(not one for sappy emotional stuff but i do give it a good try)
Everything always seems to be fun and games until you've actually had a moment to think.
Blocky figured that his whole life was gonna revolve around the underappreciated art of the prank; he felt that the moment he first saw his successful plan go off without a hitch and saw the anger and embarrassment in his target's eyes. He liked it, he was good at it, and it made him feel alive. What more could he ask for, really? What else could he search for? Not only that, but the Battle for Dream Island seemed like the *perfect* environment to further encourage and develop his skills at the craft. The competition *needed* him to be aggressive, pushy, and crafting. He was more than happy to keep on fighting for the rest of his days, going and going, until he finally won Dream Island (or the BFDI, or whatever else) or he finally went down with one last hurrah. Eventually, though it always seemed to be so far away, things *did* eventually come to an end; he came out of the whole thing relatively unscathed, having done plenty, learned plenty, and still having plenty of friends to hang out and do funny doings with. Sure, he didn't have any fancy prizes, but he also wasn't dead and rotting in some middle of nowhere field; that's the *real* prize, isn't it?
And then the silence set in.
As it turned out, in what was a *pretty* shocking revelation for the building block, people aren't exactly appreciative of being the target of a few japes and jokes. Not many people liked being the punchline of a joke. As the whole Battle for Dream Island became a more and more distant memory, Blocky began to notice more and more eyes staring down on him; past injustices, held grudges, threats of future payback for making others look bad. He could never really show any *definitive* evidence that that was being plotted behind his back; as a matter of fact, he himself didn't really believe it initially. But all it took was a moment of doubt, a mere instant of vulnerability, and the idea took hold like a sickening infection. Blocky often paced back and forth behind the scenes, his mind utterly filled with it. It just made *sense*, right? Just as he now had more time to focus on his hobby and turn it into a full-blown career, they had more time to look back on things and realize that there were some debts left unpaid. Whenever he wasn't planning his latest scheme, whenever he wasn't grilling some hapless guest for the juicy details, it was all he could think about. It was only a matter of time, the voices in his head said.
Only a matter of time.
-
Blocky had been double-checking and triple-checking an awful lot of things recently.
Woody could somewhat vaguely recall when it all began; he didn't really like reminiscing on the past, as delving into the depths *too* much causes some of it to start staring right back at him, to start striking *fear* again. He could remember when they finally made some disheveled house into a home, a place where they could get away from all the troubles and commotion of the outside world. The block of balsa made a quick quip on how it was the only place he felt *somewhat* safe in, and he could just barely hear the other block say that he shared the sentiments. Woody could remember when it *really* started to show itself, when things started to go from just about tolerable to a complete disaster; the two of them were preparing to interview yet another group of unsuspecting guests, when all of a sudden Blocky stopped whatever he was doing, freezing solid. He'd tell him to eavesdrop, but Woody couldn't get a single detail that could *possibly* shake him up like that. Regardless, the usually-enthusiastic building block called the interview off, and ever since he couldn't be dragged out of the home unless it was through force. He'd do the occasional installment of his Blockcast online, give the people *some* semblance of being alive, but for the most part the piece of wood would just see him staring out a window, as if waiting for something.
Waiting for *what*?
Woody tried not to mind; he had his own life to lead, a life now free of unjustified fears and constant paranoia, and it was quite clear that whatever this was, it was *something* that Blocky had to deal with personally. There *were* times where he'd try to put his foot down and ask him how he's doing, why he was doing things that they usually did together all on his own. The response was always the same. "Nothing to worry about, bud." Blocky would mutter. "Just feeling a bit under the weather at the moment; I'll be back up to 100% in no time." Woody would try to ask more questions, he'd try and help him out the same way he'd helped others, but it always ended with Blocky gently pushing him away and him unable to do much else. Woody tried to take his word for it; they've been through the Tiny Loser Chamber for quite a long time, and this clearly couldn't be worse than *that*. But try as he might to take his mind off it, try as he might to continue sticking to the daily routine, old habits die hard.
Woody was starting to feel fear.
-
"Waaah?"
The living room was empty, as he should've fully expected by now; there was a time where Blocky spent all day watching TV, but at some point he couldn't stomach seeing those faces anymore. His room was similarly devoid of life, and his online updates had become more sporadic and infrequent. Eventually, Woody found him where he should've expected him to be; right by the window, looking for ghosts. The piece of balsa briefly thought about tapping him on the shoulder and asking him how he's been, but he knew full well how that would go. He'd opt to just stand back, act casual, and see what he does. Make sure he doesn't end up hurting himself.
