Monitoring

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Other
Fandom: Block Tales (Roblox)
Relationships: Griefer/Player (Block Tales), Griefer & Player (Block Tales), Griefer
(Block Tales)/Reader, Griefer (Block Tales) & Reader
Characters: Griefer (Block Tales), Reader
Additional Tags: No use of y/n, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Crushes, Mutual Pining, slight bit of,
Hurt/Comfort, the hurt is fairly minimal, Cuddling, perhaps a LITTLE
touch of ooc but this is self indulgent so whateverrrr, same mc from good
luck sunshine ig??? in terms of personality/backstory??, this isn't really
related to it though. idk how to explain, technically an au of that fic if
you squint, Hair Brushing, its a very big portion of this for some reason,
griefer gets trolled a little but its fine this is normal for these two,
Suggestive humor, Two Grown Ass Adults Crushing Over Eachother
Like Schoolgirls, thats not an official tag but it is in my heart, enough
tagging go my scarabs read my fluff with potential angsty undertones, oh
i forgot slightly implied depressive griefer. bc i project onto him like no
ones business, is established friendship a tag. i dont think it is., anyways
they're like in the middle of a friends to lovers arc i think
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of who up blocking they tales
Collections: Anonymous
Stats: Published: 2025-04-04 Words: 8,070 Chapters: 1/1
 Monitoring
by Anonymous

Summary

His hair is so long. Too long, the bubbling feeling of envy creeps up on you before you shove
it down with the rest of your feelings. Not now.

As you part it to work in sections, you decide to fill the neverending stretch of silence that's
fallen between you two. "Mm, have you considered pigtails?"

He gives you an unamused bit of silence. "1F YOU GIV3 ME PIGT4ILS, CONSIDER THE
F4CT THAT I'LL K1LL YOU." The malice dripping from his tone is palpable.

You remain unphased. "Fact? You already tried doing that and failed." Despite your best
attempts at remaining stone-faced, a small quirk to your lips makes itself prominent. "Once,
twice–"

"Z1P IT."

Your fingers yank his hair on accident, causing him to hiss.

...Okay, saying it was on accident would be a lie. He doesn't have to know that though. He
doesn't need to know jack shit.

________

You haven't seen your favorite dumbass in a while. Obviously, this is something you must fix
immediately!

(A coldness nips at your heart, mixes and stirs your thoughts– an icepick to the brain. The
urge to leave, to avoid it all, is more alluring than anything else.)

[pt. 1 of "afraid to start (how can you lose?)"]

Notes

can you guys tell that i really like "monitoring" by deco*27 can you tell. can you guys tell.
griefer nation are we still alive. tapping on the mic hello can anyone hear me
 writing griefer being loved unconditionally despite his belief that he should've be is one of
my few joys in life. ok i was lying i have many joys now actually. but anyways shoutout to
my depressed folks whose hair gets matted from barely having the energy to take care of it
that used 2 be me and i project heavily onto griefer so i gotta write him the same bc. there is
no WAY this guy is entirely mentally okay after the venomshank bs.

like i hc him to be a lot less aggressive after it (going off of mayor thaniyels dialogue saying
he straight up does NOT act like that usually) but like. cmon. putting him and mc through the
wringer as a treat :heart:

mmmm im tempted to make a blocktales/reader request book........ but i only really like
griefer and kyoko....... this is a tragedy......

anyways i hate to say it but we gotta wait for chapter 4 for that second part sorryyyy i have a
specific idea that unfortunately needs the specifics of whatever tf ch4 will have going on. it
will be more angsty. smiles

See the end of the work for more notes

It is an incredibly lovely day. and you, you are an incredibly annoying hero– at least, you're
pretty sure that's how it is to Griefer.

You're really not lying about it being a great day, though! There's the sun casting itself on
every surface, a slight wind that nips at the back of your neck should you forget to hike up
your scarf. It's truly amazing.

And speaking of Griefer, the little goober, you haven't seen him in almost a week now.
Shocking. Usually he'd be clamoring to find and pester you the same way you do him right
about now, and yet...

You stare up at the giant tree that your legs carried you over to before even realizing it, taking
in just how many steps you'd have to take to get up there.

Ha.

Hahah. Hell no, you're going the lazy way out.

Focusing all your energy up, you picture the place you want to be– the spawnpoint in the
corner of the room, swirling beyond your vision, a spiked halo behind your eyelids. Whoever
created the magic behind fast traveling deserves at least five million bux alone.

Now. You would say whoever taught you it also deserves a share of that prize, but Terry quite
frankly does not deserve that much. Still lovable, but just imagining all the tuna cans he'd buy
with that money is enough to make a horror movie concept.

You snap out of that train of thought as quickly as you entered it. Gosh, it's so easy to get
sidetracked these days, easy to lose your focus when you've got that and a million other shitty
little voices mumbling in your ear– there it is again! Lightly, you thunk your forehead with
your fist, a motion that snaps you out of your thoughts for a brief second.

You're here for one thing and one thing only: your favorite person to annoy, the only other
person in this miserable world who at least understands the problem, doesn't judge so harshly.
It's actually surprising how you two have gotten along since that incident, since you
practically switched places. You suppose it's easier for you to handle than him anyways.

After all, things are easier when you've done them before.

But you really wonder what instability laid dormant for so long, only activated by the
venomshank. Your answer lies within your own experience, in exaggerated traits – wow,
you're still getting off track even after catching yourself multiple times.

Back to plant boy! It's been a while since he's recovered, might as well check in. If he's
sleeping you might just leave him alone, poor guy probably needs all he can get.

