"Ba-an?"
"What?" MI6 major Bancoran asked and drank the last breakfast glass of wine in one gulp.
"Here's morning mail!" Maraich came to dining room with a bunch of mottled envelopes. His voice was annoyingly cheerful. Bancoran did not understand how anyone could be so lively at 8 a.m. He was not a morning person, and only duty and skill and will of iron could raise him so early. He yawned and rose from the table.
"Don't you see, I am in a hurry. Look through it yourself and throw spam out. Bye!" And off he was, to the bleak London morning.
Maraich waved with the envelope batch to the closed door and went to the sofa, to play solitaire of bills and advertising letters. Ban's empty plates would wait a minute, for it would not take longer to separate the sheep from the goats. TV subscription fee to the right, an ad to the left, an ad catalogue, ad booklet, gas bill, ad flier, spam, spam, spam… What was that? A solid envelope with airmail stamp and fancy coat-of-arms stuck out of cheap spam paper. Return address was written in illegible ornate font. The redhead hated hand-written characters because he was not good at reading them. "..a..i..o Ma.." What was that supposed to mean? Wait, Malynera?!
Maraich winced. In disgust he took the letter with two fingers and carried to pantry to check it with GM counter, metal detector and X-ray camera. The results turned blank. A mere unsuspicious sheet of paper was locked inside. The more suspicious it was. Inner shit gauge of a former killer screamed to get the letter out of house and burn it at dump site. Curiosity was whispering in much quieter voice, but still it was irresistible. Yes, the letter was addressed to Bancoran, but they were a family, right? And the major allowed… no, even asked Maraich to deal with mail, right?
Maraich shuddered once more and opened the envelope with a nail.
"Hello Ban!
It's a real tragedy. Futures contracts on diamonds sank, international not-so-lawful syndicates lost interest in me, I'm not targeted by assassins every other day and don't see you as often as I want. And my research work stagnates: nothing explodes, mutates or happens. I'm bored out of scull. See these spots? It's my brain dripping on paper. Joking. I cried. Joking again. I'm too embarrassed to tell what it is. : }
No, there is one event at least! It starts with B. Ta-dam! I have birthday on Sunday! I'll be 16. Like, totally, youth is gone by. Isn't it sad. But, there are good points too! Before, eighteen was the age of majority in Malynera, but I shifted it to 16, so I'm eligible now. Also, I legalized same-sex marriages in my kingdom. From my jumps to the future I know it will be fashionable in 30-40 years, and I want my regime to be progressive. Got it? Guess you'll be back to Malynera with a proposition in no time! Or maybe you'd drop to Switzerland first? My mom is still there. She'd be delighted to see you and would definitely agree to give you her motherly blessing. She'd hope that as a son I'd let her have you once in a while. But I wouldn't! Just kidding, I'm not that greedy, of course I'll share. BTW, I'll open you a secret. My tamanegi troops aren't really as ugly as they look. They are all pretty boys, just as you like. Maybe I'll let you into their quarters once in a while if you behave well. But I should think of some sun-screens of sorts to protect my elite troops from your charms while they are on duty.
I guess, Bancoran-kun, I'm the only bishounen on earth who loves you naturally and not because of your 'charms'. You've never used it on me. I am very grateful to you for that, I take it as a sign of respect, though sometimes I expect to suspect in that aspect... Sorry for my hiccups.
Poor Maraich! You screwed him in so many ways – you hypnotized him, raped, made betray his comrades... Poor Bancoran! Does Maraich love you, or is he just under effect of your spell? Under drugs, so to say. Maybe you're so bitter about drug dealers because they are your rivals? Just joking, I know about Damien Knight... You may say that he loved you too, but in my viewpoint, for him it was just a minor school affair with a pretty roommate. You'd ask why I know it? Hehe, I know everything about you, all you dirty secrets and weaknesses. But I like you nevertheless. See I'm the best for you!
If you worry about your career I can offer you a position of Police Chief. The old stinker should retire already, he's grown immune to my brilliant (or should I say diamond?) sense of humor.
Well, you are not young either, so maybe it's your last chance to marry a young pretty boy. And I'm even prettier than the Radish guy! : }
See ya!
With EverOverLasting Love,
Napoleon VIII, just joking
The Sun King, joking again
Fuhrer of Malynera, you got it
Your Pataliro 8th."
The letter slipped out from Maraich's hands and slid swiftly under the sofa, like a cockroach.
Bancoran returned home late. From under his umbrella he saw that windows of his apartment were dark, and strange sad feeling flickered past him like a night bird. But maybe Maraich was sleeping? It should be hard to stay awake all day and evening long when you get up early to cook every day.
Thus fending sad thoughts off the major went up and opened the door. Light flooded the room at a switch click and glittered off envelopes sprayed all over sofa and carpet. Morning plates and cup still stood on the table in oil and coffee stains. Draught tried to lift the papers but lay down in exasperation when Bancoran closed the door.
But the red-haired young man standing at the window did not even turn his head to the sound. He was leaning with his forehead on the glass pane, wide eyes fixed at some invisible, incomprehensible point outside.
"Maraich? What's happened?" the agent cried and wanted to rush to the dear figure, to hug him, to shake off that cold stillness. But instead, he stood just as still.
"Bancoran?" the voice came dull, it was hardly heard behind the rain rustle.
"Yes, my dear?" the major forced out an equally weak sound.
The young man turned aside, still avoiding to look at him, and dusk lingered in his eyes.
"Do I really love you?"