A/N: Sorry it took me song long to write this chapter, it's not one I particularly like; but can't like them all, right? Anyway, if you were wondering what song Mistel was listening to over and over again in chapter four it was Arctic Monkey's "Do I wanna know?" I just thought it fit his feelings for her perfectly. Also, this is the first of Winter, so spoilers if you haven't made it that far yet. Also, why is it so hard to describe Veronica's facial expressions?! I will never do it again.
*By the way, at the end of this chapter Mistel and Iris are speaking french. My french is limited, so I needed to use a translator, I used one and thought it was fine but went back and it was all funky so just use google translator. It still came out a little funky. You may be thinking, "Why do they need to speak french?" and the answer is because I have weird headcanons. I recommend you translate, it's très drôle (very funny).
Chapter Six
Mistel should have known. Winter brought nothing but sadness; nothing but terrible, terrible things. He stood at the center of the little bridge, pacing back and forth while fingering the ring in his pocket. He had been waiting there since eight-thirty, and now it was nearly ten. They had agreed to meet at nine, and he was beginning to worry—she was always so punctual. Had she gotten cold feet? He chuckled dryly at the thought, since his feet were so cold he was afraid that if he stood out here for awhile longer that he might get frostbite.
He looked to his hands which were reddened by the cold and cursed the bandages that were wrapped around his knuckles. He had crafted a ring for Beatrice the day prior and since his line of work did little help to harden his hands he had injured them in the crafting. He would have loved to have given her a beautiful antique ring that he had at his shop, but Iris insisted that the tradition in town was to make one yourself; to put hard work and love into it to show the person how much you truly care for them.
He could only think of two people who would have the tools to craft a ring—Beatrice and Fritz; and since he very well couldn't ask Beatrice to use her crafting table to make a ring he had reluctantly went to Fritz. Although Fritz didn't have a crafting table (he couldn't afford one) he had tools that could be used to craft a ring—which made it much harder to craft one; hence why his hands were more injured than they would have been if he had used a crafting table instead. Fritz was more than happy to help, overjoyed, even, and Mistel really hoped that Fritz didn't think that they were friends now. He would never be able to forgive him for kissing Beatrice, even if it was consensual and the apologizes were said. He was still jealous; he wanted to be the one to kiss her first. He hardly said a word to him the whole time the ring was being crafted, and as soon as it was finished he gave him a halfhearted thank you and abruptly left.
He sold silver at his shop so that was very easy to acquire and had an amethyst lying around the shop so he had decided to craft her a violet ring. He had a lot of gems lying around the shop, but picked the amethyst at random. He had no idea what her favorite color was, and that irked him a little. They were best friends, perhaps soon to be lovers, and he thought that by now he should have known what her favorite color was. He had no doubt she knew his, since on his birthday she had wrapped his gift in his favorite colors—purple and white.
By now he was feeling so anxious that he trembled to the very ends of his fingertips. Beatrice should have been there by now, she should have been there an hour ago. He feared that perhaps she had collapsed and was laying face down on the snow covered ground just waiting for the cold to overcome her and end her life. He shook his head to get the thought out; it was one of the worst things he had ever imagined.
He couldn't take it a moment longer, and quickly ran off the bridge and started his way up the mountain trail. If she had collapsed he needed to find her before she succumbed to death, he would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't get to her farm in time to save her. He ran as quick as his legs would carry him, but as soon as he reached the forest area he stopped dead in his tracks. Fritz was walking away from the direction of her farm, his head hung low with tears streaming down his face.
As Mistel approached him Fritz's head shot up, his eyes red and puffy. His injuries were healing quickly. Although he still had bandages on his nose, his bruised eyes were now a shade of yellow instead of purple like they were a few days prior. "Fritz..." he hesitatingly said. "What has happened?"
"Granny..." Fritz choked, a sob racking through his body. "She...she died."
"Oh, I see," Mistel said soberly. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Madam Eda was always very kind to me. She visited my shop often, and always encouraged me when I didn't have many customers when I first came to town. I will miss her greatly."
"We're gonna have a memorial service for her tonight, do you think you could come? I'm sure it would mean a lot to granny knowing you were there...and to Bee," Fritz murmured, hanging his head again.
"Yes, I'll be there," Mistel answered softly. "Speaking of Beatrice, how is she fairing? Is she all right?"
"She's...okay. She was cryin' pretty hard at granny's bedside, but then after she passed Bee stopped and said how sorry she felt for me, knowing how close we were..." Fritz trailed, then hesitatingly said, "She's a strong one, Bee. You're one lucky guy. Make her happy, please."
