Work Text:
He’s fighting slow and he’s fighting sloppy. Wemmbu knows it. He feels it in the way his limbs are clumsy, like a newborn foal, in the slight beat of hesitation before each brutal swing of his mace.
Wemmbu punctuates his heavy exhales with a firm strike, but he hits empty sand each and every time.
A blindfolded boy moves like liquid, seamlessly alternating offense and defense. He easily sidesteps every strike, sand flying in whorls around his feet.
Wemmbu grits his teeth, wind whistling through his clothing as he fans his wings and beats powerfully. Huge and dark, feathers swirl to the ground tauntingly as his wingbeats send more sand swirling in a cloud around his adversary.
…
“You fight straight-minded,” a voice chides again. A rough, scarred hand firmly grasps Wemmbu by the elbow.
Wemmbu straightens, frowning, letting a bead of sweat trace down to his chin. His hair is short and choppy, framing his cheekbones in that awkward way it did before he let it grow long and untamable.
Manepear grins at him, patient but strict. “Again, Wemmbu. As many times as you need for the element of sublety to sink into that dense head of yours.” It should have stung, but the words were delivered with a playful air. A teacher to an apprentice.
If it had been anyone, anyone else, Wemmbu would have charged straight at them and bitten off every finger they possessed in an instant. At thirteen, he was a wild thing, short with a nasty temper. He didn’t care much for Mane’s other apprentices, and Wemmbu wasn’t afraid to make that fact clear.
Despite the way many of them dwarfed him, with his slender avian limbs and prepubescent frame, almost all of them held some form of rueful respect for Mane’s youngest apprentice. Wemmbu had a self-satisfied, passive-aggressive air around him, one that didn’t request respect but rather commanded it.
He was cheeky and abrupt, annoying and precocious.
The only one Wemmbu, without a doubt, respected, was Manepear.
When they sparred, his smirks turned serious.
When Mane offered advice, Wemmbu actually seemed like he was listening.
And so because it was Manepear, and Manepear alone, Wemmbu simply nodded at the words.
“Be sneaky,” Mane advised cheerfully. “You’ll never beat me on brute strength alone. Look around you, Wemmbu. Use your environment. Use everything you’ve got to win.”
Wemmbu eyed the battlefield, weighing Gambit pensively in his grip. His mind raced through route after route, plan after plan.
Perhaps, perhaps if he used the marble pillars near the–
Mane lurched forward, a blur of orange and ferocity. Wemmbu didn’t have time to blink, much less raise Gambit in a counterstrike.
The lion had his sword swept in a lethal arc to Wemmbu’s throat in an instant, tipping back his head to laugh.
Wemmbu was speechless. “You– your advice was just a distraction!” he sputtered, indigant beyond words.
Mane shrugged. “Whatever you’ve got to win,” he echoed, ruffling Wemmbu’s hair lightly. “But I did mean the advice. You use a mace. That’s inherently an art that involves gimmicks and quick thinking, quite unlike melee PvP. You gotta learn to be creative on the battlefield–”
Mane sheathed his sword in a smooth, quick motion. He smirked teasingly at Wemmbu.
“--but you’ve also gotta learn to think quick.”
…
“Be sneaky,” Wemmbu muttered aloud. He blinked, and smiled to himself.
Wemmbu raced in a tight circle around his rival, beating his wings to stir up as much dust as he could. Sand spun and shimmered, creating a tilting, spinning miasma that was nauseating to even look at. He flew above the storm, finding a good angle to attack from.
Now!
Wemmbu shot down towards the ground, cleaner and more forcefully than a bullet. He shot straight through the cloud, mace swinging down in a fatal, forceful swoop. He grinned, body thrumming with adrenaline so strong it bordered on unhinged–
And was promptly thrown to the ground, flaming sword notched at his throat.
FlameFrags was spitting sand out of his mouth, scowling as he rubbed at the grit in his eyes. Wemmbu sighed, purple hair fanning out across the lumpy sand on the floor of the arena. The storm died around them, leaving two boys at its eye. Flame offered Wemmbu a hand, and Wemmbu grabbed it firmly.
“Dude–” Flame coughed out, still recovering from the drafts, “--what the actual–”
Wemmbu grinned evilly. “Did you like my uncouth tactics? You kinda beat me anyway, but still.”
A pause. Flame glared at him incredulously, arms folded.
“I hope you’re still finding sand in all sorts of places by tomorrow.” Wemmbu smirked cheerfully.
