𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗, 𝗨𝗡𝗪𝗘𝗗 [ 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘹 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ]
𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 7
"I used to hear a simple song
That was until you came along
You took my broken melody
And now I hear a symphony"
—ɪ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴀ sʏᴍᴘʜᴏɴʏ ʙʏ ᴄᴏᴅʏ ғʀʏ
CHAPTER 7
Cold touch, Warm feeling.
SUNLIGHT stretched lazily across the bedroom, soft and golden as it filtered through sheer curtains. The bed was still warm beneath the covers, but something felt... different.
Mikhail stirred. His brows furrowed faintly as his hand reached across the bed, searching.
“…M/n?” His fingers touched nothing. No warmth. No steady breathing. Just an empty space.
The ache returned instantly, tight in his chest. Like waking from a good dream only to be met with silence. He shot upright, blankets falling off his shoulders. His heart pounded as he scanned the room.
“M/n…?” No answer.
His breath hitched. In just seconds, panic began to bubble inside him, cruel and familiar. He stumbled out of bed and padded barefoot into the hallway. He checked the bathroom. Empty. The library. Empty. His heart sank deeper with every step.
Had he… changed his mind?
Did I scare him off?
His thoughts spiraled until—
Clang. A sound from the kitchen. Mikhail’s breath caught. He made his way there like a ghost, turning the corner quietly. And there he was.
M/n stood at the stove, humming softly, back turned, sleeves pushed up as he flipped eggs in a pan. A kettle whistled softly beside him, and a bowl of chopped vegetables sat nearby.
Mikhail didn’t speak. He only walked up behind him and gently wrapped his arms around M/n's waist, burying his face into the fabric of his shirt.
M/n paused mid-motion, startled at first, but then relaxed, setting the spatula down. “Mikhail?”
“You weren’t there,” Mikhail murmured, voice muffled against M/n's back.
“I’m sorry...” M/n turned in his arms, cupping the back of Mikhail’s head.
“I just came down to make breakfast. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“But you said… you’d be there,” Mikhail whispered. His voice trembled like a child waking from a nightmare M/n's expression softened. He pulled Mikhail into a full embrace. “And I meant it. I was going to come right back after making coffee and toast. I didn’t think it’d scare you so much.”
“I thought you were gone,” Mikhail admitted, eyes glassy. “That maybe… last night was just a dream. Or that I scared you off.”
M/n gently touched their foreheads together. “You didn’t scare me. I’m here, Mikhail. Really here.” Mikhail exhaled shakily and nodded, clinging tighter. M/n let him stay like that for a moment longer before guiding him toward the small breakfast table.
“Come. Sit. Let's have breakfast.” Mikhail obeyed without a word, still holding onto M/n's sleeve even as he sat down. M/n set a warm plate in front of him: eggs, tomatoes sautéed in herbs, and toast with a light spread of butter.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I guessed.” M/n said with a small smile.
Mikhail blinked down at the plate, overwhelmed by the simple, intimate gesture.
“…It smells amazing.”
M/n brought his own plate over and sat across from him. both of them ate in silence until M/n remembered something.
A few bites passed in silence before M/n leaned back and said,
“Oh, right, about the garden.”
Mikhail paused, eyes lifting to him.
M/n smiled.
“The supplies came earlier this morning. I saw the delivery guy nearly fall into the bushes. I was thinking… we could start fixing it up today, just like I promised.”
“Right, we were supposed to do that yesterday, weren't we?” Mikhail asked quietly.
“Yeah.” M/n nodded.
“I think it’ll make you feel better.” Mikhail lowered his gaze, murmuring,
“…I’ve never really made anything grow.”
“Neither have I,” M/n chuckled. “I nearly killed a cactus once. But I think it’s less about growing things perfectly and more about trying. Putting your hands in the dirt and saying, ‘This is mine now,’ makes you feel proud, no?"
There was a long pause, and then Mikhail said,
“…Then I want to try. With you.” M/n looked at him fondly.
"We can also plant the Gumamela seeds, you were looking forward to it, weren't you?" Mikhail's eyes lit up, and he nodded rather quickly.
"Then, we should finish our breakfast before hitting the garden." M/n chuckled when Mikhail suddenly ate his food faster.
Almost instantly, Mikhail finished his plate and waited for M/n to do the same, quietly watching every bite like he’d follow him the moment he stood up. When M/n finally pushed his plate aside with a satisfied sigh, Mikhail perked up like a dog hearing his leash rattle.
The two stepped outside into the sunlit garden, tools in hand.
