𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗, 𝗨𝗡𝗪𝗘𝗗 [ 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘹 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ]
𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 9
'Are you lonely? (Are you lonely?)
Our fingers dancing when they meet
You seem so lonely (are you lonely?)
I'll be the only dream you seek
So if you're lonely, no need to show me
If you're lonely, come be lonely with ᴍᴇ'
-ᴛʜɪs sɪᴅᴇ ᴏғ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴇ ʙʏ ᴄᴏʏᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ
CHAPTER 8
Mask facade
"YOU should rest before the... date," Liezel said from behind him, the last word landing awkwardly between them like a poorly told lie. Even she didn't believe in the pretty bow they tried to tie around this arrangement.
M/n looked at her then, his voice low.
"When will I get my freedom?" The question struck like a cold gust in the room. Liezel hesitated, fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt.
"Well... I'm not too sure. You're supposed to stay with Giselle until the baby is stable enough..." M/n finished the sentence for her in his head. A couple of years. A couple of years without Mikhail. The thought alone turned his stomach, made his ribs feel too tight for his heart.
He turned away from her, eyes drifting to the wall clock.
3:45 PM.
There was still time. Time before he had to play the part. And all M/n wanted was to sleep, to vanish into the one place where he could still hold Mikhail without consequence.
M/n removed his coat and draped it carefully over the back of the chair by the window. He didn't say a word as he walked past Liezel, past the too-clean linens and perfectly trimmed curtains, and into the twin bed by the farthest wall.
He didn't bother changing. He simply slipped beneath the covers, the letter still held tight against his chest, and curled onto his side, his back facing the room.
Liezel watched him for a moment, her throat dry. She opened her mouth to say something, anything. but thought better of it. She decided not to bother M/n and went to do something else.
M/n closed his eyes. But sleep didn't come easily.
Every time he blinked, he saw Mikhail, Mikhail in the kitchen, humming a tune that he so love. Mikhail adjusting his hair half-heartedly in a dusty mirror. Mikhail reaching for him in the garden with a sleepy smile. Mikhail holding him under the stars like the world didn't matter. Like they were all they had.
M/n bit his lip, hard, enough to almost draw blood. It still didn't drown out the ache. Why did the sky have to change so fast? He wasn't ready to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere but there. There... Where Mikhail was.
He pressed the letter flat against his chest again, his fingers trembling as they grazed the edge of the paper.
"I should've said more..." he whispered into the pillow, the words muffled by cotton and guilt.
"I should've begged to stay..." His voice cracked, barely audible over the soft hum of the hotel air conditioner.
He wanted to sleep, he really did. if only to find Mikhail in a dream. To dance with him again under a velvet sky. To forget the sterile walls and his duty. To forget Giselle. To forget about producing an heir. To remember how it felt when Mikhail whispered:
"Let this night be ours."
M/n pulled the blanket over his head, creating a dark cocoon for himself. He hugged the letter even tighter, as if he could force Mikhail's warmth back into him.
And eventually, after what felt like hours of silent weeping and clinging to hope, M/n finally slipped into a restless sleep.
M/N stood in front of the mirror, fingers deftly tying his navy-blue tie. Each loop and knot felt like a chain tightening around his throat. He adjusted his collar, straightened his cuffs, dressing the part of M/n Percival, the perfect son, the perfect fiancé.
But deep down, all he wanted was to go back to that quiet manor, to the warmth of Mikhail's arms, and whisper to him that he kept his promise: he'd endure anything, just so they could one day be together again.
"Get back as soon as you can, okay?" Liezel said softly, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her touch lingered like silent support. M/n only nodded, too drained to speak.
The ride was short, the city rolling past in blurs of lights in every building. M/n barely registered it, it all felt foreign. The restaurant was as lavish as expected, gold accents, towering glass windows, marble floors. The kind of place his parents adored, but for him, it was overwhelming.
"Reservation for Percival," he said to the host at the front desk.
"Yes, sir. Right this way." She guided him to a private dining room, of course it was a private room. It always had to be private, pristine, perfect. Just like everything in this life his family designed.
He arrived early. As he should. His father always said: Never let a lady wait. it reflects poorly on your upbringing. The thought made M/n scoff quietly. He slumped forward on the table, hands folded, eyes unfocused.
"I wonder what Mikhail is doing right now. Is he... thinking of me, too?"
"Who?" came a familiar voice, soft and curious.
