Archive of Our Own

      It's been only four days since Twixxel died, and Mob's routine remained exactly the same.

      He couldn't mourn his friend. Verity simply wouldn't allow it. He always positioned himself in front of him every time Mob tried to go to the house next door—untouched by anyone since the incident, frozen in time just the way it was left. He couldn't see if there was anything left inside, or pick up any object left behind as a keepsake of his friend.

      Verity always seemed to scowl whenever Mob mentioned anything related to Twixxel, his smiling expression shifting into emotionless eyes and a line of disapproval on his lips. Mob quickly learned to swallow his words, not wanting to risk him turning into that monster that had chased him from the outpost to his house. The monster that had killed Twixxel.

      The blood had vanished overnight. If Mob hadn't seen the thick red trail on the ground, he would've thought Twixxel had simply left in a hurry, leaving all his belongings behind, the lanterns still lit, and the open door that had never been closed since.

      Mob still had the book his friend had left before dying, but he had stored it in his enderchest. He never mentioned finding it, nor did he dare take it out of there since that night.

      He really wanted to. He wanted to be able to hold the book, trace Twixxel's hurried cursive letters with his fingers, try to understand what he was thinking that day. He wanted to be able to hold the pages close to his chest and cry. It was the only thing left of him.

      And it was his fault.

      It was his fault that Twixxel had died, because he had called him into his world even knowing how possessive Verity was and what he was capable of. It was his fault for letting Verity out of his sight. It was his fault for opening the damn box Verity was in when he found it in the middle of nowhere.

      Often, he wondered if Verity would have come after him no matter what. If he had ignored the box, would Verity have appeared on his crafting table the next morning anyway, trying to impress him and make him lower his guard?

      Most likely.

      The most infuriating part of having to pretend Twixxel was never there was the way Verity insisted on acting as if his death meant nothing— as if Mob didn't flinch inside every time he heard that name.

      "What was your favorite thing to do with Twixxel?" Verity asked out of nowhere one day.

      Mob's hands froze over the latch of the chest beside the bed. The name rang in his ears. He didn't turn around. He knew exactly where Verity was: standing on the crafting table near the door, in his compact, spherical form.

      "You seem a bit down lately," the creature continued, his voice loud and with a false cheerfulness to it. "We should do something fun! Something you used to do together."

      "I don't want to," Mob said coldly. He dumped the junk from his inventory into the chest with mechanical movements. "I'm going out for a bit."

      He grabbed his sword and his axe, along with a few ender pearls that vanished into his inventory.

      "We shouldn't leave the house." Verity's voice lost a fraction of its false cheer, taking on the monotonous tone of someone reading a report out loud. "There is a possibility of rain in an hour. Not very thick fog, but with reduced visibility. You might end up falling into a hole."

      "We are not leaving the house, I am." Mob corrected. "You stay here. I'll be back."

      The silence stretched for a while. When Mob walked over to the furnaces to gather the rest of the supplies, he heard a light thud on the floor behind him. Mob already knew well the soft friction of the creature rolling across the wooden floor.

      Verity rolled until he was close to his heels, staying just far enough back not to get in the way.

      "You shouldn't go out without me, Mob," he said at his feet, terribly meek in an almost childlike way. "It's dangerous out there."

      "Yeah, out there," Mob let out a bitter laugh at the irony of the greatest danger to his life telling him that. "I'm sure it is."

      He went back to the chest near the bed. Verity didn't follow him, but he knew the creature was watching him.

      He leaned down to look for his flint-and-steel among the items he knew he hadn't put there. Verity was always moving all his things around to keep them properly organized, which only had the opposite effect: Mob could never find anything.

      That was when the sound started.

      It wasn't the smooth rolling of the sphere that Verity always made when moving from side to side. It was a sharp snap, like wood cracking. Or bones.

      Out of the corner of his eye, Mob saw the yellow mass writhe and expand, blurs of white and yellow forming from it like magic. The fabric of a suit rustled in the air, and the heavy sound of leather shoes clicked against the floor as the figure stood up.