“Ah, we should probably start with the flower bed,” M/n said, pointing toward the once-beautiful corner of the garden that now lay wilted and colorless. It looked just as it had the night Mikhail followed him, withered under time and neglect.
Mikhail stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper.
“Mother’s flowers…” His gaze softened, mourning quietly for the blooms that once lived here. M/n gave his back a gentle pat, offering reassurance not just with words but with presence.
“Don’t worry,” M/n said. “We’ll bring them back. Here—” He handed Mikhail a seed packet. Mikhail blinked. The label read: Gumamela. A small spark of light danced in his eyes.
“We’ll start with that first,” M/n smiled, crouching beside the bed. With careful hands, he used the trowel to dig into the soil, making a small, neat hole.
“Pass me one?” he asked. Mikhail nodded quickly and handed him a single seed, his movements delicate, as if the seed might shatter between his fingers. M/n accepted it and planted it with a softness that made Mikhail pause, watching the way M/n handled it with reverence. The sun glared down, casting heat over their shoulders. Sweat started to bead on M/n's forehead.
Without a word, Mikhail stood up and darted inside. M/n blinked after him. “Mikhail?” A few moments later, Mikhail returned with a large umbrella in hand. He walked over and popped it open with a frown of concentration, then angled it to cover M/n completely.
“I’ll shade you,” he said simply. M/n turned red.
“T-Thanks…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Now you try,” M/n said, handing the trowel to him.
Mikhail knelt beside him, umbrella still shielding M/n as he mimicked the steps he'd seen: digging, softening the soil, cradling the seed in his fingers before placing it gently into the earth. When he was done, he looked up with a satisfied smile. “Like that?”
“Perfect,” M/n praised. “Let’s plant the others too.”
He split the remaining seeds in half, giving Mikhail his share. Together, they worked under the bright sun, planting one seed at a time. Every time Mikhail patted the dirt closed, he looked proud of himself, beaming like he’d just won something.
M/n chuckled. “You’re really enjoying this.”
Mikhail looked up. “I like planting things with you.”
As they continued, M/n said quietly,
“You know… the sampaguita you gave me when I was angry... I’ve been taking care of them.”
Mikhail turned to listen, his fingers brushing soil from his palm.
“They’ve been blooming,” M/n continued. “They’re really beautiful. I like seeing them in the mornings.”
Mikhail stared at him with a soft expression, eyes glowing with something tender.
“They’re fitting for the person I gave them to,” he said with a bold smile. “Pretty, too.” M/n's face turned pink.
“Y-You can’t just say that while we’re working.”
“Why not?” Mikhail chuckled, then added, teasing, “Should I say it when we’re not working?” M/n covered his face with a glove. “You’re insufferable.”
The two continued on, moving next to sampaguita, then orchids, then roses, and even a row of karaksan. When they were done, they both stood back, surveying the fresh rows of soil and seed markers poking out like proud flags.
“That should do it,” M/n sighed, stretching his arms above his head.
He walked over to the tool box and picked up a long green hose.
Mikhail squinted. “...Snake?” M/n blinked. “What?” “That thing. Is it a snake?” Mikhail asked, suspicious of its stillness.
M/n laughed.
“No, it’s a hose. For watering the plants.”
He connected one end of it to the faucet. Mikhail watched with great concern, eyes narrowing when M/n handed him the other end.
“Hold that for a sec.” Mikhail hesitantly took it, inspecting the strange object with deep suspicion. “It’s not moving.”
M/n chuckled as he fetched another hose.
“It’s not supposed to.” Mikhail noticed a black piece with a small lever attached near the nozzle. He poked it, just testing—
Click—Water exploded from the hose.
“AHH!” M/n shrieked, spinning around as freezing water sprayed his back. Mikhail gasped, hands scrambling to shut off the lever.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! The snake did it!” M/n stood drenched, blinking through soaked bangs. A moment of silence passed before he burst into laughter.
“You’re blaming the hose?” he grinned.
“It looked like a snake!” Mikhail protested, cheeks burning.
“It attacked you!” M/n stepped closer and flicked some water from his arm toward Mikhail. “Then you’ve got a dangerous weapon there, soldier.”
Mikhail let out a laugh, shy and small but real.
“Guess I do.” M/n reached over, adjusting Mikhail’s grip on the handle.
“Here. Hold it like this if you want to water the flowers.”
Together, they watered the newly planted beds. Mikhail was careful now, eyes focused as he passed the stream over each seed marker. M/n watched him in silence for a while, noting the way Mikhail’s face had softened with peace.
Mikhail moved the hose from one row to the next, gently watering the soil with full concentration. His expression was serious, like this was some sacred ritual that demanded utmost precision.