M/n's head snapped up. There she was.
Giselle stood at the entrance, elegant in a midnight-blue dress that shimmered against her skin. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, and her smile, warm but weary, reminded him of all the years they used to laugh together.
"I thought i arrived early, guess you are punctual, huh?" she teased, walking gracefully toward the table. M/n rose instinctively, pulling out her chair.
"You didn't have to," she said with a small smile.
"It would be rude not to," he replied, sitting down.
"Still so formal." She chuckled lightly.
"M/n, we're childhood friends. Can't we skip the act, just this once?" He hesitated... then allowed a faint, genuine smile.
"Okay. How have you been?"
"Well...We went to Germany... it was beautiful. The markets, the people. But..." Her voice drifted, and she gave a small shake of her head, as though she'd dropped a memory she didn't want to pick up again.
"Never mind." M/n didn't wanna intrude so he let it be.
"Do you want to order something? I could call a waiter" M/n changed the topic, Giselle nodded. M/n pressed the button to notify one of the staff. A few minutes later, a polite waitress took their orders, fillet mignon for M/n, steak for Giselle, and a bottle of wine to share for the both of them.
Once the waiter left, silence returned like a third guest. Giselle spoke first.
"You know... you've changed." M/n raised a brow.
"How so?" She smiled gently.
"When we were kids, you told me you wanted a cozy little house with a picket fence. You said you wanted to marry someone who made you feel like home." She paused.
"Well, that, and that you wanted to become an airplane." M/n laughed softly, surprised at himself.
"God, you actually remember that?" M/n said, embarrased of his childish dreams.
"I do. But now... now that marriage is here, you look like it's a funeral." M/n glanced away. He didn't need to fake a smile anymore, not with her. the mask was cracking.
"What happened?" she asked. Her voice wasn't accusing, it was gentle, and full of concern.
"Liezel mentioned you were forced into a lot of... arrangements."
M/n sighed, eyes dropping to his folded hands. Giselle read M/n's facial emotion, the way he averted his eyes away from her, him fiddling with his fingers.
"let me guess, you're seeing someone before you got dragged into this marriage, hm? Don't lie, i can see it in your eyes" right, besides being kind, she's also witty. M/n bit his lip and opened his mouth.
"Yeah... I was seeing someone. Before all this. And I was happy, really happy. But now... I'm here." There was no anger in her face. Only understanding.
"I figured as much," Giselle admitted. "I am too." M/n looked up, stunned.
"You are?" She nodded.
"When we were in Germany, I met this baker. He's soft-spoken. A bit clumsy, but... he makes the best cinnamon rolls I've ever had. And he listens, like really listens." She paused, her eyes clouding.
"I fell for him without even trying. But when my parents found out, they reminded me of my duty. Told me I couldn't ruin the family name by marrying someone so 'beneath' us." M/n clenched his jaw. Her story felt all too familiar.
"Then your father called mine," she continued, voice quieter now.
"And they decided everything for us. Just like that."
"I'm... sorry," M/n murmured.
"It's fine..." She smiled again, but this one was shaky, barely holding together.
"Because now I know I'm not alone in this. I thought I was the only one pretending to smile." M/n's chest ached at her words.
"This... marriage, we're not getting married for love. It's only for what they see fit." Her voice trembled slightly.
"They want us to make heirs, our happiness comes next." M/n reached for the wine, poured it carefully into her glass, then his. He raised it gently.
"To all the things we couldn't choose," he said.
Giselle clinked her glass with his.
"And to the ones we still can." They drank in silence, two souls on parallel paths, walking side by side toward a future they never asked for.
The food finally came, it was untouched for a moment longer than it should've. The silence wasn't heavy but it wasn't quite light, either. Just something suspended between familiarity and the weight of the years they'd spent apart.
"So," Giselle murmured, her fork tracing the edge of her plate,
"tomorrow's the big day." M/n nodded, slowly.
"Yeah." She gave a quiet, dry laugh.
"Feels strange, doesn't it? Saying that. 'Tomorrow.' As if everything changes overnight." "It does, technically," he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.
"After tomorrow, I will be known as your 'husband' and you will be known as my 'wife'." She glanced at him.
"Do you want that?" He was quiet for a moment, then finally answered,
"Of course not, playing house is not my forte." Giselle looked down.
"I understand. I'm not looking forward being a mom yet..."
