#m4tch80x

You can’t trust anybody in the Matchbox. Oak knew that when he signed up, knew that when the first round began, knew that when Flute was the first to die. This isn’t the place to make friends, since you never know who’s next on the chopping block– or who’s holding the knife. 

Statistically, the most likely cause of someone’s murder is the people closest to them. With Flute, that would be Glove and Oak. And Oak knew that it wasn’t him.

So why was he following Glove into the atrium? Why was he letting Glove lead him up the center tree, where no one would ever find them? If Glove was the Spark, this would be such an easy kill. Oak was a fool for coming this far, but it was too late to turn back.

As Glove clambered up the tree, grabbing onto branches as he mapped a route, Oak hesitated for a moment, watching him. Never had Oak wished to be able to see someone’s face more than in that very moment. Even if Glove had been facing him, identities were obscured during the rounds. The only way Oak even knew who he was blindly following was the signal they’d created with Flute.

Oak hadn’t expected to run into Glove so early in the round, but he had still flashed the signal at the person he met in the aquarium. To his surprise, the figure –Glove– had returned it. 

Their conversation after hadn’t revealed much information. All Glove and Oak knew of Flute’s whereabouts before the three of them met was her meeting someone in the dining hall. So, theoretically, the Spark could be anyone. Wonderful.

After that discussion, Glove had made a proposal. He explained that he knew a way into the big tree in the atrium, and suggested that they do a stakeout. Oak agreed, thinking of potentially catching someone in a lie. His lack of foresight really spoke for him.

Which was how Oak ended up here, letting a potential killer lead him into the most isolated spot on the map. Glove was almost to the top, Oak not far behind. The “path” that he had found was precarious, and Oak was hanging on for dear life. Even if Glove wasn’t the Spark, the fall wouldn’t be pleasant if he lost his footing.

As if by prophecy, Oak was so distracted by his thoughts that his next step missed the branch he was aiming for. Oak was thankful for not being able to speak aloud during rounds, because the noise he would’ve made if he had a voice was not flattering. Desperately, he grabbed out for the nearest branches, scrambling for a foothold. Wood creaked and leaves scattered as he grasped at them.

Glove turned around, probably wondering what the commotion was. Seeing Oak’s awkward position, he pulled out one of his signs. “You okay?” he wrote.

Oak couldn’t reach for his signs without letting go of the tree, so he just silently stared back.

“Need a hand?” Glove held up another sign.

Oak nodded. He couldn’t keep climbing without moving from where he was, but if he let go, he’d almost certainly fall.

Glove extended a hand, bracing himself against the top branches.

Slowly, carefully, Oak stretched out one of his hands, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach as he felt himself start to lose his balance. He took hold of Glove’s hand, grasping it tight. Glove’s grip was firm, squeezing Oak’s hand tightly.

Oak held his breath as he finally got a foot down on a branch, leaning into Glove’s support. He let Glove pull him up, heart pounding as he tried to find a place to stand. Almost collapsing next to Glove, Oak was able to seat himself on a stable branch. Panting silently, he took a moment to regain his bearings, pressing a hand to his chest. Adrenaline spiked through Oak’s body, too late to be helpful.

When he calmed down enough, Oak noticed Glove tugging on his hand. In Oak’s panic, he hadn’t let go once he reached safety. Embarrassed, he quickly yanked his hand away, resting it in his lap.

Now freed, Glove started writing. “That was close. You okay?”

Oak scribbled a reply as quickly as he could. “yea. I was being stupid lol. Thanks for saving me there.”

“No problem. Anyways, we can watch from here.”

Looking around, Oak saw that they were near the top of the tree. Even if someone thought to look up, the leaves made a good cover. From where they were sitting, Oak could see almost half of the atrium, and he could also spot a way to get to the other side of the tree from there. It was a really good spot for a stakeout, and Oak felt some of his earlier doubts fade away.

They both sat there for a few minutes, not writing any more signs. Glove’s presence was strangely comforting. While there was still the chance of Glove being the Spark, Oak found himself unable to worry about that. Would Glove have saved Oak if he was the Spark? He didn’t know. Instead, he focused on what was happening on the ground.

Two people suddenly ran into the atrium. One was in front, their strides confident and purposeful. The other lagged behind, taking smaller steps. Oak glanced at Glove to make sure he saw what was happening before looking back at the scene before them.

The person in front suddenly stopped, writing something out on a sign. Oak couldn’t completely make it out, but it seemed to read “Stop following me”.

The second person stopped for a second before pulling out their own sign. Before they could finish writing, the first person smacked it out of their hand before holding up a second sign. While the second person stopped to read it, the first person dropped it on the ground and walked away. The second person followed after a second.

Both of them were heading towards the other side of the room, out of sight from the vantage point. Oak clambered through the branches to get a different angle, and based on the rustling of leaves, Glove was not far behind.

From his new spot, Oak was able to see the entrances to the right and across from where the two people had entered. As he settled down, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

Almost jumping out of his skin, Oak turned around to see Glove precariously balancing on the branches behind him. Looking around, he realized that the only place you could really see what was happening was where he was sitting.

