Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The one who wants to win it the most shall redeem the loser in order to save the whole.

Penny Lamb woke up in a white bed with white curtains hung up around her on what looked to be a shower rod. She looked down at her hands to find her fingers and arms were tangled in chords and tubes. Her eyes followed the mess to their origin, finding a box-ish machine that held the cord plugs and a tall metal pole from which a clear bag hung. The tube from the bag was hanging down, and as Penny’s fingers grazed over her face, she realized the tube was surrounding her nose. She sat up carefully, feeling a sharp pain corse through her head. Before she could try to figure out if the pain was internal or external, the white curtains around her began to open from the side. A woman in a white coat stepped in, blue scrubs hidden behind the clipboard she held.

“You’re looking a lot better.” The woman remarked, lowering her clipboard and beginning to write something on it. “Do you remember your name?”

“Penny Lamb.” Penny answered, though it felt weird coming from her mouth. Not Jane, not Savannah- Penny. 

“Good, good.” The woman mumbled as she scribbled more down on her paper. 

“What happened?” Penny asked the doctor, though she felt unsure if the woman could give her the answer she was truly searching for.

“You and your classmates were in a terrible accident.” She told Penny, sympathetic eyes looking up from her writing to met Penny’s confused expression. “You were all on the Cyclone rollercoaster when the cart caught on something and it lurched to a stop. Your cart stayed on the track, but when paramedics were able to reach you, you all had been rendered unconscious by some sort of head injury. You’re truly lucky to be alive.”

“All of us?” Penny asked. “We’re all alive?”

“Fortunately, yes.” The doctor smiled. “I’m sure you can see each other soon-”

“Get your hands off me, сволота!” It sounded as though Penny had not been the only one to wake up. She watched as the doctor’s smiled faltered, and she quickly hurried out of Penny’s curtained room.

Chapter Text

Mischa Bachinski was jerked out of his sleep by the cold feeling of a gloved hand grabbing onto his forearm. Before he could process his starch-white surroundings, he noticed that a second gloved hand was pushing a long needle into his arm. Mischa yanked his arm away, clearly alarming the gloved person who jumped back with their hands up. Mischa’s eyes were wide and pupils dilated, blood rushing much faster than it had been before. He recognized the room around him as that of a hospital, though much nicer than he was familiar with. 

“Its alright sir,” The gloved nurse was reaching out for Mischa’s arm, needle in their other hand. That was when Mischa noticed the tube attached to the other end and he attempted to scrambled up from the bed. Just as he was about to get a foot planted on solid ground, a doctor came up to his bed and grabbed onto his arm. 

“Get your hands off me, сволота!” He yanked his arm back, voice harsh and manic. He could feel his heart beating a million times a second, chest heaving and hands shaking. 

“We’re here to help you.” The doctor insisted, hands still reaching out for Mischa. 

“брехлива сволота.” Mischa hissed, eyes frantically scanning around the room for some sort of escape. There were rows of hospital beds in front of him and beside him, some of which were surrounded with curtains. There wasn’t a window in sight, and the nearest doors were surrounded by doctors and nurses who were shuffling through the hospital hallways like ants.

“Mister Bachinski, please.” Mischa turned his head sharply, finding that a female doctor had approached him now, arms down and appearing hostile. Her expression wasn’t upset or demanding- it was patient. Mischa apprehensively sat back down on the bed, quickly pulling his legs close and wrapping his arms around his knees like a child. 

“We’re not here to hurt you.” The doctor to his left insisted, but Mischa ignored him.

“I’ve got it from here,” The female doctor dismissed him. “Go check on the others.”

“What others?” Mischa asked, memories of the choir in the afterlife flooding back to him now that his panic was subsiding. 

“I’ll tell you if you let me hook this up properly.” The doctor held up the needle that the other nurse had been attempting to stab into Mischa’s arm only moment before. 

“I do not need that.” Mischa insisted, tightening his grip on his legs. 

“You do. You’ve been badly injured.” She told him, though didn’t make any advances.

“I feel fine.” He insisted, tone thick with arrogance. 

“You remember your name?” She crossed her arms over her chest passively, waiting for an answer.

“I am Mischa Bachinski.” He answered, eyes unblinking and flickering between the woman’s face and the needle she held. 

“And do you know what happened to you?” She asked.

“The Cyclone.” Was all Mischa could come up with. He truly had no idea what had happened to him. Last thing he remembered was being dead. Dead in the afterlife with a future-predicting machine and all of his friend. Dead and staring into a blinding light while he held tightly onto the hand of the boy by his side. 

“The rollercoaster, yes-” The doctor picked up a clipboard from the wall behind Mischa’s bed and began to write something down.

“Where are my friends?” Mischa asked, arms carefully lowering to his sides as he crossed his legs in front of himself. 

“They’re alright.” The doctor promised, not looking up from her clipboard. 

“ Where are they?” Mischa repeated, tone more demanding, though nearing desperate.

“They’re alright .” She said again, returning the clipboard to the wall. “They’re not all conscious yet.” 

Fear flooded back over Mischa and he attempted to get out of bed once more.

“They’ll be awake soon.” The doctor promised, holding up an arm to prevent Mischa from completely leaving the bed. “In the meantime, I need to contact your parents.”

“No.” Mischa insisted. “I am legal adult in this country.”

“What about some other family we can call-”

“My family is here, in hospital.” Mischa spoke pointedly, rage quickly flowing over his fear. “You сволочі will not tell me where.”

The doctor sighed. “I can show you where they are, but you really shouldn’t be interfering with the others until we know they are stable-”

“Noel Gruber.” Mischa didn’t miss a beat. His dark eyes met the doctor’s, no longer angry or fearful. “Let me see him.”

The doctor allowed this, bowing her head slightly and moving back so that Mischa could stand up. As his feet his the floor, he realized he was wearing thick wool socks. He hated how itchy they felt on the soles of his feet, but simultaneously appreciated that he didn’t have to feel the cold burn of the tile. He followed the doctor as she led him past one of the curtained rooms, to where another bed was placed in the open. Noel lay there, peacefully sleeping as though nothing else were happening around him. Mischa passed the doctor, walking to the head of Noel’s bed to get a better look at him. His face was badly bruised and his bottom lip seemed to be stitched together on the left side. Mischa hissed at the thought of how painful it must be, and was immediately reminded that he too may have injuries. He sat down in the chair that was conveniently placed by the side of the bed, eyes not leaving Noel for a moment.

“I want to stay here.” He spoke to the doctor but did not turn to face her. He could hear her sigh once more, but she didn’t seem to have a valid argument.

“May I at least check your blood pressure?” She asked, now realizing that she was never going to be able to get an IV safely into Mischa’s arm.
Mischa turned to look at her. “No needles?”

“No needles.” She promised. He nodded slowly. She let out a sigh of relief and walked over to him, pulling a velcro cuff out of her coat. Mischa watched her undo the velcro and begin to fasten it onto his upper arm. She picked up the pump and the dial, slowly pumping air into the cuff. They both watched the number on the dial rise as the cuff expanded, and fall as the cuff deflated. Mischa heard the doctor mumble something to herself before undoing the velcro once more. She gave him a positive look before patting his shoulder softly and walking off. Mischa watched her go, half expecting her to attempt to sneak up on him with another needle. After being sure that she had left the hall, Mischa turned back to Noel’s bed. As he did, he found he was no longer alone.

“гівно.” Mischa hissed, jumping slightly when he saw the girl standing at the other side of Noel’s bed. She wore the same hospital gown as he did, though she had a blanket over her shoulders.

“Sorry.” She apologized, chewing her lip for a moment. “You don’t recognize me here, do you?”

Mischa’s brows twisted together for a moment before it clicked.

“Doll-girl.” He said simply. She smiled at that

“Yeah.” She seemed to get what he was implying. “My name’s Penny; I remember now.”

“You remember it too?” Mischa didn’t have to specify what he meant. Penny nodded.

“Do you mind if I sit here with you?” She asked, gesturing to the opposing side of the bed. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.” 

Mischa nodded. He wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t want to be alone either. Penny disappeared behind the curtained room for a moment, returning with a chair similar to the one Mischa was sitting in. She placed it next to Noel’s bed, and sat down. 

“How are we-” Mischa started, pausing for a moment as he attempted not to butcher his next word. “Eh-live.” He scowled at how stupid his accent made him sound. English was not an easy language for him, and the vowels were particularly difficult.

“I’m not completely sure.” Penny had understood him nonetheless. “I’m just grateful that we are.” 

Mischa shared the sentiment. Especially after everything that he had learned about himself in Karnak’s afterlife game, he wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for death. He had gotten to know his classmates better in death then he had ever even attempted while he was alive. If it wasn’t for nearly dying, he probably wouldn't have even considered his choir-mates as friends in the first place. 

