Michel couldn't sleep.
He'd gone to bed at ten-thirty, after he'd finished a literature assignment. It was relatively early, even for him, but he pleaded a headache and said goodnight as soon as he was done with his essay. He'd smiled kindly, bade every one a cheerful goodnight and stopped to give Free his customary hug, then tromped up to bed.
But now, dressed in his favorite flannel pajamas and curled under his down comforter -a gift from KR when he'd complained of it being cold in his room in the winter- he couldn't calm down enough to fall asleep. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, but all to no avail. His room, his bed, the darkness...It all seemed so vast and he felt very small and alone.
After he had rotated his head to the foot of the bed for the fourth or fifth time, he'd had enough. It was now one in the morning; he had to get up for school in six hours and he'd gotten no sleep.
Wrapping himself tight in his favorite knit afghan, he padded barefoot out of the room. His room was full of too many thoughts; too much would go on in his mind if he stayed there. He would never be able to subdue his thoughts enough to sleep and needed to be in the one place where he knew he would feel safe.
Free's door was never locked. Owing his life to the other members of the team, the man felt he had absolutely nothing to hide and therefore didn't bother with the lock. Michel twisted the knob and pushed the door open, peeking in. Pale light filtered into the room and he could see Free, sprawled on his stomach on the bed, sheets twisted around his legs. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his face was pressed into a pillow, his hair glittering silver in the moonlight.
The blond slipped into the room, shutting the door as quietly as he could. The fact that Free hadn't woken the second he'd opened the door showed just how much trust the man had in his young friend and it made Michel feel good. The very fact that -even in his sleep- Free could tell his presence from any one else's had always been comforting for Michel and made him feel as if he belonged in that room.
He crept stealthily over to the bed, padding softly on bare feet. This was the place where dreams and nightmares were kept at bay and, as he looked down at his sleeping friend, he began to feel soothed.
Carefully, he began untangling the sheets and blankets from around Free's legs. One small hand ran lightly along the skin of the man's back and, finding it cool to the touch, he pulled up one of the blankets and tucked Free in.
Then he crawled onto the bed, curling next to Free. He pulled his own blanket over himself, nestling into the curve of Free's side, where his own tiny body fit perfectly. One of the man's hands instinctively moved down to rest protectively on his shoulder and Michel smiled softly, feeling loved and wanted for the first time all day. He yawned, suddenly aware of just how tired he was and -knowing he would be safe the rest of the night- allowed his eyes to slide shut.
-----
Free woke, as usual, at the crack of dawn. He was only half surprised to find Michel curled in a little ball at his side, one arm tossed over his stomach. This had become something of a regular occurrence; the boy came once or twice a month to sleep in his bed. It was something that they had a silent agreement about. Neither of them ever spoke of it. Michel didn't need to explain his need for closeness and comfort any more than Free did and the arrangement suited them both well. It was, oddly enough, never once mentioned by another member of the household, despite the fact that they often saw Michel leaving Free's room in his pajamas.
The man deftly extracted himself from Michel's arms, taking care to make sure he pulled the blankets all the way up and over the teen. Michel made a slightly upset sounding noise and shifted into the warmth of the now empty hollow where Free had been laying.
Free paused, looking down at his young friend. He wished he knew better how he could help Michel, but the mystery of the teenager was a hard one to unravel. His cards had been aggravatingly unhelpful and he found himself worrying more over Michel now than when he had to keep his distance.
He checked his bedside clock. The glowing red display flashed in the dim morning light. 6:10. Michel still had about an hour before he had to get up and no one else would rise for at least twenty minutes. Free allowed himself a few more moments of observation, watching the way Michel's body moved as he inhaled and exhaled, noting that the boy's thin frame was visible even through his pajamas. Yuki was right. He did look thinner.