"If she accepts me I'll make her the happiest woman alive," Mistel said under his breath. "Where is she now?"
"Home. I-I'm sorry, but I better get home myself. I s'pose I should take a nap before the memorial," Fritz whispered, barely audible. Fritz fixated his eyes on the ground as he walked past him, and Mistel could hear him sobbing again as he walked away.
No longer in a rush, Mistel began to slowly make his way to her farm. He wasn't sure what to expect when he arrived at her home. Would she be weeping? Would he have to cradle her head against his chest and tell her that everything was going to be okay? Or would she be fine; that perhaps death didn't bother her as much as it did other people. He hadn't the slightest clue what he would find when he saw her.
As he reached her farm he took a moment to take several deep breaths—or rather gasps, as he was having a hard time catching his breath. He respected Beatrice more than ever; he had no idea how she was able to walk up and down the mountain trial everyday, it was exhausting. He started his way toward her home and was in awe at how much she had accomplished in the short amount of time she had owned the land. She had several barns and a chicken coop, along with many buildings that he figured were used to make products out of her farming goods.
When he reached her door he hesitated for a moment. After several deep breaths in a vain attempt to calm his nerves he knocked softly on her door two times. He heard a creak of a bed then small footsteps approach the door, his heart speeding up as he heard the doorknob turn. Beatrice opened the door and her ruby eyes widened at the sight of him, and she let out a loud gasp as she abruptly closed the door in his face.
"Uh...Beatrice?" he said, knocking on the door again. "May I speak to you for a little while? I want to make sure you are all right."
Beatrice slowly opened the door again, then solemnly murmured with her head hung low, "I'm sorry for closing the door on you like that...With all that happened today I had completely forgotten about how I was suppose to meet you...and when I saw you I felt so bad for forgetting that I wasn't sure what to do."
"Please don't be upset about that, you've been upset enough for one day as is," he said softly. "I was so awfully worried about you when you didn't show up, I was afraid you had collapsed—so I ran over here as fast as I could."
"You must be freezing!" she exclaimed, gaping at him. "Please, come in. I'll make us some tea to warm you up."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," he said with a crooked grin.
"What happened to your hands!?" she gasped, grabbing them and thoroughly examining them.
"Oh, nothing," he nervously laughed. "It's a funny story, actually. I'll tell you later."
"Fine," she huffed, puffing out her cheeks and releasing his hands.
She walked over to her kitchen and Mistel crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him. He was a little surprised at how she was acting. Her ruby eyes were rimmed in red as if she had been crying all morning, but she seemed okay now. He took a moment to gaze around her house. Her walls were purple—which made him happy, thinking that perhaps maybe purple was her favorite color, too—and her floor was dark wooden floorboards. She had a nice elegant dining table with chairs to match. He was surprised to see that she had a double bed, which had blue covers. He wondered if blue was her second favorite color. His eyes widened in shock when he saw that her bedside table held a vase with yellow roses in them. Had she, perhaps, found them after he had dropped them? There was no other reasonable explanation.
After thoroughly looking around the room he walked over to her kitchen. She had already put the kettle on the stove and ignited the burner. She reached up to her cabinet to grab two tea cups and was having a hard time reaching them, even though she was on her tiptoes.
"No need to strain yourself, I'll get them for you," Mistel said simply, reaching up and grabbing them for her. She gave a slight nod as a thanks, and took them from his hands to place them on her dining table. When she turned back around to face him her lashes were beaded with tears. He felt his chest clench. She had been trying her hardest to put on a strong front, and he was irritated with himself for not knowing right away.
He softly grabbed her hand and linked his fingers with hers. Beatrice fixated her eyes on the floor and Mistel whispered, "Please don't hold back your tears. It's a good thing to cry. I know you're trying to be strong but an awful thing happened today. So, please, cry if you need to."
"I don't want to upset you... You hate to see me cry," Beatrice murmured, giving his hand a small squeeze.
Mistel gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He smiled crookedly and said, "It does upset me, but you need to cry. You need to mourn. She meant so much to you, I'm sure."
Tears started to stream down her face and before he could even react she embraced him tightly. She softly sobbed upon his shoulder and he gathered her close to him. He could feel her heartbeat against his his chest, and his own heart started beating rapidly by their closeness. He always felt so content when they were this close—comforted, even, and wondered if she felt the same. Her sobs began to subside and she whispered against his shoulder, "You're so kind to me...and I'm always so awful to you. You'll never understand how happy it makes me when you're so close to me."
