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Sharpness hunched over the ground, his insides turning inside out as his hand came grabbing his own throat. No bile would escape him tonight, it settled at the back of his stomach, burning every last remain of hope. No weapon rested on his hand, no armour clutched to his flesh like a second skin… Worse than that, the only tool he had always refused to master lay heavy against his fingertips, refusing to comply with his wishes.
“Come on,” he grumbled, clutching the side of his head, praying for any deity to listen to his prayers. “It’s not that hard, it can’t be that hard.”
But no matter the angle from which he observed the piece of paper flat on the floor, its scribbles remained unintelligible to everyone, himself included. Normally, Sharpness would not mind the state of his writing that much, after all, he was a fighter, not an author, words did not come naturally to him as much as heavy blows did, and nobody expected him to write poetry anyways.
So why was he suddenly so self-conscious about his ability to pick up a pencil? This was not his area of expertise, sketches were for Jude, Parker and all the other so-called geniuses who tried to trap the entire server just for some minutes of fame. Sharpness was not one of them; he prided himself in his axe skills and quick reflexes when it came to fighting. Not everyone could earn the title of best fighter of a server through laughs and giggles.
Sharpness had been invited to show off his strength and terrorise all those kids who thought themselves better than him.
This was his purpose, almost what he had been born to do. He nodded, almost reassuring himself of his personal value. Sharpness was good. Sharpness was amazing! He did not need to be afraid of his… modern art piece? Was that what he could call it? It was certainly not a masterpiece, but he had hoped the sketch would turn out to be at least recognisable. Even the writing on the side was cranky.
He groaned one more time. “This was a horrible idea.”
“Nice drawing, who is it for?”
Sharpness shrieked, a sound that should have left him completely deflated in any other situation, but meant little in the context of finding another top fighter in your base. He drew his sword and got into position, ready to take on whatever challenge on his way.
“Why are you here?”
With his sneaky smile and cocky attitude, Flowtives observed him up and down, taking in the disheveled hair and pink cheeks from effort.
“Thought I’d come and say hello to a friend, is that not allowed anymore?”
“Not when it’s you,” Sharpness bit back, letting his blade grace the skin of Flow’s neck. “Answer my question and I’ll let you live.”
Flow scoffed, laughing to his heart’s content at Sharpness’ poor attempt of a threat. “Do you think you’re intimidating?” He leaned closer, his lips brushing right over Sharp’s ear, voice low. “I could kill you any time.”
“I would like to see you try.”
“Sure, another day,” Flow said back, making his way around the scattered pieces of paper. “So, what’s all this about? I didn’t know you liked drawing.”
“I don’t like drawing,” Sharp gathered all of the sketches in the blink of an eye, clutching the pile of sheets against his chest, protective.
Flow raised a brow. Whatever Sharpness was trying to hide, he did a terrible job at making everything seem trivial. Every little gesture he performed was laced with anxiety and nervousness, as if a single wind blow could send him shattering down.
Which was unheard of, even to Flowtives, who had seen Sharpness die at the edge of too many blades before, his own included. Fear was reserved for the battlefield in dire situations, not… Not in the confines of a safe base, even if Sharpness’ poor attempt at building made it seem more like a burrow than anything else. Surely a habit he had stolen from Jude, if Flowtives were to say.
“Yeah, I see that. You don’t like it but you do it anyway. And all of your little drawings look like… I don’t know, maybe a certain bunny hopping around the server, am I right?”
Flowtives knew from the exact reaction that he had won. The argument had not even started yet, but there was no need to pursue it. The slight blush colouring Sharp’s neck and dipping into his shirt expressed more than any word ever could.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sharp said.
“Look. I don’t care if you like him or whatever–”
“Which I don’t.”
During the few seconds of silence that followed, both refused to back down, blinking and staring right into the other’s eyes, careful as to what the next sentence could trigger. This was becoming exhausting. Flowtives had come with good intentions, such as checking on another fighter of the server and making sure Sharpness was still alive after not seeing him for four days at spawn. See, Flow was a nice person, a great friend to have despite the utter chaos of Strength.
