Chapter Text
This sucked.
He had arrived at the base only a few months after Flamefrags.
A few months.
That was all.
Yet somehow it felt like they had grown up in completely different worlds.
The halls stretched around him, cold stone illuminated by lanterns hanging from iron hooks. The base had become familiar over the past year. He knew every turn, every doorway, every crack in the walls. He knew which floorboards creaked and which windows rattled during storms.
Still, he wandered through the corridors like a guest.
Like someone who didn't belong.
Like someone waiting for permission to stay.
Wemmbu shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking.
Ten years old.
The same age Flame had been when Manepear first started training him seriously.
The same age.
The difference sat in his chest like a stone.
Flame got combat lessons.
Flame got strategy lessons.
Flame got missions.
Flame got stories.
Flame got praise.
Flame got attention.
Wemmbu got told to run laps.
Again.
“You're still building fundamentals.”
“Not yet.”
“You need more time.”
“You aren't ready.”
Every excuse sounded exactly the same after a while.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
When would it finally become now?
The training room stood empty when he peeked inside.
A wooden practice sword rested against a wall.
Several targets had been set up across the room.
Fresh marks scarred the dummies.
Someone had been training recently.
He already knew who.
Flame.
Of course.
A bitter feeling twisted inside him.
He hated that feeling.
He hated Flame a little for causing it.
And he hated himself even more for feeling it.
Because Flame wasn't mean.
That would've made things easier.
If Flame was arrogant, if he rubbed his accomplishments in everyone's faces, if he treated Wemmbu badly, then maybe the jealousy would feel justified.
But Flame wasn't like that.
Flame smiled when he saw him.
Flame invited him to sit with him during meals.
Flame shared snacks.
Flame offered to help him train.
Flame always looked genuinely happy whenever Wemmbu succeeded at anything.
Which somehow made everything worse.
Because it meant there was nobody to blame.
Nobody except himself.
And maybe Manepear.
But even that wasn't fair.
Because Manepear wasn't cruel.
He wasn't neglectful on purpose.
That was the problem.
If Mane had hated him, at least the situation would've made sense.
Instead, Manepear cared.
Wemmbu knew he cared.
The man remembered his birthday.
He checked on him when he got sick.
He made sure he had clothes that fit.
Food.
Especially food.
A bed.
Safety.
Things Wemmbu hadn't always had before.
Things he should've been grateful for.
Things he was grateful for.
But those things didn't stop the ache.
The ache came from watching Manepear look at Flame.
The pride in his eyes.
The excitement.
The certainty.
Like he'd found something precious.
Like he'd found someone worth investing everything into.
Manepear looked at Flame the way people looked at bright stars.
Like they knew he was destined to shine.
Wemmbu had never seen that look directed at himself.
Not once.
The realization hurt more every day.
Because he wanted it.
God, he wanted it so badly.
Just once.
Just once he wanted Manepear to look at him and smile the way he smiled at Flame.
To sound excited when talking about him.
To tell other people about his accomplishments.
To believe in him.
But every time he tried to get closer, every time he thought maybe this would be the moment, it slipped away.
Like trying to hold water.
The memories surfaced before he could stop them.
The first day he'd arrived.
Small.
Terrified.
Silent.
Flinching whenever someone moved too quickly.
Manepear had tried talking to him.
Wemmbu remembered that.
He remembered being too scared to answer.
Too scared to trust.
Too scared to look anyone in the eye.
Back then, attention felt dangerous.
Attention meant expectations.
Attention meant punishment.
Attention meant pain.
So he'd hidden.
He'd spent months making himself invisible.
Months avoiding conversations.
Months shrinking away whenever someone focused on him.
And eventually...
People stopped trying.
Not entirely.
But enough.
Manepear still checked on him.
Still cared.
But Flame needed things.
Flame asked questions.
Flame wanted training.
Flame wanted stories.
Flame chased opportunities.
Flame reached for every hand offered to him.
Wemmbu had spent years learning to pull away from them.
The consequences of that choice followed him everywhere.
Even now.
Even after he wanted things to be different.
Even after he wanted someone to notice him.
People had gotten used to looking past him.
Including Mane.
Especially Mane.
Wemmbu stopped outside a doorway.
Voices drifted through the crack.
Manepear's voice.