"I understand perfectly; I feel the same way," he said under his breath, but he knew that she could hear him. "You've warmed me up, so I don't think the tea will be necessary anymore—unless you would like some. And please never say you treat me awfully again, you treat me wonderfully. I enjoy every moment with you."
She let go of him and put a hand to his cheek, gazing into his violet eyes with an intensity in her stare; one that he had never seen in her eyes before when looking into his. No one had ever looked at him like that before, he felt as if she was looking directly into his soul. Is this a look of love? he thought skeptically to himself. He felt his chest swell with pure joy. "I think I'll pass on the tea..." Beatrice said softly. "If you're warm then I'm fine; I don't need any tea to comfort me. You've comforted me enough just by being here."
"All right, then," Mistel said, his heart beating faster—if that was even possible—then reached over to turn the knob on the stove until the flames were extinguished. "The memorial is happening later in the evening, as you probably already know. Why don't you take a nap before it starts? I'm sure you must be exhausted from crying."
"You're right," Beatrice sighed. "I suppose I should...but would you mind laying next to me?"
"Of course," he replied softly. "Would you like to lay down now? You'll have a couple of hours to sleep before the memorial."
"Yes, I think that would be best," Beatrice said, then walked over to her bed and laid down on the side closest to the wall. Mistel followed her and took off his boots before laying down next to her. He pulled the blankets around them and Beatrice wrapped an arm around his torso and laid her head against his chest; snuggling up close to him. He felt his heartbeat accelerate and could feel her own beating rapidly against his side.
"She left her land to me..." Beatrice trailed in a low tone.
"That was very kind of her. I couldn't help but to notice that your land is looking a little overcrowded; perhaps now that you have more space you could move some of your buildings onto her land."
"Do you really think I deserve it?" Beatrice whispered against his chest.
"You've worked so hard, of course you deserve it. You must have meant a lot to her for her to give you her land."
"I suppose..." Beatrice said solemnly. "She has a grandson, don't you think he deserves it?"
"If she wanted you to have it then he must not care much for farming," Mistel said firmly. "Accept what's been given to you. I have no doubt you will do magnificent things with the land."
"That's not true, though!" Beatrice exclaimed. "Madam Eda told me he loved farming so much that he moved out of the city and lived with her and her husband for awhile... but then she sent him back and now he has a wonderful life in the city."
"Then he probably doesn't even want the land," he murmured. "Most likely he has a family of his own and a good paying job in the city, so I very much doubt that he'll want to move his whole family here and leave his job just for a measly amount of land. There is not a single doubt in my mind that you will do much better with it, anyway."
"Thank you, Mistel," she whispered, but still sounded reluctant. "I couldn't of asked for a better friend."
"I'll always be here for you, please know that," Mistel whispered back, then kissed the top of her head. He took a moment to smell her hair; it smelt of some kind of berry, but he couldn't put his finger on the exact scent.
After a few moments he said, "Those are some lovely roses you have in your vase. May I ask where you got them? I heard they are quite hard to acquire."
"I found them on the ground right before the bridge... You got them for me, didn't you?" Beatrice muttered miserably.
"I did," he replied simply. "I hope you've been enjoying them."
"I have been," she soberly uttered. "I've awoken to the sight of them every morning, and they never cease to full me with joy. I just wish that all that awfulness never happened; everything would be so much different... If that stuff never happened and you had given them to me like you intended to then maybe things would have turned out like I wanted them to."
"Don't dwell upon the past, it can't be altered. Now all we can do is look forward to the future, and maybe one day soon things will turn out like you wanted it to... Like I wanted it to," Mistel murmured. "Now please, get some rest."
"I suppose I should," she said, letting out a little yawn. "You have no idea how much it means to me for you being here, laying next to me. I would never have been able to take a nap without your warmth to comfort me. Thank you, Mistel. You mean the world to me."
He felt his heart skip a beat. He meant the world to her? He had half a mind to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "So...do you enjoy the color purple?" he inquired with a smile.
"Hmm? Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I believe you just told me to get some rest, and it's kind of hard to fall asleep when you're asking me questions," Beatrice chuckled slightly.
"I just have a couple more, then you can nap!" Mistel giggled. "So? Do you enjoy the color?"
"I do," she replied simply. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason!" he nervously laughed, fingering the ring in his pocket once more. "I just noticed the color of your walls, is all, and was curious."
"Blue used to be my favorite color, but now I find myself enjoying purple much more," Beatrice said in a low tone.
"And why is that?" Mistel asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"I, uh, would rather not say," Beatrice stammered. "It's sort of embarrassing."
"Now you must tell me!" he laughed. "I won't stop bothering you until you do!"
