#esspherial writes

The first time Evbo watches his body stitch together, he wants to throw up.

He doesn’t, mainly because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for doing so. But he’s also wearing his new clothes. Covering them in vomit isn’t exactly how he should break them in.

Evbo curls his hands into his lap.

He’s kinda pretty, in a fucked up “pinned butterfly” way. The recording takes place in his own room, and he’s splayed out on his bed, starfished to keep his limbs from interfering with the process. Whoever placed him there stripped him naked, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He understands why. Sometimes, things got morphed into his body while it fixed itself, and that’s always more trouble than it’s worth. But still. He hates how he looks. He doesn’t like waking up naked, cold and alone and vulnerable. He hates how his corpse is treated so gently.

Especially considering how gruesome this particular death was. Evbo’s never liked being disemboweled. It messes up his stomach when he comes back, makes his digestive track all kinds of weird. Not to mention the other thing.

His entrails have been placed neatly at the sides of his, quite frankly, rather impressive vivisection. Clearly whoever was in charge of his respawn this time knows their anatomy. Every organ that he can recognize is where it’s supposed to be. The other ones, the ones that have been mutilated beyond belief, are shoved off to the sides.

He’s like a really big meat salad. Gross. Evbo swallows. Don’t think about it.

Eventually, the process starts. His organs start slithering around, putting themselves back into place. The unidentifiable ones piece themselves together, lines of separation disappearing as if they were never there. If there was sound, he can imagine what it’d sound like.

Wet. Squishy. Revolting.

Once the organs are back in place, the few broken ribs he had fix themselves too. Then his fat and muscles pull together, like an invisible string is holding them closed. He imagines what it’d feel like. His skin crawls as his corpse’s skin stitches itself together, too.

No, he very much does not want to find out how it’d feel.

There’s a hand on his chin, and Evbo lets his head be directed away from the screen. “What do you think?” The man asks. “It’ll be fun, right? Having it be televised?”

He’s heard the elevator pitch. People get their fix from watching this, and he gets to take longer breaks. It’s better than what usually happens. And he’s been feeling so tired lately.

Evbo’s eyelids flutter. “I…” He hesitates. The grip on his chin tightens.

“I’ll give you some time to think about it.” The man smiles. His teeth are still slightly stained, sharp and jagged. Good for breaking skin.

“Okay,” Evbo agrees. He’s going to say yes eventually. He knows that. The man knows that. This is nothing more than a waiting game.

“I was in my cell when I woke up here.”

Gods shouldn’t have heartbeats. You’ve stubbornly clung to yours, and you feel it stopping. Imaginary lava licks at your feet. You feel the temperature rise around you, and you force it to go back down.

“You were in a cell?"

“Yeah. Honestly, I’m a little happy.” Junior stretches. His hoodie rides up, and you can see just the tiniest sliver of scar tissue. “It gets so cramped in there. I mean, it wouldn’t be happening if I could just beat that gold sword guy, but I’m not the best at PVP.”

He grins, then, and it feels so wrong when you feel so off-kilter. “But I’m getting better at parkour, right? At the market place you could either parkour the towers or climb, and I think I was pretty good at it!”

Clearly he’s embellishing the story a little bit. You don’t care to correct him, instead nodding and offering up a smile of your own. Somewhere near the edge of Parkour Civilization, another you is screaming.

“You’ve got a long way to go, kiddo,” you say, reaching out and ruffling his hair. Junior ducks down, laughing out of your hold. “But you’ve definitely improved. Think you’re ready for the Parkour Tower?”

“Pssh. Am I ready? I was born ready!” Without another word, he’s racing across the one block jumps. You stay behind and watch him for a moment. He’s moving exceptionally well. That’s concerning. Your (son? creation?) shouldn’t be moving like that.

Every muscle in his body is screaming. Tens of thousands of little pinprick voices, coursing through your divinity like poison. You should tell him to stop. You should tell him to rest. You shouldn’t even say anything. You could easily teleport him to your Other Place and keep him there.

You do none of those things. The you that’s on the edge starts sharing his pain. You feel it, distantly, like everything else you don’t want to focus on. You can’t get rid of it completely. You’re afraid of what will happen if you do.