Flame groaned loudly, but the sound was tinged with amusement. “D’alrighttt, bro.” He stuffed Fragger away into his inventory, brushing sand off his training pants. “Mace users,” he mumbled. “Can’t any of you just face me directly? Have some honor for once.”
Wemmbu shrugged, eyes still brimming with the maniac adrenaline of battle. “Honor is an… abstract concept. ‘Sides, I would have won if my armor was in tip-top condition.”
“Would not,” Flame argued. “You have, like, literally never beat me.”
“I did once!” Wemmbu whined.
“Yeah, and that was a total fluke,” Flame snorted.
“I still totally would.”
“Would not.”
“Would, one-billion percent.”
“Would not.”
The two eventually settled into comfortable silence, letting the winter chill and frost settle around them on their clothes, faces, and billowing sand. Wemmbu shivered.
Wemmbu side-eyed Flame, suddenly laughing. “Bro, your hair looks like it was dragged through a couple wars!”
“Yours isn’t much better,” Flame commented dryly, but without any heat. Wemmbu knew his hair was pretty tough. It had survived all kinds of incidents and always seemed to bounce right back. But Flame’s locs? They were like burrs; they attracted every manner of mess, and always took hours to clean up after a fight.
“I guess we head back to clean up,” Flame sighed in defeat. “I’ll have to wash my hair. Again. Dude, I think after the cactus fight and the wind charge attack, this time I literally deserve first shower privileges. I mean, four times in one week? Ridiculous…” Flame’s mumbling receded as Wemmbu smiled brightly, dragging Flame by the sleeve up the hill and towards the uniform buildings at the edge of campus. “To the dorms!” he chirped.
_________
Flame fumbled with the key to the door, stumbling into their apartment. Wemmbu had been uncharacteristically quiet on the whole walk across campus. He usually never stopped yapping, annoyingly loud and present by Flame’s side.
“You good?” Flame asked awkwardly, trying to secretly assess Wemmbu out of the corner of his vision. Wemmbu unwrapped his purple scarf, shaking off the sand, and hung it carefully on the rack beside the door. Flame would never, ever admit it, but the way Wemmbu handled it with reverence warmed something in his chest.
He remembered learning how to knit, staying up late watching tutorials on multiple summer nights. It was patchy, ugly, probably scratchy as hell. It was a dumb decision— since when did someone who attends a PvP university knit? It was a gift to a roommate, a friend, a rival, a– okay, Flame wasn’t gonna say it.
Wemmbu startled, looking up at Flame. “Y-yeah. I’m just, you know, kinda tired after the fight. I’m probably out of shape again, and Mane’s gonna yell at me.” Wemmbu laughed, rubbing the back of his head.
Flame smiled at Wemmbu, wrinkling his nose when the avian strolled down the hallway and started shaking sand off his wings–right on their carpet.
“Bro, like, do that in the shower,” Flame laughed.
Wemmbu smiled at him, in that annoyingly gorgeous way he always did. “Easier in the living room. More space,” he reasoned. “‘M gonna vaccum later anyway.”
“Kay,” Flame shrugged. He pulled off his blindfold and stepped into the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower real quick. Don’t blow up the dorm room again.” he called down the hall.
“No promises!” was the singsong reply. Flame rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile, and shut the door.
__________
Wemmbu flopped on his bed, not really caring about the sand speckling the sheets and pillow. His limbs were like jelly, brain foggy and distant. The cold seemed to seep through the window, cutting straight to his bones. He shivered, wrapping a throw blanket tightly around himself and his annoyingly heavy wings.
Parrot and Theo had left a few weeks ago. Bright birds of paradise, with flashy neon plumage, both had close to zero cold tolerance. He remembered watching the two disappear together on the horizon, colorful specks in the distance, with heaviness weighing on his chest.
Wemmbu wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t told Flame about the whole migration thing.
Birds migrate in the winter. It was a fact of life. They built little groups and flew, flying as instinct told them to until they reached the villages of the south.
It had never been complicated for Wemmbu before. He flew every year, without fuss, with his friend Eggchan. They flew and told bad jokes, ate weird food, chilled in some southern villages for a couple weeks, and just considered it an extended vacation. It was always fun.
The teachers all already knew, and Wemmbu had everything all planned out.
But the thing was, this year was different.
The one thing Wemmbu hadn’t done yet was muster up the courage to tell Flame, blissfully naive about everything to do with avians and avian customs. It hadn’t really come up, and Wemmbu had never found a good time to bring it up.
He wasn’t sure how Flame would react if Wemmbu sprung it on him now.
