Chapter Text
The heavy rain was hitting against the cold campus pavement. Spoke could hear and feel every single drop because of how tense the atmosphere was. He could hear every flutter of the nearby lantern's lightbulb, and each and every one of Jamato's breaths.
“Listen, Spoke— leave me the fuck alone, okay? I can't keep hanging around you with how you always act. You're always just so— cheerful? I can't say anything with you making jokes about it!” Jamato's nerves were already barely hanging on as he tried to shoo Spoke away before he exploded.
“God forbid a guy's a little jolly,” Spoke instantly joked. “Relaaax, Jamato. You're taking this way too seriously.” He tried to keep up his usual act, ignoring the pit growing in his chest.
“What are you standing here for? I told you we're done. I can't watch you ruin both yourself, our class, and me.” Jamato hissed. After their whole argument, Spoke knew he wanted nothing to do with him the more Jamato talked.
But a little part inside him still had that hope. It hoped maybe, just maybe, Jamato would change his mind at the last second, and they'd go back to how everything was before. No arguing, always talking about how ‘Spoke's doing the wrong thing.’ Just being friends, like they were in the beginning.
But Spoke knew that'd never happen again.
“Okay. I'll leave.” He quietly responded. “But I want you to know that— I'm sorry.”
Spoke looked away. The last thing he wanted to see right now was how disappointed Jamato was with him. How disappointed in him everyone always was. No one ever appreciated anything he did, not even Minute. Everyone just saw him as ‘some troublemaker’ who does no good.
And Spoke knew that was partially true. He couldn't blame anyone.
Jamato looked more than done with him, so Spoke turned away. He knew he had nothing to look for with Jamato anymore. They were done, like, really done.
Jamato really knew how to hurt him, huh? With someone he's been friends with for so long already, you'd expect he'd break their friendship a little nicer.
Like, you know. They'd stop being friends and still be on okay terms. Either that, or Jamato would just be… a bit less hateful when breaking their friendship up.
Spoke was really done with everything now. Mapicc and Jumper were both long gone after that one big, long, and dramatic argument they had. They really were good friends before everything happened.
It started with them telling Spoke he was ‘doing something stupid,’ or ‘being rude and bossy.’ Spoke never listened to them anyway; he knew none of the things they said were true. Spoke wasn't that sad about them being gone, but Mapicc was cool to be around.
Right, well, since Jamato just left, he should probably head home now. Jamato wouldn't randomly turn back, hug him, and say it was all a joke anyway. That wasn't something he'd do.
It was something Spoke would totally do, though.
His house wasn't that far away, but he was still beyond just wet when he got there. He didn't grab an umbrella, expecting it to be a short conversation instead of a full-on confrontation.
At some point while walking back, the tears rolling down his cheeks started mixing in with the rain pouring down on the ground. He couldn't tell which were which, but he occasionally stopped to let out a small sniffle or wipe at his eyes.
It didn't matter whether the tears actually went away; he just wanted the thought that he, Spoke, was actually crying gone. He never cried. Not when Mapicc or Jumper left, not when his first fish died, and not when all of his other friends left him.
And out of all of these things, he was crying over some guy called Jamato? Really? Jamato was such a stupid name as well. Crying over someone called Mapicc would be much more honorable, and he'd just thug it out. Well, one promise was made.
He'd never cry again.
Not even if Minute or George Jr. died. That was one thing he now promised himself to never do again. It made him feel bad enough for one time to be enough.
Oh, finally. He arrived at his house.
The door was most likely unlocked; Minute trusted the neighborhood enough to usually leave it open.
“I'm home,” he called out, stepping onto the doormat inside.
Before stepping in further, he took his shoes off. He wouldn't want to be more of a hassle than he already was and get the floor dirty.
“Welcome back!” Minute answered loudly all the way from the kitchen.
Spoke realized he might make Minute's job a bit easier and actually go to where he was instead of yelling back and forth through half the house.