"Fine," she resigned. "It's just... I really enjoy the color of your eyes, they're so beautiful. I would stare into them all day if you'd allow me..."
"Oh..." he trailed, feeling his heart beat so quickly he feared he might have a heart attack. "I rather enjoy the color of your eyes, as well. Once I look into them I find myself having a difficult time looking away."
"You do?" she asked uncertainly.
"Yes, I do. I find them to be quite intriguing...They're very beautiful, they mesmerize me," he replied.
"I hope you're quite pleased with yourself, because now it feels like my face is on fire!" she emoted harshly, but he could feel her grinning against his chest.
He tilted his head slightly to see her face, which was stained a deep shade of red. He admired her flush for a moment then teasingly said, "Oh, I am. I've been nearly dying to see that adorable blush of yours all day."
She huffed and buried her face harder into his chest. After a couple of moments she asked, "Uh, Mistel, do you think you could do me a favor?"
"Anything for you," he lovingly replied.
"Do you think you could stand next to me during the memorial? And, uh, perhaps hold my hand?" Beatrice asked nervously.
"Of course!" Mistel chuckled softly. "I'd love nothing more than to hold your hand all day, every day. So that's not a problem in the slightest."
"Thank you," Beatrice said sleepily, letting out the cutest yawn he had ever heard. "I really appreciate it."
"No need to thank me, it would be my pleasure," he said frankly. "Now I think you should get some rest, I wouldn't want to have to nudge you to keep you awake during the memorial."
"Yes, yes," she sighed. "I'll see you soon."
"Sweet dreams, Beatrice. Rest well," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She tightened her arm around him and sighed deeply into his chest as he started to softly run his fingers up and down her back. A few moments later she began to snore softly while Mistel continued to caress her back.
Knowing how hard it was for her to fall asleep he relished in the way he made her so comforted that she was able to fall asleep so quickly with him next to her. He looked down at her sleeping face for a moment and smiled from ear to ear. She looked so beautiful, so angelic when she was sleeping. If she did accept his confession then he intended to marry her, and he could hardly wait for the day when he would have the pleasure to be able to watch her fall asleep every night.
His grin widened—if that was even possible—as he realized that he had made her smile and laugh on possibly one of the worst days of her life. He was certain that no one else would have been able to cheer her up like he had, and that made him feel a joy he had never experienced before. Although he was disappointed that he wasn't able to confess today, he knew there would be another opportunity to do so in the near future. He also knew that in waiting to confess that his chances of her accepting him would be more likely, as their bond seemed to deepen more and more with each passing day.
He let out a small sigh. He feared that Iris was worrying herself sick about him right now, she knew how much he hated the cold and would have returned home as soon as he was done confessing. Though knowing how quickly word spread throughout the small town—especially something so awful as the passing of Madam Eda—he figured that Iris must have known what had happened by now, and knew that he would have went to Beatrice to make sure she was okay.
After a couple of more minutes to make sure she was soundly asleep he said softly, "I may mean the world to you, but you, my love, are my world. I love you more then you'll ever be able to comprehend. One day, hopefully soon, I'll tell you that. And if you accept my love, I'll make you the happiest woman in the world."
She stirred slightly and his whole body tensed up, afraid that she wasn't soundly asleep as he had thought and she had heard him. A moment later she began to snore softly again, and he laid his head back down on the pillow and let out a large sigh of relief. He would have been so very embarrassed if she had heard him.
He didn't intend to take a nap with her, but as he laid there staring at the ceiling he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He was also pretty exhausted from having to run up the mountain trail. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, thinking that would suffice in ending his drowsiness, but before he even knew it he fell asleep with his world laying her head upon his chest.
[…]
Mistel awoke with a start, and jolted his head up as he heard two soft knocks on the door. The door slowly opened, even though no permission was given to open it, and Iris's head appeared from behind it. "After I heard what had happened, I knew you would be here," Iris said frankly.
"Shh!" Mistel quietly hissed. "You'll wake her up." He looked down at her and smiled at her sleeping face like a mother would to a newborn baby.
"I hope you haven't been staring at her while she's been sleeping," Iris said more quietly this time. "Because that's rather unsettling, brother. If she knew she would probably think it was so creepy and you'd have her running for the hills."
"I haven't," he nearly growled.
"You're lying," Iris said simply, grinning devilishly.
"And how would you know?" he retorted bitterly.
"For one, I've nearly raised you since birth—so I would think I should know when you're lying," Iris returned. "Also, your eyes. I can tell just by looking into them. Eyes are the window to the soul, you know?"