He wasn’t sure if it would be better to tell Flame, or to just run off like a coward and tell him when he gets back.
In three months.
Wemmbu’s chest constricts, heart pulsing like a beacon. What he and Flame have–
Pictures litter the wall above Wemmbu’s nightstand. Flame and Wemmbu, laughing at a party. Wemmbu in the pool, laughing his head off as Flame cautiously dips a single foot into the shallow water. Flame, sword at Wemmbu’s throat like it always seemed to be.
Flame and Wemmbu, heads tilted, lips pressed together. Flame’s eyes are closed, Wemmbu’s wide with surprise.
Wemmbu stares at the photo. It matches the one on his lockscreen, flickering dimly with notifications. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, rubbing at his eyes wearily.
To Wemmbu, Flame flipped his gravity. Suddenly, his world was anchored to a new center, a being that burned fierce and bright and demanding. Ever since the day Flame officially declared they were (ugh, did he have to say it?) dating, Wemmbu couldn’t help a flash of instant pride everytime Flame introduced him to someone as his “boyfriend”.
It made what they had between them real, grounded. Not stolen kisses, sudden awkward pauses. Not confusion and a scarred friendship.
They were in love. At least, to Wemmbu.
To Flame? Wemmbu had no idea. Were they some casual summer fling? A weird friendship? Did Flame just toss the label “dating” around?
Wemmbu pressed the pillow to his face. He stared into its depths as if suffocating in it would offer answers.
It was true. Flame deserved someone better than him. Wemmbu imagined a thousand guys, stocky, lean, tall, pretty. He could imagine their hands twined with Flame’s so easily, surely so much more naturally than whatever awkward interaction Wemmbu would drag out.
Flame deserved trust. He deserved – okay, he deserved a smaller ego.
Flame deserved a non-avian, someone who would stay by his side. The entirety of the year. Maybe another blaze, some Nether creature; someone whose skin burned hot everywhere Wemmbu’s skin was cold.
Flame deserved someone who didn’t hide the entire “long-distance-relationship-for-three months-every-year-for-the-rest-of-our-lives” thing the whole time they were together.
Wemmbu unburied himself from his pillow, sighing as his phone buzzed insistently. He dug it out from beneath the covers and swiped it open. 53 spam messages from Egg.
“Remember to pack”
“Have you packed yet?”
“Dude why do I legit have to remind you every year”
“Pack”
“PACK”
“Bro I swear if you last-minute pack again and forget to bring money”
“Just say you did and I’ll leave you alone”
“Wait nvm I wouldn’t put it past you to just like lie, say you did, and then never pack”
…et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Egg’s persistence (or maybe trauma from past experiences) was admirable. He really wasn’t planning to stop until Wemmbu packed bags for the migration trip, huh? Wemmbu typed a quick response.
“yeah yeah I’ll pack up in a few hours trust”
Egg shot back a series of skulls and crying emojis. Wemmbu shut his phone and closed his eyes, lulled by the sound of Flame softly humming in the bathroom and the dim resonance of the shower running. He felt sick, just thinking about the ordeal that was about to be explaining away packing travel bags to Flame.
He had two days until he and Egg planned to start their yearly southern roadtrip.
Two days to tell Flame that there was no way this relationship could work out in the long run.
“Do it tonight, you coward,” he muttered resentfully to himself. “Get a grip. It’s your fault you didn’t tell him months ago.”
His stomach churned with dread and the bitterness of rejection that was sure soon to come.
___________
Flame turned and tugged gently on Wemmbu’s sleeve. “Yo, Wemmb–”
Wemmbu whipped around, wings fluffed up in alarm, fingers jittery. He blinked for several seconds, slowly relaxing, pupils rapidly dilating.
Flame frowned. “Bro, you good?” He had known from the beginning that Wemmbu wasn’t hard to startle, but the way Wemmbu had reacted… it was almost as if he was scared of Flame.
Wemmbu swallowed and smiled weakly. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Flame felt a worry wrinkle creasing between his brows. “I dunno, man. You’ve just been kinda jumpy and off lately.” He carefully reached down and laced their fingers.
Wemmbu’s hand was searing cold, like plunging his hand into an icebox. He could feel his own natural Blaze warmth clash against Wemmbu’s temperature, making them both jolt.
(Was Wemmbu always this cold? He ran cold, that was for sure, but was this even natural?)
Wemmbu shrugged, pulling away gently and padding over to the kitchen in a relaxed gait that seemed ever so slightly tense, ever so slightly forced. “Nah. Just haven’t slept well lately. I’m fine.”