      Mob forced himself to keep looking at the chest. His fingers trembled.

      Verity had learned that Mob reacted more readily to his warnings when he adopted a form that looked more human, because he started doing it more frequently after... after Twixxel. He'd noticed how Mob always froze, how he always listened and his attention snapped to him every time the now-taller figure approached him.

      Mob refused to give him that satisfaction this time.

      "Mob, you're not listening to me," Verity said, his voice calm and low, without his usual cheerfulness. There was an unsettling air of authority to it. "It's not safe."

      Mob didn't care. Ignoring the implicit warning, he let the chest's lid slip from his fingers and stood up. He didn't spare him a look, his eyes fixed on the door.

      He needed to get out of there; he needed the late afternoon air to clear his head and think about his plan before he did something stupid that Verity wouldn't forgive him for. He couldn't yell at him, he couldn't say hurtful things, he couldn't act like Twixxel's death affected him — even though it had destroyed him inside.

      He couldn't make him angry again.

      His hand wrapped around the cold metal of the doorknob. Before he could turn it, long, abnormally cold fingers closed over his.

      The air vanished from Mob's lungs. How did he move so fast? He didn't hear the sound of footsteps.

      "What are you doing?" Verity asked, calm, inquisitive.

      He swallowed hard, trying not to let himself be shaken by the tingling in his hand where Verity was touching him.

      "I'm gonna get some fresh air," he replied, forcing a casual tone despite the quiver in his voice.

      "Why?"

      "Because that's what humans do, Verity," he said.

      He knew he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have drawn such a clear line between them—put into words that Verity wasn't human—but he couldn't keep the venom from his voice.

      "But you don't need to." Mob felt Verity shift a little closer, his arm brushing against his own. "There's nothing out there for you. I'm right here."

      Mob tried to pull his hand away, but the long fingers tightened around his, pinning his knuckles against the metal with almost painful force.

      "Verity, let go."

      No movement. No response. Mob was starting to feel cornered; he swore he could feel Verity's suit brushing against his back with how close he was. He tried to pull away once more, but Verity's hand didn't budge.

      "Verity!" Mob pulled his arm back with more violence, and this time, Verity let go. Mob used the momentum to try and shove Verity away with his forearm, but before he could push Verity's chest as he intended, the creature's fingers closed around his right wrist and, with an absurdly quick yank, Verity spun him around to face him.

      His back slammed violently against the wood as Verity pushed him, pinning his wrist against the door. The creature's right hand struck the wall beside his head, cornering him there. Mob let out a groan of pain from the impact, his eyes closing briefly as his head throbbed.

      When he opened his eyes, Verity was leaning down over him, lowering himself until their eyes were nearly level, though Mob still had to look up to meet his gaze. There was a red glint dancing behind the obsidian black of his eyes, predatory and hungry.

      "Why are you trying to leave me?" Verity asked, his voice low, curious.

      Mob kept his eyes fixed on his, his breathing short and shallow. He tried to stay calm.

      "Verity, let me go."

      "You said you came back for me," Verity continued as if he hadn't said anything. "Why are you trying to leave me again?"

      Mob tried to wrench his wrist free, but the grip only dug deeper into his flesh, in a way Mob knew would leave bruises. His eyes narrowed at the sharp flare of pain.

      "Verity... you're hurting me," he grunted, his body tense. With one arm pinned and Verity's hand above his shoulder blocking the other side, he had nowhere to go.

      "Why are you doing this to me?" Verity asked. His voice sounded low but with an angry growl, as if he were trying to contain himself from screaming. "I did everything for you, Mob."

      Mob pressed his back against the wood, not daring to breathe. Suddenly, Verity's free hand shot up, his fingers clamping around his chin as he forced his face upward. His jaw clicked painfully under the pressure.

      "Are you really going to ruin all of this because of Twixxel?"

