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It always used to feel like walking on eggshells around Verity.
Logging in would feel like a weight being dropped onto Mob’s shoulders, making him drag his feet. It was like time itself was against him and no matter how long he thought he spent in this cursed world, it was barely half of what it actually was. It was infuriating. It was like that up until that one night… in the watchtower. And the next couple days after…
Mob tries not to think about that.
“Hey, Mob?”
Mob tries to stay in the present most of the time these days.
“Mhm?”
Verity has been making it very easy to do so recently.
“The furnace is going to burn out soon.” Verity states matter of factly, though his normal tone is lost on him, replaced by a whisper. “You should get your food. And turn the lights on— it’s getting dark.”
He doesn’t know what exactly changed, really, or when it did. But honestly? Mob wasn’t complaining.
“Alright, captain obvious,” Mob scoffs, though there’s no malice in his words, “why don’t you do it for me then?”
Verity doesn’t move. Neither does Mob. He wouldn’t dare.
The pair had come home from a long caving expedition and Mob didn’t even bother to turn on his lights before chucking a couple of steaks into the furnace and lighting it up. From there, he stripped himself of his armor and dumped most of his inventory on the ground, save for, of course, a very particular yellow ball.
Verity.
He meant to place Verity on the crafting table next to his bed before crashing onto it, he tells himself. Maybe it’s the truth.
But by the time he had gotten so, so comfortable, a rustling from his hoodie pocket made him jump. Reaching in, Mob pulled out the little yellow ball and sighed in relief.
And that’s where they remained for the next hour.
The curve of Mob’s body melting into the mattress while Verity rests calmly in his palm. Embers glowing and popping as they slowly turn into ash a few feet away, just close enough to keep the pair comfortably warm. The furnace’s dim glow seemingly the only light left in the whole world.
“Mob.” Verity probes.
Mob hums in response.
“Your food is getting cold.”
Another hum. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
Mob can tell that Verity is getting ready to roll himself off the bed to take care of the mess he left behind, but Mob doesn’t let him take the chance. He tightens his grip, holding Verity to his chest possessively. Verity makes a small noise, something akin to a hum of disapproval, and his eyes meet Mob’s for just a moment in the darkness.
Verity doesn’t protest any further.
When it’s finally pitch black in the room, Mob lets his hold on the other relax. He begins to move his hand back to his pocket, face turning warm— and he couldn’t blame it on the furnace anymore.
“Sorry, dude,” Mob chokes out in a weird whisper, as if he needs to keep his voice down when it’s dark and just the two of them, “I don’t- I don’t know why I did that. I just wanted to… I don’t know. My shits cold now ‘n I’m not even hungry. It’s whatever. Sorry, Verity.”
“Mob.” A whisper.
“You can go fix the furnace and the food… and the shit I threw on the floor an’—“
“Mob.” Verity repeats, louder this time to cut off Mob’s ramblings.
Mob is silent. Verity is too.
Carefully, Mob’s fingers return to caress Verity once again. They settle across his shape perfectly, and the smaller lets himself press against the warm touch.
Verity doesn’t feel like much; he’s soft, but not quite like fur and not quite like skin, either. His smooth exterior covers his whole orb shaped body, leaving no dents or ridges, even for his eyes or mouth. Despite the aforementioned eyes being seemingly 2-dimensional, Mob watches one close as his thumb strokes a little too close to it. It makes him smile.
Mob used to wonder about Verity’s body before— how his face, and shape, and shapeshifting… stuff worked. Over time, it’s really just gotten more confusing, if Mob’s being honest. Sometimes Verity’s face interacts with the world as if it was 3D, like eating or biting, but times like now? Mob could probably poke at his whole face and get nothing.
His thumb continues soft circles around Verity’s temples and the top of his head, brushing down his cheek once in a while like he was petting a cat. Before he knew it, Verity’s eyes were drooped shut completely, and his usual wide grin was a little softer. Mob swears he can hear him breathing.
“Verity.” He whispers, even softer than before.
There was no reply.
He really doesn’t understand why he wanted Verity to stay with him so badly. Why he… grabbed him like that. Maybe he was just tired, and comfortable, and wanted to stay in bed without a cold spot forming where the other once was, or maybe…
Ugh.
Mob sighs, feeling a yawn creep up on him. He glances back down at the little yellow ball, mouth now opening and closing to show little breaths as he slept.
“Of course you’d fall asleep ‘n leave me in the most uncomfortable position ever.” Mob grumbles to himself, but makes little effort to move. “I hate you, dude.”
The most Mob can muster is tucking his legs up just a bit, nearly surrounding Verity with himself now. He cradles the ball a little closer and hums.
“You suck.”
A moment passes, and sleep tugs at Mob’s consciousness more and more. Watching Verity napping in his arms doesn’t help the cozy feeling, either.
Mob looks around sleepily, as if someone would be watching other than himself or Verity, and before his brain registers what he’s doing, he presses a soft kiss to the top of Verity’s head.
Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, and maybe it’s the hunger, or maybe it’s something else— hell, maybe it’s this fucked up world finally driving him crazy. He doesn’t care. Verity’s asleep, and soon he would be too. Neither of them would ever have to think about this shit.
“Good night, Verity.” Mob mumbles against Verity’s temple, eyes finally fluttering shut.
“Good night, Mob.”