Chapter Text
The pleasing fragrance of lavender and vanilla drifts through the air, gently clouding his senses. It settles over the room, sweet and calming, seeping into every breath he takes. The aroma clings to the strands of hair slipping through his fingers, replacing the harsh memories of earlier.
It's a vast improvement from an hour ago, maybe two.
Back then, the only scents clinging to the air were ash, soil, and blood. The thickness of it was suffocating. The odor had seemed impossible to escape, soaking into everything around them. It had coated Wemmbu just as thoroughly as the battlefield itself.
Ash had rested on his shoulders in pale gray flakes, scattered like snow over the dark, torn fabric. Dirt had been tangled throughout his long, matted hair, woven between strands that he usually takes great care of. Every movement had stirred faint dust from him, covering the ground that Eggchan spent at least ten minutes sweeping.
But what stood out the most was the nauseating amount of blood.
There had been so much of it.
It had streaked Wemmbu's face in splotches, creating a maniac look. Crimson had soaked his hands, settled beneath his nails, and smeared along his wrists. The ebony, thick heels he wore were stained; leaving bloodied footsteps everywhere he stepped. The sight had been overwhelming, difficult to comprehend, even harder to accept.
To Eggchan, it feels impossible to connect that image with the person sitting quietly before him. No matter how many times it's happened, how many times he has seen Wemmbu's hands coated in the blood of enemies.
Now, the same hands that once dripped with violence rest loosely in Wemmbu's lap.
Eggchan gently draws the brush downward again.
The bristles glide through long violet strands, smoothing them carefully. Without the dirt and over a dozen knots, Wemmbu's hair falls in glossy weaves, soft as silk between Eggchan's fingers. Each stroke untangles another small imperfection, coaxing the strands back into order.
With how slow he's moving, it feels strangely peaceful.
Eggchan exhales softly, grateful that the terrible smells had faded in the bath. No more smoke stinging his nose. No more coppery sharpness clinging to the air. The awful red stains are gone as well, washed away until Wemmbu's skin looks almost untouched.
..Almost.
The library around them rests in heavy silence. Tall shelves loom like dark silhouettes against the walls. Eggchan's book lies untouched on the lectern, the least of his concerns.
A lantern sits several feet away on a small table, its golden glow flickering. The light barely reaches them, leaving the corners of the room submerged in shadow. It helps soothe their nerves with no bright lights.
Then, a voice draws Eggchan's attention back, his subconscious movement faltering.
“Egg?”
It's so quiet that Eggchan swore he might've missed it if it weren't so silent in the room. The rare moments where Wemmbu speaks in a hushed voice are often when he's drowning in negativity, or is calm enough to not feel the need to be loud—hence why it's so rare.
Truthfully, Eggchan wishes he could hear the soft tone more. He wishes he could hear it with the knowledge Wemmbu feels safe, relaxed around him.
“Yeah, Wem?” His voice is equally as hushed, barely above a whisper.
Eggchan enjoys the nicknames they have for each other, as though a symbol they’re close friends–even though they have other physical symbols of that. Such as the pendant of an eyeball that Wemmbu wears near his neck, the most vulnerable part of his body. He claimed at the time, since it’s his most vulnerable, the pendant would be safe there as he naturally protects that area.
There is a brief pause. Wemmbu doesn't often pause in his speech, he usually spouts out words as he’s processing them–which causes him to stutter a lot. When he does pause, he’s often in intense thought, really thinking a situation through or something like that.
Is something wrong?
“I'm starving, bro.”
Oh.
“Bro had me thinking he was ‘bout to lore drop or something”, Eggchan says with a chuckle–compliented with the sound of Wemmbu’s loud laugh, the laugh that breaks the sound barrier. He likes how easy it is to get Wemmbu to laugh so freely, as though they have nothing and no one to hide from.
“Bro– Bro, what??” Wemmbu manages to say between huffs, turning to look at Eggchan with a stupid smile on his face; looking like he’s one second away from dying in another fit. “You’re up to date with all the lore already, there’s like.. Nothing to drop.”
“My bad, bro.”
“It’s okay, Egg, I forgive you.”
Eggchan snorts at the response, quickly finishing up Wemmbu’s hair by tying it in a ponytail. As an added detail, two plaits hanging on the sides of his bangs, the way Wemmbu prefers it to be. He never explained the reasons behind them, but Eggchan has an idea.