Flame examined him more closely, scrunitizing the paleness in his face and the violet circles under his eyes. Yeah, he probably just wasn’t sleeping well. Insomniac, or whatever.
“Wanna go pick up our winter assignments? Mane’s gonna cook your butt if you forget to.” Flame reminded Wemmbu.
It was a headache, just thinking about it. What kind of teachers left whole freaking stacks of assigned homework over winter break? Flame had been looking forward to powering off his brain for a few weeks!
You know, teaching Wemmbu how to ice skate (he couldn’t believe the idiot had never gone ice skating before), eating huge amounts of Christmas candy, staying up with Wemmbu on New Years’.
Flame had never spent a Christmas with anyone before. He wasn’t into the wild, drunken Christmas parties all his friends liked to throw, wasn’t into the idea of an awkward Christmas spent with his family.
But Wemmbu… Wemmbu was different. They had known each other for all of a couple months, but Flame already felt like he would die for Wemmbu if he so much as asked. He was so pretty and annoying, snobbish and sweet. He fought Flame like a feral animal, then promptly curled up at his side, full “docile housecat” mode, on their couch afterwards. He loved horror movies, but instead of watching them quietly, he would yap to Flame
This year was gonna be different.
Flame couldn’t keep the corners of a grin off his face, just thinking about it.
But Wemmbu’s face was tight, pensive. He fidgeted with a stray downy feather, dark and fluffy between his thin fingertips.
“Maybe later,” he hedged, teeth worrying away at his lower lip.
Flame dismissed the unease coming off of Wemmbu as him not feeling well. “Whatever you say, Mr. Procrastinator,” Flame teased, swinging around the kitchen countertop to put Wemmbu in a playful headlock.
That was a mistake. Their faces were close, way too close, close enough for Flame to count the individual lavender eyelashes above those violet eyes. Wemmbu stared at him, a little taken aback, and Flame swallowed as he felt the full force of the avian’s focus on him.
Wemmbu’s face broke into a sweet smirk, sunlight cracking over rolling mountaintops. Flame wondered, dazed, if he was looking into the face of a god.
One thin arm snaked around Flame’s waist, and Wemmbu slowly put down his sandwich ingredients. He tipped his face up, parallel to Flame’s, and firmly pressed their lips together.
Teeth bumped and tongues met. When they broke away, Flame’s chest was heaving.
“Am I still Mr. Procrastinator?” Wemmbu asked, still smirking in that stupidly pretty way.
Flame pretended to deliberate again, shaking his head. “Nah,” he decided simply.
They kissed again.
If Wemmbu was a god, then surely Flame was in heaven.
________
The tugging in his gut was never a good sign. Wemmbu felt like there was a fishing line hooked somewhere around his middle, firmly jerking him in a specific direction. He shivered again, even though the dorm room wasn’t cold.
It was practically tradition for Flame and Wemmbu to just down a sandwich on Mondays. It was a hassle to go out, and Wemmbu always liked to boast that he crafted the finest sandwiches.
“Bro,” Flame would always laugh, “it’s two pieces of bread and a slice of ham. No skill necessary. We seriously need to buy groceries.” Wemmbu would disregard the allegations.
His phone buzzed sporadically in his pocket, doubtlessly Egg crashing out on him. It was a vibrating, aching reminder that he was supposed to end things tonight.
But how the heck was he supposed to say anything when Flame was beautiful and adorable and right across the table from him??
Flame munched thoughtfully on his sandwich, taking out half of it in one bite. Wemmbu swallowed, drank some water, swallowed again.
The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, clumsy and half-formed.
How am I supposed to even start a conversation like this? Like, “hypothetically, are you against long-term relationships”? “I’m about to leave for three months, sorry for the short notice”? God, I’m being melodramatic.
Everything his panicked brain churned up made him internally wince.
Wemmbu’s stomach hurt, pulling insistently south.
It was cold. Why was it so stupidly cold?
“I have some melatonin, if you want it,” Flame’s voice broke through his mental spiraling.
“What?” Wemmbu blinked, suddenly remembering his cover story. Flame and his stupid perceptiveness.
“To help you sleep,” Flame clarified. “You look…” Gold eyes blinked slowly, analyzing Wemmbu carefully. “Tired.”
Wemmbu smiled, the emotion not fully touching his eyes. “Yeah, that would be good. Thanks for offering, bro.”