But you can do this. You can feel his pain with him. Wait until he inevitably falls (and he will fall, because he is yours). Give him props and soothe his bruised ego and suggest you do something else.

Evbo’s waist twitches underneath Raymond’s fingers. His skin is an uncomfortable type of warm. The kind that frozen meat gets when sitting for too long. Evbo’s skin isn’t as soft as it used to be. It doesn’t mold nicely under Raymond’s hold, doesn’t have as much give.

He wants to hate it. Hates that he’s relieved by it. Evbo used to bruise so easily, pretty porcelain skinned marred by the simplest of things. He can’t bruise now. Not when he’s like this.

“Ray?” Evbo’s voice is soft. It takes a second for Raymond to register it, shaking his head to get rid of the fog. One of Evbo’s hands rest on his. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. He puts his head in the crook of Evbo’s neck. His hands move to wrap his arms around Evbo, pressing him closer to his body. “Just let me have this for a second.”

Evbo, mercifully, is quiet for a moment. There’s no hum of electricity in the room, just the quiet crackle of the candles they’ve lit. Cicadas sound loudly outside. In the distance, a few owls are hooting.

For just a moment, Raymond lets himself pretend. He pretends he’s some years in the future, in a nice quiet neighborhood in a nice quiet town. Evbo and him are waiting for Tabi to come home, another late night just to make sure she made it back safe. They’d hear the door open, and Evbo would leave his arms to go greet her. Raymond would stay behind to get their bed ready, because despite their best efforts it always ended up a mess.

For just a moment he can pretend he’s going to go bed tonight with his partners. That he’s going to go bed with a full stomach. That he’s going to go to bed happy, that he’s going to go to bed safe.

It’s just for a moment, and then Evbo drags him out.

“You…” He pauses. His hands hover awkwardly in the air, eventually settling onto the windowsill. “Do you miss him again?”

Him. As if he’s someone completely different. As if Raymond can’t see all the ways that he’s still the same, that he never changed. As if he hasn’t spent days, weeks, months telling Evbo that he’s still the man he loved, that he’s still the man he loves.

As if the person Evbo watches in those recordings (over and over and over) isn’t a reflection.

And maybe, Raymond thinks, it isn’t.

“Not right now.”

Evbo takes a breath. Big, whole, terribly dry. It stays there, far longer than it should be. Raymond squeezes slightly, and it comes whistling out. It fizzles out with a hiss, and suddenly Evbo is much more limp in his arms than before.

“Jesus-!”

It’s muscle memory that keeps him from dropping him. Raymond drags him over to the bed. His lower half is hanging off, and it’d be uncomfortable for anyone that was still human. “Dude, seriously? What was that?”

Evbo hums. He stays there. Silent, still, like he’s suddenly lost all the energy to do anything. Raymond wants to stay annoyed, wants to hold onto it, but he can’t. He’s never been able to.

He sighs, pulling Evbo onto the bed properly. He lays down next to him, pulling him closer. It’s like dealing with a rag doll: Evbo’s entirely dead weight as he maneuvers him into a more comfortable position. They’re chest to back, Raymond curled up slightly around him.

The silence that follows is suffocating, but not quite. Evbo’s not breathing, completely lax. There’s no indication that he’s awake. If he isn’t, Raymond wants him to rest. But someone has to make sure he doesn’t go off the deep end.

He ends up nuzzling the back of Evbo’s head, the ever present sweetness of death filling his nose. Evbo moves it back, grumbling too low for Raymond to make anything out. Good. He’s responding.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He feels Evbo stiffen. Raymond closes his eyes, tightens his hold just slightly. Maybe it’s not the right thing to say. Maybe there’s different words he could’ve used, different actions he could’ve taken.

But it’s pointless to wonder about the possibilities.

“Me too.”

For a moment, Raymond thinks he’s hearing things. “Mh?”

Usually when Crown calls for you, he doesn’t say your name. He doesn’t speak in general. You’ve been married so long words aren’t needed. He can just think or feel and you’ll come running.

