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Wemmbu isn't exactly sure when it started.
Maybe it was after the 105th time his eyes zoned in on gold and green sparkles and his ears strained to hear the distinctly choked yelp from a flurry of white feathers.
Maybe, it was after curiosity got a hold of him and he dared to take a peek into Egg's 'lore book', dared to see how his best friend portrayed him, warm smiles and bright laughs filling the books pages where coldness and bloodshed—anything to justify how horrible Wemmbu truly is—probably should've been instead.
Or, maybe, it was after he subsequently threw up and had to lie to his best friend under acid-smelling breath that he just drunk a few too many pots too fast, even though it was obvious that his nails, clutching uneven cobblestone like a lifeline, wasn't exactly a side effect of accidental overdose on regen pots.
Maybe, just maybe, the lines started blurring together after a while, but somewhere, somehow, along all of his time on this server, along all of their time on this server, Wemmbu started thinking of Egg as his.
It's not an entirely new revelation, he distantly realizes. But now, in the middle of the night, beds pushed together, tracing the soft outline of his best friend's shoulder blades through a thin shirt that isn't even his, it seems to ring as true as it could ever be.
Wemmbu isn't exactly a… sentimental, deep, guy. That's just not who he is, and never who he's been. Everyone around him knows as such, even if they don't know him well.
He's not exactly as carefree as someone like Spoke is, but it's very obvious that Wemmbu doesn't take things seriously. It doesn't matter what it is, if it's boring or pointless to him, he's not going to take it seriously. Relationships and team-ups included.
The one and only thing, only person, that he's never been able to shrug off is Egg. 2 years is a lot of time, but 2 years of Egg always has him yearning for more.
If the physical reminder of Egg simply existing in his space by shifting the sprawled out position he currently has on his chest and letting out a content sigh into Wemmbu's neck wasn't enough, the constant, plaguing, idea of him has to ring through his mind essentially 24/7.
The thoughts started out small, as all things do.
Little mindless thoughts of him. Dumb, stupid things like seeing a nice stream to fish in and thinking, Egg would probably like this. Or seeing an intricate, handmade, leather-bound journal— Maybe I should get that for Egg.
It was simple, senseless, sweet, Egg would probably say if he was able to read Wemmbu's thoughts right now.
Which, honestly, he'll keep that idea in the back of his head. Egg's always got some weird, omnipresence shit going on. He wouldn't put it past him. That weird, floating eye head form thing he decides to wear occasionally being just one part of it.
But, eventually, somewhere between watching Egg almost die all the time and almost dying countless times himself, they got, unrestrained, almost. Wemmbu would find himself unconsciously listening to other people talking about their own betrayals and thinking to himself— I'd never treat Egg like that.
He'd stand next to people that have done him wrong, for temporary team-ups or otherwise, Egg silent at his side, and silently seethe about the concept of the wrong people being able to exist in the same room as Egg, to look at him, to even just breathe next to him.
He doesn't know if Egg would find that sweet, honestly.
It's not like he owns Egg, that'd be weird. Like, really weird. He just can't help himself.
He can't help that selfish, disgusting part of himself that yearns for attachment.
He drags his hand up Egg's neck, lingering right below his ear. His nails haven't been cut for a long time, in fact they've been filed to be sharper, leaving slight white lines where they softly dig into his skin.
It doesn't seem like Egg minds, though. His face, one he barely sees nowadays, usually covered up by bandages, is one of content. Peaceful, almost.
Something in his ribcage clenches as he trails his hands higher. It's scary.
It's scary, and weird, and cringe, and honestly embarrassing how absolutely attached he is to Egg. How that yearning has transformed into something distinctly dark.
"Dude, that feels like, really weird." Egg's voice is almost a mutter when he finally speaks up, eyes still closed as he suppresses the small smile threatening to overtake his face when Wemmbu starts to drag his fingers over his scarred cheekbones.
It's not normal. It's probably not okay, and they probably need to like, discuss 'healthy boundaries' or some shit like that.
He should bring it up. There's a knot in his throat. It'd be the right thing to do.
"Are you ticklish, bro?" He says instead, his own smile overtaking his face.
Obviously, he's never been known for doing the right thing, and when Egg's happy— He's happy. When Egg is— He is. That's just how its always been. How it always will be.
He drags his nails up and down Egg's neck when Egg denies his claim. Just to watch him laugh. Just for a second. Just because Egg looks like he's enjoying himself.
Wemmbu and Eggchan, Eggchan and Wemmbu, Wem and Egg, Egg and the guy that follows him around, Egg and something not distinctly human at all, it's always been them. No matter what they're referred to as, there's no Wemmbu without Eggchan, and there's no Eggchan without Wemmbu.
That's just how it is.
It's totally weird, to be as attached as he is, he thinks. His hands slow to a stop over Egg's nape, feeling rather than hearing the remnants of Egg's hushed giggles.
If he were trying to be sappy, he'd say that Egg's laugh is one of the day. It's bright, and bubbly, and something you probably wouldn't expect out of a monotone voice such as Egg's. Something inside Wemmbu always gets a little giddy knowing he's one of, if not the only person that gets to hear the heavens personally singing just for him.
His own personal choir, his angel, his best friend, his. Always his, and his in turn.
And his breath is warm against Wemmbu's neck, so distinctly his, so distinctly alive. "You're so weird, bro."
He's not really sure he cares how weird it is, though.
"Whatever. Go the hell to sleep, dude, it's late." He mutters, strained, dragging his thumb against the hollow space on the top of his neck.
Maybe that makes him a bad person.
He just cant help himself.
It all circles back to whatever— bullshit, in his opinion —issues he has with maintaining relationships, honestly.