Flame didn’t push further and Wemmbu didn’t say anything. The silence was comfortable, but Wemmbu’s brain screamed with things unsaid. His mouth finally moved ahead of his racing brain, stuttering weakly,
“Uhh…Flame, I–”
Flame’s phone went off loudly. He opened it and made a face. “Sorry, man. Gotta take this real quick.” He opened the sliding glass door to the balcony, shooting Wemmbu one last apologetic grimace.
Wemmbu slumped onto the table, boneless.
“I give up,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll just tell him tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Procrastinator, indeed.
________
So this was what Wemmbu had resorted to: nervously stuffing a backpack with clothes and amenities at two in the morning. This was the only safe way to escape Flame’s scrutiny.
“Toothbrush, socks, sweatpants,” he recited under his breath, pacing the length of the room. “Homework, pencils, snacks–” Wemmbu froze, a deer in headlights.
The door had creaked almost imperceptibly behind him. Flame stood in the doorway, yawning and taking in the scene with notable confusion.
“Wemmbu?”
Fan-freaking-tastic! Life seemed determined to meet him, toe-to-toe, with every move he dared make. Most of the time with a Flame-shaped obstacle.
So, Wemmbu, he thought on the edge of hysteria, what are you gonna do now?
Wemmbu shifted to face Flame, ignoring the tug in his stomach. “Oh, Flame, sorry for waking you up. I just– couldn’t sleep, y’know, and I was, uh, cleaning out my closet.”
Flame plopped down on the ground, baggy sleepwear clinging to his chest and legs. He stared up at Wemmbu in silence for several long, endless moments.
“Wemmbu,” Flame began, voice quiet, “if something was going on, you’d tell me, right?”
Wemmbu forced down guilt, fear, shame. He smiled although it cracked his face like a porcelain plate under the flawless surface.
“Yeah, of course. I’m fine. Sorry if I’ve been weird lately.” He turned away. “Go to sleep, dude. I’ll be done in a few minutes anyway.”
There was the rustle of fabric as Flame stood.
“Okay, bro. You get some sleep too.”
The door closed, revertebrating along the walls, as if even the room was whimpering in pain from the loss of Flame’s presence. Wemmbu had never felt more alone.
Well, there it was. He was a coward and a terrible boyfriend. A terrible person, in general, to be selfish enough to still seek Flame’s affection. (To desperately want Flame to stay, past the bluster and rivalry and lies by omission.)
Flame deserved so, so much better. But it hurt like ripping out a barbed thorn, imagining anyone else by his side, filling the space Wemmbu wasn’t good enough to currently occupy. Forget a thorn– the idea of someone else’s lips against Flame’s was like wrenching open his ribcage, slicing messily through his intestines–
Wemmbu finished packing in silence, fighting back the embarrassing prickling of scalding tears behind his eyelids. He almost broke the zipper twice with how hard he ripped the backpack shut.
_______
Wemmbu opened his eyes with dizzying abruptness. He knew, with the same confidence as one had in the sun rising in the east, that he would be heading south today, whether he liked it or not. His wings felt huge, heavy and cramping behind him. They itched, feathers digging into his skin, and he briefly considered ripping them out for relief.
It was so, so cold.
Burrowing under multiple heavy blankets, Wemmbu groaned when his phone started buzzing wildly. His arm was a limp noodle, crawling out from beneath the fortress to grab it off the charging port.
It was, of course, Egg.
“I’m driving now”
“Be ready in a couple hours lol”
“Whats the name of ur school again?”
Wemmbu rolled his eyes so hard he feared they would fall out of his skull. Leave it to Egg to reliably forget where he went to school, even after four years of this routine. Egg was a history major, studying at some fancy school his parents had the money to put him in. His car was a sleek navy machine, purring smoothly and slicing through space like a knife through butter. Egg liked to drive cautious, bumbling along and avoiding highways. He always meticulously planned out every drive, giving himself multiple hours in advance to account for his literal snail speed.
Wemmbu always laughed at him for taking forever on the way here, every year. But this year, every hour felt like it was too soon.
He wasn’t sleepy anymore; Egg’s text had poured cold water down his spine better than any wakeup call.
“Unstable PvP”, he texted back. He jumped out of bed, wings tense and still itching with nervous energy.
Wemmbu pushed open the door to his bedroom, poking his head out like an early morning turtle. Everything was dark. Stupid Egg, waking him up so early.
