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“I need your help with something.”
“What’s up?”
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s the favor?”
///
It was hard for Sapnap to be cold, physically speaking. His body temperature was higher than the average person’s, the first time he had shook hands with someone after arriving at the SMP they had thought he was running a fever. Now-a-days all Sapnap felt was cold, though he was warm to the touch his joints ached, his heart and stomach were a never ending pit filled with ice. Every turn of a corner in the house had him run face to face with a memory that felt like icicles stabbing through his heart.
The feeling he never got used to, no matter how much time passed since he last saw his fiances.
Today started no differently than any other day that had come to pass, he woke up alone, the bed was warm, the blankets soft, wrapped around his body. The bed was too large for just one person, and as he rolled out of bed he was hit with memories of grumbling voices, morning breath and sleep filled laughter. Some days he had to physically force himself to get up and get ready, and each day it got harder and harder to do.
He ate breakfast in silence, the clinking of silverware almost echoing in the empty house that consumed him. The sink was filled with dishes he couldn’t bring himself to clean, the pantries running close to empty, but hunger was a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite some time.
Once he was finished it was easy to fall into his routine, one that felt as if it had taken him years to get used to. After breakfast he showered, the water borderline boiling as it rolled down his shoulders, down his back. He wished sometimes he wasn’t a blaze hybrid, so that heat and high temperatures actually did something to him— he would take the feeling of being burnt over the icy, numbness that ran through his body.
After taking a shower that ranged anywhere between ten minutes to an hour, he stood in the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist as he waited for the room to cool down, waiting for the slight hint of himself in the mirror. He brushed his teeth, sometimes pressing too aggressively as he spat out bloody toothpaste, debated on washing his face after, then left to get changed.
As he walked back through the hall, uncaring as water droplets fell onto the ground beneath him, he tried to focus on tasks ahead of him. If he focused on the idea of mining and what materials he needed for the next project he was to throw himself into he wouldn’t allow the all consuming emptiness to control him.
He grabbed random clothes from his dresser, realizing he was running quite low on clean clothes. Making a mental note to do some laundry, he had to force his gaze away. It was stupid, to him at least, that a pair of clothing was enough to almost make him cry. A pair of boxers Quackity had bought him as a gag gift, not thinking his at the time boyfriend would cherish them. They were black, with tiny prints of charmander all across them.
“Get it? ‘Cause he’s a fire type, and technically speaking you are as well!”
Sapnap looked up from the material in his hands, eyebrow raised, the serious facade almost breaking at the childish look of joy on his boyfriend’s face.
“Does this mean you’re an air type pokemon?” Karl couldn’t contain the amused giggles, cross legged on the grass as he waited patiently for Sapnap to finish opening Quackity’s gifts, to move on towards his.
Quackity frowned, “They’re called flying types, Karl.”
“Yeah Karl!”
Those moments had been so simple, happy and innocent. Sapnap almost hated younger him— so oblivious to the pain that was heading in his direction. He got changed in an almost haze, eyes clouded as he moved around on autopilot. He glanced towards the bed— was today a messy bed or make the bed type of day?
He sighed; he might as well make it look less slept in. He moved the sheets about, not bothering to make it even as Karl would have insisted it be. His hands brushed against something, cooler to the touch, and not a blanket. He frowned, shifting forward to pull out whatever may be in their his bed.
An envelope, folded neatly and stamped shut sat on his bed. Had he written someone a letter and forgotten? It was unlikely, but other than him he had been the only person in the household for weeks.
He flipped it over, the only thing written on the front, cursive font staring back at him, was Sapnap.
His breath hitched, and he felt like crying or bursting into laughter. He recognized the handwriting, as neat and precise as ever.
Karl’s handwriting.
Perhaps one of his old writings had fallen, though from where, Sapnap had no idea.
It was addressed to him, however. He had half a mind not to read it— maybe Karl had snuck in last night, dropping off this letter with some excuse on where he’s been or half assing an apology. Or maybe it was a break up letter and he was too much of a coward to say it to Sapnap’s face.