The spawnpoint behind your eyelids spins as you shut them closed, fading off into a bright
white light as you reopen them again. A dizziness overtakes you for a quick moment before
dissipating as you take in your surroundings.
The inside of a gargantuan tree. Plants. Messy room. Aha!

There he is, the gamer of the hour. Shrimped up in front of two computer monitors, the slight
slouch in his posture is visible even from the corner of the room. He doesn't seem to be fully
asleep, but if he hasn't noticed the obvious vwoosh of you making your entrance.. .

A memory whizzes by you of a couple weeks ago, where he stole the scarf you always wore
just to hang it over your head (the little shit).

You also remember immediately clinging to him the second you gave up on jumping for it
just to regain even a sliver of the warmth you lost, and his subsequent reaction.

Griefer's never been that still in his entire life, you're pretty sure.

Funny.

In both senses of the word. Amusing as it was, that moment still occasionally turns itself over
in your brain, rotating over and over again until it'd become unbearable.

Gods, you're hopeless.

Your time for his time, that was the promise made to break the two of you out of your
individual self-imposed solitude– together, it'd be better that way. And it was. For all the time
Griefer spends living in your head rent-free, you wonder if you do the same to him.

Considering that's how it would be, you ought to hug him more. If only you didn't run the
risk of him doing the same back and getting a worse reaction out of you from it– you just
have an inkling of a feeling that he'd hold even that over you, immature fellow that he is.

Putting that memory aside... Now would be the perfect moment to take your sweet, sweet
revenge. As you approach, you walk tip-toed to avoid creaking the dry wood underneath your
shoes.

You glance at the arms that he usually keeps covered, take another glance at his fucked up
posture (how the hell do you hit a shrimp pose while you're halfway to dosing off? How?),
and then end up gazing way too long at him in general. Ah, he's your favorite little loser.

He looks better for the most part. There's still a gradient of black that comes from his hands
that contrasts heavily with his pale skin, occasional patches of leaves, but you'd never have
noticed without the jacket covering it, even with the missing gloves.

Notably, said eye-blindingly-neon-green jacket is slumped over the chair he rests on.
'Notably' is an understatement in your honest opinion, that thing could be spotted from a mile
away in foggy weather. But it's an easy target– too easy. No, what you want is the cap
haphazardly thrown on his big stupid head.

That red brim is practically calling your name, begging for you to do some stupid shit just to
annoy him. All in good nature, of course, your only real goal here is to make sure he didn't
fuck himself up on fifty witches brews for the third time this month.
The fact that he's even alive after all the stunts he's pulled is honestly insane. The fact that
he's even remotely normal despite all of it... Hmm, maybe he's a little more impressive to you
than previously thought.

You can't help but to admire him like that. He's a worthy rival, someone good to spar with (so
long as his bad leg doesn't give out on him), someone with a tough mentality that wavers so
easily with just a few words from you. It's fun. He's fun. you like him like that, as a good
friend, but...

Sometimes, you wonder. Your imagination wanders to what could be if you would just... get
the words out.

But you've never been one to speak directly, have you?

Sometimes, you stare too long, just like what you're doing now. Speaking of which, you
probably look creepy as shit just zoning out in the corner of his room, so you might as well
approach.

It's not like this sort of thing is something only you do. The fucking jumpscare he gave you
when you woke up to him hovering over you at the Turitopulis inn... Telamon above, you
don't think you'll ever get over that.

That was the closest he'd ever gotten to killing you, via heart attack at least. And that's really
not saying much considering he sucks ass at it despite all his half-hearted threats. But alas,
you digress.

(Your mind drifts once more to red eyes looming over you, of crimson fangs that glinted in the
limited moonlight– and again, you wonder what could've been if you had moved just slightly
closer.)

A nice distraction is in order, you think, before your thoughts consume you whole– before
you let your guard down.

It's always been surprisingly easy to sneak up on Griefer. Like stealing candy from a baby–
so long as no one else is there to notice you before he does, it's fair game. You advance
towards the chair. One step. Two. The soft wood beneath your shoes creaks just the slightest
bit.

There's a faint noise you can hear once you're directly behind him. He's drumming his fingers
on the desk. The pattern grows slower and slower before halting entirely. Now would be a
great time to mess with him.

Ohhh, you'd like to say 'if only you had an airhorn', but that'd be too cruel even for your
standards.

Slowly, with practiced caution, your fingers curl over the red brim and lift. Just as it is easy to
sneak up on Griefer, it is also apparently not very difficult to prank him.
For once, you let a tiny and genuine grin crack at your expression, self-satisfaction at having
pulled this off already pooling in. But now what's the next step?

...Hmm. You're actually rather unsure of what to do beyond this point. With hesitancy in your
motions, you stack his cap over your own. For some reason, it feels right to have it on you–
you're gonna ignore any reasoning as to why for the time being.

You look back down at him. It's nice to not have to look upwards at him for once. There's
something that catches your eye.

His hair.

Griefer's always had a lot of it. For the most part, he's usually kept it tied back or just let his
cap cover up the top half, but looking at it, it's somehow more intriguing than previously
thought.

Slight tangles interrupt the texture every now and then, giving you the inexplicable urge to
run your fingers through it, to comb them out. Its shiny white color practically glows with the
light from the computer screen bouncing off of it.

It's really tempting to play with. You'd have to ask him first if you wanted to do that, though.
And knowing him...

