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Ash sighs, staring up at the ceiling. His body screams at him, and he allows himself a groan at both the inconvenience and the pain.
Turns out player bodies don’t love glitching out all the time.
It’s common for him to have slight aches where his glitches lay, usually at his shoulders, hips, or knees, and occasionally a stab of pain where they’re taken over his eye (although that area’s mostly numb). Sometimes he’ll get waves of pain that last for a few hours, bearable but still unpleasant.
Anywhere from zero to twelve times a year, however, flare-ups happen for anywhere from a day to four, usually with more pain and more glitching out. It usually seems to be influenced by hacking and other activities of the sort, but sometimes it happens randomly.
Like now.
Pain ricochets through Ash’s legs, like an iron rod was thrust vertically through them from his feet to the tops of his thighs. Ash glances down at them, gaze narrowing, to see his glitches clustered in the area. At least they’d moved from where they had been collecting around his arms.
Where the glitches go, in this state, the pain follows. As far as Ash knows, there’s no way for him to control it. It usually concentrates in joints, but sometimes it can spread out however it likes, from a single point to his entire body.
At least it’s not a headache again. Ash considers that and stomach pain the two worst locations.
The downside of this is that the pain worsens with movement, Ash’s body protesting against him even existing. And so, for the past few days, he’s been in his bed all day, only getting up occasionally for the bathroom. When he first felt the signs of a flare-up, Ash had brought food and water in, but he’s now down to a single bottle and a quarter of a loaf of bread.
Void, he hopes this flare-up is over soon. He’s already on the third day of it.
Ash is grateful to his former self for having the foresight to bring in a communicator charger, because otherwise he’d be bored out of his damn mind. It’s always plugged in for fear of the cord dropping off the side and the ordeal of having to pick it back up, and Ash has turned on Do Not Disturb. He hates how he can feel the buzz of the notifications. Usually it wouldn’t bother him, but any little thing is enough to worsen the pain, annoy him, or both.
The whole ordeal is partially an annoyance thing at this point. Yeah, the pain sucks, but Ash can take it. It’s how he can’t really move from his bed for much, can’t do anything but lie there and sleep or be on his communicator, that gets him.
It’s boring as shit.
Plus, there’s always the underlying fear that someone will find him. A long time ago, Ash had carved a large hole behind the house Squiddo had created the statues in, accessible by breaking certain blocks in the house. It’s nice enough, wooden floors and stone walls and ceiling. He’s made himself a mini house in it, but Ash knows it can be discovered fairly easily.
It’s not much worse than the FOCUS base. Some part of Ash wishes he was there, cozy in Squiddo’s bed, maybe even with them there too. The rest of him doesn’t want to be seen like this, doesn’t want to be in someone else’s base.
It feels like weakness, and Ash is not weak.
He’s fine.
The pain travels up to his hips and sides, and Ash huffs.
He’s fine.
Ash grabs his communicator from where it lays next to him, opening it and holding it to his face. There’s a few messages from Squiddo asking about him, but he swipes them away. They’d asked where he was a while ago, and he’d responded that he was fine but wanted to be left alone.
Squiddo’s been concerned for him since, despite his consistent argument that he’s okay and just wants to be alone.
Ash has to admit to himself that they have a point. He’s stuck in his room with little food or water left, and he hasn’t been able to bathe in several days so he feels gross. It’s… nice, to a point, to be cared about, but Squiddo doesn’t have to take care of him.
Ash can handle himself.
He messes around on his communicator for a while, taking whatever distraction he can get from the boredom and pain. He’s scrolling social media when he hears:
“Ash? Are you around here?”
Ash winces at Squiddo’s voice, and then again when a door opens. He can hear their footsteps on the floor of the house with the statues, far too close for comfort.
(It could be comforting, to have them there. To not be alone. Ash has always been alone through these episodes.)
“Ash? I’m starting to get concerned for you. Are you okay? Are you near?”
Of course, because Ash’s body hates him, the glitches take that time to concentrate in both his hands, particles completely obscuring the skin, and Ash can’t hold back whatever noise he makes at the sudden pain.
“Ash? Is that you? Are you okay?” Squiddo exclaims, footsteps growing quicker.
Ash is quiet best he can be, despite the conflicting emotions battling in his chest. He hates making Squiddo worry.
“Ash?” Squiddo asks, voice cracking, the footsteps stopped.
Voiddammit.
“I’m fine,” Ash calls out, but as soon as he hears his own voice he knows Squiddo won’t believe it. It’s hoarse from not talking in a few days, audibly strained with pain.
“Ash! Ash, wait, where are you? You don’t, ah, sound okay?”
“No, I-- I am. I want to be left alone, though. It’s fine--” and Ash breaks off as he feels his hands contract and cramp.
“You say that, but you sound like you’re hurt. I’m going to try to find you, okay?”
Ash is quiet.
“Ash? Are you still here?”
“Yeah,” Ash says. “Yeah, I am.”
“Where are you?”
Here’s the thing: Ash wants to be found. On some slight brain level, Ash knows this. He knows he longs for comfort, for someone to hug him and tell him it’ll be okay, to bring him water and food and ask him if he wants a health potion even though Ash knows they don’t help.
And then here’s the other thing: Ash wants to be left alone. The vast majority of his brain is telling him to not tell Squiddo where he is, to stick it out alone. He will not show weakness. He will not be that vulnerable. He does not need someone to take care of him.
The last thing is that Ash hates making Squiddo worry.
“I don’t-- I don’t want to say out loud. In case someone’s listening.”