M/n took a small bite of his steak. It was good. Cooked perfectly. Expensive. A meal meant to celebrate something, though neither of them were in the mood for celebration.
"I think... I always thought we'd end up like this. Back when we were kids. But now that it's real, it doesn't feel right." Giselle met his eyes.
"Because it isn't." M/n nodded again, slower this time.
"I care about you, M/n," she said.
"But not in the way they expect us to." "I feel the same," he admitted. Giselle exhaled, her eyes dimming with something close to grief.
"And yet, tomorrow, we will." M/n didn't respond. The truth didn't need to be repeated. They fell into a quiet rhythm as they ate, neither rushed nor fully present.
The food, while good, was just something to fill the silence. Occasionally, their eyes met. There was no hostility. Just a quiet understanding. Two people playing roles neither of them wanted. After a while, they finished eating, utensils laid flatly on their empty plate.
"I don't want to go back home yet." M/n looked at her.
"Where would you go instead?" She paused, then said,
"There's a bar not far from here. I passed by it earlier. Looked quiet." M/n raised a brow slightly.
"You want to drink tonight?"
"I want to breathe," she replied softly.
"Even if just for a while. Before tomorrow takes that away from us." M/n paused. Then nodded slowly.
"Alright, let's drink to our mutual misery." "To childhood best friends," Giselle grinned as they walked toward the door.
"To the worst honeymoon ever," M/n added with a small laugh. both of them went to the front desk and paid for their food before walking out of the restaurant.
Giselle led him into a bar tucked between two buildings near the restaurant. The inside buzzed with energy, bright rave lights flickered like strobe memories across the walls, and the air was thick with the sharp tang of cigarettes, old wood, and spilled alcohol. People moved like waves, dancing, laughing too loudly, nursing wounds that couldn't be seen. Some cried into their drinks. Others clung to strangers for warmth.
M/n hesitated near the entrance.
"It's... a bit louder than I expected." "You said you wanted to forget," Giselle said, tilting her head toward the counter.
"This is where people come to do that."
He gave a weak chuckle.
"Come on, I won't let them devour you. it may seem scary if this is your first time drinking" M/n gave her a tired smile.
"Come on. Sit down. First round's on me."
M/n sighed as he lowered himself onto the barstool, already feeling the fatigue of the day gnawing at his bones. He leaned his elbows against the counter, shoulders slack.
"Anything's fine," he mumbled. "As long as it helps me forget."
Giselle gave a knowing nod, lips pressed into a thin line. She turned to the bartender, ordered two shots of something sharp and clear, and slid one toward him.
Their glasses slid across the polished counter. M/n stared at his, clear liquid, strong scent. He clinked his glass against hers with a quiet
"Cheers," and downed it. It burned going down. The fire was welcome. He exhaled and set the glass down with a soft thud.
"One more," he said. Giselle raised a brow.
"Already?" "I'm not drunk yet." "Right. That's the goal." She ordered two more.
The second went down easier. His shoulders relaxed a little, and the corner of his mouth twitched into something that might've been a smile.
Giselle glanced at him, concerned.
"You alright?" M/n nodded. Then shook his head.
"Third, please."
The third came, and this time, he paused, just for a second, before lifting the glass to his lips.
"You ever think about running away?" he asked before drinking.
Giselle tilted her head.
"You mean like, now? Or in general?"
"In general. Like... just disappear. Leave the titles, the families, the money. Everything."
"I think about it every day," she said honestly. "Ever tried?" She sipped her drink before answering.
"I did. But you know what happened?" "What?"
"This marriage came and now im here." Lucien laughed, a bit too loud. Then it cracked midway into a sigh.
"My parents said I could have the freedom after the child is nurtured..."
"Right...pregnancy...Godamnit" Giselle downed her own drink.
His fourth drink came. He didn't lift it immediately. He stared at it, hands trembling slightly. Giselle turned her body toward him, sensing the shift.
"I miss him," M/n choked, shoulders shaking before the tears finally spilled.
"I want to go home... I want to be with him. Just him."
Giselle blinked, surprised by the sudden outburst, but she didn't laugh this time. She nodded slowly, stirring her own drink.
"I miss mine, too," she said gently. "You're not alone in that." M/n wiped his face with his sleeve, but the tears didn't stop.
"I wish my family didn't care about titles or images or... appearances. I hate all of it. Why do I have to marry someone I barely know? Why do they keep making me a piece on a board I never asked to play on?" "Because people like us are always pieces first," Giselle muttered. "People second."