... God damn it. either you'll have to leave and come back, or you bite the bullet and fully
wake him up now. And you really can't risk leaving lest he make another disappearing act.
He's been doing more and more of that as of late – weird as it is to say, you're concerned.
You're concerned about your honest-to-spawn friend.

If something's wrong, if he's been feeling down, you want him to spill it to you, to confide, to
trust you as you trust him. To lean on you with everything he's got.

How silly is that?

A slight sigh escapes your lips, and you're sure the expression on your face has softened
significantly just thinking about him. Hah. What a gooey sentiment. How unusual from you.

How in Telamon's name did you even let this happen?

No point in (complaining?) about it now. You've got a friend to annoy, just as it always was.

What's the best possible way to go about this?

Theoretically, you could do the somewhat polite method of properly greeting him by turning
your ass back around and actually knocking on the wood by the entrance. And waiting for a
response that might never come.

But since when has politeness ever been a part of the equation with you two? You don't think
he'd ever even mentioned it before– in fact, you remember him teasing you for being such a
goody-two-shoes about it the one time you tried. Immediately followed by you roughhousing
him into the ground, but still.
Now, the worst possible way you could go about this would be to abruptly wake him up as
soon as possible without thinking at all. For example, blowing your cold-ass breath on the
back of his neck and saying a greeting in the most intentional creepiest way ever.

That would truly be an awful way to go about it!

So, naturally, you blow some probably freezing cold wind on the back of his neck and
whisper a quick "Hey." in the aforementioned creepy way to get him awake.

What you're expecting is for him to jolt up a little. To whip around and melt a little in relief
when he sees you like he always does (your heart jumps a little at the thought, and you have
to forcefully compose yourself.)

What you're not expecting is for Griefer to practically rocket himself out of his shrimp-esque
position, to practically leap five feet in the air before snapping his head around so fast you
can practically hear the crack in his body, the chair swiveling with him.

He does a double take. Then, a triple one as he truly comprehends what just happened, before
you immediately start laughing your ass off at the sight.

An empty soda can falls off his desk. You can't help but to laugh harder at the absurdly loud
clinking noise it makes as it collides with the floor.

"Dude–" You try to speak between choked breaths, but with every second that he stares at
you like a cat dunked in water, you can't stop, can't breathe. "Your face–! Bahah–"

You knew it would happen, but there's a slight slump in his posture now, a softer look in his
eyes even through the almost comedically big frown on his face. Some sickening sense of
glee overtakes you at the sight.

Through crinkled eyes, you force yourself to calm down as he just stares and stares– Before
you end up laughing yourself to death again just looking at him.

"Why the ####– s-stop looking at me- snrrk, like that!" Your hand slaps itself over your
mouth to contain your increasing giggles, with no success.

When did you end up doubled over and almost on the floor? That is the question.

Griefer does not, in fact, stop looking at you like that, but between your laughs you can see a
slight upturn to the corners of his mouth.

"Y0U HAVE TH3 WORST W4YS OF SAYING HI." He deadpans.

"I know!"

"WOULD 1T HAVE KILLED U TO KN0CK? OR 4NYTHING OTHER THAN THAT???"

"Oh, for sure. I would have died a horrible, painful death. Duh." For a brief moment, you
actually consider the situation as it would be through his eyes – and immediately feel a little
guilty. You take a deep breath to recover from your impromptu laughing fit, standing back up.
"Sorry, sorry. Been worr– Ehm, just checking on ya."

Spawn above, if Brad knew just how much he worried you, he'd never let you live it down.

For a moment, he looks at you. You look back. He's studying your carefully monitored
expression for any hints of buried emotion– something you knew he did if only because he
made it way too goddamn obvious.

It seems as if he's found nothing. With a huff, Griefer's head tilts upwards towards the top of
your own head.

"GIMM3 TH4T BACK." Without warning, he raises an arm to snatch back the cap
awkwardly placed on top of your own. "PUNK."

Ah! That reminds you...

Before he can put it back on, you circle your fingers around his wrist. He halts almost
immediately. You can see the way his eyes widen just the slightest bit, caught off-guard.

"Actually, wanted to ask ya something." Your smile wobbles a little. "If that's alright with
you, y'know, you don't have to–"

"SP1T IT OUT! SINCE WH3N DO Y0U EVEN ASK BEFORE 4CTING?" The words are
harsh, but there's something playful in his otherwise rude-as-hell tone that makes you hesitate
before deciding to try and box him out of nowhere.

And even then, there's more of a pause that you take as you consider just what he means. It
shouldn't come as a surprise that he knows you this well– you've been friends for how long
now?

Doesn't matter. It's enough to make you think, for just a moment, how the tiniest bit of a
crush is making you fumble your words around him, making you worried of what he'd think.
How foolish, how silly.

"HELLO0O?" You barely register the darkened hand waving in front of your face, the
wavering concern to be found in Griefer's voice. "U G0OD, MAN?"

You really need to stop zoning out in front of him.

Then again, it's difficult when you've got all these thoughts in your head, and a million other
voices chattering away in the background. Finding one thing to focus on proves to be a tough
endeavor; reality, thoughts, and an offhand conversation about the viability of coconut water
in fights that no one can hear but you.

Ooh, but then again, maybe they have a point... It does provide a good bit of healing as well
as SP–

There is a sudden warmth that encompasses your usually ice-cold hand, the one that
previously gripped him. A gentle squeeze. You freeze, snapping back to the present.
Your hand. It's intertwined with his.

Griefer did that. On purpose?

...

You look back down at him. A slight tinge of pink coats his face, morphed into a mild scowl.

