𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗, 𝗨𝗡𝗪𝗘𝗗 [ 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘹 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ]
𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 4
"I need somebody who can love me at my worst
No, I'm not perfect, but I hope you see my worth, yeah
'Cause it's only you, nobody new, I put you first (you first)
And for you, girl, I swear I'd do the worst"
—ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀsᴛ ʙʏ ᴘɪɴᴋ sᴡᴇᴀᴛ$
CHAPTER 4
Dance with the undead
“MIKHAIL, do you mind going upstairs later… around one?”
Mikhail raised a brow, flipping a pancake as the batter sizzled softly. M/n was already halfway through his breakfast, eyes avoiding his.
“May I ask why?” Mikhail asked, voice smooth and patient. M/n swallowed.
“My… my older sister is coming here. Do you mind?” Mikhail blinked once, then gently lowered the fire on the stove.
“Not at all." Mikhail said lightly, though his expression remained thoughtful.
“Is it a reunion of some sort?” M/n shook his head.
“We just need to talk, that’s all.” Mikhail nodded once, turning his attention back to the pancakes.
“Still, it might be nice to meet her one day.” M/n gave a short laugh.
“That’ll be the day she sets the house on fire trying to banish you.”
Mikhail hummed, amused.
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment. She must care for you deeply to react that strongly.”
“She does,” M/n replied softly. Mikhail slid the final pancake onto a plate, then turned to Lucien.
“Then allow me to cook for her. It’s rude not to offer something to a guest.”
“N-No, that won’t be necessary!” M/n waved him off, panicking slightly. “She won’t stay long.”
“I’ll be quick,” Mikhail countered calmly, unbothered.
“Something warm and simple. A guest is still a guest.” M/n groaned into his coffee.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mikhail sat across from him with quiet grace, lips quirking ever so slightly.
“A little.”
M/n gave him a tired look, then stabbed his pancake with a fork.
“She’s very protective of me. She’s the one who helped me move… even covered some expenses so I could settle in.”
“That’s generous,” Mikhail said. “She must care deeply about her little brother.”
“She does,” M/n said again, this time with more weight behind the words. “Always did. When things were rough at home, she was the one who kept me sane.”
Mikhail tilted his head. “Home?”
M/n hesitated.
“…I needed to get away. From my parents.” There was a shift in tone. subtle, but Mikhail caught it. The way M/n said parents was clipped, bitter, like the word itself soured on his tongue.
Sensing the tension, Mikhail didn’t pry. Instead, he stirred his tea gently.
“Ah… so you wanted some freedom. Space to be yourself?”
M/n looked at him, surprised.
“Something like that."
“…How about your sister?” Mikhail asked, steering things gently back to steadier waters. “Is she married?”
M/n nodded, his tone brightening.
“Yeah. Married last year.”
Lucien smiled, softer now.
“She chose her partner herself. No family pressure. No political ties. Just love. How I wish it were the same case as me too," M/n sighed heavily.
"You mentioned being forced to marry many women before, right?" M/n suddenly recalled their argument from the day before. It sat in the back of his mind like a lump refusing to be swallowed.
"Yeah..." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "They wanted an heir to the Percival family. Very obsessed with keeping the family lineage intact. I'm just waiting for my sister to finally have a baby so they can finally leave me alone." He shrugged, but the bitterness in his voice was hard to miss.
He lowered his gaze to his plate, pushing a crumb with his fork.
"Man, I missed those days when we were still kids,” he added quietly, as if the thought had just surfaced.
“She’s lucky,” Mikhail said sincerely.
“And so are you. To have her.”
“I am. She always fought for what she wanted. I wish I had that kind of courage.”
“You left everything behind, didn’t you?” Mikhail asked gently.
“That takes courage, too, M/n.” M/n blinked, caught off guard. His fork stilled mid-motion. He looked down, then away.
“…I guess.” Mikhail reached for his cup.
“You’re braver than you think. Even seedlings hide underground before they bloom.” M/n narrowed his eyes.
