Chapter Text
It was exactly 11:00 PM.
The small apartment above the town library was completely silent. The only sound in the entire room was the soft, steady ticking of the old clock hanging on the wall.
Wemmbu was sitting on the large, soft fabric sofa in the middle of the living room. He was wearing an oversized gray t-shirt that Minute had given him to borrow, since his own clothes were dirty from being thrown onto the porch. Wemmbu was completely awake. He was not sleepy at all. Every time he tried to close his eyes and relax, the nasty bruises on his arm and his left leg would throb with a dull, heavy pain. The pain kept his brain wide awake.
His phone was back at his own house. He had left it in his bag before his mother had lost her mind and kicked him out into the cold night. Because he did not have his phone, he did not have any video games to play. He did not have any reels to watch to distract his mind from his sore body. He just had to sit there and feel the pain.
To give himself something to do, he had taken Spoke’s notes from the coffee table. Honestly, he had basically stolen them just to have something to look at. Spoke’s handwriting was very messy. Wemmbu flipped through the lined paper, trying to memorize the laws to make his brain tired. But honestly, he was not in the mood for reading at all.
The notes were about some math lesson. They talked about log laws and some weird rule about whatever the letter 'e' was supposed to be.
"What does this ‘e’ even do?" Wemmbu mumbled to himself, frowning deeply at the paper. "This is so stupid..."
He closed the notebook and threw it onto the coffee table. It landed on the wood with a soft smack.
With nothing else to do, Wemmbu just stared. He leaned his head back against the soft cushions of the sofa and stared up at the plain white ceiling. The streetlights from outside shined gently through the window, casting long, dark shadows across the room.
He thought about the look on his mother's face when she locked the door. He thought about how cold the concrete porch had felt against his skin. He wondered if she was sleeping right now, perfectly happy, while her son was sitting in a library covered in bruises. The thought made his chest feel hot with anger, but he pushed it away. He was too tired to be angry.
His thinking was suddenly interrupted by a very quiet sound.
The wooden door to Spoke’s bedroom slowly squeaked open. Spoke walked out into the living room. He was wearing his loose, comfortable pajamas. Even in the dim light, Wemmbu could see that Spoke's green eyes were very red and puffy. His nose was red, too. It was very obvious that Spoke had been crying alone in his room for a long time.
Wemmbu sat up straight. He moved too fast, and a sharp pain shot through his bruised ribs, but he ignored it completely.
"What's wrong, bro?" asked Wemmbu softly, as Spoke walked up to him.
Spoke did not reply right away. He just stood there for a second, looking down at the floorboards. Then, he walked around the small coffee table and sat down right next to Wemmbu on the sofa. Spoke did not leave any space between them. He just leaned his side directly against Wemmbu’s side, resting his head carefully on Wemmbu's good right shoulder.
Wemmbu was usually a very loud and annoying person. He loved to yell, he loved to argue, and he loved to prove that he was better than everyone else. But right now, he was perfectly quiet. He lifted his uninjured hand and gently ruffled Spoke’s messy dark hair.
"No way you got scared of a nightmare at this age," Wemmbu joked lightly. He tried to use his normal teasing voice, hoping it would make Spoke smile.
But Spoke did not smile. He just closed his eyes tightly and took a long, shaky breath.
Wemmbu and Spoke were kind of raised together. It was a very strange situation. Wemmbu had been visiting and staying in this library since he was eleven years old. Whenever his house got too loud, or his mother got too mean and started breaking things, Wemmbu would run away. He would walk all the way to the library and hide in the back aisles.
Back then, Minute was just nineteen years old. Minute was just a regular teenage worker in the library. He spent his days shelving books and fixing the old computers. But Minute had always been so nice to Wemmbu. Minute would let him stay past closing time, giving him snacks and a quiet place to sit.
And then, there was Spoke. Spoke was only nine years old back then, but somehow, he was in the exact same school grade as Wemmbu because he was smart enough to skip grades. Spoke was a tiny, loud kid with a lot of chaos in his eyes.
Wemmbu still did not fully understand the whole story. He did not know why Minute had adopted Spoke. What could have possibly happened that caused an already troubled, young nineteen-year-old guy to adopt a little child? Minute was single. Minute barely made any money at the library. It made no sense.
But whatever the reason was, it was not Wemmbu’s problem. Minute had raised Spoke well. Minute had given Spoke a safe home, and Minute had always kept the library doors open for Wemmbu when things got bad. That was all that mattered.
