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Spoke is not having a very good day.
Really, that's an understatement. Spoke might be having one of the worst days of his life which is really funny-not-funny considering most of these weeks have been pretty awful. Nothing has been going right, in fact, the whole universe seemed to have decided oh hey let's send all the bad stuff all Spoke's way, I'm sure he can handle it! If not, then we can have a little laugh while he breaks. Something like that. Anyways. Spoke really doesn't want to go into specifics right now. Just that he feels disgusting and useless and clingy and sad and hurt and a hundred other bad things. He wants Mapicc. He also wants to be left alone. So he really doesn't know what he wants.
Actually yeah, he wants Mapicc here. Mapicc is like the exception. The nice one. Not like the Spoke-not-very-human-kinda-monster exception like the Mapicc exception which means that he is good and yeah. Spoke likes Mapicc. Mapicc is nice. Mapicc isn't like everyone on the server. He is Spoke's best friend and so he gets to be by Spoke when Spoke tries to self-isolate (which happens a lot, admittedly). But Mapicc is cool, even when he pushes his way right beside Spoke in his bed and gets all close to his face and puts his arms around Spoke even when Spoke is trying his hardest to become a ball.
Mapicc sometimes purrs in those moments, something demons can apparently do? It's kind of unfair actually. Spoke can't. He can do a hollow rattle-rumble thing but it's not the same. It doesn't offer the same comfort. Spoke thinks that if he could purr he could self soothe and be a lot happier. But also he wouldn't get to have Mapicc pressed against him. And Spoke likes that. Likes Mapicc. And he'll always need him actually, purring or not.
So Spoke is in a little predicament. Because he doesn't have a lot of… healthy coping mechanisms. Like he kind of sucks at eating, kind of puts it off. And he kind of sucks at sleeping at the right time or at taking care of his health and stuff. And he kind of maybe has an addiction. One that obviously can't be put nicely. Which is why no one knows. Well because. Duh. What would he even say? What could he say that wouldn't sound pathetic? Like sometimes when I hate myself or when I need to feel alive or when I need to stop thinking I hurt myself?
It started small, as it usually does, just the prick of his claws against the skin of his arms or his palms. Just to get himself out of those thoughts. But then one day they went deeper and. It hurt. But also, for one blissful, scarily beautiful moment, he didn't think about anything but the pain. It was… Well. It all went downhill from there.
Claws weren't enough. Of course it wasn't. He needed to bleed. He needed more. He needed something sharper. Nothing ever too deep, but enough to bleed. Something deeper than a cat scratch. Something that couldn't be lied out of if seen by anyone else. Well. He just had to make sure that never happened!
And well. It's not like he likes this. He doesn't like that this is his solution for most everything. But… It's always there, cold metal in the palm of his hand, the promise of sharp stars under his skin, of red beading jewels, of a moment of reprieve. A moment of unghostliness, of feeling real and alive— bleeding and thus alive, hurt but thus human. Starlight and thumping pulse and the lure of his own life in his hands. Of control. He liked that. Being in control of something in his life.
And it wasn't Mapicc's fault at all really, but mere presence wasn't enough to soothe the incessant need, the ache for hurt. Spoke really doesn't know if he can stop. He doesn't know if he wants to or how to get help. Or how to be human or alive or in control without all these things. None of it. He doesn't— he's— well it's fine. It'll be fine because Spoke is alone in the house, sitting on the floor with blood dripping from his arms and pain lancing from cuts and the only thought in his head oh shit.
Because that's the front door opening. And that's Mapicc coming in, Spoke can tell from the footsteps— loud and excited and cheerful. And Spoke wanted Mapicc but like… Preferably when his sleeves were back down and the blade wasn't in his hands and he wasn't bleeding onto the floor and when he could pretend everything was okay. But it's way too late for that because Mapicc is doing that thing where he barges into Spoke's room with his singsong, "Spooooke!" And Spoke is sitting there like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and all he can think is fuckfuckfuck as Mapicc, beautiful Mapicc stops in the doorway, sees the mess that is Spoke and drops his smile. And oh no Spoke ruined Mapicc's mood and this is the worst thing ever and Mapicc is going to leave and never come back. He's going to look at Spoke's scars, old and new, and decide that this is too much work! That Spoke is too much to love and Spoke doesn't know what he will do without Mapicc and and and—
"Spoke," Mapicc says, face softening impossibly. With warmth and care that Spoke tries to shrink and shy away from because he doesn't deserve this at all, as much as he wants this.
