Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bacon had felt eyes on him almost all the time. At first, he chalked it up to paranoia, nothing more than his imagination getting the better of him. This was a server full of players, mobs, entities someone was always watching. But these eyes? These were different. They weren’t just watching. They were studying . Tracking .

They wanted him.

And he didn’t know if they wanted him dead, or worse gone. Erased. Whatever it was, it scared him.

He was on three hearts. Everything is terrifying when you’re on three hearts.

Paranoia had crept into his days and haunted his nights. Every step he took, every corner he turned, every time he reached into a chest he felt it. That heaviness in his chest. That stillness in the air before the storm.

Today felt no different. The sky was a pale blue, the usual clouds drifting lazily by as if mocking his panic. He walked toward spawn, boots dragging through the grass, head low. But then something had shifted.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, the sensation of being watched disappeared.

Gone.

And the air didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt…clean. Freeing.

He blinked and lifted his head, letting out a shaky breath. The silence wasn’t sharp or compromising but it was calming. Like stepping into a memory. His steps picked up, lighter now, more hopeful. He made his way to his favorite spot. A high hill overlooking the server’s vast terrain, a place where the wind always blew just a little stronger, and the world felt a little smaller. A place to think.

He sat down, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them. The grass was soft, the breeze cool against his skin. He let his eyes flutter shut, letting himself exist. Just for a while.

Then a crunch.

Footsteps behind him.

He froze.

The air shifted again, but this time, not with the dread of invisible watchers, but with the presence of someone . Someone real. He turned slowly, heart racing, already knowing who it was before his eyes even confirmed it.

Manepear.

One of the server’s strongest player. Feared, respected… and rumored to have no heart.

Bacon’s breath caught in his throat as the man approached looking confident, smooth, dangerous. The kind of player who didn’t just fight mobs, he tamed them. The kind of guy you only ever saw before a PvP fight and not usually one you’d be the one to survive.

“Uh, I—uh, hey… I’m Mane. Or, uh, Manepear!” the man said with a grin that could melt obsidian. His voice was warm, friendly even, but it had that edge. The kind of casual confidence only a killer could have.

Bacon blinked. He had to stop himself from staring, Mane was handsome. No point lying to himself.  But Bacon forced his thoughts away from dangerous territory. This was not the time to be thinking about how attractive one of feared player on the server was.

“Oh, uh… hi? Um, Mane, uh… what do you need?” Bacon asked, trying not to sound rude, but failing. His nerves were spiking, alarms screaming in his mind. Why was Manepear talking to him? They existed in completely different worlds. This could only mean one thing.

He wanted to kill him.

Okay, maybe he was jumping to conclusions. But still what else could it be?

Mane let out a mock gasp. “Well that’s a bit rude, darling.”

Before Bacon could react, Mane had made his way next to him. Next to him . And then, without hesitation, the man laid down , head resting casually against Bacon’s thigh like this was some kind of date.

“What if I’m just… walking around?” Mane asked, eyes flicking up to him with a teasing gleam. “What about you… Mr.?”

Bacon flinched. Right. He hadn’t introduced himself.

“…Bacon. My name is Bacon. And I’m just… relaxing. For the first time in a while.”

He surprised himself with the honesty. It rolled out of him easily, like a secret finally released. For some reason, he trusted Mane. It was ridiculous. It was dangerous. But it felt… right. Familiar. Like maybe, in some alternate timeline, they’d been something more.

The two sat there in silence, the kind that was full but not heavy. The kind of silence where you didn’t need words. Where presence was enough. The sun drifted further down the sky, and for once, the world wasn’t so sharp. Wasn’t so cruel.

It was peaceful.

For at least half an hour, nothing existed but the wind, the grass, and the unspoken thread pulling between them.

Then a crackle .

Mane’s comm went off.

“Hold on, bro,” he said, sitting up and walking a few steps away, tapping the earpiece with a frown.

And in that moment Bacon’s peace that he for once had, shattered.

What was he doing ? Sitting there like it was safe? Like this wasn’t Manepear ? He felt the cold bite of reality again. He didn’t belong here. Whatever that moment had been, it was a trick. A trap. Or worse, a manipulation tactic.

He stood up quickly, brushing off his pants, not even looking back. He didn’t run , but his feet moved fast, his breath shallow. He walked like his life depended on it.

Because maybe it did.

Whatever that had been… it was too good. Too calm. Too safe.

And in a world like this, safety was the biggest lie of all.

Chapter Text

Mane watched Bacon leave.

Didn’t even turn around.

Not once.

That part stung more than it should’ve.

He stood still at the edge of the hill, letting the breeze tug at him, watching the small figure of Bacon shrink into the trees like a shadow slipping from view. Bacon moved like someone trying not to run, but too scared to stay still. Fast, focused, determined to put distance between them.

Mane didn’t follow.

Not yet.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and even. He already knew what was happening here. Had known from the second Bacon turned around and looked at him with those wide, slightly panicked eyes like he was a stranger . Like Mane was just another name on the server.

But he wasn’t.

He never had been.

The comm in his ear buzzed static and sharp voices. Something about Flame, Branzy, and Clown wanting to meet up with him at dinner. He tuned it out completely.

