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Night was colder than Evbo had been expecting.
Maybe it was because he was without the comfortable warmth of his Champion boots and their regeneration effects. Maybe it was because of the daytime’s scorching heat, which reddened his skin and dried out his tongue. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the icy presence glaring holes into the back of his head.
Evbo lingered on the edge of the structure he’d been calling his temporary residence until he could escape. The bits of void he could see through the crevices in the ground were littered with stars. They twinkled, unobstructed by the light pollution that permeated most of the towns back home.
The sandstone beneath his thin, chainmail boots was grainy and chipped. A miniscule part of him worried about it cracking under his weight. He had yet to fully adjust to the crumbling block, unlike any he’d seen back home. Everything about this part of the world was odd and foreign.
To some degree, because of that, there was a fatal sort of comfort in the man standing behind him – his sole company in the nearly-abandoned ruins of this lost world. Evbo wished he could appreciate the familiarity a little more. As it was, Seawatt wasn’t exactly treating him hospitably.
When he glanced over his shoulder, he caught the other’s head whipping around, trying not to be caught staring. Evbo didn’t care enough to tell him it was too late for that. It was better to let Seawatt pretend to ignore him.
He was distracted briefly by the flickering of the campfire dancing against the walls of their humble shelter. The flames cast soft, golden light across the chests and furnaces, but his traitorous eyes were not interested in those things for long. Instead, the very man that was now avoiding his gaze became his temporary fixation.
Evbo found himself tracing the shadows it cast along the side of Seawatt’s face, sharpening his jaw and swirling in his irises. The jewelry around his neck shone, as if a piece of sunlight had been plucked from the sky and draped across his companion’s collarbone. It was the only explanation Evbo could invent to explain why the glittering metal suited him so well.
On a deeper level, the gold reminded the Champion of the boots that Seawatt had worn back in Parkour Civilization. The past seemed so far gone in comparison to where they were now.
At the time, Evbo had thought that there was no color that suited his enemy more than the dripping glory of gold. His boots, crown, and jewelry were all cast in it. If Evbo were to close his eyes and imagine the color, Seawatt’s face would creep into his mind. It seemed impossible that there would be anything that fit his character better.
Until Evbo had witnessed the splendor of chainmail.
Chainmail boots represented more than just a missing piece of a whole puzzle. They represented a great loss, and a greater determination. They belonged to fighters, people tough enough to survive the unimaginable, and still have the drive to carry on.
Seawatt matched his boots in a way the Champion couldn’t even comprehend.
They sat naturally on his feet, clinking whenever he shifted, but blending perfectly into his aura. The barbed edges of his smiles, and the cold shocks of his stare were at home in them. The lightning-quick speed of his attacks, and the meticulous execution of his plans were explained by them.
Evbo wasn’t sure why he hadn’t seen it sooner.
He was a little embarrassed, honestly, that it took an unknown fighter to fill the Champion in on the nature of his task. From the beginning, he should’ve anticipated something like this.
Betrayal was easy for Seawatt. They had no history together that would’ve encouraged loyalty between them, nor any overlapping motivations. They were enemies before, and it made sense that they were enemies now.
Except, Evbo couldn’t let Seawatt know that he was aware of that fact. As far as his companion could tell, the Champion was still an unsuspecting pawn in his game. Evbo was going through all the motions that he’d done prior to his discovery in a complex attempt to seem nonchalant.
Unfortunately, that included staying with Seawatt in their temporary base to rest before he could head out for the next disc in the morning. The first few courses had been draining, and it seemed appropriate to give himself a break between completions. He couldn’t deviate from his established routine without explanation.
From the dull throbbing in his ankles, this period of rest remained a good idea. It was necessary to take it easy when he could. Evbo dreaded it now, of course, as it meant he was holed up with his enemy until the sun rose again. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep.
