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Two steps, one foot after the other.
I'm going to die, Sharpness confessed to himself. No—scratch that, I was gonna die. I was going to die and I had nobody to save me.
His breaths were ragged as he desperately sought out the shade casted from the leaves of the large oak tree ahead. The shadows swayed, ever so slightly, rising along the peaks of grass and moving in tandem with the dandelions. There were large roots from the trunk of the tree that spread through the surface of the ground. They spread like veins, but didn't spread very far from the base of the trunk. The oak tree itself was tall and mighty, reaching high into the sky from the roots hidden beneath the surface.
Only three steps behind. If you can call them steps, that is. Pain jolted from the wound on his thigh and sent sparks of pain shooting up his spine for every step that he took. It was hard to walk, let alone limp. It was like Sharpness was merely hobbling on one leg and dragging the other across the grass. Distantly, past the fog in his head, he could hear how unabashed the sound coming from the toe of his boot was, rustling grass and kicking up dirt.
His vision swam. Bad. Sharpness wasn't sure if the shadows of the tree leaves even moved at all, or if the movement was imagined by the throb behind his skull and the strain beneath his eyes. Now that he had thought to acknowledge it, there was no breeze or winds that licked past his cheeks or jostled the strands of his hair. It led him to wonder, which of his senses were failing the most on him? Was he too dense to feel the weight of the air, or was he far too exhausted to see things correctly?
He was so cold… his whole body felt so cold despite the warm summer heat that should've caused him to sweat under what was left of his armor. Why was he even seeking shade when he didn't need it? Under the shade of the tree, there was no effect of relief, or noticeable change in temperature. The sun was beginning to sink in the west, leaving behind golden rays of light. Sharpness would've appreciated the beauty if if didn't blind him so easily.
The tree itself was close enough to touch. Sharpness reached a hand out, relaxing his weight forward in hopes that it would catch him. He blinked once. Twice. His vision never focused. He saw his own hand, reaching for the tempting, brown bark, but his brain couldn't understand where the tree began and where his arm ended, if they were two beings or one.
Sharpness let out a pained wheeze as the air was forcibly knocked out of his lungs. He smelled grass. It was earthy and heady against his nose, tasted weird against the tip of his tongue. Distantly, he could feel the gash on his thigh beat simultaneously with his pulse, but by now he had grown far too numb to the pain to really register it at its worst.
It was difficult to breathe through his nose. It was hard enough to smell the dirt and perhaps even inhale it, but it was even harder when there was something wet trickling from his nostrils. It tasted metallic, like blood. Sharpness couldn't see, couldn't move, and couldn't think. He was laid on his front and there wasn't anything he could do about it.
There was no way for him to remember how long he had been in this state for, not when he couldn't even remember his own name. He was just glad that there wasn't anyone to see him like this; one of the most feared people in strength, across many worlds and universes even, crumbling to ash against prolonged blood loss. If he could form a coherent thought, he would be shaming himself for choosing to ignore the wound for so long.
Sharpness's gloved fingers curled against the grass. It was impossible for him to feel the blades through the fabric, but just like the tree, he could imagine. His breathing slowed and his eyelids grew heavier, with his racing heart finally, finally beginning to ease.
He wouldn't die. It wasn't possible for him to die, and with respawn mechanics allowed in strength, he has long stopped fearing death. He's died so many times, and yet, he's allowed to return at the blink of an eye.
How many times could a man go down and still come back alive? Sharpness knew, that the answer was as many times as he wished.
He's not going to die. It wont be for a long while until God, or whichever almighty being in the sky, could reclaim his body and soul. So not for the first time in this life time, without any traces of fear, Sharpness let his eyes fall completely shut, allowing himself to breathe in the grass and taste his own blood in the mix of dirt.
He allowed his mind to wander. Sharpness didn't know when he would wake up, but he had time to spare. Plenty of it, even. He was at the lake with Jude. Yes, him and Jude were both in the lake together, and it was just them, save for the occasional wild animal or the fireflies that came out at dusk. Water licked at his bare torso as he continued to tread. It lapped at his shoulders, his neck, and the silver necklace around his neck floated as he bobbed up and down.
They were both in the middle of the lake. The water was no longer shallow, but they were both excellent swimmers, able to tread, swim, or float for hours on end without a lick of exhaustion in their muscles. He had forgotten the scent of the lake, but he knew in his mind that it was potent, and carried the smell of fish and musk. Sharpness could recall Jude diving under the water once more. The movement caused a splashing sound as he submerged himself and charged towards Sharpness, aiming for his waist.
