Chapter: 2/2
Word Count: 401
Pairings: Mike Makowski/Firkle Smith, Michael/Firkle Smith
Characters: Michael, Firkle Smith, Mike Makowski
Warnings: Vomiting, Nausea, Nightmares
Chapter Summary: Firkle hated talking about his dreams when they involved Michael.
AN: Just thought I'd get the second part done up. I finally think I can sleep, hopefully. I will probably work on more things later. ; u; Hope you guys enjoy!
Part Two: Cold As The Dead ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The ice cracked, snapping and crunchy beneath his feet. A long fissure opened up between his legs, and he shot Michael a pathetic, pleading look.
"Huh. Looks like we were right, baby." Michael began, voice cold and oddly mirthful, "You could stand to lose some more weight." The laughter that poured from his sneering lips chilled Firkle more than his fear and panic combined. It crashed into him like a physical blow to the chest and he knew, in that moment, that Michael wouldn't help him.
"M-Michael-" Firkle croaked, chancing a step forward. Why had he pushed him out so far? The winter freeze was ending, and spring was bringing a quick thaw despite the snow still piled up to his knees. Tears leaked down Firkle's cheeks as the ice finally gave a loud crack, sending him plummeting down into the frozen pond.
Chunks of ice far too large for him to push away swarmed him, and he heard nothing but the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears. The last thing that broke through the haze of fear was a single sentence.
"I thought you weren't afraid of drowning, Firkle."
-
Jerking so hard he fell out of bed, Firkle hit the floor hard enough to rattle his bones. Heart jammed in his throat, he panted and coughed, feeling like he might vomit. Surging to his feet, he raced for the bathroom, spilling stomach acid straight into the toilet. Half of it burned through his nose, but he didn't care. He couldn't breathe.
Coughing and sputtering loudly, Firkle finally wrangled his retching under control. Tears leaked down the sides of his face, and he wiped his mouth and blew his nose on some of the stupidly expensive toilet paper Mike insisted on before flushing. Carefully rising on quaking legs, he brushed his teeth for as long as he could stand it before rinsing. Unable to get Michael's face out of his head, the younger goth returned to the bedroom he shared with his boyfriend.
Mike looked so peaceful and impossibly young in his slumber. Firkle was glad he hadn't woken him, at least. Carefully making his side of the bed, he toed on his slippers Mike insisted he wear around the house. With that, he was off to his studio in the basement. He needed to do something with his hands, and hitting something sounded perfect.
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