"Fine," he sighed with resign. "I may have stared at her, but just for a few moments. I fell asleep myself, actually."
"Yes, I can tell," Iris said, her eyes drifting to his hair. "You should see yourself, your hair is a mess! Let me fix it for you."
She made a move to walk past the door and Mistel put a hand up, harshly saying, "I'm perfectly capable of fixing it myself, thank you very much."
"Yes, I suppose you are," Iris said a little sadly. "Anyway, I've come to tell you the memorial is going to start in about twenty minutes, so wake her up. I'm sure she'd like to freshen up beforehand."
"I will, thank you," Mistel said calmly.
"All right, then, I shall see you soon," Iris said as she began to walk backwards and close the door—but before she did she poked her head in and whispered, "Please make sure she is all right. She must be so awfully upset..."
"She's strong...but yes, I will make sure she is all right, and I've already told her I'll hold her hand during the whole thing," he whispered back.
Iris gave a slight nod and closed the door completely behind her. After a moment Mistel began to lovingly stroke her hair and whispered close to her face, "Beatrice, I'm afraid it's time to wake up now. The memorial is going to start shortly."
"Just five more minutes," she whined sleepily, scrunching up her nose.
"I'm sorry to say you don't have five more minutes," he giggled softly. "You must wake up now, I'm sure you would like to wash your face."
"Ugh," Beatrice groaned as she opened her eyes. She looked up at him and erupted into a fit of giggles. "Your hair is in a disarray!"
"I'm aware," he replied flatly with a frown.
"Here, let me fix it," she said, trying her best to stifle her giggles. She sat up on her knees and started to smooth out his blond locks. Mistel grinned to himself. He knew Iris would have a fit if he saw that he allowed Beatrice to fix his hair instead of her.
"Now you look much better!" she exclaimed, beaming at him.
"I'm afraid I can't say the same about you," Mistel chuckled dryly. "You don't have much time, so you better go into your bathroom and freshen up."
"Oh, right," she muttered miserably as she scooted off her bed and stood.
"Don't worry, I'll be with you the entire time. I won't leave your side for a second," he assured her.
"Thank you," she whispered, her cheeks turning a pink hue. She quickly ran into her bathroom and out of his sight.
He let out a loud sigh of relief once she was gone. He scooted over to the side of her bed and pulled on his boots. He really didn't want to go to this memorial. Everyone would probably be crying and he would just be standing there, just waiting for it to be over. He would make sure to stand in the back—Beatrice probably would prefer that, anyway—so the townspeople wouldn't judge him for being so nonchalant about the whole thing.
He had only ever been to two burials before, his parents'—which he didn't remember since he was barely four—and his grandparents', which he hardly remembered since he was only eight when they passed. He could hardly remember what his mother and father even looked like, but had seen photographs. Iris was the spitting image of his mother, and he looked much more like her than he did his father. Iris would sometimes say it pained her to look at him sometimes because of it, but that was only when she was drunk and she only ever drank excessively with Klaus and when their parents' death anniversary was near. He winced, realizing that it was only a few weeks away now that it was Winter. Wonderful, he thought sarcastically, I'll have to stay up with her all night to make sure she doesn't choke on her vomit in her sleep.
Beatrice emerged from her bathroom, breaking him out of his thoughts. She looked much better now, her face no longer red and splotchy and her hair smoothed out and pulled back into its usual long ponytail. He wondered how long it exactly was—since he had never seen it down before—but quickly banished that thought. Today was not the day to ponder about how radiant she would look with her hair down.
Beatrice gave him a coy smile and asked, "Better?"
"Much better," he said, returning her smile. "Are you ready now?"
"As ready as I'm ever going to be," she muttered under her breath.
"It is not as bad as you think it's going to be," he said frankly, standing up. "It will be over before you even know it."
He offered her his hand and she took it, and he felt as if he was pulling her to the door rather than her walking beside him. Once they were out of his house he noticed they were the last to arrive; everyone was already standing around a grave stone which was on top of freshly patted down earth.
Mistel walked toward them with Beatrice reluctantly trailing behind him. As soon as Veronica saw them she gestured for Beatrice to come stand next to her. Beatrice looked mortified and quickly shook her head. Veronica sighed but didn't prod any further—to both his and her relief.
After a moment Veronica's face turned sullen, and she looked to the side as she said mournfully, "Everyone... Earlier today, Madam Eda, who for decades has given her all to help this town prosper, passed into her final rest."