M/n, still soaked from earlier, watched from the side with arms crossed and a wicked glint in his eye.
“You know,” M/n said casually, stepping closer,
“I think the snake’s still got some bite left.”
“Hm?” Mikhail looked up.
WHOOSH!
Cold water blasted across Mikhail’s front.
“Wha—M/N!” Mikhail gasped, utterly betrayed, arms flailing. M/n stood triumphantly, finger on the hose trigger, grinning like a menace. “Revenge,” he said simply, smug as ever.
Mikhail wiped his soaked bangs from his eyes and glared, lips pursed into a pout. “The snake betrayed me—why am I the one being punished!?”
“Oh, so now it’s your friend?” M/n smirked, giving the hose another teasing squeeze that sprayed Mikhail’s feet.
“That’s it. Come here!.”
“Nope!” M/n bolted. Mikhail yelped and gave chase, slipping slightly in the grass. “M/n, come back here!”
M/n cackled, weaving through the garden like a phantom, ducking behind bushes, dodging rose arches. The hose dragged behind Mikhail like a tail as he charged after him.
“You’re getting mud on the path!” M/n called from ahead.
“I’m getting justice!” Mikhail yelled back. M/n ducked into the tall hedge maze, laughter echoing between the green walls. Mikhail stormed after him, slowing at the entrance.
“M/n?” Mikhail called, creeping forward.
“You can’t hide forever.”
From somewhere inside: “I think I can.”
Mikhail narrowed his eyes, walking deeper into the maze. “Marco…”
A snicker. “Polo.” He spun toward the voice. Nothing.
“Marco.” “...Polo~”
He turned a corner too quickly and bumped into a wall of leaves.
“Ow.” M/n peeked out from a side path behind him, biting his lip to keep from laughing. But Mikhail heard the leaves shift.
He whipped around. “Gotcha!” M/n gasped and ran, Mikhail hot on his heels. The maze was a blur of green and giggles, hose trailing behind like a mischievous vine. Every time Mikhail turned, M/n was just out of reach, taunting him with that crooked smile and flushed cheeks.
“You can’t run forever!” Mikhail shouted, laughing breathlessly.
“Then come catch me!” Mikhail turned the corner sharply and ran right into M/n.
They both stumbled, tangled, and toppled over into the grass. M/n landed with a soft thud, and Mikhail, wide-eyed, hovered over him, hands pressed into the ground on either side of M/n's head.
They stared at each other, hearts hammering.
The world slowed.
M/n's breathing was shallow, his cheeks flushed from running... and from how close Mikhail’s face now was. Mikhail’s eyes darted across M/n's features—his lashes, his parted lips, the slight rise and fall of his chest. One hand, dirt-streaked and trembling slightly, brushed a wet strand of hair from M/n's cheek.
M/n realized how close their faces were to each other, but it gave him a closer view of Mikhail's features. M/n's breath hitched. His heart thudded, too loud, too obvious in his chest.
He had never seen someone so achingly beautiful before. how did he not notice this? Is it because of his adorable personality that made M/n's heart ache, that whatever Mikhail looks like, it doesn't matter to him?
Even if Mikhail doesn't have his limbs intact, or his appearance is different to that of a human one, he'd still look beautiful to M/n?
Mikhail's olive eyes held adoration towards M/n, his lips that let out words that make M/n's heart burst into a million pieces, hands that held him delicately.
M/n wanted to hate him, truly. He tried. Again and again. But every time Mikhail did so much as smile, the resolve in his chest cracked like porcelain.
It was maddening… how easily his heart betrayed him.
He hated the way Mikhail looked at him like he was the only thing left in the world worth holding onto. Hated how that look made his pulse stutter. He hated how Mikhail’s laugh lived in his head like a song he couldn't stop humming.
But no matter how hard he tried, M/n couldn’t bring himself to hate him.
Because his heart had never known the shape of hatred when it came to Mikhail. Only love. And far too much of it.
Mikhail blinked, noticing M/n's stare. The grin faded into something quieter. Softer.
“…M/n?” he asked, voice gentle.
M/n didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hand had lifted on its own, brushing a strand of hair away from Mikhail’s forehead. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of his brow, then the curve of his cheek. Mikhail didn’t flinch. He leaned into the touch.
“You’re…” M/n whispered, barely audible beneath the sound of the rain. “You’re beautiful.”
A breath caught in Mikhail’s throat. His gaze flicked to M/n's lips, then back to his eyes. His body inched closer. water rolled down the curve of his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt, but neither of them moved to get up. The warmth between them was stronger than the chill.