“I made some pancakes, your favorite. Want some?” Minute asked, flipping another one on the pan.
Not all of them were done, but Spoke could see the stack piling up on a plate next to the kitchen. Sure, they were his favorite. But after the fight with Jamato, his appetite was more than gone.
He'd just have to make up some random excuse so Minute wouldn't get worried. That was the last thing he wanted right now.
“I ate at Jamato's place, sorry lol.” He said the ‘lol’ part out loud.
A real clever excuse on his part, or so he hoped. He was usually good at this stuff, making excuses, sneaking out, that stuff. The fact that Minute knew he went out to meet Jamato as well made his excuse even better.
“Oh, that's fine. Take some if you get hungry, yeah?” Minute gently remarked, flipping yet another pancake.
Minute was way too kind for a person like Spoke. But what else could he do than listen and be nice back?
“Yeah, yeah. I'mma head to my room.” Spoke rolled his eyes, although with no annoyance.
He could hear Minute yell out, “Have fun!” as he went up the stairs. His room was at the end of the hallway, which was nice. He rarely got bothered when guests came over.
Just so rarely, because Minute liked to show his son off to his closest friends. Spoke didn't mind that, though. He liked being seen as something valuable once in a time, instead of a thing easy to replace.
And oh, his soft, warm bed, how he'd missed it. Throughout the whole confrontation with Jamato, he was hoping he could just get back here and bury himself in these cuddly pillows. Talking with people so seriously was boring; it put him to sleep. He much preferred friendly banter or bickering.
Now, something to take his mind off Jamato.
…There was one thing he could think of. Although he hadn't done it since Mapicc left, and after Minute found out, he promised he wouldn't do it again.
What would one time do, right?
Just one little line, not deep either, somewhere hard to access. No one would ever realize. Maybe Spoke himself would forget about it too.
He reached over to his secret stash for ‘bad times,’ he wondered how Minute hadn't found it yet. He knew Minute snooped around his room at least once, just out of worry.
Damn, he really had to clean this place up. He had to go through a bunch of bullshit before he found the thing he was actually looking for.
It was a bit rusty and a tad dull, but it'd do for now. Spoke wasn't super sad, he was only doing this to get his mind off other stuff.
He grabbed the thing, went over to his bed and rolled his sleeves up. Most of his old scars were already healed, after Minute took such good care of them. But that just meant his skin had more place for new ones, right?
He started with one shallow swipe, like he promised. The blade wasn't that dull after all.
A few more wouldn't hurt. As long as they weren't visible.
He did a few more swipes, only pressing the metal against his skin lightly to test out the sharpness.
Right, right, he should get himself together. This was strictly to stop himself from perchance doing something worse. He was not going back to his old habits.
His right wrist already had enough from the test swipes, he moved to the left one for more room. And, damn, it was a bit hard cutting with his non-dominant hand. The things we do for Jamato, right?
Somehow, in the end he ended up with a few of the wounds definitely needing stitches, a bed full of bloody tissues, and one more thing. All the stress, emptiness and void in his heart was gone now. The only thing he could feel was the intense stinging on both his wrists, and for some reason he thought of that as better.
Physical pain was always considered less intense than mental pain, right? He was just helping himself. Now, to clean this up before Minute came to bother him…
The tissues were easy enough, Spoke just shoved them all into his never-replaced trash can. No one would ever notice. Now, for his wrists, they were the harder thing. He knew Minute would notice, he noticed everything. The thing was to make them look not as bad as they were, maybe cover up some and take care of the deepest one first to prevent Minute from taking him to the hospital.
He was about to grab a fresh tissue to get rid of the last bit of blood when his door creaked open.
“Hey, are you busy?” Minute spoke softly, opening up the door.
Spoke immediately pulled his sleeves down, before realizing he had nothing to pull. He took his hoodie off a good five minutes ago. He went for another strategy and pulled his blanket super high instead.
“Yeah, I'm free, what's up?” He asked, trying to sound as least suspicious as he could.
Minute sighed.