He ran a hand over the boy's hair, brushing it back from his face. For a while, it had seemed like Michel was getting better. He'd been talking about what bothered him more and Yuki had been grudgingly spending more time with him. The two teens were very different, however, and every one knew that Michel sometimes got on Yuki's nerves. But now, all of a sudden, he'd been slowly shutting down again. The smiles were once more becoming vacant and forced and conversation was dipping back into topics that didn't really matter.
No one could force the teen to talk and Free wasn't sure if Aya, Chloé and Ken had even noticed the minute differences in his behavior. He and Yuki spent the most time in Michel's presence and knew him far better than the others. Although…No one really knew Michel all that well. Free had been keeping an eye on him all those years, but he had been watching him from afar. In that sense, it was hard to know what was really on his mind. They hadn't been close for very long. And Yuki…Yuki might have gone to school with him and spent a lot of time with him, but they didn't really know much about one another.
Giving Michel one last glance, Free set about on his morning routine, leaving the room and heading down the hall to fetch a fresh towel from the linen closet.
It was when the door clicked shut that Michel awoke, blinking against the bright light of the morning sun as it crept higher in the sky. He was confused for a moment -what was he doing in Free's room?- then he remembered his sleeplessness of the previous night. He rolled over on his stomach, burying his face in Free's pillow. The pillowcase and sheets held the faint incense-y scent of the older man and that was rather comforting. He could already tell, due to the small amount of sleep he'd gotten, that it would not be the best of days.
Yawning, he snuggled against the pillow, trying to will himself back to sleep. The clock on the nightstand was now blinking twenty after six and he didn't need to be up until seven. Even an extra half-hour of sleep would be a blessing. He pulled the comforter up over his head to block out the sun and eventually drifted into a light sleep.
He started awake again only ten minutes later, having nearly been dragged into a not-so-pleasant dream. He hated those dreams; where everything was hazy and slow, where time stood still and he relived terrible moments over and over again. It was that kind of dream which he had sought to escape the previous night when he had come to Free's room.
He sat up, wrapping the comforter tighter around himself. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. It was around six-thirty and he knew if he did manage to fall back to sleep, he would only have more nightmares. He sighed; bowing his head, hair falling in his eyes. He wondered fleetingly what Aya would say if he asked to stay home. He was tired and didn't feel well. His arm itched beneath the bandages, a sign that the shallow cuts were beginning to heal. He knew there was no way he'd be able to concentrate on anything and he was in no emotional state to handle another day of teasing and tormenting from his classmates.
He watched silently as Free came back into the room, wearing only a pair of comfy looking pants and toweling his hair. He never ceased to be in awe of the man's physical appearance; his own tiny body and wiry frame making the vast differences between them even more obvious. Free was over a foot taller than him, muscular, radiating masculinity. Michel himself was not quite fifteen yet and he knew it was possible that he could have a growth spurt, but in his hazy recollections of his parents, he didn't remember either of them being particularly tall.
"Did you sleep well?"
The boy jumped at the sound of Free's voice, then blushed at having been caught watching him. Free still had his back to the bed, but he did have an uncanny ability to know what was going on around him at all times. He tightened the blankets around himself, staring down at a pillow. "I don't feel well." He said softly, the statement punctuated by a wide yawn. "I'm tired and I don't want to go to school today."
"I will tell Aya." Free nodded. Michel's head rose slightly and he watched the muscles ripple in Free's back as he pulled a shirt over his head. "You go back to sleep."
"I'll try." The little blond sighed, knowing it would be difficult. If he went back to sleep, he would once again be plagued with nightmares. The only way he would be able to sleep without dreaming was if Free stayed with him, but that was a definite no. There was work to be done around the shop.
"Good." Free offered him -what he had learned over the months- was his version of a smile, crossing the room to lay him back down and tuck the blankets around him. Michel managed a smile as Free's hand brushed back his hair. He was so calm. Gentle. Totally the opposite of his appearance. In moments like these, it was so easy to forget they were killers. So easy to pretend they were normal. Happy.
"Come down for lunch, all right?" Free's dark gaze met his, holding it. Captivating. Michel sucked in a breath, his heart pounding as he tried to look away from the intense stare. Got stuck. "I want you to eat something."