“Did you just call me a plant?”
“A very adorable one,” Mikhail said with a straight face. A small silence followed. Not heavy, just quiet.
“You know…” M/n started again,
“You always talk about your mother. I can tell you really loved her.” Mikhail nodded, lips softening.
“I did. She taught me everything. Especially how to cook. Her love… was quiet, but constant.” M/n smiled faintly.
“That’s nice. You’re lucky.” There was something wistful in his voice. Mikhail didn’t comment on it. He only offered a gentle hum of agreement.
M/n finished the last bite of his pancake and murmured,
“Thanks… for breakfast.” Mikhail stood to clear the plates. “Anytime.” A glance passed between them. Something lingering in the silence, an understanding neither voiced. Then, they turned away, drifting back into routine.
Mikhail returned to the kitchen, humming softly while he kneaded dough and prepped a fresh batch of biscuits for M/n's sister. M/n sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone as he placed an order for seedlings, a few garden supplies, and the gumamela seeds Mikhail had mentioned offhandedly.
11:30 AM.
Still early.
M/n stood and headed for the bathroom, letting the warm shower water rinse away the weight on his shoulders. By the time he got out, the house was filled with the buttery scent of baking.
Dressed in a soft sweater and worn jeans, M/n towel-dried his hair and stepped back into the kitchen. “Mikhail, go shower. We can't have you smelling more rotten.”
“I just finished baking, actually,” Mikhail said, slipping off the oven mittens with exaggerated grace. “I'll set these in to stay warm.”
M/n tossed him a clean towel and a spare toothbrush. Mikhail cracked a tired smile, took the towel, and disappeared into the bathroom.
12:05 PM
M/n collapsed on the couch and spent his time mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Suddenly, a notification popped up.
Liezel: Otw
M/n: Ok, goodluck on the makeup.
He snorted. She always said “on the way” when she was still in front of a vanity mirror, halfway through her eyeliner. M/n was too distracted by his phone that he didn’t notice the footsteps until it made itself known.
A tap on his shoulder. Lucien jumped, heart lurching.
Mikhail stood there, wet hair clinging to his skin. A towel hung precariously low around his hips, water trailing from his collarbone down his ribs. His eyes were shy.
“M/n… you forgot to give me clothes.” M/n blinked, then slapped a hand over his face. “Seriously? You couldn’t call?”
“I did. But you weren't responding.” M/n grumbled something inaudible, got up, and went to his room. He grabbed a black turtleneck and charcoal slacks, something that he think that would suit Mikhail.
When he returned—He froze.
Mikhail was facing away, hunched slightly on the couch, playing on his phone. But M/n's eyes weren’t on the phone
They were on his back. His breath caught.
Scars. No, not just scars.
Cruel lines, slashed across his skin, carved in pain. long and faded, some patterns were unmistakably from a whip. Another wound, still healing, looked like a stab wound. And near his hip—
M/n stepped back instinctively.
There was a bruise. No...a mark. wrapped around Mikhail's neck like a bitter necklace. As if someone had tried to strangle the life out of him.
M/n mouth went dry. That wasn’t just violence. That was the intent.
'What kind of monster did this to you, Mikhail Beaufort? And how are you still smiling like that?'
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare make a sound. The image burned into his memory, and a shiver ran down his spine.
“Oh—you’re back.” Mikhail’s voice was gentle. He turned to face M/n, completely unaware.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, showing his phone with the chess app opened.
“I played a little while waiting.”
M/n blinked once. Twice. Then looked away. “It’s… It’s fine.” He handed Mikhail the clothes. Their fingers brushed. Mikhail gave him a soft, grateful smile and padded back toward the bathroom, leaving a faint trail of wet footprints on the floor.
M/n sat down slowly, eyes locked on the half-finished chess match on his phone. A biscuit timer went off in the background. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped. Inside the house, everything was calm. But in M/n's chest, something had shifted. His mind was still stuck on Mikhail's back.
