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For once in his life, Red did not throw the first punch.
He’s prone to doing so, yes. All of his friends would say the same, and he’s inclined to agree with them. He knows he can be naive, hotheaded, and all too impulsive. He knows he doesn’t think twice about what he’s doing, guided purely by either curiosity or optimism. He knows he tends to act emotionally, charging ahead and letting the others decide when it’s best to pull him back. After all, isn’t that the whole point of being a team?
Still, he’s well aware of his flaws, and is especially conscious of these ones in particular. How could he forget them when they cause harm to those he cares about, when they led to his friends getting hurt? It’s not like he does it on purpose, but it just… happens. Good intentions fill his heart, yes, but all it bleeds is hindrances, is pain, is suffering. It just happens, and he hates it. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when there’s no noise to drown out the sound of his thoughts, he hates himself for it.
It’s not just him, either. Second always hated that part of Red, didn’t he? He always berated him for rushing in without a second thought, scolding him for getting the group into huge messes that always have to be cleaned up. Sometimes, they feel like exact opposites; sometimes, they can’t see eye-to-eye at all. Second is always so calm, rational, and all too cautious. He moves with cold, hard logic in mind, pushing away his own personal feelings in favor of doing what’s best for everyone.
Ironic that Second succumbs to them in the heat of the moment, shoving Red away harshly during their argument. He falls on his side, barely bracing himself for impact at the very last second. He blinks up at the other, mouth still hanging open and shaped by the sound of the sentence he was saying before he was interrupted. It’s not like Second was particularly quick, or that Red’s reflexes failed him. No, it’s that he never saw it coming in the first place, never even expected him to escalate it like that.
Just like that, a switch is flipped. Suddenly, they are no longer tired, hungry, nor cold. Suddenly, they are no longer two companions stranded in a desert in an unknown world together. Suddenly, they are no longer the friends who have known each other for years. Just like that, they’re just another pair of enemies, just another obstacle in the other’s eye. Of course, Red responds how he usually would when he sees one… by attacking with reckless abandon and throwing himself into the fray.
Look at them now: sprawled on the desert floor, Red’s arm pressing down on Second’s chest and pinning him to the ground, Second’s elbow digging into Red’s back as he slams it down repeatedly. Look at them now: the history between crumbling like the sand beneath them, whisked away by the wind with every sudden movement. Between each powerful blow, in the corners of their eyes, they notice the sun setting on the horizon in a brilliant display of colors: the reds and oranges blending into the darkening sky just as crimson paints the earth. Red takes to the canvas first, as blood trickles down from his nose after a particularly nasty headbutt. Second takes to the canvas second, as blood trails down his arm from scraping his palm against rocks to brace himself after a heavy tackle.
As night falls and the darkness approaches, mobs begin to spawn all around them. Ah, but of course, that isn’t enough to make them stop. They push away hordes of zombies, dodge barrages of arrows, and sidestep spiders in a mad frenzy to get to each other. They trade punches, skidding across the floor in the scuffle as a bunch of husks close in around them. Red gets picked up and thrown into them unceremoniously, and he groans as he gets back up. When he does, however, his eyes widen as he registers that there’s a creeper right behind Second that’s ready to explode.
For a moment, all animosity drains from his mind as he contemplates calling it out. He doesn’t need to, though, not when Second beats him to it and punches the creeper squarely in the jaw without even glancing back. His eyes haven’t left Red at all, burning him under a gaze so intense that it makes him feel like he’s the only thing that exists right now, the only thing that matters.
Somehow, that makes Red’s heart skip a beat. Then it skips another beat as Second approaches him like a predator to prey: deliberate, slow, and threatening. One step. Red looks over his shoulder to see a group of mobs congregating, and he has to decide between facing them or Second. Two steps. His back bumps into the lone tree in the area, a lush green speck in the middle of the desert complete with blooming pink flowers. Three steps. Second lunges at him without a care in the world, and Red hurriedly scrambles to get away.
Suddenly, the earth rumbles under their feet, and the ground opens up like it is the jaw of a great beast. Before they know it, they’re tumbling down a pit, rolling down its rough sides and jagged edges, falling into a seemingly endless abyss straight into gravity’s embrace. The sharp rocks graze his sides, his head spins from disorientation, and the dust flying around makes it hard for him to breathe. Distantly, he feels that they’ve landed on a soft carpet of moss at the bottom. Distantly, he notices that they’re in a cave absolutely teeming with flora, so much so that it makes for a stunning view.
And yet, all Red can focus on is Second.
