-6-
"Mihael," he said, grasping the blonde's shoulders forcefully, "I need to live with you for a while,"
Mihael's face was one of confusion, and he attempted to shake himself out of the grasp of Mail while holding the huge stack of plates in his dominant hand.
"Um...Thank you for letting me know at such a proper time, Mail-" he chuckled lightly, "But I really have to get back to work so-"
"Mihael!" Mail forced him to look back at him, and his gaze was unrelenting, "I just fucking ran away from home, I would bloody well think you could give me a little bit more of your time!"
The man draped in his butler-like attire stared back into those green eyes, before sighing, shrugging out of the grip and going into the kitchen. Mail heard a clatter of plates, and indistinct chatter. Before long Mihael had come back out to the dining hall, shaking his hair out of a ponytail and letting it messily fall about his face.
"Fine," he stomped out the door, Mail following along like a puppy, "We can discuss it, but I intend to find out why you suddenly decided to act like a five-year-old."
"Nate told her everything," he began, his thin fingers stroking the rim of his tea cup as he stared down into the swirling liquid, "every single fucking thing."
Mihael rubbed at his eyes, the glare stinging on his face. "That bastard,"
"I know...B-But..." his voice broke, and he in took a deep breath, "You could imagine my mom wasn't too happy about that...So last night she cornered me, and told me that I was going to burn in Hell if I didn't turn myself around, and that I had a lot to live for and that I shouldn't just-"
Mail was surprised to find Mihael slamming a fist down on the bed post, hard enough to bruise his hands for the next few days: the pain didn't register, and the only thing that did register was Mihael's overflowing anger.
"Fucking whore! The god damn mother fucking son of of a bitch!"
Mail had heard Mihael cuss before, he was no stranger to it, but hearing such a string of curse words fly from his mouth struck him as surprising.
"I swear to God, if I hear another person tell me I'm going to burn in Hell, I'm going to fucking KILL someone!" Mihael had stood up in his rant, pacing about the room, "And here you, the most innocent of bastards I've ever seen, is faced with his own mother-fucking mother telling him he's going to burn in Hell!"
Mail didn't expect those tears that were running down his cheeks when he turned to him, his pale face flickering in the dim light shining in through the windows. Mail could do nothing but sit, still holding peacefully his tea, and stare up at him open-mouthed. Mihael sighed and hurriedly wiped away the tears, sniffling and sitting in the chair across from Mail.
"She told me...She had found out...about what happened to you in Russia."
Silence from the blonde whose face was hidden in shadow.
"I don't care. I don't care what happened...You're still the same person."
"I would have guessed as such," he began, brushing hair out of his face to reveal those puffy brown eyes, "considering you want to live with me now,"
Mail laughed nervously, and took a sip of his tea. "I suppose,"
Mihael stood back up, and wouldn't look at Mail; ashamed of the tears he had shed earlier. He stood away from the red head, and slid off the shirt from his thin, yet well built body. Before being able to continue with his pants, he found a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back just an inch into someone's warm grasp.
"Please calm down, Mihael," his voice was velvety, whispered in Mihael's ear. He felt chills run down his spine, and Mail smiled, kissing the crook of his neck.
"Y-You can stay with me as long as you need..."
"Thank you,"
"S-Sure..."
Everyone had expected the inevitable: the fact that war was coming with Germany, and in fact, came. Mail had been living with Mihael for a few months, and after much rig-a-marol with his mother, finally cut off all ties with her. She didn't try to contact Mail; everyone knew where he was and she believed that he would come crawling back to her.
It had been four months and that hadn't happened.
In fact, during the period that he had been away from his mother, Mail had even gone as far gotten himself a job, as to help pay for rent. It was a small job, working in a small
The pressing matter of war obviously was hard on Mail, as his studies slowly faded from his mind, (as did most), and Mihael would find him at random points in the day, sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the planes as they flew overhead.