"I'll come down." Michel promised, willing to do anything to appease the rest of the household. He didn't feel like explaining anything at this stage of the game and if he refused Ken's cooking, there would be questions asked. Besides, he would do anything Free asked of him.
Another nod, then the man disappeared from the room. Michel watched his retreating figure, wondering to himself how they could possibly be on the same page, yet reading totally different words.
-----
Somehow, the teenager did manage to fall back to sleep, safe under the warm covers in a room of no dreams. This room had been empty longest and Michel -being somewhat superstitious- always said it was the only room in the building that wasn't haunted. It had been, after all, the only chamber in the apartment that didn't have a troubled young man residing in it. There was a time in his life, prior to their rescuing Free, when he would sneak into the vacant room with a pillow and curl up on the floor, trying to fend off the nightmares of his childhood. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to stop dreaming.
He awoke hours later to a rather delicious aroma wafting into the room. He first stretched and then curled up tighter, not quite ready to give up the warmth and comfort of the big, Free-scented bed. He had learned early on how to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible and he wanted to get lost in the sheets; to never have to come out. He knew he would have to eventually, but the still-childish, irrational part of him wanted to stay right where he was forever.
After a few moments of lounging in the bed, he decided he'd better get up. After all, lunch did smell good and he hadn't eaten much since the previous morning. And he felt scruffy; still in his pajamas and in need of a shower.
One quick shower later, Michel was pulling on a pair of well-worn corduroys and a slightly-too-big tee-shirt. He toweled his damp hair, causing haphazard curls to spring up all over his head. He ran his fingers through the wet strands, separating them, but didn't bother with his comb. The baby-fine curls wouldn't go away, no matter what he did. He frowned at his reflection in the mirror. Frowned at the baby face, the wide grey-green eyes with their feathery lashes. Little pink lips; constant blush. Why did he have to look so much like a girl?
He sighed, pulling on a pair of socks and sliding his feet into blue tennis shoes. No one here ever really mentioned his femininity…There were the occasional teases from Chloé and Ken, but he could tell the difference between their fond teasing and the cruelty of his schoolmates.
Ken was absent from the kitchen when he finally wandered downstairs, but there was a pot simmering away on the stove. He padded over and lifted the lid, peering into the pot. It appeared that beef stew with plenty of potatoes and onions was for lunch. One of his favorites…He was touched.
There was a note on the table: Chibi - Free said you weren't feeling too hot and asked me to make you something special for lunch. There are biscuits in the oven as well. Enjoy! - Ken
He couldn't help smiling. Sometimes, being the baby of the "family" wasn't all that bad. Every one else looked out for him and spoiled him. At times, he resented the "chibi" nickname -it wasn't his fault he was so tiny- but he knew that was just Ken being Ken.
Michel pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and ladled himself a helping of the stew. By this time, every one else would have eaten. The shop's lunch hour was from twelve to one and it was almost one-thirty. He didn't really mind the time alone; far from it. As a child, he had spent most of his free time playing on his own and he had grown accustomed to it. He was good at smiling; at pretending things were okay. But he really preferred to be comfortable in his own world where he was allowed to be as sad and happy as he wanted.
He slid the baking pan out of the oven and carefully extracted one of the still-warm biscuits. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal. He simply hadn't been hungry. But this smelled so good…He poured himself a glass of milk, found a napkin and settled down at the table, tucking hungrily into the warm meal.
Lunch was good, and an afternoon spent in the solitude of the house was even better. He curled up with a copy of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and spent the afternoon reading, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket.
He was almost done with the book and getting sniffley over the sad parts when Yuki tromped in, dumping a couple books on the couch next to him. Michel looked up, startled, and found himself frowning at the sour expression on the older boy's face.
"Aya asked me to bring your homework." He said crossly, "Why didn't you come today?"
"I couldn't sleep last night." Came the soft reply, "I was tired."