      Anger flooded his nervous system at the mention of his best friend's name, which he had been avoiding since the day of his death.

      "Don't you ever speak the name of—"

      The hand moved from his chin to grip tightly onto his jaw, his fingers digging into his cheek with enough force to shut him up.

      "Why do you to ruin this. Every. Time?"

      "You ruined this!"Mob forced the words out against Verity's hold, his gaze bloodshot with hatred fixed on the creature. "I didn't do anything wrong. I thought we were friends! You ruined it."

      Silence.

      Verity's expression went blank. All pretense of human emotion vanished from his features as he looked down at Mob. The black eyes were entirely swallowed by a deep blood-red that could be mistaken for black. Against the light, they seemed to glow. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. He hummed low in response, as if faced with an particularly bothersome riddle.

      "Why do you keep making this so difficult for yourself...?" Verity practically whispered against his face His voice low and quiet, carrying a strange softness to it, like he was sharing a secret that belonged only to them.

      His thumb sank deeper into the flesh of his cheek, the sharp edge of the nail pressing into the skin before slowly tracing downward. The sting came immediately, thin and sharp, leaving behind a reddish gash. Mob gritted his teeth, chocking back the sound that threatened to escape as the pain seared across his face. Drops of blood welled up from the scratch and rolled slowly down his jaw, dripping from his chin.

      "You're mine, Mob," Verity murmured. "There's nothing out there for you besides me."

      Slowly, Verity moved closer. His leg slid into the space between Mob's, forcing him back into the door and erasing the last inch of space between them. Mob’s breath hitched, his nerves instantly lit on fire.

      The rest of the distance vanished next, Verity's chest pressing against his as he pinned Mob firmly in place against the hard superficie behind him.

      "Get off me!" Mob shouted.

      He tried to push him away with his free hand, but Verity let go of his chin only to intercept the movement. His fingers closed around Mob's biceps with painful force, pinning his left arm against the wood before he could even make contact.

      "I won't let you ruin what we have."

      Mob gritted his teeth and struggled again, twisting and pushing, searching desperately for any opening, any chance to break free. There was none. Verity filled his entire line of sight, blocking Mob’s view of anything beyond him and leaving him no room to move.

      His right wrist throbbed with how tight the grip was, and his fingertips were starting to tingle, numb from how long he had been held in place. His hand couldn't move an inch against Verity's fingers no matter how hard he pulled, only making the area throb and hurt with the attempt. His feet slid uselessly against the floor every time he tried to pull back.

      Suddenly, he heard a snap. Dry, too loud to be wood creaking.

      For a second, he didn't understand where the sound had come from. Then his eyes went up, almost as if drawn to the creature.

      Verity's left shoulder was crooked. Not just crooked — dislocated backward and upward, at a strange, impossible angle, as if the bone had slipped out of place and pushed up beneath the skin.

      Mob furrowed his eyebrows in comfusion, unable to process what he was seeing.

      Until Verity's other shoulder snapped right before his eyes; the bone rose as if lengthening, and Verity simply readjusted his posture, suddenly a few inches taller.

      Mob's blood ran cold.

      He realized, with a chill running down his spine, that he had heard those snaps before. On the night Verity first appeared as that humanoid monster in the forest. When he chased him down from his outpost to his house. When he tried to kill him.

      Another snap sounded behind Verity's back. Something slid beneath the creature's skin, deforming the line of his spine for an instant before shifting back into place.

      "Verity! Verity, listen, listen— I wasn't trying to run away, I swear!" Mob pleaded. "I just needed some fresh air, ok? It was nothing."

      Another bone snapped. Verity's spine arched to one side. For a second, it looked as if only half of his torso had grown, leaving his entire body asymmetrical.

      Mob's heart raced. Please, please, please. Was he even listening to him?

      "It was stupid, I didn't— I was wrong, okay?" he tried, almost stumbling over his words. "I won't leave, please. Verity—"

      Without a word, Verity leaned closer. Mob tried to flinch away, his eyes squeezing shut on instinct, bracing for the worst.

