Chapter Text
The sun is dipping low over the oak treetops, painting the sky in soft streaks of orange and pink, and Blake is halfway through placing the final blocks on his new well build when Roswo appears beside him without so much as a warning.
He always does that. Blake never hears him approaching, never sees him coming, and somehow he is simply there whenever he turns around, usually with an expression that immediately tells him he is about to become a problem.
“Hello, Blake,” Roswo says, leaning against one of the spruce pillars as though he has been standing there the entire time. He has a stack of stairs in one hand and that familiar, crooked grin on his face, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who has contributed absolutely nothing to the build so far.
Blake keeps his attention on the well, carefully placing another block into position before answering. “What?”
Roswo watches him for a moment, then pushes himself away from the pillar and takes a few steps closer. “You know, you’ve been staring at that same block for, like, ten seconds. You good?”
“I’m building.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“So why are you asking?”
“I don’t know.” Roswo shrugs, glancing over the half-finished well before looking back at him. “You just look like you’re thinking really hard. Why waste all the energy on *thinking* hard, when you can–”
Blake finally looks over at him, interrupting. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just placing blocks.”
Blake stares at him for a second before turning back around, deciding that ignoring him is probably easier than trying to argue. “If you’re not going to help, you can go.”
Roswo laughs under his breath and steps closer instead. “Oh, so you want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Completely sure?”
“Roswo.”
“Alright, alright.” Roswo lifts his hands in surrender, although the grin on his face makes it obvious he has no intention of actually listening. “I’m just saying, you could use some supervision.”
“I don’t need supervision.”
“You almost walked off the edge earlier.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I stepped back.”
“After you almost fell.”
Blake exhales sharply through his nose and reaches for another block, refusing to give Roswo the satisfaction of seeing him react. “I’m fine.”
“Mh.” Roswo moves around him, looking over the structure from the other side. “You know what this needs? A bench for us to sit on together and watch the sunset. We can even use seapickles for cups like the hot tub.”
Roswo laughs. “See? This is why I’m here. You need someone with vision.”
Blake shakes his head, but there is a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. He quickly looks back down at the well before Roswo can notice, placing another block with slightly more force than necessary.
Roswo notices anyway.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That smile.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
Roswo leans slightly closer, clearly trying to get a better look at him. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Smile so pretty and expect me not to notice."
Blake stops moving for a moment, staring at the block in his hand before placing it down. “Maybe I’m annoyed because you’re annoying.”
“Could be.”
Roswo steps back again, apparently satisfied with himself, and starts placing the stairs along the edge of the well without waiting for permission. Blake watches him for a few seconds, ready to complain about the placement, but the stairs actually fit perfectly.
He sighs and looks away. “Fine.”
Roswo glances over. “Fine what?”
“They look good.”
Roswo looks absurdly pleased, continuing to work beside him as the last light fades over the trees. Neither of them says much for a while, but the silence is comfortable enough, broken only by the familiar sounds of blocks being placed and Roswo occasionally making some unnecessary comment.
Eventually, Blake steps back from the finished well and looks over the build, then at Roswo, who is still standing beside him with the same satisfied expression he has had since arriving.
Blake throws a spare moss block at him without even looking up. Roswo catches it one-handed, barely having to move, and somehow manages to look even more pleased with himself afterward.
“I need to edit now,” Blake says, finally turning toward him with an expectant look that is supposed to make it clear that Roswo should leave.
“Fair enough.” Roswo steps closer instead, completely ignoring the hint and stopping just a little too close for Blake’s comfort. “How about I stay with you while you do? Could get comfy together in the chair.”
“Nope!”
Roswo pauses, looking almost offended by how quickly the answer comes. “...I could bring azaleas? Or, as you would say, Blake, azebabas.”
Blake rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the smile that immediately pulls at his mouth. “Shut up. They’re azaleas. And you’re one to talk—you called them ‘pink fuck-bushes’ in your video yesterday. I saw the comments. Half the people lost their minds.”
“Hey, they’re pink and they’re bushes, and let’s be real—they look like they’re having a great time.” Roswo snickers, clearly delighted that Blake has given him an opening, before leaning closer and lowering his voice like he is about to share some extremely important secret. “Besides, if they’re fuck-bushes, imagine what we’d look like. If we were bushes. Together. Y’know. Root systems intertwined... branches all tangled... really close together...”
Blake nearly falls.
Roswo immediately bursts into laughter, doubling over as though the reaction is exactly what he has been hoping for. “I’m just saying! Nature is beautiful! And productive!”
“Productive—?”
“Pollination, Blake. C’mon. Keep up.”
Blake doesn’t say anything to that. He simply turns back to his build and starts placing blocks again, determinedly refusing to give Roswo another reaction, even though his chest feels strangely full and his face is still warm from nearly falling over.
He knows Roswo is joking. Mostly. That is how the jokes always are—loud, crude, shameless, and delivered with such complete confidence that Blake never quite knows whether he is supposed to laugh, tell him to shut up, or simply walk away before things get any worse.
And then there's everything else.