He sighed, louder than he meant to, and tensed when it brought violet eyes in his direction. Seawatt raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Evbo lied. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Seawatt’s expression didn’t change, clearly not believing the obviously-false answer. But Evbo didn’t plan on budging either, so they were at a stalemate. A few seconds passed that way in awkward silence, before Seawatt relented and stood. Evbo tried not to appear as uncomfortable about his approach as he felt.
“Here,” Seawatt hummed, extending his hand. In it was a single piece of steak. A light layer of smoke rose from its deliciously charred skin, probably meaning it was fresh from the fire. Evbo’s stomach lurched at the sight, growling loudly. He hadn’t realized he was hungry until then — so accustomed to his boots taking that sensation away. “C’mon, man. I don’t have all day.”
“Thank you,” Evbo replied quietly, taking the food. Their fingers brushed in the process — Seawatt’s delightfully warm in comparison to his own from his time by the fire. Evbo lamented its ending, and the desert evening’s perpetual chill returned to steal all heat away.
He turned away from his companion and sat himself on the ground. The sandstone scuffed beneath the seat of his pants as he shifted to let his feet dangle over the edge of their humble abode. Once he was comfortable, or as close to it as he could get, he started to eat.
Seawatt watched him the entire time, unspeaking. If Evbo had to guess, he was probably debating the pros and cons of pushing the Champion off the ledge right then and there.
Whether accurate to assume or not, Evbo wasn’t scared. It might’ve been something to worry about during a point when he didn’t know Seawatt’s plans for him, but that wasn’t now. Everything was out in the open. No fears necessary.
Seawatt needed him to get the last disc, and then to defeat the four Legends. Evbo was an easy target when he lingered near the edges of blocks, but his opponent was too cunning to give in to needless violence. As long as he had a part to play, Evbo was effectively immune to Seawatt’s more spontaneous whims.
The two would dance around each other until that ended, similarly to how the campfire’s flames crackled in time to a rhythm unknown to their ears. Seawatt would pretend he was reformed, and Evbo would pretend he believed him.
The steak was extremely good, frustrating as that was to acknowledge. It was thoroughly cooked, juicy on the inside, and while there was a crisp to the outer layers, it added a nice, smoky flavor.
Evbo knew that if he had attempted to make something like this over a campfire, it would’ve come out charred and dry. Only someone with a significant amount of experience with this type of cooking would’ve been this skilled. He should’ve expected it from Seawatt, who he’d learned was actually a former resident of this lost level.
“You’re a good cook,” Evbo heard himself say.
It was impulsive, ill-advised. If Seawatt thought too hard about the little comment, he might realize that his ruse was up. As it was, cooking wasn’t really done in Parkour Civilization. Most people either ate golden carrots, or got their meat pre-cooked. It was a dead giveaway that someone who was a decent chef probably had a few other secrets as well.
However, when Evbo glanced up at Seawatt to see if he’d made that connection, he was met with an open-mouthed, awestruck gaze. There was no concern, or malice, or even any hints of their typical tension left at all. Instead, in its place was the tiniest bit of color growing on the other’s cheeks.
Evbo blinked, thoroughly thrown off.
“Uh, sorry,” he apologized, though he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do so. “Did I say something bad?”
“No,” Seawatt said quickly, eyes widening. He cleared his throat and looked away. Smoothly, he adjusted the white fabric of his robes and sat down next to Evbo. Not too close, but closer than they usually got to one another. “I just… wasn’t expecting a compliment. Not from you.”
“A compliment,” Evbo echoed dumbly. He’d been so focused on Seawatt’s hidden motives that he’d forgotten how someone oblivious to his knowledge might perceive his words. Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I gave you a compliment.”
Seawatt glanced at him, awe immediately twisting into his archetypal expression of mocking-disbelief. Evbo knew what to expect from that look. “Mhm, that’s… what I just said. Something the matter? Can’t believe you could ever appreciate my skills?”
“Wh- No,” Evbo scoffed. “No! I appreciate your skills all the time!”
“Oh yeah? Name one other time.”
