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Joel was sitting on the floor of his kitchen, staring at the ceiling.
It was dark outside, and he didn’t exactly know what he was doing on the floor. He had been working on his city outside for a while, before coming back inside when night had fallen, tired feet dragging himself to his cupboards.
He had grabbed a wine bottle from his small stash and let himself be pulled by gravity down to the floor, then. It had been at least thirty minutes since he had sat down, and he wasn’t feeling much better.
He had drunk about a quarter of the bottle—maybe less—before abandoning it on his counter. The taste was foul, and he found he wasn’t really in the mood to get drunk.
Listening to the wind blowing in the cherry trees scattered around his base and the chirping of crickets, he found the noise relaxing. Natural sounds had never bothered him that much—they almost felt like a lullaby, if you listened hard enough to hear the tune.
Though, amidst the serene ambience, Joel heard the sound of his front door being opened.
Returning to his senses, he looks over to where Etho was stood in his doorway, closing the door behind him.
Joel squints at him, wrinkling his nose as they make eye contact.
Etho looks at him with a tilted head, brows furrowed in thought. His eyes flick over to the bottle of wine on the counter, then back to Joel. He steps further into the house, further towards Joel. Joel looks away when the man clears his throat, standing only a couple feet away from him.
“Are you, ah, good? Down there?”
Joel swallows back an annoyed groan. “Yep.” He drawls, popping the P. “Doing great. Lovely. Perfectly fine.” he waves his hand as if to send Etho away. Etho doesn’t move.
“Right.” Etho says, “and I presume the reason why you’re on the floor has nothing to do with that bottle there, yeah?”
Joel returns his gaze to Etho just to glare at him. He has an eyebrow raised, watching Joel carefully. Joel doesn’t appreciate it.
“I’m not drunk, Etho.”
His eyes crinkle, and Joel imagines there’s a grin behind the mask.
“I didn’t say you were.”
Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes. “What do you want?”
Etho takes another couple steps forward, sitting down next to Joel, resting his arms on his knees.
“I want to talk,”
“Oh, goody.” Joel deadpans, looking away again.
“No, listen—It’s been a long time, and we haven’t had the chance to talk about… it.” Etho starts, “and now you’re here, and I—I just thought it might do us some good.”
Immediately he knows what “it” means. They haven’t really talked in two years—they had crossed paths, occasionally, but they never talked for long, about anything meaningful, just the two of them.
And really, Joel gets it. They had lived on different servers, and Double Life wasn’t supposed to mean anything, anyway. It was a death game. It was meant to be that way. If they let it mean something, if they let it matter—
That just meant all the hurt would be real.
So it was better off this way. They wouldn’t talk about it, they wouldn’t mention it. Joel knew it hurt anyway, he knew there wasn’t any way to stop it from hurting, he could see the way it affected his friends. But he could pretend he was fine. He could pretend it was fine. He wouldn’t let himself care about it.
Double Life was two years ago, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he and Etho had been soulbound, it didn’t matter that their hearts had been tied together by a string. It didn’t matter that Joel had built a ship for the two of them, it didn’t matter that it had burnt down, and it didn’t matter that they’d died in a stupid portal trap.
It didn’t matter that Joel had spent months getting the feeling of the lava burning his skin to stop prickling all over his arms.
And consequently, he didn’t care that when the next game started, Etho and him had gone different ways. It didn’t matter that Etho’d killed him, and it didn’t matter that they pretended like they’d never been soulmates. He didn’t care that after that, when Secret Life rolled around, Etho had told him he loved him as a joke in front of their friends, because it didn’t matter.
Joel had spent the three years that the Life games had been happening convincing himself of this. And it worked, it worked because nobody ever talked to him about it. Hell, he didn’t think Etho would want to talk about it—he thought they’d spent the last two years avoiding each other for a reason.
Neither of them were exactly big talkers, either. Joel could ramble—he certainly wasn’t quiet, but he wouldn’t talk that much when unprompted. Especially not about feelings. Joel was bad at feelings. Never knew the right words, always unsure, not only of what he felt, but what everyone else felt too. And he knew Etho to be similar. Neither of them knew how to talk about emotions, how to deal with emotions.
But he was here, now, asking Joel to talk, and Joel couldn’t see a way out of it. So he sighs, slumping against the cupboards that he was uncomfortably sitting against.
“You want to talk about Double Life,”
Etho looks at him, surprise in his raised eyebrows as if he’d expected more of a fight.
“Well, I—yeah,” Etho brings his hands to his chest, wringing them together restlessly. “And the other ones. I want—I want to start by saying I’m sorry, too.”
Joel blinks, turning his head to meet Etho’s gaze. He furrows his brows, studying Etho’s expression. He looks genuinely apologetic, a serious downward quirk to his eyebrows.
