Work Text:
It wasn't everyday one becomes a god's chosen.
Stars, it wasn't even every century or millennium or, or ever! Was there even a last time? He couldn't remember. He wished he'd say he didn't care, but he's never been a liar. He'd want to meet them, understand why they were chosen, how and where and when. He'd know everything: what made them tick, their hobbies and interests, what made them just so interesting to become a literal God's chosen.
Because at least then he'd figure out why he was chosen. What was so special about him? there wasn't anything; good at Parkour, yes, but even then. Nothing else was good enough. He was just a man with blood on his hands, desperate to survive in the place he called home for years. So why him?
(He refuses to believe it's because Evbo had a soft spot for him. That existed for one person and only one, who had disappeared to the wind, returned to the sea, and fled to the stars high above.)
He was just a simple Parkour Master, living on the top of the world (figuratively), unknowing of the adventure he would get into with a man in a striped sweater wanting help. He doesn't know how he got this position--well, that was a lie. It was the only thing he does know.
Because he helped Evbo through his journey with just a well-timed meeting and a statshed old totem that he kept for the perfect moment. Knows it's because he's good at Parkour, perhaps not the best in the land, and definitely not good enough to not let himself get kidnapped, but he was good. And what he certainly does is: it's because he was a good friend to him.
(Would that be all he'll ever be? A friend forevermore? What a horrid thought. He scoffs and looks up from his hands.)
But now here he was, standing on his throne high above Parkour Civilization, on top of the world (literally), watching ants jumping to and fro, spending everything they own in the shops, fighting battles that will end in death--
But they won't. Death yes, but not permanent. Not the empty void of the afterlife he once saw ever so briefly when he stared down into the abyss below the chain he stood upon, one attack away from permanent, never-ever coming back death.
'It wasn't like before,' he reminds himself, rubbing his hands down his arms, shuttering. He'd blame it on the non-existent breeze if Evbo was watching.
It was weird to have a god actively watching them, caring, dashing from place to place as he was summoned by all throughout the levels. Their last god abandoned them (leaving them to rot, perish, destroy one another and themselves until there was practically none left.) It was a nice change, one he welcomes with open arms and an even more welcoming heart.
It was even weirder to have said god by his side almost constantly when he was allowed a break from his godly duties. He didn't deserve it--to stand in the presence of a god, bask in their light and all they stand for. Didn't deserve to be put on the altar for said god, covered in gold and green. He was a lowly Parkour Master, fighting to stay alive everyday.
(He doesn't quite know where these thoughts of undeserving came from. Perhaps from the boots, from having the god of Parkour’s hand in his, from having to face everyone he once knew and hear them question “why why why?” Or maybe, just maybe, it was because he felt he was a replacement for someone else, someone who could fill these boots better than him, and he was just the second best option.)
He glances at his boots, blue and shining in the afternoon sun, with discomfort. These shouldn't be his, shouldn't be anyone's really, but definitely not his. Why Evbo chose him haunts his every waking thought.
Why was he put here but as a cruel joke unto him? He remembers when Evbo originally joked about it (a laugh he would never admit made him feel butterflies in his stomach and his mind spiral higher and higher to the stars.) It was a joke then, and it feels as if it's still a joke now. But it couldn't possibly be one. How could it be when he looks upon the horizon on this cloudless day, the bright sun shining down onto all levels, plant life blooming and people sprouting back from the afterlife, ready to jump again.
He was lucky to be there when he was, his brain reasons, to give Evbo the totem of undying and follow him on his adventure. Lucky . Maybe that's all he'll ever be. But he doesn't want to just be lucky. He wanted to be deserved. He wanted to have Evbo's hands on his face, cradling him ever so softly, mumbling "my champion."
He'd return the cradle, pulling him ever closer, holding him ever so slightly tighter just to convince himself he's real, and mumble back "my god."
(The realization hits him the same way it did when he got kidnapped: suddenly and almost tragically. But it left not despair and a hole in his chest, but pure and unfiltered love.)
He stumbles back, collapsing onto his chair that touches the stars, and reaches up. He didn't care if he deserved his place on Evbo's altar, because he was already there. He was chosen, and he'll worship till the day he dies.
(He loved Evbo, he admits in the dark of night, hidden below layers of blankets to keep the cold out. "I love you" he would admit at sunrise, kneeling and holding Evbo's hands tightly. "I love you too," would be returned, a smile ever so soft and as warm as the sun given. He beckons his champion to rise, bringing their lips together in a kiss that barely felt real.
He was proud to be his champion.)