Note: I forgot to say it in my A/N of the first chapter, but this is going to be updated daily since I have up to chapter 5 for now and will have the rest done in the next few days.
I'd really love reviews on this fic particularly about how I managed to write in omniscient third person, and if it's not too obvious that I'm really used to write in first person POV usually. Just so I know if I fucked up or not XD

Usual shameless advertisement: join Facebook's xxbeyondxbirthdayxx PomPom Girls page! (a quick search with FB to find it ^^)
Because there are extras in there, and I will be posting pictures to illustrate this fic (like how Mail's street looks like, Mihael's private mansion and such...)

Я помню чудное мгновенье
Передо мной явилась ты,
Как мимолетное виденье,
Как гений чистой красоты.

В томленьях грусти безнадежной,
В тревогах шумной суeты,
Звучал мне долго голос нежный
И снились милые черты.

...

И сердце бьется в упоенье,
И для него воскресли вновь
И божество, и вдохновенье,
И жизнь, и слезы, и любовь.

I just recall this wondrous instant
You have arrived before my face
A vision, fleeting in a distance,
A spirit of the pure grace.

In pine of sorrow unfair,
In worldly harassment and noise
I dreamed of your beloved air
And heard your quiet, gentle voice.

...

My heart beats on in resurrection
It has again for what to strive:
Divinity and inspiration,
Life, tears, and eternal love.

To...
Alexander Pushkin

Everything in the stance told him it was said boss, standing face to him. And yet, the safe distance between them and the eyes, the expression in them, it all screamed of fear. Or at least carefulness.

"Hello." The voice was soft. Too soft, out of those thin lips lost in that angular, sharp face. English again. Did the man speak English to match the fact that Mail was obviously not a native French speaker, although only his Californian accent gave him away, since he was fluent in that language?
"Hel...lo..." A barely whisper. Damn. Damn! What a scar! The redhead just couldn't tear his eyes off it. The other shifted his weight, oh-so-gracefully. Uncomfortable.

The boss walked, step by step, slowly, stopping before arm length as if to say he didn't mean any harm.
"I am Mihael." His eyes were scrutinizing the other's face, looking for what? Approval? Pardon? Or just that beautiful smile maybe?

The redhead was taken aback by the presence of that person in front of him. He had wanted to be furious, to yell at him, to kick and fight to escape, because he wasn't a prostitute, or even someone you could just kidnap like this, people just don't do that!
But the other was nothing of an old fart, he was just a young man his age. And he looked scared.

"What's your name?"
That's right, he hadn't replied to the other's introduction. Not that he thought he should be polite, after all. It was a rude way to meet and he didn't plan to let him get away with that.
"Let me go." he cut all tentative to connect. It wasn't right, and he wouldn't comply.
"Just leave me with a name to remember, then... you're free." the blond swept aside, freeing the way. Like if his gracious frame could block the large way to the door.

The redhead stared in disbelief. Was he going to be shot in the back if he tried to reach the door?
He took a step forward, but his mind was already two steps ahead.
"Sounds like a bad line out of a romantic movie." he chuckled. Of all moments, it was probably the worst to be joking.
The other seemed to cringe.

He realised that the blond was all too serious about that situation. Which made things even more weird. He had been genuine in those words. But who speaks like that if not someone who doesn't have a clue about reality?
The redhead faced the other fully, for a better trial at reading him.
"You would really let me go after all that? I mean, I could sue you..."
"You wouldn't." Now that was more like something you'd expect from someone in his position. It wasn't threatening, but very self assured. As in "You wouldn't because you know you don't want to fuck with me because the consequences would be way worst for you than for me."
"True. But still. Going through all that trouble to bring me here and then just giving up?"
"I just wanted a chance, but I can't force you into this." The hurt in his eyes just emphasized the surreality of this situation, and the redhead was confused.

"Wait. I thought I was brought here for you, and now you... damn, I don't get it. A chance at what?"
The blond dug his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. How could he have thought this would work. If anything, he had ruined it all. It was foolish to believe that the redhead would understand. Their worlds were not the same, and they had collided too strongly to avoid the damage.
It was the way he had dreamt it against the bare reality. Really, the redhead's sarcasm was in the right, he probably had believed too strongly in a happy ending to see that there was no way this would work.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, that's about time you apologize. But now explain. Your... employee...? said that you wanted to meet me because you had an interest in me that way. It's plain wrong. I mean, which planet do you come from for thinking I'd be all 'hey, ok, abduct me and jump me, it's no big deal!'"

The redhead looked furious.
"I believe there has been quite some misunderstanding on your part. If that was what I wanted from you, you'd be naked in my bed already. It's true that I'm interested in you, but all I wanted was to talk with you, nothing more. I wanted a chance at knowing you, and you knowing me..." The look in those steel eyes, the redhead almost felt bad for tearing apart something that seemed to hold more of a teenage dream than anything for the blond.
The place reeked of money, the man obviously was all power and means. How could he be so genuinely letting him the choice?

"What makes you believe I'm interested in you? In a guy I mean."
The blond's eyes widened slightly. The other just couldn't believe it. So far gone in that daydream of his, so high on a cloud that the thought of him being straight had never reached it.
That was... touching. And after all, he was gay. Maybe it was simply obvious?

"My name's Mail." He faced the blond, wondering why he even replied.
Confidence seemed to sink back into the man like a running horse, as he straightened and a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Maybe he should have gone when he still could, Mail thought, a light shiver coursing down his spine with that now feline looking being confidently walking to the sofa and offering him to seat beside him. Don't pity the kitten, he's probably more of a panther.