And yet, despite his caring nature – which would be disputed if anyone else on the server were asked – Sharpness still retained a certain secrecy against him, refusing to reveal the bottom of his heart. Fine! It was not like Flowtives cared. He was simply… Tired, to say the least. After all, watching two of his friends flirt under the disguise of taunting and trapping was wearing him off more than he would like to admit. And he knew he was not the only one feeling this way.
Everyone on Strength was beyond annoyed at their antics. And now that Flow had caught him red-handed in his pure admiration of Jude, Sharpness refused to acknowledge anything. There was truly no escape from obliviousness.
“Anyway. You’re not a great drawer, I will say that, but dude, intentions are all that matter, I’m sure Jude will be happy if you give him one of those.”
“Why would I give Jude one of my drawings?” Sharp said, crossing his arms tighter, his legs already falling into defense position.
You can never take war out of a fighter, Flowtives supposed.
“You make my head hurt, do you know that?”
“You’re the one who invaded my base and invited yourself, I should be the one saying that.” Eh, fair enough, Flow thought, still doubting the sincerity behind Sharpness words. Either he was trying, and failing, to gaslight Flow, or he was seriously deluded.
Who in their right mind would potentially think drawing one person over and over again was casual? There was nothing casual about it! There was nothing casual about teaming up with one’s supposedly mortal enemy and sleeping in the same room at night, just for protection against possible invaders.
Nobody even tried to penetrate Jude’s base, everyone knew of the amount of traps inside. Sharpness’ offer was trivial, and Jude would have been an idiot to accept to have that idiot so close to him while he was most vulnerable. But guess what? Jude had validated the idea! They had slept in the same bedroom for months while they were teamed up, hiding their affection for each other under layers of failing strategies and impossible arrangements.
Everything but admitting their feelings. It had gotten to a point where most of the server simply left when both of them were in each other’s vicinity, unable to cope with the romantic tension going on between them, their failed excuse at betrayal used to hide the visceral urge to pour out every emotion.
“Sharp, you know I like you, right?”
“Ew,” Sharpness grumbled, taking a step back.
“Not like that! You’re my friend. It’s a title that I don’t give out so easily, just so you know–” Flowtives ignored the dramatic eye roll coming from Sharpness and continued his tirade. “I kinda want what’s good for you, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Like you would know better than me.”
“Dude, you’re– Do you like Jude? Like legit, tell me right now or I might combust.”
Sharpness seemed to consider for a few seconds, his eyes dropping to his swords as he observed every one of them. From the sharpened daggers to the long sabers he had not used in months, too busy trying to understand how to use a spear correctly. He sighed. He missed the authenticity of old fights. The simplicity of strength in the past, when he would just jump around and suddenly disappear into a trap, his enemy’s face appearing from above, all teeth-y smiles and cheeky grins, eyes shining with delight.
God, Sharpness missed falling into stupid traps and dying to Jude’s sword badly. He was always being a bitch about it, refusing to give back Sharp’s stuff unless he promised not to kill him back, promises that never lasted anyways.
This game of push and pull that never left them no matter the path they embraced, whether destruction or erudition graced their footsteps. Sharpness missed Jude so bad. So bad he had started scratching sketches of his face onto every piece of paper he could stumble upon, trying to carve memories of him where he could see it, where his devotion could be hidden from the crowd, deep into his sacred temple.
But as his artistic frenzy worsened, Sharpness realised one major mistake: his memories of Jude were fading, disappearing into oblivion, turning his lines wobbly and his features cranky. The picture facing him was an ugly mix of shapes supposed to resemble the old lover Sharpness had never been able to hold, nothing like the beauty of the real Jude. Frustration got a hold on him when he first started holing himself up in the stupid base he had claimed as his, drawing and sketching for hours, angry at his own abilities for not being able to replicate properly.
If Jude were to disappear, would that be the last trace Sharpness could hold of him? Would someone stumble upon their belongings decades later, only to find the hundreds of drawings attempting to craft a long lost lover back to life?
“This is not liking,” Sharpness eventually said. “This is worse than that.”