And Ash knows it's stupid, knows that if someone is nearby they’ll see Squiddo break the blocks to get into his house anyways, but it’s a bit of comfort to him.
“Do you want to message it to me?”
Ash is about to agree when a new wave of pain crashes into his hands. “I-- I can’t.”
“Okay, um. Um. Maybe a hint?”
“Just follow my voice,” Ash says.
“Keep talking?” Squiddo requests, their footsteps starting up again.
“Yeah, okay, um. I hope you had a good day? Uhhh, hope things have been going well? I don’t really know what to say but I hope this is helping. Fuck, I actually have, like, no ideas, what the hell. I don’t know what’s happening on the server, really, but--”
Two blocks in the wall facing the foot of Ash’s bed break, and Squiddo stands right behind them. When they see Ash, they hurry forward, pausing only to replace the blocks behind them.
“Ash!” they exclaim. “Are you okay? Why-- oh.”
Ash watches how their gaze drops to his hands, enveloped in glitches, and then back up at him. Ash wonders if Squiddo notices how his hair is greasy from days of not washing or even rinsing it. At least the long braid keeps it contained.
“So, ah, I guess that’s why you couldn’t type, hmm?” Squiddo says, a halfhearted attempt at a joke. Ash smiles at it anyways.
“Yeah, uh, a bit hard to move my hands right now,” Ash answers, shrugging as best he can from where he’s laying on his bed. It’s a bit awkward to look at Squiddo from the angle, but he makes it work.
“Right. Can I ask what’s, um. Happening?”
Ash coughs, turning his head to the side before glancing back at them. He’ll just explain, and then they’ll know it’s fine.
He’s fine.
“Yeah, uh, so. Every so often I get really bad flare-ups? Sometimes I get aches where my glitches are, but on a rare occasion it’s really bad pain, and it lasts for like three days or something, and there’s more glitches than usual. This is one of those times. As you can probably see, because you have eyes. But, I’ll be okay. I’ve gotten over it perfectly fine every other time.”
Squiddo hums in the way they do when they’re thinking about something. Ash watches their eyes move, starting from the pile of trash and empty bottles to his meager rations that are left, to how his covers are pulled halfway over his purple shirt, and then Ash finds it hard to track Squiddo’s gaze anymore from how he lays.
Eventually, they say, “Do you want me to bring you some more food and water? And pain meds?”
Ash, against half of himself, nods, says, “Yeah, thank you. Not the pain meds, though. They don’t do anything.”
Squiddo nods back before disappearing through the open door that leads to the rest of the house. Ash probably should’ve closed that door; hell, he probably shouldn’t have made the main entrance connect to his bedroom, but at the time he really just wanted the convenience of his bed being close after a tiring day.
He listens to Squiddo rummaging around in his kitchen. Ash realizes he’s not entirely sure what Squiddo’s getting him, especially with how little food is left.
Ash probably should’ve restocked it a while ago, now that he thinks about it. He’d kind of forgotten, and so the food he’d brought into his room at first had been most of it.
For now, though, he lets the ambience of Squiddo in his kitchen wash over him. Laying in bed all the time has made him sleepy, and it’s nearly enough to make him drift off.
Nearly, because Ash still has to keep an image, even if it’s probably been ruined by the state of him.
The glitches have been slowly migrating up his arms, then over his shoulders where they settle in his back.
Better than his hands, at least. Ash can see faint scars on his skin where the glitches had concentrated, adding to his collection. He kind of hopes he doesn’t get too many from this whole experience.
A player’s body corrupting itself isn’t exactly fun, though. Ash probably should’ve expected something like this
Squiddo comes back a minute or ten later, managing to carry at least ten water bottles and what Ash thinks is probably all the food he has left that doesn’t have to be refrigerated.
“Right,” they say as they plunk the items down on the table with the rest of his food and water, pushing the trash to the side. “Hopefully this is enough water. For the food, I just kind of grabbed everything I could.”
“Thanks, Squiddo,” Ash says, and they nod.
“Yeah, of course!” they say. “You really should keep more food in your kitchen, though.”
Ash nods, vague, and after a moment of silence Squiddo adds, “Is there anything else I can do?”
Ash shakes his head on instinct. “No, thanks,” he says, hand twitching.
Squiddo hums, glasses partially obscuring their eyes.
“Do you mind if I stay with you?” they ask.
“Oh, uh. Yeah, sure, you can stay, if you really want to,” Ash says, ignoring the internal battle.
“Thanks,” Squiddo smiles. “Can I, like, pull in a chair or something?”
“Yeah. there’s some in the kitchen you can take.”
Squiddo leaves to retrieve one, and it’s then that Ash remembers that he’s laying down. He doesn’t exactly love laying down to eat and drink, mainly because of the choking risks. Him dying because he didn’t sit up to drink water would be a rather embarrassing death message. Usually, he’d push himself up to sit for a bit, but with his back Ash doesn’t want to move like that. He isn’t even sure if he can force himself to.
As he’s thinking through the dilemma, Squiddo returns, chair in tow. They set it near Ash’s bedside, not so close it’s uncomfortable but enough that they could probably hand him something.
“Where’d your glitches go?” they ask, eying his hands. Ash wonders if they notice the new pale lines scratching them.
“My back,” Ash sighs.
“Oh.”
A moment, as Ash stares at the water bottles that taunt him on the table. His throat hurts, but his back will hurt more.
“Do you want me to help you sit up?” Squiddo offers. At Ash’s look, they add, “With your back, I thought it might be difficult.”