He pays no heed to the glowing berries hanging from the ceiling, to the reflective shine of gemstones in the geode they pass by, to the bioluminescence of the squids in the water down below. Of course not, not when there’s a sight that’s much more radiant right in front of him. All Red can focus on is the wild glint in Second’s eyes, bright and almost feral in nature. All Red can focus on is the tension in Second’s jaw as he grits his teeth, no doubt biting back words in favor of letting his actions speak for him. All Red can focus on is the angry flush on Second’s face from physical exertion, his color crawling all the way down the exposed skin of the other’s neck.
A shiver runs down Red’s spine, his fear nearly indiscernible from his excitement. If he ignores the context of the situation, the tense atmosphere almost feels vaguely romantic. Oh, to be a recipient of one’s rage, to be the subject of one’s frenzied obsession, to be the center of one’s attention.
Keep your eyes on me, Red thinks. Keep your eyes on me, no matter if they are filled with love or hatred.
Hah. Red isn’t quite feeling like himself, is he? Perhaps the fatigue, the hunger and the cold haven’t left him yet. Perhaps this fight is getting more to his head than he thinks. He’s always had a soft spot for the beautiful things in life, handling them carefully lest they be dirtied or ruined. This has often manifested as a protective instinct, using his own energy and body as a shield as he sees fit. He’s all too happy to sustain a few injuries as long as the things he cares about remain safe and sound. With time, he’s naturally fallen into the role of a defender for the group.
Why, then, does he have the inexplicable urge to destroy right now?
There’s a purple spot on Second’s cheek, probably from the time Red landed a direct punch that sent him stumbling back. He thinks he should do the same to the other cheek, just so that it mirrors his own.
There’s a cut on Second’s lip, probably from the time Red slammed his face into the ground. He thinks he should do it again, just so that he’d bleed so much he’d stain their clothes in a way they could never wash off.
There’s a footprint on Second’s forehead, probably from the time Red kicked him off of him. He thinks he should do it with more force, just so that the lines are crisper and the shapes are more defined.
There’s a bite mark on Second’s fist, probably from the time Red sank his teeth into him after getting all of his limbs pinned down. He thinks he should do it harder, just so that it breaks through skin and leaves a permanent scar.
Second is at his most beautiful like this, Red realizes. Second is at his most beautiful like this, with scratches and bruises marring the surface of his skin. Second is at his most beautiful like this, in the throes of battle with their blood mixing into each other’s and their bodies sporting matching injuries.
Perhaps, this is love.
Their little skirmish leads them down into a mineshaft, where they tumble into an empty minecart. Red pins the other to the wall, getting a satisfying growl out of Second just before the other elbows him off. The sudden movement sends them flying down the rails with Second on top of Red, and they descend further into the unknown. In such a cramped space, it’s easier for Second to land his blows. Red sits there and takes it, barely blocking with how utterly mesmerized he is. Perhaps it’s the wind rushing in his ears, perhaps it's the nauseating rocking of a minecart meant to hold only one person, or perhaps it’s the weight on his chest knocking all the air out of his lungs… but even the pain is becoming sweet, through the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
Then, Red’s whole world shifts as they plunge into cold, dark waters. The freezing temperature is like a shock to his exhausted systems, and he realizes just how much his body stings all over. He looks around for a bit, scrambling for something to anchor him. His hand finds Second’s just above him, fingertips grazing his bloodied knuckles and rubbing at the raw skin. He pulls the other closer, and he can barely make out the outline of his face from the glow of the squids around them. Then, those very hands grip at the front of his shirt, stretch the fabric to the side, and the fingers curl around his exposed throat. Red holds on tighter, not so that he can pull them away but so that he can keep them there.
Keep your hands on me, Red thinks. Keep your hands on me, no matter if they are meant to help or hurt.
However, it doesn’t take long for Second to put pressure on his windpipe, pressing down on the side of his neck just enough to make Red gasp. He breathes out a couple bubbles that float upwards, and he counts them like he’s counting down the seconds for how much longer he can last like this. It feels threatening, it feels dangerous, it feels right. Second falters just a bit, loosening his hold like he just realized what he’s doing in a brief moment of clarity. Red decidedly ignores that moment as he does what he’s always done: seek the closest form of fulfillment. In this case, it would be guiding Second’s hands back around his throat until he presses down, a little harder than before. This time, however, Red violently coughs out air and inhales water.
This breaks him out of the spell long enough to finally get a twinge of self-preservation back, and he pushes the other away as hard as he can. He glances around wildly until he thinks he’s looking upwards and starts swimming. He feels Second clawing at his ankles, but he kicks him off and breezes past a group of axolotls to break the surface for air. After a few deep breaths, he crawls onto the nearest piece of dry land, gasping and coughing relentlessly. Then, like a moth to a flame, his fingers instinctively ghost over his throat to mimic the sensation of Second’s hands around it just a few seconds ago. Throughout it all, he wheezes out a broken laugh.
Cursors, what is wrong with him? Second nearly killed him, and all he can think is that he looked good while doing it?