Sharpness remembered the way Jude's arms held onto him as the rabbit dragged him down as well. He had anticipated the attack, sucking in a breath as he prepared to hold it underwater. They snaked around him and cradled him closely, protectively. It wasn't in a restricting way, though, and not for one second did it ever feel like he was trapped in those arms. It was a soft embrace, despite the seemingly cruel action of plunging him beneath the surface.
Water rushed past his ears as he blinked his eyes open. A familiar, smug face blinked back at him, pleased. Even underwater did Jude's eyes reflect so brightly. He wiggled in the trapper's hold, the movement ten times harder to do in the density of the water, and slowly, Jude let his arms slink away. Sharpness missed the contact as soon as it had left, but he tucked the thought away for later, pushing it deep into a far away corner in his head the moment he was forced to regain his senses.
Sharpness forced himself up, not interested in the twentieth game of underwater tag for the evening. He floated up instead, breaking through the surface with a gasp as he wiped a hand over his face. Behind him, he felt Jude come up with an opened mouth sigh, holding onto his shoulders as leverage. He shook his head, causing droplets of water to spray in the air.
The contact was nice, easy. It wasn't often that he felt with his bare skin. But for Jude, with Jude, Sharpness finds that he doesn't mind the sacrifice, if it could even be considered one. It's something he doesn't like to do—something that he's watched hurt people, something that has hurt him in the past.
It's trust. He trusts Jude, the kind that is inexplicit and soft, an understanding between them that can't be achieved elsewhere. He keeps it in his mind. Just like the way he strictly seeks out only Jude's contact, he chooses not to let the fantasy slip past the confines of his mind.
It's one thing if it's safely kept in his head, could be shrugged off as wishful thinking, but another if he were to ever put how he felt into words—for saying any of it out loud would only confirm that it's real. The silver necklace around his neck was weightless in the water, but the pendant weighed more than his heart could handle.
They both bobbed up and down in the water of the lake, allowing the forest and hills beyond them to act as walls. It was just them, he had repeated to himself, just Jude and Sharp, Sharp and Jude. Neither of them were armed in any way, with no intentions to hurt or kill. He was vulnerable to anything. But who was there to take advantage of that? Jude?
Sharpness allowed the soft humming coming from Jude's throat to quietly lull him to shut his eyes. It was a soft tune, something that he's heard Jude him to himself without even thinking about it; usually whenever he worked on traps, designed blue prints, or fixed up his redstone components.
When he blinked them open again, he found that gravity was suddenly heavy. Unlike the lake, where the dense water changed the way gravity works. There was solid ground against his back, like he was laid down. The mountains and grass covering the edges of his peripheral vision reminded him that he was in the plains, staring at the golden sky. Immediately, Sharpness chased the memory of the lake again, shutting his eyes once more.
He returned back to the lake. The image of the forest and lake was rather dim and unfocused. Even if he tried, it was impossible to make the scenario vivid again, and worst of all, the humming had stopped. But anything was nicer than the plains, far richer than being alone, bleeding out in the grass until his body regained the energy to get up and move on. This time, Sharpness fought the urge to blink. He carefully spun around, facing Jude.
He allowed Jude to keep more of his skin out of the water, same as how he was when he had been propped up on his shoulders, by holding onto his waist. He let his fingers savor the plush layer of muscle against his palms, craning his head to look up at Jude. The view of the setting sun was blocked by Jude's head. His whole face was casted in shadows with the lack of light, but the contrast made it seem like there was a halo around the edges of his hair and ears. He looked divine, smiling sweetly at Sharpness. His smile was so bright that it could replace the sun just fine.
Sharpness smiled back, bowing his head to press his lips against his collar bone. His skin was damp but soft. It was grounding; anything was better than the reality of the plains. After a prolonged pause, he blinked up, but the happy expression he once saw on Jude's face wasn't there.
Instead, he looked worried. He was frowning. It caused him to furrow his brows just barely, and somewhere far away, Sharpness saw how his mouth was moving as if he was speaking. But none of the words reached his ears. Sharpness blinked again, but he never returned to the lake.
Was this God's way of punishing him?