Roswo showing up every day without ever really needing a reason. Remembering the tiny details Blake mentions once and assumes everyone has forgotten. Finding excuses to linger long after he has supposedly finished helping. The way he always seems to notice when Blake is distracted, tired, or quietly pleased with something, even when Blake never says a word about it.
That part is probably just the bit too.
It has to be.
Because Roswo jokes with everyone, right?
Blake places another block and stares at it for a little too long, trying to convince himself that he believes that.
From somewhere behind him, Roswo snickers.
Blake closes his eyes for a second. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Roswo laughs softly. “You know me so well.”
Blake shakes his head, but there is another smile threatening to appear, and this time he doesn’t bother fighting it quite as hard.
“Just go edit your own videos.”
“I would,” Roswo says, sounding far too comfortable, “but this is more entertaining.”
A pause settles between them as Blake works on the flower pots, carefully arranging the last few blocks while Roswo stands nearby, apparently content to watch him work without saying anything for once.
“Hey, Blake?”
“Mm?”
“Y’know the Willow story?”
Blake pauses, his trowel hovering over the flower pot as he glances sideways at Roswo. “The Wishing Willow? That’s just a myth. Kids’ stuff. Like the Ender Dragon being nice or something.”
“True.” Roswo’s voice grows quieter, losing some of its usual teasing edge as he looks out toward the trees. “But what if it wasn’t? What if it was real? What would you wish for?”
Blake scoffs, turning his attention back to the flower pot as though the question is ridiculous. “I dunno. Infinite diamonds? Never having to deal with creepers again?” He pauses, then glances sideways at Roswo. “What would you wish for?”
Roswo looks at him. Really looks at him, and for once there is no immediate joke, no grin, and no clever response waiting behind his eyes. Something about the look makes Blake’s breath catch before he can figure out why.
“Oh, that’s easy.”
“Well?”
Roswo’s mouth curves into a grin again, the serious moment disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He turns back to his building as though nothing happened, casually adding, “Maybe I’d wish for you to finally admit you think I’m funny. Or handsome. Or both. Preferably both.”
Blake shakes his head, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“Only for you, Blake.”
A few days later, Blake is out exploring, searching for a good location to film a new open-world build when he finds something that makes him stop in the middle of the forest. He has never bothered mapping this part of the world before, and now he is beginning to understand why.
He's deep among the trees, following no particular path and mostly looking for somewhere interesting to build, when the forest suddenly begins to thin. Blake slows down, pushing through the last few branches before stepping into a clearing, and immediately forgets what he was looking for.
That... isn’t supposed to exist.
Everyone knows the story of the Wishing Willow. It's something parents tell their children when they want them to be honest about their feelings, usually accompanied by the same warning that has been repeated for generations: Be careful what you wish for. The Willow hears the truth even when you don’t say it.
But the tree standing in the middle of the clearing is real.
It's an ancient, gnarled oak with a trunk wide enough for three people to link arms around, its branches hanging low beneath the weight of countless leaves. Vines trail down from them, moving gently despite the fact that the rest of the forest is completely still, and there's no path leading into the clearing or any sign that anyone has ever been here before.
Blake stands frozen for several seconds, staring at it while his mind desperately tries to come up with an explanation. “It’s not real,” he mutters, though saying it aloud does nothing to make the tree disappear. “It can’t be.”
He steps closer anyway, moving slowly enough that some part of him expects the entire thing to vanish if he looks away for even a second. The ground around the tree is covered in soft moss, and carved into the weathered trunk are words Blake recognises immediately.
SPEAK THE TRUTH NOT OF YOUR LIPS BUT OF YOUR HEART.
IT GIVES WHAT YOU NEED — NOT WHAT YOU ASKED FOR.
Blake lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh as he reads the words again. “Stupid. Just... stupid.”
Still, he doesn’t leave.
He stands there with his hands in his pockets, staring at the inscription while his thoughts inevitably drift toward everything that has been happening lately. Toward Roswo, mostly. Always Roswo. The jokes have gotten bolder every day, the messages seem to arrive constantly, and somehow Roswo always manages to be there whenever Blake turns around.
It's sweet. Blake knows that it is. At least, he thinks it is. But sometimes it is also a lot, and there are moments when Blake feels like he can barely breathe without Roswo noticing. The attention is constant, the jokes are impossible to read, and Blake never knows whether Roswo is genuinely flirting or simply playing along with whatever bit they have accidentally created together.
That uncertainty is exhausting.
“Just... back off a little,” Blake mutters to the empty clearing, his voice sounding strangely small beneath the branches. “I wish he’d stop being so... obsessed. Just... let me breathe a bit.”
The words leave his mouth before he has time to think about them properly. He doesn’t expect anything to happen, and when nothing does, he almost feels relieved. The leaves don’t glow brighter, the wind doesn’t suddenly rise, and no mysterious voice answers from somewhere inside the tree.
The Willow simply stands there.
Blake rolls his eyes at himself and takes a step backward. “Idiot. Talking to trees now.” He turns away, already dismissing the whole thing as a strange moment in a strange forest, and by the time he reaches the edge of the clearing, he has almost convinced himself that it means nothing.