“Blanket down, Spoke.” He ordered stoically. Even though his voice was firm, Spoke knew he wasn't really mad.
“Huh—?” Spoke tried to protest but got interrupted.
“I can see the whole box of tissues is gone. You were either doing… teenage boy things, or something else. And you've never been the type to do nasty stuff like that.” He added, waiting for Spoke to pull the blanket down.
“...Right.” and so, the blanket was off. He tried to hide his wrists in some way, but there wasn't any way to avoid getting scolded now.
“Spoke…” Minute started gently, sitting on the bed next to Spoke. “What happened? You don't have to tell me.”
“Jamato stopped being friends with me.” He coldly responded. The last thing he needed was pity from the only person who valued him right now. If he wanted to keep any sort of that value, he couldn't let himself be pathetic like this.
“Oh, Spoke.” Minute frowned. “You know you can always talk to me, right? I know I may not be your biological father, but I still like to think that I'm your dad.” He changed the frown to a small smile, almost as if trying to cheer Spoke up.
“...You are my dad.” He admitted. “I just— didn't know what to do to get Jamato off my mind, okay? He meant a lot to me.” He explained.
“I know he did, but this isn't healthy.” He admitted with the least amount of annoyance in his voice a human could possibly convey.
“I'm sorry.” Spoke mumbled, crossing his arms in embarrassment.
“Let me take a look at these, okay?”
Minute didn't wait for an answer, because he knew he wouldn't get one. He gently grabbed one of Spoke's arms, extending it out to look at how bad the injuries were.
“They're not that deep, so it shouldn't be too bad.” He commented “Let's head over to the bathroom,”
Minute let go of Spoke's arm and stood up, waiting for the other to get up as well. Before finally going over to the bathroom. Spoke knew he wasn't in trouble or anything, but this was still all a bit awkward.
“Alright, sit down. I'll clean those up.” He said, getting the first-aid kit.
It didn't take long for Minute to disinfect and bandage up all the cuts. Sure, it stung a little but it wasn't anything worse than the emptiness forming back in Spoke's heart now that he had nothing to divert his attention with.
What was Spoke supposed to even do here? If he did this kind of thing again, Minute would just find out. And this time, there was a chance that he'd actually get mad.
Pissing of Minute was certainly not a good idea.
Well, for one, when Spoke wasn't talking to anyone it made him feel a bit better. Because everyone he talked to reminded him of Jamato, which in turn made him more sad. So, he'd just have to avoid everyone until he either died or forgot about Jamato.
Surely, this wouldn't be that bad. He still had his George Jr.
“If you ever feel like this again, just tell me, alright?” Minute said. But his voice sounded… weird.
Spoke blinked a few times, and all of a sudden Minute was gone. Wait, what?
Spoke used to have some hallucinations back a few years ago, but he went away after he took meds for some time. Why was he hallucinating right now?
At least the hallucinations got him to clean his wounds up. So he wouldn't get an infection and die.
It's not like he would mind dying that much, but he'd go and grieve over Jamato some more before dying.
So now with his wounds cleaned up and nothing else to do, he decided to just go to sleep. Minute probably wouldn't bother him either way.
He was just praying he didn't hear Spoke kinda… talk to himself for ten minutes straight. That'd be super embarrassing.
He headed to his room, which was still sort of trashed as a result of Spoke looking for his stash, and laid down on his bed.
It wasn't the biggest, Minute was raising Spoke by himself, so he didn't have enough money to just buy whatever.
He closed up the eyes white in contrast to his ever-so black skin and quickly fell asleep.
The next morning, he woke up super early. That's what going to sleep at six in the evening does to you, I guess. His arms still hurt a bit from yesterday, but that wasn't the biggest problem right now.
Not only did he completely forget to feed George Jr, school would be absolutely insufferable with Jamato now gone as well.
He got off his bed, groaning in the process. He grabbed the last bit of fish food next to the tank and threw it in. He knew George Jr didn't have the best life ever, but he'd feel bad giving him away.