"...D0N'T LOOK 4T ME LIKE THAT, YOU L1TTLE N3RD. I JU5T THOUGHT IT'D G3T
U TO– UH." He pauses for a second, as if the words he wanted to say had dried up in his
mouth."...P4Y ATTENTION."

Oh, you're paying attention alright.

It's damn near impossible to tear your eyes from the color that flushes his cheeks, something
that'd be almost unnoticeable if you weren't already hanging onto every minute change in his
expression. Yeah, that's a completely normal and sanely phrased thought. Regardless, it's
pretty.

Again, the glint of light bouncing off his hair catches your attention, the exposed arms dyed
an unnatural color, the rose-red (or scarlet, hell if you could ever tell the difference) eyes that
meet your own. He's pretty. Beautiful.

These are all things you would never dare to speak aloud. Things that escape the grasp of
your boldness.

"...You're pretty." You mutter.

Just kidding! It doesn't take boldness, but rather stupidity. They may as well be one and the
same in your eyes.

And thus, your thoughts leave your mouth without the usual filter to stop them. It feels as if
time itself had stopped. No noise to be made nor heard other than the sound of your heartbeat
pounding in your ears.

As much as you would love to avoid looking at him, at the incredulous expression in his face,
you can't look away. Much to your chagrin.

"...AH4H. WHAT? SAY THAT AGA1N."

Shiiiiit.

"Sorry, just misspoke! Your hair is really pretty." You blabber with a small grin, holding
control over every syllable lest you stammer and reveal yourself. "Mind if I play with it a
little, actually?"

Ah, your S-tier acting saving the day as per usual.

There's a whole flurry of emotions that you can see pass him. Confusion, obviously.
Suspicion. You wouldn't be surprised if there was a little monitor in his brain with a blue
screen error covering the whole thing, because visually, that's exactly what he looks like.

Weirdly enough, Griefer looks disappointed for just the slightest second, a downcast tilt to
the head that he shrugs off a fraction of a second after you catch it. Your only question is why,
but overthinking it may not work in your favor.

"...NOT WH4T I MEANT, BUT 1 GUESS I H3ARD IT WRONG. K TH3N."

"..." Now you're the one taking pause.

What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? That's not an answer. Damn, now you know
how he feels when you decide to skirt around his inquiries with half-truths and vague words.
Oh well.

There's nothing more to it.

Griefer sure is fun to look at. You're not gonna tell him, but the guy practically wears his
heart on his sleeve half the time. You wish it'd beat for you.

Or, perhaps, you've just stuck around him for far longer than you should have.

Both sentiments can ring true.

That aside, he hasn't really given you a proper answer to your query. You're both just sitting
there (or, really, he's just sitting there– you're still standing,) looking anywhere but each other
with hands intertwined for no reason at all. Not that you're complaining.

(Griefer certainly isn't complaining either, unbeknownst to you. If anything, he miiiight just
be stalling an answer out on purpose, but who's to say?

He sure isn't. If you knew, you'd never let him live it down.)

Holy shit your hand is getting sweaty. You didn't even think that was possible anymore.

In fact, for the first time since you've started your quest to collect the swords, your face feels
hot. Hot. The tingly feeling that interspersed itself through your cheeks is a bit unfamiliar, but
welcomed all the same.

Actually, no, it's getting uncomfortable at this rate, and the silence between you two speaks
volumes.

This is getting weird. Right? Does he think it's weird? To hold hands? Friends can hold
hands. That's a very friendly thing to do! He doesn't know, there's no way he can know–

Your thoughts and inner voices have collided into one big trainwreck. What a mess.

Before you can let it derail any further, you hesitantly let go of his hand. Well, 'let go' isn't the
proper term, it's more of wrangling it back– the little shit had a vice grip on you.

What were you here for again...? Ah. Hair. Pretty. Bed cozy.
"So, are you gonna let me mess with ya, or what's it gonna be?" That sounded desperate.
Gotta balance it out somehow. You lilt your tone upwards a bit for the sake of teasing. "I
know you'd looove to hold hands foreeeever, but-"

Immediately, he scowls, the pink on his cheeks flushing even darker. Just the reaction you
wanted.

"OH, AS 1F! Y0U'RE COLD AS HELL 4NYWAYS."

(In his eyes, it's lovely– the cooling sensation of your hand on his undeserving skin.

You're kind of being a little shit right now though. Being honest about that isn't on the table.)

You hum. "Really? Cold?"

Griefer narrows his eyes, and with that, you feel like a cat ready to pounce on its prey.

"####ING FR3EZING."

And with that, you immediately fling your hands to the back of his neck, if only to watch him
seize and squirm like a beetle flipped onto its back. You bark out a laugh at the dramatic
reaction he provides. It's that laugh that causes you to let your guard down enough for him to
lift your hands away from him in a hurry.

"Can't handle the heat, hmm?" You taunt. His lack of an answer chips away at your patience.
If he won't decide, you will. If there's one other thing you want, it's to not have to comb
through his hair standing up.

You're tired as hell, and the mattress in the corner looks comfy despite the empty soda cans
littered around it. A place to rest is a place to rest, and you're pretty used to sleeping on the
ground anyways.

What's a messy room compared to the outdoors?

"HEAT? HEAT??? YOU–"

Lovely as it would be to hear his fluster, you've got one goal on the mind. "Just get on the
bed already before I make you."

A heavy break of silence follows your demand. Oh. You take a quick break to check your
expression, and force the accidental frown upwards into the usual neutral face.