The first few days pass without anything seeming different.
Roswo is still Roswo. He shows up at Blake’s base most mornings, makes the same stupid jokes, leaves azaleas on the porch, and makes dumb jokes ever until Blake tells him to shut up. Roswo listens when he is told, technically, but only for about ten minutes before starting again like the conversation never happened.
They build together, film together, and argue over block palettes, roof angles, and whether flowering azaleas look better on the left or the right. Everything feels completely normal, and Blake finds himself quietly relieved by that.
Told you, he thinks. Just a story. Nothing happened.
Then the small things start shifting.
It happens quietly enough that Blake barely notices at first, with changes so minor that he keeps finding explanations for them instead of admitting that anything feels different. The first thing to change is the jokes.
They're building a new library together when Blake suggests a collaboration, Roswo carefully placing bookshelves along the back wall while Blake works on the opposite side of the room.
“Y’know, if we get this done by Friday, we could film a collab. A proper one. Not just you reacting to my stuff. Actually building together, talking, the whole thing.”
Normally, Roswo would light up immediately. He would grin, lean closer, and make some ridiculous comment about how Blake is finally asking him out on a real date, followed by some shameless joke about shared mics and close quarters.
Instead, Roswo simply nods without looking up from his blocks. “Yeah. Sure. Sounds good.”
Blake pauses, staring at him for a moment because the answer feels strangely incomplete. “That’s it? No ‘aww, Blakey asking me out, how romantic’ or something? No ‘I’d love to collaborate with you in every sense of the word’?”
Roswo finally glances over, looking genuinely confused by the question. “What? No. Why would I say that?”
“Because you always say that.” Blake laughs, though the sound comes out slightly more nervous than he expects. “C’mon. It’s your thing. The over-the-top flirting bit.”
Roswo shrugs and turns back to the shelves. “Must’ve forgotten. Sorry.”
Blake watches him for another second before forcing himself to return to the build. It's fine, he tells himself. It's just an off day, and everyone has those. There is no reason to read anything into it, especially when Roswo is still standing right there beside him.
But then more things begin to change.
Roswo stops showing up first thing in the morning. Sometimes he arrives late, and sometimes he doesn’t come at all. When Blake messages him 'you coming today?' the replies take longer to arrive and contain far fewer words than they used to.
Yeah in a bit.
busy rn.
k.
There are no long messages anymore, no random hearts, no can’t wait to see you <3, and Blake tells himself that none of those things should matter to him as much as they apparently do.
Then Roswo stops leaving azaleas on the porch.
One morning, Blake steps outside and realises that it's been four days since the last one appeared beside his door. He stands there staring at the empty patch of ground for far longer than he should, feeling a ridiculous little disappointment settle somewhere in his chest.
It’s just flowers, he tells himself. Who cares?
Then the jokes start changing too.
They're still ridiculous, and still funny enough that Blake occasionally catches himself laughing despite everything. Roswo has a whole new bit about cocoa beans and ‘fertiliser’ that has thr audience practically crying with laughter, but none of those jokes are directed at Blake anymore.
There is no you’re the only view I care about.
No we’d make a really good biome together.
No I’d let you rail me any day.
When Blake finally tries to bring one of the old jokes back up himself, he expects Roswo to immediately remember it and make things worse.
“Hey, remember when you said we’d be tangled in branches together?”
Roswo blinks at him, completely blank. “When did I say that?”
“By the well. A couple weeks ago.”
Roswo shakes his head. “Don’t remember that one. Sounds like something I’d say, though. My bad.”
Then he walks away to build the path, leaving Blake standing there with a block of stone in his hand and a strange feeling that something beneath his feet has shifted without warning.
It's better, Blake tells himself.
This is what he wanted.
Less pressure. Less intensity. No more wondering whether the flirting is real or just another joke. No more feeling like someone is watching him every second or waiting around every corner because Roswo has somehow made himself part of every part of Blake’s day.
This is normal.
Friends build together. Friends film together. Friends joke around and spend time together.
Nothing more.
So why does it feel so empty?
A week after the Willow, Blake sits on the porch of his half-finished library, staring out at the trees without actually paying attention to anything in front of him. He has been sitting there long enough that the sun has shifted considerably, but he hasn’t managed to convince himself to go back inside.
Wykull eventually drops down beside him, glancing over before following Blake’s gaze toward the trees. Neither of them speaks for several seconds, until Wykull finally breaks the silence with a quiet sigh.
“Y’know,” Wykull says, “you’ve been staring at that same spot for twenty minutes. And you’ve sighed four times. You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Blake keeps his voice light, still refusing to look at him. “Everything’s great. Roswo’s been way less... much lately. It’s nice. Peaceful.”
Wykull hums, clearly not believing a single word of it. He watches Blake for another moment before looking toward the path Roswo had taken earlier, then back at Blake with an expression that makes it obvious he already knows the answer.
“Right,” Wykull says slowly. “And that’s why you looked like someone kicked your dog when he left early today?”
Blake doesn't answer. How can he?