Liezel: I’m here.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sharp rapping on the oak door made M/n jump, nearly knocking over the juice he was pouring.
“Crap—she’s here!”
Mikhail froze. “Already?”
M/n dashed to the mirror, patting his hair down and frowning at himself. “Do I look okay?" M/n asked Mikhail who had a plate of biscuits in hand.
"Charming as you always look" M/n blushed.
"Never mind! Quick—upstairs!"
Mikhail grabbed the tray, setting them neatly on a plate and adding two glasses of juice. When Mikhail was done, M/n shoved him toward the stairs. Mikhail stumbled, nearly dropping a mitten, but he vanished up the steps without another word.
M/n took a breath. One, two, three. He opened the door.
“Finally” Liezel sighs. “I thought I came in the wrong house.”
“Nice to see you too, Ate.” She looked as polished as ever. Brown hair falling to her shoulders, a coat that screamed ‘I married rich,’ and pale blue eyes just like his. She still looks the same as ever.
“Look at you!” she said, grabbing his face. “Still soft. Like a dumpling.”
“I am not a dumpling.” “You’re lucky I like dumplings.” She pulled him into a tight hug before he could argue.
“I missed you,” she whispered into his shoulder.
M/n hesitated before hugging back. “…Me too.”
She pulled back and gave him a once-over. “Wait—did you dye your hair?”
“Yeah. How do I look?”
“Hideous,” she grinned.
"You don't get a room to talk with your ugly rebond"
He rolled his eyes as she walked in and scanned the room.
“Oh? Since when did you know how to bake?” Liezel’s gaze landed on the plate of biscuits.
“I hope you didn’t confuse cumin for cinammon again.” Liezel rolled her eyes, still remembering the taste.
“That was one time. And the label was smudged.” M/n defended himself.
“That was not cinnamon-scented firewood, M/n.”She picked up a biscuit and took a bite.
“Mmm… okay, fine. This is shockingly edible.” M/n gave her a forced smile.
“Happy to disappoint your expectations.”
“So,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully, “who actually made these?”
“What? Me! I baked them!” M/n sweats, knowing he wasn't the one who baked those. it was the dead man upstairs.
She squinted.
“Liar. This is too good."
M/n panicked. “Uh… a friend helped.”
“A friend, huh?” She raised an eyebrow.
“M/n Percival, do you have a love life and didn’t tell me?” Liezel squints her eyes towards her brother in a suspicious manner. M/n choked on air.
“What—no! I mean—not that kind of friend—just—someone who’s good with ovens!”
“Oh my God. He’s hot, isn’t he? Is he here?” Liezel chuckled, teasing her little brother was her specialty.
“No!” Lucien squeaked, way too fast.
A creak came from upstairs. Liezel froze. M/n laughed way too loudly.
“Haha! House settling. You know these old wooden beams. Super creaky. Full of rats! Haven't fix those yet...” She slowly took another bite of the biscuit.
“Interesting,” she said, eyes locked on him with a knowing look. M/n offered a stiff, brittle smile.
“So... how’s the house treating you? Isn’t it too big for one person?”
One person…
If only she knew.
He shrugged, trying to sound casual.
“Eh… It’s fine, I guess? It’s in a remote area. Just the way I like it.” Liezel let out a sigh. “You never change, hm? Honestly, I can’t blame you.”
M/n gave a small nod. There wasn’t much else to say, they both knew who he was hiding from. And why.
“So,” Liezel began, tilting her head. “How are the old geezers?”
M/n scoffed. “How would I know? I left without telling them where I'm moving.” Her eyes widened before she laughed, sharp and loud at first, then fading into something quieter.
“Ah, that’s M/n for you.”
She chuckled bitterly to herself, then took a sip of juice.
“They came to see me yesterday,” she continued.
“Stormed into my place. Demanding to know where their precious M/n went. They were furious.”
“Let them be,” M/n muttered. “They never cared when I was still around. Only when I refused to play along.”
“I didn’t tell them anything,” she continued quickly.