The first plait came after ManePear’s disappearance, the abandonment before vanishing to who knows where for years. It was the first change in Wemmbu’s hair, considering he always kept it in an updo without ever changing–claiming it was a waste of time.
The second plait was when Rejoicin died.
On instinct, without being able to help it, Eggchan glances to the left of Wemmbu. Keeping his eyes on the ghastly figure, the figure who rarely meets his eyes but always watches over. He quickly adverts his eyes anyways, comically gulping for no reason.
He worries for Rejoicin, worries that the ghost will never reach the aether of where souls are laid to rest. Eggchan isn’t sure what Rejoice is holding on to, but he really hopes it isn’t Wemmbu–because he isn’t sure what he’d do if Wemmbu were to die.
“Should we eat?”
“Tomorrow, I gotta pass out for an hour first. I’m so tired after all that”, Wemmbu casually answers. Eggchan doesn’t dare argue back, recalling the many times Wemmbu has lost his appetite after being forced to eat. The Angel isn’t really hungry himself, so he tries to gulp his worry down and move on.
“Bro might actually be in the trenches if he’s actually gonna sleep.”
“Shut up, Egg.”
A clear joke, “okay, my bad, I’ll never talk again.” He sighs, laughing at himself soon after. Eggchan stands up when he’s done his fit, moving across the room to place the brush on a high shelf–one out of Wemmbu’s reach, he can’t help but mentally note. He prepares himself for the complaining and whining that’ll come in the morning, it’s just that Eggchan has no other free shelves. All are filled with precious books he has no intention of moving for the sake of Wemmbu’s hairbrush that’s rarely used.
Feeling rather thirsty, he grabs an empty glass bottle and finds the cauldron filled with clean water. He tips it in slowly, watching the water seep in while listening to the sound of more comical gulps. Behind him, there’s a strange fluttering noise every couple of seconds. Eggchan tries to subtly listen closely, leaning back.
But unfortunately, the Above appears to not be on his side as he accidentally leans too far back–grabbing the cauldron to catch himself, which ends in the entire thing tipping over and splashing water across him, the ground, maybe the carpet. Eggchan cringes at his fall, then the mess he’ll have to clean up.
However, all the nasty emotions vanish at the sound of Wemmbu’s light chuckle. Hearing said flutter again, then seeing his friend hovering above him. Eggchan didn’t even realise he fell on the ground, having the knowledge of it seems to make the pain bloom on the back of his head.
“You good?” Wemmbu hums, meaning to sound caring–Eggchan can tell he’s trying desperately not to laugh, at least not before knowing if Eggchan is okay. Evident when Wemmbu does, in fact, burst after Eggchan nods in answer.
“I’ll take care of the chores and cooking ‘till you get better, don’t worry, my little Eggy.”
The sarcastic comment brings a smile on his face, knowing Wemmbu won’t be doing anything of what he said–it’s a waste of breath to expose the lie though. “Yeah, thanks, bro.” Eggchan replies instead, watching his friend move across the library to assumingly find a towel. Anything useful, hopefully.
“By the way, I’m going out tomorrow morning. You gonna come?”
Huh. The war was a mere eleven hours ago, it’s a shock to hear Wemmbu wants to venture off somewhere else the next day. “Uh, where to?” Eggchan finds himself asking, unsure of his answer. Wemmbu doesn’t usually leave the choice to him, it must be a place he knows Eggchan won’t be fond of.
“The graveyard.”
“I’ll chill here”, he instantly answers. He hates the thought of leaving Wemmbu alone, but graveyards are his only weakness. Ghosts and spirits already distort his vision with the sheer amount there is around the server, graveyards are littered with them. Eggchan knows he won’t have a good time at all there, nor would he be much use to whatever Wemmbu plans to do there.
He hears Wemmbu hum in acknowledgment, soon having a towel thrown over his body still sprawled on the wet floor. When Eggchan sits up to pat himself dry, saving the floor for last, the water has already soaked in far enough for him to feel it against his skin uncomfortably.
“Okay, we can eat lunch together when I get back then.”
“Sounds good,” Eggchan replies without much thought. For the next couple of minutes, if not an hour, he hardly pays attention to what Wemmbu is saying. Too busy cleaning, drying, finding a new change of clothes–the normal. In the back of his head, he’s excited to eat lunch tomorrow without any army pulling up on him and Wemmbu.
He hopes these peaceful times can last forever.