This moment mattered more.

He moved slowly, sitting where Bacon had just been fingers brushing the flattened grass. As if some piece of him still lingered here. The silence they’d shared hung in the air like smoke, like it didn’t want to let go.

Mane tilted his head up to the sky, letting his eyes shut for a second.

He doesn’t remember them and how they were.

That was worse.

Because they used to be everything.

Before they went of in there different servers, there were also a time when they had been together in this exact server, but that was before hearts were currency and kindness was weakness.

They had carved out a quiet corner together. Built a little house by the cliffs. Shared gear, shared food, shared beds. Shared everything .

And now Bacon didn’t even look at him the same way.

No recognition. Just nerves. Suspicion. Fear.

Mane opened his eyes, the ache in his chest dull but persistent. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome. He wasn’t stupid. His reputation preceded him now blades first, questions later. The rumors weren’t all true, but he’d leaned into them. Let them shape him.

Easier to be feared than forgotten.

But seeing Bacon again… it messed with him.

Because for a moment just a moment he saw a flicker of the old Bacon. The one who used to throw snowballs at him mid-fight just to make him laugh. The one who called him when he needs his help. The one who fell asleep next to him, whispering nonsense into the quiet just to hear his voice.

And now?

Now he was running from him like Mane was a monster.

Mane pressed his palm to the ground, grounding himself. Then stood. Straightened his self out. Set his jaw.

Fine.

He didn’t need to force it. He’d waited this long, hadn’t he?

Bacon could pretend all he wanted. Could pretend Mane was just some PvP-obsessed freak with a kill count and no soul. Could hide behind suspicion and half-truths and nerves.

But Mane knew what was real.

What had been real.

And he had no intention of letting it rot in the past.

He reached into his inventory, thumb brushing over an old item one he hadn’t touched in ages. An item labeled in light blue text: “Bacon’s Favorite” a little flower crown with allium flowers, broken from being in his inventory too long.

He held it for a moment, then tucked it back into the hidden slot. His expression unreadable, sharp and soft all at once.

“Run all you want,” he muttered to the wind. “I’ve always been better at chasing.”

He opened a tracking subroutine. Quiet. Private. Just a pin on the map.

Bacon – Active. Location: East forest.

He always had his location no matter what. He had to make sure he was safe, but for the first time in a while he was going to him alone all day.

He turned away from the hilltop and vanished into the trees, his steps silent.

Let Bacon leave him again. He will eventually find his way back to him. He’ll help him remember who they were in the past.

Chapter Text

Wemmbu was doing something over at the  smelter when Bacon showed up at camp, the familiar clink of armor and soft thud of boots barely registering in the quiet. The sky was starting to tilt orange, light leaking through the leaves as he approached, a little too fast for someone who was supposedly just out gathering stuff for them.

Wemmbu didn’t look up. “You’re early.”

“I wasn’t planning to come back yet,” Bacon muttered, sitting on the edge of a half-built stone wall and resting his head in his hands. “Something happened.”

That got his attention.

Wemmbu straightened his self out, wiping his hands off on his leggings. “What kind of something? Mob ambush? Spawn campers again? Or worse Deraphuc?”

Bacon shook his head. “No. I..just ran into someone.”

Wemmbu narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“Manepear.”

There was a pause, just long enough to notice.

Wemmbu let out a slow breath. “Manepear? The guy that Flame is teamed with? The one that became a supervillain just for the fun of it?

“That one.”

“Ha! How did you even leave alive?”

“He… just talked. Sat next to me. Laid his head on my leg at one point.”

Wemmbu’s whole face twisted in confusion. “You’re messing with me dude.”

“I wish I was.”

Bacon leaned back against the stone, letting the cool surface bite into his spine. “He didn’t say much. Just acted like we were… something. Friends, maybe? Or like he knew me better than I knew myself. It was calm. Strangely calm.”

Wemmbu stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or gear up. “Are you saying Manepear flirted with you?”

“I don’t know what he was doing. But it wasn’t normal.”

He hesitated, fingers curling slightly against the wall. That familiar ache in the crook of his arm flared again a small sting , sharp enough to feel but gone just as fast.

He winced.

“Shit that hurt.,” he muttered.

“What?” Wemmbu asked.

Bacon rolled up his sleeve. “Nothing it just felt like something was nipping at me. Just like something is pinching or grazing me.”

Wemmbu frowned and opened his comm, scanning for anything. “You’ve got nothing? Well I don’t really know for sure I mean it’s like something is there it’s just not showing. Well I don’t know man.”

“That’s weird.”

He paused. “And every time it happens… I’m alone.”

“You think Mane’s behind it?” Wemmbu asked.

“I don’t know,” Bacon said honestly. “It started before I even talked to him I just never brought it up to anyone.”

He shifted, rubbing his hands together like it would warm off the creeping sensation.

“There was a moment,” Bacon added after a while, voice softer, “on the hill. Where he well found me. It felt… familiar. Like I’d been there before. Same patch of grass. Same view. Like I’d stood there a hundred times, but I don’t remember when. Or why.”

Wemmbu looked over at him, expression unreadable. “You sure he hasn’t gotten into your head?”