“Of course I didn’t. They were going on about the family name again, about not having an heir. I told them, ‘Why not adopt if Mom can’t have another kid?’ You know what they said?” M/n didn’t answer.
“They said they wanted a pure-blood Percival,” Liezel muttered, rolling her eyes.
“As if blood has ever made a damn family.”
M/n sat in silence for a moment, a flicker of something uneasy crossing his face.
“They're so obsessed with keeping the bloodline of Percival. Said if I couldn’t give them a child, you still could.”
M/n slowly looked at her.
“Wait… what do you mean if you couldn’t?”
Liezel stilled.
Her lips quivered. She lowered her cup slowly, setting it on the table with a quiet clink. Her fingers trembled.
“That’s… actually what I came to talk to you about.” M/n sat up straighter, dread creeping up his spine.
“I’m infertile, M/n.” Silence. He stared, unsure what to say. The words felt too heavy, like they needed more air in the room.
“I—I found out a few months ago,” she continued. “Elijah and I had been trying, and it just… wasn’t happening. Went to a doctor. Got the news. No sugarcoating, no ‘maybe next time’—just a cold little printout and a recommendation for counseling.”
M/n sat back slowly. “Liezel…”
“I’m okay,” she said quickly, blinking fast.
“I mean, not okay okay, but—whatever. I’m dealing with it.”
She gave him a shaky smile.
“But Mom and Dad? They didn’t take it well. Didn’t even give me a day before they started saying things like, ‘Well, we still have M/n.’ Like I’m some… defective appliance they need to replace.”
“They’ve started matchmaking again,” she said flatly. “Digging up old connections. Calling in favors. Mom thinks she’s being subtle about it.” M/n didn’t respond. He just stared at a crack in the wall like it might offer a way out.
“She told me to talk to you,” Liezel continued, quieter now. “Said to convince you to come home. Said you ‘owe it to the family.’ Said it’s time you did your part.’
“I’m sorry, M/n. I really—I really tried. I begged them to leave you out of it. But they were so obsessed with this lineage bullshit.” M/n let out a shaky breath, suddenly too aware of how fast his heart was beating.
“She messaged me,” he muttered, eyes darting to the phone on the table.
“Said Dad found someone willing to marry me. ‘Come home, M/n. Your duty awaits.’” He laughed bitterly.
“I didn’t even open the message. Just saw the preview and felt like puking.”
“I know,” Liezel said softly. “I know.”
“Why can’t they just leave me alone?” M/n hissed.
“I could’ve found someone… naturally. Maybe even loved them. But no, every time I look at the word ‘marriage,’ all I taste is bile.” Liezel reached over and touched his back, but he didn’t relax.
“They poisoned the whole idea for me, Ate. I can’t even think about settling down without feeling like I’m in a cage.” “I know,” she repeated, her voice breaking.
“And I’m sorry, M/n. I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t stop it. I’ve been holding them off for months but—” M/n stared at her. He reached out, awkwardly patting her back.
“No,” he murmured, voice quiet. “It’s not your fault, Ate. You did everything you could for me, and I wouldn't have lasted as long if it weren't for you.”
Liezel sniffled.
“Why can’t they just leave me alone?” he snapped. “If they hadn’t forced all those women on me, maybe I would’ve found someone on my own! But no. They made me hate the idea of marriage! tainted it!” His fists clenched tight, knuckles whitening with tension.
“I’m sorry, M/n,” Liezel said quietly, her voice hollow. “I can’t save you anymore. I tried everything. But they’re set on arranging it again. This time, they won’t wait for you to agree.” He was no longer breathing evenly. The panic clawed its way up his throat like smoke filling his lungs.
“I’m getting married…?” he whispered, eyes wide. “No. No, please tell me you’re joking. This is bullshit! Can’t I just—report this?! Isn’t there a way to stop them?!” Liezel looked at him, her face pale, but she shook her head in defeat.
“You know how influential they are,” she said quietly. “They’ll just bribe whoever they need to. Pay off the noise, like they always do.” M/n gritted his teeth.
