#ethoslab.wcl

There's crumbs of 'oh, I know what's going through his head' in every damn conversation. Etho needs zombie flesh. Bdbus spends hours on his moss farm. I know what's important to him. He's sharing all his secrets with me.

“Why not?” Surely Etho could find a partner to love him. Etho was easy to love, after all. His community knew, and Bdubs knew it too. Or did he not want one?

“I—I don’t think I could be a good husband.”

Bdubs blinked.

Looking at The Reunion, a frazzled Bdubs builds a basalt generator as night falls. Etho, having just brought out his redstone box for an observer, also puts down a bed. There's no torches around and the forest is about to catch on fire due to hazardous lava placement, so this is a debacle waiting to happen. Now I'd say usually, putting down the bed and going to sleep are one swift motion. You already decided to sleep when you reached for the bed, so once it's there, you click it right away. Rightclick, rightclick.

When Bdubs asks for a piston, the bed is there, but Etho isn't sleeping. He quips if Bdubs needs torches instead, then pulls out the piston. He only goes for the bed when Bdubs has his back turned again.

Half an hour later they meet Tango, Skizz and Xisuma to rescue X's gear. Bdubs has slept twice in the meantime. Etho keeps up the "hold the flashlight better" play by positioning Tango for Bdubs to throw him off the cliff, along with more cuteness that ensues.

When the group is at the mangrove farm, it's night again and there's a conveniently placed bed right where Etho lands. He looks at the bed, then to the sky, again to the bed and again to the sky before Skizz draws their attention elsewhere and somebody else makes it daytime again. Nobody mentions anything, but the way he's clearly noticing the bed without sleeping is so telling to me. I could swear he was waiting for Bdubs to fly in and do the honours.

He goes there around once a month, and he's found a guy he's comfortable talking to and trusts to do a good job. Bdubs is happy to let a pro handle his appearance. He's vain like that, or insecure, whichever way his confidence swings at any given moment.

His stylist is a great guy, a meticulous craftsman and a natural conversationalist. Charismatic, but never overbearing. They talk, about work, about artistic vision and about life. Bdubs finds that it's easier to tell somebody about his home life that doesn't know his family and won't give advice where none is requested. Likewise, he finds space to talk about his work life without feeling like he's infringing on private time with his friends or family. It's a relief to have somebody that simply listens to recollections from both worlds that Bdubs inhabits without judgement or consequences. His stylist has no horse in the race of Bdubs' life. He's a friend, professionally, and that is just what Bdubs needs.

Over the months, hair guy hears about Bdubs' life as told by Bdubs. He never checks out the channel, he doesn't really get the microcosm of online gaming videos, but he learns about the hermits, nevertheless. How Bdubs admires Scar for his vision, hard work and resilience. How Grian always pushes to keep things moving and interesting. How he feels the pressure from everybody consistently stepping up their game and how he gets frustrated with himself sometimes.

Then there's this guy, Etho, the alleged genius. Bdubs mentions him at least once every visit. When he talks about him, there's pride in his words, and a familiar fondness. When the stylist asks about him however, Bdubs often can't answer the simplest questions, despite their years of shared time. Evidently, he's smitten. Etho is the mystery that caught his attention once that he then spent his lifetime trying to solve. It turned him into the type of expert that can tell you precisely how much he doesn't know. It's difficult to say if he likes Etho so much because he teaches him new things about the game, or if he enjoys the game more because it teaches him new things about Etho. It's sweet, in a way, but also sort of heart-wrenching.

---

It turns out that flirt-fighting with your best friend is even more fun and addicting in person than it is without a face involved, and they've indulged heavily during the whole event. The only times Etho or Bdubs are caught looking at the other without smiling stupidly is when they are in-character, pissy or teasing or professional, putting on a show for everyone and themselves.

Once they're done working, Bdubs is worn out and overstimulated. Etho's holding up better, thanks to the adrenaline, and goes easy on the drink. Bdubs doesn't. He wants to stay out, this time, so neurotoxin it is.

Over the course of the evening, he never stops sticking to Etho, but he deviates from their script more and more. First he's more touchy and less avoidant of personal topics, then he's needy and demanding attention, then he starts riling Etho up with their antics again—except that now, he's playing dirty. He's treating Etho like the spouse that's holding out on him. The innuendo crosses into sexual, repeatedly and with increasing boldness, and Etho is having a very hard time.

He can handle drunk behaviour, he can gloss over the questions that hit too close to home, play along, laugh things off, but this is still Bdubs, and he's hitting Etho's weak spot with pinpoint accuracy and an ignorance that can only be described as cruel.

The mood at the party is exuberant and loud, and Bdubs is certainly not the only one that's had a glass too many. The hermits find the guy hilarious, even more so when he's taking this joke to unprecedented levels.

"Why don't you give him a kiss, Etho, don't you see how he's pleading?"

"I think he deserves some love, don't you agree?"

"Awww, I feel so bad for Bdubs."

Bdubs' hand has come to rest on Etho's neck, tugging on a strand of hair in the nape.

"Ethooo," he drawls, and Etho can smell the red the table's been sharing nauseatingly close to his face.

Bdubs has him pinned. Etho staunchly fixates on the flimsy dried flowers that stand between their glasses, hands scrunched in the low-hanging table cloth. Then, suddenly, he hears "I'm starting to think you don't like me". It's just a bit too quiet, too vulnerable for the situation to ignore, and he turns to search the face he's been mapping out greedily over the last days.

"I d—" He doesn't get any further, nor does he get a look. Bdubs slips right into the opening he's created.

The man's wet lips take hold of Etho's like it's easy. A walk in the park. To Etho, it's more like a sled ride down a rugged hill. Scratchy stubble presses into his face; the taste is foreign, of dinner, grapes and flesh. They've had the same. The kiss stretches time, yet it's over in a breath.

When they part, Etho gasps incredulously, the crowd is howling, and Bdubs whispers "gotcha!" before he leans back in laughter.

Etho stands. "I think it's time to leave."

"I agree," Bdubs declares merrily, "perfect opportunity to end this night with you wonderful people on a high note. Take me home, Etho!"

A beat passes. Their exchange happens wordlessly. Then, Etho extends his hand, palm side up.