"You know," says Jimmy smugly, "I think second is the best spot to die in, actually."
"Really," says Mumbo, exasperated.
"Yes, I don't know what you're so happy about," says Lizzie. "You barely lasted ten minutes more than me."
"Doesn't matter. Not out first, baby!" He crows, triumphant, to the neverending void.
"And you killed me last session!"
"...Yes, I, uh, I'm sorry about that one. Sort of. Mostly," he says, momentarily cowed.
"I can't believe you people," says Lizzie. "They didn't have a funeral for me. I died first, and you got one, and they didn't even have a funeral for me!" She sounds indignant, but a look of genuine hurt crosses her face for a moment.
"I'm going to be honest, Lizzie," says Mumbo awkwardly. "I think they had bigger things to worry about. I- I think Joel was quite sad about it, though. If that helps?"
"I suppose it's better than nothing." She crosses her arms.
"But- wait, hang on. Jimmy?" says Mumbo abruptly. "Did you say you wanted to go out second?"
"No!" Jimmy protests. "I just think if you have to go out, then second is sort of ideal, really, if you think about it!"
"No!" says Mumbo, indignant. "No, surely third is better, actually! And to extend that logic, fourth would be better as well, and fifth, and- well, you get the idea. Anyway, my point is that I did better than both of you!"
"Hey, don't bring me into this!" says Lizzie.
"Anyway, you're wrong," says Jimmy, back to being smug again.
There is a short silence.
"You, uh. You gonna elaborate on that one, buddy?" asks Mumbo.
"Well," says Jimmy. "Obviously going out first is terrible. Would not recommend. I don't know why anyone would do it, honestly, I know I would never-"
"You're going on my list," says Lizzie, cheerfully.
"Wait wait wait, no, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I really am!"
"Hmm." Lizzie narrows her eyes. "Acceptable. For now."
A few moments pass.
"You may continue," she says.
"Right," says Jimmy. "What was I saying?"
"You were being wrong about how the ranking in this game works," offers Mumbo.
"No I wasn't!" says Jimmy. "Just, let me explain. Now, you obviously don't want to go out first, sorry Lizzie, but it's true."
"I will concede that point," says Lizzie. "It wasn't great."
"But—have you seen how they get?"
"How they... get?" Mumbo frowns. "What do you mean?"
"The people who don't die."
"I- now, I don't know if you remember this," says Mumbo, "But third is a new record for me, so I really don't know how you expect me to know that."
"Anyway," interjects Lizzie, "Mumbo and I have only done this once before. I mean, I guess people started losing it a bit once you two died, but it wasn't that much different to how it already had been. Although I wasn't around for that long at that point."
"Yes, but, it-" Jimmy frowns. "I haven't seen much of it either. But there's something- I don't know how to explain what I mean. Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's stuff with Grian, Scott, Pearl."
He stops, sighs. Looks at the ground.
"Martyn's going to be alone, now," he says.
"Well," says Lizzie, a little acerbic. "You don't have to have people die for that to happen, you know."
Jimmy gives her a look that is a combination of sheepishness and genuine regret. "Ah. Yeah. I guess not."
"So you're right," says Lizzie. "I don't know what you mean."
"...I did feel bad," says Jimmy, quietly.
"You... did?" asks Lizzie. "What about?"
Jimmy looks at her, then off to the side. "...When I killed you."
"Oh."
"I really didn't mean to," he says. "I felt bad. It wasn't satisfying. It was just... a person I cared about. Dead. Because of me. Because I acted without thinking, because I wasn't paying attention."
"...Oh." says Lizzie, softly.
"And that was when I knew you would come back," says Jimmy.
Lizzie and Mumbo exchange glances, unsure.
"I'm good with second," says Jimmy. "I think it's the closest you can get to winning, actually."
They stand there, silent, for some time.
"Well," says Mumbo eventually. "I still feel like third is a bit better, though."
"Mumbo!" cries Jimmy.
"Mumbo, come on, we were just having a moment!" says Lizzie.
"Yes well, look, I really need this, guys," says Mumbo, shifting his weight from side to side. "I don't know if you know this, but I've had a really bad day. It was just terrible!"
"I think we've all had pretty bad days, Mumbo!" says Lizzie, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we all died!"
"Yes, I- I had picked up on that, actually."
"I don't know," says Jimmy. "My day was great!"
They keep talking, and bickering, and the emptiness stretches off into the distance.
It's nice, not to have to be there alone.
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"How come you never talk to me about sports?"
It's late in the afternoon on a lazy Sunday, and they're just curled up on the couch together. Eddie's got a book in one hand, and he's carding the fingers of his other through Steve's hair. Steve's got the sports pages from the morning paper in his lap, and he's looking through it idly.
He stops when he hears Eddie's question, though, cranes his neck back to look at him.
"Huh?"
"How come you never talk about sports? I just realised I don't even know what teams you support." Eddie dog-ears his book and sets his book aside as he asks.
Steve frowns. "But… you don't care about sports. Like, at all. Why would I bore you by talking about it?"
"Are you bored when I talk about D&D?” Eddie asks, hand stilling in Steve’s hair. Steve shakes his head. “I tell you about my sessions all the time. I tell you about the books I'm reading and music shit, and you always listen to me. You don't really care about any of that stuff, either."
Steve shakes his head. "Yeah, but that’s different,” he tries to argue.
“How so?”
Steve wracks his brain for the words to describe it. “I like listening to you talk about D&D because you get so excited. I like hearing you talk about something you care about."
Eddie smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead. He looks almost smug, like he’s won a debate Steve hadn’t even realised he was part of.
"So let me ask again. Why don't you talk about sports more?"
Steve is quiet, staring at nothing in the distance as he puts the pieces together.
"I never... Nobody ever.... I mean, except Lucas, but Robin and Dustin always rolled their eyes when I made references to it, so..."
Eddie cups Steve’s face and looks him in the eye. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. What's the drama right now? How's your team doing in the league or the championship or whatever it's called? Tell me about the last game you saw on TV! I wanna hear you talk about your interests, too."
Steve feels warmth burst in his chest as he sets the newspaper aside.
Eddie leans back against the couch, watching fondly as he listens. Steve is hesitant at first, stumbling over his words. A little voice in the back of his head keeps tripping him up, telling him Eddie doesn't care about any of this and you're boring him, wrap it up.
Every time he lets the voice win, though, every time he stops talking, trails off, or tries to change the topic to something Eddie might enjoy more, Eddie asks him a question.
"What does that rule mean?"
"How does team selection even work?"
"What would your dream line-up look like right now?"
And Steve answers. And Eddie listens.
When Eddie finally runs out of questions, Steve's surprised by how happy he is.
"You're really cute when you talk about sports, you know that right? Your face lights up with it."
Steve leans in and kisses Eddie. "I love you."
"Love you too, babe. I really do."
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