M/n's lips parted slightly, and his eyes fluttered shut. Mikhail leaned in.
There were mere centimeters between them, two heartbeats suspended in time. The world seemed to hush around them, and the wind stilled. M/n could feel Mikhail’s breath on his mouth,
It felt like gravity itself was pulling them together.
But just as their lips were about to touch—
Drip.
A raindrop landed on M/n's face. Then another. And another.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
A sudden downpour poured over them like a divine interruption.
They blinked, stunned as the sky opened up and soaked them both in seconds.
Mikhail looked up at the sky, blinking through the rain. Then he started to laugh. A full, loud, carefree laugh. M/n couldn’t help but join in.
M/n reached up and flicked a droplet off his chin. “You really were going to kiss me, huh?”
Mikhail smirked, water dripping from his hair.
“Maybe. You didn’t look like you were about to stop me.” M/n turned red. “Y-You—!” Before he could finish, Mikhail stood and held out a hand.
“Come on,” he said, eyes soft. “Let’s get out of the rain before you catch a cold.” M/n stared up at him, then took his hand. Mikhail pulled him up gently, his grip warm despite the cold rain.
The rain only grew heavier as the two trudged toward the nearest hedge wall, hoping to find the exit. But with every turn, they were met with another green barrier, another corner that looked exactly like the last.
“…M/n,” Mikhail said slowly, glancing around. “Didn’t we pass here already?” M/n, still brushing wet hair from his eyes, looked back.
“…Oh no.” “Don’t say it.” “We’re lost,” M/n groaned, both hands falling to his sides.
“We’re soaking wet and we’re lost.”
Another clap of thunder cracked above, making M/n flinch.
Mikhail immediately stepped in front of him, instinctively shielding him from the rain as best he could. He tugged M/n beneath the overhang of a particularly thick hedge wall, one arm curling protectively over his shoulder.
“Sorry,” M/n muttered, rubbing his arms.
“I didn’t think it’d start pouring like this…” Mikhail looked down at him, his voice softer now.
“Are you cold?” M/n looked up at him, water beading on his lashes.
“Kind of.” Without thinking, Mikhail unzipped his half-drenched hoodie and shrugged it off, draping it over M/n's shoulders.
It didn’t help much, they were both already soaked. But the gesture made M/n's chest flutter anyway.
“…You really are something,” M/n murmured, pulling the hoodie closer.
“I like to think I’m your something,” Mikhail teased with a grin, then paused, eyes darting over the endless walls of green.
“Okay. We’re gonna get out of this. We just have to retrace our steps.”
M/n stared at the maze.
“Everything looks the same. It’s like green purgatory.” Mikhail narrowed his eyes, then blinked. His face lit up.
“The hose!” M/n blinked.
“What?”
“The hose, M/n! You have it with you, right? And it’s still attached to the faucet in the garden. That means we can work it out!”
M/n's mouth opened slowly in realization. “You're right!” He excitedly smiled. They rushed back to where they left the hose, water squelching in their shoes. Mikhail found the hose lying in the grass where M/n had dropped it and picked it up triumphantly.
Mikhail gripped the hose with both hands, eyes narrowed like an explorer leading a quest. He followed it slowly, winding around corners, dragging M/n gently along by the wrist. Lucien couldn’t help but laugh softly despite the cold.
“You’re really taking this seriously.”
“M/n, we’re in the rain, soaking wet, inside a maze. god knows how big this maze is.”
Lucien chuckled again.
“It’s a backyard hedge maze.”
“Same thing.” They kept close to the hose, tracing it with muddy hands. The rain showed no signs of stopping, but the tension between them began to ease with every step, replaced by quiet laughter.
Eventually, the green walls began to open. The maze grew thinner. And finally, blessedly, they emerged back into the garden.
"We made it out," Mikhail smiled, seeing the mansion with pure relief.
Mikhail tugged M/n inside the manor, his hand shielding him from the downpour of the rain. Once inside, Mikhail squeezed the water from his clothes.
"I'll prepare us some Lugaw, do you like that Luc-"
"ACHOO!" M/n sneezed, sniffing the mucus from his nostrils.
"oh my...you should go take a warm bath, I'll boil some water," Mikhail urged M/n to go upstairs and take a bath.
M/n nodded and meekly made his way upstairs while Mikhail filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove. He stood at the stove, waiting for the water to slowly boil. His damp clothes left droplets of water on the floor.
"Umm...I'll just clean it later," he mumbled, looking at the water pooling under him.
Once done, Mikhail made his way upstairs, knocking on the bathroom door.
"M/n, your hot waters here," He announces. Mikhail heard a faint voice.