“Mischa, your nose.” Penny’s voice startled him from his thoughts. He looked up, finding her wide eyes staring at him with worry. He held a hand up to his nose, catching a drop of blood as it attempted to fall down his face. He wiped it against his forearm, ignoring the woozy feeling that shuddered through him.

“ ‘m fine.” He murmured, adjusting himself in his seat. 

“Are you sure?” Penny asked, tone dripping with concern.

“Happens sometimes.” Mischa shoed away her worry. 

“What does?” A quiet voice butted into their conversation, followed by the sound of shifting sheets. Mischa glance down at Noel, finding that the boy had rolled onto his back and was attempting to sit himself up.

“поет.” Mischa’s voice came much softer and rushed than he intended, but he didn’t care. He stood, one hand finding Noel’s back while the other held his side. He helped the boy sit up slightly, before sitting himself back down and letting go of his friend. 

“Hey Mischa.” Noel croaked, voice hoarse and dry. He coughed slightly, and Mischa found himself flooded with worry once more. As Noel’s eyes meet Mischa’s, the Ukrainian boy noticed that there was a patch of red where the white of Noel’s eye should be. 

“Your eye.” He spoke softly, hand reaching up to Noel’s face but stopping before he touched the boy’s cheek. Mischa wanted to hold his face, but he was worried he would be too rough and would irritate the bruises. 

“What about it?” Noel asked, brows furrowing in confusion. Penny quietly rushed to Mischa’s side of the bed to see what he was talking about. 

“It’s a couple of burst blood vessels.” She explained, attempting a sympathetic smile at Noel. She too recognized that he looked particularly worse than herself or Mischa. While she wasn't sure of the extent of her injuries, Mischa didn’t appear to have more than a head wound that was currently covered in bandages, so there was no telling how bad it truly was. 

“Does it hurt?” Mischa asked. “Can you see?”

“I mean, everything kind of hurts.” Noel scoffed lightly, expression dropping when he had failed to make Mischa laugh. “I can see fine.”

“It should heal on its own.” Penny explained. “It’s like when you slam your finger in a door and can’t feel it for a week, but then the feeling comes back slowly overtime.”

“Jane?” Noel asked abruptly, seeming to remember exactly who the girl was by her morbid facts and deadpan expression.

“Penny, actually.” She corrected, but smiled nonetheless. “I remember now.”

“Thats great.” Noel smiled too, then winced, lips curling together. His eyes dropped to the sheets below him as he raised a hand to his lip and felt the stitching along his mouth.

“Are you alright, поет?” Mischa asked, placing a hand on the bed. He was still too scared to touch Noel directly, as if he might break him.

“Just really hurt.” Noel mumbled, still feeling over the wound. He glanced down at Mischa’s hand before meeting the boy’s eyes again. “I’m okay.” Noel placed his own hand on top of Mischa’s- comforting them both.

Penny smiled lightly, not wanting to interrupt the two. She made her way back to the other side of the bed, taking her seat once more. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her blanket tighter around her. 

“Uhm.” Noel’s voice was shallow and wavering, causing both Mischa and Penny to look up at him instinctually. “Are we-” He glanced between the two of them. “The only ones who-”

“ No , no.” Penny connected the dots before Mischa did. “Everyone else is here, just still unconscious.” This allowed Noel to let out a sigh of relief and sink back into his bed.

“After everything we went through in the afterlife- I wasn’t ready to actually lose you guys.”

“So you remember it all too?” Penny asked.

“All of it.” Noel nodded slowly, beginning to pick at his own nails. “I wasn’t really sure we were going to make it.” 

“We did.” Mischa promised, reaching out for Noel’s hand once more. The other boy smiled down at him, but didn’t take his hand. Mischa cringed and returned his hand to his lap.

He was being too obvious, he decided. Too open, to passionate. He had to dial it back or he was going to get hurt. He had to keep his armor on. Mischa was terrified of what would happen if he dropped his armor for too long. Even after everything that had happened to him in the afterlife, it didn’t change the fact that he was a vulnerable person in a threatening place and his surrounding could all be possible knives waiting to slice. Being alive was great, but it brought back so much of the paranoia that death seemed to silence. Mischa felt his jaw tense as it suddenly felt that every pair of eyes in the hospital building were on him. He shuddered and dropped his gaze to his hands, beginning to pick at the skin around his fingers. He had to get out of there as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

Doctors came and went more frequently now that Noel was awake. Mischa felt like he was in bump cars by the way he was pushed to and from Noel’s bed to make room for the nurses. They checked Noel’s stitches, blood pressure, and heart beat every time they were there, although they never seemed to be getting results that warranted their constant visits. Better safe than sorry , Mischa considered. He had very little knowledge of western medicine and did not trust the doctors or nurses that swarmed around him. When Mischa was younger, all of his injuries had been treated at home by his mom, no matter how severe. She always made him better again. 

A new nurse came to Noel’s bed, but she wasn’t holding any equipment and looked to be out of place. She seemed to be searching for the right words to ask the group, all of which where eluding her. 

“You three are all from the Cyclone incident, yes?” She asked, glancing between Penny, Noel, and Mischa. The exchanged unsure glances.

“Yes.” Penny responded for the group.

“Your friend is awake- Mister Potts- He wants to see someone called Savannah, but we don’t have any records of a Savannah from your group.” The nurse explained. Mischa noticed the way her fingers knit together in front of her chest. It reminded him of what Noel did when he was nervous. 

“That’s what he calls me.” Penny explained, a bashful grin spreading across her face. Her tone caused the nurse’s mood to switch, her nervous hands dropping down as she smiled.  “It’s sort of an inside joke.”

“Oh- Alrighty then.” The nurse chuckled awkwardly, seeming slightly embarrassed. She mumbled something as she motioned Penny to follow. Penny stood, and went to follow the nurse, making sure to wave bye to Mischa and Noel before she disappeared from their line of sight.

Mischa heard the bed’s sheets shifting once more, and turned to find Noel sitting with his legs crossed in front of him. He pat a spot on the bed while looking up at Mischa, indicating the other to sit with him.

“Are you sure?” Mischa asked, more worried about hurting Noel than being in some doctor’s way. His concern seemed to amuse Noel.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.” Noel promised. He put his hands in his lap and sat back so Mischa would have room to sit. Against his own better judgment, Mischa moved from his chair to the open space that Noel had made on the bed. He kept his legs off the bed, hands placed cautiously on the edge of the mattress. He turned his gaze to find Noel staring at him with a slight frown.

“What?” Mischa asked, brows furrowing immediately. 

“Nothing, just-” Noel broke his eyes away and began to push a layer of blankets off of him and towards Mischa. “You look cold.” 

Mischa scoffed. “I do not get cold , поет.”

“You’re shaking.” Noel said bluntly, gesturing to Mischa’s leg that was bouncing up and down at a quick pace. As Mischa watched, his brows only furrowed closer together and his mouth screwed up in a frustrated way.

“Am not cold.” His tone was sharp, and he refused to look back up. Despite his attempts at concealing his anxiety, his own body insisted on betraying him. 

Noel sighed. “Just take the blanket.” He persisted, continuing to push the bundled up white cloth toward Mischa. The Ukrainian pulled at the sheet, half heartedly tossing it over his lap and letting it hang off and over his knees. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moment. Mischa could feel Noel’s eyes studying him, but he refused to turn his head. He instead stared dagards into his legs, praying they wouldn’t start shaking again. He wasn’t nervous- he had no reason to be. Sure, he was being cautious; only slightly worried about hurting Noel. Why wouldn’t he be? Noel looked to be one strong gush of wind away from crumbling like a tower of cards. Mischa didn't want to be that wind. He knew he was too aggressive sometimes. Most of the time. He was content with keeping his guard up around Noel, that didn’t need to change- but accidentally hurting Noel? Mischa decided he’d rather break down weeping on the spot than the latter. 

“Mischa?” Noel called out to him and Mischa soon felt a small hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. He looked up, finding Noel staring at him with eyes blown wide and mouth slightly open. Noel reached out slowly, pressing a thumb in the space between Mischa’s upper lip and his nose. Mischa jerked his head away without a second thought, causing Noel to jump back. His eyes switched from concern to fear, and Mischa immediately felt his stomach turn. 

“гівно- sorry.” Mischa reached for his own nose, wiping away the blood that was smudged onto his lip. 

“Are you okay?” Noel asked, carefully moving closer to Mischa once more. 

“Am fine.” Mischa nodded as he spoke, eyes focused on Noel’s thumb that was still damp with Mischa’s blood. 

“Are you sure-”
“Yes, поет.” Mischa met Noel’s eyes cautiously. The fear in Noel’s eyes had faded back to worry, but that didn’t stop a smile from finding its way onto Noel’s face. He was parting his lips to say something, when a shrill voice called out from the sea of doctors. 

