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“Do you like it?”
Spoke couldn’t get himself to look up at Ash, breath caught in his throat. Of all things, he hadn’t expected to be standing where he did, in a bedroom lit by purple candles, with a ceiling painted to hold the story of creation, with curtains more expensive than the price on his head hiding away the night sky outside. He was frozen on the spot, like his feet were nailed to the floor covered in sheepskin and cowhide rugs.
In front of him, an armour stand held some of the most beautiful clothes he’d seen in his entire life. He’d never been able to even dream of wearing something like this. Yet here Ash was, offering it to him freely.
He forced himself to nod, the fear of accidentally ignoring him much stronger than the shock coiling his stomach into knots. And it wasn’t a lie. Of course he liked it. The suit would need some tailoring—Ash didn’t entirely guess his size right, even if it was close—but already it looked perfect. He couldn’t take his eyes off the purples mixed in with the black, off the golden details sewn in, off the armour pieces that glimmered in the candlelight. The netherite pauldron on one shoulder, the vambrace on the other side and the leggings looked beautiful with all the engraved decorations, and while they obviously served a more ceremonious purpose, Spoke knew from just looking at them that they’d be able to withstand a pretty damn hefty blow.
“Go on then, try it on.”
Those words were what finally made him turn his head back to Ash. The smoke of his potion effects didn’t stop him from shivering at the sight of the mafia leader so casually in front of him. The invisibility didn’t mean he was any less terrified of how he could get him killed in seconds. He stood there like a king, seemingly unwilling to get his hands—which were pushed into his pockets, arms hanging lazily by his sides—dirty, even if Spoke knew very well how much blood stained them.
He didn’t move from his spot, just tilted his head at his hesitation. Spoke felt the shiver crawl back up his spine, goosebumps on his arms and neck as if a cold draft had come through the mansion towards them. Was he just going to stay there? Well, of course he wouldn’t let anyone alone in his bedroom, he was too careful for that.
As if he’d read his mind, his lips split into a nasty grin. “You’re invisible, aren’t you? You might be my favourite, fish bucket, but that doesn’t mean I trust you. So far, you’ve done what I told you only with a bit of needed pushing. So go on. There’s more invis in the barrels by the wall if you really need them.”
Spoke swallowed down the protest on his tongue. He couldn’t expose himself now, just because he was scared of any kind of vulnerability in front of Ash. He was right too, his complete invisibility would hide him just as well without his armour. In fact, it would hide him so much better, he hardly had any reason to fear. Ash would still probably know how to track him, with him being so used to invisible players and all.
Knowing he could no longer delay, he reached to pull the helmet off his head. The cool netherite sat heavily in his hands before he put it away on the only place he knew where: Ash’s bed. Something about this was strangely intimate, them together in a room meant just for one of them, Spoke putting his personal items where only Ash was supposed to be. Eyes burned into his back as he unclipped the straps of his armour. One by one, the pieces stacked up on the bed, to be put on the armour stand later.
Minutes later, all Ash could recognise him by was the smoke of the potion rising from his body. With none of his armour, it would take a diamond-trimmed player no more than one hit to kill him.
His breath left him shakily. It took effort to look back up at Ash, who watched him like a hawk, almost as if he could see right into his eyes and read his mind. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, though it didn’t help in the slightest with how tight his chest felt with nerves. Why was Ash giving him this? Why did he allow him in his private room like this? A random, invisible player he didn’t even know? His gaze glued to the mafia leader, he tried to find anything, anything at all, to tell him the reason.
It didn’t give him anything, not even impatience as Ash tilted his head and stared back at him. He didn’t look bored, he didn’t look excited, he only watched— he’d mentioned it at some point, at one of Spoke’s lowests, that he enjoyed just watching.
Turning his back was probably the worst thing to do. Still, he did exactly that, reaching over his shoulders to grab at his hoodie and pull it over his head. The skin underneath burned with how watched he felt.
But it wasn’t supposed to be weird, it was just Ash, who liked to watch even if he couldn’t see. It didn’t matter that he placed his hoodie by the pile of his stuff and saw it slowly flicker back into the visible spectrum as the invisibility stopped affecting it, it didn’t matter that he ground his teeth together and shivered when he took off his shoes and pants too. It wasn’t supposed to matter because no one could actually see him. He wasn’t exposed at all, more hidden than most people in the mafia, and yet his skin crawled at the mere idea of Ash behind him.
He wouldn’t kill him. He had no right to be so sure, but he knew Ash wouldn’t kill him. The knowledge clogged up his throat, made the taste on his tongue sour.