“Okay, well,” Evbo struggled, twisting his torso to fully face the other man. Embarrassment caught in his throat, sealing it shut. Evbo opened his mouth to continue, but nothing came out. He turned away, cheeks flushed. Seawatt raised a cocky brow, like he already knew he was beating him. It was infuriatingly well suited to his face.
Evbo couldn’t admit why exactly he’d given Seawatt an unconscious compliment. Not without showing his hand. But, in Parkour Civilization, even conclusions were parkour — especially with how this guy was jumping to them. Assuming Evbo didn’t appreciate his skills was like trying to make an upwards five-block diagonal jump: Impossible, stupid, and just plain wrong.
Which meant that, to disprove this dumb assumption, Evbo would have to tell the truth about his opinions on Seawatt. Or else, he’d be forced to reveal that he was privy to the schemes going on behind the scenes. For the sake of his livelihood, Evbo was going to have to sacrifice his dignity.
He took the metaphorical plunge into the void and sighed, “I appreciate a lot of what you do. Like your advanced parkour, and your plans. I, uh… admire… how smart you are.”
The praise sat heavily upon his tongue, tasting strongly of spoiled milk. It was almost painful to give away so freely. He felt like he’d swallowed glue, his mental clarity impeded by the mortified beat of his racing heart. Evbo should’ve kept his mouth shut to begin with. Complimenting the enemy was not fun.
“Advanced? My parkour isn’t… Not next to you… I mean… You’re the Champion.”
Evbo avoided looking at Seawatt, staring firmly at the ground. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how out of breath the other man sounded at that moment.
“I am now. I wasn’t always the Champion, man,” Evbo muttered. He fell back against the sandy ground and threw an arm over his eyes. “As your enemy, I think I’m qualified to say you’re not bad at parkour. I’m better, obviously, but you were someone I couldn’t fully defeat for a very long time. I had to break into your vault to stand a chance, and even then, I was using the potion trick you taught me.”
“That’s…” Seawatt trailed off. Evbo peaked out at him, and though his face was out of view, the tips of his ears had gone bright red.
“It’s true,” Evbo said, doubling down. He’d already dug a grave for his dignity, might as well bury it properly. “I mean, yeah, I could’ve learned that from anyone. But I didn’t. I learned it from you.”
Seawatt didn’t reply. Slowly, Evbo gained confidence. It was reassuring to see that he wasn’t the only one embarrassed by him crossing the line between them.
“And that’s just your parkour skills. I’ve got more to say about your stupid plans.”
Seawatt physically reacted, shoving his hands over his face and groaning. A smile tugged up on Evbo’s lips. He liked bothering the other man more than he’d ever admit.
Sitting up, he went on, smile audible in his voice, “It’s actually gross how smart you are. You tried to kill me, but you rarely put yourself in vulnerable positions along the way. That requires way more foresight than I could ever have and you just—“
Seawatt’s hands were on him in a split second — one sealing his lips and the other pressing into the back of his head to prevent him from escaping. Whatever he’d been about to say was muffled and interrupted. Evbo blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the person hovering now inches away from him.
“Please,” Seawatt said, tone lilting with desperation. His pupils dilated in the campfire’s trembling light. The glint in his irises resembled the glittering, amethyst crystals that made up a familiar and dangerous parkour course. “Please stop speaking. I can handle a lot, but this is awful. Go back to telling me how much you hate me or something.”
Evbo licked his hand.
It was yanked away with a scream of horror. The noise bounced off the walls of their shelter, echoing for miles into the abandoned world beyond them. If Evbo didn’t know better, he would’ve worried that such a sound could attract unwanted company. But since he did, he could only laugh in response.
“What the–! Ugh! You’re the worst,” Seawatt hissed, frantically wiping his palm on the fabric of his robes. “If there were ever a chance of us getting along, you’ve thrown it all away now, pal!”