“Noel! Don’t you dare put your hands on me- My son is in there!” A women who couldn’t be much older than thirty was pushing her way through the doctors and nurses, wild eyes scanning over all the beds surrounding her. 

“Mom?” Noel’s gaze had left Mischa and was now staring at the woman with confusion. Hearing her son, Ms. Gruber gasped and rushed over to the boy’s bed.

“Oh baby- How are you feeling?” She pushed past Mischa and took her son’s face in her hands, turning his head around as she inspected his injuries. “I was so worried, honey.” Mischa scooted back, but the look Noel shot him made it clear he didn’t want Mischa to leave. 

“I’m okay, mama.” Noel promised, trying to shake himself out of his mother’s grasp. 

“I thought for sure I had lost you.” Ms. Gruber hadn’t been listening, too busy pulling her son close to her chest. Her head was tilted up toward the ceiling, clearly hoping to prevent her tears from ruining her makeup. 

“ Please mama- I’m alright.” Noel insisted, wriggling out of his mother’s grasp finally and taking a deep breath. He shot pleading eyes at Mischa, desperate for the other to preoccupy his mother’s attention. Mischa couldn’t help but smirk, which did not seem to soothe Noel’s anguish in any way. 

“I have been with him- He is alright, пані.” Mischa spoke up finally. “Your son e s strong boy.” He seemed to catch Ms. Gruber’s attention.

“He is .” She agreed with tears welling in her eyes, reaching out to grab Mischa’s hand. Noel groaned, burying his face in his own palms. “My baby is a fighter.” Ms. Gruber told Mischa. The Ukrainian nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t encourage her.” Noel whined, flopping back on his pillow dramatically. 

Ms. Gruber scoffed. “Your friend is a nice boy.” She told her son. “What’s your name, love?” She had let go of Mischa’s hand but was still looking at him, awaiting his answer.

“Mischa Bachinski.” He introduced, adjusting his posture. “And you are Mrs. Gruber?”

“ Mrs ?” She giggled like a school girl. “Oh, uhm . No. Not yet.” Ms. Gruber fixed her posture, still smiling strongly. “Where you in the accident as well?” She gestured toward the bandage that was wrapped around Mischa’s head. He reached his hand up to touch it carefully, having forgotten it was there.

“Yes, I was.” He nodded as Noel slowly sat up once again.

“Did everyone make it out alright?” She asked, looking between the two boys.

“We’ve only spoken to Penny, but the doctor’s say that everyone’s alive.” Noel replied so Mischa wouldn’t have to keep talking with his mother. 

“I’m not sure I know a Penny.” Ms. Gruber seemed to be thinking about this, tilting her gaze to the ceiling once more before dropping it back down. As she did, her eyes seemed to fall on something that frightened her, for she yelped and clasp a hand over her mouth. Mischa and Noel turned to see what she had seen, only to find Penny standing at the edge of the bed once again.

“ That’s Penny.” Noel explained, turning back to his alarmed mother.

“Oh, I’m so sorry darling.” Ms. Gruber walked over to the girl, placing her hands on Penny’s shoulders and rubbing them slightly. “You just came out of no where.”

“It’s okay.” Penny smiled, clearly appreciating the affection. “I just came to tell Noel and Mischa that Ricky wanted to see them.” 

Noel pulled his legs out from under the sheet and eagerly began to leave the bed, when both Mischa and Ms. Gruber were at his side, holding out cautious hands. He groaned and flushed pink, pushing past both of them without a word. Mischa followed closely behind him, still worried that he wasn’t stable enough to be walking. Penny led them a few beds over, to where Ricky was sat, signing something to Ocean who was sitting in the chair next to his bed. She appeared to have some sort of brace around her neck, though it didn’t seem stiff enough to be a cast. 

“Hey space Jesus.” Mischa called, walking over to greet Ricky while Penny resumed her spot at the foot of the bed. Ricky turned, smiling wide when he saw his friends. He waved at the two of them.

“ Noel !” Ocean had leapt out of her seat and was rushing over to Noel with open arms. She pulled him into a tight hug, which he could barely reciprocate given that Ocean was holding his arms down. Mischa cringed, imagining that a normal Ocean-hug was already painful enough. 

“Ocean, please- That hurts.” Noel was trying to pry out of her grasp. When he mentioned pain, Ocean immediately let go and began frantically patting him down.

“Where? Are you okay? What hurts?” She was worse than Ms. Gruber.

“I’m fine !” Noel yelped, batting her hands away. “Why is everyone freaking out? We are all hurt.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at his friends. 

‘You look particularly rough.’ Ricky signed, to which Noel rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Constance?” Noel was now attempting to change the subject.

“She’s with her family.” Ocean explained. “They were here as soon as they heard what happened. They haven’t left her side since.”

Mischa frowned slightly and leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Jealous was an understatement for what he felt. He wasn’t angry at his friends for being blessed with whole and happy families- He was filled with rage that the world would take his family away from him, cursing him with adoptive parents who could care less about whether he lived or rotted in the basement they called his room. 

“You okay?” Noel had noticed the way Mischa’s eyes went dark and his defenses went up. He waited till the others had picked up conversations before making his way to where Mischa had pushed himself up against the wall.

“Am fine.” Mischa didn’t meet his eyes, too busy staring straight forward, eyes unfocused on the room around him. Noel sighed, moving directly in front of Mischa and crossing his arms over his middle. 

“Misch.” He stood on his tip-toes, forcing the other to connect their gaze.

“ Misch ?” Mischa asked, smirking slightly. 

“Oh- are nicknames not free rage?” Noel scoffed, mocking Mischa for his consistent use of ‘поет’. 

“I call you поет- Would be same if you call me раппер.” Mischa deflected. “Misch e s different, no? More інтимний, ey?”

“Oh my god- Don’t say that.” Noel scoffed as if the idea of him flirting with Mischa was worse than the death penalty. “I won’t call you it if it seriously bothers you this much-”

“When did I say I did not like?” Mischa adjusted arms to enforce his point, chin angled slightly up.

“So you like it when we’re … en-te-maunt .” Noel mocked his pronunciation with his own French accent, to which Mischa rolled his eyes. 

“If I do?” He was joking. Of course he was joking. Why would he be doing anything other than joking? He liked the reaction it sent through Noel- the flustered expression, the slightly blush. Mischa didn’t find it cute. He wansn’t interested. He wasn’t gay. 

“Okay buddy.” Noel chuckled, shoving Mischa’s shoulder lightly before walk away to talk to Ocean. Mischa watched him leave, quickly wondering if he had gone too far. He felt himself frown slightly, before furrowing his brows and ignoring the empty feeling that fluttered in his stomach. 

Constance broke Mischa out of his thoughts this time. She had cast on her left arm, but other than that, seemed less injured than the rest of the group. Her face had been spared of bruises and abrasions, and she seemed to be walking just the same as before.

“Constance!” Ocean jumped up to embrace her friend, even though she had seen her about an hour before. The two hugged as Constance’s family showed up, followed by Ocean’s parents and Ricky’s mom. Ocean parted from her friend’s embrace and ran to her own parents, who held her tight. Ricky’s mom rushed over to him, hugging her son, before pulling back to sign something to him. Mischa felt even more alone than before, watching as all of his friends were greeted and comforted by their parents. He wished more than ever that his mother was there with him. She would’ve been pinching his cheek, scolding him in Ukrainian for going on such a dangerous ride in the first place, then peppering him with kisses. 

“Are you alright, honey?” Ms. Gruber was at his side, a hand on his bicep. He turned to meet her eyes, feeling something wet on his cheek. He wiped at it, realizing he had been crying.

“I- am alright.” He fibbed, wiping away the other tears. 

“Where are you parents, love?” Her voice was so soft and caring- she reminded Mischa of his own mother. It wasn’t helping, as he now felt he might brake down sobbing.

“They are not here.” He responded sharply, immediately feeling guilty for his tone. “They are in Ukraine.” In a graveyard, that is.

“Oh baby.” Ms. Gruber cooed, embracing Mischa gently. He normally would have rejected the hug of a complete stranger, but he appreciated it. Ms. Gruber was nearly the same height as her son, and had the same soft embrace. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered before pulling away and holding Mischa’s face in her hands. 

“It is alright, Ms. Gruber.” He insisted, though his expression did not read as ‘alright’. She sighed and dropped her hands. 

“Mama, don’t bother him.” Noel had returned to the wall, now attempting to usher his mother away from Mischa.

“I do not mind, поет.” Mischa said, causing Noel to turn around. “She is sweet woman.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me you’re trying to get with my mom.” He gasped, though his smirk made it clear he was joking.

“I could not do that to you, моя любов.” He cooed, reaching out to pinch Noel’s cheek. Noel swatted his hand away, but returned to the wall next to Mischa. Ms. Gruber excused herself to start a conversation with Ocean’s parents. 