Veronica looked up, her face no longer sullen. It wasn't her usual business expression, but rather one of anger, or perhaps stupefaction. He wasn't sure what to make of it. She nearly shouted, "Allow me, now, to make an announcement. In accordance with her wishes, Madam Eda's farm will be passed on to Bee. She asked this of me in her final minutes, as a last request. She said she wanted to entrust the land she had built up for so many years to the next generation of promising farmers."
Everyone looked to Beatrice for a moment and her face turned bright crimson. Veronica's face regained its usual business-like expression as she said, "She may be gone from our midst now, but I believe she is watching over us from up above. Let us never forget to look out for one another and be good to one other, so that a part of Madam Eda will always live on in this town."
Mistel looked down to Beatrice to see that she was slowly nodding her head at Veronica's words, and that she was crying silently. He felt his heart clench and gave her hand a small squeeze. Veronica's face turned sullen again and she sighed, "Now, let us join in prayer in thanks for Madam Eda's life, and that she may rest in peace."
Everyone bowed their heads for a moment, except Mistel, and he watched as they said their silent prayers. After they were done everyone scattered and walked toward the mountain trail, save for Iris, Mistel, and Beatrice. Iris walked over to them and asked Beatrice in a low tone, "Oh dear, how awful that must have been for you. How are you doing?" Mistel was surprised to see that even Iris was crying slightly. He recalled her telling him that burials always made her think of their parents', subsequently making her upset.
"I'll be okay," Beatrice choked, a small sob racking through her body.
"I don't think you will be," Iris retorted sternly. "Stay with me and Mistel tonight, we'll take care of you."
"Oh, no, I couldn't do that. That's too much," Beatrice returned.
"I insist," Iris said softly. "Now, come on, it's freezing and I would rather not have to stand in the cold for longer than I have to."
"Alright, then. Just allow me to grab a few things before we're off," Beatrice said, walking away and into her house.
Once she was out of sight Mistel crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Iris. He hissed through clenched teeth, "Seriously, Iris? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Seriously, brother?" Iris returned bitterly. "How could I leave her in such a state all alone for the rest of the night? It would be rude."
He looked away and sighed, "I suppose you are correct. I wouldn't want her to be sad and alone all night, either."
Beatrice suddenly appeared with her rucksack over her shoulder, making them both jump slightly, and said, "You two aren't fighting, are you?"
"Of course not, dear!" Iris chirped. "We were just discussing something foolish. Shall we be off?"
Beatrice gave a slight nod and Iris linked her arm with hers, and they began their long walk toward their home. He scowled at them and had half a mind to say, I believe she wanted me to hold her hand all day, sister, but resigned to just thinking it instead. He ran to catch up with them and softly grabbed Beatrice's free hand. She looked up at him for a moment and smiled sweetly, subsequently making his heart flutter.
Iris talked about the novel she was working on the whole way to their house, but neither Beatrice or him said a word. Beatrice would nod every once in awhile and seemed to be listening, but he knew her better than that. She was mourning, and as much as Iris was trying to distract her with her favorite subject—a new novel—he knew Iris wouldn't be able to cheer her up. He doubted he would even be able to cheer her up at this point.
As soon as they walked into their home Mistel shut the door behind them, and Iris exclaimed, "I'm so very glad to be out of that dreadful cold! I hardly like to leave the house at all, especially when it's freezing!"
"Agreed," Mistel muttered, still holding Beatrice's hand.
"Well, I'm rather exhausted after all that crying and walking, so I'm going upstairs to change and sleep," Iris said, then turned to Beatrice and asked, "Would you care to join me? You can get changed in my room with me."
Beatrice's cheeks turned pink and she squeaked, "But you would see me naked!"
"Dear, I've already seen you naked! Don't you remember?" Iris laughed loudly, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, right," Beatrice uttered.
"Besides, it will only be us ladies. There's no need to be shy about your body in front of me," Iris said simply, grabbing her hand. Mistel held tightly onto Beatrice's, not yet wanting to let go, and followed them up the stairs.
"You're going to have to let go now, brother," Iris said sternly as they approached her bedroom door.
He gave Beatrice's hand a small squeeze before reluctantly letting go. She gave him a feigned smile as she said, "I'll see you shortly. You better get changed into your pajamas, as well. I'm sure you must be quite tired."
He gave a slight nod and watched as Iris and Beatrice strolled into Iris's room, the door being quickly shut behind them. He wasn't tired in the slightest. After all, he hadn't cried and he had taken a nap. He looked to his grandfather clock and noticed it was barely nine. He was surprised that Iris wanted to go to bed so early; she usually stayed up until at least one in the morning writing. Then again, Iris never walked up and down the mountain trail and crying always made her tired.