      But nothing happened. Verity just rested his head on his left shoulder.

      Just that.

      The seconds began to drag.

      In the silence, Mob could hear his own breathing — quick and shallow through his nose. In the stillness of the house, every exhaled sounded unbearably loud when nothing else dared to make a sound.

      After a hesitant pause, he opened his eyes. From the corner of his vision, Mob tried to catch a glimpse of Verity’s face, but all he could see was the subtle curve of his mouth pressed against his shoulder. The creature said nothing, he didn't move, not letting go of him but not squeezing any harder either.

      "Verity...?" Mob called out, hesitantly.

      No answer.

      A low, vibrating growl rose from Verity's chest, echoing directly against Mob's ear. Mob's entire body tensed up again.

      "Verity...?" he repeated, his voice weaker this time.

      Slowly, Verity lifted his head away from his shoulder, but without truly giving Mob any space. He remained far too close, still hovering over his hoodie.

      The hand that had previously pinned his arm slid up to his collar.

      His fingers curled around the fabric, slow and deliberated. Mob felt the cold tips brushing against his skin beneath the clothing, while Verity's knuckles pressed lightly against his neck, right over the rapid pulse of his jugular.

      With a sickening calm, Verity tugged the collar aside, exposing the vulnerable stretch of skin along his neck and shoulder.

      A sharp wave of dread washed over him.

      "W... what are you doing...?" he whispered, the words barely making it past his throat.

      Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Verity's mouth part slightly, revealing perfect white teeth for just a second.

      Then his jaw unhinged wider than it should, his mouth widening in an irregular shape. The teeth retracted inward as if they had never been there, revealing a second row of sharp teeth behind them, which lengthened and lunged forward, replacing the primary row. His long, thin tongue hung out of his mouth, glistening with saliva dripping from the tip.

      Mob's eyes widen, his body freezing right where he stood. He didn't even try to break free, fear paralyzing all his muscles.

      The tongue touched his shoulder. The sudden, warm contact made his whole body shudder. The tip traced a lazy circle over his skin before slowly moving up his neck, leaving behind a wet trail that seemed to burn against his skin. Mob let out a whimper and turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut.

      When Verity's tongue reached the curve between his neck and jaw, it lingered there for a moment too long, as if tasting his skin. The hairs on Mob's body stood on end.

      He tilted his head away instinctively, trying to escape the touch, a low, broken sound escaping his trembling lips. His whole body was shaking. His left hand gripped the fabric of the suit over Verity's elbow more tightly, his fingers trembling and weak, unable to actually push him away.

      Verity's tongue pulled away for a brief second, only to continue its path from his Adam’s apple. It moved slowly, tracing the bulge of his throat before moving up the side of his jaw, nearly reaching his earlobe.

      Thin strands of saliva glistened along the trail Verity left behind, slipping down Mob’s neck and making his skin prickle.

      When the tongue finally pulled away, Mob gasped, pulling in air too quickly. His breathing turned ragged, each inhale quick and unsteady. Tears blurred his vision.

      "Verity...?"

      He could barely utter the name.

      His mouth opened to try to say something, but only a raw, guttural scream tore from his throat as sharp teeth sank into his skin.

      White-hot, overwhelming pain erupted through him, tearing through his flesh before spreading down his arm and up his neck, setting every nerve along its path on fire.

      His feet slipped against the floor as he instinctively thrashed, unable to escape. His left hand gripped Verity's arm, squeezing it with all the strength he had left — trying uselessly to get his attention, push him away, anything. But his body was firmly pinned against the door/But he couldn’t move, his back pressed firmly against the door.

      "Verity—! P-Please..."

      The words came out broken between gasps.

      "Please, it...hurts... Veri— mmhp—"

      Verity's teeth shifted within the wound, sinking deeper into the flesh with a wet gush. Another scream ripped from his throat before he could choke it back; the back of his head slammed against the door hard as his body arched in agonizing pain.