“What did you call me?” Noel asked, referring to the Ukrainian words Mischa had used moments ago. 

“Eh, my love .” Mischa translated. He smirked at the flush the spread over Noel’s cheeks.

“You have to stop with that.” Noel warned with a tone of sincerity that made Mischa’s smile falter. 

“защо? What is wrong with it?” He asked, brows furrowing.

“I know you’re joking, but like-” Noel sighed, rubbing his temple with his thumb and point finger. “Listen, I’m just wired differently okay? I know its not real when you say it, but it might become real- for me.” He refused to make eyes contact, still rubbing his head. It was Mischa’s turn to flush.

“Ah, I did not mean to discomfort you, поет.” He reached out for Noel’s shoulder, but Noel shook his hand off.

“It’s okay.” Noel said as he finally dropped his hand away from his head. “Just don’t wanna break my heart over something stupid.” He chuckled, but Mischa didn’t see it as funny.

“I would never break your heart.” He insisted, the sincerity in his voice sending a chill down Noel’s spin. His smile fell.

“I know, Misch.” He sighed, sounding defeated. “But you’re not even gay. If I got upset over your joke-flirting, I would be breaking my own heart.”

Mischa didn’t know how to respond. His brows were furrowed still, lips slightly parted as he searched for the right words, but nothing came out. His hesitation made Noel anxious, and the other began picking at his nail polish. 

“Sorry.” Was the best Mischa could come up with in the moment, though there was so much more he wanted to say. Noel shrugged, and turned back to the group. Misha was just glad he didn’t walk away again. 

Chapter Text

Mischa was in his own world, away from the spinning white room that surrounded him. He was letting the voices and conversations around him mix into one garbled string of white noise. He felt himself melting into the wall that he was leaning again. His feet were rooted in the floor and he could feel the tile growing around his ankles. As he slowly glanced down to make sure he wasn’t actually being consumed by the tile, he watched a drop of blood fall in front of his foot. Mischa raised a hand to his nose, wiping away the blood in one quick motion and sniffling slightly. He wiped his foot over the blood on the floor, quickly looking around the room to make sure no one had seen. Everyone else seemed too preoccupied with themselves though. Most were having conversations with family, and those who weren’t were being checked by doctors. As Mischa examined the room, his eyes fell on a female doctor who was slowly approaching him with a calm smile. He tensed, turning to put his back flat against the wall. Noel turned around when he heard Mischa moving. He was about to ask if something was wrong, when the doctor finally came to a halt in front of the tense boy.

“How are you feeling, Mister Bachinski?” She asked, holding her hands behind her back. Mischa didn’t feel safe not knowing what she was holding. 

“What do you hide?” He spoke in an accusatory tone, attempting to peer behind her.

“Just my hands.” She promised, holding up her empty hands by her head as if she were being arrested. “Now, how are you?”

“Fine.” Mischa said dismissively.

“What about your nose?” Noel chimed in, clearly not recognizing Mischa’s intentions of keeping the nosebleeds a secret.

“There is nothing wrong with my nose.” Mischa fibbed, glaring at Noel before looking back to the doctor. 

“Has it been bleeding?” She was now asking Noel. He gave Mischa an apologetic look before turning to the doctor and nodding. 

“It didn’t seem like a lot of blood, or anything.” Noel said, though he wasn’t sure how important that was. 

“Do you feel light-headed?” She asked Mischa. He shook his head.

“Am fine.” He repeated.

“You almost died.” She told him. But not almost; he had died. Yet now he was alive. Living was fine; he was fine. 

“I do not feel li gh t-headed.” Mischa responded, brows furrowed defensively. 

“Well, your pupils don’t look dilated and your memory seems fine.” The doctor was looking Mischa up and down, as if searching for a switch that would bring his guard down. “If you feel dizzy, or like you might faint, you come find a doctor- okay?”

“Yeh.” He shrugged as he spoke, leaning farther back towards the wall. The doctor nodded and made her way back to everyone’s families. 

“Why are you so secretive?” Noel asked, though he wansn’t being invasive. He seemed genuinely curious. 

“I do not trust  your western ‘medicine’.” Mischa made air-quotes as he spoke. 

“But if there’s something wrong with you-”

“I am fine.” Mischa sighed, rubbing a hand over his face weakly. “I would tell you if I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” Noel seemed to agree with this sentiment, nodding slightly as he picked at his nail polish. Mischa was going to comment on it, when the head doctor returned, stationing herself in the middle of the group. 

“I’m going to have ask all of you to return to your respective beds so we can run some final tests and return your belongings.” She announced, turning to make sure all the families were listening. “You will all be allowed to leave as soon as possible.” Her news only sparked new conversations as the members of the choir began leading their families back to their beds. Mischa watched everyone leaving, noticing that Penny was left, signing something to Ricky that Mischa didn’t understand. When Ricky responded, she stood and made her way back to her curtained room, so Misha followed.

“Where are your family?” He asked as they approached her curtained-off bed. She had her had on the edge of the curtain as she turned her head towards him. 

“Jail.” She said simply, expression unchanging. “My brother wont be looking for me unless I’m gone for more than a week.”

“Oh.” Was all Mischa could find himself able to muster. He regretted not getting to know Penny before this. He had been so comfortable with allowing everyone at school to remain nameless and faceless, but he had made the mistake of getting attached to five of them. 

“They were wackos, it’s alright.” She assured him. “My brother too, but he’s harmless.” And with that, she disappeared behind the curtain. Mischa felt slightly stunned, but allowed his feet to return him to his bed. He sat down on the edge, socks brushing against the tile as he kicked his feet patiently. 

“Hello there.” It was the female doctor from before. She had a nurse by her side who was holding a pile of clothes with a plastic bag sat on top. The nurse placed them down at the foot of the bed while the doctor approached Mischa. She placed her clip board down on the bed and began to reach toward the bandages that surrounded Mischa’s head. He jerked away.

“I am fine.” He declared, unblinking eyes locked with the doctor’s.

“Then prove it.” Mischa’s defensiveness didn’t phase her. 

The doctor ignored Mischa’s arrogance and began to carefully unwrap the bandages. Mischa watched her expression morph as she inspected his wounds- her brows went tight and face screwed up as she focused. After a minute or two, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tube of ointment and a large bandage. She applied a new layer of ointment to Mischa’s head, before laying the new bandage on top. Mischa winced as she secured it in place. 

“Are you sure there isn’t someone I can call to take you home?” She asked when she was done, arms crossing over her chest.

“Yes.” Mischa replied, eyes falling to the pile of his belongings.

The doctor sighed, but stepped back. “Alright.” She began to pull the curtain around his bed so he could get dressed in some form of privacy. “You can leave once you’re dressed- Take care of yourself.”

Mischa didn’t reply, just gave a short nod and waited for her to leave. He waited a few seconds after the curtain closed around him, making sure the doctor was gone for good. Once he felt he was secure, he picked up the plastic bag that lay on top of his clothes. He pulled out his phone to check for any missed calls or messages but the flashing red battery on his screen made it clear that wouldn’t be happening. He grunted and shoved his phone back into the bag, turning to his clothes. They were tattered and dirty and speckled with blood. Mischa shuddered at the mystery of who the blood belonged too, but began to dress himself nonetheless. He laid the hospital garb on the bed as he buttoned his pants. He threw his button-up shirt on, missing a few buttons as he shoved his school vest into the plastic bag and kicked his feet into his shoes. Once completely dressed, Mischa made no hesitation to leave. He went straight for the double doors at the end of the hallway. No one called out to him or tried to hold him back, so he pushed through and continued down the white hallway until he found a sign that read ‘ EXIT ’.

Now that he was outside, Mischa returned to the plastic bag. He fished his hand around for a moment until his fingers fell on a small carton of cigarettes. He pulled them out to find they had been pretty badly smushed from the accident, but that didn’t stop Mischa from pulling one out and holding it in between his lips. He retrieved his lighter from the bag, lit the end of the cig, and returned both the carton and lighter to the bag. He leaned against the brick wall of the hospital, breathing in the smoke and then breathing out into the dull evening air. He didn’t have the slightest idea of how to get back to his house from where he stood, and he didn’t particularly want to go home either. As he blew smoke out through his nose, he wondered if Talia was worried about him. He wondered if she would believe him if he told her about everything he had been through that day. He wondered if she would call him crazy, or if she would think he had finally lost his mind. He wondered if he should even tell her about it in the first place. 

The door next to him open and two people spilled out, a hushed conversation being shared between them. As the door closed, Mischa recognized the Gruber family.

“ Ack - What’s that smell-” Ms. Gruber was swatting her hand through the air to push away the cigarette smell from her nose.

“Hey Mischa.” Noel smiled from behind his mother, who was still swatting the air.

“I am sorry пані, it is bad habit.” Mischa put his cig out against the brick wall, dropping the bud on the ground. 