“…for?”
“I mean, just, kind of everything, I guess?” Etho says, with a rueful chuckle, “I’ve been a bit of a jerk to you.”
Joel opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. He stares at Etho, and Etho stares back, unblinking.
“I don’t… okay. Yeah, sure, you’re the one who needs to apologize here, right. Uh huh.” Joel shakes his head, a scoff sounding from his lips. “If this is about killing me in Limited Life, I really don't care. I got over that a long while ago. You don’t need to be sorry for killing me in the death game.”
Etho pauses, tilting his head at Joel like a dog. “I also said I loved you for a joke, and have been avoiding you ever since Double Life,” he sounds as if he’s desperate to have done something wrong.
“You were pressured into it. I don’t care. It was a joke; it’s really not a big deal.” Joel says exasperatedly, “and I was avoiding you.”
Etho blinks at Joel owlishly. “I guess we both have something to apologize for, then,”
Joel snorts, looking away. “Yeah, no, you’re not getting an ‘I’m sorry’ from me.”
Etho chuckles, and some of the tension dissipates. “You just said it, though,”
“I hate you.” Joel mutters, which only serves to make him laugh more.
They sit there silently for a couple moments, and after a beat, Etho leans his head against Joel’s. Joel’s breath catches, freezing for a second before relaxing into the small touch. He has to remind himself that it’s fine.
“I missed you, you know,” Etho murmurs.
“You did?”
“I mean—yeah, is that so hard to believe?”
Joel contemplates that, closing his eyes for a moment.
Double Life had lasted a month, maybe two. During that time, Etho and him had gotten paired, spending the entirety of the game as soulmates. If one died, the other would, too; they were tethered together by their hearts.
Joel had had a surplus of complicated emotions during their time together. Etho was the first ally he’d ever had in the games, and it had been forced. It wasn’t his choice to team with Joel, and—hell, Joel knew he would have never done it on his own. They had barely spoken before Double Life, and it wasn’t like he was exactly a desirable teammate.
He didn’t think Etho would like being with him. He didn’t think Etho would like him.
And at first, Joel wasn’t thrilled to be teamed with Etho, either. He was used to being alone—used to being hated by the other players, and he hadn’t thought that time would be any different. But it was, somehow.
Being with Etho had felt right. Being with Etho had made him realize he never wanted to be alone like that again. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Something in him wanted to believe that it was the game making him feel that way. Something in him wanted to believe that the soulbound enhanced their feelings, or something. He wasn’t sure it was real, then.
He still wasn’t really sure now, either.
But with the way that they had interacted with one another, the gestures of affection they had shared, he supposed it wasn’t really that hard to believe that he had been missed, if he buried the self-hate, the doubt.
They hadn’t spent long with each other. But from the moment they had been paired, Joel knew Etho more intimately than he did anyone else. He knew the way his heartbeat felt in his chest. He could sometimes feel an emotion of Etho’s simmering in between his ribs, if it was intense enough a feeling. That was all gone now—had been, for a while, now.
Joel still knew Etho like the back of his hand.
He wasn’t sure he had missed it. But it did take a while to stop expecting to wake up beside Etho when he respawned, or to hear him shout his name when he took damage.
Joel hadn’t ever really been sure what love was supposed to be.
But he thinks that what he felt with Etho then was something close enough.
So what he says is, “I guess not.”
And he could tell that Etho smiled, when he turned to look, from the way his eyes squinted, cheeks lifting a smidge, bringing the mask up with them.
Joel thinks it a pretty sight.
“I think—I think I might have missed you, too.”
Etho hums softly, bringing his hands up to Joel’s neck before leaning down and bumping his forehead against Joel’s. Joel closes his eyes, letting out a small sigh.
“And, I’m—I’m also sorry. For also being a bit of a jerk to you.”
Etho huffs a laugh, and for the first time that night, Joel lets a soft giggle past his lips. He can feel his own breath hot against his skin, lingering in the small space between his mouth and Etho’s mask.
“You said you weren’t going to apologize,”
Joel snickers, placing a hand flat against Etho’s chest to shove him away, spitefully pushing himself into a corner to make space between them. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Oh, I will,” Etho says, gleefully.
Joel rolls his eyes, attempting to push himself up from the floor. His legs wobble, and he leans against the counter to maintain balance. It had been a long day of working, and his muscles were stiff. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.
Etho stands up beside him, placing a stabilizing hand on his shoulder, “are you sure you’re not drunk?”
Joel turns his head to glower at Etho, who raises his hands, palms outward, in a placating gesture, a small grin wrinkling the skin under his eyes.
“Just saying.”
“You know, I could kick you out. This is my house.” Joel walks on weak knees, turning a corner and walking up the stairs to his room. Etho follows.