The living room was silent again for a few long minutes. Wemmbu just kept his arm resting near Spoke, letting the younger boy take all the time he needed to calm down.
Then, Spoke opened his eyes. He looked blankly at the dark TV screen across the room.
"Why do parents even give birth to us if they don't want us...?" Spoke suddenly asked. His voice was completely broken. It was so quiet that Wemmbu almost did not hear it. "Why do they just bring us into this world and then... leave us...?"
Wemmbu stopped moving his hand. The question hit him right in the chest. It felt like a heavy rock dropping straight down into his stomach.
Wemmbu did not have an answer.
He really didn't. Probably because Wemmbu asked this exact same terrible question every single time his own mother got mad at him. He asked it in his head every time she yelled about his grades. He asked it every time she threw household items at his head. And he definitely asked it last night, when she locked the heavy front door and left him in the cold dark.
He did not know why parents did that. Why waste your money on buying food, clothes, and a house for someone you do not even want to exist? Why have a kid if you are just going to treat them like actual garbage?
Wemmbu stared down at his own bruised arm. The purple and blue marks looked almost black in the dim light of the living room. They looked ugly and painful.
"I... don't know..." muttered Wemmbu. His loud voice sounded a little bit raspy and weak.
Spoke pulled his knees all the way up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. He made himself as small as possible on the large sofa.
"I looked in the mirror last night," Spoke whispered. A small, shiny tear fell from his eye and rolled slowly down his cheek. "After I saw you... after I saw what your mom did to you. I went into my room and I looked in my mirror."
Wemmbu listened carefully. For the first time in his life, he did not interrupt. He did not try to make a joke.
"I didn't recognize my own face, Wemmbu," Spoke continued, his voice shaking with fresh fear. "I looked at my eyes, and they did not feel like my eyes. I started thinking about my real parents. The unknown people who threw me away when I was a tiny baby. I started wondering if they were like your mom. Or if they were like Flame's parents."
Wemmbu frowned. He did not like where this was going. "Spoke..."
"And then," Spoke gasped, taking a quick, panicked breath as if the memory was choking him. "My face in the mirror... it changed. It looked so angry. It looked full of hate. It felt like my real parents were staring right at me from the glass, hating me. Telling me that I am bad."
Spoke buried his face into his knees and started to cry again. His small shoulders shook up and down.
"I am so scared, Wemmbu," Spoke cried softly into his pajamas. "What if I am bad? What if I am exactly like them? They left me because I am a mistake. And what if one day, I turn into an angry monster just like them? What if I hurt Minute? What if I hurt you guys?"
Wemmbu felt a sharp, painful pinch in his heart. He absolutely hated seeing Spoke like this. Spoke was usually the silly one. Spoke was the one who made stupid projects for the sake of being there. Spoke was the one who argued about stupid stuff like pie charts. Seeing Spoke broken down with such deep fear was terrible.
Wemmbu shifted his body again, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. He turned so he was completely facing Spoke.
"Hey. Look at me," Wemmbu said firmly.
Spoke sniffled and slowly lifted his heavy head. He wiped his runny nose with the back of his pajama sleeve.
"You are not a monster," Wemmbu told him. His loud voice was very serious and completely steady. "You are not like them. You do not even know them, bro. They are total strangers."
"But I look like them." Spoke argued weakly, more tears falling down his face.
"So what?" Wemmbu said, raising his voice just a tiny bit to make his point perfectly clear. "Look at me, Spoke. My dad is a complete loser who ruined our family and ran away. My mom is a crazy, violent person who beats up her own son. I look like my dad. I have my mom's loud, annoying voice."
Spoke blinked slowly, looking closely at Wemmbu's bruised face.
"But I am not them," Wemmbu continued, pointing a strong finger at his own chest. "Yeah, I am annoying. Yeah, I yell a lot and I complain about everything. But I do not hurt people. I would never lock someone out in the freezing cold. I would never leave you. You are your own person, bro. Blood does not mean anything."
Spoke stared at Wemmbu. The words were very simple, but they made a lot of sense.
"You think so?" Spoke asked quietly, sniffing one more time.
"I know so," Wemmbu said confidently, giving Spoke a small, classic Wemmbu smirk. "Besides, you are way too stupid to be a scary monster anyway. You spelled 'environment' without the 'n'. To be an evil monster, you need to be smart. You are just a dummy."
Spoke let out a tiny, wet laugh. It was a very small sound, but it was a real, genuine laugh. He rubbed his eyes to dry the tears. "Shut up, Wemmbu."
