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Z squints down at the 4x4 patch of sparse dirt with a singular pressure plate on one section. It’s surrounded by grass; he wonders which entity set this dumb trap up. He hasn’t come across a ton of antagonists save for the headless dork that keeps trailing his save files and something this conspicuous surely must be his doing.
“HEY! Hey, what are you—oh, ‘sup man.”
Z sighs, barely resisting the urge to turn and sprint. “Is this your work?”
“Yeah, of course it is, idiot—“ Regect sputters out.
“Oh, and uh, let me guess, you want me to step on it.”
“I’m not suggesting that, but if you’re suggesting that…”
“You’re not suggesting that? You aren’t?”
“I—no, no I’m not, you’re just—you’re putting words in my mouth.”
“What—what am I supposed to think?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay, okay,” Z says with another exasperated sigh. “You should—why don’t you walk over it then?”
“No.”
“No?”
“You’re asking me to step all over my beautiful creation, so—“
Z blinks. “It’s a—it’s a patch of dirt.”
“Yeah? How would you like it i-if I called your flower garden a patch of dirt?”
“My flower garden has flowers—“
“Yeah, doesn’t feel so great, huh? Fuck you.”
“Are you seriously—look man, I’m not gonna ruin your dirt.”
“Why not?”
“Oh my god—can we, like, not do this right now?”
“What do you—hey what’s that?”
“Huh?” Z barely has the time to look over his shoulder before Regect punches him onto the pressure plate and subsequently launches him about fifty feet in the air. He tabs over to his water bucket and tanks the hit in front of Regect, entirely unimpressed. “Wow, who-who could’ve—who would’ve seen that one coming,” he deadpans.
“Not you! Stupid idiot.” Regect laughs.
“Whatever, let’s just—let’s just, like, go—go do something else.”
Regect has not left his side all day. He usually vanishes without an explanation way sooner than now. Is it because they share a house together now or something? Z doesn’t know how that happened.
When Regect corrupted his previous save, he was under the impression that he would spend the first few days cobbling together an inventory while dealing with the other’s antagonism and attempts at riling him up into petty arguments. The arguments have not decreased in frequency, but it’s odd how quickly Regect generated a house for them. For someone who claims to hate him, he seemingly has no issue brandishing the roommate title.
“Dude, so, you know the whole—the whole, uh, living together thing?”
“What? What about it?” Regect defensively shoots back as Z continues chopping down another oak tree.
“… I don’t know. I-I wanted to ask why? Like, why—wh-why not Moe or someone?”
“So I can keep better tabs on you,” answers Regect as if he should’ve been privy to that fact already. “I said that earlier if you would pay attention.”
“Okay, but why? You already had that—that weird setup at your old place?” The silence between them stretches on long enough for Z to put his axe down, giving him a good, hard look. Sometimes, he wishes Regect had a face so he could read him better… although his head would just be a black void too, wouldn’t it? “Well?”
“Were you saying something?”
“What the—and you get on my ass for not paying attention—“
“You don’t! You literally don’t!”
“I literally do, asshole! You’re being purposefully obtuse right now.”
“Wow, that’s a new one. Want a trophy Mr. Ten-Dollar Word?”
“Obtuse is not—“
“You’re just—“
“I’m asking a simple question—oh. Oh, okay. Yeah, go ahead and disappear in the middle of a conversation. Great,” Z mumbles to himself. “I hate him, I swear I hate him.”
“What is that?” Z points at the obscenely large room addition to the side of their balcony. Their house is asymmetrical as hell now, seriously, what was that guy thinking?
“That? That is—wait for it—our new room!”
“So, not only are we sharing a house, we’re sharing a room?” Z folds his arms across his chest, arching an exasperated eyebrow at the general vicinity of where a head should be.
“Yeah man, it’s—it’s an infinite sleepover. I’m building Moe a room too.”
“Right, Moe gets her own—she gets her own room in a house she doesn’t live in. Makes sense.”
“She’s a highly valued guest, dumbass,” says Regect.
“Okay, see, but why am I not getting that room?”
“Because you—fuck you, you’re lucky I’m even considering sharing that room with you.”
“Wh—you made it like that!”
“Haven’t heard a single thank you, by the way.”
“Why would I thank you for forcing me to—hold on.” Z enters their household without a glance back, ignoring the protests from Regect about showing him around. As if he wants another tour of his—their own fucking house. He opens the bedroom door to a small bookcase, two slabs sticking out under the windowsill with potted plants, a gaudy painting Z establishes a mental promise to tear down when Regect disappears, and two beds pushed together. “What the fuck?”
“Swanky, right? You like skyline windows, I totally know you do.”
“Why are the beds next to each other?”
“What—look around. There’s no space.”
“This has to be another prank,” Z says under his breath. Unfortunately, Regect seems to possess supernatural hearing in addition to the plethora of odd abilities he won’t disclose to Z.
“It’s not a prank, you fucking—hey, wait, stop—“
“No, I—this is weird. This is so weird. You’re weird.”
“You’re weird.”
“I didn’t build a whole—what the hell is your problem?”
“You have a problem, you’re up in our crib just destroying shit! What—where’re you putting that?”
“In the room you’re going to build for Moe? I don’t know, fucking anywhere else?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You what?”
“Yeah, I’m not building it anymore, build it yourself. Ungrateful asshole.”
“Okay, well—okay, I guess I’ll do that.”
“Fine, go do that.”
“I will.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Z makes it to the top of the staircase before he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose. Without another word, he returns to the bedroom and places his bed back down.
“What happened to you building that room, huh?”
“Huh?”
“Fucking pussy, I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Fuck you, man, I’m entertaining your weird shit because…” Why is Z entertaining him? He leaves the sentence unfinished while Regect probes him, taking a seat atop his surprisingly plush covers. Maybe because despite it all, despite the daily headaches and the frequent death screens, he kind of does like him. A little. “Uh?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, you just, you—thanks or whatever.”
“Was that so hard? Nice to know you have—like you have, like, a shred of human decency somewhere in there.”
“Human decency?! You aren’t even human, I—“
“I know the concept! Unlike you.”
“Where do you get off lecturing me about—“
“Lecturing? Is that your definition of a lecture?”
“No, but—but it—“ Z chooses peace for once, trudging over to extinguish the torch. “I’m going to bed.”
“You had to announce that?”
“I’m just warning you, like, in case you—“
“I’m already in mine, what would I need—“
“Oh my god, shut up, good night, uh, don’t—don’t let the bed bugs bite, yada yada.”
“Cute,” says Regect. “Real cute.”
Z’s mouth, despite his intentions, curls in the slightest grin. “Weirdo.”
“You’re the weirdo, weirdo.”
“At least you think I’m a cute one.”
He’s expecting to be met with denial but the faint, rhythmic footsteps of their cow pen downstairs is the only sound cutting through the quietude. His smile broadens as he shifts under his covers.