“You wouldn’t,”
“I would.”
“Yeah, you probably would.”
“See,” Joel smirks, flopping down onto his bed with a grunt, melting into the soft mattress. Etho sits down on the edge next to him. “Don’t antagonize me.”
“It was a genuine question, though.”
“I can also kick you in the face,”
“Please don’t.”
Joel hums like he’s deep in thought, considering, “you know, that’s one great thing about not being soulbound anymore; I get to kick you—and I won’t feel it. Oh, I should take advantage of that more,”
“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t, though.”
“See, but it would be fun,” Joel insists, pushing himself halfway sitting up, leaning back onto his hands, staring intently at Etho, who has a minimally perturbed expression.
“There are other, more fun things to do.”
He pouts childishly, huffing. “Fine. I won’t kick you.”
Joel watches as Etho looks at him with a satisfied smirk. He sticks his tongue out in return, earning a short laugh from the other.
“I appreciate it.” He could hear the smile in his voice.
Joel lets his arms buckle, falling back onto the bed with a thump. He blows a raspberry, “yeah, yeah, whatever,”
They stay that way for a good couple minutes, Joel laying on his back and staring at the ceiling while Etho sits on the edge of the bed, neither looking at the other. It’s quiet, quiet enough for Joel to hear Etho’s breathing; it’s not an unpleasant sound, though he’s not sure he particularly enjoys it, either.
He had heard some people say they thought the sound of someone else's breathing was comforting. Or maybe their heartbeat—they weren’t that different, to him.
But he typically thought them to be uncomfortable, frustrating. It was awful, sometimes, when all he’d want was peace and quiet, and then he’d hear his own heartbeat, and he hated it.
Though, at the moment, it wasn’t truly a bothering thing. Slightly strange, odd, somehow—but not bothersome.
Etho turns to him; Joel sees it in his peripheral vision. He has a concentrated look to him, brows furrowed slightly, like he was thinking hard about something.
“Don’t you ever… miss it?” Etho sounds soft, vulnerable, a tone that Joel feels like he shouldn’t bear witness to. It twists his stomach, and he bites the inside of his cheek.
“What?”
“I mean—like, being soulbound. Feeling each other’s hurt. Not just—being partnered, but, like, tied.”
Oh.
“Oh,” he says, intelligently.
He didn’t consider that, either.
“I don’t—I—” Joel forces his eyes to stay trained at the ceiling, restraining the urge to flick his gaze to look at Etho. “…I don’t—know,”
Honestly, being paired with someone like that had been terrifying.
The random ticks of damage, sharp spikes of pain that had no explanation. The burning emotions buried in his chest that he knew weren’t his own. The idea of being responsible for someone else’s life—the idea of taking them with you when you died. You couldn’t be alone. You would never be alone. Because he was right there with you, he died right there with you, and there was no time to weep for his life because you were already gone.
He hadn’t been used to it. He didn’t think he ever got used to it. There wasn’t time to get used to it, and truthfully, he didn’t think that even if there was, he would be able to stop being momentarily scared every time his soulmate took damage. The bruises and scrapes and gashes and aches would hurt anyway.
It was odd, either way, when he saw Etho again after that, expecting to take damage when he did, to find the string had been cut. A lone heart beating a tempo that was only his own, no longer shared with another.
He guessed it did hurt in some odd, twisted way, not sharing the pain anymore. He somehow wanted to, so that Etho wouldn’t be alone in any of the hurt. It had meant he always knew when he got damaged, where he got damaged—it meant Etho could never hide a wound from him, and vice versa.
There was a lot they couldn’t hide from each other, during that time. Even now, after the bond was long gone, Joel found himself picking up on subtle movements or tones that he hadn’t been able to before.
He supposed it came with sharing a heartbeat, a life.
Etho hummed, scooting up closer to where Joel laid, a hand lazily placed atop his own, clumsily lacing fingers.
“That’s okay.”
Joel allows himself to look at Etho again, finding him looking back at him with a content stare.
“Is it?” He finds himself asking, quietly. It felt like he wouldn’t be able to speak louder if he tried, locked to a whisper.
“Yeah.” Etho replies, “it doesn’t matter.”
Joel thinks it does, but he doesn’t argue. He finds it easier that way.
He turns his head to the side, decidedly changing his interest to the wall. It takes a couple moments before he speaks again.
“Are you going to leave?”
“Do you want me to?”
Joel thinks he doesn’t. He pointedly decides not to admit that.
“I don’t care.”
He can almost see the questioning raise of a brow, despite looking away.
“Okay,” a beat, “you won’t mind if I stay, then.”
“I won’t.” Joel agrees easily.
“Okay.” He repeats.
Neither of them move. Not for a while, simply existing there together silently, hands tangled together.
Joel thinks the quiet is nice.