“Of course,” he whispered.
“Because justice is a fucking auction house. And we don’t have enough money to bid.” he said, his tone was thick and laced with venom.
“I ran away,” he said. “I ran. I finally got out. And now they’re pulling me back in like it was nothing, like all I did to survive wasn't even a choice to begin with.” His voice broke.
“I don’t want to go back,” he choked. “I don’t want to be locked in that house again, don’t want to be…planned like how they wanted.” He sank to his knees beside the couch, his arms around his chest like he was holding himself together. His entire body trembled, not from cold, but from the panic setting in. From the memories resurfacing. From the fear of being dragged back into a gilded cage.
“I can’t do it again,” he whispered.
“I won’t survive it.” Liezel knelt beside him. She didn’t reach out. She knew better. She just stayed close.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really thought we had more time.” M/n didn't respond. His eyes were unfocused, staring at a corner of the floor.
The silence between them grew heavy, thick with everything unsaid. Only M/n's quiet, uneven breathing filled the space.
“I’ll… I’ll try to talk to them,” Liezel said softly, her voice trembling with reluctant hope. “Maybe there’s another way out. Maybe if I push hard enough, they'll listen...”
She stood from the couch and walked toward him, her heels softly tapping against the floor. Liezel placed a hand on his back, meant to comfort, but M/n reached out, wrapping his arms around her in a sudden, desperate hug, a plea.
“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Do what you can… I’m begging you.”
She froze for half a second before hugging him back tightly, holding her brother like she used to when they were kids, hiding in the attic from their parents’ arguments. That same fragile warmth was there.
“I will,” she promised. “Don’t worry. I’ll do everything I can.”
She gave him one last firm squeeze, then slowly pulled away. Her hands lingered on his arms before she stepped back, picking up her purse from the table.
M/n followed her silently to the door, his footsteps dragging.
“I’ll come back soon,” she said, forcing a smile, her voice steady for his sake.
“I’ll let you know how it goes. Just... take care of yourself, okay?” M/n nodded, trying to return the smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You too.”
Liezel turned on her heel, stepping out into the pale afternoon light. The wind tugged at her coat as she walked through the withering garden—flowers long neglected, petals curled and brown. M/n stood at the threshold, watching her figure fade down the path.
As she disappeared behind the crooked gate, M/n remained still. The house was silent again.
Too silent.
And as the door clicked shut, he felt the weight settle back on his chest, the unbearable reality was still there. He was still trapped.
Just... in a prettier cage.
M/n began to cry, bawling his eyes out. His grip on the handle was trembling.
'I don't want to...I wanna be free...that's all I asked...' M/n's legs gave out, he just wanted to escape everything.
“I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to…” It became a chant, frantic and trembling, repeated over and over like he could will it into the world.
"I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to—"
His breath caught. His throat burned. His mind spiraled.
“I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to—”
The words blurred, a stream of dread and desperation, a cry from a cornered soul.
'I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to,'I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want-'
Then, arms.
M/n was engulfed in a hug. he opened his eyes and saw two arms wrapped around him. Mikhail was there, offering his cold yet warm touch.
He looked up, eyes swollen and raw.
“M-Mikhail…?” he croaked.
“Shhh…” Mikhail whispered, voice low and steady. “Let it out.” That was all it took. M/n broke.
He sobbed harder, his entire body trembling as Mikhail held him tighter, silent, steady, unyielding. The cold of Mikhail’s skin didn’t matter. Mikhail was there, offering his cold yet warm touch.
Mikhail didn't ask what had caused M/n to be in such a state. He didn’t need to. He didn’t want to force it out of M/n—he could tell him when he was ready. When the words didn’t taste like ash.
“There, there… cry as much as you want. I’m here,” Mikhail whispered, rubbing slow, comforting circles on M/n's back.
M/n's feelings were tangled and raw: he was upset, overwhelmed, tired… and desperate.