M/n leaned his forehead against the bar counter now, the glassiness in his eyes deepening, blurring with liquor and sorrow.
"I just want to be with Mikhail," he whimpered. "Why is that so hard?" Giselle reached over and quietly took the glass from him before he could ask for a fifth.
He gave a nod.
"pour me another. One for Mikhail."
"And one for all the dreams we're burying tomorrow," she murmured.
They drank quietly.
Eventually, M/n leaned forward, his forehead resting on the counter.
"I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered. M/n laid his head on the table, his head starting to feel woozy. M/n wanted to keep drinking but Giselle says otherwise. She took his glass before he could reach for another.
"I think you've had enough, you might throw up" she said.
"I want more," Lucien mumbled.
"I know," she replied.
"But if you drink any more, Liezel's going to kill me, not you." M/n groaned, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Giselle pulled out her phone, already dialing.
M/n had long stopped speaking.
He now slumped against the bar, cheek pressed to the crook of his arm, eyes shut and breath steady in that peculiar way people breathe when they're somewhere between tipsy sleep and sorrow.
Giselle sat beside him, stirring the melting ice in her empty glass. The lights continued to flicker, and laughter echoed faintly across the room, too distant to reach her.
Minutes passed. Her phone was still in her lap. Liezel had said she'd come. she whispered, more to herself than anyone,
"I'm scared too, you know." Her voice was almost lost beneath the muffled beat of music.
"I smile, I make jokes, I pretend I've got it together. That I'm okay with marrying someone I barely remember from my childhood... but I'm not. I'm terrified." She looked down at her hands.
"All my life I was told to be composed. Graceful. Proper. I was raised for this, they said. For marriage. For legacy. For children."
She gave a weak laugh, a hollow one.
"But no one ever asked what I wanted. They just assumed I'd fall in love eventually. That I'd learn to be happy. That I'd accept carrying a child and live my life like nothing happened." Her hand slowly drifted toward her stomach, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress.
"Even the thought of it, being pregnant with a stranger's heir. it feels like betrayal. To myself. To the person I loved and lost. To the life I thought I might have." She glanced at M/n again.
"I don't want to marry someone who doesn't love me. I don't want to lie to a child I might carry and tell them this was all for love. It won't be." Her eyes welled up, but she didn't cry. She never cried.
"They want an heir. That's all. Just another body to carry the bloodline. A child born from obligation. Not love, Just politics."
Her fingers tightened around her glass.
"I wanted children... but not like this. Not from someone who looks at me and sees a surname. I wanted it with him. With the one person who looked at me like I was more than just another pawn." Her voice cracked at the last word.
M/n didn't answer. Of course he didn't. He was asleep. Safe from having to carry this conversation. So she kept whispering into the space between them.
"I think a part of me hoped you'd run away before the wedding. Just disappear. Maybe then I wouldn't have to be the one to ruin everything." Her phone buzzed once. A message from;
Liezel:
Almost there. Stay with him.
Giselle didn't reply. She just let the phone sit in her lap.
"Sometimes," she continued softly,
"I imagine a different version of me. One that was allowed to choose. One that stayed with the person I loved. One that didn't have to carry the weight of a future she never asked for." She exhaled, long and deep.
"I miss her. I miss the girl I used to be." Another minute passed. Then footsteps neared the entrance, sharp and frantic. Giselle wiped her eyes quickly, sitting straighter. Her mask slid back on as easily as it had slipped off.
A few minutes later, a woman pushed her way through the bar's crowd, her heels clicking quickly on the floor. She scanned the room, tension on her face. Her eyes landed on a familiar slumped figure at the counter.
"M/n," Liezel muttered under her breath as she rushed forward.
M/n was half-conscious, his cheek pressed to the counter, eyes glassy and unfocused. His jacket was wrinkled, and his fingers hung limply over the edge of a glass. Liezel bent down, gently tapping his cheek.
"M/n, wake up. Come on." He groaned in response, mumbling incoherently. Giselle, who sat beside him nursing her own drink, tilted her head lazily toward Liezel without standing.
"Didn't expect you to get here that fast," she said. Liezel looked up, her voice sharp.
"What the hell, Giselle? Why did you let him drink himself sick?" Giselle shrugged.
"Why do you think? He's miserable." "That doesn't mean you let him do this to himself." "He's an adult. I didn't force anything." Giselle finally met Liezel's eyes.