“I had this made specifically for you, y’know?”
The silence must’ve been too much for Ash to bear. Spoke clenched his fists and finally turned to face him, and those eyes were boring straight into his own. He felt skinned to the bone, insides exposed for him to see. And when Ash finally looked away, he couldn’t even sigh in relief.
“I don’t do this, the whole—y’know?” He made some vague gestures towards clothes tailored to him specifically, then sighed and shrugged before pushing his hand back into his pocket. “I haven’t done any … ceremonies, not for the other diamond players. You’re special, I want you to know that.”
Pride warmed his chest. Immediately after, shame made him bow his head. What was he doing, taking those words to his heart?
“You worked harder than the others to get the trims and the mace. You deserve them.”
To distract himself from the words as they wormed their way into a permanent spot in the forefront of his mind, he took the clothes from the armour stand. His hands shook as he slipped on layer after layer, the occasional praise ringing in his ears, and while they covered up his skin, it didn’t help the goosebumps on the back of his neck.
It took him too long to notice the clothes didn’t go invisible the moment he put them on. When he did, he paused, hands trailing the edges of his suit jacket. His invis was running out, and the lingering smoke wasn’t enough to affect the fabrics. He swallowed dryly, turning to Ash slowly as he pulled the netherite vambrace over his hand and secured it around his forearm.
Eyes dragged up and down his body, taking in every detail as if he didn’t know everything about it already. “It’s a bit loose around the waist. Don’t worry, I’ll get that fixed for you,” he commented, finally pulling his hands from his pockets to push himself to his feet.
Spoke didn’t move when he approached. He was expected to keep this, to wear it more often. Did he mind at all that he’d have to wear this again, for Ash of all people?
He held his breath so it wouldn’t catch. Ash stopped in front of him, easily a head taller than him. He stared down at him, watching every movement, as slight as they could be, with interest. Finally, he clicked his tongue, almost like he remembered something he’d forgotten.
“Your invis is running out,” he said, like a fact, because of course he’d noticed the same thing Spoke did. A hand raised to settle on his shoulder, holding him for a moment before he moved to smooth out some wrinkles. The air that hit him when Ash quietly breathed out had his face heating up. Surely he’d been like this with other people before. Still, he felt so special underneath the gaze that bordered on affectionate but was mostly proud, underneath the praise Ash claimed he only had for him. He didn’t want to think of anyone else receiving such gentle treatment as the hand moved achingly slowly to his neck, thumb tracing his jaw experimentally.
“Breathe, Spoke.”
Suddenly, the hand wasn’t there to draw him in, but there to keep him trapped in place. The air was forced from his lungs, and a quiet gasp followed it in his panic. How? How did he know? He’d been careful, hadn’t he?
Ash stared into his eyes, right into his soul. Now, as he moved his hand to grab onto his chin, still as gentle as before, it became obvious he knew exactly where to hold him and he knew exactly where to look. Ash knew him. It didn’t matter what gave it away or who sold him out. What mattered was that he knew, and that he hadn’t killed him for it yet.
He must’ve noticed his shock, because he huffed out a scoff of a laugh, breath ruffling his hair. “What, you thought I wouldn’t notice? Do you think I’m stupid?”
The grip on his chin tightened, just a little. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it made it easier for him to pull him closer, to force him to step forward until their faces were close enough to whisper secrets. Spoke’s skin crawled. He couldn’t get himself to shake his head.
“It’s okay, I’m not mad. I’ve known for a while. You’ve been … useful. But not just that, I really do like you. You’re smart, and you’re just like me. There’s some things we still need to work on, but you’re a good soldier, Spoke.”
Finally, Ash let him go. He moved back immediately, though he couldn’t get too far with the armour stand blocking his way. The other hummed at that.
Before another silence could settle between them, he pulled something from his inventory. “Drink this,” he instructed. Spoke’s eyes fell on the glass filled with what was obviously milk. He … wanted him to lose his invisibility.
“There’s no reason to hide anymore, I already know who you are. I want to see your face and I want to hear your voice. No tricks, no nothing.”
He had half the mind to refuse the glass. But it was useless, like Ash said. He knew. His shock had proven it, thanks to his stupid inability to hide it. So, shakily, he raised his hand to take the glass from Ash with care, even his hand shook. This was dangerous, too dangerous.
The unfamiliar weight of the gifted clothes were a strange comfort, the shirt hugging his body tightly, the collar snugly around his throat. He swallowed dryly, once, and licked his lips at how tight it sat for just a moment. It almost felt like Ash was holding him as he tilted his head back and the collar brushed against his skin, like a threat that it could choke him any second just like him. The glass was cool against his lips as he finally dared to take a sip. All of it was too much in the moment, and yet he did exactly what Ash asked of him.