“You are so gone, this is actually insane.” Flowtives laughed, unable to believe it himself. “But at least now that it’s cleared up, you can go and tell him, right?”
Sharpness shot up, as if violently shaken out of a dream state. Tell him? Tell Jude? He would rather die than admit it to his face. Getting rejected was the last thing he needed these days. Knowing Jude, he would even go as far as using this against Sharp to win their little competitions. Sharp groaned and threw the pile of sheets onto his bed.
“Go home,” he told Flow.
“Alright, not going to fight your trust issues, but Sharp, maybe think about giving it a try, okay? It can’t be that bad.”
Throwing him outside the door, Sharpness was quick to close it behind and let himself slide down the wall, face flushed and hands damp. Accepting his infatuation was one thing. He could live with that. Everyone already expected him to be head over heels, this would just be further confirmation for them. Great. Now perhaps they would leave him alone.
All he needed was for Flowtives to keep quiet and not tell everyone. That would be easy, right?
flowtives:
Yo can you sell me one of those?
conexion:
no.
tf are you thinking?
flowtives:
parker wants one to give jude for his birthday
the best you have
that would be great
conexion:
…
whats ur price?
flowtives:
i got a mace, want it?
Shit, Sharpness thought. He did not have a mace. Ever since he had been thoroughly abused by Jude using his own, the greed had taken over. If he wanted to remain on top of Strength, he needed this weapon of mass destruction. Nothing could compare to the feeling of holding this stupidly heavy block of condensed metal in his hands. Flowtives was too good at bargaining.
conexion:
alr.
when?
flowtives:
gimme like an hour to talk with parker and ill give u the cords
wait up.
The next hours were atrociously long, stretched and dragged while Sharpness waited in his base, his pencil gliding on the paper once more. There was nothing else to do except sketch and pray. His mind was so full, polluted by images of Jude in every possible position, face blushing, face scrunched in frustration, ears up or pinned down, laughter heard through the sheets, pout evident on his lips. His brain had been reduced to a mere ocean of Jude, Jude, Jude.
And then, finally, his communicator bipped. Sharp stared at it, unsure of what to do next. Accepting the meetup location would mean giving up his best drawing, the one he had been pouring the most love into. Sharpness was not sure he could deprive himself of that one consolation. But on the other hand, getting the mace would greatly relieve him.
The tumult in his head was cleared by the coordinates Flowtives sent him, accompanied by an imperative to show up, or else, his little base would suffer great damage. Sharp grumbled. Stupid fighters.
He equipped his elytras, slipped the drawing into a clear plastic wrapping and left. This was it. Make or break.
He flew a few hundreds metres away from spawn, where the meeting was supposed to happen. Nobody was here already, and so, driven by his anxiety, Sharpness forced himself to walk around, forming circles in the ground and letting his sword slice freshly cut grass. At least, the place looked good. Someone had been taking care of this little garden and watering the plants. A row of purple irises ran along the cobblestone wall leading to someone’s fishing cabin, and the river stood pure and clean, the sound of water echoing against piles of pebbles.
A firework resounded in the sky. Someone fell, and landed safely behind him. Sharpness braced himself, clutching the plastic so tight it could tear between his fingers, and turned around. He was not scared of Parker. He was not scared of selling this stupid drawing. This was just–
Jude.
This was not Parker. No voidling staring back with his usual yellow clothing and stupid smile cooperating with whatever other trappers offered. No white eyes analysing the situation with precision. No. Sharpness had been fooled. The person facing him was Jude. In his usual armour, netherite sword tightly clutched in his fist and magenta stare piercing the distance between them.
The only nice thing about this fiasco, Sharpness thought, is that, at least, Jude looked as lost as he was.
“Why are you here?” Jude asked. “I was supposed to meet with Parker.”
“That’s funny, because I was supposed to meet with Parker too.”
Silence stretched out in the garden. Jude muttered something, too low for Sharpness to catch it, but he definitely heard one name in the middle of it all. Flowtives. This idiot. He probably thought he had orchestrated it all, in the name of a greater cause.
Well, Sharpness was happy to make everything derail before his own eyes. He would not become a toy in the claws of this stupid fighter who thought himself as a godsent gift in Strength.