But he was peeling it open before he knew what he was doing, unfolding the paper, the scent of smoke and ink wafting out.
My dearest Sapnap,
I used to believe that we had all the time in the world, that we were in control of our own lives. How could I not have? I had heard stories of an unkind universe, of a mistress who was cold, and cruel, punishing the good and rewarding the evil. But somehow in the confusing world we lived in, I landed in a world where I met you and Quackity. A world where a simple, devotional man like me got to love and be loved by two of the best people in the world.
It seemed as if the world here was figured out, plans laid out before us, and I benefited because I got to have two amazing people in my life. I let myself grow weak and naive, I let my guard down and thought that those moments of pure happiness would last. I thought that the darkness in my life was gone, that when the three of us came together it was enough to erase the darkness of our pasts and ignore the chaos surrounding us.
I was wrong, of course. Proven so, so very wrong. And I am so sorry that you and Quackity had to be punished for my mishaps. I know if I were there now you would be telling me it wasn’t my fault, and the world wasn’t resting on my shoulders. It may not be— but it feels like it is.
I’m so sorry I left you. I’m so sorry you had to deal with me when I got back, when my memories were not of you. I’m sorry for all the times I called you James or any other wrong names, and I’m so sorry that you had to deal with this alone. I know you were terrified, you were hurt and upset and mad and you had every single right to be. Nothing will ever make this right, nothing will ever erase these moments or these memories. Our mistakes were assuming we could ignore the past, ignore the bad things. We can’t.
Please never think me wandering for days or weeks was your fault, it never was and it never will be. You and Quackity kept me tied to this world, I wore my rings every single day, and even if I couldn’t remember who you were I knew that those who gave me them were beyond important. You are an amazing human, my love, my dear, my Sapnap.
I love you. I cannot say it enough— I love you I love you I love you I love you. Please understand that, understand it and feel it. I love you, I love Quackity, I love us and I love who we are destined to be. You may not see it or believe me now, I understand that, I’m not there and I know this, I remember now. You are my light, you are my love, and you are enough no matter what it may seem like now.
I will be seeing you soon enough my dear, I love you, starlight,
Karl.
///
Las Nevadas was bright, it was colorful and inviting. The lights could be seen miles away, and with the help of his co-workers, people from outside of the SMP came to visit, gambling away diamonds and emeralds, some richer folks gambling away lives or totems of undying. The casinos and the rooms were filled with chatter and laughter, Quackity was always surrounded by people, patted on the back and had drinks toasted towards him.
He had never felt more alone.
He didn’t want this, not really.
The lights were blinding, and now with only one working eye, his depth perception was worse. He went to bed with migraines almost every night, and would wake up with the throbbing pain still there. His mornings were filled with filling out paperwork and downing pain meds dry, having grown used to the uncomfortable pain that came with it.
He had to force those thoughts away— memories of fingers carding through his hair to chase away headaches, soft words and whispered praises as he drifted off to sleep. He got phantom feelings sometimes, when he was drifting off after bad days— feeling like people were next to him, and if he shut his eyes tight enough he could pretend he wasn’t alone.
He was pathetic.
He sighed, sitting back in his chair, fingers and hands stained with ink as he did his best to power through paperwork and work through deals. Looking at the clock, the little hands mocked him— informing him it was a little after three in the morning. His hand was cramping, and his eyes stung. He pressed on, downing another cup of coffee, wincing at the bitter taste in his mouth.
“You know we have like… cream and sugar, right?”
Looking up, Quackity swallowed, trying to ignore the taste and burning in his throat. Karl’s eyebrows were furrowed, holding his own cup of coffee.
Quackity shrugged, not sure what to say to that. Sapnap was truly the only one who drank straight up black coffee— though he had a preference for tea whenever he had the option. Karl had a specific way he made his own drink; two and a half spoonfuls of sugar and less than an inch of cream. Quackity had watched him enough, love sick expression on his face.