Griefer, on the other hand, has a suspiciously smug smile on his face. The red fangs peeking
out make it prettier than normal, unfairly so.

Finally, he gets up from the chair and walks over, and you trudge behind him. Something
about the quiet way he obeys is... making you rather wary.

Griefer doesn't even turn to you before opening his big stupid mouth to talk. "BET? D1DN'T
THINK YOU W0ULD EV3R B3 THAT FORW4RD, DUDE–"
It takes your mind a second to catch up to how your sentence actually came out. Internally,
you scream. Outwardly, you make some choked noise like a dying animal and stiffly raise
one hand to push him onto the bed, wishing to hear him no longer.

Now he's the one laughing at your expense, a sound that's not held back at all. It'd be music to
your ears in any other circumstance.

He peels himself off a pillow to sit criss-cross, looking you dead in the eye, only to continue
blabbing on: "Y0U R3ALLY WANTED ME S0O0OO BADLY THA7 YOU HAD TO
R3SORT TO TH1S?"

Heat rises to your cheeks. "Shut up, that's not what I meant–" As he continues to cackle at
your plight, you resign yourself to your fate of embarrassment at your own poor phrasing,
climbing on to sit behind him. You make a pointed effort to avoid the radioactive-green stain
on one side. "I should've killed you when I had the chance."

"BUT Y4 DIDN'T!!1!1!"

(Feeling the pointed heat of your glare from behind him, Griefer decides it'd be best to shut
up about this. Only for now, at least, this is prime teasing material after all.

You're too cute when you're flustered. It's not fair.)

It's a little unfamiliar to be this close to him, but you take the opportunity to relax against the
headboard, a fuzzy feeling settling itself into your frigid heart once he slots himself between
your legs. His head tilts to rest the back against your chest for a moment, and your heart
makes a leap.

"I still could," you mutter, carefully controlling your tone to not betray the excitement you
feel over finally being able to have him against you like this. "But you're kinda pathetic, so
I'll leave it be."

The only response he gives is a hissing of teeth. Ah, he's finally learned not to feed into your
teasing. Unfortunate.

For a moment, your thoughts stray elsewhere– to a warm touch against your face, of cuddling
together with not a single other worry in the world. It's nice. And also, completely
unnecessary right now. You're just bonding as friends! Why must you be this way?

Oh, your poor heart.

Stealing the hat away from his head (yet again) and placing it right at home on top of your
own (yet again), you begin the process of gently carding your fingers through the silky yet
scraggly hair beneath, internally marvelling at the white color that seems to glint in the light.
There's a lock in the front dyed green and black– a racoon striped pattern.

The bits of matting from a lack of care do not go unnoticed by you, but if the unusual silence
from Griefer is to say anything, it's to say that you shouldn't speak at all of it. You do not
speak of the decrepit state of his room, nor the giant collection of cards that definitely looked
stolen.

Instead, you devote your attention to lovingly prying the mats apart, a significant amount of
effort going into making sure you don't yank at it.

His hair is so long. Too long, the bubbling feeling of envy creeps up on you before you shove
it down with the rest of your feelings. Not now.

As you part it to work in sections, you decide to fill the neverending stretch of silence that's
fallen between you two. "Mm, have you considered pigtails?"

He gives you an unamused bit of silence. "1F YOU GIV3 ME PIGT4ILS, CONSIDER THE
F4CT THAT I'LL K1LL YOU." The malice dripping from his tone is palpable.

You remain unphased. "Fact? You already tried doing that and failed." Despite your best
attempts at remaining stone-faced, a small quirk to your lips makes itself prominent. "Once,
twice–"

"Z1P IT."

Your fingers yank his hair on accident, causing him to hiss.

...Okay, saying it was on accident would be a lie. He doesn't have to know that though. He
doesn't need to know jack shit.

"C0NSIDER THI5. CONSIDER TH4T." There's something lighter in those words that
immediately has you on guard. "HAVE YOU MAYB3 CONSIDERED D3EZ N–"

You clear your throat just to cut him off. "I'm gonna need you to be the one to shut it."

Annoying each other goes both ways.

After another small stretch of playful conversation, one half of his hair has been successfully
rid of the knots and entanglements. With a satisfied hum in your throat, you scratch your
fingers through the locks, reveling in the smooth feeling. Much better.

Subtly, Griefer's head leans into the touch, and you melt inside from the sight. Oh, your
friend. Your dear, beloved friend.

His back lays close enough to your chest for you to feel every subtle rise and fall of his
breath as you continue with the other side, every hitch as you card your fingers through the
newly mat-free hair every now and again. Absent-mindedly, you muse over whether or not he
would purr at the ministrations if he could.

It's quiet. Too quiet, in fact, you're pretty sure neither of you have ever kept your mouths shut
for this long around each other. Then again, neither of you had been this soft, either. A
dynamic that never rests, never stops.

You'd like these moments to occur more often, if only to appease your ooey gooey heart.
Both sides have been freed of their matting, satisfyingly soft and smooth enough to glide
your hands through. There's a few waves and dips in the shape that have you wondering
whether or not they could hold a braid. Immediately, you put your theory to the test, taking a
part out of the front to weave your fingers around as the braid slowly forms.

There's a small bump of his fangs that poke out of his mouth against your wrist. and you halt
for just a moment. You suppress a shiver at the thought of him biting down into your inner
wrist, of the blood that would flow out.

Would it be warm? Could you ever truly run anything but cold ever again? A million
different voices chime in to say no at once, an echoing cacophony that pulls you further and
further into a self-made spiral.