“Not sure of anything lately,” Bacon admitted, eyes flicking up to the treetops. “But when he looked at me… there was something in his eyes. Not dangerous. Not exactly.”

He let the silence stretch.

“Like… I used to mean something to him,” he said quietly. “And maybe I just forgot.”

Wemmbu stayed quiet for a beat. Then asked, “You okay?”

Bacon gave a tired smile. “Define ‘okay’.”

The two of them sat by the fire as night began to roll in, the shadows growing longer across the stone and grass. Bacon didn’t say much more, and Wemmbu didn’t push.

The fire crackled between them, embers drifting up like tiny fireflies before vanishing into the dark. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl were the only signs the world was still spinning outside their little camp.

Bacon stared into the flames, arms wrapped loosely around his knees. “I don’t think he wanted to hurt me,” he said eventually, barely above a whisper. “That’s the part that’s messing with me.”

Wemmbu didn’t respond right away. He just poked the fire with a stick, sending sparks into the air.

“You trust him?” he asked finally.

“No,” Bacon answered too quickly. “I mean I don’t not trust him either. I don’t know him. But it didn’t feel like a trap. Not like one I’ve seen before.”

Another pause.

Wemmbu leaned back, propping his elbows on a stone slab. “You must be really controlled by now then” Wemmbu had held in a little laugh while saying that, almost letting it out.

Bacon shook his head. “It’s not like that. Its like…”

“Like what?”

He hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Like it’s waiting.”

Wemmbu frowned, but didn’t speak.

Bacon turned his eyes back to the fire, his voice distant. “There was a moment, back on the hill. When he found me. It felt… familiar. The place, the quiet, the way the wind moved. Like I’d stood there before. Not recently, but like a long time ago.”

Wemmbu’s gaze flicked toward him, cautious now. “Are you sure he hasn’t gotten into your head?”

“I don’t know,” Bacon admitted. “Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I imagined the hill. The familiarity. Maybe none of it’s real.”

“Feels real enough to send you running back here.”

Bacon snorted quietly, though the smile faded fast.

Wemmbu watched the fire light run across Bacon’s face. “Look… if he shows up again just like tell him Derap is behind him I bet he’ll get scared and run off I mean I would.”

“But in all honesty if you do need help-“

“I’ll handle it,” Bacon interrupted gently.

There was finality in his tone. Not out of pride, but something quieter. Like this was a weight he wasn’t ready to share.

Wemmbu didn’t push. He knew when to step back.

“I just…” Bacon trailed off, voice growing even softer. “What if I did know him? Before?”

“Then you’re probably better off not remembering,” Wemmbu said after a pause. “A guy like Manepear doesn’t change for anyone. Doesn’t take breaks unless he’s got a reason.”

Bacon’s brows pulled slightly together. “And what if that reason is me?”

Wemmbu didn’t have an answer. He stared into the flames instead, letting the silence speak for him.

The wind shifted. Cool air crept through the trees, brushing against their faces like a breath from something just beyond the firelight. Bacon shivered and pulled into himself tighter, but it wasn’t the cold that unsettled him.

It was the stillness.

It was empty.

Lonely.

He missed Manepear.

Chapter Text

The next day passed in a strange blur. Bacon buried himself in his newest project, his hands moving with purpose while his mind wandered far from the blocks he was placing. Wemmbu stopped by occasionally, offering small bits of conversation, checking in, sometimes just standing nearby in silence. Even then, Bacon felt… off. Like something or someone was watching.

It wasn’t the usual paranoid feeling that crept in during survival builds. This was something different. A quiet presence. The feeling settled on his shoulders like a cold breeze, and he realized something odd. Whenever that sensation came, the strange nipping feeling in his arm disappeared. That unsettling static, the discomfort it was gone. It was almost peaceful. But it didn’t make him feel safer. If anything, it made him more uneasy.

His mind kept wandering back to the hill.

He’d return there, again and again, drawn like a magnet. Always with the same hope tucked somewhere in his chest that Manepear would be there, waiting. But the hill was always empty. Just grass, sky, and silence. Mane hadn’t been around in days. Bacon was starting to realize something uncomfortable. Manepear was on his mind more often than not, and when he wasn’t, the world felt just a little less colorful. Even when Wemmbu was speaking directly to him, he felt alone, like his words were bouncing off the walls of an empty room.

So today, he went back to the hill.

He sat down in the soft grass, letting the wind move around him like it knew secrets. And then, it happened.

A memory.

It didn’t start slowly, it slammed into him like a gust of snow. He was there, in the memory, watching it unfold like a dream he forgot he had. He saw himself, smiling, laughing in the middle of a snowy field. Another figure was with him, bundled in a scarf and coat, their gloved hand tangled in his. They spun around, laughing breathlessly, snowflakes catching in their hair. The love between them was unmistakable visible in every touch, every look.

Bacon’s chest warmed at the sight. The happiness radiating off the memory was real, pure. He knew that feeling. It felt like home.

But that wasn’t his life… was it?

It couldn’t be.

It scared him a little, how clearly he could see it. How real it felt. And yet, something was wrong he couldn’t see the other person’s face. No matter how hard he tried to focus, it was like his brain was shielding him from the truth, pulling a veil over the one he loved. A part of him screamed that he knew who it was, but the answer remained just out of reach, like a name on the tip of his tongue.