But, to be fair, perhaps Sharpness’ ego would be as big as Flow’s if he, too, were recognised as a global threat.
“Flow told me Parker had something for me. Do you have it?”
“I don’t have anything,” Sharp answered.
“What’s that in your hands?”
Fuck. Sharp had almost forgotten about that. The number one reason why he had flown away from his base in the first place, the bane of his existence, the nexus of his obsession. His stupid drawing. And of course, because Flow had told him to bring the best he could have done, Sharpness had grabbed his most precious one, a portrait of Jude of three quarters smiling in a field of wheat, his eyes squinted and his ears flopped on the side, hands clutching a flower bouquet.
This was his masterpiece, the magnum opus of his short-lived painter career. If Jude were to see it, then everything would crumble to pieces.
“Nothing.”
“Sharp,” Jude said. “I see it. Is this why you came here?”
“No, it’s because stupid Flowtives–”
A wind burst interrupted them both as leaves hurled and whirled, the sharp sound of the breeze whipping their ears. Sharpness realised a second too late that the paper had slipped out of his hands, flying into the air. He gasped, reached for it, only for the drawing to end up right at Jude’s feet instead.
Sharpness held his breath, watching Jude lean down, grab it and observe its curves and shapes. This was it. This was the end of it all.
“Sharpness. Is that me?” Jude asked, breath caught in his throat and cheeks dusted in pink, as if he, himself, struggled to recognise the person he was looking at.
“No. That’s not you.”
“Do you perhaps know another purple bunny? I would be greatly happy to meet them if that’s the case.”
Sharp seethed, trying to come up with a reply that could potentially explain the existence of this stupid drawing. But alas, nothing came to his mind. Not when the wind swiped Jude’s hair just right, coldness colouring his face with the prettiest colours. No matter what he did, Sharpness could not see anything else than the physical realisation of a dream he had spent hours on.
Jude was a fantasy come true.
“Sharpness. Answer me. Is that drawing me?”
“Yes! Fuck. Yes it is! Are you happy now? God,” he exclaimed, hiding his face by turning away, facing the origin of the wind. In the distance, he saw a speck of white flying into the air, directly going to spawn.
Flowtives. This stupid, idiot, dumbass man again. He just had to come and ruin everything, once again. Now, what did Sharpness look like? A weird, obsessive asshole who drew his enemies when he was bored, which, by the way, was completely untrue.
“You made me look… Different? Why am I so pretty and luminous?”
“I drew you the way you are,” Sharp replied immediately, only realising later that his mind had betrayed him. “Don’t think about it. You can keep it anyway.”
“So you think I’m pretty?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Jude giggled, the sound echoing in Sharpness’ mind chamber on repeat, bouncing on every wall. Oh great heavens, this must be what paradise sounded like.
“Sharp, I think you overestimate me too much. Literally nobody thinks that.”
“Then they would be wrong I guess,” he muttered back. “Well, that’s that, I’m gonna go now, enjoy… Whatever this is.”
“Wait!”
Sharpness was about to go, his wings equipped back and his whole body aflame from the embarrassment, when he felt a hand clutching his wrist. The pressure was firm but still left room for movement. With a barely concealed groan, he turned just enough to see the expression on Jude’s face, bracing himself for laughter and loud mocking.
Instead, he was met with the sight of the century. Oh. Jude, Jude fucking Low, was flushed from head to toes, refusing to meet Sharpness’ gaze, the drawing tightly squeezed against his chest. The wind blew again, burning their eyes and ringing their ears.
Jude was so, so close, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried to blink the wind away, hair parting in every direction, fluffiness revealing the expense of his purple ears. This was outrageous. How did someone manage to be this pretty and unbearable at the same time?
“What is it?” Sharpness asked, swallowing the saliva that had been pooling in his mouth, his Adam apple bobbing up and down. Jude’s eyes followed the movement until he finally realised he had been caught red-handed.
“You– Ok, I need you to be very honest with me. Did you draw other portraits? At least portraits of me?”
“Yes I did. Leave me alone now.”