“Oh it’s alright.” Ms. Gruber hummed. “Do you not have someone to drive you home dear?”

“I was going to call taxi but my telephone is dead.” Mischa explained, adjusting his posture so his plastic bag of belongings was fitted under his arm. 

“Nonsense!” Ms. Gruber swatted her hand once more as if Mischa’s idea was far greater than hysterical. “I can drive you home love. I don’t trust the taximen in this town.” She shook her head as she spoke, brown curls bouncing against her face. 

“I did not plan on going home.” Mischa admitted, scratching his jaw with his dull nails.

“Then let me drive you to our home.” Ms. Gruber phrased her words as a suggestion, though Mischa could tell she didn’t plan on leaving him alone. “I don’t want you out here on your own- No matter how tough you think you are.” 

Mischa looked up to find Noel smirking at him. 

‘ She’s right.’ Noel mouthed, arms crossed over his chest. Mischa rolled his eyes but matched Noel’s smile.

“Alright.” Mischa agreed. He ran a hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed of his submission to Ms. Gruber’s charity. He didn’t want to take handouts, but he didn’t want to say no to her.

 In his hometown, Mischa was nearly always the one who went out of his way to provide charity to others. He moved heavy boxes, got cats out of trees, even hung a painting every once in a while. When Mischa was in Kiev, he was known as the most loyal boy in town. He never argued or spoke back, and no one ever messed with him. He lived in a community of those who cared for him and those he cared for. Moving to Canada had resulted in many cultural shifts for Mischa, but the biggest one was adjusting to the blatant ignorance and bigotry that he was constantly battered with. He had tried, at first, to help out locals with their labors but was turned away by people fueled with misinformation and preexisting notions. He quickly became a recluse; distancing himself from the country he had grown to hate, right after it had become his new home.

Ms. Gruber led the two boys to her beige Volkswagen Beetle, a car that matched her sixties style. She seemed to be stuck in an era that Mischa wasn’t too sure she had even lived through. Noel opened the door to the back seats, motioning for Mischa to enter first. Mischa cringed, momentarily considering shaking his head and insisting Noel went in first. He ignored his instincts and piled into the car. Noel sat himself down next to him and closed the door behind them. Ms. Gruber started the engine and turned up the radio, which played Be My Baby by the Ronettes. Mischa found it interesting that both members of the Gruber family seemed to live in the past, despite being quiet modern people with very liberating beliefs. 

“You okay?” Noel was nudging Mischa in the shoulder. Mischa nodded, turning his eyes away from the car’s window.

“How old e s your mother?” Mischa asked, trying to hide his question under the soft music that hummed through the small car.

“I already told you; you cannot date her.” Noel rolled his eyes, arms crossing defiantly.

“That’s not-” Mischa sighed, though couldn’t help smiling a bit. “I do not mean to disrespect her, but I am curious. She seems young.” He explained.

“Yeah- she had me at fifteen.” Noel scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “She’s thirty-two now.”

“Oh.” Was the best Mischa could provide. His mother had been one of the older mother’s in his town. She was only in his forties when Mischa left Kiev, but many of the mother’s had been quiet young. 

“It’s best you don’t ask her about it.” Noel was whispering now. “She got kicked out because of me. She’s real emotional about the whole thing.” Because of me . Noel’s words rung in Mischa’s head for a moment. His lips parted, brimming with a rebuttal, when the car stopped and the engine shut off.

“We’re here!” Ms. Gruber announced, fiddling with her key chain whilst trying to find her house key. Mischa looked over at Noel, but the latter was already opening his door to leave. Mischa decided not to press on the matter of word choice and instead left the car through the door closest to him, closing it carefully behind him once he was out. He followed behind Noel as he made his way up the driveway and into the house. The Gruber house was small and quaint; a perfect fit for their small family. It looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the sixties; bright colors and carpets everywhere. Noel had mentioned that he and his mom went thrift shopping from time to time, but clearly they were much more committed to it than he had let on. Mischa felt as though he were walking through an interactive art exhibit. 

“C’mon.” Noel was nudging his shoulder again. Mischa looked down at the other, finding Noel was attempting to lead him out of the living room. “I have a charger in my room.” Mischa had nearly forgotten about his phone. 

He allowed Noel to lead him down the main hallway of the house, which parted off in two distinct directions. The left door was open, revealing a neat bedroom covered in florals and geometric designs. To the right was a closed door, which Noel was guiding him towards. Noel pushed the door open, waiting for Mischa to enter his room, before shutting it behind them both. Movie posters and cut outs of actresses lined the walls. Each window had been covered in a thin lace fabric that didn’t do much for keeping light out. Noel’s bedsheets were white, contrasting with the black-wood base. His pillow sheets looked far to fancy to be in a teenager’s bedroom. There was a small vintage fainting couch at the end of the bed.

“This looks expensive.” Mischa commented, walking over to it.  He ran his fingers over the red fabric. 

“It was twenty bucks at a yard sale.” Noel was preoccupied with finding clean clothes to change into. 

“Ого.” Mischa muttered. He continued walking around, inspecting each poster and cut out actress with great detail. He memorized the tiles, planning on finding and watching them at a later date. 

“Do you want to change?” Noel asked. Mischa turned to find Noel separating some clothes into two stacks. “I’m not sure if these will fit, but they’re the biggest things I own.” Noel pushed one of the piles toward Mischa. 

“ Ay , I don’t-”

“You can change in the bathroom or I can close my eyes.” Noel refused to listen to Mischa’s rebuttal, picking up his own pile of clothes and holding them securely in his arms. 

Mischa sighed in defeat, glancing down at his pile. “Thank you.” He spoke so quietly it was as if he wanted no one to hear it. “Where e s th e-y bathroom?” 

“Its the room at the end of the hall.” Noel nodded to his door. “Its connected to my mom’s room though, so lock both doors.” 

Mischa nodded and grabbed the clothes Noel had laid out for him, making his way to the Gruber’s bathroom. Once inside, Mischa went too look at himself in the mirror. He examined the bruises around his jaw that he hadn’t even felt before, the purple hue around his cheek bone, the bandage on his head. He walked closer, carefully pulling the bandage back to look at the wound underneath. It wasn’t a deep cut, but there was a thick gash running from his hair line to right above his eyebrow. Mischa winced as the bandage pulled on the healing skin, quickly deciding it would be better to leave it alone. He rubbed the bandage back in place and locked the doors as Noel had instructed. Mischa unfolded the t-shirt and sweats that Noel had picked out. Gray sweats and a black shirt- Mischa was surprised that Noel Gruber could own something so bland. It was almost like Noel had bought them with someone else in mind.

Shaking the thought, Mischa began to pull off his tattered school shirt. He turned to the mirror for a moment, getting a better look at the bruising on his torso. The force at which the cart had stopped must’ve sent him so hard against the safety bar that it bruised. There were deep purple and yellow marks on his shoulders and stomach, some that looked particularly worse than the others. Mischa trailed his fingers over the darker ones, hissing at the sharp pain they produced. He turned away from the mirror and pulled the black shirt over his head. He kicked his shoes and pants off, noticing bruises across his thighs as well. They were thick and matched the length and width of the protective bar. Mischa wondered how no one had broken their ribs. 

There was a knock on the bathroom door. “You okay, Misch?” Noel called to him.

“Yeh.” Mischa gave a gruff reply as he didn’t feel like talking while inspecting his own injuries. It felt like a secretive matter to him; the idea of others knowing that he was injured was terrifying. He pulled the sweats on, grabbed his bundle of dirty clothes, and unlocked both doors. Noel stood in the hallway waiting for him, fiddling with his nails. When he met Mischa’s eyes, he gave a quick smile, then returned to his room. Mischa wondered if Noel also didn’t want to be alone. 

“Where should I put these?” Mischa asked as he followed Noel back to his room. He held up his pile of dirty clothes as reference.

“Just throw ‘em over there- We can wash them later.” Noel gestured to the clothes hamper next to his door that was close to overflowing. Mischa carefully placed his things on top, watching them for a second to make sure they didn’t fall. 

Noel walked over to were Mischa had laid his plastic bag of belongings, diving his hand in for a moment and bringing it back out when he had located Mischa’s phone. He took it over to his bedside table, plugging it into his own phone charger. Mischa wanted to thank him, but the words slipped back down in his throat. He felt too tired to say anything. He nudged the bedroom door close with his foot and fumbled towards Noel’s bed, flopping onto his stomach. 

“Do you want to nap?” Noel asked, watching as Mischa turned his head to the side so he wasn’t suffocating against Noel’s pillow. Mischa nodded, so Noel began to stand. Mischa’s arm shot out, grabbing haphazardly onto Noel’s knee.

“Don’t go.” He murmured, voice thick with a silky haze of exhaustion. 