He padded silently across the icy stone floors, cold bleeding through his fuzzy socks. Another creation of Flame’s, atrocious and knobbly but dearer to Wemmbu’s heart than any other socks he owned. Wemmbu felt like there were fists in his stomach, clenching and thrashing in unison. He stopped outside Flame’s bedroom, hand drifting up to barely grace the handle.
There were the faint sounds of Flame snoring inside, slow and steady. It was so quiet, Wemmbu’s mind was deceiving him into hearing a light ringing, clear and pulsating in his ears.
His stupid, stupid body finally failed him, tears blistering as they beaded at the corners of his eyes. He swiped them away, furious, before they had the chance to fall.
Wemmbu was a coward, but he knew a few facts of life to be true.
One: he was about to leave his boyfriend for three months.
Two: he had not told said boyfriend.
Three: said boyfriend deserved someone a hundred times better than Wemmbu.
Four: Wemmbu was in love with FlameFrags, unconditionally and selfishly and unforgivingly.
He let his shaking hand fall away from the handle, shoulders trembling. Wemmbu stumbled backwards, rushing back to his room.
Wemmbu’s hands moved rapidly, stuffing last-minute items into his backpack, shoving his arms through the straps. He turned around, facing his messy room, and quietly let himself cry again because he was weak.
He had never thought himself to be someone who even considered running from his problems. In battle, there was never a situation he ran from; never a person he let beat him and slide. But this was something far more precious than his ego, far more precious than perhaps even his own life…
Wemmbu was going to leave, and he wasn’t going to tell Flame.
Hopefully, ideally, when he returned, Flame would just be an awkward dormmate, a friend, a rival. Realistically, in three months, Flame would be arm in arm with another cute guy, and the kisses and touches Wemmbu and Flame had once shared would fall away under the dry scrutiny of time.
And that would be for the best, Wemmbu reasoned.
This is what you wanted, idiot, he thought fiercely, fingers digging into the backpack straps.
He flopped down on his bed, whiling away the hours until Egg would text to proclaim he had arrived. Flame always slept in late on weekends. Wemmbu had all the time in the world to slink away, probably leaving Flame confused and angry behind him.
He closed his eyes. Wemmbu was so incredibly tired, but his aching body was too packed full of instinct and jitters for him to sleep any longer. His wings cramped again, begging for flight. Everything inside him was too full, straining to be let free.
The dorm was quiet. One was asleep, and the other was silent and miserable.
_________
Flame woke to the darkness of his room. For a moment, he was floundering, mind not fully comprehending what he had woken to.
Then, as clarity settled on top of him like a heavy blanket, Flame heard it.
An almost imperceptible creak, an eerily familiar groan of wood and weight.
The third creaky plank, on the floor by the kitchen counter. Someone was awake and walking.
Flame strained his ears. The steps were light, careful, as if trying for stealth. There was a clatter, piercing in the silence.
Someone cursed softly. It was unmistakably Wemmbu.
Flame blinked, mind speeding ahead, careening wildly. Why was Wemmbu awake? It was Saturday. Neither of them were early risers.
Flame thought back to the last week: the shiftiness, the exhaustion, the fear when Wemmbu looked at Flame. The packing, quiet and stealthy in the dead of night.
The pieces came together, far too easy and far too real. Dread sank through Flame’s bones like icebergs shattering in his marrow. He clumsily tossed off the covers, stumbling to his feet.
Flame cracked the door open, and surely enough, Wemmbu was sitting alone in the half-darkness, illuminated by his phone screen. His face was tense, glancing out the window every few seconds.
Wemmbu was tightly clutching his backpack, nibbling on a granola bar. His face was blotchy, tired. Wemmbu shifted every once in a while, looking uncomfortable and nervous; a far cry from his usual confidence and bravado.
Flame stepped out, quietly walking behind him. Wemmbu, lost completely in whatever train of thought he was having, didn’t so much as notice.
“You’re really bad at stealth,” Flame spoke quietly, slicing and echoing through the silence.
Wemmbu twisted around so fast Flame heard his back crack. It would have been funny if Wemmbu’s face wasn’t twisted in sheer panic, gaunt and pale. After a moment, the shock morphed into a mess of emotions, flitting like morning birds across his face, too jerky and abrupt for Flame to read.
Flame walked around, sitting in the chair across from Wemmbu. Wemmbu’s face was averted, not looking at him.
“What’s going on?” Flame’s voice was barely above a whisper, but he couldn’t hide the hurt embedded in the words. He had asked, multiple times, but Wemmbu had never entrusted him with the truth. And now it had all come down to this boiling point, where he either changed Wemmbu’s mind or he didn’t.