He went into his bedroom and quickly changed into his pajamas. He sat down on his bed as he waited for Iris and Beatrice to finish changing, tapping his foot upon the floor impatiently. He heard Iris exclaim, "My goodness, Beatrice! Your body is exquisite. You're very curvaceous, I'm surprised that such a small women has so many curves. And your breasts are perfect! So perky and round, I'm a little jealous. I'm afraid gravity has done its job on mine."
Mistel felt his whole body heat up in a strange mixture of anger, embarrassment, and arousal. Iris was saying these things on purpose—he was sure of it. She knew he could hear her. Mischievous as always, sister. He began to think of all the ways he could get back at her for doing this to him, and grinned wickedly. It would have to do with something with Klaus, since Iris was doing this to him with his potential lover, and his grin widened as an idea popped into his head.
He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard Beatrice sputter, "T-thank you, Iris, but please don't say such things about yourself. Your breasts are lovely, I wish mine were that big. Klaus is a lucky man."
Mistel nearly gagged. Ew, gross. The last thing he wanted to hear was Beatrice complimenting his sister's breasts.
"Klaus was a lucky man," he heard Iris say in distaste. "He's in the doghouse right now. He won't be getting any of this for quite some time. I'm not sure yet how long I'm going to keep him waiting, because I have quite a strong sexual appetite, as well, but at least for a week."
Mistel really did gag this time. He knew all too well about Iris and Klaus's sexual appetites. Many nights he had to put his hands over his ears so he wouldn't hear them crying out each other's names. Why can't they just do that at his house? If Klaus didn't confess to her soon he was going to punch him square in the nose, even if he was ten inches taller than him. I'll just pull him down by that pretentious cravat he wears and do it—and I know he wouldn't dare try to fight me back. Iris would surely leave him for good if he did.
"Maybe you should wait until he gives you a ring," he heard Beatrice say timidly.
"Maybe I should, Bee. You're very intelligent, I'm positive you're going to make my brother a very happy man one day," he heard Iris say as the door opened.
Mistel abruptly stood and clenched his hands at his sides so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt his face flare in embarrassment and thought, How dare she?
"Your brother?" Beatrice squeaked as Iris and her went over to their dining area and stood.
"Do we really need to have this conversation again? I thought you were smitten with him, but now I'm sure you love him. He makes you weak in the knees and fills your stomach with butterflies, does he not?" Iris asked, raising an eyebrow.
Before Beatrice could answer he hastily ran out of his bedroom and stood in front of Iris, glaring up at her as his face twisted into a scowl. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Beatrice was only wearing a blue nightshirt that barely came down to her knees. Why isn't she wearing pajama pants? She's going to be freezing. Iris was wearing her usual long silken purple nightgown, and she narrowed her eyes slightly by the look he was giving her.
Mistel harshly said to Iris, "Comment osez-vous, ma sœur? Elle sait déjà trop sur mes sentiments. Maintenant, vous avez tout gâché!" He chose to speak in french, since he very much doubted Beatrice knew how to speak it, and wanted their conversation to be private.
Iris returned simply, "Je voulais juste aider, frère. Je pensais que vous ne pourriez jamais avouer vos sentiments."
He looked to Beatrice for a moment and she cocked her head to the side, asking, "Are you two speaking french?"
"Yes, it's something we learned while living in Rose Country with our grandparents. If we hadn't learned it we would have been quite out of place," Iris said frankly.
Mistel turned his attention back to Iris and emoted, "J'attendais le bon moment! Évidemment, n'était pas aujourd'hui approprié. Vous gêné je! Je vous déteste presque en ce moment."
Iris sighed loudly, "Vous pourriez ne jamais me détester, frère. Dites juste que 'je t'aime' et nous cesserons de parler en français."
He nearly shouted back, "Non! S'il vous plaît cesser d'interférer. Je vais parler à Béatrice quand il est approprié. Cette conversation est terminée."
"I was about to say the same thing. This conversation is over, and I am exhausted," Iris returned. She turned to Beatrice and kissed her on both of her cheeks, then said, "Bonne nuit, Beatrice. Mon frère est en amour avec vous."
Mistel felt his blood begin to boil and thanked the goddess that Beatrice didn't know how to speak french. I cannot believe she just said 'my brother is in love with you'. Iris turned to him and said, "Goodnight, brother. Don't stay up too late, and vous savez où je garde les préservatifs. If it's needed, of course." She gave him a small wink before casually strolling into her room and shutting the door.
"They won't be needed, sister! You can be so crude sometimes!" he called after her, and he heard her laugh loudly.