You cannot be made pure.

Griefer's shifting brings your mind back to reality, and you realize you've just been sitting
there with not a care in the world doing absolutely nothing. Zoning out has become a serious
problem by now, hasn't it?

Yet in return for your silence on everything others might judge him for, he does not question
your bouts of silence anymore, does not question your eyes that stare without truly seeing at
times. He only takes your hand to squeeze lightly, letting go when you squeeze back in a
pattern - once, pause, four times, pause, three. He'd never know what it would mean. A
comforting yet somber thought.

You have nothing more to do with your slightly achy hands for now, so you wrap your arms
around his front as casually as possible. Pointedly, you ignore the fact that you are shaking
and sweating as you do so.

"Aaall done...!" A wobbly grin forces itself onto your face and into your tone, fake as it's ever
been. "I'd like, spin you around in a mirror like some cheesy barber, but you make a pretty
good heater so I'm not doing all that."

And that's not a lie– he radiates warmth. You don't want to let go, even as you feel a weird
pressure building up between your eyes; all your attention focuses itself into not tearing up.

You don't even know what you're so shaken up over, damnit. What a pathetic sight you are,
open, vulnerable yet cowering for no reason at all, a mental death-spiral apparent to no one's
eyes but yourself.

You really hope it's not apparent.

"...AR3 YOU G0OD, OR L1KE...?"

...Shit.

Immediately, you lie.

"Eheh, 'm fine." Even thinking straight becomes difficult, a gray haze falling over your mind.
White hair, green accents. It's a grounding sight for the you whose mind feels like a balloon
drifting off into space. "Just doing a lotta thinking. Takes a whole lotta brainpower."

White hair, green accents. It blurs. Fuck, there's tears in your eyes. Griefer turns his head
around, probably to shoot you a concerned look– but your hands unbusy themselves from
grasping at the fabric of his shirt to lay themselves upon his head again. If only to stop it from
seeing your pathetic self behind him.

Your plan backfires, of course, for he begins to flail on your lap in a struggle to turn around
like a fish out of water.

"Y0U SOUND W3IRD AS HELL–"

"When do I not?" You giggle, entirely fake.

Griefer has a point, though. There's an obvious trembling in your voice that you didn't notice
until now. No wonder he figured something was off.

No tears fall, no, but the way they well in your eyes is uncomfortable, unfamiliar. The second
you try and hurriedly wipe them away, scarlet eyes meet your own before you can even
attempt. Already, he has flipped the rest of his body over to straddle you. Now it is you who
lies encaged.

Damn, he's quick.

Perhaps if you're lucky, he'll be blind enough to not see the odd shine there– to see everything
as it is. Normal, unfaltering, a perfect mask of a hero.

You could spew some more meaningless words at him, tell him to turn around. You could
actually face his clear inquiries.

You could face it.

...

Instead, you take the opportunity to noogie the shit out of him, fluffing his hair up as he lets
out an undignified squawk.

Heh.

"WHUH– UNFAIR! UNF4IR!!1! THERE'S NO W4Y YOU ACTUALLY D1D THA7 ON

PURPOSE!" His voice is immediately muffled by your free hand plopping itself over his
mouth to silence him.

Of course, it is promptly retracted with the same speed once he takes the opportunity to lick
your palm with the full intent of disgusting you. And it works! Your previously far-off
expression curls into something revolted as you both childishly start a playfight.
"#### you!" The remark is only one of many that you throw at him in the midst of it all, as
you shove a playful middle finger directly in his face.

Immediately, he shoots back, "DO 1T YOURSELF, L0SER!"

And just like that, you are pushing him way the hell off of your lap (and failing), blood
boiling in your face, though it is not only from annoyance. Griefer's raucous laughter fills the
space, and immediately all traces of irritation within you dissipate.

Between those horrible spaces, of every distant flicker of emotion held within you, there is
love for him. Love for the stupidly loud loser in front of you, for this weird bond originally
forged from hate.

You want to tell him. You want him to know so– that he is loved, that he is forgiven.

Your hands raise to cup his cheeks, unfairly squishy; a temptation in you rises to pull at them
before being squandered down. His laughter slowly falls, to a chuckle, to nothing at all.

It's always been difficult to look away from him, neon bright green and red, a vibrant
personality. It's still difficult now, to avert your eyes from the red fangs that poke from his
lips.

A different temptation rises, an overwhelming buzzing in your brain muddling your common
sense as the chatter of voices fill the empty space in your head. Oddly enough, it is only
encouragement that you hear, ignoring the bitter few that die down in the loudness of the
others.

And so, you will yourself forward...

...to place a cowardly kiss on his forehead instead. God. Damn it. What is your problem?!

Between the two of you, it is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It is most certainly quiet
enough for you to hear the way his breath hitches, before stopping entirely for a second.

You pull away, eyes drooping from the painfully loving gaze you give him. Painfully
vulnerable, soft.

"...Stinker."

An even more childish thing to say, but the stretch of silence is genuinely starting to unnerve
you– can you truly be blamed for wanting to lighten the mood? Again?

Griefer wears his heart on his sleeve, always wears the worst poker face for all to see. And
for once, you do not know what emotion is reflected in his eyes.

For once, you are scared.

He doesn't make a single movement. Still as a statue. Well, still as a non-sentient one, which
you'd think is as unwavering of a fact as the sky being blue but apparently not.
Slowly, as if approaching a cornered prey animal, he raises a hand to encircle your wrist. It's
a nice, grounding gesture at first, but quickly devolves into something terror-inducing as he
squeezes tight– as if you're handcuffed to him.