Which was a little selfish, sure, but George Jr was the only person— or, well, fish, that was always there for him.
He leaned his elbows on the drawer the fish tank was on, and his cheeks on his hands. He simply stood there and watched George Jr swim out and about for a few minutes. He wished he could be as free as little ol’ George.
Oh, right school. It was only about six in the morning, so he still had some time until it started. But since he woke up so early, he might as well go get ready.
He had his clothes from yesterday on, and they weren't particularly dirty, so he decided he'd just keep them on. Minute was already gone to work, so he could roam free around the house with no hoodie on.
He shoved some books into his backpack, and zipped it up. That was when he noticed something on the kitchen table.
There was a plate of pancakes that Minute made yesterday, with a sticky note next to it. It said:
“I left for work, but I left u some pancakes. Make sure to eat :*
-dad”
That was weirdly sweet. Spoke knew that Minute wasn't a bad dad, really. He was just usually busy with work to keep the bills paid. And even if he was sweet like that, Spoke wasn't all that hungry. He'd just eat after school.
Spoke headed to school early. He didn't have anything to do at home, and neither did he at school. But if he waited at school, he'd have less work getting to class later. He made sure to lock the door after he left and all that, but no one would wanna rob their house anyway.
He then spent two hours waiting in the hallway. Some teachers passed by him from time to time and asked themselves: “Why the hell is this guy here so early?” But Spoke didn't care what they thought of him anyway.
Three minutes until class, Jamato passed by him. And the thing was, he didn't even spare him a single look. Not one, after everything they've been through together.
Whatever. He totally didn't care about it anyway.
He spent the first class sitting in the back by himself. He tried to go to sleep, but with the amount of it that he'd already gotten his body didn't let him get any more.
Even back when Jamato was there, he always felt lonely. Not because Jamato wasn't good enough, but because Jamato just wasn't enough to ease all his loneliness. He missed having a bigger friend group, staying up playing games all night and going to parties together.
Jamato was somewhat of a nerd, at least in a sense. So he didn't go to any events or parties with him.
Spoke would really use one of his old friends back now. But, obviously, he wouldn't reach out first. It would be so humiliating if he asked to be friends again and Jumper would just outright say “no.”
Either someone came back to him first, or he'd stay alone forever. He could deal with that.
As the bell rang, the tense atmosphere from the test they just had (and that Spoke absolutely failed) quickly dissipated. Everyone got right back to blabbing about both the test, and how horrible the teacher was for making them write it.
Spoke didn't really care, as long as he passed he couldn't give less fucks about his grades. He doubted he'd even get to graduate high-school, much less college. So grades were the least of his worries.
After physics—or maybe math, he didn't pay attention—it was time for lunch. Spoke wasn't hungry, as mentioned before, but he didn't want to starve to death just yet. The last time he ate was two days ago or so, and passing out in school would make Minute worry his ass over him.
He made it to the lunch hall safely, praying to god that Jamato just happened to not go today. The line wasn't long, since he got there early, as he usually tended to. He stood in line for five minutes or so before grabbing the miserable-looking food and sitting down at a table in one of the corners.
The lunch hall was pretty empty at this time of day, which was both good and bad. Since there were less people, there was a smaller chance for Jamato to be there. But if he already happened to be there, it'd be way easier for jamato to find him.
He got to eat about one fourth of his meal, before he saw the chair in front of him slide in and out.
Who would willingly sit next to him? When he was at the loneliest point of his life, too?
He looked up, food half-chewed to see a brunette he was not expecting to see. That stupidly red hoodie he always wore, and that red bandana he put on right beneath his horns.
Why the hell was Mapicc sitting with him after everything?”
“What's got you so emo, huh, Spoke?” he teased, his usual tone of voice being there—almost as if no argument had ever happened between the two of them. What was this? Some April fools joke? Sure, it was October, but maybe Mapicc got the time mixed up or something.