"I am just telling the truth, bro," Wemmbu said, relaxing his tense shoulders again. He leaned back comfortably on the sofa. "You were just stressed out. "
"Yeah," Spoke agreed softly. He rested his head back on Wemmbu's good shoulder again. "It really was."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. The heavy, sad feeling in the room started to slowly float away. The clock ticked on the wall. The air in the apartment felt a little bit lighter now.
"You know," Wemmbu said quietly, staring up at the white ceiling again. "You are actually the second luckiest one out of all of us in the group."
Spoke looked up at him in pure confusion. "How am I lucky? I don't even know my real birthday, bro."
"Because of Minute," Wemmbu answered simply.
Spoke stayed quiet, waiting for Wemmbu to explain what he meant.
"Think about it, bro," Wemmbu said, using his good hand to point toward the dark hallway where Minute's bedroom was located. "Flame's parents are scary and super strict. My mom is awful and abusive. But Minute? Minute actually chose you."
Spoke's eyes widened a little bit. He had never ever thought about it like that before.
"Minute did not have to take you in," Wemmbu explained, his loud voice full of deep, honest respect. "He was eighteen. He could have just lived his own life, gone to crazy parties, traveled, or done whatever normal teenagers do. But he looked at you, and he decided he wanted you. He wanted to be your dad. He gave up everything for you."
Wemmbu turned his head to look down at Spoke. "Your real parents might have left you. But Minute found you. And Minute is a thousand times better than any real parent in this whole town. He is the best dad ever. He even lets me sleep on his nice couch when I get kicked out, and he does not even yell at me."
Spoke smiled. A real, beautiful smile this time.
"Minute is the best," Spoke whispered happily.
"Exactly," Wemmbu said, giving Spoke’s shoulder a gentle bump. "So stop crying over stupid people you don't even know. You have a real dad right here in this apartment. And he is a really good one."
Suddenly, the wooden floorboards in the dark hallway gave a soft, long creak.
Both boys quickly turned their heads.
Minute was standing in the shadows of the hallway. He was wearing his comfortable gray sweatpants and a plain, slightly wrinkled t-shirt. His black hair was a little bit messy from sleeping. He had originally woken up to get a cold glass of water from the kitchen, but he had heard their quiet voices in the living room.
Minute looked at Spoke’s red, puffy eyes. Then he looked at Wemmbu’s bruised face. Minute walked slowly out of the shadows and into the living room.
"Why are my two dumb boys still awake?" Minute asked softly.
"Couldn't sleep," Wemmbu answered honestly, shrugging his good shoulder carefully. "My leg hurts too much."
"I had bad thoughts," Spoke admitted, looking down at his hands nervously.
Minute walked over to the sofa and sat down directly on the sturdy wooden coffee table right in front of them, so he was exactly at their eye level.
"Do you want to talk about the bad thoughts, Spoke?" Minute asked gently, looking closely at his adopted son's face.
Spoke shook his head side to side. "No. Wemmbu fixed it. He told me that blood doesn't matter at all. And that I am not a monster."
Minute slowly looked up at Wemmbu. Minute's tired eyes were completely full of pride. He gave Wemmbu a small, very thankful nod.
Wemmbu just looked away at the wall, suddenly feeling a little bit shy. He was not used to adults looking at him like he did something good. Whenever his mother looked at him, she only ever looked at him like he was a massive problem. She looked at him like he was a stain on the floor. Seeing pure gratitude from an adult made Wemmbu feel weird, but it was a warm kind of weird.
"Right," Minute said smoothly, clapping his large hands softly together to break the quiet mood. "It is way past midnight. Neither of you are going back to sleep with an empty stomach and a sad brain, that's for sure. Who else wants hot chocolate with me?"
Spoke’s bright green eyes lit up instantly. "Me!"
Wemmbu smirked, acting like his normal self again. "Only if you put extra marshmallows in mine, Minute. If there are no marshmallows, I am not drinking it."
"Deal," Minute smiled warmly.
He stood up from the coffee table and walked into the small kitchen area connected to the living room. Spoke immediately jumped off the soft sofa and followed right behind him like a little duck. Wemmbu pushed himself up much more carefully. He made sure not to put too much weight on his bad left leg and slowly walked into the kitchen too.