Then something shifted. A sound.

He snapped out of the memory, suddenly hyper-aware of the world around him again.

Someone was behind him.

His heart jumped, hope flaring inside him for just a second.

But it wasn’t Manepear.

It was… Flamerags.

Bacon blinked, confused. Flame was just Mane’s teammate. They’d only spoken once, and barely at that. A passing comment on the server, nothing more. So why was he here now?

Flamerags stood a few feet away, arms crossed and expression unreadable. The wind tugged at the edge of his bandanna, his presence oddly casual and sharp at the same time.

Bacon stood, brushing the grass off his hands. “What are you doing here?”

Flame shrugged like he didn’t even fully know himself. “I guess I got curious.”

“Curious?”

“Yeah,” Flame said, walking closer. “Mane wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Bacon blinked. “What?”

“He talks about you constantly,” Flame went on, not bothering to soften the words. “On calls, during builds, even mid-fight. ‘Bacon this,’ ‘Bacon that.’ Like, dude. We get it.” He rolled his eyes. “I had to see what the big deal was.”

Bacon felt heat rise to his face. “That doesn’t sound like Mane…”

Flame snorted. “That’s because you don’t see how much of an idiot he is sometimes. He gets all… weird when it comes to you. I figured if you were the one haunting his thoughts, maybe you’d have some idea what the hell he’s doing.”

“I haven’t seen him in days,” Bacon said quietly, voice tightening.

Flame nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. I know.”

Bacon looked up, suspicious. “You know ?”

Flame’s expression didn’t shift. “He’s been off. Doing his own thing. I figured checking on you might answer some questions.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You care about him?” Flame asked suddenly, voice quiet.

Bacon hesitated. “I don’t know what I feel right now.”

Flame didn’t press. Instead, he took a slow step forward, glancing once more at the hill, like he could see something there Bacon couldn’t.

Flame stepped up beside him, quiet now, his boots crunching softly against the grass.

“Your name comes up a lot in conversation,” Flame said after a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it. “With Mane, I mean. You’d think he was building shrines to you with how often your name comes up.”

Bacon’s stomach tightened. “I don’t remember giving him much to talk about.”

Flame’s gaze didn’t move from the horizon. “Doesn’t matter. He talks anyway.”

There was a pause.

Bacon wrapped his arms loosely around himself, trying to shrug off the weight that had settled on his chest. “We talked once and it was barely a conversation. Nothing big. I don’t get why he… why he cares.”

Flame let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. Mane’s an idiot sometimes. Feels everything way too loud and never knows when to shut up about it.”

Bacon glanced at him, but Flame’s expression was unreadable like he was trying not to show something beneath the surface.

“I get these… flashes,” Bacon admitted, quietly. “Not memories, exactly. Just feelings. Places that feel like they matter more than they should. That field, that snowy memory… I keep thinking it’s mine, but I can’t tell why. It’s like trying to hold smoke in my hands.”

Flame finally looked at him.

“That’s grief,” he said. “Even when you don’t remember what you’ve lost.”

Bacon didn’t know what to say to that.

He looked back down at the hill, at the way the sun had begun dipping low behind the trees, casting the grass in gold.

“I’m tired of not knowing,” Bacon muttered. “I feel like I’m walking through someone else’s story.”

“It is your story,” Flame said softly. “Even if you can’t see the full picture yet.”

“Then why does it feel like everyone knows more about me than I do?”

Flame didn’t answer right away. His silence said more than words could.

Eventually, he just shrugged. “Some stories… take time. And some people don’t know how to tell theirs until it’s already too late.”

Something in that struck deeper than Bacon expected. He looked at Flame, brows furrowed. “Did Mane send you?”

Flame’s jaw tightened. “No one sends me anywhere. I came because Mane can’t seem to focus. It’s gotten worse because of you. I believe you did something.”

Bacon flinched. “I did?”

“Well I don’t fully think it’s about what you did,” Flame said. “I think it’s about what got lost. And he doesn’t know how to fix it.”

There was a long, fragile pause between them.

“You ever think maybe you’re better off not remembering?” Flame asked quietly.

Bacon hesitated.

“….I don’t fully know. I want to remember, but it’s not my memories.”

“Or at least that’s the way it feels. It’s feels as though I’m looking through someone else’s eyes.

Flame nodded slowly, like that was the answer he expected.

Then he turned, starting to walk away and then he was gone, swallowed by the trees, leaving Bacon alone with the wind and the fading sun.

The hill was quiet again.

It feels so much more confusing and emptier than ever.

He feels scared.

He wants to figure out things but everything is way too cryptic for him.

He tried of not feeling like…

Like himself.

Like he wasn’t the one inside of those….

Memories .

Chapter Text

Mane hadn’t slept.

Not really.

Not that he needed sleep the way some people did, but the concept of rest of quiet had become foreign. His fingers drummed against the table, his knee bouncing under the desk as chunks of stone hovered mid-air on his screen, waiting to be placed. He wasn’t building anything. Not really. Just clicking through motions he couldn’t focus on.

Bacon was in his head again.

