Hermitcraft Stuff I Guess

Together (oneshot)

Main Pairing: Platonic Jleo and Platonic Joesuma
Cw: Character Death
Au: none
Around 1800 words

    Cleo. Joe. Cleo and Joe. Cleo and Joe are friends. Cleo and Joe have been friends since the day they met. Neither of them remember it, but two toddlers started something amazing. A team to support one another and fight for what they believed in. One without the other is like stripping a man of his flesh. Like stripping a woman of her soul. Forged from atoms and shaped into the perfect half for each other. Sun and moon. Fire and air. Mandatory. Since birth. Till death.

    “Happy birthday, Cleo! Welcome to adult life!” The swell of joy and pride fueled them both that day. Adulthood was a big deal. Soon they would graduate highschool and go to college together. They would be free from the confines of leaders while living in a small room. Together.

    “Thank God, it was weird that you were hanging out with a child instead of someone your own age.” Joe rolled his eyes and bit back the reminder that she was only about a month younger than him. Maybe it was two? He was never the best at keeping track of time. “Do you have any tips for a young adult such as myself? Your wisdom at that age must be infinite.”

    “Let me roll for it, I have a plus four in this category.” With a chuckle and a soft punch in the arm, he spoke up. “Just remember, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. At least not without me.”

    “When have I ever done anything without you?” They both chuckled.

    “Fair point.” Cleo smiled and hardly noticed as Joe slipped something out of his coat pocket. He got down on one knee and she gasped. “Cleo, now that you’re an adult, would you make me the happiest man in the world,” he popped open the box, “by going to the arcade with me to play so many pinball machines that our eyes pop out?”

    “Oh, Joe!” Her feigned swooning told him what she wanted to say. “I would want nothing more!” Cleo blinked out some fake tears and held her hands to her heart. Joe took a token from the gift box and pretended to place it on her finger like a ring. It was beautiful. Anyone would have assumed young love or a bizarre inside joke, but neither was entirely true. They loved each other, but not romantically, familially, or even really platonically. They loved each other more than words can describe. More than they could understand. That’s why it was hardest when she got sick.

    “Cleo, I don’t care if you feel fine, your fever is way too high.” It had been five months. Five months of choking on blood and fear and utter confusion. No one understood what was going on with her. Stuck in a hospital bed, her cheeks were getting hollow, her eyes dark. She was paler and paler by the day, and nothing seemed to help her. They were utterly powerless.

    “Joe. I can’t control this. You know it, I know it, the whole world knows it. The only people who can are doctors, and they said I was fine.” Joe did know this, and there was no relief. No wash of comfort. Nothing. Because deep down they both understood the same thing. Doctors can’t control it. Doctors can’t control his best friend’s issues. Doctors can’t control his fear. Doctors can’t control anything. He was never an angry man, but his grief about her condition fueled the flame. The flame of fear, sorrow, shame, and rage all swallowed the rationality of his mind. Tears came to try and extinguish his anguish.

    “Cleo, I can’t lose you.” He dropped to his knees, heartbeat in head and bitterness in mouth. His hands tugged at his hair, but nothing hurt him more than the words he just spoke. A weak hand reached out and lightly scratched at his back.

“Hey hey hey! Who said anything about losing anyone? Name one time I haven’t gotten better.” Joe stayed quiet. “I’ve had pneumonia, bronchitis, and dozens of asthma attacks, but here I am! I’m still with you.” Again, no ease. Cleo raised her pinky finger out to Joe. “We’re together. Which means we’re stuck with each other.”