He huffed and looked to Beatrice, who had the most curious look upon her face. She asked, "What in the world were you two talking about?"
"Pretty much just about how she needs to mind her own business," Mistel replied flatly. "Are you tired? Or would you like to play a game of chess?"
Beatrice yawned and said, "I think I'd like to go to bed now, and next time we play any games I'd like to play darts."
"Darts it is, then," he said with a mischievous smirk. Perhaps she's good at darts? Surely better than she is at chess. "Which side of the bed do you prefer?"
"Which side of the bed?" she asked in befuddlement. "I think I'll be sleeping on the sofa tonight, but thank you for the offer."
He felt his eye twitch. "Why don't you want to sleep next to me?" he snapped. "Don't you trust me?"
Her ruby eyes widened in shock and she hastily said, "Of course I trust you, I just thought the sofa would be more appropriate."
"If that is what you wish, Beatrice," he attempted to say calmly, but there was a hint of scorn in his tone. He went into his bottom drawer and took out a small blanket, then turned around and picked up a spare pillow from his bed. He handed them to her and said disdainfully, "Goodnight, Beatrice." Then abruptly shut his bedroom door in her face.
He wasn't sure why he felt so angry. He knew it had something to do with him not being able to confess, then Iris teasing him and blithely telling Beatrice that he was in love with her, and to top it off Beatrice not wanting to sleep next to him. All those things mixed together made him feel enraged, and he roughly pulled on his blond locks as he paced back and forth for a good five minutes.
He finally settled down and took several deep breaths to calm himself—which was in vain, because he still felt angry despite his best efforts to stop. He reluctantly crawled into his bed and pulled his blankets around himself. He didn't know what else to do but to try to sleep. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, for at least twenty minutes. He started when he heard two soft knocks on his door. He sighed heavily and said, "Come in."
The door slowly opened and he looked over to see Beatrice standing there, her borrowed pillow and blanket in one hand while she rubbed her eye with her other, looking like a small child. "I'm freezing," she said softly.
"Then you should have worn pajama pants," he retorted.
"Can I sleep with you?" she asked uncertainly, looking to the floor.
"Why don't you sleep with Iris if you're so cold?" he said bitterly.
"Because she's already sleeping soundly, and I know she won't let me put my cold feet and hands on her," Beatrice replied, looking back into his eyes and making his heart skip a beat.
"And what makes you think I'll allow you to do that?"
"I just know you will," she whispered, barely audible.
"Fine," Mistel scoffed, lifting the blanket slightly. "Come on, get in."
She smiled sweetly and crawled into bed next to him, putting the pillow down on his bed and letting the blanket she was holding drop to the floor. She pulled his purple bedspread around herself and rested her head on his chest, then entwined her legs with his.
With that Mistel felt all his anger disappear. He was shocked that just by her being so close to him made all his rage vanish, it was hard for him to comprehend. He jumped slightly when he felt her hand slither its way up his nightshirt, resting upon his stomach. He emoted, "Beatrice, your hands are freezing! Are you cold blooded?" And what in the world do you think you're doing, putting your hand up my shirt? Is your intent to give me a heart attack?
She gave a shy giggle and said, "No, I don't think so. My body temperature has always been so cold, and you're so warm—so we fit together perfectly."
His heart rate accelerated by her words. He really wished she didn't have such an effect on him. "Please warn me next time you do such a thing, you nearly made me jump right out of my skin!" he chided.
"I'm sorry... Goodnight, Mistel," she said, then yawned. What? No darling this time? He frowned.
"Goodnight, Beatrice," he replied, and inhaled in her scent. Ah! Her hair smells like strawberries, I knew it was some kind of berry. It was an intoxicating aroma, and he felt himself feeling slightly woozy by the scent.
Mistel stared up at the ceiling while he waited for her to fall asleep. Although his heart was beating rapidly in his chest, he felt much more comfortable with her wrapped around him. He didn't understand it, and he feared he never would. How could someone make him feel comfortable yet at the same time make his heart beat so quickly? It was a strange notion, one that he couldn't wrap his head around.
Within five minutes Beatrice began to snore softly, and Mistel felt his eyelids grow heavy. He always found himself having a hard time getting comfortable and falling asleep, but with her he didn't have that problem. He found it strange, but it wasn't bothersome. It was soothing, relaxing, even. The only thing that bothered him was that she didn't call him darling like she had before. Perhaps it was just the wine speaking.
Mistel closed his eyes, and for the first time in many years he fell asleep before eleven o'clock. The last thought that ran through his head was, Que dans le monde est cette femme me fais ?