Spoke shuts his eyes just in case Mapicc turns away and leaves and never comes back. Because maybe his traitorous heart read the tone behind the words wrong. Maybe. Maybe Spoke is too hopeful. That's certainly got him hurt in the past.
But Mapicc's footsteps don't fade away, they get louder and when Spoke cracks his eyes open, Mapicc is crouched in front of him. There's— there's no pity in his eyes at all. He's just looking at Spoke's arms, hands reached out halfway between them like he wants to help but doesn't want to touch without permission.
"Do you want help with that?" He asks, nodding toward the roll of gauze Spoke was in the middle of trying to wrap around his arm. One handed. It's hard. Mapicc meets Spoke's gaze, patiently waiting for a reply, not bothered at all about the silence or the battle Spoke is fighting in his head against himself. Take the help or let his pride win and refuse? If— really, if it was any other person, Spoke would refuse, but… but it's Mapicc. Like best-friend-Mapicc. Like reason-for-being-Mapicc. So it's okay. But he can't stop the next words out of his mouth.
"That—That's an option?" he asks, wincing at how broken the words are that come out of his mouth, tail curling tighter around his body at the sheer patheticness.
"Duh," Mapicc says immediately, and then decides that that is too harsh because he backtracks, softening his voice, "I mean… Yeah, of course."
"I—" Spoke starts, considers giving up, body sweating. "Um. If it isn't too much…?"
"I asked," Mapicc laughs gently. Spoke still remains tense as he watches. Okay. Okay? This is..? "You're not— I don't think you're doing it right," Mapicc says, though not meanly.
"What?" Spoke asks, looking down at his arms.
"I mean like— you should probably disinfect it before you put the gauze on. And if you're using that kind of gauze, it's good to use an ointment too so it doesn't stick to the wounds. I think. I only am going off of what I read online," Mapicc waves his phone. Which at some point he had apparently pulled out and searched up how to help Spoke best. Spoke doesn't know how he feels about that.
"Okay," Spoke says quietly. "So. Um." Is this where Mapicc leaves? Or leaves Spoke to figure it out on his own?
"So that means we're taking a trip to the bathroom," Mapicc says. Spoke almost groans, shuts his eyes. This is so much work. Nevertheless, he gets up and he follows Mapicc to their bathroom with the sink that gets stained in brown water as Mapicc runs his arm under the sink. Spoke watches the water go down the drain, watches Mapicc splash out the residue until the water is all clear again. Then comes the disinfectant. Mapicc is so gentle through the process. Washing his hands before he touches the wounds, not caring about the blood threatening to stain his hoodie, about the blood on his fingers. Salve then gauze. Mapicc does it a lot better than Spoke usually does. Puts a lot more effort and care into it. Spoke didn't know— he didn't know that it could be like… this. Like someone comforting him. Like someone not getting mad or upset at him. Like… love. Just love. Just Mapicc. Those words are pretty much interchangeable at this point.
They finish and Spoke looks at clean white instead of red lines, feels the sting of disinfectant and Mapicc's hand in his. When did that get there?
Spoke doesn't follow Mapicc though. As Mapicc moves to turn off the light switch, plunging the bathroom and the trash can full of bloodied—sullied items, Spoke halts in his tracks. Their hands remain interconnected, Mapicc pausing and turning. Their arms in the air, suspended by two bodies, one living and one no more than a corpse.
"Why?" Spoke whispers. It doesn't— it doesn't make sense. No one reacts to any of it like… this. It's always… It's always bad. But this is no bad. This is— this was— Spoke felt human. Loved. Cared for. Okay.
"Why what?" Mapicc asks, tilting his head in that dog-like manner of his. His tone isn't condescending, just curious. He wants to— gods, he wants to understand Spoke. He wants to— it's almost too much. Spoke feels himself begins to tear up. This is stupid. It's all so stupid how much he wants to be cared for like this, how much he wants Mapicc to stay, how much he wants to stay friends. But what if he messes things up like he always does? What if— what if he's not actually worth loving? What if— what if Mapicc gets him comfortable with this and then leaves? And— no. He wouldn't do that. That's not— That's unreasonable. Unfair. That's—
"Why do any of this?" Spoke asks, turning his face away so he doesn't see his reflection in the mirror, so that Mapicc can't see the tears he valiantly tries to wipe away with his sleeve. His arms stings at the rubbing. Mapicc comes closer and takes the hand of the injured arm in his, drops the hand holding Spoke's and uses it to wipe away Spoke's tears. Spoke loves Mapicc.