The problem with waking up was that the senses he had forgotten would eventually come back. Sharpness could smell blood in the air. It mixed with the scent of grass and weeds, forming into something that felt too real for his brain to conjure up. He wished he could just cut his nose off to save him the trouble. His bun dug uncomfortably against the back of his skull. The wound around his thigh buzzed in agony. Though after enduring it for so long, the searing white-hot pain had dumbed down into something numb.
The Jude in front of him was blocking the sun, just like the one at the lake, and it made the edges of his silhouette shine with gold, too. He continued to mouth stuff and prod at him to illicit a reaction that wouldn't come. He looked just as divine. This Jude didn't feel real, just like the one at the lake, and Sharpness wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him again, just like it did with the tree.
"—arpness, Sharpness, are you there?" Jude called out to him. It was then that Sharpness decided that this Jude wasn't real, either. His Jude had no reason to be in front of him with an expression so charming and worried.
To entertain his tired mind, Sharpness figured that it wouldn't hurt to humor his imagination, even if it seemed to have a questionable penchant for Jude.
Sharpness felt his throat work to say something back. It felt dry, hoarse, like he had been swallowing sand and eating rocks. The fake Jude tilted his head like a dog. He listened patiently, unwilling to lose any of the words being spoken.
"Speak english, Sharp," Jude deadpanned to him. Sharpness felt his own eyes crinkle into an unexpected smile.
"Hi… Judey-Jude," he mumbled back. His imaginary Jude seemed to like the nickname, whereas the real Jude would've shut it down in annoyance. Fake Jude let loose a smile, and seemingly straight from thin air, he retrieved a handkerchief and began wiping at his nose, lips, and chin. The grey fabric came back wet and dark. But Sharpness didn't care about the ruined handkerchief when he couldn't part his eyes from Jude's, or prevent himself from leaning his head into the palm of Jude's hand.
The fake Jude in front of him looked so real, more than the tree he thought he knew earlier. But so did the lake, and the Jude he thought he spent time with. It felt so real that he thought it was a memory. But by this point, he understands that his confused, unreliable brain is doing everything to keep him alive, and the method is to imagine a life with Jude. Only Jude, and no one else. Because who else does he have, who else is allowed to see him so vulnerable and easy? If only his brain understood that if he died, he'd just come right back. There was no need to make him want more.
"Jude, 'm cold," Sharpness complained. Each breath felt like he was being stabbed over and over again. We're his ribs broken, too? His imaginary Jude only shushed him and continued wiping his face with painstaking care, now with the other side of the ruined handkerchief.
"I know," he cooed at him softly, "I know. Just keep talking to me, yeah? Tell me about what happened."
Sharpness darted the tip of his tongue to wet his dry, chapped lips, tasting the tang of blood and dirt as his breaths came in short.
"Jude… it hurts."
Jude's hands stilled, carefully retreating as his magenta eyes searched for something on his face. Sharpness stubbornly shook his head and smashed his cheek into the rabbit's warm palm, chasing after the callouses on his fingers and the comfort it brings.
The frown on his face deepens, but his thumb carefully traced over an old scar on Sharpness's cheek. It's silvery, thin, and relatively surface level, yet the Jude in his head knows that it's there. He knew of all the blemishes on his marred skin, could trace it like a map. No one else knew how to do that.
"—at does, tell me," Jude demands, cutting through the sudden deafening in his ears. Sharpness squints, forcing his eyes to regain focus, afraid of losing the image of the man before him once again. How is it that he's so easy to lose, yet so easy to bring back? It made no sense to him.
"What?" he asks.
"Where does it hurt? Tell me, Sharp," Jude repeats.
Right"Uh, my leg… my head… and my chest."
A quiet hum, then the sound of rustling grass, like Jude was shifting in his spot on the ground.
"I have a health potion," Jude offers, "It might make you feel better."
Sharpness shook his head, unintentionally nuzzling his cheek into Jude's palm. "Don't want it."
"So you're just gonna make it my problem now?"
"It's what I do best, no?"
Unexpectedly, Jude chuckles softly, and the sound of his quiet laughter makes the corners of Sharpness's lips tick up in a smile. He doesn't drink, but he's rapidly getting drunk off the attention he's receiving from his imaginary Jude. Drunk words are sober thoughts, so the saying goes, but what ends up happening if he didn't touch a lick of alcohol, or say any words out loud?