He looked down at his cup of coffee. He wasn’t a fan of the bitterness, but it was something he was almost used to. In the white house Schlatt would berate him if the coffee wasn’t as dark as the night skies, and when he needed to stay up and finish mountains of paperwork (his and Tubbo’s, the kid needed sleep) he didn’t have time to be yelled at.
Karl seemed to feel his discomfort, slowly sliding up next to him, a soft smile on his face, “You know I could make your drinks in the morning? Play around with flavors and toppings— come up with a Quackity latte!”
He snorted, holding the mug up to cover the lower half of his face. “Quackity latte?”
“Yes! Didn’t I say I was becoming a barista?”
“No, nice to see you’re gonna start bringing in the big bucks.” Karl gently took the mug from Quackity, placing it on the counter and moving about, covering the drink from Quackity’s view.
He danced about, humming to himself as he finished, turning around with the mug, whatever liquid lay in it covered by a layer of whipped cream. Quackity frowned lightly.
“Are you trying to give me diabetes?”
“Yes,” His voice was deadpanned, though his lips curled at the corner, “Try it. I think you’ll like it.”
He had grown so used to sweetened coffee, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon or sprinkles that Karl had handmade. The idea of those flavors made him sick now— and he reverted back to black, scalding hot coffee. It kept him awake and that’s all he needed.
He reached forward blindly, moving his papers about, skimming across the titles as he flipped his pen between his fingers. He paused, catching sight of an envelope hidden between a stack of income revenue papers. Moving it, he half expected Wilbur’s chicken scratch, another letter about why he should be allowed citizenship to Las Nevadas, or possibly another attempt from Foolish to invite Quackity to his summer home for a “much needed break”.
Quackity doesn’t take breaks, he doesn’t deserve them.
He grabbed a dagger near him, one he had dubbed his letter opener, cutting the top through, pulling out the folded paper. The writing on it made him freeze, the handwriting sparking a flurry in his heart. Bittersweet and painful.
Quackity,
How are you? How have you been?
I feel that wasn’t the proper way to start this letter… But it’s how I was taught to do it. Granted I was taught how to “properly” write letters when I was like ten, so, it seems quite childish.
You’re amazing.
I’m just gonna come right out with that— you’re amazing and I love you and I love everything about you. I’m so sorry, ducky, I am, I truly am. We promised you protection and love, we promised to never leave you and be there for you— in the ways he wasn’t, in the way so many people weren’t. And we failed you. I failed you.
We grew so attached to this idea of a perfect relationship in a perfect world, the ghost of everything we wanted when we started this relationship. We didn’t talk, we didn’t communicate as we should have. And that’s on me, that’s on all of us. We hide away from these bad things around us and that ended up being our tragic flaw, that ended up being the kryptonite to us.
And I know you, as much as you hate admitting that you’re known, I know you, Karl knows you. You internalized all of this, you let our actions and our stupidity define you. You are not unloveable, you are not forgettable, you are not replaceable. You are amazing, you are joy when we’re sad and you’re the light of our lives and the sunshine in our days. Not a day went by when I didn’t miss you and not a day has gone by where I don’t love you.
Please, please understand that. I love you, we love you. Beyond what words can explain, beyond how I know to show. I love you, you’re enough for me, you’re beyond enough for me, for Karl. I promise you that you weren’t an add on, you weren’t just the third addition, you were our balancing piece, you were the person we needed to be complete. And I am so sorry we failed to show you this.
We will, I promise you. You’ll grow annoyed with our smothering and wish we’d leave you be but I promise you now we never will.
I love you so much ducky, and I’m so sorry we didn’t make you feel loved enough.
Sapnap
///
Karl was tired. A level of exhaustion that he could feel in his bones, his muscles ached and it seemed that no matter how much he slept (or how often he passed out) he stayed on the same degree of tiredness. He blinked, shaking his head roughly— he couldn’t afford to be tired, not really. He couldn’t afford to rest.