And they’re right, but Ash doesn’t want them to be right.
And yet, “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Squiddo stands again, stepping closer to him. Ash can see under their glasses at their eyes, and their expression looks suspiciously like pity in a way that Ash hates.
“I’m capable of doing it myself, you know,” Ash can’t help but mutter.
“I know,” Squiddo nods. “I just thought that this way might be less painful.”
Ash doesn’t have anything to say to that.
“I’m thinking I’ll hold your sides and kind of push you up?” Squiddo suggests. “Like, under your armpits.”
“I’m probably gross,” Ash says. “I haven’t been able to shower in a few days.”
“I don’t mind.”
Ash doesn’t know what he’s trying to do.
“Sweat, and all. Y’know.”
“Uh huh,” Squiddo says, looking at him oddly. “If you don’t want me to help, then you can just say that, you know.”
“Well--” Ash bursts, and then pauses. He does, and he doesn’t. He wants to be comforted, to be held and treated softly. He wants to be left alone to deal with it himself, no need for anyone else.
“I don’t know,” he lands on.
“You don’t know if you want me to help?” Squiddo asks, and Ash does a weird half-shrug thing.
“Well, why not?” Squiddo questions.
“I don’t need your pity,” Ash mutters. “I’m not weak. I can take care of myself.”
“I know that,” Squiddo says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is, to them. “It’s just that I don’t like seeing you in pain, and I want to help with that. Sure, maybe there’s a little pity, but that’s just because I hate that you have to suffer like this. I don’t think any less of you. I just want to take care of you.”
Ash takes a moment, thinks about it. Squiddo lets him.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you, uh, take care of me, or whatever.” Ash glances away, but he can still see Squiddo’s smile out of the corner of his eye.
“Thank you,” they say, so sincere. “I’ll help you sit up, then?”
Ash had nearly forgotten the goal of all of this. “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks.”
Squiddo slips one hand on either side of Ash’s torso, hooking them under his armpits so they can push him up into more of a sitting position, leaning him against the headboard. Ash’s back hurts, but he knows it’s not as bad as if he tried to do it himself.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah, of course. Here’s your water,” and Squiddo passes the bottle to him. Ash puts it to his mouth, winces as the motion pulls on his back muscles. It’s worth it for the water though, the coolness washing through his mouth and soothing his throat. Ash gulps down the whole bottle, setting it on the table and reaching for another. He finishes that one too, leaving the empty bottle next to the other.
He reaches for the food next, but it’s just enough out of his reach that Ash thinks he’d probably knock stuff down if he tried any harder.
“What did you want?” Squiddo asks.
“The, uh, protein bar.”
Squiddo wants to help him. Pain is not weakness. It’s fine.
Squiddo passes him the bar, and Ash tears open the wrapper, chomping down on the bar. His stomach aches a bit at the unexpected food, but Ash ignores it.
When he’s done, he tosses the trash in the pile, too. The mountain is growing, threatening to spill off the table, and Squiddo must notice.
“I can put that in a bag to be burnt eventually or something,” Squiddo offers.
It’s okay, Ash reminds himself. It’s nice to have someone else do things for you.
(It’s not like he felt bad about having Derapchu grind items for him. There’s something different when Ash feels less rather than more than someone.)
(There’s something different about Squiddo in general.)
“Yeah,” Ash answers. “Thanks.”
Squiddo leaves, and Ash can hear them rummaging in his cabinets. It probably would be easier if he called out to them where the bags were, but Ash isn’t sure he has the energy to. Squiddo can figure it out.
They do, returning with a garbage bag and holding it up like it’s a trophy. They sweep the trash pile into it with their hand, tie the bag shut and leave again with it. Ash can hear it plop somewhere on the ground, and then water running as Squiddo assumedly washes their hands after touching Ash’s trash.
Ash doesn’t blame them. A lot of it is fairly old.
As he waits, the pain spreads itself from his back to his chest.
Squiddo returns soon after, still wiping their hands on the edges of their cardigan.
“All right,” they say. “So, uh, is there anything I can do about the pain? You said potions don’t work.”
“They don’t,” Ash answers, grimacing when the vibrations and changes in breath create a stab of pain into his chest. “Can I, uh, answer you later, actually?”
“Yeah, of course,” Squiddo is quick to say, and they sit in their chair. Ash stares awkwardly at the wall opposite him. In his peripheral, he can see Squiddo pull their communicator from their pocket and start doing something with it.
Ash is grateful the attention isn’t on him and when he’ll be able to talk again. At least it gives him time to think about what Squiddo had asked. Ash doesn’t know if it takes five minutes or twenty, but the pain eventually shifts back down to his legs.
“Okay,” Ash says, and Squiddo looks up at him, putting their communicator away.
“Yeah?” they prompt.
“Potions don’t work, like I said. I’m not actually sure what about the glitching causes pain, but whatever it is, potions don’t fix it. Could be my body corrupting itself but who really knows. Trying to massage it doesn’t really help, since it’s more of an external problem. And, as far as I know, there’s no way to get rid of the glitches.”
Squiddo is quiet for a moment. “It sounds a lot like other types of chronic pain,” they eventually say. “Heat usually helps, like a warm shower or something. It helps relax the muscles and all, since usually they tense up and that makes it worse.”
Ash thinks back to his hands curling in on themselves, the tightness wherever the glitches go.
“I’m willing to try it,” Ash says. “Whatever gets this to stop. You said a warm shower?”