Not in a romantic way. Not entirely. It wasn’t that simple.

It was worse. Like an obsession almost.

Bacon was in everything .

The empty corners of the base felt quieter now. The little habits Mane had checking inventory twice, using the same path across the valley. All because of one person.

Someone who looked at him like a stranger.

Someone who used to know him better than anyone else.

Mane’s eyes flicked.

Grass. Trees. The hill.

He didn’t teleport. He walked . Step by agonizing step. Like if he didn’t earn his place on that hill, he didn’t deserve to be there.

It was empty, of course. Just as it always was when he showed up. The spot where Bacon always sat was undisturbed, like the world paused the moment he left.

Mane crouched low near a flower and stared at it like it had the answers. His armor flickered briefly as he toggled it off, letting the wind ripple through the long grass.

He could feel Flame’s judgment even now, even without his teammate present.

You’re off. He’s got you spiraling. You don’t even see it.

Of course he saw it. Mane wasn’t blind. He was just…

Scared.

That was the worst part.

He, Manepear PvP demon, fearless in battle was scared of a boy who barely remembered him.

He thought of the snowy field. The memory he hadn’t meant to keep. The one that resurfaced whenever he looked at Bacon too long. The way their hands had fit together. The way Bacon laughed—really laughed, not that half-cynical version he used now.

He missed that sound like it had been stolen from him.

And maybe it had.

Maybe someone stole that version of Bacon and left this hollow, forgetful ghost in his place.

And Mane… hadn’t been able to stop it.

The thought made his throat tighten. He didn’t cry, but it felt close. Like the pressure lived just behind his eyes, just beneath his tongue.

He wasn’t good at words. Not the soft kind. Never had been. When he tried, they came out too sharp or too vague or too late.

So he built.

Shrines.

Not literal ones, despite what Flame teased. But symbols. Little things scattered across the map an obsidian ring in the lake they’d swam in once. A redstone contraption that played a soft note sequence Bacon used to hum. A banner with colors only they used to share.

Everywhere, pieces of him. Pieces of them .

And Bacon didn’t remember any of it.

Mane lay back in the grass and closed his eyes. The sun was warm against his skin, but it didn’t chase away the cold he felt inside.

He wanted to go to him.

Say something.

Anything.

But he didn’t know if it would help or just break them both more.

So instead, he whispered to the air, to the quiet hill and the wind that had listened to far too many of his silent confessions.

“I miss you,” he said. “Even if you don’t remember being mine.”

And then, quieter

“I think I was yours, too.”

The wind didn’t answer.

But it didn’t need to.

It wrapped around him anyway gentle, familiar, and impossibly sad.

Chapter Text

Mane hadn’t moved from his spot in a whole week.

His base sat quiet, half-built towers and redstone contraptions gathering dust. The flickering torches and idle pistons were the only signs of life left. Flame had stopped checking in after the first day. Branzy had asked in chat where Mane was, then gone quiet too, like he sensed something was wrong but didn’t want to push.

Mane sat in the dark corner of a dim cave he had dug by hand. Deep under bedrock height, far beneath his base. There was no reason to be there, other than the fact that the deeper he went, the quieter his thoughts became.

At least, until they weren’t.

Because thoughts of Bacon crept in like water through cracked stone.

His laugh—Mane remembered that. He remembered it without trying. It echoed, faintly, even in this place. That stupid, snorting, real kind of laugh. The one that used to make his stomach flip and his armor feel too heavy.

And the way Bacon had looked at him on the hill, like he was right there and a million blocks away all at once.

Mane slammed a fist into the stone wall, watched the blocks crumble. He placed them back, again and again, breaking and replacing like it could undo the ache.

⸻

Bacon stared down at the blueprint he had drawn.

He didn’t remember making it.

It was of a small cabin, with just enough space for two beds, a fireplace, and windows that looked out over a snowfield.

His hand trembled slightly as he traced the outline.

And then a flash.

A fire crackling. Snow falling softly outside. Bacon curled under a blanket—someone else beside him, warm, leaning in close. Someone who smelled like spruce and coal dust. A hand brushing his—gloved, but unmistakable.

He snapped back to the present, heart racing.

Why was he remembering this now?

⸻

Mane couldn’t focus. Not even on PvP.

He queued up for a fight, hoping the adrenaline would distract him. But the other player was sloppy, and Mane barely lifted his sword before the match was over.

“gg,” the opponent typed.

Mane didn’t respond. He logged off mid-message.

He blinked and suddenly he was staring at a stack of paintings in a hidden chest. He didn’t remember why he kept them.

One, near the bottom, was a custom one. It showed a snow biome at sunset, with two tiny, distant figures sitting on a hill.

His hand hovered over it for a long time.

⸻

Bacon had returned to the snowy biome. He didn’t know why.

He stood on that same hill where the memory had first hit him. The air felt thicker here, like the chunks around him were heavier, loaded with something ancient and personal.

Another flicker.

He and someone else racing across the snow. Laughter. A shove into a snowbank. A kiss- quick, hidden by scarves and falling flakes.

Bacon gasped and fell to his knees, digging at the snow like something might be buried beneath it.

His fingers brushed against a signpost—old, broken, barely visible.

