The things he shouldn't have said.

Warning: I do notown these lovely characters; they're my puppets only for the time being.

MikaxRaphael.Oneshot.

He looks at me, and his piercing gaze seems to see right through everything that is Michael.

Fuck, Since when have I become so damn obvious?

I hate him, in all his putrid glory, all of his victimized predator act.

My eyes are weary; my heart's beating like crazy, and I'm drowning in my own self pity.

Feelings turned to ice, turned to dust.

I could whine; hell, I know I could,

For all eternity,

But what I really need is someone right now.

Is it so hard to believe that the Great Archangel of Fire and War, Michael, has emotions and needs, and fucking voids to fill in?

Being an angel doesn't necessarily mean that you're closer to God; in fact, the only fickle thing we could brag about, isn't given directly to us by the Creator -not since the Beginning, anyway, but by ourselves. Range.

Your place in Heaven is the only thing that matters, and it comes with greater responsibilities.

Sure, I care about mine in my own way. I'm not a stiff ass. I don't delay, I deliver.

Everyone fears me, or hates me. And they avoid me.

Yeah.

But they might turn to me, only, if it's gotten out of their petty hands.

Still, I am what I've been since I was born. A fighter.

I haven't been a whom, but an item.

And, getting back to the start of this wicked little speech,

the solely, only, exclusive, being that makes me feel like something other than what I'm supposed to be, has now realized that I fucking need him to survive. Sort of.

He stares. His eyes clinical, cold, examinating my features.

As if I weren't me at the moment.

As if this -this damned pain in my chest wasn't real.

At last, he says,

-"Mika-chan, is that true?"

I nod and break down inside, and start to remember what I did to be here in the first place.

I barged in his office, like many a time; yelling like a madman,

kicking out his current patient, breaking everything in my way.

I'm overwhelmed.

Screaming, I dared him to repeat what he had supposedly said about me,

and what I meant to him.

And told him that if it was true, that I never ever ever wanted to see him again.

He hasn't said a word after the last inquiry.

Finally, I decide to break the silence,

-"What's it to you? Damn it, Raphael, what the fuck do you care!"

I've began saying things against my own will. This internal struggle has suddenly become too much to cope with, and I start to breathe heavily, whilst my chest aches and the pain spreads like a plague throughout my entire body.

My fists cover my face, hiding the tears that scald my eyes and threaten to fall.

-"Of course I give a fuck, Michael."- I can hear him getting closer to me -"If I didn't, I would never have said those things, that you just happened to missunderstand."

Close to what I wanted to hear.

He keeps on, and I almost don't want him to,

-"You're the only friend I've got, it's natural that I care about you and despise those that have wronged you."

I can't let him know that I'm relieved; as always, I must keep the facade.

Things have gotten out of hand and I'm lost. Geez, I don't even remember why the hell I'm so damn pissed, and on the verge of tears.

-"You're just scared because you don't want to admit that you and me go way beyond being a nymphomaniac and an angry excuse for a teenager with issues."

I snort at the last comment, and get up, kick the chair that I was sitting on and turn to leave.

Raphael grasped me by the wrist, and kissed me needily. As his tongue explored my eager mouth, I wondered if that was the beginning of us being more than freaks tied to each other by misfortune.

And that's why you shouldn't have said that you loved me, at least not to a stranger.

Gawd if I suffered writing it, I'm sure you suffered reading it.

Thank you for reading, and thanks for reviewing.

(Hell, who am I talking to? nobody's interested in stuff like this).