“Oh-kay.” Noel replied just as quietly, a pink haze brushing over his cheeks. He let out a shallow breath as Mischa withdrew his hand. He pushed himself back so he could lay down next to the other. Noel kept his eyes on the ceiling and hands tucked over his stomach. He didn’t dare look at the boy next to him. He didn’t dare risk a glance. He didn’t dare push himself to fall any harder than he already was. 

Chapter Text

The sharp vibrations of a telephone awoke Mischa from his nap. He pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes as he faded back into reality. Noel was still asleep, curled up slightly and turned toward where Mischa had once been. He shifted his attention to Noel’s bed side table where his noisy phone was charging. Mischa walked over to it, careful not to wake Noel, and grabbed his phone from the charger. He had a couple missed texts from Talia and most recently, a missed call. He debating calling her back, deciding there was no harm in trying. He pressed the button, walking to the furthest corner in Noel’s room as not to disturb him. It only rung a few times before Talia picked up.

“моя любов?” Her voice seemed urgent, teeming with worry.

“I am alright, моя люба.” Mischa promised. He kept his voice quiet.

“ Ey - you had me worried sick!” She scolded. “Where have you been?”

“лiкарня- there was accident at fair.” Mischa swayed anxiously in his spot in the corner.

“Are you alright?” Talia’s voice was filled with concern, though she didn’t push him.

“I am now.” Mischa glanced over at Noel who was rolling over in his bed. “I am at friend’s house.”

“Good.” Talia decided, calming down a bit. “I worry for you, любов.”

“And I, you.” Mischa turned back to the corner, fingers brushing through his hair. “I wish you were here, моя люба. I feel stranded.”

“я також. Maybe one day.” She seemed to be holding something back, questions burning on the tip of her tongue. “Mischa?”

“Yes, Talia?” 

“If we had met in Can a da h - Do you think we would have still gotten together?” 

Mischa hesitated. He hated himself for not being able to give an immediate answer. He hated that what he wanted to say would probably end their relationship. He hated that the truth made him question so many aspects of his life. He hated that he responded with a lie.

“Oh course, моя любов.” He reassured, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck. “We would find each other anywhere.”

“Right- of course.” It seemed that even his phony answer wasn’t what Talia was searching for. “It is late there, no?” She diverted the conversation in an attempt to salvage it.

“Yes.” Mischa glanced outside, noticing the sun had finally set and now the only light in the room was the moon’s light coming through Noel’s lace curtains. 

“You get rest then.” Talia said, but Mischa could feel she had more to say. “я тебе люблю.”

“я теж люблю тебе, моя любов.” Mischa replied the same he did every time they ended a call. It became a reflex at this point. It was almost programed into his mind. Talia hung up before Mischa could. He sighed, closing his phone and dropping his face in his hands. 

“Mischa?” He had woken Noel. “Are you alright?” The boy was sat up in bed, knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around them. 

“Am fine.” Mischa murmured, but he didn’t believe it. He trudged back over to the bed and sat down next to Noel, eyes not leaving the floor. 

“Did something happen?” Noel was teetering over a line that he and Mischa had yet to cross in their friendship.

“No.” Mischa had no intention of crossing that line any time soon. 

“Okay.” Noel didn’t dare push too hard. 

They sat in silence; Mischa stared at the ground while Noel fiddled with his nail polish. He glanced up every few minutes, hoping Mischa had turned back around when he wasn’t paying attention. He never had. 

Mischa considered looking up. He considered telling Noel about how thin his relationship with Talia was being pulled. Their distance was already unbearable, but now more than ever it seemed like they were losing each other. Talia had been ending their calls earlier and earlier each time, always with a reason good enough to hold truth but still seeming like an excuse. Mischa didn’t want to push it. He didn’t want to scare Talia any farther away. He loved her; he knew that. Nothing would change that. His problem remained with why he loved her. She was a sweet girl; one of the only who seemed to wanted to get to know Mischa, rather than just use him. She didn’t judge his emotions, she listened when he rambled, she validated his feelings; she made him feel heard. The problem wasn’t with her, it never was. Mischa had missed his home so deeply that he jumped at the first sliver of light that shone through the darkness of his new homelife. Talia had left comments in Ukrainian on his youtube videos. Most were supportive and encouraging of his lyrics, though some were sarcastic and making fun of his repetitive use of autotune. Mischa had fallen in love with her words when he hadn’t even known the girl attached to them. They started talking immediately. Their chemistry was evident and they both jumped at the idea of a relationship. Mischa loved her because she reminded him of his home, his mother, his past. Talia loved him because he gave her something to look forward to, a future that was away from her town. She had always wanted to travel to North America; she wanted to see Hollywood and New York City. Mischa had always promised to return to Ukraine to see her. Talia had seemed supportive, but she held back that she didn’t plan on staying in Kiev for any longer than she had to. 

“Mischa.” The Ukrainian blinked a couple of time, eyes blurring back into focus on the boy in front of him. Noel was holding his face in his hands, shaking carefully. 

“What?” Mischa asked, voice feeling distant and quiet. He hissed as he felt a sharp pain coursing though his head. 

“Your nose.” Noel was holding a tissue up to his face, dabbing at his upper lip. Mischa could barely feel it. He felt as if he had been moved back into the far corner of his body. His head spun and the room around him faded in and out in the moonlight. 

The next thing Mischa knew he was laying on his back with his head propped up on something. He felt the pads of two fingers pressing against his neck, as if checking for a pulse. He opened his eyes slowly, finding Noel staring back at him.

“You passed out.” Noel explained. His tone didn’t seem particularly worried. Mischa didn’t understand why, but it sounded like Noel was almost disappointed. Mischa attempted to sit up, but his body immediately felt too heavy and he fell back into Noel’s lap.

“ебать.” He muttered, tensing up at the pain that ricocheted through his skull. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell the doctor about your nosebleeds?” Noel asked. He had moved his hand from Mischa's neck, up to his hair; gently brushing back his curls. Mischa felt himself easing into the touch.

“She can not help me.” He replied, though his tone was soft and less defensive than previously.

“She can , though.” Noel  seemed annoyed but continued to pet Mischa’s hair. “That’s her whole job, chéri”

“What does it matter?” Mischa deflected. Noel’s hand stopped petting and he flicked Mischa in the shoulder. “ой!”

“I don’t want you to die .” Noel replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am fine.” Mischa attempted to sit up again, getting farther this time. He scooted back against the bed so he could lean his weight against the headboard. 

“You just passed out.” Noel turned toward him, brows furrowed and arms still tight.

Mischa shrugged. “I am not dead.”

“God you are so fucking dense.” Noel scoffed and dropped his arms for added effect. “Why can you not admit that you’re hurt- there’s nothing wrong with being weak.”

“Easy for you to say.” Mischa should’ve bitten his tongue. He caught both Noel and himself off guard. 

“Fuck does that mean?” Noel’s tone was upset but his expression shifted to defensive and he moved back, almost like he was worried Mischa was going to do something. Mischa winced and ran a hand over his face.

“блять- I am sorry, поет. I did not mean it.” He didn’t know what else to say. His stomach churned.

“Yeah, right.” Noel pushed himself off his bed and walked over to his desk at the other side of the room. He sat on the desk itself, rather than at the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest once more. It reminded Mischa of the first time they had ever seen each other at choir. Noel had backed himself in a corner like a stray cat in a house for the first time. He had watched Mischa with narrowed eyes, as if waiting for the Ukrainian boy to strike. At first, Mischa had assumed Noel’s stand-offishness had come from some pre-informed opinions. When Ocean had told him about how awfully Noel had been treated by the shit head guys at their school, Mischa realized he had been the one to judge too quickly. He hated the idea of becoming the same as the boys who had hurt Noel over the years. 

“прости мене.” He pleaded, attempting to stand. The ground swayed under his feet. “поет, I did not mean-”

“Look, I don’t care if you want to be all secretive and brooding.” Noel pulled his knees to his chest. “Just don’t be a dick to me because I’m emotionally mature enough to admit when somethings wrong.”

Noel’s words stung more than they should’ve. Mischa chewed his lip and looked at the ground that was flowing under him. He knew he was being stubborn. He didn’t particularly want to, it just felt natural. He couldn’t help his natural instincts. He saw no point in talking about how he felt. Talking did not fix anything, just cut wounds deeper. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke to the floor. 

“I know.” Noel sighed, hopping off his desk and walking over to Mischa. 

He wrapped his arms around Mischa’s shoulders, pulling him close as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Mischa allowed himself to be pulled close, eventually allowing himself to grab onto Noel’s waist. He held onto the other as if he would sink through the floor if he didn’t. He could feel his eyes welling, threatening to spill. Mischa had no idea what it was that made him want to sob. He just pulled Noel closer, burying his head in the other’s shoulder. All his defenses melted away when he was in Noel’s arms. He sniffled and shook, weak frame swaying on the spot. Noel kept him stable, one hand around his shoulders and one in his hair. Mischa’s palms were flat against Noel’s back, rubbing slowly up and down. If asked, he would’ve said he was comforting Noel, but he knew that wasn’t the full truth. He felt safe in the other’s grasp; all fear and rage melted away. Mischa felt as if he could admit everything he held back in that moment. The dams holding back his truth were threatening to break, cracks and leaks resulting in tears on his cheeks. 