"He just needed to breathe. One night where he didn't have to pretend he's okay with being married off like cattle." Liezel grit her teeth, glancing at her brother again.
"Still." Giselle leaned on the counter with her elbow, swirling her glass.
"Do you know what he said to me between shots? He said he misses someone. Mikhail, I think. Said he just wants to go home."
"...Yeah. I know," Liezel replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from Lucien's forehead.
"Do you?" Giselle asked, voice low.
"Did you hear what he said? 'I miss Mikhail. I just want to go home.' Over and over again."
Liezel stiffened. Her lips pressed into a line.
"He's not thinking straight." "No, I think he finally is," Giselle said quietly, swirling the drink in her hand.
"He's just too scared to act on it. Because if you did, maybe you'd speak up more. Maybe you'd tell your parents to stop treating him like some pawn." Liezel exhaled.
"You think I haven't tried?"
Silence fell. The bar's music thumped distantly, muffled beneath the pressure of the conversation.
"I'm sorry," Giselle said eventually, softer now. "I know you care about him. I do too. That's why I brought him here." Liezel nodded, not looking at her.
"Help me lift him." They got him onto his feet, Lucien muttering nonsense under his breath as they hooked his arms over their shoulders. He smelled of perfume and liquor, his breath slurred.
"The wedding," Giselle added, voice quieter now.
"That thing everyone else is excited for except the actual bride and groom."
"They'll expect you to smile," Liezel muttered, adjusting her grip on M/n.
"Make it look like you're both happy."
"We're not actors." Liezel gave a short laugh through her nose.
"Aren't we?" Giselle glanced at M/n again.
"He doesn't love me. I don't love him. We're just... familiar. That's all." Liezel's shoulders tensed.
"It's what our parents want." "That's never been a good enough reason." Giselle took a final sip from her glass, then set it down carefully.
"You know what hurts most? If it weren't for them... we might've had a real shot. With the people we actually chose." Liezel finally looked up at her, her expression softening.
"I didn't know it was this bad," she admitted.
Giselle nodded.
"You weren't supposed to. We're raised to smile through it." There was a beat of silence between them. Then, Giselle gave a small sigh and tugged her shawl over her shoulders.
"Take care of him, alright?" she said gently. "He loves someone. I hope he still gets a chance to be with him." Liezel nodded, quieter now.
"You too." Giselle smiled faintly. "We all deserve that much."
And then she turned and walked away, leaving Liezel in the glowing haze of the barlight, M/n limp against her side, and the sound of tomorrow's wedding looming louder than the music ever could.
The ride back to the hotel was wordless.
Liezel kept her arms wrapped tightly around M/n's shoulders in the backseat, her jaw clenched. The buzz of the city outside the car windows seemed far away, muffled. The warmth of M/n's body pressed into her side made it impossible to ignore the weight of what she'd done.
He had stopped talking. His head rested on her shoulder, eyes half-lidded, and she could feel the shallow rhythm of his breathing. Still conscious, but barely. He was floating in and out of coherence, fragile like something unraveling.
When they arrived, the driver opened the door. Liezel thanked him quietly and helped M/n up. He staggered, nearly stumbling over the curb.
"Careful," she murmured, looping his arm around her shoulder.
M/n mumbled something.
"Am I... dreaming?" "No," Liezel answered, her voice distant. "You're not."
She didn't say more. She couldn't.
The elevator ride was silent. Only the soft hum of the machinery and the sterile hotel lighting accompanied them. M/n leaned heavily on her, barely holding himself upright.
They reached their floor. The hallway stretched long and quiet ahead of them, lit with a gold haze. She fumbled with the keycard, then led him into the room.
Warm yellow light welcomed them. The hotel suite was quiet, neatly arranged.
Liezel closed the door behind them and helped M/n sit on the edge of the bed.
"You should drink some water," she said, placing a hand on his back.
"You need to sober up a little before you sleep." M/n stared at the floor, eyes unfocused. "S'too quiet," he whispered.
"Where's the music?" Liezel didn't answer. She walked across the room and poured a glass of water, handing it to him carefully.
M/n took it with both hands, fingers trembling slightly. He sipped it slowly, like he wasn't quite sure where he was.
"You're not gonna... scold me?" he asked, slurring a little. "For drinking too much?"
Liezel's eyes flickered.
"No." M/n looked up at her.