So when he says “Evbo” in a voice that brook no argument, you immediately arrive at his side.

And you immediately see the problem.

There’s another you sitting on the block in front of you. He’s looking up at you both with wide eyes, curious and wary. There’s a sword strapped to his hip that’s hanging on the edge.

“Uh… hi?”

“Evbo,” Crown says again. You both look at him, but he only has eyes for you. Which would make you happy on a normal day. Clearly, today is not normal.

“Did you have an immaculate conception?”

“What? No! I think I would remember if I was pregnant.”

Crown looks at you funny, but ultimately drops the matter. Still, the thought’s been planted. The seed is sprouting.

Could you have made another you without knowing? It’s possible. Even after all these years, sometimes you do things without realizing it. The Bee Incident still gives several parkour citizens nightmares.

So you reach out. The other you feels familiar, overwhelming familiar. Like meeting someone you forgot existed. There’s a weird layer to his soul, shimmering like water reflecting the sun.

And right beneath it is

{}_ []___ /__/_ []___ L__ |_|_ * {}_ []_ |_|_ []____ {}__ //_/_ * {}_ L__[]_ /__/_ []_ * |_|_ []___ /__/_ []_ L__ * []__ |__|_ []____ ||_|_ []_

Oh. Oh. Maybe you were pregnant and didn’t realize.

In any case, that’s something to dwell on later. As it stands, there’s a stranger on the outskirts of your civilization that needs addressing. So you look at him, and you make sure to put on the air of comfort and safety.

“Are you okay?”

Your (copy’s? imposter’s?) soul reacts immediately. It reaches out, clamoring for… what, exactly? It’s so loud you can hardly make heads or tails of it.

The other you doesn’t seem aware of this, instead perking up at being addressed. “I’m okay,” he answers, and wow. He doesn’t look that much younger than you were when you first started on your parkour journey. Did you really sound that young?

Oh, you’re getting old.

“Some passersby told me they found you passed out,” Crown explains, once again addressing you. “When I got here he was awake. He didn’t recognize me, so I called you.”

“Aw, you were worried about little old me?”

“It’d be incredibly concerning if my god was dead, yes.”

Other you (damn this kid needs a name) gasps at that. “Wait, you’re a god?!” There are stars in his eyes. It’s weird seeing that expression on a face so similar.

“That’s so cool! What are you the god of? Wait, wait.” He cuts you off before you can even think to answer. Other you shakes his hands, looking around.

“Gotta focus on the important stuff, Evbo,” he mutters to himself. “So, um, where am I? And who are you?”

“You’re in Parkour Civilization,” you answer. You see something click in his brain, but it’s not because he recognizes the name. “You might’ve guessed it already, but I’m Evbo. Also the Parkour God.”

You place a hand on Crown’s shoulder, pulling him as close as you can be while standing on different blocks. “And this is my husband Crown.”

“You guys don’t have swords?”

Crown answers this time. “We have them, but they’re purely ornamental. Why?”

“Because they’re your life?” He almost pulls out his sword, hand stopping midway. “That’s how it works in PVP Civilization. Are your lives not tied to parkour?”

You share a look with Crown. Totally not a concerning line of questioning.

“Kind of, but that was a long time ago.” You reach out, offering other you a hand. He takes it, almost stumbling off the block as he stands.

It’s going to suck so bad if he can’t do one-block jumps. No maybe secret asexually produced child of yours is going to suck at parkour. You can almost hear Seawatt laughing at you from beyond the server.

“That’s weird. But I guess it makes sense. Not every place can be PVP Civilization. Pretty sure that’s the only place I’ve been, though, so who knows.”

“Evbo,” Crown starts. “Your name is Evbo, right?”

“Yep!”

“We should get you to a doctor. Regardless of why, you were passed out for who knows how long.”

Other you shrugs. “Like, an hour maybe? I’ve gotten good at counting time while I’m sleeping.” There’s a pause. “Besides, I can’t go to a doctor! I have to get back!”

“Hey, buddy.” Attention successfully redirected. “I’m you, right? Take it from me: you’re gonna feel a lot better if you go. And then we promise to help you find your way back.”