“Yeah,” Squiddo nods. “Or a bath, or really whatever is just all-over warmth. You could probably wrap yourself in heating pads and that would work, but that sounds a lot more difficult to achieve.”
Ash huffs out a laugh. “A shower sounds nice, but, uh, I can’t exactly move to get there. Or stand for that long. Or move around to get clean. I refuse to just sit in my own filth in a bath.”
Quiet, and, “It was a nice thought, though,” Ash adds softly, because it truly is. He would love a shower, to feel clean, to have his hair washed out.
“Well,” Squiddo begins, then interrupts themself. “And, you don’t have to say yes, like this is only if you want to: I could help?”
Ash turns his head towards them. “What?”
“Like, we could put a chair in there and you could sit on it, and I could wash you? You’d keep your boxers on and whatever else you want, but then you can still get clean without having to move.”
When Ash doesn’t say anything, Squiddo adds, “Like I said, you don’t have to say yes. Nothing weird, I just-- I don’t like seeing you in pain, Ash. I want to help. But only if you’re okay with it.”
“Let me think,” Ash says, so Squiddo doesn’t keep adding onto themself. They nod, and stay quiet.
He would like to be clean. He does trust Squiddo more than anybody else. A warm shower does sound nice.
He would like to be taken care of.
“Okay,” Ash says. “Let’s do that, then.”
“You’re sure?” Squiddo double-checks.
“Yeah,” Ash nods. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Ash wants to be taken care of. He’s going to let himself.
“Of course,” Squiddo smiles at him. “So, uh, how do you want to do it?”
“Do you want to get the chair in the shower and I’ll work on getting undressed?”
Squiddo nods, standing to leave the room.
“There should be a plastic chair in the room off the kitchen,” Ash says. “Let’s use that.”
“All right,” Squiddo says, and they leave.
Ash pushes the covers off of himself as best he can from the angle, glad that the pain is concentrated in his legs and not anywhere less convenient. He pulls his shirt off of himself fairly easily, tossing it in the laundry hamper in the corner. He makes the shot, a bit of fabric hanging off the edge but still mostly in it. Ash glances down at his chest, scowling at the faint lines in the center.
He struggles to decide whether or not he likes the scars, sometimes. Ash feels sometimes like they’re intimidating, like they make him look more powerful. Sometimes he feels like they’re just a mar, a reminder of the constant battle of his code against himself.
Ash’s black sweatpants are a bit more difficult. Ash can’t exactly move his legs to get them off the bed enough to pull off his pants, and so he’s somewhat stuck.
Ash fights with the clothing, but accomplishes nothing other than making his legs hurt more. It’s at that point that Squiddo returns to his room with the chair. They glance at him briefly as they pass into the connected bathroom, and Ash resigns himself to waiting for them to help. It doesn’t take long before they’re back, and Squiddo’s gaze on him lasts longer this time.
“What were you thinking for what to wear?” Squiddo asks.
“Probably just boxers,” Ash shrugs. “They’re like shorts anyways.”
“Okay,” Squiddo nods. “I can go get the water started while you finish getting ready, then?”
“Well, uh,” Ash coughs. “My legs, uh. I can’t really move them.”
The glitches over them rearrange themself, as if proving the point.
“Oh,” Squiddo says. “Did you want me to help?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ash nods. “If that’s okay. Please.”
“Yeah, of course,” Squiddo replies. “Maybe if we get you to sit over the edge of the bed, it’ll be easier.”
“Okay,” Ash says.
He twists himself best he can, and Squiddo takes hold of his legs near his knees, carefully turning him towards the edge of the bed, Ash keeping the rest of his body in sync. Squiddo pulls gently to get him to the edge, Ash pushing himself with hands behind him.
It’s easier than Ash had thought it would be, his legs protesting but not nearly as much as when he tried doing it himself.
“Are you okay if I go get the water started?” Squiddo asks when he seems situated, and at Ash’s nod they leave to do so.
Ash is able to push himself up with one hand enough to pull his sweatpants off of him, tossing them in his hamper as well. A moment later, his socks face a similar fate.
Ash reaches back, undoing his braid and tossing the old hair tie in a nearby trash can. Ash finger-combs his hair out, grimacing at how gross and oily it feels. The strands stay similarly twisted to how they had been in the braid in a way that Ash hates.
Squiddo comes back into the room, asking, “Are you ready for your shower, monsieur?” in quite possibly the worst French accent Ash has ever heard, and he laughs.
“Why of course, faithful assistant,” Ash replies in a close contender for the Worst French Accent award, and Squiddo giggles in response.
“Can you stand?” they ask, and Ash glances at where his glitches have spread themselves on both his legs and his torso.
“Maybe?” he hedges, pushing himself off the bed to stand. Ash is close to being able to, but not steady enough that he doesn’t topple into Squiddo.
Squiddo catches him quickly, easing him carefully back upright.
“You wanna hold onto me as we walk there?” Squiddo asks lightly, and Ash nods, keeping his grumbling at being unable to walk by himself in his head.
Squiddo moves so they stand closer next to him, arm around his back and side as he leans onto them. It’s not a quick walk to the shower, but it works with minimal pain, and Ash is pretty sure that’s what matters most to both of them.
The chair is in the middle of the tub, as promised, the showerhead spraying water. Without the curtain to keep it contained, droplets splatter the mat on the floor and the surrounding tile.
“We can dry that later,” Squiddo says when they notice Ash sees it, and Ash makes a small noise of agreement.