"You're quiet." "I know." He swallowed the last of the water, the glass shaking faintly in his hands.
"You're mad at me?" "No." She paused. "I'm mad at myself." M/n tilted his head, confused.
Liezel let out a breath and turned away. She grabbed her towel and headed toward the bathroom, pausing in the doorway.
"I'm going to shower," she said, not looking back at him. "Try to sleep. You have a long day ahead of you."
M/n didn't reply. Just nodded slowly.
She disappeared into the bathroom. A second later, the sound of running water filled the room. M/na stared at the glass in his hands for a while before setting it on the nightstand.
His head throbbed, heavy and clouded. The buzz of alcohol hadn't worn off completely. He lay back slowly onto the mattress, arms splayed across the covers, his shirt half-wrinkled and his shoes still on.
The ceiling blurred above him. His eyes drifted to the window beside the bed. The city lights glowed outside. dim, quiet. The stars were faint, barely visible through the haze.
But they were there. He turned toward the window, squinting. outiside, under the moon were two familiar stars. The stars we claimed.
A lump grew in his throat.
"Percival and Beaufort stars..." he whispered to no one. A flash of memory, Mikhail lying beside him, pointing up at the sky.
'Those will be our stars, the Beaufort and the Percival stars. That way... when we're apart, you'll still have something to find in the sky. And maybe... if you stare at them long enough, it'll feel like I'm right beside you.'
Is he looking at them too? Right now?
His heart twisted. His chest ached with longing.
Without thinking, M/n sat up slowly, glancing toward the bathroom. The water was still running. Cautiously, he reached toward the nightstand, Liezel's phone sat there, unguardded. He hesitated. His fingers trembled as he picked it up. He opened the messages and found his own contact.
Mikhail would have his phone. M/n was sure of it. He types, His thumb taps on the words on the keyboard. He pressed send.
The message delivered. He set the phone back where it was, trying to steady his breathing. His palms were clammy. The weight of everything pressed down on his chest like a stone. Liezel would be out soon. M/n sank back onto the bed, curling into himself.
Please... please still be there, Mikhail.
He stared out at the stars, letting tears slip silently down his cheeks.
He didn't care about tomorrow.
All he wanted, just for a moment, was to feel Mikhail reach back through the void and remind him that it wasn't too late. That love hadn't slipped entirely through their fingers.
MIKHAIL was once again alone.
The silence of the manor screamed louder than any voice. Without M/n, the house felt cold, stripped of the laughter and footsteps that once breathed life into it's walls.
He sat still for a while, sunk into the soft couch. He didn't know how long he laid there, and frankly, he doesn't care. After an unknown span of minutes or hours, Mikhail sat up with a sigh.
"...The flowers," Mikhail mumbled to himself, "They... need their daily water."
He pushed himself up slowly, like gravity had grown heavier without M/n around to defy it.
Each movement was sluggish, He stepped outside, blinking as the sun cast a warm light over the garden. But none of it touched him. He didn't reflect the sun's brightness anymore.
The garden lay ahead, a modest patch of soil and green life. Some flowers had started to sprout, trembling with promise. Others remained buried, untouched by bloom. Mikhail walked past the watering can and reached for the hose instead. He stared at it for a long moment before a whisper escaped his lips.
"...Snake," he muttered with a faint breath of a chuckle, recalling the time that he mistaken it as a snake and it escaleted with him and M/n running around the garden wetting each other.
He stood silently for a moment. The water streamed over the flowerbeds, some still budding, others already open to the world. Mikhail was so deep in thought that he didn't realize he overwatered the flowers. The hose slipped in his grip. Water flooded the soil too quickly, turning earth to mud.
"Ah-damn it..." he muttered, blinking hard as a puddle formed. "I overwatered it. M/n would've scolded me." He turned off the hose and knelt beside the drenched flowerbed, fingers brushing against a leaf.
"Without you, even this feels wrong."
He sighed deeply, dragging himself back inside. The manor felt even colder now that the sun was starting to set. Shadows danced through the hallways, but none of them had M/n's laugh. Mikhail collapsed on the couch, folding his hands over his stomach. His gaze stared blankly at the ceiling.
"...M/n." It was more a breath than a name. A prayer whispered into the silence.
The sun disappeared completely, replaced by a pale moonlight. As if by instinct, he got up, knowing that it's time to make dinner.
"...Dinner," he said to no one.
