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You take a deep breath, enjoying the afternoon in the city. It's way different to Minecraft worlds or a desktop; the air feels fresher somehow, everything seems more real in some way you can't place.
He likes taking you to this park in specific, near his place. It's nice enough, you suppose.
Before you moved in with him, you actually spent most of your time in Minecraft or other game worlds, only coming out to the city when you didn't have much to do. It feels almost like a liminal space to you, like you're just on a long vacation from whatever you're meant to be doing. Thinking back on it, the last time you slept in a stick-made bed for so many nights in a row must be... jeez, must have been way back then.
...You lean back where you sit on the wooden fencing, swinging your feet back and forth.
You're still not super sure why exactly he changed his mind about you, if you did something right after all or if you knocked a screw loose when you punched him in the face, but! You're trying to count your blessings and just not question it. He's offered to let you stay with him for an indefinite amount of time.
You've just... tried to keep yourself from ruining whatever you have going here, for as long as you can manage.
...it'd be easier if you actually knew WHAT it is that he wants from you, though.
Don't expect to have this stuff handed to you, kid, you learn these things from experience. Don’t think asking nicely is gonna get you anywhere in this world.
"Purple." You whirl around at the sound of your King's voice- and find a cookie basically shoved in your face. You don't even try to hide your gasp of delight as you accept it, and he chuckles. "Careful, it's still warm. Got them from a local shop, freshly baked."
You don't really get your King's... thing, about getting food from the city instead of the more easily-accesible in-game food, since in your opinion it pretty much all tastes the same. But you've never turned down freshly baked cookies and you're not about to start now.
The evening rolls on, with the two of you eating and talking amicably about nothing in particular. It’s nice; it’s peaceful.
Then the conversation happens to touch on your fighting ability.
He has never, you realize, actually SEEN you fight, not for more than a couple of seconds while he was distracted with other things. You thoughtlessly brag about it, and he laughs- not in the way where it seems like he’s making fun of you, just in that lighthearted way that makes it so that you almost don’t realize what’s happening when he brushes the chocolate crumbs off of himself before pushing himself off of the fence- not until he rolls his shoulders and settles into a loose but solid stance.
“Why not put that to the test, then?”
You stare at him dumbly.
“Uh- what, now?”
“Well, it’s a nice day out.” He gestures vaguely all around you, the gentle sunlight and clear skies. “Let’s do some sparring. Quickest way for you to show what you can really do, after all.”
You’re on your feet already, before you can really consider what you’re doing.
Listen here. NEVER turn down a fight, you hear? That’s doing nothing but missing out on a chance to train. So long as you can survive it, you’ve got no reason to try to wriggle out of it like a coward. Am I making myself clear?
“Sure, why not?” you say, voice as steady as you can keep it.
He lets you throw the first punch.
It’s frankly shameful how easy he dodges, but you don’t get caught up in it before following it up with a lower jab, and then a sweeping kick- that one he actually jumps to dodge, backwards, backwards. Good. You’re pushing him back, controlling positioning, now actually think about where you want the opponent to go, dumbass.
“Hmm. Pretty good form!” he smiles once he’s far enough away from your range that he can afford to do so. You frown- if the opponent has time to be yammering you’re doing something wrong - then close the gap leading with a hook that’s way too clumsy but you spotted your mistake too late, it’d do more harm than good to not commit to it now.
To your elation it connects despite that, and so does your next hit, but the third one gets deflected and answered with a blow of his own, much better controlled than your own. Step back, no, to the side, but he reads your movement ‘cause you’re predictable as ever and you barely put your guard up in time to stop the overhead blow.
You grunt as you lower your stance to absorb the impact, come on, kid, you should know how to do this by now - you’re in a bad position now but retreating would be ceding ground, so you roll forward for an uppercut, it connects, don’t let up, miss a single step and you’re dead meat here and you capitalize on the momentum with a high kick to his torso which knocks him off balance don’t fuck it up now and one final jab topples him over, where you pin him to the ground with your foot on his chest.
You…
You won.
"...I won?" you whisper incredulously. You always thought you'd be jumping with joy in this moment, when you thought of winning against him- you even got his look of endearment and pride right, he...
You blink and look at him again and no, right, it's the King. The King, your King, whose expression IS exactly what you'd spent so long hoping to see, but… but- you've seen what he can do- hell, you’ve been on the other end of his fists before; he’s no cakewalk to defeat. And you KNOW you screwed up several times during that exercise, you can think of five different points off the top of your head during which you moved sub-optimally- he could have so easily turned the tables on you if he’d wanted to.
…if he’d…
"...you let me win." you say when realization finally hits, a little bit awestruck, a little bit disgusted. "You... why?"
He smiles, pats your shoulder, still looking pleased despite how lousy that was. "It's just playfighting, Purple."
That... that twists something up inside of you. "Stop- stop that!" you shrug off the hand on your shoulder. "You're not taking this seriously," you say, frowning. You're not taking ME seriously , you think, and you're glad you didn't actually say that, you've made that mistake before-
he’d scoffed, kicked your legs to send you back to the ground before you could get up and said: I'll take you seriously when you've shown me you deserve it, kid.
