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Saying that Wemmbu was exhausted was something generous.
With the way his words slurred together when trying to talk (because sometimes sound wouldn't come out) and his eyes desperately tried to close, he'd much rather describe himself as half-dead.
Not because he's literally dead, no. It was much worse, in his opinion. He'd fall onto his mattress, slipping his eyes shut with way too much force. Sleep never came, or if it did in was never peaceful.
Images of past memories kept replaying and it hurt, reopening wounds that he buried deep in his heart, behind strong walls. He'd wake up in cold sweat, trembling as if someone poured frozen water on him.
Shallow sleep became some sort of heaven. His eyes hurt when he closed them, every muscle in his body aching if he tried to relax. He'd be left drifting in and out of sleep, his eyes almost fully closed.
On rare occasions his body would go numb. Firstly his legs, which became like an anchor, pinning him under the blanket like some sort of butterfly in a collection. They'd feel ten times heavier than usual, his toes going cold.
Then his arms would fail to move. Not quite fail, as if his will power struggled enough they'd actually shift the way he wanted. He'd let them rest on his stomach, focusing on the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
His breathing, which tried to even out, became desperate just about when his brain decided sleep was too heavy of a task to carry out. He'd be stuck with his thoughts, ranging from lucidity to incoherence.
The worst of the worst might actually be the morning. The sun would filter through his curtains, basking the entire room with warm lighting. Unaware of Wemmbu's internal turmoil and his nightmares.
It was mocking, in a way. Showing him how the world kept moving, jumping over his cries (although silent, they were there) for help like
he didn't matter. In a way, he didn't really matter that much anymore.
When he was the strongest, people hunted him down to recruit him. His stomach knotted with every order, but at least he was wanted and useful to someone, instead of laying numbly in his bed and doing nothing all day.
He never truly got used to living without the feeling of safety his and Flame's partnership brought upon him. Wemmbu would crash on Flame's couch while he was in the same room or in the kitchen baking.
He could actually sleep, for the first time in a really long while, without his muscles hurting to relax or his brain working on an empty stomach. He'd close his eyes and get actual, practical and much needed rest.
Besides, Flame always woke him up at some point. He'd snap at him for occupying living room space while placing food in his plate. Wemmbu would stay silent, since it was Flame's base and he was just, well, Wemmbu.
He'd try to eat in time with Flame, listening to his complaints as if he'd actually change something. When that fact dawned on Flame, usually after they'd finished eating, he'd be sent to a guest room to sleep in a 'proper bed'.
Flame's beds were really comfortable, Wemmbu recalls. The mattresses weren't harsh or irritating against his sensitive skin, allowing his body to sink into them and aborb the warmth trapped under the woolen blanket.
Those were—are—his favorite nights. He'd wake up with a clear head, snuggled against the pillow with his fingers clenched around the blanket. One time, when Flame was feeling nicer than usual, he was woken up with fingers detangling his hair.
A heavy weight dipped the mattress, making him incline towards it in his sleep. Flame's warmth was treasured in every second of their alliance, even if he didn't quite know it.
His bed was nothing like Flame's. He'd twist and turn until his brain was exhausted and ready to enter the body numbing stage. His blanket was harsh against his skin and sometimes he woke up with red patches on his arms.
It didn't matter that Arachnid granted him a mansion as a house. It simply didn't, not when it felt like a cold, mind numbing prison cell. He'd cry silent tears and wet his pillow before sleep would take him under.
Egg being a hostage once again wasn't helping. He should've been more careful the first time he rescued him, not allowing the invis guy to obtain custody over his situation. Guilt stirred in his gut and he chose to not think about it.
Everything was quiet around his mansion. Arachnid sent him 'home' after the complications with Cindercrest. Apparently the message was delivered and their leader was eager to talk.
Wemmbu was deemed something that would risk not getting a good deal, so he'd been sent home. Was he even relevant anymore, if he couldn't be used to get a better deal out of people?
He didn't know. He didn't, and it stressed him out more than he could ever imagine. His breathing was uneven by the time he pulled the covers all the way up to his neck, willing tears not to spill. Would they hurt Egg for this?
Wemmbu was cold. He always was, but when thoughts like those spread through his head his body temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees. His frame would start trembling and his heart rate picked up.
He hated waiting. It made him feel as useless as he was. The thin blanket morphed around his shoulders and he hunched in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt to find and conserve warmth.
Shivering became a constant in his lifestyle. The only time he didn't shiver was when Arachnid sent him to the surface to fight somewhere other than the snowy biome.