"I shall make dinner." He stood again, slower this time, making his way to the kitchen with the air of a ghost haunting his own home.
He sat up slowly, not because he was hungry. he didn't need food, not anymore, but because it was something M/n would do. Something they had done together.
He moved around the kitchen, assembling a simple ham and cheese sandwich. He didn't even toast the bread. He took one small bite, then left the rest on the plate. His body didn't crave nourishment. His soul craved something else.
His gaze drifted to the windowsill, where a glass vase held a fresh vase of sampaguita. The flowers he had given M/n before he left.
"Heh..." Mikhail stepped closer.
"You're still alive, huh?"
The white petals were bright, untouched by time.
"Then... you should last until he comes back," he whispered, gently misting them with water.
"I'll keep you alive until he returns. M/n would be upset if you withered before he came back " After eating, he drifted to the garden again. not to water the flowers, but to stargaze.
He lay on the cool grass and looked up, it was more lonely without company, without M/n.
"The Beaufort and Percival stars," he murmured, spotting them easily. "Our stars."
He reached his hand out, fingers splayed toward the sky.
"Are you looking at them too, my love?" he asked. "Right now?
"I wish you were here... I'd hold you and never let go. I'd tell you again and again how deeply I love you, just to see your smile." Silence answered him.
"Could it be months?" he asked the stars. "Years? I've waited before. I suppose waiting for life should be easier... But gods, it's not." Mikhail's voice trembled.
He just laid there, looking at the stars, talking to them as if it were alive. but with each flow of words, the stars didn't respond back.
He eventually returned to the manor, a little slower than before. M/n's room welcomed him with the scent of old perfume and books. He laid down on the bed, face buried in the pillows.
"...Still smells like you," he whispered.
His hand brushed something smooth, Lucien's phone.
'I removed the password. It's got our pictures, The ones we took when we were in the garden...' he chuckled weakly. 'And your favorite games are still on it. I figured... if you're ever bored or lonely, it'll help.'
Mikhail recalled M/n's words to him. Curiously, he picked it up. It lit up with a soft glow. He stared at the screen. The symbols confused him. Strange icons and glowing buttons.
"...How do you work this thing?" he murmured. "Camera... yes, I remember that. But what in the world is 'Messenger'? Or 'Settings'?"
He scrolled, reading each icon like a curious child.
"You never taught me these, Mahal... You should've."
Then, he saw it. The app labeled Photos. He tapped it, and there they were.
Countless photos, frozen moments in time. M/n's soft smile. A blurry photo of him laughing. and the photo they took together...
Mikhail let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.
"Beautiful... You're always beautiful." He kept scrolling. M/n drinking coffee. M/n napping in a sunbeam. M/n doing, what Mikhail called remember was a 'piece sign'?
"I miss you..." Mikhail's voice broke slightly.
"I miss you so, so much."
His breath caught in his throat as he clutched the phone to his chest.
DING!
The phone vibrated. Mikhail sat up abruptly, brows furrowing as he saw the notification, From... 'Liezel'? He hesitated. Then tapped it.
Inside the messaging app was a message:
(M/n) Liezel: Mikhail, this is Lucien.
Mikhail's breath hitched. He scrambled to type.
(Mikhail) M/n: is that really you
Liezel: Yeah... I got a hold of my sister's phone.
M/n: how are you are you eating well M/n i miss you
M/n, borrowing his sister's device, smiled faintly on the other end.
Liezel: You're so silly when you message me. Yes, ate dinner earlier.
Liezel: I miss you too, Mikhail.
M/n: I love you
Liezel: I love you more.
Liezel: Mikhail... I can't talk long. My sister's in the shower. Don't message me unless I message first, alright?
M/n: understood my love please come back soon
He paused at the word soon, staring at it.
What did soon mean in a world like this?
Liezel: I will. Safe and sound.
M/n: goodnight, Irog.
Liezel: Goodnight, too... I love you.
M/n: I love you most.
The screen stayed still.
No more replies. Mikhail stared at it, hoping. Just one more message. One more moment. But none came. He lowered the phone to his chest and curled around it, like it was Lucien himself. it was just a short conversation, but Mikhail felt like some parts of him are lifted from the ache that he was feeling.
"...I'll wait," he whispered. "No matter how long. I'll wait for you, Mahal."
And for the first time in nights, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep, with M/n's words still warm in his chest.
DICTIONARY SECTION:
IROG - Sweetheart
MAHAL - Love
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