“Shower time, then?” Ash asks, and Squiddo nods.
“I can help you get into the tub,” Squiddo offers, and Ash bobs his head. Squiddo helps him to lift each leg over the wall of the tub, dropping down onto the chair as soon as Squiddo lets go of him.
“I win,” Ash declares. “Greatest of all time.”
“Of course,” Squiddo agrees, smiling.
“Oh, wait,” Ash says, already noticing something. “You’re going to get wet too, with the water.”
Squiddo shrugs, pulling off their cardigan and showing the tank top underneath. “I don’t really mind,” they say, tossing the jacket somewhere in Ash’s room through the door. “I can just wash the clothes.”
“Okay, then,” Ash says.
“How’s the water?” Squiddo asks.
Ash pauses, thinking about the water cascading over his skin. It’s kind of warm, not cold but not as hot as he’d like.
“Little hotter,” Ash hums, reaching out to adjust the temperature a bit. Once he’s satisfied, he turns back to Squiddo.
“How do you want to start?”
“I’m thinking we go shampoo, conditioner, face wash, body wash,” Squiddo lists off. “Sound good?”
Ash nods. “Yep.”
“I’m going to tip the top of your head under the water,” Squiddo narrates.
“Okay,” Ash says.
Squiddo reaches out, one hand on the back of Ash’s neck and the other near his hairline, gently maneuvering his head so the water runs through his hair. They move the hand on his forehead to mess with his hair, moving it so the water hits it differently. Once they’re satisfied, they push Ash’s head back up to a neutral position.
“Shampoo now,” they say, pumping some into their hand.
“Are you going to narrate everything you do?” Ash asks them.
“Yeah,” Squiddo says. “Or, well, I was going to. I thought you might like some warning. Do you not want me to?”
“No, it’s nice,” Ash says. “I was just curious. And you don’t have to wait for me to say okay, so you know. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”
“Okay,” Squiddo agrees. “Turn so your hair isn’t in the water?”
Ash does, and Squiddo begins working the soap into his hair. The way their nails scratch at the top of his head is soothing like a scalp massages as they scrub the soap in. They make sure to work it into near his hairline as well, something Ash appreciates with the likelihood of him getting forehead acne from his unwashed, greasy hair. Squiddo’s nails scrape along his skull in a way that makes him feel like they’re digging out every bit of uncleanliness gathered from laying in bed for three days.
They move down to lower on his head, then the base of his neck, Squiddo scrubs at his nape, gathering the hair on their hands and making sure to rub the soap into every bit near his scalp. When they reach the rest of his hair, Squiddo combs their fingers through his hair, taking care not to pull at knots. Ash supposes his braid idea didn’t work as well as he had hoped.
“Move so I can rinse your hair.”
The water rinsing out the shampoo is glorious, the coolness erasing the soap from his hair, and Ash allows himself a bit of a smile as he feels the gunk rinse out. Squiddo keeps his hair under the water, running their hands through it until Ash is sure the shampoo is out, and then some.
“Back out of the water for conditioner, please.”
After Ash does so, Squiddo pumps the conditioner into their hand, starting at the ends of Ash’s hair and moving up. They’re even more careful with Ash’s hair with the conditioner, working the soap into Ash’s hair and running their hands through it until there’s no knots left. Ash isn’t sure he’s really had anyone run their hands through his hair before, but the sensation is overwhelmingly pleasant. Actually, all of Squiddo washing his hair has been.
Ash wonders if he could get them to do it more often, even when he isn’t in one of his flare-ups.
After the rest of his hair is lathered in soap, Squiddo makes their way to the top of his head, applying less conditioner there but still enough for it to feel washed. They comb their fingers from his scalp to the ends of his hair until they’re satisfied.
“Okay, I’m going to leave that in until we’re done with everything else, and then we’ll rinse it out.”
When Squiddo’s hands leave his hair, Ash allows himself to mourn the loss a little.
“Face wash next,” Squiddo says.
They squeeze the face wash into their hand, brushing Ash’s hair out of his face with the other. The wetness causes it to stick to the rest of it, curled behind Ash’s ears and out of the way. Squiddo rubs their hands together, spreading the soap through them.
“Close your eyes?” Squiddo requests. “So I don’t get soap in them.”
Ash complies, then hears Squiddo say, “I’m going to wash your face now.”
A moment later, he feels their hands on his face. They start gently on his cheeks, then shift up to his forehead. Their fingers move in circles as they wash before their hands are arcing back down his cheeks until it’s only their fingers left on his chin. Squiddo rubs the soap in as well as around his jaw, and it feels a bit odd on Ash’s facial hair, but he doesn’t mind. He should probably shave soon, actually, but not then. Maybe tomorrow.
Squiddo’s hands cradle his jaw for a moment as they rub in the soap before they move back up to his cheeks, scrubbing lightly just below his cheekbones. They then travel upwards slightly, thumbs rubbing over his cheekbones and under his eyes as if petting a cat.
Ash thinks, in the back of his head, that if he were a cat then he’d be purring.
A few moments later, Squiddo moves to the spot between his lips and nose, then rubs over the sides of his nose before meeting at the top. Their hands travel from the tip to the bridge, then over his eyebrows.
“Hold your breath,” Squiddo instructs. “I’m going to kind of go over your whole face, then put your face under the water to rinse it. If you need to breathe, give me a sign.”