When Flame didn’t receive an answer, he instantly began to panic. Wemmbu was the chattiest person he knew. He yapped in between classes, during classes, to Flame, to himself. Silence never bode well when it came to Wemmbu.
“Are you– Wemmbu, are you running away? From school?” Flame prompted, voicing his fears. Had something happened? Had Wemmbu been suffering, and had he never noticed?
Wemmbu startled, blinking. “Wha–what? No.” His voice was gritty from subtle strain and disuse. There was the sudden purr of a car outside, and Wemmbu flinched harder than Flame had ever seen him flinch.
He looked so small and tired. Flame reached out and gently, like one would treat the petals of a buttercup, tucked a lock of silky hair behind Wemmbu’s ear.
Wemmbu’s face crumpled, and almost as if the words had been trapped within him, he began to speak, sentences rushed and incoherent.
“I’m sorry — Egg is here — leaving — three months! — didn’t want you to worry — three months, Flame —”
Flame reached around the table and enveloped Wemmbu in a tight hug. He could feel the avian’s frame shuddering, breaths heavy and panicked.
After a while, Wemmbu was speaking more coherently. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never told you. Birds migrate in the winter, so I’m leaving with Egg for a couple months. I don’t think – this – is going to work out, Flame.
He rubbed at his face, still not looking at Flame. Flame just stared.
“Why not?”
Wemmbu looked up, confusion plain on his face. “I mean– you don’t want someone who’s only around three-fourths of the year. Three months is a long time, Flame. Don’t you want- I dunno, like, someone who’s actually there?
Flame reached out – and smacked Wemmbu upside the head.
“Ow!” Wemmbu rubbed the spot at the back of his head, wincing. “What the heck was that for?”
Flame crossed his arms. “Dude, if you think three months is gonna ruin us, then think again. I’ll wait. I’ll wait damn years if I have to.”
Flame pressed their faces together aggressively, this time not kissing with gentle sweetmess but with claiming, bruising force. They broke apart, panting. Wemmbu’s eyes glittered with a glazed sheen of tears.
“It’s you, Wemmbu.” Flame’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “For the rest of my life, it’s still gonna be you. If you don’t see that, I swear–”
Wemmbu exhaled, eyes still wide, cheeks still flushed. This time it was him who pushed forward, fuscia hair spreading like a delicate curtain, lips meeting in an explosion of force.
They kissed again, and again, and again. It wouldn’t be enough to make up for the next three months, but it was all Flame could do to prove Wemmbu was still his.
Wemmbu breathed and laughed, somehow shakier and steadier all at once.
“Flame, Egg’s outside.” The words were soft, but no longer destructive. Wemmbu delivered them with surprising playfulness, eyes brighter than searchlights. Flame hugged him tight, tight enough to hear Wemmbu’s ribs pop and to hear him complain breathlessly. Cold hair tickled his cheek and Flame closed his eyes, trying to sear this memory into his mind forever.
“You’d better text and call every single day, Mr. Procrastinator,” Flame breathed. Wemmbu muttered consent, reluctantly pulling away from Flame. Even though they had only been apart for seconds, Flame already mourned the feel of how Wemmbu’s lithe body fit against his.
Wemmbu opened the door, looking back over his shoulder at Flame with flushed cheeks. He lifted his hand in a wave, seeming suddenly shy. In the light that spilled from the door, Wemmbu was cast in a hazy glow, glorious and devastating.
“Until next year,” Wemmbu grinned. And there he was: the annoying, beautiful, awful, no-adjective-could-encompass-this boy Flame had fallen for again and again.
Flame waved back.
The door shut, a creak and a promise, and Flame was alone. No fact could erase that simple, consuming bitterness.
He blinked, dazed. Everything had happened so quickly that, in all honesty, Flame still couldn’t curdle the faint anger he felt towards Wemmbu. Yeah, he still felt kinda betrayed, and yeah, he hated that Wemmbu felt like he had to hide something this big.
But despite everything, despite the haunting quiet that suddenly lurked in their shared dorm, Flame tipped back his head and laughed, weary and warm.
“Wemmbu.” The word was so much more than a name; it was a whole meaning, a world and a lifetime that spiraled out in front of Flame’s eyelids.
He snorted, imagining a boy and a mace with almost enough clarity to form a hallucination, standing right beside him.
Flame’s next words were fond, but he spoke not to the empty rooms but to someone he would willingly trade the world for.
“Bro, you’re an absolute idiot.”
