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Wemmbu stood at the foot of Manepear's bed, watching the blanket rise and fall in sync with his overdramatic snoring.
He blinked; the rhythmic noise of his netherite boot against jungle planks growing faster, more frantic.
“Alright,” he said, “nap's over. Let's go back to training.”
Manepear only snored louder in response.
“C'mon Mane,” Wemmbu whined. “I don't have time for this.”
Manepear finally turned around and muttered, “Nonsense, bro. There's always time for a nap.”
“No?” His voice came out exasperated. “I came here to train, bro. Not to watch you sleep all day like a goddamn housecat.”
Manepear shook his head. “Wemmbu, Wemmbu, Wemmbu. You just don't get it, bro. This”—he patted the pillow next to his—“is literally part of your training.”
Wemmbu stared at the obnoxiously orange woolen sheets—at the gentle creases that formed on them when Mane tugged the blanket further over himself. They looked so soft, so welcoming. He stopped tapping his foot.
“You're— you're joking. You have to be joking.”
“Nah, bro. I'm literally not,” Manepear said. “And besides, I'm the master here aren't I?”—Wemmbu resisted the urge to cringe at Mane's enunciation of the word ‘master’—“You gotta listen to what I say. And I say we're napping.” His words sounded matter-of-fact, final; despite being incredibly stupid.
Still, Wemmbu glared at the floor, then glanced back at the bed. “Fine.”
Manepear’s face split into—in Wemmbu’s opinion—an extremely goofy grin, and he scooted to the side as he lifted the blanket.
Wemmbu crawled in, the wool gentle against his tense shoulders as he laid down. The warmth of the pillow soothed the throbbing headache he’d been harboring for hours, quieting his racing mind. The world momentarily seemed distant, fading.
His eyes shot open. He needed to stay alert, always. Mane said this was part of training; probably a test. He could very well pull out his sword to stab Wemmbu in the back, as punishment for letting down his guard.
Instead, at that instant, Manepear’s arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Wemmbu blinked, heart racing.
What?
He buried his head in the crook of Wemmbu’s neck, surprisingly calm and tender. Wemmbu didn’t dare move. He inhaled, bracing himself for whatever Manepear had planned.
Moments passed in silence—no sound nor movement save for Mane’s steady breaths. The blanket settled over his limbs, wrapping them in its tenderness and engulfing them in its warmth. Wemmbu found himself relaxing in Manepear’s embrace, unclenching his jaw as his breathing smoothened. The falling of his eyelids grew harder to fight with each passing second.
He breathed in the faint scent of junglewood, alongside something that smelled akin to coconuts and…
“Pineapple?” Wemmbu blurted.
“Hmm?” Came Manepear’s response, long and drowsy.
“Why do you smell like pineapple?”
A pause, then a snort. “You’re smelling me?”
Wemmbu blinked, all traces of sleep departing from him in an instant. His limbs went stiff, face burning. His position between Mane’s arms suddenly seemed suffocating.
He needed to run far away and hide for eternity. He couldn’t move.
A hand ran its fingers through his hair.
He heard Manepear giggle, “hey, man. Loosen up a little.”
A strange, indecipherable noise escaped Wemmbu’s lips. He couldn’t breathe.
“Relax, Wemmbu,” Manepear said, pulling him tighter, and Wemmbu pushed him in an attempt to break free of his grasp. “Why’re you acting like you’re about to get jumped?”
He turned his head to face Mane’s. “What if I am? What if you’re gonna kill me?” he sputtered, breaths coming out too fast, still struggling to escape the confines of the bed.
Manepear’s eyes remained hidden behind his blindfold, but his lips broke into a grin and he started to chuckle. “You’re funny, bro,” he said.
Wemmbu stared at him, heart still beating faster than a string duper. Could Mane feel it?
He remained silent.
Mane stopped laughing. “You’re serious?” Wemmbu had to look away. “You actually think I’m gonna kill you?”
Wemmbu shut his eyes.
The sound of Mane’s cackling filled the room. He pulled Wemmbu tighter, resting his head on Manepear’s shoulder.
“Bro,” he said, in between his laughter. “You're so stupid, bro.”
Wemmbu stayed quiet as Mane continued to giggle, as if they were in the funniest situation to have ever occurred in the history of the server.
A few moments passed, then Wemmbu tried to laugh with him, “Y-Yeah, bro. That was— I-It was, like, really genuinely stupid of me to think. Not gonna lie.”
He didn’t hear when Manepear had stopped laughing.
“Wait, are you like- actually scared? Like- like, actually actually?” He said.
Blinking and gulping hard as the pathetic attempt at a laugh broke off, Wemmbu just shrugged.
Manepear turned in his direction. A pair of warm fingers lifted Wemmbu’s head up, so that his eyes met the bright orange blindfold; so that Mane’s soft breathing caressed his face. His own breath hitched in his throat and it took all his strength not to turn away again.
“Hey,” Mane whispered, placing his hand on Wemmbu’s arm. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You know that.” He held him closer, then added, with his sneaky, stupid, adorable smirk, “Not without your consent, at least.”
A second passed as the double-meaning behind Manepear’s words settled in. This time, when Wemmbu smiled and shoved him in the chest, Mane laughed.
“Alright, bro.” Wemmbu said, his own giggle carrying away a large portion of the tension that had settled in his heart.
As the laughter died, a comfortable silence filling the air in its absence, Manepear wrapped his arms around him again—and Wemmbu didn’t stop him. He pulled the blanket up over them, voluntarily snuggling into Mane’s shoulder.
A couple minutes later, the room filled with Manepear’s snoring. Wemmbu blinked slower, his eyes closed for longer each time.
He didn’t fully trust Mane. He couldn’t.
But maybe just this once, Wemmbu thought as he shut his eyes one more time, drifting off into the darkness as he lay in Manepear’s arms.