      It was a tearing sensation. The muffled sound of fangs scraping against bone reverberated through his skull, wrenching another scream from his throat.

      Blood flowed freely down his neck, seeping between the creature's teeth before dripping onto Mob's hoodie and soaking the shirt underneath.

      "Verity, please— stop." His voice was nothing more than a thread now.

      There was nothing he could do. His dominant hand was pinned, and he wouldn't be able to cause any damage to Verity with his left one, even if he grabbed the axe from his inventory.

      His vision spun; the entire image of his house behind Verity went black for a second too long. His legs stopped fighting and his weak knees could barely keep him upright, with Verity being the only one holding him up in that position.

      "Verity..." He didn't know why he tried to beg again, or if he was even trying to beg when he opened his mouth. He figured Verity wasn't even listening to him at that point.

      He thought he was going to black out from the pain, but the overwhelming sensation was exactly what dragged him back to the moment: his shoulder burned as if it were on fire when, suddenly, Verity's teeth left his skin.

      He moved, lifting his face to look at Mob in the eyes. Mob imagined he would see the creature's absurdly sharp teeth and its irregularly shaped, torn-looking mouth, but Verity was back with his normal face — his mouth just a thin line, his eyes shining with concern.

      "Mob," he called his name gently. But Mob couldn't consider that "gentle" when the area around his mouth was stained with his blood. Red drops that had trickled down stained his white dress shirt and part of his vest.

      "You're okay?" he asked in a quick, worried tone. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

      His numb hand finally dropped to his side when Verity let go of it. The hand on his shoulder was the next to pull away as he took a step back, giving Mob space. With nothing keeping him upright, Mob's strengthless body slid to the side, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. His vision spun and his head nearly slumped to the side with the motion. He felt like throwing up upon seeing his own blood on the wooden floor.

      "I'm sorry, I was so hungry. It's been weeks..." he heard Verity's voice behind him.

      He scrambled to turn himself over, forcing himself into a sitting position with Verity now in his line of sight, his legs pulled close to his body. His right hand shot up to hold the wound on his shoulder; his fingers instantly became soaked in blood as the area throbbed.

      Verity's body was normal now. Mob didn't know if he had changed back while still biting his flesh or if he changed back in the brief second he had his back turned, but he kept his eyes locked on the creature.

      "It won't happen again." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Not completely, just smearing the blood. "I was fine this whole time, but- you just made me so... mad when you were trying to leave."

      He reached out his hand, as if trying to help him up. Mob used his legs to push himself away, crawling along the floor, but he didn't go far before his back hit the wall.

      Verity withdrew his hand at the reaction, his mouth closing into a line, hurt.

      "I know you're scared," he continued, his voice remaining gentle, almost reassuring, as if they were discussing a minor disagreement, something they could just talk through. "But this won't happen again if you don't try to leave me. It's fine."

      "'It's fine'?" Mob repeated, indignant. Anger boiled inside him at Verity's casualness. "Verity, you just fucking bit me."

      "It's nothing serious." He had the audacity to smile. "No tissue was severely damaged, no artery was ruptured. You'll be as good as new with two healing potions and some bandages."

      He placed his hands behind his back as he spoke, his head tilted, the exact same way he did when he talked to Mob about weather, and statistics of loot, or organization. Mob's stomach churned at that. He felt sick.

      "Verity..." he said, incredulous. He couldn't find words to explain the absurdity of what Verity had done when the creature itself sounded so indifferent to what it had just done. "You just attacked me."

      "But I can fix this..." Verity took a step forward, and Mob's entire body flinched.

      "No, don't —stop!" He raised a hand, as if that could somehow keep Verity away. But Verity halted exactly where he was. "Stay there."

      Leaning against the wall, Mob forced his body to stand up. His legs were shaking so much that he had to move slowly as he pulled away from it, afraid of collapsing.

