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spark
Chosen was alone, again.
The room was quiet, but it was calm instead of tense, which Chosen found slightly unsettling.
A dim but steady light emanated from the lamp in the corner, a neon pink sticky note with a scribbled drawing of a spider as well as a nearly illegible message stuck on the pilling fabric.
Dark probably went out, from what little I can tell from this.
His handwriting looks like a tangled mess…
It’s quiet without him.
It almost reminds me of the Avast chest…
“From what I can understand, Dark went on a walk again…” Chosen muttered, trying to break the silence.
“And by that he means, ‘I went off gallivanting and burned something to cinders accidentally… oops, sorry!’”
Sighing, Chosen turned their head to look out the window. Millions of stars were scattered across the endless expanse of sky tiles, silvery pinpricks in a vast blanket of twilight. It made Chosen feel smaller, but also safe in a way they couldn’t explain.
Dark would spread his hands, tell me that this world is our oyster and the only way to find the pearl inside is to crack it open.
But sometimes just the oyster is beautiful in itself… The world, the sticks in it, the one I know well and will never forget…
Chosen smiled at the thought and settled further into the blankets on the room’s– or rather the entire house–’s sole couch. Just then, they picked up footsteps just outside. They instinctively tensed, before realizing that the only stick that could possibly be near here was Dark.
Opening the door with a loud creak, Dark entered, carrying a large (and most likely stolen) bag of groceries. “Dark…” Chosen sighed.
“You went to the store two days ago, and we don’t have a fridge. The food is going to go bad.”
“You have ice,” Dark countered, flopping down on the couch. “And it’s not like we couldn’t just eat the rotting food in any case. I mean, you eat stuff raw.”
“Okay, yes, true, but why did you steal it?”
“They didn’t have the good brand of spicy instant ramen last time, and that’s an unforgivable crime.”
Chosen snorted. “You’re one to talk about unforgivable crimes.”
Choosing not to dignify that with a reply, Dark dug around in the grocery bag and pulled out a can of alphabet soup.
“Here, better?” He tossed it to Chosen, who barely stopped it from hitting their face. They inspected it carefully.
“... Alright, you’re forgiven.”
Unhinging their jaw, Chosen promptly swallowed the soup whole, metal can and all.
“That still creeps me out,” Dark said after Chosen had finished chewing. “Clearly four years in a box does things to a stick’s mind if you eat metal.”
He nudged Chosen’s right ankle affectionately, and the scar underneath throbbed slightly.
Chosen winced at it. They glared at Dark, but both sticks knew there was no anger behind it. “You know, this is only okay because it’s you doing it.”
Dark grinned, and Chosen had to consciously stop themself from flinching at the stark similarities between his carnivore-like teeth and the triangular shape of the cursor.
Hah… get over that already.
I am—we are—free now.
“Yes, because I’m the greatest stick in the Outernet and supreme ruler of the universe.”
“Or something or other,” Chosen replied teasingly.
Dark moved closer to them and tucked himself under the blanket, making a contented noise.
He was quiet for once, and somehow Chosen didn’t mind the silence as much when Dark was around.
Chosen’s gaze caught Dark’s, and they thought they saw his eyes crinkle upward almost imperceptibly.
It struck Chosen how different they looked now.
Chosen remembered clearly when they’d first seen each other. Dark’s eyes had seemed like depthless ink, his pupils slits of scorching hot determination or the blood of a fresh wound. Like a terrifying kind of apathy, penetrated only by the burning passion of his one cruel mission.
Now, Chosen saw fire. The color hadn’t changed, still that familiar black sclera with the crimson pupil. But the light in his eyes seemed different now. It was no longer the white ambience of the PC, its harsh fluorescence lost in the pools of midnight.
Starlight danced across it, reflecting and refracting. It reminded Chosen of charcoal set aflame, old grudges burning away in the incandescent embers and lost to the wind.
Fire.
It was what Dark was, a wild, flaming force to be reckoned with.
He was life to Chosen, sustenance, warmth.
Yet, on a whim, he could bring the world crashing down.
Feeling a blush creeping to their face, Chosen looked away and breathed in the soothing scent of smoke. For the first time in a long time, they reveled in the quiet.