Satisfaction coloured Ash’s eyes in a darker shade. A smile played at his lips as he watched him drink, slow as he was. Not impatiently, he raised a finger to tip the glass higher. Spoke drank, gulping down the milk as Ash commanded, unable to stop now that he had no say about it anymore.
All effects inside his body dissipated slowly. His hand flickered back to visibility right in front of him. This was it—he’d surely feel the blade plunge into his stomach as Ash’s smile turned into a wicked grin.
“Good.” He took the glass and shoved it into his inventory to be forgotten about. His hands returned to his face, cupping his cheeks, fingers just barely pushing into his hair. Slowly, he turned him from left to right, studied him carefully. “Are you going to stay quiet?”
Spoke had to clear his throat to find his voice again. His eyebrows were pulled into a permanent frown of worry. “I—why? Why haven’t you killed me?” Voice rough from disuse, he had to swallow down the ache in his throat.
A hum. He seemed to think about his answer before settling on something with a low chuckle. “I just want to see what you’ll do.” When no reply came, he sighed softly. “I know you’re here to kill me, Spoke. I know you’ve been climbing my ranks to get me to trust you. You almost had me fooled, almost.
“But I’m smarter than you take me for. I know you. I know how you work. We’re not so different after all. I didn’t kill you because I want to know how far you’re willing to go. Right now, you seem pretty content where you are, hm? You like my praise, you like my attention, you like it when I’m giving you things you haven’t dared to even dream of. I know you, Spoke.
“The pieces are on the board. It’s an uneven and unfair match against me but you’ve got your pieces in a pretty strong position. I’m here to see how you play the game.”
Spoke tore his eyes away, choosing to stare at the fur-covered floor instead. His face burned at the laugh it pulled from Ash. Why did he have to be so dramatic? Why did he have to be so right?
“Ah, the inner conflict. Delicious.” A finger moved to brush some hair out of his face. With the flick of his wrist, he pulled something else from his inventory. A set of golden bands and chains, which caught Spoke’s eyes again in an instant. He was playing with him again. “Something else for you, free of charge.”
He said nothing as the golden jewelry was attached to his horns. Friends and family were supposed to decorate his horns, as a sign of love, enemies weren’t supposed to come anywhere near them. But … he didn’t move away as Ash trailed his horns with an interested smile on his lips. It felt nicer than he’d ever admit out loud to be pet as if he were loved.
“What move will you make next? You’ve lost your knights, haven’t you? Do you strike? Do you play defensive? Do you, as a queen, change your colours? You’ve got so many moves at the tips of your fingers. Is it too daunting?”
He wouldn’t nod, he wouldn’t give Ash the satisfaction. It seemed that no matter what options he had, the other knew what he was doing, where he was going. Ash knew the winning moves, Spoke knew nothing. He hardly knew how to play chess at all. What was he supposed to do when he didn’t control his own strings?
“You could stand right by my side … but you already know that. The ceremony is soon, you have my offer already. I’m curious to see where you’ll go, Spoke. There’s not much to go back to after all.”
Finally, Ash let go of him and stepped away. Spoke could sag in relief, clenching his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, electric purple eyes caught his own with amusement.
“Clean your mess off my bed and be ready in half an hour. There will be food, don’t bother with invis. I want everyone to see you.”
Ash moved to his doors, turning his back to Spoke for the first time … ever? He pushed them open and looked over his shoulder again.
“Blood looks good on you, by the way. I look forward to seeing it more often.”
His attention snapped down to his hands. Old blood caked them, from a fight he’d forced himself to move on from. Blinking, he saw the dead body on the floor. Blinking again, he was left with just the redness that stood out like fire in a forest on his hands.
The second time he’d killed someone had taken a lot longer than the first, but somehow, it was easier. Easier to swipe his sword and block attacks, easier to pot up and attack with all the fervour of a chained and cornered dog, easier to rip away shield and armour, easier to wrap his hands around a throat of someone he’d recognise if he could’ve seen through the tears and keep them there until they stopped struggling.
He had to clean them. Why hadn’t he before?
“You did well,” was the last thing Ash said before the doors shut behind him and left Spoke in a room he didn’t know what to do with.
He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Was this what he wanted? Did he have the guts to turn back and face the murders? Did he have the strength to keep going and serve someone he should’ve hated? Was he ready to justify everything he did, either way?