"Why wouldn't I?" Mapicc answers sort of cryptically before clearing it up. "Spoke, you're my best friend. I'm not gonna— I'm not— look. I want to help you, okay? If you let me do it, I will. I care about you. A lot. I hope you know that." His warm hand in Spoke's. His tail twined around Spoke's. His hand cradling Spoke's head, his eyes crinkling into a smile. An adoring smile. A devoted smile.
"You're supposed to—" Spoke stops. Swallows. He doesn't really know where he's going with this, he's just letting his feelings blab. "Supposed to get mad. Upset, I guess. That's—"
"What?" Mapicc cuts him off, pulling back a little with surprise. "Why would I— that's crazy. That's— Spoke, I'm not mad. Or upset. I'm just worr— glad you're safe now and cleaned up. Glad I can be there for you. That you're letting me."
Anything for you, Spoke thinks. Anything at all. And wow, he thinks about the future for the first time in a long time. Considers what it would be like to live without this. He wants to continue being roommates with Mapicc. He wants to tell Mapicc about all his milestones, how long he's been clean for. He wants that so badly it hurts. He wants to— gods, Spoke wants to live. He does. He really does. He—
"Spoke?!" Mapicc startles, dropping Spoke's hand to cup Spoke's face in between both of them as Spoke begins to sob. He doesn't want this life. He really doesn't. He wants to be normal. To live with Mapicc. To find purpose. To be happy. He wants to be okay again.
Mapicc brings Spoke into a hug, lets Spoke cry into his shoulder— violent, shoulder-shaking sobs that come from holding everything in for way too long. Crying that Spoke would usually do alone. Mapicc soothes Spoke all throughout, runs his hands through Spoke's hair, rubs circles into Spoke's back until Spoke's sobs turn into hiccups and then eventually stop. Spoke's nose is running. He feels awful. His arm hurts. His old scabs itch. But he also feels maybe a little bit better. His hands come up to finish the hug.
"Hi Spoke," Mapicc says, muffled into Spoke's shoulder.
"Hi Mapicc," Spoke says shakily, relishing the taste of his best friend's name on his tongue. Warmwarmwarm it means, lovelovelove.
"Was it— did I say something wrong? I—"
"No," Spoke says, the word broken by an exhale that constitutes as a laugh, or something between a laugh and a sniffle if that exists. "You said everything right."
"Okay," Mapicc says. "That's— that's good to hear, I'm glad." Spoke tightens his arms around Mapicc. Double checks.
"You're not upset? We're okay?"
"We're— yeah. Not upset. It's— well it's not okay, but it will be. Alright? You're good." Mapicc says easily, continuing to break Spoke apart with all his boundless love. Spoke really loves Mapicc. Mapicc is such a good friend.
"You're good," Spoke mumbles, feeling loved and warm and cozy and right where he wants to be. Mapicc starts purring and then cuts it out, embarrassed. Spoke makes a grumble of annoyance.
"Bed," Mapicc says, trying to compromise. "Let's stop standing in the bathroom." Spoke groans but lets himself be cleaned up and dragged back into his room, allows himself to be plopped on the bed. Mapicc doesn't allow him to drag him down with him, untangles Spoke's fingers from the front of his hoodie.
"Let go, boy," Mapicc ignores Spoke's hiss and curls up beside him on his own time, not putting all of his weight on Spoke and being very very mindful of Spoke's injured arm all the while. Spoke has to turn on it to face Mapicc so Mapicc hastily switches them around.
"Better?" Mapicc asks, once Spoke has wriggled his way under the covers and as close to Mapicc as he possibly can. Spoke hums sleepily.
"Thank you," Spoke mumbles as Mapicc starts purring. Mapicc stops to talk.
"Tha— don't thank me, bro. That's just what friends do, yeah?"
"Love you," Spoke says quietly. He feels Mapicc tense up a little and then melt, his purring getting louder.
"Love you too." His fingers find Spoke's uninjured arm, brush against old scars, pause, as if in silent question, and continue tracing them almost absentmindedly as Spoke nods against Mapicc's collarbone. It feels nice to be known. It does. To have someone know your scars. To have someone know you as much as you know yourself and still care. It's— well it's great and kind of foreign but welcome all the same.
Spoke's arm still hurts and it will for a bit and he will probably pick at the scabs and bleed again. He will probably relapse many times on his journey to recovery. But it will be okay because Mapicc assured him that he would be there throughout it all. So when Spoke ends up drifting asleep, there are two living bodies. No corpse. Just love.