He was upset that he no longer knew what to do with his life—if it was ever his life to begin with. He felt like a puppet on strings, dancing to someone else’s script. His choices had always been limited... or nonexistent
"You'll be set with the Montemayor's daughter tonight."
His mother’s voice cut through his mind like a cold knife.
"YOU PISSED HER OFF?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!"
His father’s voice, sharp and thunderous.
He was overwhelmed because everything kept happening at once. Because no matter how far he ran, his past clawed its way back. Because even here, even now, it found him.
And then came the voices of the women, the six he was forced to meet. Their words still clung to him like filth.
“Look, I don’t care if you love me or not. I just want the ring, the lifestyle, and a black card. That’s how these things work, right?”
“It’s not like I need your money, M/n. But if you can’t provide, then what’s even the point of marrying into a name like yours?”
“Honestly, I thought a Percival would be more impressive.”
“I’m not like those women. I want you, not your name… even if your name comes with a mansion or two.”
“If we marry, I’ll make sure your reputation skyrockets. You’re lucky I’m even considering this, most men beg for a chance with me.”
“Honestly, I deserve better than this. You’re too soft, M/n. But fine, your family’s money makes up for your... lack of presence.”
Each word made his stomach twist. All of them were the same, rotten beneath their polite smiles. They didn’t want him, just the name he carried and the assets they'll benefit from him.
He was so tired of it all. Tired of his parents. Tired of his life. Tired of every miserable, pointless attempt to run, only to be pulled back like a prisoner.
He didn’t have the strength to escape again.
"I'll fund whatever you need, okay? Just go as far as possible when you're ready." Liezel’s voice echoed in his mind. a last-ditch lifeline. But even that turned out to be a dead end.
And yet, despite everything. He was still desperate. Desperate to hope.
Desperate to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out.
Even if it was only a delusion.
He trembled. So overwhelmed. So broken. Until a voice cut through his spiralling thoughts."Breathe, M/n..."
M/n's eyes fluttered open. Mikhail was still holding him, firm but gentle. He brought a cold hand to M/n's cheek, cupping it tenderly, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.
“I’m here,” Mikhail whispered again.
M/n didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He just sank further into the embrace. And Mikhail let him. No questions. No pressure. Just silence. Just warmth.
Just quiet understanding in a world thatnever gave M/n the space to fall apart.
He was supposed to hate this. Mikhail was just another obstacle. Another reminder of the prison he could never leave.
He was supposed to hate Mikhail…So why was he clinging to him like this? Why was he holding onto him like Mikhail held the key to a locked door no one else could see?
He was supposed to hate the embrace Mikhail offered. the warm and safe hold, when all M/n had known were cold.
But he couldn’t find it in himself to pull away.
Couldn’t hate him. Not when Mikhail whispered softly to him in the dark, his voice a balm M/n didn’t know he needed.
there was nothing left but hiccups and hollow breaths. Mikhail stared down into his eyes, those teary, hollow-blue eyes dulled by exhaustion and grief.
“Feeling any better?” Mikhail asked gently. M/n shook his head. The tears might’ve dried, but the weight hadn’t left.
“I know how to make you feel better,” Mikhail said, slipping his cold hand into M/n's and lacing their fingers together. “Come with me.”
M/n didn’t resist. He didn’t have the energy to.
Mikhail led him upstairs to a room M/n had cleaned the other day. one nearly empty, except for a few dusty chairs and a small wooden table in the corner. There was space. Quiet space.
M/n blinked at the room, confused, his eyes still swollen and red.
“My father used to dance with my mother here,” Mikhail said, his tone softer now—nostalgic. “Whenever she was sad, it always made things feel a little lighter.”
He approached the table and lifted the lid of an old gramophone. It creaked in protest, but the machinery looked intact. With delicate hands, Mikhail searched through the shelf nearby and selected a vinyl.
“Hopefully, it still works,” he smiled, placing the record gently under the needle.