This time, they wait for Ash to inhale, then hold his breath and nod at them. They scrub quickly over his whole face, starting at the outside and moving inwards, their hands moving vertically. Despite the speed, Ash can still tell Squiddo’s being careful, hands tracing gently over each ridge and bump of his face. When they’re done, Ash feels hands under his chin and on his nape turning his head. Ash lets them, feels the water cascade over his face, rinsing away the soap. Right when he’s about to gesture to Squiddo that he needs to breathe, they move his head away from the water, and Ash takes a breath.
“You can open your eyes,” Squiddo says. “If you want. If you want to keep them shut, that’s fine too.”
Ash nods so they know he heard them, but he opts for the second choice. He’s sleepy, the warm water soothing as well as Squiddo taking care of him. It’s nice, to allow himself to be taken care of.
Maybe he should do it more often.
“Putting body wash on the washcloth,” Squiddo announces, and Ash can hear the bottle popping open and pouring out soap.
The bottle clunk s when it’s put back, and Squiddo says, “I’m going to start on your chest and shoulders, and then work my way down.”
Ash feels the washcloth on his chest, just below his collarbone. Squiddo scrubs, lightly enough to not hurt but firm enough that Ash feels like he can feel the dirt being taken off of him. Ash can feel when they wash over the new scars in the center of his chest, an odd tingling spiking. The washcloth passes over his heart, and he represses a shudder. It feels odd, to have someone work so casually over his literal lifeforce, especially on a server like Lifesteal. Ash knows there’s a myriad of pale scars over his heart, but Squiddo doesn’t say anything. Instead, they move onto where his ribs lay under his skin, seeming to not even have felt any of the same gravity about Ash’s heart.
Ash suppresses the shudders that come when they wash over his ribs, but can’t help but shiver when they scrub over his stomach, and the washcloth is removed. He hears a slight chuckle from Squiddo.
“Ash, are you ticklish?” they tease.
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
Squiddo giggles.
“Just continue,” Ash sighs, and Squiddo does.
It feels weird still, a washcloth over his stomach and not a sword. Ash certainly prefers it, but it’s still an odd type of cognitive dissonance that keeps popping up. Ash feels them wash over a scar that he knows is from being stabbed, and he can’t hold back his shudder at the juxtaposition.
“You all right?” Squiddo asks, pulling away again.
“Yeah,” Ash nods.
“You have a lot of scars,” Squiddo says, casual in a way that Ash can tell isn’t at all.
“I do,” Ash says.
“Does it bother you when I wash over them?” Squiddo asks.
Ash shrugs. “Sometimes it’s just jarring, the difference, y’know? Like, here’s where I was killed, and then you’re…” Ash trails off, trying to think of the right words, but Squiddo seems to know what he means.
“Makes sense,” they say. “Do you want me to avoid them?”
Ash shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Not all of them are from being killed, too. Battles and all, and the glitches.”
“Your glitches cause scars?” Squiddo asks, and Ash gives a tired half-motion that could be interpreted as another shrug.
“Sometimes,” he says. “Like in these flare-ups.”
Squiddo hums. “And there’s not much you can do about that, I assume?”
“Nope,” Ash sighs in reply.
It’s quiet for a moment.
“That sucks. I’m sorry,” Squiddo says.
“Don’t be,” Ash counters instantly. “Not your fault.”
Its silent for a moment, before Squiddo says:
“I forgot you can’t see me nodding.”
Ash laughs, grinning, and he can hear a bit of a chuckle from Squiddo too.
“You good for me to keep going?” Squiddo asks, and Ash nods, and Squiddo returns the washcloth to his skin.
When they get close to where the waistband of his boxers lays, they stop.
“Moving on to your sides now,” they announce. “Can you lift your arms up?”
Ash does so, and they start on his left side first. Squiddo scrubs under his arms, trailing down to the side of his chest and back over his ribs. Ash tenses again, ticklishness be damned, but Squiddo gets through it without much issue as well as the sides of his stomach, and the same goes for his right.
“I’m going to do your left arm now.”
Squiddo starts at his shoulder, curving around it before working their way down over his bicep and then to the crook of his elbow. The washcloth scrubs over more old scars, ghosts of battles and glitching fits long past. Squiddo moves down to his forearm, holding it up in their other hand and scrubbing over it before turning to his wrist. They wash it gently, then moving to his hand.
The washcloth rubs carefully, especially over the myriad of scars against his flesh. Ash’s hands are a common place for the glitches to concentrate in that painful way that leaves lingering memories, and Ash can feel Squiddo carefully manipulating his hand to make sure the washcloth covers it all. Their hand kneads his a bit, almost like a mini hand massage. The touch over the scars feels like it's almost sparking it, but in a way that’s somehow pleasant.
“Right arm.”
Squiddo curves around his other arm in the same way, scrubbing off the dirt and grime. When they reach his hand, they massage it like the other, lightly trailing the washcloth over the scars.
“Shoulders and neck.”
“Tell me when you move onto my neck,” Ash asks.
“Sure.”
They begin with his shoulders, scrubbing the tops of them and over the tight bits of muscle between his neck and shoulders. They dip down to his collarbone, washcloth falling on the divots between the bones, before washing the top part of his chest again, likely in case they’d missed anything before.
“Going to do your neck now. Do you mind tilting your head up?”
“Okay.”
Ash tilts his head back, nose pointing to the ceiling. Some part of him wants to open his eyes, see what Squiddo is doing, but the other part insists on exhaustion and trust.
It’s not like he’d be able to see them washing his neck anyways.
He feels Squiddo move the washcloth up to the right side of Ash’s neck, starting right above his collarbones and coasting up until it meets his jaw. Squiddo goes in vertical motions, soon reaching the center of Ash’s throat.
