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Verity knows everything.
He knows what goes into making something human. What makes the players different from the passive entities in game— not that that part was very difficult to comprehend. He knows down to the very atom, the very semicolon in every line of code what makes players so different. So… special.
But for some reason, Mob was ever so unique. So, so much more than any other player that had ever stepped into Verity’s world before. He pushed all of Verity’s buttons and when Verity pushed back?
Well…
Mob still stayed. That’s more than anyone else had ever done.
Maybe that’s why Verity was pushing some of his own boundaries experimentally with Mob. Though, of course, Verity would never ever mention out loud how vulnerable many of these new feelings have been. Never.
“So you… want a bed?” Mob asks, rifling through his inventory for nothing in particular. Verity had quickly picked up that he did this a lot.
Verity turns on his heel, his classic smile still plastered on his face, and gestures towards himself.
“Of course. I usually wait out the night sittin’ around, looking through your chests and organizing stuff, but it gets so boring.” He tilts his head from side to side for dramatic effect. “The only real way to skip to the morning is by sleeping, and you can only sleep if you have a bed.”
Mob gives him a once over, and Verity knows he’s choosing to ignore the fact that he goes through his items while he sleeps. With a shrug, Mob turns away.
“Makes sense to me.”
Fleeting sunlight filters through the windows just long enough for Mob to craft a second bed and place it next to his, upon Verity’s request of course. Verity watches as the sheets are thrown on the mattress, then the comforter, and then a pillow, and a strange prickle creeps up the back of his neck.
And he knows what it is, of course. Verity knows what he’s feeling, because Verity knows everything. He’s just… not used to… feeling everything.
That’s something that made Mob different. He makes Verity feel.
He never thought he could do such a thing.
Verity dismisses the tingles of nerves as best as he can and takes a seat at the edge of his bed. He watches Mob go through his nightly routine; armor onto the armor stand. Weapons in one chest, everything else in another. Hoodie tossed to the side and boots left carelessly wherever they got kicked off. And one by one as Mob circles the house, he dims the lanterns down until they fizzle out entirely, leaving only the dim glow of the half moon peeking over the horizon to guide his way to the bed.
Mob doesn’t seem to notice Verity’s awkwardness, and maybe for once, Verity is thankful for Mob not paying attention to him.
In the near complete darkness, Mob finds his bed and flops down onto it, as he always does, sighing into the pillow. He barely wiggles his way under the blankets before giving into the tiredness of his body.
“G’night, Verity.” He mutters, barely audible.
“Good night, Mob.”
Verity takes that as his cue to snap out of his daze and get into bed himself. He lays on his back, pulls the sheets and drapes them over his body, laying his head on the pillow perfectly. It's not exactly… comfortable, but it definitely feels way nicer than sitting on a crafting table all night waiting for Mob to wake up.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath…
Okay, okay, maybe this is… really uncomfortable. His neck is angled upwards just a little too much and everything feels so… stiff.
A frustrated sigh leaves his chest and Verity’s propping himself up on his elbows. He turns towards Mob’s side of the bed.
How do players do this all night? How do they fall asleep like this—
Verity’s thoughts are cut short when he sees Mob.
Right.
Mob was already out cold, passed out on his stomach where he had dropped himself on the bed before. He had one arm tucked away under his stomach and one cradling his own face. His arm was smushed between his face and the pillow.
Mob was different from other players. He even slept differently. Verity makes a mental note to add that to the list of things that made Mob endearing unique.
Maybe if I…
Verity turns himself over, resting his weight to lay on his side. He’s facing Mob now, and the window, which was nice. He was used to watching Mob sleep anyways, so maybe a familiar sight would be helpful.
He closes his eyes. It’s dark, obviously, but that’s nothing new. Verity knows he’s not asleep yet. He knows it takes on average ten to twenty minutes to drift off. And since it’s his first time—
Huff…
Since it’s his first time trying to sleep in this form, who knows how long it might take! He knows that Mob falls asleep really quickly, but that’s just because he’s always over exerting himself and—
Huff…
Verity feels his face twitch, and his eyes peek open.
Huff…
He’s a foot away from Mob and yet Mob is still close enough to breathe on him.