A few seconds passed before the soft crackle of music filled the space. It was subtle, but enough to coax a smile from Mikhail. He turned to M/n, walking toward him slowly, then stopped with a light bow.
“May I invite you to dance?”
M/n stared at him with a furrowed brow. He didn’t get it. How was this supposed to make anything better?
But despite himself, and everything he was supposed to feel. M/n placed his hand in Mikhail’s.
The dead man pulled him in with practiced grace, placing M/n's right hand on his shoulder. His own hand rested between M/n's shoulder blades, steady and firm. The other two hands met and intertwined.
“I don’t know how to dance,” M/n mumbled under his breath.
“I’ll guide you,” Mikhail replied, gaze steady and sure. He kept his olive-green eyes locked on M/n's tired blue ones.
In a slow, careful rhythm, Mikhail began to move, guiding M/n with him. His steps were measured and graceful. Every time M/n's foot fumbled or hesitated, Mikhail gave his hand a gentle squeeze. a wordless reminder that it was okay to stumble.
"This is... unexpectedly relaxing, in a way..." M/n muttered, his voice unsure but genuine. He yelped when he nearly tripped again. Mikhail smiled.
"Has anyone ever danced with you before?" Mikhail asked, voice light, almost teasing.
M/n shook his head.
"No... It's not really common anymore—to dance like this." "Waltz? But it's a very romantic thing to do," Mikhail said, tilting his head with a playful look. M/n chuckled under his breath.
“Welcome to the future, then.” Mikhail pouted dramatically.
“I suppose I’m a little outdated.”
Then, with a sudden playful glint in his eye, he spun M/n around in a slow twirl and gently dipped him. M/n let out a startled yelp, his arms flailing briefly before clinging to Mikhail’s shoulder for dear life. Mikhail’s hand supported his back firmly, the other still holding M/n's hand as if the dance had never broken.
"Relax," Mikhail murmured with a small laugh. "I'm not going to drop you."
M/n narrowed his eyes at him.
"You literally just did!"
"But I caught you, didn't I?" Mikhail grinned. M/n's face burned, his cheeks stained with a deep red. The moment felt ridiculous and sincere all at once. awkward but strangely… safe.
Mikhail began to hum, soft and low. his eyes fluttering closed as he guided M/n gently across the wooden floor. His steps were smooth and practiced. It was as if he’d done this a hundred times before.
His tune aligned effortlessly with the gentle song playing from the gramophone, A lullaby meant only for M/n's ears. And it was enough to put him in a daze. M/n blinked up at Mikhail, lost in the closeness between them.
He’d never noticed how mellow Mikhail’s voice was before. The same voice he once hated for being too calm, too unpredictable.
He’d never noticed how beautiful Mikhail’s smile could be. The very smile he once loathed for being too bright.
He never noticed how easily Mikhail made his heart race, made his skin flush, made his thoughts scatter like petals in the wind.
He was growing on him. And M/n hated it.
He hated how he was starting to like him. How the very thing he resented, the same corpse that he was unwillingly bound with, was now the only person who made him feel seen.
M/n bit his lip hard enough to sting. a single thought filtered through his head;
Mikhail was lovely. Too lovely. And too gentle. And too kind. And maybe, just maybe… he was the first person who wasn’t trying to take anything from him.
"My... sister said I'm getting married..." The words left M/n's lips in a brittle whisper, barely heard over the soft hum of the gramophone. Mikhail’s eyes widened, though his steps didn’t falter. The dance continued, steady and slow, as if grounding M/n to the moment.
"What...?" Mikhail’s voice was barely audible, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and concern.
"I have no say in this decision this time..." M/n's voice shook. “My sister… she’s infertile, so she couldn’t… give my parents an heir. So now, they want me to give them one instead…” His grip on Mikhail tightened slightly, fingers trembling. He shouldn’t be saying this. Not to Mikhail. Not to someone who wasn’t involved in any of this. But still…
It felt right. Like his heart had chosen to trust him even when his mind hadn’t caught up.
“She said… she’ll try to convince them otherwise,” M/n mumbled, his throat tight.