The sign read:

“Claimed by: B + M. Our corner of the world.”

His breath caught.

⸻

Mane stared at the spot where Bacon used to stand on the server map. His player tag hadn’t moved in a while.

He wanted to message him.

He didn’t.

He knew he’d mess it up. He always did.

He’d said too much, or not enough. Either way, it had driven Bacon away—again.

So he stared, unmoving, in that same spot on the map, like maybe if he waited long enough, Bacon would just… come back to him.

⸻

Bacon sat inside the newly rebuilt cabin.

He didn’t know what had made him rebuild it.

Maybe it was the dream—if it was a dream.

Or maybe it was the way his hands just knew where the bricks went, what dimensions to use, where to place the trapdoor that had once been a shared joke.

He remembered now.

Not everything.

But enough.

Enough to know the cabin had once been theirs.

Enough to know that something precious had been lost.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to find it again.

Chapter Text

The snowfall was heavier than usual.

Thick white layers blanketed the spruce forest, muffling the sound of Mane’s boots as he trudged through the familiar terrain. He hadn’t meant to come out here. He told himself it was just for materials—maybe to check on an old outpost. But he hadn’t gathered a single block. His sword was untouched in his hotbar. Something had pulled him—silent, magnetic.

It wasn’t until the trees parted that he realized where he was.

The hill.

Their hill.

And something was different.

His breath caught.

There, nestled at the edge of the hill, half-buried in snow, was a cabin. Fresh-built. Smooth logs, warm glow spilling through the windows. Red wool above the door—a detail he remembered adding himself once, in another version, a long time ago.

He stepped forward, snow crunching softly beneath his feet. His fingers hovered over the door handle. He hesitated.

Then pushed it open.

Warmth.

Not just from the fire crackling in the corner, but from the overwhelming wave of familiarity that crashed into him like a tide. Every corner of the room whispered something back at him. The trapdoor in the floor. The way the beds were angled to face the window. The single item frame on the wall—empty, but deliberate.

It wasn’t just a cabin.

It was their cabin.

Rebuilt exactly the way it had been before.

His knees nearly gave out. He sat on the nearest block, hand covering his mouth.

⸻

Bacon sat on the roof, silent.

He had seen the name tag appear in the distance and didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just waited.

Now he could hear the door open below him. Could hear Mane’s footsteps.

He didn’t know what he expected.

Anger?

Gratitude?

Nothing?

He peeked over the edge of the roof carefully. Mane hadn’t moved. He was just sitting there, staring at the fire like it held answers.

Bacon’s voice cracked when he finally spoke.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d find it.”

Mane didn’t look up. His voice was low, steady. “I didn’t think I would.”

Bacon climbed down slowly. His feet hit the snow with a soft thud . He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by falling flakes.

They didn’t speak for a long time.

Finally, Mane said, “Why did you build this?”

Bacon looked at the fireplace. “Because I remembered.”

A beat.

Mane’s voice broke the silence again, this time quieter. “How much?”

“Pieces,” Bacon replied. “Enough to know this mattered. That we mattered.”

Mane looked at him then.

There was no anger in his eyes.

Just… grief. Grief and something else, quieter, rawer.

“I thought I’d imagined it,” Mane admitted. “I thought I made it all up. That maybe I’d just wanted it so badly I believed it had been real.”

“It was real,” Bacon said. “Even if I forgot… it was real.”

The snow piled against the windows as they stood there in silence, both unsure what to say, or what came next.

Finally, Mane crossed the room and sat down on the second bed—the one that had always been his.

He looked at Bacon.

“This doesn’t fix everything,” he said.

“I know,” Bacon replied. “But maybe it’s a start.”

Mane nodded slowly, eyes lingering on the glow of the fire between them.

Outside, the server was quiet. No chat messages. No mobs. Just snow and stillness.

Inside, for the first time in what felt like forever, neither of them felt alone.

Chapter Text

The morning came gently.

Light filtered through the cabin windows in soft gold streaks, dust floating like stardust in the beams. The fire had long since burned out, but the lingering warmth still clung to the room like a memory.

Mane woke first.

He didn’t move right away, just lay there, eyes half open, listening to the silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty anymore.

Not loud with grief.

Not heavy with absence.

Just… quiet.

Bacon still slept, curled near the edge of his bed, one arm draped across his chest like a shield. His expression was softer than Mane remembered. Less guarded. Less distant. In the stillness, it felt like something had cracked open, just slightly.

Mane looked away.

This was the part that scared him. Not the silence, or the memories, or even the hurt. It was hope. The fragile, flickering thing that threatened to wake up in his chest.

He got up without a word and stepped outside.

The snow hadn’t let up.

He dug out a little path around the cabin with slow, mechanical movements, clearing the steps, the edge of the roof, the woodpile. It was unnecessary, decorative, even but it felt right. Familiar. Like a rhythm he could fall into without thinking.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

He didn’t turn.

“I forgot how much you liked doing that,” Bacon said quietly.

Mane paused. “…Doing what?”

“Clearing snow. You used to hum while you did it.”

Mane blinked, the sound of the shovel still in his ears. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”

“I didn’t,” Bacon said, stepping down beside him. “Not until I saw it again.”