“Yeah, sure, this is your final straw,” Evbo cackled. “The Great Parkour Master Seawatt defeated by some guy licking his palm. I would’ve used that attack a long time ago if I’d known it would work this well. So many blocks wasted on parkour…”
“You know what, no! I don’t have to take this from you!”
Seawatt grumbled to himself and stood up. Evbo stopped laughing long enough to follow him, rolling his eyes. He caught the other man’s arm before he could get too far. “Chill, bro! I’m just messing around. C’mon, relax.”
Seawatt shot him a killer glare, yanking his arm back and stormed over to the campfire again. Evbo sighed, intending to follow, but a sharp pain in his ankle sent him stumbling. He made a small noise of discomfort, and immediately stopped. Seawatt did too, turning with a confused hum.
Violet eyes widened as they landed on Evbo’s leg. Seawatt sucked in a breath. “Did you get hurt?”
“What?” Evbo glanced down, and realized for the first time exactly how swollen his ankle had become. He winced as he recalled the slip off the crystal jump that had nearly sent him to his death. It was safe to say that this was a direct result of his misstep. “Oh, uh, kinda? I slipped on the course and fe— almost fell.”
“Huh?” Seawatt gaped, as if that were the most surprising thing in the world. He closed the distance between them in three large movements, grabbing Evbo by the shoulders. “You almost fell? You can’t fall. We’re not done! We need one more disc!”
“Careful, Seawatt,” Evbo scoffed, brows furrowing. “If you were a little bit slower there, I might’ve thought you were actually worried about me for a whole entire second there. But no, thank goodness, you clarified.”
Seawatt deadpanned. “Oh, I’m sorry! Last I checked, we still hated each other. Excuse me if it’s inconvenient for you that our friendship of convenience would be completely worthless if you didn’t complete your end of it. Totally unfair of me.”
Sarcasm permeated the air, infesting their lungs and fueling their every breath. Though it was so natural to fall into arguing with Seawatt, Evbo felt a little lightheaded from the sudden weight of it. He couldn’t explain why, but he both wanted to keep fighting him forever, and wanted it to stop at the same time.
Luckily for him, Seawatt was the one to throw in his hand first. “Sit down, Champion. I’ll wrap your ankle.”
It wasn’t a question. Evbo narrowed his eyes, not necessarily keen on responding to barked demands. Seawatt made a big show of throwing his arms up and huffing.
“I’m not gonna try anything. Chill out,” he groaned. Evbo didn’t relent, waiting for the explanation. Seawatt gave it begrudgingly, “Your ankle needs to be wrapped or else you won’t be able to parkour tomorrow. That doesn’t benefit either of us. Now, would you just listen to me and sit down?”
And that made sense. It wasn’t phrased politely by any means, but it was better. Cleared some things up, at least. Evbo cursed under his breath, but gradually sunk to the ground. Seawatt went with him, and through an awkward amount of shuffling, they eventually landed on a comfortable position.
Evbo felt exceedingly stupid with his foot propped in Seawatt’s lap, but he only had himself to blame. It was his own fault he was injured — failing that jump was entirely because he’d gotten in his own head. Seawatt had no idea how close he was to actually dying earlier. The void had washed over his body for a singular moment, nothing but the dropping of his gut and a wave of fear to accompany him into those depths.
“A brace would be better, but I only have bandages, so it’ll have to do,” Seawatt spoke, pulling long strips of fabric from his inventory. “Hold still.”
Evbo tried not to shiver as warm hands rolled up the bottom of his pants and felt along his ankle. Seawatt’s touch was gentle, skilled, and deceptively careful. There was an edge to his movements, like he was thinking a bit too hard about everything he did. After a second, the other man said, “Not broken. That’s good. I don’t think it’s necessarily sprained either.”
It occurred to Evbo that Seawatt, in that moment, was actively making an effort to not hurt him. He was feeling the injury to decipher how bad it was, but was avoiding every place he thought might cause pain. No one would’ve faulted him for purposely squeezing too hard, or doing a half-assed job, because their relationship didn’t require kindness. They were bitter enemies, nothing more.