Truly, it's not his fault that nobody can see how great he is. If they wanted someone patient and loving, they shouldn't have come to Wemmbu in the first place. Whatever happens isn't his fault, they read the fine print.
He feels the slow rise and fall of breathing against the slope of Egg's back, curling his legs tighter against the ones already tangled against his, socked foot dragging against his own. Rustling primary feathers brush against his bare calf, and in turn he wraps his pointed tail against the bicep around his torso.
While most, if not all, falling-outs Wemmbu goes through aren't his fault, he can admit that he doesn't really do well with the aftermath.
He can admit stuff sometimes, alright? He doesn't really do the… best with the swirling emotions in his stomach when people stop being acquaintances with him.
That's not his fault, clearly— he just said that, pay attention —Everyone else is at fault for making him feel like his entire being is going to jump out of his chest, take on arms, and strangle him to death, obviously.
It's akin to nausea, in a way. The way the lump in his throat feels every time he watches someone who he thought would acknowledge him with anything less than hate, suddenly stare at him with disdain due to a situation none of them could've prevented.
It's a horrible, suffocating feeling of dread that loves to consumes him. Even if Wemmbu likes to pretend that type of shit doesn't really affect him, he can't ever get rid of the choked feeling in his chest when another person in his life decides that he's not worth more than a second glance anymore.
"Why are you so, like…" Egg cuts himself off in favor of sighing into his neck. "Like… Touchy today, bro. You never act like this."
Egg did not listen to him and go to sleep, clearly. He's muttering into Wemmbu's neck and if he wasn't so well-versed in understanding Eggchan, he probably wouldn't have heard what he said at all.
He scoffs in reply, but still ends up lightening the grasp on the others nape anyway. "Don't say touchy like that, it's weird."
"Also," He adds, pulling his hands away from Egg's neck entirely, "You literally joke about cuddling all the time? Why are you so against it now?"
In lieu of answering, Egg whines— a very overexaggerated whine, mind you. — squeezing his torso like he's some type of stuffed animal instead of his best friend who's doing something he normally doesn't do out of the kindness of his heart.
"I didn't say to stop, dude." Egg has absolutely 0 manners, he swears on it. He places his hands back. "I'm just curious. Can't a guy be curious?"
Wemmbu huffs, "No, not when the guy just made it weird. It's weird now. You made it weird, congrats."
"No. Stop teasing me, dude, you suck so bad." Another exaggerated whine, almost teetering into a laugh. This time, the sound squeezes something in his chest. It almost burns when he feels the breathy laugh between his collarbones. "Can you, like, be normal for once? Just, like— chill. Chill out."
"Alright, fine. Just—" He hesitates, dragging one of his hands to rest within the roots of Egg's hair, nails slightly digging in to his scalp.
The feeling from earlier, the soul-crushing dread? It's also akin to how he feels around Egg. He isn't really sure why, Egg has never made plans to leave him, and he never will. In fact, Egg is even more clingy than Wemmbu, but his brain likes to pretend that whatever fucked-up co-dependent sort of attachment they have is completely one-sided.
He listens to Egg hum curiously, headwings twitching whenever Wemmbu's nails graze over the the downy white secondaries, but doesn't answer the angels call.
Egg is his other half, his best friend, almost like his everything. Not to be sappy, or weird, but if he wasn't around, Wemmbu would have no idea how to keep going in life. It's kind of cringe to admit it, but Egg is his soul, his lifeforce. He just has no idea how to say that to the other boy.
Something gets choked up in his throat whenever he tries to admit he actually cares for Egg. Maybe it's because they've never truly been honest with eachother. At least, not in the typical, common way.
Their friendship isn't and has never been that serious. Their love isn't really poetic, or deep, it's just kind of a casual; 'By the way, I'd totally die and kill for you, are we going fishing later?'
Wemmbu's okay with that. He's been okay with it. It's normal for them. But sometimes— like right now. —he gets this urge. The urge to tell Egg everything he can't, to tell him how much he means to him.
He never does, though. He's never able to get past that stupid lump in his throat, and he's not really sure why.
"Just—" He starts, swallowing around his own fear, "Let me be nice to you for once, stop complaining."
There's something there, trapped behind the lines of his false annoyance. Just for tonight, let me be near you. Let me hold you. Let me know this is real. Let me be human.
Even though he didn't actually say it, it's as if Egg already knows what he wants to say before his own brain does. Like he knew Wemmbu would end up saying some sappy bullshit in-between the lines of all of his teases.
Maybe it's a fear of rejection that's holding him back. Maybe it's a fear of being cast away by the only person he can really trust, by the one person who makes him feel whole, like something other than a monster, like something human.
Let me be yours.
He listens to Egg breathe, solid, still, against his throat, feels a soft smile on his collarbone. Wrapped up like this, it's hard to distinguish where Egg begins and where Wemmbu ends, where attachment becomes obsession, where relation becomes devotion.
"Okay."
Okay.
A breath of something— relief, maybe —escapes him as his shoulders sag. It's not exactly a relief to hear. It doesn't really change anything, either. And everything they feel for eachother definitely isn't healthy and definitely should be addressed, but.
They have time. Time to fish together some more, time to get captured by whoever they're facing, time to duel a certain rival, time to lay tangled together, time to just be.
A lump still resides in his throat, and he doesn't think it'll ever go away, but lying here, the rise and fall of chests synchronizing with eachother, it's a little easier to breathe.
"You're cutting off my circulation, bro." He laughs, even though his nails start to dig into Egg's nape.
And Egg hums, even though the pressure around his torso catches his breath.
In Egg's embrace, Wemmbu is so impossibly loved.
Wemmbu is so impossibly human.