Finally, he speaks.

"WE 4RE SITTING HER3, YOU JUST DID... TH4T..." With his other hand, he makes a
vague gesture, and the mortification that strikes you at him directly calling it out is slowly
creeping in. "...AND 1'M NOT DREAMING. FOR 0NCE."

Immediately, you jump on the opportunity. "Nope, you're deeeefinitely dreamin', pal–" Panic
rises into your tone. "I didn't– I didn't mean to do that, y'know. Seriously."

"REALLY NOW." A wisp of amusement tints his voice. Is he angry? The tables have turned–
rather than him being the one struggling to read you, you're the one struggling to read him.
It's terrifying.

Oh gods, you're at a disadvantage. You're never supposed to do that! What are you doing?!
Anything, anything, you need to hold him over something to throw him off track–

"Heeey, why'd you say 'for once'? Have-" Something warm creeps up your throat as you
choke up a reply. "Said you dreamed of this before, hmm?"

An offputting titter comes from him, slightly more unhinged than usual. Oh no.

"NICE DISTRACTION, BOZO, BUT YOU'RE NOT GETTING OFF THE HOOK THAT
EASILY!" If his tone was any less serious, you could practically hear him throwing in an 'L'
at the end of it.

Ohhh... It's so over...

In a quick motion, he releases your hand from his crushing grip to flip it around, palm facing
away from him. You find that while you can still feel the warmth from it, it's much more
difficult to feel now.

The warmth from his face is dearly missed.

You're definitely not gonna tell him that.

Yet still, you end up shifting your arm just the slightest bit closer to his– anything you can get
before he inevitably kicks you out and rejects you for that weird stunt you just pulled.

What you're expecting is for him to at least berate you a little more, for him to get up from
where he sat facing you and to renounce this uneasy friendship.

What you're not expecting is for him to have brought your hand ridiculously close to his
face– is he gonna bite it off? Ah, this must be what you deserve.

What you're definitely absolutely certainly not expecting is for a small warmth to settle in the
middle, for red fangs to only gently scratch at the clammy skin there, for the hand to slowly
be brought back down and cradled almost lovingly in his own after a moment.

Huh. Odd.

Why is he so silent again? Why does it feel like lava is boiling underneath the surface of your
skin despite the Ice Dagger you're cursed with holding?

It's incredibly faint, but you find that as you study his face for any hints of an expression, the
corners of his mouth are quirked upwards just the slightest bit.

...Why is he grinning?

Wait. Waitwaitwait, that was definitely a kiss to the back of your hand. That was. A kiss. Like
the one you gave him.

Oh.

"IT'5 SO OBVIOUS TH4T YOU'RE STILL NERVOUS, S0..." He speaks as quietly as he

can with the loud tone he usually carries– there's a shakiness that lines his words. "YOU
DON'T R3ALLY HAVE TO BE."

Oh.

"DO0FUS."

A final devastating blow, your fingers interlock with his. You're both trembling, but for you,
this time it's not from the constant feeling of coldness.

It's nerve-wracking, all of this. For the first time, he has seen straight through you, for the
first time you have left yourself vulnerable.

(Open. Weak. Exposed.)

You do not want to deal with this. You want to do what comes naturally to you whenever you
have to confront anything more serious than you can handle– to run, to leave them asking
more questions than they have answers to, to not have to worry about it. Particles of magic
shift in front of you as you hurriedly imagine a location– anything, anything to fast-travel
out.

Slowly, he flexes his fingers in your grasp. In, out. In, out. Grounding motions. Nothing
crushing, nothing so tight that you couldn't leave if you truly desired. He is unintentionally
giving you the option to run as always, ignoring the way that he leans all his weight on top of
you; just as desperate as you are for the contact.

"D0N'T RUN OFF Y3T, M'KAY? WE'RE NO7 DONE."

...Okay, so maybe it was intentional.

For all your silence, the words spill out of your mouth far too easy, far too collected when it
comes to how they're arranged. Having the wording down is the easy part, but your tone? Oh,
your tone is difficult to control, to master, to tame. And it shows.

"Ahaah, what are you talking about?"

Griefer immediately throws you an unimpressed glare. And with that, you lose your carefully
crafted filter all in one moment.

"Okay, what are you really trying to say here? I'm– I don't know what you're feeling. Towards
me." Too direct! You immediately go back to internally panicking, not that you haven't
already been doing that. "That's...! That's, uhm, not to say that-"

"STAY." A one word command. "ST4Y STILL."

Yet you do.

Despite everything, you stay stock-still, even as he mirrors your earlier action, gently
cradling your face, moving closer, a soft puff of breath grazing your cheek before he leans in
to finish the job you couldn't, lips meeting yours.

It's silent, and almost awkward before you melt back into his affection, eyes shut closed. A
long moment passes, feeling all too short as you pull away from it, overwhelmed.

...

Slowly, a thumb circles over your cheek, torturously adoring. Is the oxygen in this overgrown
tree house somehow depleting or is it just you? Griefer's breathing fine. It's probably just you
struggling for air all of a sudden.

"...PLEASE."

Ohhh, you don't hear him say that very often. Enticing.

You find that while there is a part of you that wants to up and leave, the part of you that wants
to stay has far more weight on your decisions.

Telamon above, you don't deserve this, not with the atrocities you've committed. The feeling
of ashy remains freezing your hands like snow stings in your mind, a painful reminder.
Subtly, you try to shift your scarf up a bit, if only to keep your hands preoccupied from
grasping at him and never letting go.