"Come in" Mikhail turns the knob and peered inside.
M/n was inside the tub, his cheeks flushed a deep pink from the fever. Beads of sweat clung to his temples, and though the water offered some comfort, his body ached with fatigue. Mikhail quietly entered, the old kettle in hand, steam wafting from its spout as he set it beside the tub.
“Is the water cold?” he asked gently, kneeling beside the porcelain edge and dipping his fingers into the bath.
“It’s fine, I guess,” M/n mumbled, eyes half-lidded. Mikhail sighed, then began pouring the hot water in a slow, careful stream.
“Cold water isn't good for you, M/n. It'll make your cold worse.”
M/n scoffed softly. “Don’t you, like… treat fever with cold things?” Mikhail paused, gave him a tired but amused look, and facepalmed.
“No. Well, except for cold drinks. But cold showers? Not recommended.”
The last of the kettle’s contents poured into the tub. He dipped his fingers again, warm, not scalding. Perfect.
M/n let out a small, contented sigh as the heat swirled around him. The warmth curled like arms around his sore body, comforting and gentle. He was so lost in the sensation that he didn’t realize Mikhail had begun lathering shampoo into his hair until he felt strong, careful fingers massaging his scalp.
“Oy! Why are you still here?” M/n squawked, trying to glance up, but Mikhail’s hands stopped him.
“I’m helping you take a bath,” Mikhail replied coolly, continuing to scrub. The bubbles formed thickly, gliding down M/n's strands.
“I-I can do it myself! Get out!” M/n protested, but his voice lacked bite. Mikhail’s fingers were… really good at this. Too good, in fact. His nails scratched lightly, rhythmically, along M/n's scalp. It was embarrassingly relaxing.
“You don’t look like you want me to get out,” Mikhail said, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“It’s… okay, I guess…” M/n grumbled, sinking lower into the tub, cheeks still burning. Mikhail’s hum in response was condescending and playful.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and M/n obeyed. Mikhail grabbed a tabo and gently poured water over M/n's head, rinsing the soap from his hair. The stream trickled down M/n's forehead, past his lashes, his nose, his lips.
“You know,” M/n said softly, cracking one eye open.
“You should take a bath too.”
“I will, after you're done,” Mikhail replied as he stood, ready to take the kettle downstairs. But before he could reach it, M/n reached up with surprising strength and yanked him into the tub.
The splash was dramatic. Water sloshed over the edge, soaking the bathmat and their clothes.
“Why not now?” M/n laughed breathlessly, victorious. Mikhail sat frozen for a beat, blinking.
Then he smirked.
“What’s this? You wanna see me naked before we even date? That’s very vulgar of you, M/n Percival.”
M/n's smile faltered, and he blushed so hard it looked like his fever had doubled.
“W-What’s wrong with taking a bath together? We’re both males!”
“Mm, sure, sure,” Mikhail teased, voice rich with mischief.
“So you don’t mind if I join you, like this?”
M/n glanced away shyly and shook his head. Mikhail chuckled, and without further delay, began peeling off his damp clothes. M/n stole a glance, only to immediately snap his head back with a fresh blush.
“Why are you looking away? We’re both males, aren’t we?” Mikhail echoed back, voice low and teasing.
“I-It’s a reflex…” M/n muttered, eyes stubbornly fixed on the tiled wall. Even in death, Mikhail’s body was... distracting. His scars, the lean muscles beneath pale skin, it was all too much.
Mikhail lowered himself into the tub beside M/n, careful and quiet. The silence that followed was thick, but not uncomfortable. The water settled, their knees brushing lightly beneath the surface. M/n adjusted himself, but every small movement made the water ripple, made their legs accidentally touch again.
M/n peeked at him. Mikhail had his head tilted back, eyes closed, expression peaceful for once. No teasing. Just serenity. The warm light bathed his features, softened him.
M/n's gaze dropped to the scars that marred Mikhail’s chest and arms. The sight brought a sting to his eyes. His voice trembled as he spoke.
“I read your mother’s diary yesterday… after you fell asleep.”
Mikhail’s eyes opened slowly, flicking toward M/n.
“I know I shouldn’t have. It isn’t my place. But I… I wanted to understand you better. I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine,” Mikhail interrupted softly.
M/n swallowed the guilt forming in his throat.
“I don’t know everything that happened to you, but I just… I’m sorry for it. You didn’t deserve that, Mikhail. You didn’t deserve any of it. You’re not—”
“Don’t,” Mikhail said quietly, staring down at his own reflection in the water.
“Just seeing what I turned into after death… these scars… this body… I look hideous.”