He didn’t try to take the shovel. Didn’t ask questions.

He just stood there.

Close enough to feel real.

—

Later, they sat at the tiny table by the window.

Two mugs between them. Empty. The steam had long since faded, but neither of them moved to refill them.

Bacon broke the silence first.

“I had a dream,” he said.

Mane glanced up.

“There was this wheat field. Huge. Golden. And we were building a windmill together. You kept arguing with me about the roof said slabs looked better, I said stairs. You won.”

Mane huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Of course I did.”

Bacon smiled.

It was small. Tired. But real.

“I don’t know if that happened,” he added. “Or if my brain just wants it to have happened.”

“It did,” Mane said after a moment. “You fell off the scaffolding three times.”

“Sounds about right.”

Another quiet beat passed between them. It felt… easier, now. Still fragile, like walking across ice, but not as brittle.

Just enough weight to hold.

—

The cabin grew slowly around them.

Not physically—it had already been rebuilt—but in the little ways that made it feel lived in again.

A potted allium in the corner, from when Bacon had wandered too far and come back with one. A music disc in the chest they didn’t remember collecting. A cake placed on the windowsill with a single torch beside it, like a celebration no one mentioned.

They didn’t talk about everything.

Not yet.

There were too many ghosts in those conversations.

But they talked about enough.

About food.

About mobs.

About plans for the hill.

Once, Bacon asked if Mane still had that old enchanted fishing rod. Mane answered, “No… but I can make another.”

And for some reason, that mattered.

—

It was snowing again the night Bacon spoke up.

They sat by the fire. Both watching the flames, heads low, eyes distant.

“I’m afraid,” Bacon said suddenly.

Mane looked over, not speaking.

“I’m afraid that when I get it all back, if I get it all back, I won’t be the same person. I won’t be who you remember. And I don’t know what that means for us.”

Mane didn’t answer right away.

Then he said, softly, “I think I’m afraid of the same thing.”

The fire popped.

“But,” he added, after a long moment, “I’d rather try with you as you are now… than wait for a version of you that might never come back.”

Bacon turned to him slowly. His eyes shimmered, not with tears, but something older. Something like recognition.

“We’re different,” Mane said. “But maybe that just means we get to build it again. Slower this time. Smarter.”

Bacon nodded, voice low. “Slower sounds good.”

—

They didn’t hug.

They didn’t kiss.

They didn’t even touch.

But that night, as the snow fell heavier than ever, they both stayed by the fire until it went out.

And when the darkness came, they didn’t leave.

They stayed.

Together.

Still rebuilding.

One quiet breath at a time.

Chapter Text

The days had grown longer, or maybe it just felt that way. In the cabin, time stretched between glances, between unfinished thoughts and hands that almost reached—but didn’t. Not yet.

They were careful with each other.

Even the silence between them had grown softer, like wool instead of stone. The kind of quiet that could hold weight without breaking.

But the question hovered. It always had.

Why didn’t you remember me?

Mane never said it aloud. But Bacon knew. He could feel it every time Mane looked at him too long. Every time he turned away too quickly.

It wasn’t doubt anymore.

It was ache.

And Bacon was ready to stop running from it.

⸻

It started with a thunderstorm.

The snow still blanketed the world in white, but the sky had turned black and heavy. Lightning cracked over the mountains, too close for comfort. The firelight danced madly across the walls as the wind howled through the cracks.

Bacon was in the loft, sorting a chest full of redstone contraptions, when the storm broke something open in his mind.

A flash. Not from the sky—but from memory.

He staggered.

Mane was at his side in seconds, catching him by the arm before he could fall. “Bacon?”

Bacon clutched at his head, breath ragged. “There was… light. Blue. And pain.”

Mane’s eyes narrowed. “Blue?”

“Not lightning. Not magic. Artificial. Controlled.”

He paused, eyes wide.

“A command block.”

⸻

They sat by the fire again, but this time, there was no comfort in the warmth. Just unease. Mane’s hands were clenched in his lap. Bacon’s voice was quieter than the wind outside.

“I was sent to a remote sector—long before I ever came back here. Some server glitch. They thought I could fix it.”

“You always did think you could fix everything,” Mane murmured.

Bacon smiled faintly. Then it faded.

“It wasn’t a glitch. Someone had set it up. A trap. I triggered it.”

He stared into the flames like they might show him the rest.

“There was a flash, and… then I woke up. In another base. No records. No memory logs. Just system reboots and coordinates in my inventory. I followed them back here, but I didn’t know why.”

Mane was quiet.

“They erased you,” he said finally.

Bacon looked at him.

“They didn’t just erase the memory. They erased the feeling behind it. That’s why it didn’t come back right away.”

Mane’s voice cracked.

“Because it wasn’t just information. It was us. ”

Bacon swallowed hard.

“I think someone wanted me reset. A clean slate. Maybe to keep me from remembering… or maybe to make sure I’d never come back to you.”

Mane looked up, eyes burning—not with anger, but something colder. “Do you know who?”

Bacon shook his head. “Not yet.”

Silence again. The fire popped.

Then:

“But I’m remembering now. Every time you look at me like I’m supposed to be something more… I remember how it felt to be that.”