His hands became so unsteady he had to hold his sword so hard his knuckles turned white. His mace almost slipped from his grasp one too many times. Not to mention how awkwardly cut his food became. Not that he had a lot of food, but still.
It felt pointless to keep going. That's the main thought running through his head while rotting away. He can't remember the last night he had a full eight hours of undisturbed sleep.
(Flame somehow ended up on his side with one of his hands thrown lazily over him, pinning him to his chest. Exhaustion caught up so fast he literally passed out. How could've he known that that's their last night spent in peace? Or, overall, together?)
His stomach turned. His night vision was about to run out. He didn't think he could stomach another potion without eating beforehand so being left in darkness would have to do.
It was easier to live in that weird numbness, Wemmbu realized. He'd find himself drifting into that space, allowing his brain to function without him being fully present.
The words spat at him and the nasty looks other high status players threw were dulled out to a slight increase in his heart beat. He didn't react nor acknowledge them, remaining trapped in his quiet world.
Wemmbu hated silence. His whole personality revolved around chaos. Explosions, dramatic entrances and irritational decisions were his watermark. It screamed loud, chaos and everything Wemmbu once was.
Now he was reduced to a worthless warrior. People didn't fear him because he was just a dog on a leash, listening to his owner. He couldn't even go on a walk without supervision.
The room was dark around him. There was no point in wasting another potion if he was going to go to sleep anyway. Right now, Arachnid was negotiating their alliance with Cindercrest. The outcome would either be good or bad for Egg and he couldn't do anything about it.
He shut his eyes, pulling the blanket tighter around his curled form. It didn't offer any sense of comfort, no matter if he tried to imagine he was basking in the warmth of Flame's... Base? High quality beds? Arms?
He was exhausted. He wanted to go home. He wanted home, wherever that was, and he wanted it so bad it physically hurt to think about it. His heart clenched and the walls became too close, the blanket a cage or sorts.
His eyes stung, bringing him back to reality from his blissfully unaware state. Outside there was chatter, a few laughs. Maybe the meeting went well and no strings would be pulled.
Maybe him and Egg would finally be freed. He swears the second he has Egg, he'll disappear off the face of the server, somewhere far away in an unexplored biome where no one would find them.
He'd build Egg the best fishing dock, with thousands of enchanted fishing rods and chests sorted by loot. Then, when he was sure he was going to be safe, maybe he'd explore the surroundings, searching for a trial chamber.
Wemmbu would start it just to get the thrill of fighting pumping in his veins. He'd allow the mobs to hit and scar his skin in hope of finding the familiar feeling of pain. He'd go back and see Egg happy, so he'd be happy.
Sleep is a bliss. To achieve sleep, Wemmbu needed quiet. Unfortunately for him, the voices outside grew closer, greeting someone goodbye by his door. Wonderful. Just his luck, if the dried tears didn't say enough.
The other voices wandered away, leaving him unsteady. It's not like he cared, really. If Arachnid was the one knocking, then he wouldn't wait for a response before dropping anything off. If it was Yungy, he'd see Wemmbu asleep and leave him alone.
No one else cared enough to visit him.
He remained silent as the door opened, allowing himself to drift between being awake and asleep. Light footsteps stepped on his floor, making their way past his kitchen.
It wasn't Arachnid, then, as he would've placed the documents on his dining table. It seemed like he had to deal with Yungy's presence, then. Which wasn't particularly good, not when the footsteps stopped in front of his bedroom.
Why was Yungy so still? Was this even Yungy? Was he supposed to still be up by Arachnid's order and he somehow forgot?
Wemmbu didn't dare to open his eyes. With the way his bed was placed, across the room and right in front of the door, the second they opened he'd make eye contact with whoever was there.
Instead of thinking about what was going on, he forced himself to zone out and reach that sacred place of numbness. His whole body would go limp and maybe the shivering would stop.
A heavy sigh somehow reached his ears, his brain barely registering anything anymore. Everything was beautifully faded, weather it be the outside world or his inside turmoil from earlier.
The footsteps approached his bed and he thinks the person might've said something, maybe ask him a question. He was too out of it to answer, so he gave an absent hum just in case it was something important.
The mattress dipped near him, the warmth of his blanket being suddenly yanked away. Cold air hit his skin before immediately being replaced by strong arms pulling him to another warmth source.
The sudden action made him jolt out of his thoughts. He tensed, hands coming up to push away. It was kind of funny, how he became so week that an embrace was his limit. He kept struggling regardless of the knowledge that it would have no result.
He elbowed the guy's nose, making him flinch but not deterring his tensed grip. "Stop. Wemmbu, calm down." A voice sounded from above him. There were tears streaming down his cheeks, blurring his vision. Why couldn't he break free?