“You’re not,” M/n said quickly, voice laced with emotion. Their eyes met.
“You’re not hideous, Mikhail. Far from it.”
He reached beneath the water, fumbling for Mikhail’s hand and holding it gently in his own.
“These scars… they aren’t ugly. They prove how much you endured. How hard you fought. And that you survived. To me… you’re beautiful. Radiant, even. I mean that.” Mikhail’s lips parted in stunned silence. His eyes glimmered, not from tears, but from something raw and overwhelming.
“M/n…” Mikhail’s voice wavered.
“I… It might’ve been obvious, but I think… no. I’m sure. I’m in love with you.” M/n's heart jolted.
“Every time I’m with you… every time I touch you, talk to you… I feel alive. You brought something back into me that I thought I’d lost forever. I tried to resist it because you said you didn’t want to be bound to someone. I tried so hard.”
His grip on M/n's hand tightened, desperate, pleading.
“But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop loving you. Even in death, you make me feel so alive, M/n.”
M/n stared at him, eyes wide, breath caught in his chest. Mikhail looked like he was bracing himself for rejection, for heartbreak.
“I…” M/n began, voice barely a whisper. He saw Mikhail flinch, readying himself. But instead, M/n smiled.
“I love you too.”
Mikhail blinked, stunned.
“You do?”
M/n nodded slowly.
“I tried to ignore it, I really did. But every time you left the room, my heart would ache. Every smile, every touch, every stupid joke of yours—I fell for all of it.”
“I love your voice, your smile, the way you make me feel like I’m wanted, like I matter. I love you, Mikhail. All of you.”
Tears welled in Mikhail’s eyes. He reached out, arms shaking, and pulled M/n into a tight embrace. M/n buried his face into Mikhail’s shoulder, and they held each other there, soaked and trembling, with nothing but the sound of water and heartbeats between them.
“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Mikhail whispered.
M/n pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.
“Then listen closely.”
He cupped Mikhail’s cheek, breath shallow, and leaned in.
Their lips met, hesitant at first. But then Mikhail melted into the kiss, and M/n pressed closer, their bodies half submerged in the tub, steam rising like mist around them. The kiss deepened, a collision of tenderness and need, mouths moving with aching reverence.
Mikhail’s hand tangled in M/n's wet hair. M/n clung to his shoulders, pulling him close like he was the only warmth in the world.
“You’re adorable when you’re wrong,” M/n whispered against Mikhail’s lips, still breathless.
Mikhail grinned.
“Oh? Then I’ll show you just how much I love you.” Before M/n could protest, Mikhail pounced, sending a wave of water crashing over the edge.
“M/N!?” M/n gasped, slipping under briefly before resurfacing, sputtering and coughing. “Y-You! Cough! Idiot!”
“I’m so sorry!” Mikhail panicked, patting his back. “I forgot we’re still in the bathtub!”
M/n glared at him through wet bangs, still coughing. “L-Let’s get out of here…”
“Right, right,” Mikhail muttered, helping M/n out and wrapping him in a warm towel. He carried him bridal-style to the bedroom, trailing puddles behind them.
After drying off and changing into comfortable house clothes, M/n in a soft, oversized shirt and shorts, and Mikhail in a loose black sweater and sweatpants, they made their way downstairs. The wood beneath them creaked gently with every step. The house was still, save for the soft tap tap tap of the rain against the windows and roof.
M/n wrapped a shawl around his shoulders and sat at the dining table. He could see the kitchen from where he sat, and he watched as Mikhail moved about with precision, retrieving rice, chicken stock, ginger, and garlic. His movements were graceful.
“You’re making lugaw?” M/n asked, voice still raspy from the bath but softer now.
Mikhail glanced over his shoulder with a little grin. “Of course. It’s warm, easy on the stomach, and good for rainy days, especially those who think cold can cure fever.” M/n huffed.
"I don't want to hear that coming from someone who confessed in a bathtub." M/n retorted. Mikhail laughed, a deep, melodious sound that echoed warmly through the kitchen.
He lit the stove, poured oil into a pot, and began sautéing ginger and garlic, the scent instantly wafting through the house like a comforting hug. The aroma of fried garlic bloomed, golden and earthy, mixing with the ginger’s spice.
M/n found himself resting his chin on the blanket-wrapped arms as he stared, utterly enamored.
There was something about seeing Mikhail like this, in his sweater, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot while the rain whispered against the walls, that made M/n's chest ache in the best way. For someone who once believed love meant compromise or pain, this scene felt like a miracle. A love that breathed quietly.
Mikhail caught him staring.
“What?” “Nothing,” M/n murmured, smiling to himself.