Pulling your attention back to reality, Griefer climbs off you, and you're unsure whether or
not to whine like some pathetic mutt in his absence or be glad for the relieved pressure on
your lap before he shifts to lay next to you.

An arm wraps around the back of your neck, then another curls in the front– before you
realize it, he's already taken to cuddling you from the side, making the daring move of laying
his head in the crook of your neck.

Just like you, he quivers despite the undeniably cute gesture.

"JUST... L3T'S STAY LIKE THIS. F0R A WH1LE." He mumbles, uncharacteristically quiet
in tone. "G1VE ME YOUR TIME, I'LL GIV3 YOU MINE. THAT'S THE PR0MISE WE
MADE, R1GHT?"

Damn it all, he's using your own words against you.

You... You can afford to stay just a little longer, right? There's so much that's been done, that
needs to be done– but you'd do anything for Griefer. And if this is the one thing he asks–

It'll be fine. For now.

You lift your hands to lift his face up, to pepper every inch of space on his stupid face with
kisses, enough to mend the silence. One on the cheek, on his forehead, one directly on the
lips for a brief moment, nothing escapes unloved.

Even though they shouldn't be, your eyes weigh heavy with the promise of sleep, and it's a
promise that does not go unfulfilled as you hug him impossibly close to you.

Your dreams are often filled with crayon-like etchings of bizarre landscapes and flickers of
color, of something that follows at you persistently. For today, they are filled with a blissful
change, filled with imagery of a life lighter than this one.

They are filled with nothing but him, and you don't think you've ever felt happier.

For now.

Only for now.

Griefer hasn't known what to think of you for a long time. Whether or not you annoy him,
whether or not he loves you– that, he knows he does, but yet, it is not until yesterday that he
confirmed your own thoughts back.

When he wakes, it's somehow uncomfortably cold and boiling hot at the same time. For a
groggy moment, he thinks that coldness is you, the soft thing that he holds lovingly in his
arms for once.

It's soft. Too soft. Outside, he can hear some kind of buzzing and chirping, a song from all
sorts of bugs and creatures alike. Spawn knows he's had to deal with them too many times.
Somewhere in the distant corner of his room, there is a light snoozing from his dearly
beloved gorilla. It's nice to see it having returned.

Wind blows in for the slightest of seconds, and it's enough to get Griefer to shiver and open
his eyes unto true consciousness, for just a moment.

There is no you.
Only a pillow held tight within his arms. He groans at the sight, but there are no hard feelings
held behind it. You'd have to leave sometime or later, and he supposes he's glad that it was
later.

Griefer would never verbalize that to you. The teasing he would get... oh, but the new teasing
he looks forward to, with whatever... this is between the two of you.

His eyes struggle to adjust to the lack of ought, but it comes eventually. He makes a grab for
the cap he usually has plopped onto his head, feeling around the bed until he finds something
resembling it. It's familiar, yes, but it is wrong.

It is your cap. His, unfortunately, is nowhere to be found despite his desperate scanning of the
room from where he lays.

Damn it all, he'd like to say it's an intentional prank from your end, but that's when he spots
something. A bright yellow sticky note attached above his headboard.

New. Unusual. Immediately, he grabs for it, desperate to see what the contents are.

Slowly, Griefer comes to understand your chicken-scratch handwriting, clearly hurried, but
still somewhat legible as he reads it aloud.

'Have to catch a train somewhere. It's important. Sorry, sunshine! Hope you understand.'

It's an instant reaction, how his expression softens at the familiar nickname. Maybe you just
didn't check for the differences? That's fine, in his eyes. At least then, you will carry a piece
of him with you– more so than you already do.

Giving your card to someone is a big deal, after all, and he wonders if you'd really been too
oblivious to the most obvious tell of his feelings towards you when he gave you that stupid
thing.

Then again, it's not strictly romantic, not at all. Maybe he's just dogshit at flirting.

...Yeah. Yeah, he definitely is.

Griefer continues reading.

'Love you. I have for a while.'

Something in his heart pangs, a sickeningly sweet flood of warmth rising in his throat only to
choke him at the sight of those words. If he breathes in, he can still smell traces of you from
when you were here. For now, he can only imagine you saying it out loud.

For now.

It’s a gamble on whether or not you’ll disappear for a few days or a few weeks, knowing you.

He rereads the beginnings of the note, over and over and over again until he thinks he's going
to be ill over the giddy and disgusting feeling of affection. Again, again, again.
And at the bottom, for his eyes only, is a drawn heart.
End Notes

they're like bugs to me. also this is my first time writing characters actually kissing/showing
feelings it was kind of short but i was internally squealing too hard just writing it sorryyyyy

❗❗❗❗🚨🚨
god i wish i could go off anon without it probably blaring a giant fucking ⚠ THIS MF
JUST WENT OFF ANON JUMP THEIR ASS NAOWWW ⚠ notif in
peoples emails guhhhh . also i fear what might happen if a developer finds this i think i
would rather curl into a ball and PERISHHHHH than have a dev or something find this.

i might make a separate chapter/work to put my lazy ass headcanons abt these two because
they make me ILLLLL;LLL. anyways we need more of these two being a lil toxic to
eachother (putting the TOXIC in toxichero) and i WILL write that!!! eventually!!! screw
deltarune tomorrow what about blocktales tomorrow huh. huh.

if there's typos please lemme know i wrote a phat chunk of this from 1am to 4am yesterday
night my eyes r tired!!!! anyways lemme know what u thought of this :3333333 pretty please

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