He flipped through the book that was in his lap, his pen having fallen to his side. The writing had grown more frantic, his writing panicked as he could feel the memories leaving his mind. No matter how many times he re-read what he had written he could feel that emptiness that scratched his brain, he could feel the holes in his mind where memories were supposed to be stored. It hurt him, it made him angry, a level of heat rising in him as he pitched forward, all but curling into a ball as he gripped his curls.
His hair had grown longer. Or had it? Maybe it was actually shorter. He had gotten a haircut hadn’t he? James had cut it. No, not James, Sapnap. James and Drew weren’t— they weren’t them.
He hated that he was forgetting who they were. He fiddled with his fingers, an anxious tic he had grown to do, playing with the two, simple rings that lay upon his left hand ring finger. He knew the rings belonged to them— well they belonged to him, to Karl, but they were from them. They were important— the people and the rings.
He just… couldn’t always remember who they were.
Rolling onto his back, Karl shut his eyes, allowing the sunlight to warm his face. The breeze was cooling, comforting as he let his mind wander. What memories were from today’s events, what memories were from past events, and what memories were from his past? It was hard to differentiate anymore. It was hard to tell realities apart, to tell his reality from his nightmares.
He sat up, grabbing the book he had been writing in and slamming it shut. The blank pages had seemed to stare up at him, mocking him. As blank as his mind was becoming. He looked around the garden, beautiful and perfect— and so painfully fake. No bees buzzed, no birds chirped. The Inbetween could replicate everything but the warmth that came with reality, the love that was in the air in his world.
Standing up, he staggered, his legs numb from sitting, mind exhausted. The book and pen fell from his hands, and he gave himself a moment— allowing his breath to even out, annoyed with his body’s reaction. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to pass out, he shifted, ready to gather his belongings.
A letter sat in the book, the pages having fallen open.
Had he been writing a letter?
He shook his head— he must have been.
Karl.
Oh, it was to himself. That made more sense— though normally he wrote in journals and diaries, things he kept locked away so no one would question why he had to write down simple, easily remembered facts.
He grew uneasy realizing he… couldn’t recall when the last time he’d opened one of those journals had been.
Reaching down, his trembling hand grabbed the letter, carefully peeling the fold back, careful to not accidentally give himself a paper cut.
Karl,
I’m not sure why we’re doing this— or why I’m doing this, I guess. I wonder if you even remember who I am at this point? If not, I imagine this letter is very confusing. Not that the others wouldn’t be— but this would take it to a whole different level wouldn’t it?
I don’t really know what to write, I don’t know what I was expected to write. A love letter? Writing a love letter to someone who doesn’t remember me doesn’t… exactly bring back the greatest memories.
But this isn’t about me— this is about you. Karl Jacobs, the great and amazing librarian who wears sweaters far too big for him and makes coffee perfectly, a cuddly husband boyfriend who hogs the bed sheets despite overheating.
I want you to know it wasn’t your fault.
Ever.
I don’t blame you, I didn’t blame you. I don’t think I ever could, in all honesty.
I wanted to, I really, really wanted to. It would have made things easier for me, I think, if I could just pinpoint all my pain and anger on you. But it’s unfair, it was unfair. You’re not blameless, but neither am I, neither is Sapnap. We were dealt shitty hands in the beginning, weren’t we? And we didn’t work too well on fixing them.
It’s not your fault. You did everything you could have, and so much more. You saved so many people, regardless of how they treated you or others because you’re an amazing person. You’re a fucking hero, Karl. How did I get so lucky to have even been allowed to meet you?
I love you.
So fucking much.
Sapnap loves you, though this isn’t his letter so that’s all I wanna say about him.
I love you. I don’t blame you. I forgive you.
I forgive you, I forgave you, I was never truly mad at you.
Please keep that close to you, keep this letter on you so you don’t forget and you don’t worry that I’m mad or that I’ve ever stopped loving you. I never stopped loving you— or Sapnap— for even one single moment. No matter what I said or how I acted, you two were all I could think about, you kept me awake at night, I missed you both so much. I couldn’t not love you, how could I? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I need.
