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You build your home together, in the shade of the cherry blossoms, in the cliffs above the river. Subz and Zam argue over the shading of the walls, and argue Vitalasy into softening the square edges of the river-run over-grown flowerbeds. You plant more flowers, all together.
In the mornings you wake up slowly. Zam or Vi will kick each other awake, race or trudge down to the river, to swim, to fish, so you can lure Subz into wakefulness with the smell of baking bread and fresh cooked cod.
You drift easily into the whiling of your days. Subz is mining great tunnels into the cliffs and Zam has his crafts, a day painting, one shaping wax, and Vitalasy holds long discourses with his cat while waiting for cakes or pies to bake. Afternoons pour into evenings where you drag the hammock out onto the porch and soak in the sunset, the scent of the blossoms, the music spilling out into the golden purple sky.
There are nights, too.
There are nights when Zam stays out till daybreak, killing every undead thing he can get his blade into. There are nights Vitalasy hides in the cupboard with the coral fans, pinning himself into this world so viscerally it almost doesn't feel wrong he can't float between them. There are nights Subz digs so deep none of you know where he goes.
But there are nights you go out hunting, for dog bones and spider eyes and spare gunpowder, and Zam runs in to protect Subz from a zombie when he's distracted while Vitalasy cuts down two spiders coming up behind them. There are nights you keep each other up till dawn, teasing and joking with petty traps and jibes that cut just deep enough to prove you needn't tiptoe around each other. There are nights you lie piled together, pressed skin to skin, aware with every breath and restless kick exactly where you are.
At times you travel further. You go out to spawn and Zam teaches you how to play golf on Pangi's course, and wins, and Vitalasy takes tea in Jumper's tree to discuss the properties of amethyst, and Subz talks Reddoons or the other way around into a terrible plague of Dirt, at which point you promptly exile him from spawn. You squash into one boat and float down 4CVIT's waterslide; you race on the wing through golden hoops so fast one fault could kill you. You go home together, full of jokes and arguments and stories to tell on other days.
There are two enchanted apples in item frames on the wall of your house, and space for a third in between. You talk about it from time to time: making a proper expedition of it, raiding a trial chamber or ancient cities until you can have all three together in one place at one time, and not just one or two.
You never really will, of course.