And yet, nonetheless, here he was, being horrifically sweet for absolutely no reason.
This was the closest they’d ever been to one another, the longest amount of physical contact they’d shared, and it was, perhaps, the most humane either of them had allowed each other to be. It stirred something thick in Evbo’s gut, something he’d been pushing down for a long time. Attraction was the word that came to mind, but Evbo bit the inside of his cheek to will it away.
It was the wrong descriptor — it had to be. Hatred, envy, loathing would’ve suited them better. Anything besides attraction.
But Evbo couldn’t help the damning evidence sitting in his reddening cheeks, and the way his eyes were hooked on Seawatt’s focused face — as though looking away from him would cause the ground beneath him to give out. He felt every brush of his hand, every huffed breath, every point where they were connected.
Strong and callused, Seawatt’s palms burned his skin, scorching the air in his lungs at the same time. He felt the heat in the tips of his ears, and wished desperately that he could reach up and wipe it away. Evbo forced himself to stay completely still, though, terrified of what would happen should Seawatt’s eyes find his.
He was certain he looked a mess — flustered and confused and slightly afraid of the unthreatening nature of their situation. Evbo really, really didn’t need Seawatt to see him like this. Partially because it was a visible weakness, and partially because it would reveal secrets he hadn’t even known he was keeping.
“Yeah, it’s not swollen enough to be a sprain. You probably just twisted it and then made it worse by pushing yourself,” Seawatt continued, oblivious to the battle his companion was fighting in his head. “Which is stupid, by the way. You shouldn’t make it a habit.”
He began wrapping the bandages around Evbo’s ankle, tight enough to keep him from moving and aggravating it more. Seawatt hummed under his breath as he worked, a tune Evbo didn’t recognize. The Champion let it invade his ears, and strum against his overactive mind. Any distraction from the precision of the other man’s hands was welcome.
Finally, when the wrappings had been tightened enough, Seawatt looked up. Evbo prayed his inner struggle didn’t show on his face, and maintained steady eye contact. He was not prepared for Seawatt to place both of his hands on the newly-bandaged area and say, “Seriously, promise me you’ll be more careful next time. I don’t know what I’ll do if you die.”
Evbo sucked in a breath.
It wasn’t a comment that required deeper thought. He shouldn’t let himself overanalyze. They were tentative allies, just until Seawatt could afford to betray him. Evbo knew that. He knew that he was playing with fire, waiting for the burn.
But, for the time being, the warmth was so nice. The concern in Seawatt’s eyes was intoxicating, inescapable.
Evbo wanted to believe it was real. He wanted to believe they were genuinely working with each other. He wanted to believe that his death would be noticed. He wanted to believe, for a second, that his life mattered to someone else. Not because of personal gain, or a mutually beneficial outcome, but because someone just cared about him.
Evbo swallowed back the lump that had formed in his throat. Voice whisper-soft, he replied, “I will. I’ll be careful. Promise.”
Seawatt nodded, eyes lingering. Slowly, almost unperceivably, his gaze slipped downward, before jolting back up. “Um,” Seawatt started, a little hoarse. “You should rest. I wouldn’t be surprised if this makes it hard for you to parkour tomorrow, so you’ll need all the energy you can get.”
“Right,” Evbo said. “Right. You’re, uh, right.”
He moved to stand, removing his leg from Seawatt’s lap, but he struggled to get his feet underneath him safely. The bandages were tight for a reason, and he didn’t want to further hurt his ankle by maneuvering it weirdly now. So, he was slightly stuck, with barely any purchase around him and an ankle still throbbing from pain to support him. Suddenly, he heard shuffling nearby.
Two firm hands took his, and Evbo’s heart slammed against his ribcage. Seawatt stared down at him, brows drawn together and mouth tipping upwards in a half-amused grin. Evbo didn’t allow himself to be thrown-off by the laughter lines beside the other man’s eyes, or the small indents in his cheek.