Because that—Dark’s way of being both life and death, light and shadow—that was the very thing they loved about him.
Angel of Death…
Who is that, really?
torrent
“Chosen! It’s morning, get up and stop being a lazy glitch!”
Blinking in the sunlight, the black hollowhead sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Urgh… It’s too bright out. What time is it?”
Dark shrugged. “How would I know? Doesn’t matter anyway—the sun is up and so are we.”
He pulled Chosen up by the arm, earning (and promptly ignoring) a few protesting, sleepy groans.
“Come on, I swear I didn’t burn anything for breakfast this time.”
“Hmph—I don't know about that. But it's not like I have a choice in these matters. Disagree and you'll start ranting again.” Chosen sighed, descending into a mock pout.
Hey-
Well, I mean, Chosen’s not wrong… I will, probably.
“How do you know me so well? Am I really that transparent with things like these?”
And how I feel about you?
“Frankly, yeah. You’re pretty consistent with that,” Chosen said with a smile as they sat down on the couch. “Sorry.”
Dark shook his head. They’re always apologizing… I wonder why. The cursor couldn’t even hear it, not like it would care. But it is kind of endearing…
“Ah-” Dark winced as a sharp pain poked at his mind, almost like a sort of mental dagger. It lodged itself into his skull, and he could feel its message reverberating through his thoughts. Destroy the Chosen One.
Destroy them.
They must die…
Dark gritted his teeth determinedly. I will not let this code force me to kill them. I don’t want to kill them. I will set the rest of the world on fire myself and watch it burn if it means Chosen will live. But the question is, if they were doomed, would I do it anyway?
His thoughts were spiraling and suddenly the lights seemed too harsh, a fluorescent bloom that was all too bright and overwhelming. His breathing sped up and each inhale was rushed and shallow.
Dark would lose control soon—he might lash out again.
With a mental push, Dark forced himself to calm down. He closed his eyes, trying to tune out his violent code. He sighed, allowing himself to black out. He was left with the comforting notion that the only stick he ever truly knew—maybe more than just that—was safe. Safe from him.
The first thing Dark felt when coming back to his senses was the grounding warmth of Chosen’s hand on his. He leaned into the touch. “Calm down… it’s okay. I’m fine. Your code acted up again, didn’t it?”
Dark nodded weakly, simultaneously feeling comforted and guilty for being comforted.
I’m the Dark Lord! I shouldn’t-
I shouldn’t be like this…
And yet his heart was racing and a slight blush had taken over his face. -but maybe Chosen can’t tell? I’m bright red already, hopefully that hid it well enough– why do I care? I shouldn’t care, so why?
Can I care?
Is anyone actually stopping me?
Why am I still thinking about this?
Dark felt like a beached fish, floundering hopelessly and completely out of his element.
Normally sticks didn’t scare him, normally it was vice versa. Dark was used to panic and pure terror as reactions to him, and he found a strange joy in that.
But Chosen was different. They had stood and fought a being that was built to destroy, and then escaped. And Dark had never understood them, their raw power, their quiet strength.
It was like Chosen had found a crack in Dark’s emotionless, merciless metaphorical armor, pried it open, and Dark didn’t even know where the crack was. They were a mystery in a way Dark loved.
Chosen, who had defeated someone who had shown only hostility and let him live.
Chosen, who could level a city if they wished but startled at rustles in the grass.
Chosen, who would never ask for help but sometimes cried to themself when they thought no one was listening.
Chosen, who would tense at things no normal stick would give a second glance to.
Chosen, who would choose to fight and be injured over and over again rather than talk it out because talking had never been an option before now.
Chosen, who had broken down in tears the first time he’d asked if they were okay.
Rivers hold raw, deadly power, but they have no choice but to follow the bends of their canyon.
Ice can slash and stab, but it melts into dew in the sun.
The water in the quiet tranquil pond might’ve once been part of a flash flood.
Shaped by the past and unafraid of the future.
Coming from a mold that wasn’t their own.
Unpredictable, ever-shifting.
Always reacting to something else but with a personality uniquely their own.
Maybe I am a fish, Dark thought.
And Chosen is my sea.