“You’re just really… attractive when you cook.”
“Oh?” Mikhail turned, raising a brow with a smug grin. “Guess mom was right, cooking can really swoon anyone.”
“It's not your cooking, it's you.” Mikhail blushed when M/n pointed towards him, he bashfully fiddled with the ladle. M/n snorted.
"Cute..." he whispered.
The lugaw simmered slowly, absorbing all the rich flavors. Mikhail ladled a generous portion into two bowls, topping them with boiled egg and a dash of calamansi.
When he brought it over and set it down on the wooden table, he also placed a small kiss on M/n's forehead. Lucien rolled his eyes, but it was obvious he liked it due to his red cheeks.
They ate together, their spoons clinking gently against ceramic, the steam rising in curls between them. M/n blew on each bite and savored the warmth that spread through his chest, not just from the food, but from the man sitting across him.
“You really went all out,” M/n said between mouthfuls. “This is so good.”
Mikhail smiled around a spoonful, cheeks slightly pink. “You’re praising me a lot today. Are you sure you’re not dying from the fever?”
“Perhaps.” M/n teased, and then promptly choked on his rice when Mikhail blew him a kiss across the table. They laughed, the sound mixing with the steady rhythm of the rain and the hum of soft light.
After dinner, Mikhail cleared the bowls, but M/n followed him to the sink.
“You cooked. I’ll wash,” M/n offered, gently bumping their shoulders together.
“You’re sick.” Mikhail pointed out. “Let me. I want to.” Mikhail relented. They stood together at the sink, Mikhail drying as M/n washed. Occasionally, Mikhail would press a kiss to M/n's temple or sneak a quick hug from behind, arms slipping around M/n's waist as he soaped the dishes.
“You’re clingy tonight,” M/n muttered, not truly annoyed.
“You said you love me. Now I’m harvesting all the affection I missed out on,” Mikhail whispered into his ear. M/n chuckled, cheeks blooming with warmth.
“You’re lucky I don’t mind.”
After the last dish was dried, they returned to the living room. M/n curled up on the couch while Mikhail brewed tea. The storm outside hadn’t let up, but it was no longer loud, just a light rain.
When Mikhail returned, he draped a thick blanket over both of them and handed M/n a mug. They sat in silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. Mikhail’s arm circled M/n's waist, and M/n leaned his head on Mikhail’s shoulder.
“Mikhail?” M/n called out, earning the man's attention.
“Hm?” Mikhail hummed,
“Do you think this will last?” Mikhail looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“This. Us. You… being here.” There was no fear in M/n's voice, just curiosity. A quiet, aching hope. Mikhail took a slow sip of tea, then set it down.
“I’m already dead, M/n,” he murmured.
“But somehow, I’m still here. beside you. And if this strange in-between life lets me stay by your side… I’ll stay until you grow tired of me.”
M/n looked up. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“I know,” Mikhail said with a smirk. They leaned into each other again, lips brushing softly. No rush, no desperation. They just cuddled up against each other.
Mikhail pressed a soft kiss to M/n's cheek, then nestled against his chest, eyes fluttering closed as he listened. There, beneath warm skin and bone, was the steady rhythm he adored, the gentle thump of Lucien’s heart.
He sighed contentedly, letting the sound wrap around him like a lullaby.
“I love listening to your heartbeat when I’m near you…” Mikhail whispered, his voice a low murmur against M/n's skin.
M/n raised a brow, amused. “My heartbeat?”Mikhail nodded without lifting his head.
“Yes. I don’t have one anymore… not since I died. But yours, yours reminds me I’m still here. Still… human, in some way. It’s a rhythm I never knew I missed until I heard it in you. Like a song only my soul can hear.”
M/n chuckled, warmth blooming in his chest.
“It’s just a heartbeat, Mikhail.”
“But it’s yours,” Mikhail said, voice softer now. “And it’s perfect. It soothes me.” M/n didn’t know what to say at first. His fingers found their way to Mikhail’s hair, gently running through the damp, dark strands. He could feel Mikhail’s arms tighten around him, as though afraid to let go.
“You’re not dead to me,” M/n said quietly, lips brushing Mikhail’s temple.
“Not when you look at me like that, not when you hold me like this.” Mikhail’s breath hitched.
“You make me feel alive again, too, you know,” M/n whispered.
“Every time you smile, or say my name… my heart beats louder. Just for you. I think you make me think otherwise on marriage.”
Mikhail looked up, eyes wide with quiet awe. And M/n smiled, lowering his head to press their foreheads together, letting their breath mingle, letting the silence say the rest.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Only the sound of one heartbeat… steady, and strong, loud enough for both of them.
