Somewhat humorous, angsty drabble for Michael. (It's been so long since I've read Angel Sanctuary, I fear I might have gotten a few things mixed up... Oh, well.)
Kaori Yuki-sensei owns the series.
It was a well known fact that there are some things you never bring up within Michael's ear-shot (or ever). His height (poor thing was so short) and his brother. If you mention his height, you'll probably either lose a limb, or severe wounds. Or you'll die, depends on how he felt that day.
The brother topic? That's the red light, so to speak. That's an obligatory death sentence. If you value your head where it is, engage your brain before your fucking mouth.
He hated his brother. No, it wasn't hate... Yes, it was hate! Fuck, it was hate, and yet it was not. It was... something, he never claimed to be eloquent. Outwardly, and inwardly, he really fucking hated his brother. Inwardly, beneath the hate, the anger, and all-around bitterness, Michael knew there was still love for Lucifel—no, Lucifer. After all, Lucifer was his twin brother. They grew up together (well, Lucifer grew, Michael stopped somewhere along the way) and they were close. Somewhat. Past tense, what with the Fall and all.
Hate and anger was safe—mourning for his brother's Fall From Grace and betrayal, that vague sense of fraternal love, was dangerous.
There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to be his brother—to surpass him, in any case. Now, all he wanted to do was drag Lucifer to Heaven, punch his face in a couple times, run him through with his sword, burn his body, rip his heart out of his chest, and repeat—not necessarily in that order.
It was times like this when Michael wondered about his mental state.