Taking a deep breath, Mischa pulled out of the embrace. He wiped his face with the back of his left hand, right hand resting on Noel’s waist. Noel’s hands were on his shoulders, eyes running up and down Mischa’s face. 

“Am sorry.” Mischa sniffled, wiping his nose as well. Noel just smiled.

“You should try to go back to sleep.” He decided, rubbing a circle into Mischa’s collarbone with his thumb.

“What about you?” Mischa asked. 

Noel shrugged, eyes falling. “I’m not tired. I was gonna write for a bit.” 

“поезії?” Mischa gently crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah.” Noel moved his own hands, beginning to fiddle with his nail polish. 

“Okay.” Mischa had so much more he wanted to say, to do. He didn’t. He turned toward Noel’s bed and untucked the comforter. “Goodnight, поет.” He said, covering himself with the blanket.

“Goodnight, Misch.” 

Chapter Text

“Back so soon?” The booming voice from Karnak’s fortune-telling box echoed through the subspace of Mischa’s dreamscape. He found himself in a dark void, the only light in sight being produced by Karnak’s crystal ball. Mischa stepped forward cautiously. 

“Where I am?” He asked as he approached Karnak’s box.

“Your hippocampus.” Karnak replied. “I come to you with an offer.”

“Why?” Mischa crossed his arms defensively, staring into the dark eyes of the robot-man before him.

“Because Mischa; You are dying .” Karnak’s voice echoed through the void, followed by a short buzz from his circuit board.

“Bullshit.” Mischa snarled, turning away from the boxed man.

“It is not bull.” Karnak warned him. “Your death is fast approaching, I fear.” 

“Why should I trust you?” Mischa’s question seemed to cause the robot-man to smile.

“Well, that is where my offer comes in.” Karnak ran a hand over his crystal ball, turning it a deep shade of green. “I can tell you how you will die, though this is certain to secure your fate. Or, I can leave you be, and you can spend your last few days scrounging around for any sort of explanation as to why you might die.” 

“So I have chance to save myself.” Mischa turned back around. His brows were furrowed as he examined the machine up and down.

“ Even the lion meets his maker- less he listen to the fish. ” Karnak spoke in the same ominous tone as when he had given Ocean her prophecy.

“що за біса?” Mischa wished he had payed more attention during the Shakesperian units in English. 

“Make your choice.” Karnak warned, beginning to produce a ticking sound from his box. “For it may be your last.”

Mischa stared death in the eyes, debating his next move. There was a chance that nothing Karnak was saying was even true. It could all just be some weak joke; a last stitch effort to take someone down with him sense his machine was dying. What would Karnak earn from warning Mischa about his inevitable demise? Why would he imply that Mischa had a chance to survive? Why was he toying with Mischa’s future?

“Tick, tock.” Karnak’s crystal ball began flashing as a clock noise echoed around him. “Time is a luxury.”

“I do not want to know.” Mischa decided, straightening his shoulders in an assertive manner.

“Are you sure ?” Karnak’s crystal ball began to glow bright and a deafening buzz sounded though the dark void around them.

“ Yes .” Mischa hissed, covering his ears. 

There was a loud clap, like when lightning strikes the earth and shakes the trees. The buzzing continued, piercing through the absolute silence that coated Mischa. He sat up quickly in bed, feeling a wave of nausea wash through him. Nothing came up. He pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead, eyes fluttering open to reveal the room around him. Sunlight touched the carpeted floor, highlighting all the white fabric in Noel’s room. Mischa wrapped his arms around his stomach and began to stand when a force shook through him and pushed him back down. It bounced through his skull like a tennis ball in a broom closet; hitting every corner before resting in the front of his brain. Mischa hissed, pressing his palm against his forehead. He carefully looked around the room, finding his eyelids were filled with stones. He noticed that Noel had fallen asleep at his desk. Mischa pushed himself up, stumbling toward Noel’s desk. He barely made it halfway when his knees buckled and he tumbled to the ground. He had attempted to brace his fall, though his reaction time had been too short. He pressed his palms against the floor in an attempt to push himself up. His strength seemed to be wiped away, leaving him shaking on the floor of Noel’s bedroom.

In a matter of second, Mischa felt hands grasping under his arms as they pulled him up. His face was supported by one, forcing him to face Noel. The other boy was saying something to him, though as Mischa watched his mouth move, he heard nothing. 

“що?” His words slurred and made no sense to Noel, who was still talking to him. Mischa attempted to stabilize himself, but every time he tensed his muscles, he felt his whole body shake in negation. 

Then another person was in the room. Ms. Gruber was on the phone with someone, glancing down at Mischa and her son with worry in her eyes. She chewed her nails and frantically brushed her hair behind her ears. 

“What…” Mischa tried again, but he couldn’t feel himself speaking. He groaned meekly, shuffling against Noel’s grasp. He felt an innate sense of embarrassment for the whole situation. He felt exposed, as though everyone in the whole country was staring at him. He whined at the thought, attempting to bury his head away from the light in the room that now seemed far too blinding. Noel held his head up, but pet his hair gently and ran a hand up and down his shoulder. Mischa shut his eyes tight, hiding from the light and halting his tears. 

When Mischa finally managed to get his eyes open, he was in the Gruber’s poorly-lit living room. His head was once again in Noel’s lap, now propped up on a pillow. Noel’s left hand was on Mischa’s chest; rising and falling as the boy breathed. The other was gently running through Mischa’s hair; more as a comfort for Noel than the other way around.

“Noel.” Mischa could hear himself again, but his words came out clouded and loose. 

“Hey.” Noel spoke softly as if the boy in his lap were a baby. Mischa cringed, attempting to sit up once again. Noel’s hands were immediately on his shoulder and back, trying to help him. Mischa shook him off. 

“ ‘m fuh-ine.” Mischa mumbled, wrapping his arms around his stomach and curling up. He pulled his knees to his chest and turned so his back was supported against the head of the couch. His vision was clouded, but as he stared forward with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, the room around him began fading in. Ms. Gruber was on the other side of the house, quietly arguing with someone on the phone. She was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, chewing at her nails. Mischa turned to the window. By the color of the sky outside, it appeared to still be morning, although later than when Mischa had first woken. 

“Mischa.” Noel spoke quietly so only his friend would hear.

The Ukrainian boy turned his head, foggy eyes meeting Noel’s wide ones. “Wh-ut.”

Noel chewed the inside of his mouth. “You had a seizure.” Noel’s voice trembled. “Mom says-”, He looked up to the ceiling as if praying to some higher power. “She says it could be a hemorrhage.”

“ H -hem-or-age.” Mischa repeated slowly. Noel nodded, hands knitted together in his lap. 

“It could kill you.” Noel was pleading for Mischa to listen, to understand what he was saying.

“ Could .” Mischa wasn’t listening. 

“It’s a twenty-five percent survival rate for five years, but after that- who knows.” Noel ran a hand through his hair, pressing it back and out of his eyes. “And that’s with constant seizures and fainting and risk of numerous disabilities.”

“Twenty three years e s good age in my country.” Mischa couldn’t even tell if he was making a joke or not. Noel looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“Mischa.” He spoke sternly, almost like a mother scolding her child. 

“What e s alternat- ev ?” Mischa rolled his eyes and ignored his friend’s concern.

“Surgery.” Noel began picking at his nail polish. “It’s expensive and risky, but if it goes well, you could live a relatively normal life.”

“Rel- lah -tively?” Mischa tilted his head slightly. 

“You’d still probably have some problems.” Noel’s eyes dropped to his lap. “The seizures and fainting might not stop, but they’d be much easier to manage. And there’s a possibility you would have some trouble walking, but it’s just a possibility.”

Mischa sighed, laying back into the couch. Noel watched him as he spread out his tired limbs, quite a contrasting position to the way Noel had himself perched up at the corner of the sofa. His arms wrapped around his knees, knees pressed to his chest. 

“ Why me ?” Mischa’s voice was barely audible, words spoken to the air around him rather than anyone in particular. He didn’t turn to catch Noel’s expression; he didn’t want to. He knew the look on his friend’s face would only make him feel worse. He ran his hands over his face as he sighed, still feeling light headed and drowsy. 

None of this was fair. It wasn’t like Mischa would wish it on anyone else. He was honestly glad that it was him and not one of his friends. He had never planned on living a particularly long life after his mother died. But now he had something to live for; people to live for. He had friends and a genuine interest in his life. Yet all of that was being ripped away from him the second he realized how much it mattered. Mischa wasn’t sure what he believed in, but if there was a god, he felt that they had some personal vendetta against him. 