In any other scenario, Verity might have been happy. He might have been ecstatic, even. But right now? Every little gust of wind Mob blew his way took him further and further from his objective.
With a groan, and a silent apology to Mob, he flips himself over to his other side.
Now, staring into the darkness of the house, closing his eyes felt unnerving. It took courage to squeeze them shut and when he finally did, Verity was stuck in his loop of talking to himself and counting minutes.
Verity knows everything, and yet he can’t figure out how the hell to make himself just fall asleep.
It felt like days of sitting in that one position— Verity even starts to feel his body sinking into the bed.
Maybe sleeping isn’t for me.
A few more moments pass by and Verity lets himself sit up, disappointed and unsatisfied. It’s still dark outside, but the moon seems to have crossed over towards the other end of the sky, meaning the night would soon end and so would this seemingly endless torture.
“Mob—“ Verity stops himself before speaking too loudly, realizing that the player desperately needs his sleep.
Hm…
I guess there’s still time to do some of the stuff I normally do…
Verity kicks the blanket off his legs and steps off the bed. His legs are a little wobbly, maybe from laying down for so long.
I can cook some of Mob’s food for him, probably. He’s getting low.
Verity makes a beeline towards the stairs, crossing the room quickly and quietly sorting through chests for the chicken he knows Mob dropped off upstairs earlier this evening. He opens the chest; the third one to the right, and…
Empty..?
Oh, um… maybe it was the fourth one…
Verity checks the chest, and the next chest, and the other after it too. There's no way he’s wrong. He’s never wrong, it’s not a possibility. Maybe Mob moved his stuff around? Or maybe Verity did… and didn’t remember?
He tries so hard to ignore the unease he feels but it washes over him in waves like he’s never experienced before and it makes him sweat. He feels like something horrible is about to happen but he can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Why are you going through my stuff?”
Mob’s echoed voice cuts through the silence and Verity whips himself around.
Mob is dressed again, donning his full diamond armor and sword. The biggest difference now? The sword is drawn and pointed towards Verity.
Before Verity can form any kind of answer, Mob takes a step forward. The moonlight catches in his armor and his sword, the tip of which is threateningly close to Verity. Verity steps back, and Mob follows with another forward until Verity’s back is against the cold windowpane.
Mob’s glare is almost as intense as the blade he holds. He presses the tip against Verity’s chest just a little bit, and it doesn’t hurt. He knows it should, but it doesn’t. Verity still reels back from the contact, and Mob presses further.
He presses and presses, and Verity recoils, until there’s a shatter.
The window gives way behind him and Verity doesn’t have enough time to come up with something to catch himself. He’s falling before he knows it and it’s the most terrifying feeling he’s ever had the misfortune of feeling before. He clenches his eyes shut and braces for the impact—
And with a gasp, Verity sits up in his bed. His heart is pounding a mile a minute and there’s a ringing in his ears that he can’t quite get rid of. Everything’s blurry and he’s panting and…
He was asleep.
He was sleeping.
God…
His hands cover his face while he lets his heart calm down.
Verity glanced behind him. Mob was still sleeping, head buried even further into his pillow now. Verity doesn’t know how he can even breathe like that. It makes him chuckle.
Well, at least that’s comforting.
———
Mob woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread and warm sunlight in his hair. He grumbles to himself and finally pulls the blankets over his whole body after being exposed most of the night.
“Good morning, Mob!”
“Mhm.”
Mob snakes a hand out from his fortress of comfort to give a weary middle finger in the general direction of Verity’s voice. It takes him a few more minutes before he’s able to lift his head up.
“Wait…” Mob rubs his eyes, “I thought you were sleeping?”
“Oh, I did!” Verity confirms, dropping a couple more loaves of bread into a basket. “It was absolutely horrendous.”
“No way.” Mob shakes his head in bewilderment, “You must’ve been doing it wrong. Sleep is, like, the best thing ever.”
Verity nods thoughtfully, then replies, “Is it better than breakfast?” He holds out a plate with a couple of eggs and bacon, plus a warm loaf of bread that was just pulled out of the furnace.
“No. Never.” Mob practically trips over himself to reach the kitchen.
After a few bites, he asks, “So… Do you think you wanna try eating something like this next?”
“I think I’m done with new experiences for a little while, Mob…”