“Sharpness. Do you like me?”
“No, I draw hundreds of portraits of everyone just for the fun of it!” He replied, exhausted and restless, emotions messing with his nervous system. “Yes I do! Will this be enough for you to let me go? I’ve already made myself miserable enough and I don’t think I can handle anymore now.”
“You idiot!” Jude yelled back, slapping Sharp’s arm in the meantime. “You stupid man! Have you ever tried thinking with your brain instead of your muscles? That would do you good for once!”
That hit a nerve. Sharpness was not dumb by any means. Sure, he liked to express himself with his fists more than his mouth, but he could easily speak his mind in dire situations, that was no issue. He would sometimes struggle to understand emotions, but that was for everyone. He was not an idiot.
“Why are you insulting me you bitch?”
“I like you!” Jude exclaimed.
Silence burnt itself into the garden. The wind stopped howling and the irises stilled against the wall, their leaves and petals stuck in a timeloop, refusing to follow the natural course of the universe. The server held its breath. Sharpness blinked once, then twice. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, tried to gather his thoughts and reason with what he had just heard.
“No you don’t,” he replied, chest heaving.
“Don’t make me repeat it.”
Jude relaxed his hand, almost leaving Sharpness’ out of his grasp. Perhaps he had simply figured that no matter his approach, Sharpness could probably leave if he wanted to, and that coercion was a terrible idea.
“Jude.”
“Sharpness.”
“Say it again. Please,” Sharpness pleaded, his eyes glossy with want and longing. The image of a pleading Jude forced its way into his mind, observing every possible detail and arranging cleanly in his mental shelves. The flap of his ears, the shiny coat of balm on his lips, the glint in his gaze… Everything Jude did managed to bring out a hidden part of him, the ugly possessiveness in his heart awakening in every atrocious nook of his body.
Sharpness felt that if he did not hear Jude say it again, he would simply die on the spot from combustion.
“... Why do you need me to? You’ve heard me well.”
“You’re torturing me right now. Please.” Sharpness grabbed him by the waist, letting Jude shriek in surprise and sneak a hand around his neck to keep his balance. “I don’t think I can last one more second if I don’t get to hear you.”
“... I like you. Idiot.”
In a second, Sharp’s lips were on his, pushing slowly, softly, and with all the tenderness the world could ever hold in its hands. For a top ranked fighter on Strength, Jude had expected Sharpness to be rough and calloused around the edges, but he handled him with such care, as if Jude was nothing but a precious vase, too fragile to even dare touch.
And Jude melted into the embrace. He tried to push back, but found a surprisingly lack of strength to do so, allowing himself to rest against the artist who had chosen him as his muse. The first person in his life to care enough.
Enough.
Ah, Jude thought, breathing in the kiss. For the first time, he finally enjoyed the feeling of not fighting for recognition. He was liked for who he was, not for what he could bring out to someone else. The drawing not about traps, or money, or even his fucking mace that everybody and their mothers wanted their hands on. It was about him. And him alone.
“You taste so sweet, fuck,” Sharpness whined, tightening his embrace, afraid Jude might escape. “Makes me want to put pictures of you everywhere.”
“You’re awfully romantic, you prick.”
“I’ve been going crazy these days. Couldn’t see you, couldn’t even touch you… All I could do was draw, but I’ve been getting all your traits wrong,” Sharpness admitted, his breathing ragged and his pupils so dilated Jude could see himself in the reflection. “I was going insane.”
“It’s fine. We’ll have all the time in the world. When I trap you, you won’t have any other choice but to draw while I wait outside,” Jude smiled, biting on Sharpness’ lower lip.
“An eye for an eye. Don’t act surprised when you drop dead at my feet.”
Jude chuckled, dragging him into another kiss, still laced with this stupid innocence early lovers shared. But they were not so young. Some could argue they had been dancing to this tune for so long. A kiss was only the confirmation of a deeper bond.
The paper floated into the air, forgotten.
After all, Sharpness would have endless occasions to paint his muse again in the future, a lost drawing did not outbalance the intimacy of their proximity.
If it ended in someone else’s hands, it was not their problem.