Instead, he used the hands as what they were — stabilizers — and stood up. It was much easier with help. Evbo sighed, glancing away, “Thank you.”
“Yeah… No problem.”
Seawatt’s words were quiet, and when Evbo looked at his face again, his smile had dimmed into something soft, private, almost reverent. Their hands were still intertwined. The campfire crackled in the background. Evbo’s limbs were made of concrete, and his self-control was teetering on a dangerous edge.
Seawatt had made him promise to be careful, but he hadn’t realized at the time that the greatest threat to his safety was standing inches away from him.
“You should get some rest,” Seawatt said, repeating his prior comment. “I’ll give you the last compass tomorrow, when you wake up.”
The hands fell away, breaking the trance, if only temporarily. Evbo turned to go, as he recognized he should, but he couldn’t get his legs to move. He had to remind himself to breathe normally, to focus on the task ahead. Evbo remembered the fighter’s words from earlier that day — about the inevitable betrayal, the hidden truth, and the plan within which he was but a mere puppet.
Evbo knew he couldn’t trust Seawatt, knew all of this was just a means to an end, but that rationale was stolen from him when lips met his cheek. Seawatt kissed him, cursory and quick. His whole world came to a crashing halt. It was over far too soon.
He could only stare straight ahead as Seawatt stepped back and started towards the campfire.
Evbo’s hand raised to touch the scalding mark of his enemy’s lips, eyes wide, dazed. The action left a blossoming fire in its wake, and it felt final, fleeting, feverish. It felt like a goodbye, and a confession all at once. It felt like the beginning of a conversation they would never have.
It wasn’t enough.
“Wait,” Evbo blurted, throwing his precautions to the wind. “Just… just one last question.”
Seawatt glanced over his shoulder, something terrifically vulnerable crossing his face for a split second. A gentle breeze blew through his dark hair, and the gold of his accessories glittered in the firelight. The night seemed as though it had been created for the sole purpose of framing him.
A thrill was sent up Evbo’s spine from the sight, overwhelming his senses and ringing in his ears. An expectation permeated the air – unspoken, but impossible to ignore. As a direct response, nerves coiled in his gut, cold and biting in comparison to the heat still lingering on his cheek.
He stared at his companion, his old enemy, his future betrayer. There was an invisible knife against his throat, and Evbo could feel it cutting into his skin as he swallowed. One wrong move, his world would come to an end.
He knew what he wanted to say – what the situation urged him to say – but he also knew exactly why he couldn’t. Nothing good would come from this. No amount of yearning, pleading, praying would change what fate had written for them.
Saccharine sweetness disguised a bitterness deeper that would be impossible for them to overcome in a singular, intimate moment. Two enemies, despite hearts that beat in tune with one another, were impossible allies. Their goals were immediate contradictions. In order to see a winner emerge from this, there had to similarly be a loser.
Evbo’s heart hid behind his suffocating lungs, its drumming dampened by cruel reality. His question changed in an instant, “Where… did you get all the compasses?”
The expectations died around them.
“The compasses?”
His companion echoed the inquiry with a quiet confusion, before it occurred to him what exactly was being asked. All at once, Seawatt’s countenance shifted, shoulder’s tightening and brows knitting. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if blocking off his own heart from view.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Seawatt said, a sharpened neutrality returning to his voice. “I was just searching through the chests, and I happened to find them. Lucky, I guess.”
It was rehearsed, a pre-practiced answer. Evbo felt himself smile, though he was sure it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Lucky.”
A silence fell over them, lukewarm and distant. Their fire was dying. Their time was up.
Within those seconds of nothing, every doubt was confirmed, and every hope was dashed. Evbo saw the future unfolding between them, completely powerless to stop it. Seawatt dipped his head in a respectful nod, and turned away fully. Never again would they see eye-to-eye. Not in this life.
“Goodnight, Champion.”