I want you to settle it by the time I get back. Is that clear?”
Neither answered.
“I said, is that clear?” he repeated more harshly.
“Yes…” they both muttered, scrambling to their feet.
Mango held them in his gaze for a second longer. Then he adjusted his coat, put the keys in his pocket, and opened the door.
“When I return, I expect to find nothing but peace in this house.”
The door closed, and the sound of the car starting came seconds later. The hum of the engine had barely faded when Gold snapped upright.
He turned to Purple, fists clenched and breath still heavy.
“See? Dad is mad because of you.”
Purple’s antennae drooped, but he snapped his head up.
“Because of me? You started it!”
“Because you butt into everything!”
“He asked me!”
“He’s my father!”
The air grew heavy again.
“That doesn't give you the right to treat me like I don't exist!”
Gold took a step forward.
“I’m his son.”
Purple felt the blow straight to his chest, standing frozen for a second. Something broke in his expression.
“I… I…” his voice trembled slightly before hardening. “I was with Mr. Mango during his worst moment. His worst moment, which was your fault.”
That stung too.
Gold didn't think. His fist flew out and connected with Purple’s cheek.
The dry thud echoed in the foyer. Purple held his cheek in shock for a second.
A second later, he was seeing red.
He responded with a quick spin, launching a side kick that Gold barely blocked by crossing his arms. Gold took a step back but countered with a low sweep. Purple jumped, bracing a hand on the floor to propel himself backward with a clean acrobatic flip.
Gold charged with speed, chaining together direct punches and an elbow strike that Purple dodged by tilting his torso. Purple countered with an uppercut that grazed Gold’s chin.
The yellow youth launched a spinning hook kick that forced Purple to duck, and Purple responded with a shove that sent Gold crashing against the island connecting the living room and kitchen, knocking over several jars.
Gold rolled, stood up immediately, and went back on the attack with pent-up rage. Purple blocked another punch and, with a sharp movement, pushed off backward.
Something unfurled from his back with a faint vibrating sound.
His wings.
He took to the air with a powerful beat, gaining height in the living room. Gold looked up, furious.
“Get down here!”
Purple didn't answer. He dove down from above, throwing a kick that Gold barely managed to evade by rolling aside. Purple’s impact against the adjacent wall left a crack in the wood.
Purple rose again, using his aerial advantage to attack from impossible angles. Gold jumped onto the table, launching himself upward in an attempt to grab him, but Purple spun in mid-air and shoved him down before Gold could get a grip, causing Gold to fall hard onto a piece of furniture, splitting it in two.
The teenager rose from the wreckage of the broken furniture, breathing with fury. Dust clung to his hair as he punched the air, his fist trembling with rage.
“Coward!” he spat, seeing Purple rise again. “It’s easy from up there!”
Purple dove again, but Gold was no longer where he expected; he was sprinting toward the hallway. Purple followed without hesitation.
Gold yanked open the closet where the cleaning supplies were kept and ducked inside just as Purple arrived.
FOOSH
The closet door burst open, and Purple was sent flying backward, landing dazed on the rug.
Gold emerged from the closet, gripping a broom with both hands. He spun it through the air with ease, taking a firm stance, his eyes blazing.
Purple sat up, wiping dust from his cheek.
“Seriously?”
Gold didn't answer, attacking again with his improvised long-range weapon, bringing it down with force—a blow Purple managed to dodge at the last second by rolling to the side. The broom hit the floor, leaving a deep mark.
The golden youth spun the weapon in his hands and lunged again. Purple deflected the strike with his forearm and backed away.
Purple jumped, deploying his wings again to gain momentum, but Gold anticipated the move and threw the broom like a spear. It missed Purple by inches.
The broom went through a lamp, which exploded into shards of glass.
Then, Purple descended with a spinning kick that slammed into Gold’s shoulder, sending him back against a bookshelf and knocking off nearly all the decorative books.
Gold responded with a direct blow to the stomach that forced Purple to land abruptly. They rolled through cushions and broken wood.
They stood up again, trading more rapid strikes. Purple threw a combination of punches and elbows. Gold blocked two, took one, and responded with a kick to the ribs that sent Purple crashing into the wall. A painting fell to the floor, its frame ruined.
At some point, the fighting technique had ceased to be clean; now they were just throwing blows wherever they could reach, with strength and fury, lunging at each other and falling to the floor again, trading disorganized hits, seeking to cause as much damage as possible.
Both teenagers were so absorbed in the fight that they didn't hear the sound of keys entering the lock.
Nor did they hear the door open.
A firm hand caught one arm of each boy, wrenching them apart with a strength neither could resist.
“What on earth is going on here?!”
Mango was crouched between them, holding each by an arm with a iron grip, his breath held and his gaze furious. The kind of look you only have when you find your house destroyed in a mere five-minute span.
Gold struggled first.
“IT’S HIS FAULT!” he pointed at Purple with his free hand, rage burning in his eyes. “He ruins everything!”
“IT’S NOT MY FAULT!” Purple shot back instantly, his voice cracking at the edge. “You started it!”