      "Mob, I can help you," Verity said. His voice wasn't cheerful, just low and gentle, a hint of regret so calm that it felt fake.

      "No, stay there," he spoke sharply, almost commanding. "Do not move."

      He went over to the chest on the opposite wall, walking sideways to keep Verity in his line of vision. Verity didn't move; only his head followed his steps as he made a semicircle across the room.

      Mob opened the first chest and began rummaging through its contents in a hurry. His trembling fingers tossed objects from side to side as he searched for the healing potion he was sure he had put in there. Every few seconds, he raised his eyes over his shoulder to confirm that Verity remained near the door.

      "Bottom chest..." Verity commented quietly.

      Mob froze for an instant before opening the bottom compartment.

      The potion and the bandages were there.

      A bitter irritation tightened his chest as he realized Verity was right — because, *of course*, he was. It was Verity who organized everything: every object Mob dropped into a random chest when he returned home, every potion, every weapon or anything he could use to attack Verity... it was Verity himself who organized it.

      Mob peeled the coat off him with a hiss as the fabric tugged at the injury. The garment slid down his arms and fell to the floor at his feet. The shirt underneath was completely soaked in blood. As he pulled it over his head, he could still feel warm trickles of blood running down his chest.

      He felt Verity's eyes burning into his naked skin as he downed the healing potion in one gulp.

      He didn't try to be careful about cleaning the wound and properly tending to it. Verity was still there with him, and he needed to leave right that instant.

      He just wiped the excess blood with the shirt, soaking the fabric before throwing it to the floor. The wound was beginning to close up from the potion — having only been the multiple puncture marks from where Verity's teeth dug in, but he hadn't torn away the flesh.

      Mob pressed a gauze over the bite and secured it the best way he could. He didn't bother trying to bandage it properly; he knew he wouldn't be able to wrap the bandage around his back over his shoulder all by himself. He just gave up.

      "I can help with that, Mob," Verity offered quietly.

      Mob slammed the rest of the bandages inside the chest before grabbing another coat.

      "I'd rather die," he said. He shouldn't have; it was too blunt and rude. He already knew where that type of response could lead, but somehow he didn't care. He was getting out of there.

      There was only one problem.

      Verity remained standing in front of the door, with the same blank expression from before.

      Mob stopped a few feet from him.

      "I'm gonna go get some fresh air. I need this, Verity."  The words came out sharper than he intended, thrown back at him in defiance of Verity's insistence that he didn't. "And I need you to stay here."

      Something shifted in Verity's face—so brief Mob almost missed it. Not quite confusion. Offense, perhaps.

      "Move," Mob said firmly.

      Verity's expression hardened.

      He didn't get out of the way, he just stared at him.

      "Verity—"

      "Ok." The reply came way too cheerful, loud and performative, accompanied by the same exaggerated smile as always, the same head tilt. He then took a wide step to the side, giving him room to pass.

      Waling past him was... unsettling. It felt like stepping around a predator that had merely decided not to strike. Mob didn't look away for a single second. He kept his gaze locked on those gleaming eyes, on that motionless smile. If it weren't for the slight movement of his head tracking his steps, he could have sworn Verity had remained completely static.

      Mob stopped with his fingers around the doorknob.

      "Do not follow me," he said without turning around.

      "Ok!" Verity answered, his voice carrying the same artificial enthusiasm as before.

      Mob didn't know why that made him more nervous than if Verity had said he would follow him regardless of his request.

      He hesitated at the door.

      The silence behind him was suffocating. He felt sweat trickling down his torso despite the cold wind from the incoming storm blowing in through the door. He didn't need to look back to know Verity was still smiling.

      Mob took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself down.

      "I'll be back, Verity," he said.

      Behind him, Verity's smile remained in place, but something flickered in his eyes. His bright smile faltered for just the smallest moment.

      He didn't answer Mob this time.

      Mob opened the door and left the house.