Guessing what Glove wanted from him, Oak moved down, pressing his side against the main trunk of the tree. There wasn’t much space, since the branch very quickly split into smaller limbs, too small to carry someone’s weight. 

Glove carefully climbed up onto the branch with Oak. Although Oak had moved as far over as possible, there still wasn’t much room, so they were almost touching each other. Which was fine, Oak wasn’t even sure why he noticed. 

Turning his gaze back to the ground, Oak saw a third person emerging from the entrance to the right of where the original two people came from. The person who apparently didn’t appreciate being followed stalked up to the newcomer, writing something on a sign and aggressively holding it up to their face. Unfortunately, it was facing away from Oak and Glove.

Oak felt the branch shift as Glove leaned forward, probably to get a better look. He adjusted his arm, and it brushed Oak’s. Oak flinched, heart skipping a beat. What was that? 

Strangely warm, Oak forced his eyes back to the scene below. Whoever the new person was, they seemed to not want to interact with the first person, and they instantly turned around and left. The first person then continued across the room, dropping the sign behind them and exiting at the opposite end. The second person, clearly not taking the hint, continued to follow the other.

Once everyone else had left the room, Glove gently tapped Oak on the shoulder. When Oak turned to face him, he showed a sign he had written out. “Knife and Cardboard.”

Oak nodded. It would make sense, considering their behavior during the last meeting. He could definitely see Cardboard following Knife around like a lost puppy, only to be met with Knife’s charming personality. Also, even though Oak didn’t know much about the other players, Knife was the only one who seemed to be enough of a jerk to knock a sign out of someone’s hand. 

Glove kept writing. “Meet… X?”

The third person. Oak tried to think of who they could’ve been. If the two people who came in were Knife and Cardboard, that only left Mustard and Venus. He didn’t know much about either of them, so it was difficult to make a guess. Maybe Mustard? He seemed… non-confrontational, having spent the entire first round hiding in a corner.

Pulling out one of his signs, he decided to share his thoughts with Glove. “Mustard? given his behavior.”

Glove leaned in, reading the sign. Oak did not notice how close they were, or how Glove’s left arm was now pressed against him. 

After a moment, Glove responded. “Could well be.”

If they were correct about everything, that only left Venus unaccounted for. Whoever died that round could be a good indicator of the Spark’s identity. If Cardboard or Knife died, it was probably the survivor. If Mustard or Venus died, the same was true. And if Oak died… well. Oak pushed that thought away. It didn’t seem like Mustard (?) got close enough to Knife (?) for a mark to happen, although Oak could be wrong on that front.

Thinking of that interaction reminded Oak of something. He went to tap Glove’s shoulder to get his attention, but Glove was already looking at him. Huh.

Oak scrawled a message. “i wonder what that sign says.”

The sign that Knife (?) wrote was still lying on the ground. In a stroke of misfortune, it had landed face down. 

Shrugging, Glove just replied, “Beats me.”

After that, the two of them just… hung out. No one else came through the atrium, and neither of them moved to write anything. It was peaceful, the whisper of shifting leaves the only sound. 

Slowly, Oak felt a weight settle on his shoulder. Glove was leaning into Oak’s side, gently resting against him. It was gradual enough that he wasn’t even sure if Glove was aware of what he was doing. Oak’s heart picked up its pace, and he wondered if Glove could hear it pounding.

What was Oak supposed to do in this situation? He couldn’t move to give Glove more space, he was as far over as he could get. Pushing Glove away wasn’t an option either. For no particular reason. Maybe Oak could lean against him? But what if it wasn’t intentional, and then Glove thought he was weird? Better to not risk it.

Oak settled on holding as still as possible, hoping to not disturb Glove. He worried that if he moved an inch or tried to write something, the other would pull away, and Oak didn’t want that. It was… nice.

After a couple of minutes, in which neither of them moved, Oak realized that the round would probably end soon. As much as he didn’t want the moment to end, there was something Oak had to do.

Being as gentle as he could, Oak nudged Glove. Glove started, turning towards him. Oak started writing a sign. “next round meet me in the viewing lobby.”

Glove immediately nodded, accentuating his response with a hastily written “Gotcha.”

The final few minutes were simultaneously comforting and tense. Comforting in the sense that Glove was sitting right next to him, and they were going to meet the next round, and Oak just couldn’t bring himself to believe that he was stringing him along. Tense in the sense that the round would end soon, and Oak would be taken away from this moment. Someone else would be dead, information would be tossed around, and they’d all have to figure out what was true and what wasn’t. Oak wished he could stay here, and not be ripped away from this momentary reprieve.

Moments before the lights went out, he reached for Glove’s hand. It might’ve been weird, but in that terrifying transition from the game to the discussion, the second in which he would learn if his trust was misplaced, all Oak wanted was the reassurance of something real. And right as the round ended, he felt Glove’s fingers interlace with his own.

The room was plunged into darkness. Round 2 was over.

And Oak was still alive.

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Author's stats:

-8 pages in Google docs

-2138 words written

-5 cases of writer's block

-4 days writing on and off