"Shit, bro. Stop—Don't cry, it's fine. You're okay and whatever." Wemmbu couldn't understand who was talking, the deep rumble of the voice echoing in his fizzy mind.
A hand moved to grip his chin, guiding it upwards and wiping away his tears. It was nice, finally having something to achieve. The face that came into view was unexpected at best.
Blindfold covered eyes stared down at him. Flame's mouth had a frown in it, tilting it downwards. "Are you even here?"
Wemmbu brought a hand up to his face, brushing the skin under his blindfold. His breathing was heavy. "Are you?" He asked, voice raspy and airy.
Two of his fingers wrapped around his blindfold, tugging at it with questionably weak force. Still, Flame tilted his head to allow him to take it off. "Of course I am. What type of question even is that!"
Flame's voice was warm. Familiar like the rare smell his nose picked out after it stormed over night and he woke up too early to be socially acceptable. He misses it. He misses Flame.
"Oh." His eyes stung and his voice was cracking around the edges as his stomach untwisted slightly. His breath picked up as the reality of the situation sunk in.
Flame was here. He was here, not in his dreams, but in his bed, invading his personal space with the warmth he missed.
Wemmbu's head fell onto his chest, arms wrapping around his torso and clutching at the fabric of Flame's hoodie. He let out a sob and he hid his face in embarrassment when Flame returned the tight embrace, holding him safe.
"Shh, it's okay." Flame whispered, running a hand through his hair and detangling it with incredible patience. "Don't cry. I'm here."
"You weren't. Egg still isn't." Wemmbu said between sobs. His speech was cracking, slurred with sleep and stitched with exhaustion. "No one ever is, Flame."
There was a wet spot forming under his shoulder, stained with Wemmbu's salty tears. He ran his head down his back in hopes of calming him down. "You'll be fine. Egg will be fine. You just have to keep fighting a little more. You can do that, right?"
The gentleness in his tone was enough to make him fully break, unable to form a single solid sentence. All that came out were fragmented words, which were immediately shushed by Flame's reassurances.
At some point, Flame guided his head in the crevice of his neck, falling silent and just letting Wemmbu cry out. His fingers scratched his scalp, working paths through his hairroots.
Wemmbu didn't know how much time had passed when he had no tears left to cry. But Flame was still there, warm and safe and he allowed Wemmbu to snuggle in his chest. He missed being safe, he really did.
"Hey." He said, voice hoarse. If they needed to talk, he might as well get it over with. Though the warmth radiating off of him was worth keeping around in such cold environments.
"Hey. Are you, uh, okay?" Flame's awkard lines always brought a smile to Wemmbu's face. Wemmbu remembered that. So why wasn't it enough to make him smile? He didn't reply, not to himself nor to Flame.
"Alright." His hand pressed into his lower back before resuming its trajectory. "We negotiated a little with Arachnid." He started. After they finished talking, would he leave immediately?
"Since we already knew that he has Egg, we kind of proposed an exchange, him for a stronger fighter of ours." Did Wemmbu have to say anything to make him stay? Could he offer anything?
"Point is, you two were traded for better warriors." Maybe Flame didn't need anything valuable and would settle for less. What was he saying?
Him and who?
"Egg. You and Egg." Flame repeated, looking at him slightly amused. He pulled Wemmbu away and he had to resist chasing the warmth.
He was so useless he was traded. Egg too—Egg was traded along him. Wait, "Egg!?"
Flame chuckled. "Yeah. Both of you. You have no idea how difficult that was to get without Arachnid realizing. He's so stupid." He whispered the last part, as if he could hear them.
Something heavy lifted off his chest. He was getting too much air in his lungs and he was suffocating and breathing at the same time. Traded. Being traded means being free. They were free.
He let his head fall back down. Wemmbu laughed, a sad and wet thing that echoed in the room, soon dissolving into another broken sob. Flame's hands returned to their designated spot, one in his hair and the other rubbing his back.
"Fuck. Bro, fuck. When? How? Forget that, can we leave?" He pushed himself up on his elbows, hair falling between him and Flame.
"Not now, no. Tomorrow, when the fighter gets brought here. I'm here to ensure nothing fishy is happening." Flame's smile died a little when the light in Wemmbu's eyes dimmed, but it was still there.
Hope. Hope was still wrapped around Wemmbu's soul, he realized. He hoped him and Egg would get out safely. He hoped everything that happened was a dream—a nightmare that he could wake up for.
And now, surrounded by warmth once again, he hopes Flame wasn't going to leave his side.