Mango shook them both slightly.
“HEY!” his voice boomed. “Explain yourselves. Now!”
The silence that followed was dense. Gold’s chest heaved violently.
“He doesn't belong here!” he finally spat, pointing again. “He can't just come out of nowhere and take my place!”
The word "my" came out like an open wound.
Purple froze.
“I don't…” he swallowed hard. “I don't want to take anything from you…”
Gold didn't let him finish.
“Yes, you do! You want to replace me! You think you can just come in and be his son? Well… you can’t!”
That was a real blow. Purple felt the floor disappear beneath his feet.
“No…” his voice was no longer firm. “I don't want to… I just…”
His words began to stumble over each other.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mango, I didn't mean to… I didn't want to fight, I didn't want you to be mad, I-I just wanted to… I’m sorry, don't kick me out, please don't kick me out, I can behave better, I can—!”
“ENOUGH!”
Mango’s voice sliced through the air. Both teenagers went silent instantly.
Mango let go of them slowly, but he didn't move away. His gaze traveled from one to the other.
“No one is replacing anyone here,” he said firmly. “And no one is leaving.”
The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of his next words. He took a deep breath. Once. Twice.
He ran a hand over his face before looking at them again.
Gold had his fists clenched and his eyes shimmering, holding back tears he didn't want to let fall. Purple, on the other hand, was trying to stop his from falling, blinking rapidly as if that could keep them at bay.
The older man watched them a moment longer before speaking.
“I suppose…” he began in a lower voice, “that part of this is my fault.”
Both heads snapped up at the same time.
“What?”
“I should have realized sooner,” Mango continued. “I thrust you both into a completely new situation… without asking how you felt about it.”
He made a small gesture between them.
“Suddenly, you have a brother. Without any warning or preparation.”
The silence fell heavy between them.
“I’m sorry.”
Both teenagers lowered their gaze to the floor, not daring to look at the other. Shame slowly replaced the rage.
Mango gave Gold’s arm a light tap to get his attention.
“Well?”
Gold swallowed. He looked at Purple for just a second before looking away.
“I’m sorry, Purple… I shouldn't have said those things.” He took a deep breath, his voice no longer sounding angry. “It’s just… knowing that Dad grew so fond of you while I was trapped in Minecraft… it made me… jealous.”
The word came out with difficulty.
Purple looked up slowly. He stayed quiet for a second. Then he spoke, even lower.
“I’m sorry too. I was so afraid Mr. Mango would kick me out now that you’re back…” his voice trembled slightly. “I was jealous too.”
The air seemed to clear a little. Mango looked at both of them. He gave their shoulders a gentle squeeze again.
“Those are my boys.”
Gold wiped his face with the back of his hand. Then he hesitated for a second before speaking:
“So… you’re not mad?”
Mango went very still.
“Mad?”
He stood up slowly. And then, with inhuman speed, he grabbed Gold’s ear with one hand and one of Purple’s antennae with the other.
“That doesn't even begin to cover what I am!”
Both teenagers let out a yelp in unison.
The house was silent once again.
Well… almost.
The sound of a broom sweeping across the floor mingled with the clinking of glass shards falling into a bag.
Gold swept with intense focus, pushing small piles of dust and splinters toward a single spot. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration.
A few steps away, Purple carefully gathered the remains of a broken frame, blowing away tiny particles before placing them in the bag. He reached up and massaged one of his antennae with a pained expression.
“I didn’t know Mr. Mango was the type of father who pulls on antennae…” he murmured.
Gold let out a small, low laugh while rubbing his own ear.
“Yeah… I didn’t miss that part. If you’re the kind of person who gets into a lot of trouble like me, you’ll get used to it.”
Purple looked at him for a second and smiled.
Gold kept sweeping… and then he became aware of what he had just said. He paused for a moment. He leaned the broom against the floor and took a deep breath.
“Hey…” he began, without looking at him directly. “About earlier… my apology… I meant it.”
Purple set down the piece of wood he was holding and looked up. Gold swallowed hard.
“I’m not used to sharing my dad,” he made a vague gesture with his hand. “It’s always just been him and me.”
He forced himself to look at Purple.
“I’m truly sorry for being such an idiot to you.”
There was a brief silence. Purple’s smile widened.
“It’s okay. I… I’m not used to it either.”
He gripped the bag of shards.
“I’ve had to fend for myself for a long time. And when Mr. Mango let me stay here…” he lowered his voice a bit, “I was afraid it was temporary. That once you came back, I’d be in the way.”
Gold shook his head almost instantly.
“You’re not in the way.”
Purple looked at him, surprised by his firmness.
“But we can learn together… right?” Purple added with a half-smile. He hesitated for a second before continuing. “Friends?”
Gold held his gaze. And, slowly, he smiled too. He reached out his hand.
“Friends.”
Purple shook it.
Behind them, the house was still half-wrecked. But for the first time all day, the air felt light.
From behind the kitchen archway, Mango smiled to himself, shaking his head gently.