He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, as he can hear sloshing behind him. Sure enough, he looks back to find that Second also just got out of the water, breathing heavily but otherwise still fine. More importantly, he looks no less pissed than before and is actively trudging towards Red. Sluggishly, he gets up to his feet and starts running once again. He finds a small forest of plants, their stems towering up to the sky with a big flat leaf on top. Following their growth, he can see that the tallest ones are close to another segment of the mineshaft. Without thinking twice, he uses the leaves as steps as he climbs all the way up.
Red makes it a few meters up before a leaf he’s stepping on suddenly gives out, nearly making him fall all the way down. He makes the terrifying realization that these things can’t hold up his weight for long, and he decides to backtrack instead. But, before he can do that, Second shows up right below him. Hot on his trail, the other starts following him without so much as a care in the world. Forced to keep going, Red ascends as fast as he can despite Second catching up to him and trying to pull him down.
Finally, he gets to the tallest plant and leaps off towards the closest edge. He makes the jump, but he’s dragged down by the weight of Second hanging off one of his legs. He yelps and pulls them up frantically, nails digging into the wooden planks as he expends his last bit of energy trying to save them from plummeting to their deaths. He eventually gets both of them to safety, collapsing onto the floor from exhaustion. Shit, that’s the last of his strength; he can barely even control his breathing right now.
As much as Red would love to just lie down for a bit, he gets flipped onto his back so harshly that he squeaks. Second straddles him, locking his legs around his waist and sitting on his abdomen so that he can’t move his legs. Then, the other pins his arms down with one hand and raises one fist above his head in preparation to strike. Red weakly struggles against him, managing to get one arm free which he uses to shield his face. He curls in on himself and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the incoming impact.
Keep your thoughts on me, Red thinks. Keep your thoughts on me, no matter if they are good or bad.
However, it never comes.
Red tentatively drops his guard, looking up at Second. The other seems distracted, looking around them as if he’s just realized where they are. Red follows his eyes, scanning the truly vast cavern and the sights it has to offer. Second’s gaze goes from the axolotls splashing around underneath them, to the geodes twinkling in the walls, to the twisting vines descending from the ceiling, lingers on Red’s face, then lands on his closed fist. The other unclenches it, then reaches out for him.
Admittedly, Red flinches when those fingers brush against him. It’s a little too soon, and he’s been hurt a little too much. Second hesitates at that, and he can just about see the guilt washing over him. The other’s mouth opens and closes, as if wanting to say something but not quite finding the words for it. As reassurance, Red leans into his touch and nuzzles further into his hand. If he ignores the way it smears his blood all over, the gesture almost feels vaguely romantic. In response, Second cups his face and wipes the crimson away as best as he can.
The weight on Red’s stomach eases up as Second hoists himself up, hovering over him and fussing about all his injuries. All he can do is look up at the other like a deer caught in headlights, his face heating up in embarrassment. The contrast is almost dizzying; from rough punches to gentle handling, from anger to worry, from hatred to love.
Whether you’re punching me or caressing my cheek, your hands are still on my face. Whether your thumbs are pressing down on my throat or running over my bloodied lips, your fingers are still on my skin. Whether you’re seething in rage or whispering reassurances into my ears, your mind is still on me. And perhaps, in my twisted little heart, that is enough.
Ah, but that’s not quite right. The true opposite of love is not hate but indifference, they say. There is a thin line between love and hatred, they say. For is it not love when he looks at you like you’re everything, everything he adores and loathes? For is it not love when he puts his hands on you, to tear you apart and to put you back together? For is it not love when he thinks of you so obsessively, in both positive and negative lights?
After a while, Second takes his hands off him. Red almost mourns the absence, but then he properly looks at them. The other’s palms are almost completely stained red, and when he turns them over, his knuckles are equally as bloody. How exquisite; it’s Red’s blood all over Second’s hands, harvested directly from the source with his own efforts. Red has never quite known just how intimate it felt to bleed on someone else, to have your heart pump blood to keep you alive only to spill it for another, to live your life and offer it up.
And perhaps Second is thinking the same thing, because he slowly raises one hand to his face and parts his lips. His tongue slips out and drags over his soaked fingers, lapping up Red’s blood and pooling it in his mouth. Their eyes meet, and Second swallows it all with a small smirk.
Oh. He loves Red. Truly, deeply, loves Red. It is a plain and simple truth, an unyielding constant in the universe.
Red grins up at Second, pulling him down by the strings of his hoodie. He thumbs over the cut on the other’s lip, putting just enough pressure on it to draw more blood. Second makes a small noise of protest, but Red throws his arms around his neck to keep him in place. Then, between breathless chuckles and an exasperated sigh, they kiss softly and deliberately. Giddy, Red smiles into it and licks all the blood up.
This, too, is love.