___________
Epilogue (1)
Wemmbu slipped neatly into the shotgun seat, wiping furiously at his eyes with a hoodie sleeve. Egg stared, obviously alarmed.
“Start the car,” Wemmbu muttered, curling up and hiding his face in his hands.
Egg blinked and did as he was told. He stared straight ahead, hands tight on the wheel. Egg knew from painful experience that if he so much as looked at Wemmbu wrong, he would have a firsthand account of the view dangling from a fifth-story window.
They drove for a bit in silence. Egg began to get seriously worried. When was the last time he had ever seen Wemmbu cry? Was it the time Manepear-sensei had embarrassed him in front of everyone, back when they were fourteen? Was it the Wemmbu’s–dad–and–the–bakery incident? (Long story. Lots of bagels.)
Yeah, this was almost certainly, without a doubt, about that Flame kid. Wemmbu had sent him photos for half a year now.
It hadn’t really seemed like there was anything wrong over text, but Wemmbu always somehow had the most dramatic breakups. There was that one, with the soccer team guy… the really mean, super chopped one… if Egg was being real, this Flame guy seemed pretty chopped too… Egg internally rolled his eye, cursing at Wemmbu’s taste in men.
He pulled off campus and set GPS on his phone for the quiet lake spot they always flew from, every winter. He shivered, snowy white wings trembling from the weather even though the AC was cranked up to the max. Next to him, Wemmbu was also faintly trembling, enveloped in an unfamiliar red hoodie. Egg had never seen it before; he was pretty sure everything Wemmbu owned was an ungodly eye-melting violet. The purple avian was still hiding against the passenger-seat window, as if embarrassed.
Egg had never seen Wemmbu this quiet, and as much as he liked to complain about Wemmbu’s noisiness, it meant his friend was alive and well. This silence was unnerving.
It took all the guts he had, but Egg finally spoke, breaking the quiet only interrupted by the whirr of the car AC. He would risk his life being shoved off a bridge this time if it meant making sure Wemmbu was okay. (The kid had always had a thing for threatening people with high places.)
“Boys are stupid sometimes, Wemm.”
He pulled his head up from his sleeves, and Egg risked a glance.
Wemmbu was smiling, face stretched into a watery smile more brilliant that the sunrise.
“You got something right, Egg.” Wemmbu’s voice was uneven, but he was laughing. “Boys are stupid.”
________
Epilogue (2)
“So, long story short, he ditched you.”
Flame punched Zam’s arm, grunting. She whined, flipping her golden braid over her shoulder.
“Dude, you asked for “the tea”, whatever that means. It’s not that interesting. And besides, all the avians are literally gone,” Flame pointed out. “Our numbers are like, halved right now.”
Zam looked around the sparse cafeteria, shrugging lightly. “Well, I always thought Wemmbu looked like a flighty one. Fought him once, you know. It was terrible. He flits around like some bug.”
Zam’s cheerful tone became a hum in the back of Flame’s mind as he ordered a sandwich.
“Who eats sandwiches for dinner, anyway?” Zam is peering over his shoulder as he waits in the takeout line.
Flame sighed. “It’s Monday.”
“And?” Zam blinks at him.
“And I eat sandwiches on Monday, no questions asked.” Flame forced the subtle irritation from his voice. “Zam, bro, why are you hanging around me anyway?”
Zam grins slyly, quick and catlike. “Well, since you asked, I was gonna invite you to the Christmas shenanigans tonight. I’m pretty sure half of campus is coming, and it wouldn’t hurt to have one of the best PvPers tag along,” she offers casually.
“Okay, bro, so stop with the glaze,” Flame huffs. He hesitates, considering the offer. Honestly, his social battery is sort of dead. He was just planning to mooch around at the dorm all night, calling Wemmbu and bingeing snacks.
“C’mon,” Zam wheedles, “we’ll have drinks and party food.” She blinks, suddenly smiling. Zam looks conniving.
Her words are a purr: “Flame, are you single? I’m sure I could introduce you to someone if that’s the case. Multiple someones, as a matter of fact.” The short blonde grins up at him, eyes dancing with mischief.
Flame rolls his eyes and picks up his sandwich. It’s his turn to suppress a grin, moving away and lifing a hand in a casual goodbye. He stuffs the sandwich into his purple hoodie pocket, breath curling in the cold night air.
“No thanks, Zam, but thanks for the invite.” Flame smiles, genuine and relaxed. “I have plans. And besides.”
He turns to her again, facing crossed arms and a pout.
“I’m already taken.”