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Spoke waited in the elevator as the glowing numbers over the automatic doors slowly grew bigger. He was already used to the tremors of it while it moved up and down, not being nervous about getting stuck like he had the first time. It stopped violently, followed by a small ding, indicating he was at the floor of the button he clicked when he entered.
He pulled his hoodie tighter around his head, before adjusting his back pack straps slightly and walking out. He starts to make his way through the hallways, ignoring the unpleasant smells that invaded his nostrils.
He doesn’t actually know what the source of the smell is, but he learnt to just not question it. It had bothered him at first, though, over time, he had grown to ignore the stench.
He stopped once he reached in front of a door, he dug through his pocket to find his key. He paused once he realized it wasn’t there. Shit. The kids at school had stolen his stuff, hadn’t they? Did they really have to take the key too?
The issue wasn’t that he couldn’t go inside. Ash, his current foster dad, was inside. He almost always was because he worked from home. And even when he was going out, he’d tell or message Spoke about it. Meaning he could easily let him in.
The issue was that the kids at School had noticeably roughed him up this time, going for his face instead of easily hideable areas like his legs, arms or stomach. He was really hoping he could just sneak away into his room like usual, considering the gash on his forehead was pretty visible, the sharp red contrasting his normal, pale skin tone.
He swallowed hard, deciding he would rather have Ash find out than being locked outside all day. He brought his hand up to the door, closing it in a fist and knocking twice, the sound in the previously pin drop silence making him instinctively wince.
He waited a bit before he heard a click, and the door creaked open, revealing the looming figure of his current foster dad. (He wouldn’t be for long. No one kept Spoke for long.) He was unneededly tall in Spoke’s opinion.
Spoke was staring up at him for a second, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. He remembered Ash mentioning how his work load had increased recently during dinner time, the one time they actually talked during the day.
He then also noticed Ash’s eyes lingering on the wound on his forehead. Shit x2. He had forgotten about it, most likely because of the recent lack of sleep he has been getting, and he instantly tilted his head to the floor, mumbling a quiet “Thank you” before walking around Ash to get to his room.
Ash didn’t stop him and Spoke didn’t look back to see how Ash reacted. He doubted the man cared anyways.
Spoke didn’t mind. It was better than those parents who pretended to for the first few days or so and then show how they actually feel. And much better than that one family who had been fostering him for content. He hated thinking about it.
Once Spoke entered, he shut the door, not slamming it because, one, he wasn’t about to make Ash irritated with him, and two, nothing had happened for him to. He’d rather not be thrown back into the orphanage because of a tantrum he causes.
He drops his bag on the floor, standing with his back to the door for a minute before sighing. He stumbled over to the bed, the lack of rest and stress getting to him. He felt dizzy. He wanted to go to sleep.
He brought his hand up to his forehead, feeling the dried, sticky blood. He also needed to clean this so he didn’t stain any of Ash’s bed sheets or pillows.
He attempts to stand up, only for the room to start spinning and him having to sit back down.
He clutched the edge of the mattress, biting his lip.
Why was he actually so pathetic right now? It was just a small injury.
He heard the door open with a creak that did not help with the headache he was having. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Ash.
Spoke was a little confused because Ash never actually came into his room, just messaging him if he needed to ask Spoke something. He didn’t speak up though, considering it was Ash’s apartment and he was allowed to go anywhere he wanted in it. Spoke didn’t really care much anyways.
“Spoke.” He heard Ash speak, voice a little distant sounding but that might just be because of his current state. “Yes?” Spoke replied, his voice coming out quieter than he would’ve liked.
The man crouched down in front of Spoke, reaching his eye level. Again. Too tall. Spoke could see the blurry shape of something red in Ash’s hand. A first aid kit? Oh. That was. Nice of him.
He glanced back at the man’s face, meeting his eyes. They didn’t hold any concern or pity, just the tired coldness they usually carried. It was comforting in a way.
“Do you mind if I help patch you up?” He asked, giving Spoke the choice. This made Spoke pause, waiting for him to say more or start anyways, but he didn't. Spoke’s grip on the mattress tightened slightly but he stiffly nodded.
Ash immediately unzipped the small bag, taking out some alcohol wipe packets and a roll of fabric bandage. He placed the white roll beside Spoke, on the bed, before ripping open the packet and pulling out the small rubbing alcohol soaked tissue out.
He reached out, starting to dab the injury with it, Spoke having to bite his tongue to keep back the hiss of the pain that wanted to escape his lips. He wasn’t actually used to the feeling of his wounds being cleaned with alcohol, considering he never really took care of them anyways.
“It’s quite pathetic how you couldn’t defend yourself.” Ash spoke up, seemingly unbothered by the way Spoke tensed up.
“I know..” He mumbled. Ash was right. He didn’t fight back, didn’t even try. He had just taken the hits and insults like a fucking puss.
It was quite again for a while, the only sounds of the bed’s legs groaning when Spoke shifted his weight slightly every now and then. Eventually, Ash moves onto the bandage, unwrapping it slowly. “I didn’t expect anything more from you either way.” He suddenly revealed, tone similar to the one someone has when speaking about the weather, and despite the fact Spoke had already assumed that, it made his heart drop instantly.
Ash was a great caretaker and the fact he thought Spoke wasn’t good enough hurt him more than he would admit. He wanted to say something, an apology, a promise to do better, an agreement, anything, but his mouth didn’t open and his gaze stayed on anywhere but Ash.
His eyes explored his room again. It was neat. Clean. Nothing about Spoke around. No posters or pictures on the wall like most teenagers his age did. It wasn’t Ash who told him not to. He just didn’t see the point of it. Ash would eventually grow tired of Spoke’s presence and he’d be gone again. Decorating the room would only make him grow attached to him. So he kept it temporary.
Soon, the bandages wrapped around his head tightened slightly as the man made a knot to keep them in place. He winced at the pressure on the wound but made no sound or move of protest.
Ash examined it for a moment before pushing himself off the ground, brushing off nonexistent dirt from his pants. He stared at Spoke for a moment, as though waiting for something. Spoke’s brain short circuits before realizing he hadn’t thanked him yet.
“Thank you, Ash..” He said, his voice barely over the volume of a whisper. Ash hummed in response, not wasting another word on Spoke, before turning around and leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Not locking. It didn’t lock from the outside. Only shut.
Even after Ash had left, Spoke stayed in the spot he was.
He didn’t understand why Ash had helped him, considering the fact he doesn’t even seem to care about Spoke. Spoke didn’t blame him for not caring about him. He was pretty quiet and boring, only speaking when asked to and not showing any interesting personality. He took care of his hygiene, not making any messes or showing any interest in buying anything. He ate whatever Ash ordered or cooked, not once wasting food. He would listen to Ash talk during dinner, quietly answering questions the man asked about school and his grades. Nothing about him could make Ash care or even slightly like him.
The longer he thought about it, the more his head hurt, so he decided to think about it another time, when it didn’t feel like his brain was about to combust.
He adjusted his position, now laying on bed, staring at the ceiling. His phone lay next to his pillow, not a single notification as usual. He didn’t expect to get any, considering he didn’t make any friends. No one would want to be his even if he tried, so he decided not to make the useless effort that would eventually lead to nothing.
He thought a little about his time alive and decided on something. Even though Ash doesn’t exactly give him a warm presence, Spoke preferred his honest, cold one, to the fake ones his past foster parents would give him.
He also preferred to stay alone. And Ash seemed to like the same thing.
He wanted to stay with Ash, and he will not fuck it up.