Ash wonders if they can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing as he has to tilt his head slightly forward to swallow, how the cords in his neck twitch against his skin.
Ash wonders how easy it would be for them to kill him.
He knows they wouldn’t. He knows that if Squiddo was planning to kill him, they would’ve done it a long time ago.
And yet, as Squiddo continues across his throat, Ash can’t help but feel even odder than with his heart or stomach.
Maybe it’s how he’s basically baring his throat, a thing that in nearly any other circumstance would be an open invitation for a free heart.
Maybe it’s how Ash knows Squiddo wouldn’t, how they’re already taking more care when washing his neck than anywhere else.
“Bow your head forward so I can get the back of your neck better?”
Ash does.
It feels an awful lot like offering himself up for beheading.
Nothing of the sort happens, though. Squiddo just washes the sides previously barred by his shoulders and the back of his neck, moving his hair out of the way when they need to. When they’re done, they tell him he can move his head back.
When Ash does, it feels like he’s survived something, passed some mental hurdle of trust.
“I’m going to wash your back now. Can you turn?”
Ash does.
Squiddo starts near the base of his neck, scrubbing without much consistent direction but working downwards. When they pass between his shoulder blades, Ash can feel memories of a life past lived, of wings and of godhood.
Mutual godhood, the binding of souls.
As Squiddo moves past the area, Ash wonders if their souls are still linked.
They again stop when they reach near his waistband, removing the washcloth.
“That’s upper body done,” Squiddo says. “Going to your legs next, starting with your thighs.”
Ash feels the washcloth start a bit past where his boxers end, about halfway up his right thigh. Squiddo scrubs first over the top of his thigh, then curving around to the underside. They arc the washcloth around the ridges of his knee, then carefully over underlying tendons on the back of it. They work down his calf, curling back around to his shin when they’ve finished. Ash can feel his leg hair, previously slicked down from the water, going every which way from Squiddo’s scrubbing.
Squiddo picks up his foot lightly, washing first around his ankle before scrubbing over the top, then the underside and anywhere else they’d missed. They set Ash’s foot back down gently, saying, “Going to the left.”
The process on Ash’s other leg is basically identical, and when they set his left foot down Ash hears them folding the washcloth and setting it down on the corner of the tub.
“That’s everything, I think,” Squiddo says. “I’ll leave, and you can wash anywhere I missed. Let me know when to come back in, and I’ll rinse out your hair, okay?”
Ash nods, blinking open his eyes blearily. Squiddo smiles at him, reminiscent of the sun, and they stand before leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind them.
Ash leans forward a bit, picking up the washcloth from where Squiddo had left it with hands lazy from tiredness. He does as Squiddo had instructed, and when he’s all clean save for the conditioner soaking in his hair he just sits there for a few minutes.
Ash thinks: he is incredibly lucky for finding someone who does for him what Squiddo does. Ash thinks: not everyone would be so willing to take care of him like this, to bathe him like this. Ash thinks: they didn’t have to by any means, but he’s so glad they offered.
Ash knows: Squiddo is the only person he would trust so completely to do it.
He really likes being taken care of, he realizes. It’s nice, every once in a while, to be able to close his eyes and leave everything to someone else.
Ash is so incredibly glad that he has Squiddo.
“I’m done,” Ash eventually calls out. A minute later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and Squiddo steps through into the bathroom. Ash notices the wetness splattered across their clothes, but Squiddo doesn’t seem to mind.
“Ready for me to rinse out the conditioner?” they ask, and Ash nods.
“Turn your head through the water,” Squiddo tells him, stepping closer.
Ash does, relishing the feeling of Squiddo running their hands through his hair again. The water soaks into his hair with Squiddo’s help, casting out the soap and leaving it soft and clean. Squiddo works with it for possibly longer than they strictly need to, but Ash doesn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind if it took far longer, but eventually Squiddo finishes.
They let his hair fall gently back down against his shoulders and back, and Ash feels a cool sense of relief at the sensation of clean hair.
“Do you want me to bring you in a fresh change of clothes before I turn off the water and leave you in the cold?” Squiddo teases, and Ash grins.
“Yeah, that would be good, thanks,” he says.
“What do you want?”
“Uh, any boxers, the black shorts, and a sweater. Top and third drawers.”
Squiddo nods, disappearing into his room for what could have only been a minute or two before returning. They set the pile of fresh clothes on the counter before turning back to him.
“All right,” Squiddo says. “I’ll let you dry off and get changed, then.”
“Are you going to wait in my room?” Ash asks.
“That was my plan,” Squiddo answers. “Did you want me to do something else?”
Ash shakes his head. “No, it’s just-- I didn’t know if you’d want to sleep over, since it’s getting so late? You’ve, uh, you’ve already done a lot, so you don’t have to, but…” Ash trails off at Squiddo’s expression.
They’re beaming at him, and they nod excitedly. “That would be fantastic.”
“If you wanted to steal some clothes that would be more comfortable to sleep in, take whatever you want,” Ash offers, and Squiddo smiles.
“Sounds good. I’ll change in your closet, then?”
“Okay. See you in a few minutes.”
Squiddo leaves, shutting the door behind them. Ash allows himself a fond smile before deciding that he really should get out of the water before the tips of his fingers prune even more. Ash reaches to turn off the faucet, and through the door he can hear the faint sounds of drawers opening and Squiddo rummaging through them.