M/n hope this moment could last forever.
—SLAP!
The sharp crack echoed across the marble walls like a gunshot.
Liezel didn’t flinch. Her head had jerked to the side, her cheek already blooming red from the impact, but she stood still, shoulders stiff, fists clenched by her sides.
“What do you mean M/n doesn’t want to come home?” hissed Eleanor Percival, her manicured fingers trembling with fury. Her long, elegant hair framed a face twisted in rage. The calm beauty of her features only made the coldness in her voice more terrifying.
Liezel’s voice was low, firm despite the pain.
“I told you. He doesn’t want to marry anyone.”
“I told you,” Eleanor mocked with a scoff. “I told you to bring him back. Don't drive him further away! You had one task, and now the entire arrangement is falling apart because of your sentimentality!” A deeper, more menacing voice cut through the room like a blade.
“You’re the reason that ungrateful brat ran off,” Silvano Percival growled. His dark eyes bore into Liezel like she was nothing more than a failed investment. “You defied us. Again.” Liezel breathed in. Sharp. Controlled.
“If M/n doesn’t want to get married, why force him? He’s not some pawn on your chessboard—” She stopped herself from saying home because this sterile mansion of cold tiles and colder hearts was never M/n's home. Not really.
Silvano slammed his fist onto the table. “It doesn’t matter what M/n wants. What matters is preserving our name, our legacy. We secure the next heir. We strengthen our ties with the Velarde. And we restore what your infertility stole from us!” That one hit harder than the slap. Liezel’s lips parted in shock. It wasn’t the first time he threw it in her face, but tonight, it landed like a blade.
“Do you think I asked for this?” she snapped. “Do you think I wanted to be born this way?” Silvano sneered.
“You were our first hope, Liezel. We gave you everything. And in return, you gave us nothing.” Liezel’s voice trembled not from fear, but from the sheer force of emotions bubbling under her ribs.
“The maids raised me. Not you. The maids raised M/n, too. You don’t even know his favorite color, his dreams, or what books he likes. You only noticed him when I became ‘defective’ in your eyes.” Eleanor folded her arms.
“He is not a child. He will do as he's told. We’re not asking for his heart. We’re asking for an heir.”
Liezel stared at her in disbelief. “You ruined the meaning of marriage for him. You lined up shallow, power-hungry girls like he was a prize to be claimed. All he ever wanted was love, not leverage.”
“Love,” Silvano repeated with a dark laugh. “We didn’t marry for love. Look at us—we made it work. M/n will do the same.”
“And if he falls in love with someone you don’t approve of?” Liezel challenged. “Someone you can’t control?”
“Then we lose everything,” Silvano said sharply. “And we cannot risk that, especially not when you can’t provide what’s needed.”
Before Liezel could answer, Eleanor interjected, calm and cruel. “Besides, your father has already chosen the girl. Giselle Velarde. You remember her? M/n used to play with her when he was ten. I’m sure that fondness remains, deep down. This time, it won’t be so hard for him to accept.”
Liezel's breath hitched. She remembered Giselle, sweet, elegant, sharp-tongued behind closed doors. Even as a child, she had ambition in her eyes.
“It’s still an arranged marriage,” Liezel muttered. “Even if he once liked her, it’s not what he wants anymore.” Silvano leaned back, eyes like stone.
“We don’t care what he wants. We care about what’s necessary. There's no refusing this time, we've already planned out the wedding.”
He turned to the butler. “Escort Liezel out.”
As the servants approached, Eleanor spoke one last time, her voice airy, almost amused.
“Tell M/n this: marry the girl, give us an heir, and then he’s free to do whatever he wants. Isn’t that what he values most? His freedom?”
The door shut behind Liezel before she could answer.
Outside, the cold night air bit at her skin, but she barely felt it. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding. That wasn’t a solution. That was coercion, wrapped in silk and sugar.
But... would M/n take the bait, if it meant getting his life back?
Liezel stood frozen in the driveway, then slowly pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered above the screen. She hesitated, just for a moment.
Then she typed:
Liezel: M/n, I’m visiting tomorrow.
ARCHIVES:
—Karaksan is a Philippine native tree that produces yellow-to-white flowers and olive-like fruits
—Hibiscus is a genus of flowering plants in the mallow family, Malvaceae. The genus is quite large, comprising several hundred species that are native to warm temperate, subtropical and tropical regions throughout the world.
—Lugaw, also spelled lugao, is a Filipino glutinous rice dish or porridge. Lugaw may refer to various dishes, both savory and sweet.
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