But that's just silly, right? Why would Blocky do that? He's not one to get into *that* sort of thing. Woody could leave him alone just fine and everything would be well, right?
Right?
Blocky eventually stopped staring, shaking his head. He'd let out a deep sigh and make his way to the front door, and Woody's eyes would follow him. It was then when he realized that he'd completely forgotten to lock the door behind him; the piece of wood liked to think that he'd gotten over his whole... phase, but every day came a new reminder that he still forgets a few things. Blocky would shut the door and start going through the large array of locks that would keep it in its place. Woody could still remember the day they set that thing up like it was yesterday; the building block helped him figure out how to lock and unlock everything. He'd still chuckle a good bit every time he slipped up, but afterwards there was always the reassurance that it was okay and he'd get it eventually. Blocky was so jovial and cheerful back then. It was in stark contrast to him now, doing the bare minimum to make sure he wasn't seen as dead.
Blocky finally finished locking everything up, then he just blankly stared at it for a little while; he would finally turn away to make his leave, only to end up spinning right back to it. After a few more moments of blankly staring, he'd suddenly grab the doorknob and try to open it up, only for it not to budge, exactly as it was supposed to do. Woody kept on looking and frowned; from what it looked like, Blocky seemed to think that it was *wrong*. The cube started fiddling with the locks; making sure they were well and truly locked, unlocking them then locking them once again. He'd try opening the door again with everything locked a few more times for good measure.
This was starting to become *too* concerning. Woody finally bit the bullet and went over to him, still frantically working his way through the locks. He'd lightly tap him, as he usually did, only to be met with a swift slap to the face; it wasn't enough to knock him off his feet or anything, but it said all that needed to be said. "GAH!" Blocky quickly turned to him, as if ready for a fight. Upon seeing that it was just him, however, he'd calm down.
He'd *try* to.
"Oh, Woody. I..." Blocky's breath grew shaky. "I just... Don't..." His eyes started darting around, going all over the place. "I thought..." Then those thoughts quickly got to him; his legs were shaking, he started sweating, and whatever came out of his mouth grew more and more incoherent. "No, no..." Woody was similarly frozen for a moment, utterly fixated on seeing Blocky unraveling before him; for the briefest moments, it felt like he was looking in a mirror. The block of wood would snap out of it and try to take a step forward, only for Blocky to hastily scramble, putting his back against the door. "DON'T!" He'd shout with a ferocity he'd never seen directed towards him in such a long time. "Don't you..." Blocky scrambled to get one of the many little things he hid around the place for self-defense, a countermeasure in case someone *did* try to prank him, but it would elude him. "Please... Where is..." He'd glance at Woody again, but he couldn't stomach looking at him for a moment. "No... No, no, no... Of course..."
"...Wah?" Woody tried again to take a step forward, but it would set Blocky off yet again; he'd rapidly start kicking with his legs, trying to shoo him away, and would end up stumbling to the floor. "Please, please..." Blocky muttered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I don't..." Woody considered just leaving him be, but enough was enough; he couldn't possibly bear to see him like this. Despite his wishes, the balsa boy would continue to come closer, and eventually Blocky would end up backing himself into a corner. Nowhere to go. "Please, PLEASE!" Blocky shouted. "I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY! I NEVER-"
Woody went down and hugged him.
For a moment, everything was silent; for Blocky, it felt like such a sudden non sequitur. Was this... some sort of prank? Woody wouldn't...
Everything quickly faded away. Whatever had suddenly taken over Blocky immediately left, and he started thinking about just how foolish he looked, all crumpled up on the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry..." His tone changed. "I'm so, so, sorry..." He'd suddenly hug Woody back, much to his surprise. "...I don't know why I tried to act so tough, why I kept it from you... Out of *all* the people I could tell, I..." He'd let out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry I acted so dumb back there. I just..." He'd trail off, unsure of what to say next; when he did finally come up with something, Woody would be quick to hush him. "It's okay." He was a man of few words, but those words always arrived when they were needed the most. "I'm here." "Yeah, of course..." Blocky chuckled. "H-How could I be so..." He'd shake his head. "I don't care what they think. I *shouldn't* care. All I care about is me..." He'd gently pat Woody in the head. "And you." They'd get right back to embracing each other, wondering why they didn't do this more often.
Some sense of wanting to appear strong and manly? Get real.
It was then when Blocky would feel what he *swears* was Woody giving him a little peck in the cheek.
It was jarring, but not... not in a *bad* way, duh. It was just... surprising. Blocky gently pushed away, just a little bit, just to look him in the eyes. "Did you just..." He'd mutter; for a moment they stared at each other, feeling flustered.
Why did it matter if he did? Was it wrong?