Flame's voice.
He froze automatically.
Not because he meant to listen.
Not because he wanted to spy.
But because hearing his own name made his feet lock in place.
“...improving faster than I expected,” Mane said.
The pride in his voice was impossible to miss.
Wemmbu swallowed.
Flame laughed.
“I still mess up plenty still.”
“Everyone does.”
“You never seem upset when I fail.”
“Because failure is part of learning.”
A pause.
Then Mane continued.
“You're talented, Flame.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Really talented.”
Silence.
Then quieter:
“I'm proud of you.”
Wemmbu stopped breathing.
The hallway suddenly felt much colder.
Much quieter.
Much emptier.
Flame said something in response, but Wemmbu didn't hear it.
The words blurred together.
His ears rang.
I'm proud of you.
Such a simple sentence.
Three words.
Three words that shouldn't matter this much.
Three words he'd spent an entire year wishing he could hear.
Just once.
His chest tightened.
Something ugly and painful crawled through him.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
More like grief.
Grief for something he'd never had.
Grief for a version of himself that maybe could've existed.
A version worth being proud of.
The door opened suddenly.
Wemmbu jumped.
Flame stepped into the hallway.
Their eyes met.
Immediately, Flame smiled.
The same easy smile he always wore.
“Wemmbu!”
Wemmbu hated how guilty he felt.
Because Flame hadn't done anything wrong.
Yet all he wanted was to disappear.
“Hey.”
“Want to train with me?”
Of course he did.
Flame always invited him.
Always tried.
Always included him.
And somehow that made it hurt even more.
Because Flame never realized he was standing in sunlight while Wemmbu stood in his shadow.
“You know I can't.”
“Oh.”
The disappointment on Flame's face was immediate.
“Okay.”
Wemmbu looked away.
Manepear appeared behind him a moment later.
For half a second, hope sparked inside him.
Maybe Mane would ask him something.
Maybe he'd invite him too.
Maybe—
“Wemmbu.”
The man smiled.
A warm smile.
A kind smile.
The kind that somehow hurt the most.
“Finished your exercises?”
The hope died instantly.
Not training.
Not lessons.
Just fucking exercises.
Always exercises.
Always basics.
Always later.
Always someday.
Wemmbu forced a nod.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Mane ruffled his hair absentmindedly before turning back toward Flame.
“Ready to continue?”
And just like that, the moment was over.
Like it had never existed.
Like Wemmbu had never been standing there at all.
He watched them walk away together.
Teacher and student.
Older brother and younger brother.
The pair disappearing down the hallway.
Neither of them noticed how long he stood there afterward.
Neither of them saw the way his eyes burned.
Or the way he clenched his fists.
Or how small he suddenly felt.
The corridor seemed far larger now.
Far emptier.
Wemmbu stared at the corner where they'd vanished.
Then slowly sat down against the wall.
For a long time, he didn't move.
The base buzzed with distant life around him.
People talking.
Training.
Laughing.
Living.
But none of it reached him.
Because all he could hear were three words repeating endlessly inside his head.
I'm proud of you.
Not directed at him.
Never directed at him.
And somehow that hurt more than if Manepear had yelled.
Because at least anger would've meant he was being noticed.
Instead, he sat forgotten in the shadow of the person everyone loved most.
And for the first time since arriving here, Wemmbu wondered if he would always stay there.
Always.
The thought settled heavily in his stomach.
Wemmbu pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
It was stupid.
He knew it was stupid.
Manepear cared about him.
Everyone said so.
Everyone could see it.
But caring wasn't the same thing as choosing someone.
And every day, it felt more and more like Mane had already made his choice.
The anger that followed surprised him.
Not because it existed.
Because it was directed at himself.
If he wanted attention so badly, then why was he sitting here feeling sorry for himself?
Why was he hiding in hallways?
Why was he waiting for someone to magically notice him?
Flame didn't wait.
Flame charged straight at whatever he wanted.
Maybe that was why people noticed him.
The realization made Wemmbu scowl.
Fine.
Fine.
If nobody was going to look at him, then he'd make them look.
He pushed himself off the floor.
A terrible idea immediately formed in his head.
The kind of idea that only sounded reasonable when you were ten years old and desperately emotional.
Which meant it sounded perfect.