“I-I don’t know what to do—” Before his tears could fall again, Mikhail gently pulled him closer, laying M/n's head on his shoulder. He rested his chin lightly atop M/n's head and began patting his back in soothing circles.
“Shhh... If that’s the case, then there’s no need to panic right now, is there?” Mikhail whispered, voice soft and low, like a lullaby. “Your sister is trying. That means you’re not alone in this.” M/n clung to the fabric of Mikhail’s shirt, burying his face in it.
“But what if she fails...? What if they take me away and cage me again? what then?” Mikhail closed his eyes for a second, holding him just a little tighter.
“Then we find a way out,” he murmured. “Together.” M/n's breath hitched.
“You don’t have to carry everything on your own, M/n. I may not know how to fix it all… but I want to be here. For whatever you need. Even if it’s just to stand still and hold you while the world screams around you.” The music continued playing softly around them, the record spinning as time seemed to slow.
“You deserve to live a life that’s yours,” Mikhail continued gently.
“Not one dictated by names or bloodlines or expectations. Yours, M/n. And if it takes time, then we take that time. If it’s hard, then we face it. One day at a time.” Lucien didn’t answer right away. He was too busy crying quietly into Mikhail’s shoulder, too exhausted to speak. But his arms wrapped tighter around the dead man’s torso.
"I... Thank you, Mikhail. And I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess like this. I didn’t mean to ruin the moment..." M/n murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Ruin it?" Mikhail pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, the warmth of his arms fading too quickly for M/n's liking.
"M/n, you didn’t ruin anything. I’m grateful you trusted me with what’s weighing on you."
M/n said nothing, but his hands hesitated where they should have let go. Mikhail noticed. He smiled faintly.
"You know... you remind me of winter." M/n blinked at him, confused.
"Cold at first touch... but underneath it all, you're just aching for warmth you claim you don’t need."
M/n's breath caught, heat creeping up his neck.
"W-What the hell are you talking about?" he muttered, eyes darting away as if that would hide the blush already blooming across his face.
Mikhail chuckled, low and soft.
"Every time I get close, you go pink. I think you're starting to like me, M/n."
"That’s nonsense! I hate you." The words tumbled out too quickly, too defensive, especially with his ears betraying him, flushed scarlet.
Mikhail’s grin widened.
"Really? Then why did you flinch when I pulled away just now?" M/n froze, mouth agape, scrambling for a reply that never came. M/n shoved him back with a flustered huff, but there was no venom in the gesture.
"I really hate you," he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. Mikhail only laughed and gently reached for his hand again.
"Alright, I’ll behave," he said, eyes never leaving M/n's.
"So... how about now? Feeling any better?" M/n hesitated. The ache in his chest hadn’t vanished, but it no longer felt unbearable. Like the weight was still there, but somehow... shared.
"I feel... alright," he admitted, voice quiet. "Thanks to you."
Mikhail nodded, as if satisfied.
"Ah, I guess I didn't finish the job yet." He tapped his chin, clearly thinking of other ways to help.
"Oh, I know! Something sweet. Sweets make people happy, right?" he beamed, suddenly brimming with energy.
"I'll go make leche flan."
Before M/n could say anything, Mikhail had already let go of his hand and stepped toward the door, practically glowing with excitement.
"Just tell me if you need anything, okay?" Mikhail added with one last smile before disappearing out into the hallway.
M/n stayed where he was, fingers still curled slightly, aching from the absence of that touch. He looked down at his hand, staring quietly for a moment.
Then, barely a whisper meant for no one but himself:
"...You’re ruining all my reasons to hate you."
DICTIONARY SECTION:
ATE — Eldest sister ( Can also be used to call female strangers, cousins and even younger siblings for respect. )
ARCHIVE:
—Leche flan is the Filipino version of crème caramel, a rich, dense, and creamy custard dessert topped with a layer of clear caramel sauce. It is a beloved classic often served at special occasions, fiestas, and parties.
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