He gulped and sat as far as he could, against the arm of the couch.
The door opened and the man from earlier entered with a tray. Perfect timing. Where are those damn bugs?
Mail looked around instinctively.
Mihael reached for a remote. "They're off." he simply said, "Coffee?" Mail nodded.

The silence was awkward, as they sipped their coffee. Mail decided he couldn't take it anymore. He should already be out, far, far away from that weirdo, but he was there, having coffee with him. Better know what brought him here, after all.
"Why me? Have we already met before or... ? No, I would remember you..." he shook his head. Even without the scar, he would have remembered eyes like these. A shade of blue that's not totally blue, neither grey, just so clear that if not for the darker circle around the iris, they'd be almost transparent...

"I've been watching you for a few days... now, that sounds creepy, I know. That was not my intention, I just... thought I could talk to you but I wasn't sure you'd want to... and it wasn't safe for me. I know it wasn't the best way to begin with this but I just did things like I'm used to. It was still a bit presumptuous to think you'd just go with the flow, I admit it."
"Yeah, just a bit..."
Mihael laughed quietly.
"But again, why me?"
"I didn't get to choose who made me feel that way... I just happened to be in that mall, I saw you and that was it."
"Like lovestruck or something like this?" Mail didn't want to sound like he was making fun of the other, but truth is, he found this whole thing ridiculous.
"Something like this, yeah." Mihael murmured. Was he... blushing?

"I didn't even notice you once..." Mail wondered how he could have missed such a face, such a scar.
"That's a skill I need to have with the job I do."
"And what is the job you do? I have a pretty good feeling that I won't like the answer though."
"I have a pretty good feeling that you know the answer."
Mail bit his lips. It was one thing to understand it implicitly, but he was scared to utter the words, or even hear them, but he needed to make sure. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought.
"You're some kind of..."
"Mafia head."
Mail couldn't help the cold sweat along his spine. Too late to go?
"You're still free to go whenever you want."
"Am I that obvious?" the redhead felt like if the bugs were now in his own mind.
"You just look really scared."
"So do you." Mail stated. It was true. Mafia boss or not facing him, there was something that stuck Mail here on that couch, something that forbid him to go, and it was that fear in the blond's eyes. As much as he didn't want to, he had to know everything before he passed the door. He hated incertitudes, and since he would be unable to forget what had happened today, he needed at least to understand it fully. Because maybe it was like dreams, you only get rid of them once you get an explanation.

"I'm not good at dealing with people. I mean, when I'm not heading them."
"No shit, really?" Mail laughed out loud at the statement, "Hum, sorry, that was a bit rude." he caught up with his words, not wanting to sound too vulgar since the other seemed to use a very correct language. Quite formal even. Like someone who's not using his native language. Which would explain the accent. Where from?

But Mihael's laughter echoed with his.

This was an excruciating pain he felt, with the fear of never getting anywhere, and the joy of hearing that genuine sound from Mail. The nose that scrunched up a bit as he smiled, the freckles and the dimples, it was all too beautiful to let go.

"Are you Swedish or something? I mean, I can't place your accent, and you're so... blond with blue eyes, like a typical Scandinavian guy..."
"Russian."
Somehow, it made Mihael even more scary. Swedish seemed a lot safer than Russian.

Mail wondered what he was doing here. Anyone in his right mind would have left as soon as possible. Anyone would be scared to death to be in a Mafia boss' den. Anyone would simply not have asked to know this detail. What was so wrong with him that he chose curiosity over saving his life? Damn, he didn't even think his life was threatened, which was probably a huge mistake. There was that duality in the other that didn't bode well at all. He looked frightened, unable to make this meeting go anywhere, and yet so self assured, so very powerful. He was probably playing him, and would toy with his dead body in the end.

For a brief instant, the thought of a hidden camera game touched on his mind. Yes, yes that was it! That made a lot of sense. The place was bugged after all! Why hadn't he realised earlier? Damn was he stupid to get tricked so easily!
"Is it a joke?"
Mihael looked surprised.
"Is it some TV game? Because if it is, then it's not funny at all, scaring the shit out of people like this."
"It's not a game." Mihael replied calmly.
"Come on, it has to be! Abduction, Mafia, bodyguards... it's too big to be true!" Mail stood up, "And if you really were a Mafia boss, you wouldn't have told me so openly!"
"What can I do to convince you it's not a game?" Mihael stood too, genuinely asking.
"I don't know... kill someone!"
"You're not serious." Mihael would do it if it was the only thing that could convince the redhead that it was not a game, but he also knew that giving him nightmares wasn't the best option to be convincing as the bashful lover.
"Totally serious. Do it." Mail was finding this quite amusing now.

Mihael pushed the internal call button on the phone that was on the desk. He exchanged a few words in Russian, and looked back at Mail. The door opened a few seconds later, one of the bodyguards entering, dragging someone that was apparently a houseboy.
"Mail, is that really what you want?" Mihael asked a last time. He wished very hard that the redhead would say no.
He had no problem killing someone, but he didn't want to imprint that in an innocent mind.
He had had nightmares, awful ones, the first times he killed. Ones that let you no rest, that eat at your sanity, that lead you to try to forget no matter how. Mihael remembered the substances and the booze and the women and the men, and the long long years of killing that finally were the only remedy, bringing numbness where there once was remorse.
"Go ahead, I know it's all fake." Mail smirked.

Note: Ok, yes, I admit it, one more reason for posting this as a multichaptered fic was: cliffie galore! XD