The kitchen was small but very cozy. The white light above the stove made the room feel warm. Minute turned on the gas stove and put a small metal pot of milk over the blue fire. He reached up into the wooden cupboard and pulled out three big, clean mugs. One mug was red for Spoke, one mug was purple for Wemmbu, and one was white for Minute.
"So, is the big presentation project finally finished?" Minute asked while he used a wooden spoon to stir the sweet chocolate powder into the warming milk.
"Yes," Spoke said proudly, leaning against the kitchen counter. "We had to fix the broken slides because Parrot's computer is a potato, but Flame typed really fast. We saved it on a small USB drive so it cannot delete itself again. We are completely ready for class."
"Good," Minute said, keeping his eyes on the warm milk. "You guys worked very hard this week. I am sure you will get a very good grade next week."
"We better get a good grade," Wemmbu said, crossing his arm over his chest and leaning heavily against the wall. "I almost died for this stupid project. If the teacher gives us a B, I am going to be so incredibly mad. I will argue with the teacher until they change it to an A."
Minute laughed softly. It was a nice sound. The milk was finally hot and bubbly. Minute carefully poured the hot chocolate into the three colored mugs. Then, he grabbed a plastic bag from the pantry and added a huge handful of soft, puffy white marshmallows into Spoke and Wemmbu’s cups. He handed them their warm drinks.
The hot ceramic mug felt amazing against Wemmbu’s cold fingers. He blew on the steam and took a small, careful sip. It was very sweet and very warm. The heat traveled all the way down his throat and into his stomach. It made his tight, anxious chest feel a lot less tight.
They stood in the small kitchen together for a long while, just drinking their hot chocolate in completely peaceful silence. Spoke looked completely relaxed now. The terrible fear of the scary mirror and his unknown real parents was completely gone from his mind. Wemmbu felt the sharp pain in his bruised body slowly turn into a soft, dull ache instead. The warm drink and the safe company made him feel protected.
When they all finally finished the last drops in their mugs, Minute washed the cups in the sink with warm water. He dried his hands on a towel and told them firmly to go back to bed.
Spoke smiled, said goodnight, and went back into his dark bedroom. Wemmbu walked slowly back to the large sofa in the living room. Minute followed him and brought Wemmbu an extra, incredibly soft blanket from the closet to keep him warm during the night.
"Sleep well, Wemmbu," Minute whispered, making sure the boy was comfortable.
"Thanks, Minute. Goodnight," Wemmbu mumbled.
When Wemmbu finally closed his heavy eyes, he did not think about his angry mother. He did not think about the cold porch or the heavy wooden door. He just thought about the sweet taste of the warm hot chocolate, and the feeling of Minute's proud smile. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep in less than five minutes.
Wemmbu woke up at 5:00 AM.
The sun had not come up yet. The apartment was completely dark and very quiet. Wemmbu opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiling. He felt wide awake. His body had rested enough, but the dull ache in his leg was starting to bother him again. His throat felt a little bit dry, so he decided he needed to get a glass of cold water.
He carefully pushed the heavy blanket off his chest. Moving was much harder this morning than it was last night. The bruises on his arm and leg had stiffened up while he slept. Every movement made him wince in pain. He gritted his teeth, forced himself to stand up from the soft sofa, and did his absolute best to quietly hobble toward the kitchen.
When he reached the kitchen doorway, he stopped.
The small light above the stove was already turned on. Minute was sitting alone at the small wooden dining table. He had a hot mug of coffee in his hands. Minute looked completely exhausted. He was staring blankly at the wall, totally zoned out in deep thought.
But when Minute heard the soft shuffling of Wemmbu's feet, he quickly noticed the boy and stood up from his chair.
"Wemmbu, don't move around that much. It will delay your healing," Minute said quickly. His deep voice was hushed so he would not wake up Spoke. He stepped over to the table and pulled a wooden chair out. "Come on, sit here. Do you need something?"
"Sorry, Minute," Wemmbu said sheepishly, carefully lowering himself into the chair. He let out a long breath as he sat down. "I just got sick of sitting on the couch all night. I needed to stretch my bad leg, and I wanted some water."
"Reasonable," replied Minute softly. He walked over to the dispenser filled a clean glass with cold water, and placed it on the table right in front of Wemmbu. Then, Minute sat back down in his own chair across the table, wrapping his big hands around his warm coffee mug.
Wemmbu took a long drink of the cold water. It felt good. He set the glass down and looked at Minute. The quiet morning air made Wemmbu feel brave. He remembered the conversation he had with Spoke last night. He remembered telling Spoke that Minute had just chosen to adopt him out of nowhere. But sitting here now, looking at Minute's tired face, Wemmbu realized that there was probably more to the story.