He leaned forward just a little, enough for his voice to drop low.

“You’re bringing me back, Mane. Whether I deserve it or not.”

Mane didn’t speak. Just reached out—and this time, he didn’t stop halfway.

Their hands met in the middle.

Fingers curled, steady and slow.

Like trust being rebuilt from the ashes.

Like memory finding its way home.

Outside, the storm passed.

But inside, something stayed.

Chapter Text

The morning after the storm was eerily clear. Not a cloud in the sky, and the snow reflected the sun like glass—sharp, almost blinding. The quiet wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was the kind that comes after something breaks.

Mane hadn’t let go of Bacon’s hand all night.

They hadn’t spoken much. But they didn’t need to. Not after the command block revelation. Not after that name had been spoken without words.

Someone had tried to erase them. Deliberately. Which meant someone still had the power to.

That was the part Mane couldn’t let go.

And that was why they went to Planetlord.

⸻

His bunker was built into the base of a mountain, hidden behind vines and cascading lava like a myth waiting to be uncovered. Redstone locks clicked in sequence as Planetlord opened the door, already eyeing Bacon like he was looking at a walking anomaly.

“You brought him here?” he asked Mane, jerking his head toward Bacon. “After everything?”

“He remembered something,” Mane said.

Bacon didn’t wait for permission. “A command block. Not random. Not corrupted. Controlled. It hit me like a reset.”

Planetlord stiffened. “That’s not just memory loss. That’s engineered forgetting. Someone wanted a clean slate.”

Bacon nodded. “And I want to know why.”

Planetlord led them inside. The bunker’s walls were lined with glowing item frames, flickering consoles, and heatmaps tracking player movement across old ruins and outposts. “I’ve got logs going back years. If someone used a command block without masking their signal, we might have a trace.”

He typed. Lines of data flared across the screen. Coordinates, player IDs, command strings—most of them mundane.

Then something caught.

A small patch of activity in a remote snow biome. Not near any base. No builds. No logs. Just one marked occurrence: a single redstone pulse, no origin signature.

Planetlord zoomed in. “Right here. Days before you came back. Something triggered. Clean energy. And it didn’t ping the usual grid.”

Bacon frowned. “I recognize that place. That’s where I woke up.”

Mane was already pulling his cloak tight. “Then that’s where we’re going.”

⸻

But they weren’t the only ones heading that way.

Ashwag was already there.

He crouched low in the snow, hood up, surveying the remains of what used to be something powerful. Obsidian shards littered the crater. Redstone dust glinted beneath the frost, as if the ground had bled circuits.

He held a broken shard in his hand—still warm. Still whispering.

Wemmbu stood nearby, arms crossed, face unreadable. “I told you they’d follow it here.”

“I know,” Ashwag murmured. “That’s the point.”

Wemmbu looked at him sideways. “You want them to find it?”

Ashwag’s lips curved into something too quiet to be called a smile. “I want Bacon to remember who reset him.”

“And then what?”

Ashwag dropped the shard back into the snow. “Then we see if he still chooses Mane after that.”

⸻

Mane, Bacon, and Planetlord arrived at the crater just after sunset.

The remains of the command block weren’t just broken—they were cleaved, deliberately, like someone had tried to erase not just the device, but its story. Only one piece was left untouched, resting in the snow like a discarded heart.

Bacon reached for it, but Planetlord stopped him.

“It’s not stable. If it’s still pulsing, it could be actively rewriting data—yours or someone else’s.”

“I don’t care,” Bacon said, quietly. “I need to know what it took from me.”

Mane’s voice was firm. “Then I’m with you when you do.”

They locked eyes. And together, they reached down.

The shard flared. Just for a second.

But in that second—

—Bacon saw a room.

White. Sterile. Redstone conduits humming through the walls. Monitors flashing code in symbols he hadn’t seen in years. And standing at the console—

Ashwag.

Not surprised. Not panicked.

Just watching.

Like he’d been waiting for this moment the whole time.

⸻

Bacon gasped and fell back, clutching his chest. The shard dimmed.

Mane caught him before he hit the snow. “What did you see?”

Bacon’s breath fogged in the air. “Ashwag. He was there. Running the reset.”

Planetlord cursed under his breath. “If that’s true—if Ashwag’s got access to system-level commands—this goes deeper than memory.”

Mane’s grip tightened. “Then we don’t wait for him to make the next move.”

But before anyone could say another word, a voice echoed from the shadows just beyond the crater.

“You’re already too late.”

They spun, weapons out.

Ashwag stood at the treeline, the light of the moon catching the edge of a curved blade in his hand—and something else in his inventory slot, faintly glowing.

Another shard.

Intact.

Chapter Text

Okay so this is very serious I was going to continue this story but I mentally and physically can not as of right now. There way too many inconsistency with my schedule of uploading chapters for this so as much as I do want to continue this story, I cannot and I’m sorry to everybody that supported me and was looking forward to the future chapters. Hopefully I will get my time in the future and my mental health will improve enough for me to start uploading chapters again but for now I do have to stop this entirely once again. I am sorry to the people who were looking for future chapters but didn’t end up finding one as always love you guys platonically and stay safe.