Sharpness holds his breath and attempts to rise off the ground, but it eventually hitches when Jude pushes him down with a hand over his chest. The effort was barely there, and he had hardly even moved, but his core muscles ached in protest against the thought of hauling himself up. The orange, yellow, and blue colors in the sky swirled above him as he swore stars were spinning around his head.
"Don't move, just—give yourself some more time and then we'll go home."
Home? That's a joke, but not a funny one, Jude. Sharpness didn't have a home. Not really, at least.
Jude sighed, "No—I… I meant my base, sorry."
"Oh… sorry, I didn't even realize that… that I said that out loud," Sharpness furrowed his brows, frowning to himself, "What's the diagnosis, doc?"
Jude huffed a laugh to himself, and his lips pressed into a thin smile. "Well, if you managed to hit your head at some point, you did a real good freaking job at it."
"Rude."
"I'm serious!" He shouted in a hushed voice, "I don't think I've ever seen you this out of it before. You look like a fuckin'—nut job for fucks sake…"
Sharpness rolled his eyes and attempted to roll over on his front to relieve his headache, but Jude tsked at him and forced him to stay put on his back with hands on his shoulders.
"No, Sharpness—I'm not gonna let you sleep on your face, you idiot," chided Jude.
"But why..." Sharpness whined, throwing his forearm over his eyes.
"Because you broke your goddamn nose after faceplanting into the fucking grass, and I had already worked so hard to roll you on your back."
Sharpness moved his arm just enough to peer an eye at his imaginary Jude. He looked rather unimpressed, as if Sharpness's behavior wasn't something worth entertaining. If only he could will his brain to make Jude less annoying.
"I'm not that heavy," Sharpness insisted.
"Dude, it was like I was moving a boulder up a hill."
"And—what, you say that I'm dramatic?"
"Yes, Sharp. You are in fact the most dramatic baby I've ever met."
All at once, he didn't know what to feel. Sharpness wanted to feel embarrassed, pissed—at himself, for using Jude's image to torture himself—and perhaps even saddened. This one he hadn't made up. Sure, the lake wasn't real, and maybe everything he thought he knew prior to this moment wasn't real, but his pounding heart and clammy hands were real. Jude was actually here.
Something soft clawed at his heart and dared to tug on it. Sharpness blinked, and Jude was still there, like an anchor, unmoving and disgustingly real. Sharpness screwed his eyes shut, but when he reopened them, Jude was still there. The sudden clarity of his surroundings made him all too aware of the soft edges in Jude's expression and the patience in his eyes. A hand trailed from his shoulder and back to his cheek, rubbing forbearing, soothing circles along his skin with his thumb.
"Jude," Sharpness murmured.
"Yeah?"
It felt like his breath was being stolen straight from his chest. "Jude," Sharpness repeated, his brain lagging on its own accord.
"That's me," Jude replied.
"Say—say that again."
Jude's face lit up in a smile that he couldn't stifle, beaming mischievously at Sharpness as he brushed his forearm away. "Say what, that you're dramatic?"
"No, I—that."
"What—baby?" He questioned. Jude's cheeks and nose were a soft pink as he smiled, his cheeks pulled taut with the force of his grin. "You like that? You like being called baby?"
Sharpness attempted to whack the back of his hand in Jude's direction, but Jude caught his wrist and laid it down. "No, that's weird." Sharpness mumbled, defeated.
"I'm starting to think that your head is bleedin' out of your ass or something, fuck…" giggled Jude, "Isn't that so, baby?"
"No, fuck you."
Jude looked pleased with himself as he looked down upon Sharpness. He brushed his fingers through Sharpness's bangs, guiding them behind his ears, and pet at him absently. He looked content. Horrifyingly, Sharpness liked that. He liked it when Jude looked happy, and especially if he was happy because of him; like he had done something right for once in his life.
"I'm just messing with ya," he replied, and then quietly added, "oh, what am I even gonna do with you…" to himself.
He didn't respond. Sharpness shifted his focus from Jude's face to the sky, watching the white, thin clouds move only inches per minute, and he thought to himself that this was fine—even if Jude was a punishment sent to him from the clouds above, used to torture him into temptation. Lord knows that Sharpness is probably the universe's worst menace around.
What's one more sunset spent with Jude, even if he's convinced he's delirious? What's a hundred more questions to a bond that can't answer to any? Sharpness thought none of it, intentionally choosing to be none the wiser; things are safer when they're tucked away in his wildest dreams.