"I had a question, Minute... it’s a bit personal but..." Wemmbu started to ask slowly, tracing his finger along the edge of the water glass.
Minute took a slow sip of his coffee. "Mhm. Go ahead."
"Why did you adopt Spoke?" asked Wemmbu directly.
Wemmbu instantly noticed how Minute’s whole body language changed. It happened in a split second. Minute's shoulders went perfectly stiff. He stopped making eye contact with Wemmbu. He stared down into his dark coffee. The warm, relaxed energy Minute usually carried completely vanished.
"It's... a long story..." Minute said slowly. His voice sounded heavy and sad.
Wemmbu leaned slightly forward. "You can share it if you want to," said Wemmbu softly. "You have listened to all of my problems. You listened to me cry when my mom kicked me out. It's time I listen to your problems for once."
Minute went completely silent for a bit. The ticking of the clock in the living room seemed very loud in the quiet kitchen. Wemmbu started to feel nervous. He felt scared that he might have said something wrong, or that he was being too nosey.
But then, Minute let out a long, heavy sigh. He finally looked up at Wemmbu.
"Spoke is my nephew..." Minute said quietly.
Wemmbu froze.
He was totally not expecting that answer at all. But as soon as Minute said the words, a sudden rush of understanding hit Wemmbu's brain. He felt like he really should have known this entire time. Spoke and Minute had the exact same messy black hair. They had the same facial structure. If he really looked closely, they looked incredibly similar.
"Oh..." was all Wemmbu could manage to say. His loud mouth was completely out of words.
"My sister..." Minute continued. His voice was shaky, like bringing up the memory physically hurt him. "My older sister... well, let’s just say she was a lot like your mother, Wemmbu."
Wemmbu’s eyes widened. He knew exactly what that meant.
"My mother died right after giving birth to me..." Minute explained, keeping his eyes focused on the coffee mug. "So my sister and I had to live in a state orphanage for most of our childhood. My sister disliked me. No - actually, she completely hated me. She blamed me for our mother's death. She made my life terrible every. single. day."
Minute took a slow breath to calm his nerves. "I had learned to just ignore her. I promised myself that I would leave her and run away as soon as I became an adult. I was just waiting to turn eighteen so I could get a job and never see her again."
Minute paused. He rubbed his tired eyes with his hand.
"Then, she had Spoke..." Minute said softly. "It was an accident, actually. She did not want a baby. When Spoke was born, she was ready to just leave him at the hospital… She was going to abandon him or throw him into the exact same terrible orphanage system that we grew up in. I... I- I just couldn't let that happen - okay? I knew what that life was like- I could not let an innocent baby suffer…- like I did."
Wemmbu sat completely still.
"So I took Spoke," Minute said, finally looking Wemmbu right in the eyes. "I took him in. It was incredibly hard. I was young, I had barely that much money and I was terrified. But raising him... it made things a lot less lonely."
"How old were you...?" Wemmbu asked quietly, his heart beating fast.
"When Spoke was actually born? I don't really remember perfectly. I was maybe sixteen?" Minute said, shaking his head. "She legally kept him for a little while, but she barely looked at him. As soon as I turned eighteen and got my own source of steady income working in the library, I packed my bags and moved out. I took Spoke with me immediately. She was horrible to him, Wemmbu. If I had left him there with her... I don't know what would have happened..."
Minute sighed deeply again, looking suddenly very tired. "Why am I telling you all this..." he mumbled to himself. Minute looked at Wemmbu with a very serious, pleading expression. "Just - please don't tell Spoke. He does not know. He thinks he was just given up by strangers. If he found out about this... it will break his heart completely. Please keep this a secret."
Wemmbu nodded his head instantly. He did not even have to think about it.
"I promise, Minute," Wemmbu said firmly. "I will never tell him. Your secret is totally safe with me."
Wemmbu looked at Minute with a completely new understanding. They both knew exactly what it was like to survive a violent, angry family member. They both knew how much it hurt to be hated by someone who was supposed to love you.
"Thank you, Wemmbu," Minute smiled, looking very relieved. He stood up from his chair. "Now, are you going to go back to sleep, or do you want me to make some real breakfas?."
"I am not going back to sleep," Wemmbu stated proudly, lifting his chin.
Minute chuckled softly, the heavy sadness finally leaving the room. "Alright, you tough guy.”