It’s cold without the water, and Ash hurries to stand, plucking a towel from the rack. It’s then that he realizes that he’s barely in any pain at all. There’s an ache throughout his body, but it’s faint, likely only the mild aftereffects of a flare-up.
He’s going to have to thank Squiddo so much.
Ash dries himself, changing into the new clothes Squiddo had brought. He picks up one of the items to find that Squiddo had picked a purple sweater with a black design on it for him; one of his comfiest sweaters, a thing that Ash thinks he might’ve mentioned at some point. Ash can’t help but smile at it.
Ash changes, hanging his soaked boxers over the shower curtain bar to dry. Once he’s clad in fresh, comfortable clothes, Ash remembers that brushing his teeth is a thing that exists and that he should probably do. He hasn’t done it since before the flare-up, unable to force himself to stand for that long just to brush his teeth.
Ash squeezes the toothpaste on his toothbrush, scrubs it along his teeth. He wonders if Squiddo will also feel the need to brush their teeth before bed. If so, he hopes they brought their own toothbrush.
As much as he loves them, he isn’t very willing to share toothbrushes.
He finishes brushing his teeth as well as all his other getting-ready-for-bed activities before opening the door to his room.
The closet door is shut, and so Ash sits on the side of his bed, sipping from a water bottle as he waits for Squiddo to emerge. It isn't long before he hears the door open, and he glances over to see them in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his tank tops. They hold their previous clothes in a lump in their arms, and Ash offers:
“If you want to hang them up on the shower rod, they’ll probably dry better.”
“Oh, thanks, Ash,” Squiddo nods, heading into the bathroom.
“When are we cleaning up the floor?” they call a moment later.
“Tomorrow,” Ash answers. “It’ll probably air-dry or something, too.”
“All right,” Squiddo says. They step back into the room, yawning, and it quickly spreads to Ash.
“Can we go to bed now?” he asks sleepily.
“Let me brush my teeth first,” Squiddo says.
“You aren’t using my toothbrush.”
“I have my own,” Squiddo grins, pulling one out of their inventory.
Ash stares at them. “Do you just, like, carry a toothbrush around everywhere you go?”
Squiddo shrugs. “I always keep a sleepover kit on me just in case.”
Ash giggles a bit. “Prepared for everything.”
“Exactly,” Squiddo nods, fake-solemn, before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door.
Ash sits on his bed, waiting. He should probably change his sheets, actually. It’s been a while since he last did, even ignoring how he’s lived in it the past few days without showering.
He stands, making his way over to the closet where he keeps the spare set. Ash pulls it out, grabbing another pillow when he remembers Squiddo’s sleeping over.
Squiddo comes out of the bathroom halfway through him changing the covers.
“What’re you doing?” they ask.
“Figured my sheets and blanket and all were dirty. I’ll wash them tomorrow, but for tonight I have a second set.”
“Oh, okay. Here, I’ll help.”
Together, Ash and Squiddo make quick work of putting on the sheets, blanket, and comforter. Ash kicks the old covers into a pile in the corner for tomorrow before returning to the left side of his bed where Squiddo’s finishing putting the pillows on.
“D’you care which side you get?” Ash asks, and Squiddo shakes their head.
“No, you can do whatever,” Squiddo answers.
“Mmkay,” Ash says, turning off the lights before crawling into bed first, albeit slightly slowly due to the exhaustion. He shifts to the farther side, giving Squiddo plenty of space to shuffle in next to him. They do a moment later, and Ash pulls the covers over both of them.
Ash is so tired. It’s exhausting to be in pain, and after a warm shower, it’s beautiful to be able to lay under the covers with Squiddo.
The ache persists, and Ash finds himself wishing that he had a giant slab of rock or something he could put on top of himself. Weight is comforting sometimes, especially when he’s sleepy and still sore.
Actually.
“Actually, can you lay on me?” Ash asks, voice slightly slurred with sleep.
“Lay on you?” Squiddo checks, and Ash nods best he can with his head pressed against his pillow.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Like, weighted blanket style. Or what you said earlier about being surrounded in heating pads.”
“Are you still in pain?”
Ash shakes his head, a valiant effort that goes mostly unnoticed between him not lifting it and the darkness.
“No,” Ash clarifies aloud. “Not really. Minor ache, but that’s it. D’you ever get that feeling where weight on top of you is comforting? It’s that.”
And a moment later, he adds a quiet confession: “And I just wanna be close to you.”
Ash yawns, and even in the darkness he swears he can see Squiddo smiling at him.
“All right,” they agree. “Lay how it’s comfortable, and then I’ll get on.”
Ash adjusts, laying on his back and shifting until he’s comfortable.
“Mmkay,” Ash mumbles, lazily holding the covers up with one hand so Squiddo has space.
They carefully crawl onto him, taking care not to jostle the covers over them too much. Squiddo lays on his stomach, head against his chest and clavicle, adjusting for a few moments before eventually stilling.
“Okay,” they say quietly, and Ash lets the blanket drop back down lightly on them, bringing his arms up to wrap around them softly. Their legs are entwined, and Squiddo’s weight on top of him comforts him enough that he has to fight not falling asleep instantly.
“Goodnight, Ash,” Squiddo says warmly.
“Goodnight, Squiddo,” Ash responds, similarly intoned.
Then, softly in the darkness, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The pressure of the person he loves most in the world is a comforting grounding against him, body heat soothing the lingering twinges of pain. Ash hums, soft and content, and can feel Squiddo smile against his sweater.
Ash falls asleep, happy and warm.