“Get out, dude…” Spoke quietly answered, his appetite disappearing as the conversation continued. He put his fork down, trying to look anywhere but at Mapicc. But silently, inside, he was hoping that Mapicc would ask them to be friends again. That he'd apologize, and everything would go back to how it once was.
Even if it wouldn't be the same without Jamato there.
“No but, what's wrong with you? You've been acting real weird lately—” Mapicc paused as he felt a hand touch his shoulder. It wasn't Spoke's, that was for sure. Unless Spoke had an arm that could extend as far as that and touch him from the back, it was someone new.
Fuck. This was exactly what Spoke had been hoping to avoid.
The white haired man lifted the corners of his lips, giving the fakest, most sarcastic smile known to man. He was definitely here to kick Spoke harder while he was already in the dumps.
“And who's this, Spoke?” He asked, feigning kindness and actual care as he lifted his hand from Mapicc’s shoulder.
“It hasn't even been two days yet, and you’ve already replaced me? Just how desperate can one person be?” he added, more of his true nature coming out now. By this point, anyone could tell that he wasn’t here to trade compliments or eat lunch with them.
At that moment, Spoke's brain just broke. He pushed off his chair, making half the tables around look at him and rushed out of the lunch hall.
“Hey, Spoke—!” Mapicc called out, getting up to go after him. Meanwhile, Jamato did nothing but stare. He didn't go after the two, he didn't even budge. He stood there and watched as Spoke made all the wrong choices in his life.
And what Spoke didn't realize was that when he initially pushed off the table, his hoodie's sleeves momentarily lifted up, revealing the stained mess of bandages that was hidden beneath them. Mapicc probably wasn't the only one to notice them, as Jamato was looming right behind.
At the same time, Spoke was already rushing down the stairs. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he had to get away from Jamato and his whole persona overall.
Unfortunately for him, Mapicc was slowly catching up. After eating so little the past two days Spoke was less than prepared for an escape like this. His legs almost gave out a few times, and he had to pause for a second to not fall over. His breathing also wasn't any better, with the panting getting worse with each flight.
“Spoooke!” Mapicc yelled, his voice getting closer and closer. He was only three or so flights above him now, (do not ask how many floors Spoke's school had. He had no idea why it was this tall either.) So if Spoke really wanted to run away, he'd have to pick his pace up.
So, he tried speeding up, and failed miserably. As he always did. While trying to go so much faster so suddenly, he misplaced his foot on one of the stairs and fell straight down. The sound of his face hitting the concrete floor echoed through the whole stairway as Mapicc's footsteps also paused.
He only fell down a couple of steps, so he probably didn't die. But still, this wasn't the most pleasant thing ever.
Mapicc tried to hide a soft chuckle that came from him as he went down the stairs, slower this time.
In no time, he got to Spoke's side, crouching beside him.
“You good, bro?” He jabbed Spoke in the shoulder, just in case he twisted his neck and mysteriously died. Not that Mapicc was hoping that would be the case in the first place.
“I swear to god…” Spoke mumbled, pulling himself off the ground. His nose had a slight trace of blood on the bottom, but other than that, he didn’t get a lot more hurt.
“Sorry if I scared you or something. I just— wanted to talk. Like, really talk.” Mapicc wiped the dust off his trousers and got up. Then, he extended out a hand to help Spoke get up as well. That was not something Spoke was used to, especially not from Mapicc.
Whenever he fell over before, whoever he was hanging out with would laugh viciously for two minutes before mmmaybe helping him up.
This just proved that there was something wrong with Mapicc. That he wasn’t doing this simply because he wanted to be friends again.
“I say that we stop fighting over nothing for now. How about acquaintances?” Mapicc asked, his hand going back to his hip after Spoke got up.
“...I suppose,” he replied.
Mapicc was being obnoxiously nice now, there was no way he hadn’t seen anything between the time when he came over during lunch and now.
Alright, who even cared. As long as Spoke had someone to sit with during class and not look like a lonely chud, he couldn't care less about their intentions.