Don’t overthink this letter, like I said you probably won’t even remember who I am as you read this. But you will, soon. And I don’t blame you, no matter how angry I am or how snappy I get, you know that I love you, that you’re enough and you were never to blame for any of this, okay?
Te quiero,
Quackity
///
The middle of the day in autumn was truly the best type of day. The clouds were low in the sky, though it didn’t feel like it was going to rain. The air was crisp and cool, enough that sweaters were being brought out of closets and tank tops were being packed away.
The server was calm, it was quiet. But the quiet was different— years ago silence meant something was happening, something bad. A war was being planned, betrayal was at the forefront, pets were in danger, relationships were jeopardized.
Now the silence was peaceful. The silence meant people were with loved ones, or at home. Or both.
Silence meant Tubbo and Ranboo had put Michael down for a nap, and if routine was anything— and it was everything— Tommy had allowed Shroud to nap with his friend. The trio would be talking in the kitchen, or catching up on much needed sleep.
Quiet meant Niki had taken to baking again, and Jack was her taste tester. The pair had found a sense of tranquility in each other, the fluidity of working in the kitchen together took their mind away from their pasts— their pain.
Silence meant that Sam, Foolish, and Ponk were in their house, probably reading or playing with Foolish’s kids— tending to their garden or taking care of their farm. Sam had sent a short message the other day, requesting the trio show up for dinner this upcoming week.
Quiet meant Bad was keeping Skeppy in check— the diamond covered man not being allowed to stir up chaos or bring people into his pranks— people who would easily be tempted.
Silence meant that it was time for Quackity’s afternoon nap. His sleep schedule had gotten better, so much better over the years. But he had days where he slipped— staying up later than he should or waking up before anyone else on the server had. Silence meant he showered after mining for a bit, heading to their bedroom to curl up under the sheets, Sapnap or Karl following to take the time to cuddle with their husband; reading a book or letting themselves fall asleep along with him.
Quiet meant—
“Wake up!”
The door to the bedroom was all but slammed open, the handle miraculously hadn’t made a dent. Sapnap looked up from his book, confusion on his face as he glared with no heat behind his eyes. Quackity startled, hair still damp, curls just starting to form, jolting awake, twisting to look towards the door. Karl had the decency to look sheepish.
“Mi amor, what the fuck?” Quackity bemoaned as he fell forward, face landing into his pillow as Sapnap chuckled, patting his back gently.
“Don’t smother yourself, Q.”
His only response was a sluggish middle finger, turning to lay on his side as Karl walked in, a small, beat up briefcase in his hands. He watched blearily as the brunette made himself comfortable, sitting cross legged on the bed. Sapnap paused his reading, dog earring the book, ignoring the look of distress that caused Karl. He placed it to the side, adjusting how he was sitting.
“Where’s the fire?”
“You’re the fire,” Sapnap didn’t even look as he let his hand gently plop over Quackity’s face, covering his mouth softly.
Squawking, Quackity adjusted himself, shoving Sapnap’s hand off of him, “What the fuck— don’t shush me prick!”
“Prick— what are you British?”
He stuck his tongue out, shifting to sit up, pulling the blanket away from Sapnap, huffing to himself as he did so. Karl watched the two, love in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. Quackity turned, and soon the attention in the room was back on Karl.
“What is it, mi amor?”
The nickname never failed to get a smile out of Karl, who beamed, placing the briefcase on the bed.
“I need your help with something.”
The two raised their brows, looking at each other in confusion.
“What’s up?” Though his face remained calm, the question left Sapnap’s lips with an air of worry.
Karl rolled his eyes playfully, face calm as he began to open up, pulling out blank pages and pens, “I need you to do me a favor.”
He grabbed a few things, nodding to himself before shutting the briefcase. Without a word between the three of them, he handed both Quackity and Sapnap about two pieces of parchment each, handing out a blue and black pen respectively. The two looked down in confusion at the blank pieces of paper.
Not blank for long.
“What’s the favor?”