"So was I…But I still got up and went." Yuki huffed, "You're spoiled, you know."
Michel flushed. "I am not!"
"You are too. No one babies me when I'm tired. I still have to get up and go to school. I don't get to sit home and read bloody children's books all day long."
As Michel stared up at him, eyes wide, chin wobbling, Yuki took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had a headache and getting upset with Michel wasn't going to make it better. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that." He sighed, plunking himself down on the couch.
"Are you okay?" The blond asked timidly. "I…I'm sorry if you think they treat me better…It's not my fault…"
"I know; I know. I'm sorry. It was just…That woman was after me about my grades again." Yuki slumped on the couch, trying to drain his body of the tension and aggravation that had been plaguing him all day.
"Miss Ebert, you mean?"
The American nodded. "It's none of her business. She should just leave me alone." He curled around a pillow, sulking.
There was a long silence. Then Michel spoke up quietly, "Yuki? Why don't you just do your work? Wouldn't things just be so much easier that way?"
Yuki frowned. "Why bother? It's not like it matters." He heaved a sigh like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, "With the life we lead, grades don't matter. It can never be normal for us. It's not some fairytale, Michel. There is no happy ending. Just blood and death and more and more sins piling up."
There was another pregnant pause. "You…don't really believe that, do you?" The tiny blond sounded almost terrified at the thought. He had always lived with the belief that they would someday all be free and happy; their debt to KR paid in full. He clung to that dream with all of his being; sometimes it was the only thing that kept him going.
"Yes. I do." The older teen's voice had a hard edge to it. "We're killers. The only way it ends is if we die."
A chill ran up Michel's spine and he hunched up smaller under the blanket. "I don't want to die. Yuki…I want to be happy again someday." He whispered, "Don't you think we can be happy? I mean, it isn't so bad as all that, is it?"
"Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?" Yuki turned away from him, picking up the remote and clicking the TV on.
Michel stared down into his lap. He knew teenagers were supposed to have it tough, but was it really supposed to be this bad? Shouldn't he and Yuki have been happily rebelling against their families right about now? Of course, he hardly remembered his family and Yuki didn't ever know his. And there simply was no rebelling against Aya. Yuki wouldn't dream of it and Michel respected the Japanese man far too much.
He regarded Yuki for a moment. The older boy was scowling at the television. His blue eyes were dark behind his glasses and his hair was tousled. Michel knew he had a habit of running his hands through it when he was nervous or distressed. He couldn't help but wonder at how their lives had been so similar and yet so different at the same time.
He bit his lip. Yuki seemed so upset and Michel wanted to cheer him up. There was one way he knew would make the boy smile for sure…"Yuki?"
"Hh?" The dark-haired boy grunted in response.
"Can you tell me again what it was like to live in New York?" He offered a hopeful smile, "Everything there is so fascinating."
He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile tug at Yuki's lips. The city -his home- was his passion and he loved to talk about it. Michel knew the other boy couldn't be disgruntled if he had an audience to listen to one of his rambling memories of when life was less complicated, if only by a little bit.
"Did I ever tell you about Central Park?" He asked and Michel nodded, smiling slightly. He'd heard about the park a dozen or so times, but he never got tired of listening to Yuki talk about that place so close and yet so far away.
"You can tell it again. I like listening." Michel told him shyly. He lifted the end of the blanket, offering to share it with his companion.
He was granted a half-smile in return and Yuki edged closer, accepting the offered covering. Every one in the house was aware of Michel's desire for physical attention…He seemed to need a lot of snuggles. Usually, Free was the one to dish out affection to the blond, but Michel wasn't picky. Yuki was awkward about it, but sometimes he needed the comfort as much as Michel.
Therefore, he didn't protest when the other boy nestled against his side, tucking the blanket snugly around them. He simply put an arm around Michel's shoulder, inwardly grateful that he could pretend this was all for Michel's benefit, and launched into (what he hoped was) a new story. "There was this time we went to the Park and…"