At this point, it became apparent to Mihael that Mail had really been extremely sheltered; Mihael had seen war, when he was a young child he could remember seeing those who had been wounded in battle; with an extremity gone or two. Mail, however, would shake like a small child whenever he heard news that fighter pilots had been seen from Germany, heading for England.
Of course, the bombing didn't hit Cambridge. So the fear Mail experienced was for naught, and Mihael would have to coax him into comfort once more.
Until he got a telegram saying that his home had been bombed.
'Mail's face was blank and expressionless as he stared down at the small slip of paper in his hands. I was quite speechless, and could only attempt to analyze Mail through his expression; he was usually very obvious in how he was feeling, but today...
I took his hand, lightly feeling of it with my thumb, and tried to create eye contact, straining my head to see his face. His green eyes were blank as usual, staring down at the paper and not seeming to take in my presence.
"Mail?"
The sound of my voice seemed to wake him back up to reality, and he blinked, before looking up at me. For a moment, all we did was stare at one another. I continued to hold his hand, and he didn't resist, but instead he made a small nod of the head. He held my hand tighter, and led me out the door of the small apartment.
The streets outside were crowded with people running to and fro, the smoke from the bomb that had just hit billowing up in clouds of black. Mail and I mixed in with the crowd, but in the opposite direction, towards and into the smoke that lie nearly two miles away. Mail didn't say a word as we walked, and was intent on walking, leading me through the streets not caring who saw.
I made no attempts otherwise, and followed Mail's every steps, all the while with my eyes locked on him, trying to guess what was going through his head. I myself had never really had a true family, so the idea of losing one's parents seemed strange and other-worldly to me.
The wreckage was terrible. Fire still sparked in places from the attack, and several of the other large mansions along the way suffered the same damage. Ambulances, police, and citizens flooded the streets, looking up at the damage. The smoke was nearly blinding at points, as we shuffled in between people.
He let go of my hand, and approached the ruins of his old house slowly, step by step, and no one remained in his way. The way he stared up at the house, at the remains of his old life, probably indicated to them to get out of the way; and I followed tentatively.
Litters of broken wood boards, tile, ornate china and rubble line the sidewalk. When I finally found my way to Mail, I stared him up and down. He wasn't crying, something which surprised me sincerely. Having known Mail for quite a long while now, I had known him to be quite the emotional type. But at seeing the wreckage of his home? Now he decided was the best time to hold back tears; or perhaps he felt none at all?
I took a few steps towards him, standing to his right and just inches from touching. My mind was reeling, as I'm sure Mail's was, trying to figure out the best way to approach this. I hadn't been with someone in a relationship like this, something that was mutually accepted, something that was as passionate as this. What did I tell him?
He seemed to read my mind, and spoke what was going on in my head physically. He looked over to me, and gazed into my eyes, a false smile on his lips. He then, with no care in the world, looked away once more, and fell upon myself, leaning his head on my shoulder and placing most of his weight on me.
I placed my arm around his shoulders, and kissed his head lightly. The world was our's; we had nothing more to fear.
THIS CHAPTER IS SHORT AND THE FIC ENDS HERE BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU ALL SOMETHING.
OTL I AM SO TIRED OF THIS FIC RIGHT NOW...YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
After re-writing this chapter about forty-thousand times, redoing it, and REDOING IT, I decided, y'know what?
School's now in session, I have work to do because I have college to think about now. D'8 I shouldn't be using my time up to work on a chapter for a fic that I lost interest in. So it is over. I'm sorry...but I have been so stressed. OTL I have to take a remedial class along with two AP classes, so the workload is sort of intense. ;_; I will be writing more fics as I get less and less off my shoulders, probably more present time and more sexy. Or something with little kids. That's not depressing. That'll be hard for me. ;-;
Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this. ;3; I tried not to end it as sad as Anguish, because, HEY. They ended up together after all. 8'D
Thank you all for commenting! ;w; Reviews are nice, as long as they aren't like 'THIS SUCK HURP DURP TROLLIN''
... =3= Anyway. Thanks.