"I- Purple, I…” He frowns, taken aback. “I am taking this seriously." There's a tug of concern in his tone- real concern, almost out of place in his voice, strange to your ears even now. It does wonders to soothe whatever beast has made its home inside of you.
Not enough to keep you from demanding: "I want a rematch, then. And don't coddle me this time."
You charge forward to be met with the ground as he dodges you and kicks you forward with a sneer. Roll, don’t try to get up like an idiot, and make a better move this time, so you whirl around with a roundhouse kick, then jab, jab, jab, he dodges all of them and barely looks like he gave it a thought. “Purple… Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?”
You bark a laugh, just for asking that we’re going for an extra hour today, kid. “Why would I need a break, you’re barely giving me a challenge!”. Bold-faced lie, he’s way above your level. But even then you KNOW he’s still holding back, why is he holding back?! Does he think you’re THAT pathetic?
At least there’s actual movement now. He jumps backwards and deflects a shoulder bash with a well-placed kick. “Purple-” You don’t let up, talking is not a free action, right hook left hook uppercut and they all connect, but he barely looks fazed. “Are you okay? We can stop, you know? It’s not-”
“Shut up already and fight properly! ” you huff and knock him in the jaw, isn’t that nostalgic. He stops your next hit, catching your fist in his hand, knees you in the stomach knocking the air out of you, that’s more like it. Press on, don’t tell me you’re already tired, you don’t know where you’re even directing your blows, fuck, fuck, you’re just acting on instinct, only animals fight on instinct, use your brain, or do you not have one, huh?! . Your jab connects but he doesn’t budge, he shoves you off, backwards, backwards, you lose your balance and scuttle backwards awkwardly instead of rolling hey didn’t I beat that one out of you already , if he was for real he would be stepping on your throat by now, fuck’s sake he’s STILL not fighting you properly!
Kid, come on. How many times will you make me teach you this? You gain NOTHING by holding back. Did I ever teach you that? Huh? I know damn well I didn’t, so? You’re never gonna get anywhere by going soft on the opponent. No, I don’t care the circumstances, HIT ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT or you’re never gonna get anywhere in life, kid I’m this close to begging you, what am I doing wrong here?!
“Come on!" you half-taunt, half-demand. You charge him, and he easily deflects your punch when you should have broken his arm, rookie mistake, no one will show mercy in a REAL fight; COME ON! he screams, face twisted into something ugly as you motion for him to come at you for real, for FUCK'S sake, "STOP HOLDING BACK!"
Useless.
Dear, please, stop this! Why are you so hard on our treasure-
Our treasure nothing, the twerp is gonna stay a good-for-nothing if you don't let me train it properly.
and you try to get up, but your legs won't answer, you can only stay on all fours panting, pathetic, trying not to cough up more bile. Everything hurts; the only thing anchoring you to the world outside your useless body is your Mother's hand, rubbing circles in your back, gentle in the exact way you don’t deserve after failing so fucking hard after so many chances, failure that you are.
Why do you coddle it?, you hear your Father ask, and distantly you find yourself surprised that it sounds like a real question, unlike all the rethorical questions he's asked you over the years. In fact, everything about his voice is strange and new to your ears. Soft and genuine he asks: Why did you want to make a stick, blossom, if you don't care that it's useless in a fight?
Because I wanted a family, she spits through angry sobs. A family, just like the movies, so happy and perfect... I wanted us to be like that. A mom, a dad, and our beautiful child.
For a couple of moments, long enough to be disquieting, you can hear nothing but her sobs muffled against your back. And then: haltingly, quieter than you've heard him in your entire life, he admits: I don't think... I can be that... even for you.
The grass under you is soft. You open your eyes to be met with the glow of distant streetlamps and the night sky.
“Purple”, your King breathes out with relief. “How are you feeling? I- I ended up knocking you out. I don’t think roughhousing was a good idea,” he laughs, a bit brittle, and the corner of your mouth twists unpleasantly. That’s certainly a way to describe that, you guess.
Knocked out, huh.
Right. Nowhere near his level, nowhere near good enough, no matter how hard you trained. Still the same as it always was.
God. Why do you even care about this? You close your eyes and sigh.
You’re not actually trying to impress Father, here. You haven’t seen him in who knows how long and you’ve made your peace with that already, that’s long behind you. You don’t fight for him, you don’t live your life for him, and good riddance because you have no desire to actually see him again, not really.
So… why?
“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” your King murmurs almost idly. There’s something unnervingly fragile about the way he’s speaking, so you don’t interrupt. “I bet it’s still early enough that there’s a diner open, though. What do you say?”
“I…” You open your eyes again, glancing at him, at a loss. “Really?”
“Yes, of course.” He hesitates a little: “You did really well, you know. I’m being honest,” he adds before you can even think of opening your mouth to refute it. “I’m sorry if…” He stares off into the distance, as searching for the words. “...just, I’m sorry.”
As always, your King is an enigma sometimes.
But you smile as you dust yourself off. “Yeah, okay.”
There’s no point in dwelling in the past, is there? You’re here, and your King is here. You put everything else out of mind, and follow him through the gentle city streets.