Mischa wanted to curl up in a ball and sob, like a toddler. He wanted his mom to hold him, tell him everything was going to be alright even if it wasn’t true. He wanted to be a kid again, running around in the fields of his parents farm while the neighborhood’s dog ran after him. He wanted to be free from the world’s misfortunes. He wanted to returned to a time when everything made sense, everything was easy. He felt like he had been pushed out to sea on a melting raft. 

Desolation wasn’t the only feeling that coursed through his body. Mischa felt an intense fury for the recent events in his life. He wanted to scream until his throat went dry; until his vocal chords were strained and raw. He felt wronged by every aspect of his life. If he had someone or something physical to direct his anger towards, he would. He wanted to force his fists through the concrete walls of his basement room until the whole house crumbled around him. He didn’t particularly want to hurt any person, but if he could find whoever was tormenting his voodoo doll, he wouldn’t let them walk away breathing. 

“Misch?” Noel’s quiet voice moved Mischa from his own mind. His glazed over eyes turned from the ceiling over to the boy at his right side. Noel was now sitting with his legs crossed in front of him, hands rested in his lap. 

“Yeh.” Mischa’s voice was rough coming from his dry throat. 

“Are you hungry?” Noel was still much quieter than he needed to be, almost as if he were nervous. 

Mischa thought from a moment. “Eh, I could eat.” He rolled himself off the couch far too quickly, vision blurring the second he stood. Instinctually, he reached out for something to grab onto. Half a beat later, his hand landed on someone else’s, who pulled him close. When his vision and other senses faded back in, he found himself in Noel’s arms, the other boy looking over him with wild eyes.

“Are you okay?” Noel carefully let his hands slip off of Mischa’s waist and shoulder. 

Mischa nodded, not feeling confident that his speaking voice would come out louder than a mumble. Noel seemed to accept that response, stepping away from Mischa to lead him into the Gruber’s dinning room. Ms. Gruber sat at the right side of the table, sipping soup from a coffee mug while she read from a coverless book. There were two bowls on the other side of the table, both with similar tomato soup and a slice of whole grain bread. 

Noel sat down across from his mother, glancing over to his friend to make sure he followed. Mischa paused for a moment in the middle of the room, finding himself reminded of the sick days when his mom would make him soup to eat in bed whilst she read him Ukrainian poetry by her favorite activists. Mischa had never truly grasped the meanings, but he appreciated the artistic nature of the authors.

“You alright dear?” Ms. Gruber was looking up from her book. Mischa blinked over his foggy eyes, nodding his head slightly. He walked over to the table and sat next to Noel who was also watching him carefully. Mischa ignored the sets of eyes he felt on his skin and tore a chunk from his slice of bread, dipping it carefully into the bowl in front of him. He brought the soup-soaked bread to his lips, letting it drip for a second before placing it in his mouth. 

“ ‘s good.” He told Ms. Gruber after swallowing. She smiled wide before bringing her book back up over her face. 

Mischa continued eating, focusing on the warmth of the soup and flavor of the tomatoes rather than the pulsing headache that coursed through his entire being. He turned his head slightly, noticing that Noel wasn’t doing much more than swirling his spoon around the ceramic bowl. He was frowning slightly down at his soup, other hand balled up in his lap.

“You ok- ay ?” Mischa asked, nudging Noel’s foot with his own. Noel nearly dropped his spoon as his body jolted, eyes widening in shock. He had been in his own world, startled out by Mischa’s sudden interference. 

“Noel, are you not eating dear?” Ms. Gruber had lowered her book once more, a look of worry shading her bright eyes. 

“I am.” Noel insisted, eyes wide with something Mischa couldn’t understand. He felt he had accidentally stumbled into a discussion that he hadn’t meant to. 

“Alright.” Ms. Gruber didn’t sound convinced, but went back to reading her book. Noel’s eyes fell from his mother to the food in front of him, beginning to chew his lip as he stirred the soup.

“ E s дуже добре.” Mischa spoke quietly, foot still beside Noel’s. 

“ I know .” Noel whispered in a voice that sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that notion. Mischa frowned, feeling an unidentified inclination to keep pushing. He held back. 

After a few minutes of silence, Ms. Gruber stood from the table to put her mug in the kitchen sink. Instead of returning to the table, she went straight to her room. While Mischa didn’t see a problem with this, Noel seemed terrified. He stood from the table and rushed over to his mom’s closed door, not saying a word to Mischa. He pressed his ear to the door, eyes widening due to whatever he heard. He returned to the table, sitting down in complete silence. His wide eyes had a dark film over them.

“поет…?” Mischa spoke slowly. A ominous feeling in his stomach made him feel uneasy. 

But Noel didn’t respond. He shook his head back and forth, bringing his hands up to his face and burying himself in his palms. He choked out a few muffled sobs before wiping his eyes and sitting straight once more.

“Sorry.” He whispered, clearing his throat softly. 

“What happened?” Mischa asked, glancing over to Ms. Gruber door for a moment before turning back to Noel.

“It’s nothing.” Noel shook his head again, fixing his hair and smoothing out his shirt. 

“поет.” Mischa scooted his chair closer to Noel’s, reaching out for Noel’s right hand that rest in his lap. He held Noel’s hand with both of his, looking up at his friend who stared straight down.

“ I’m okay. ” Noel squeaked, flinching at the sound of his own voice. 

“поет, you can tell me anything.” Mischa rubbed the back of Noel’s hand. 

Noel just shook his head, sad eyes hidden by a phony smile. “I’m fine.”

Mischa felt as though he were looking in a mirror. He finally understood the concerning glancing from the hospital staff, from his friends. He bit his tongue, feeling like a hypocrite. Mischa wanted Noel to open up more than anything, but he knew that he’d have to open up first. That hurdle was fast approaching and Mischa wasn’t sure he could make the jump.

He rested his forehead on Noel’s right shoulder, not letting go of the boy’s hand. “Will you tell me later?” He asked. He didn’t hear a response, but he could feel Noel moving his head up and down, followed by a sniffle. Mischa decided that was good enough for now. 

Chapter Text

Mischa’s head didn’t move from Noel’s shoulder. Even when he heard Noel’s metal spoon begin scraping and clinking against his ceramic bowl; Mischa stayed still. Noel didn’t move his right hand, left one guiding spoonfuls of soup to his mouth. He didn’t touch the slice of bread. 

The sound of Ms. Gruber’s door opening startled them both. Mischa carefully sat up, turning to see Ms. Gruber standing in the hallway with her hands laced in front of her. She slowly walked across the room, both boy’s watching her with wide eyes. She made it to the head of the table and stood still. 

“I just got off the phone with my sister in-law.” She announced.

“ Mom .” Noel seemed worried.

“She’s a psychiatrist.” Ms. Gruber explained to Mischa, ignoring her son’s anxious tone. “I told her about you and your friends accident. She and I both agreed that you and the rest of your choir-friends should start attending group therapy.”

Both boys flinched. Karnak’s afterlife had been enough emotional discussion for Mischa’s whole life, and Noel had no interest in discussing the truly tragic parts of his romanticized life. 

“Mama.” Noel pleaded, picking at his nail polish. 

“I know baby, but it’ll help.” She tried to comfort her son but her own worry was getting the best of her. “I know I can’t take away all your pain, but at least let me try.” Ms. Gruber had silent tears slipping down her cheeks. 

“I…” Mischa spoke up but his voice trailed off as he found himself regretting the words that pooled on his tongue. “I think it e s good idea.” Ms. Gruber smiled sadly.

“Thank you, Mischa.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Now,” Ms. Gruber cleared her throat, “My brother should be here tommorow morning.”

“He’s a doctor.” Noel explained, voice somewhat calm now. Mischa turned to face him, but Noel was staring at his lap. Frowning, Mischa turned back around.

“Yes.” Ms. Gruber confirmed. “He wants to see you, Mischa. About your injury.” She gestured to her own head.

“Oh.” Mischa hadn’t expected this all to be happening so fast. 

“I know your family is probably worried sick but if you wouldn’t mind, it would make me feel a lot better if you stayed here tonight; just to make sure nothing happens.” Ms. Gruber laced her hands again.

“My family e s in Ukraine.” Mischa reminded her. He knew his adoptive ‘parents’ wouldn’t care where he was. He had been away from his house for weeks at a time. The only time they ever did anything was when he was gone for a month and they filed a missing person’s report. The police found him trying to rob a local gas station a few days later and returned him home. They had scolded him for his ‘delinquent activities’ and shooed him off to the basement for the rest of the night without food. 

“Right.” Ms. Gruber nodded, but she knew of Mark and Lisa. She knew them as pretentious bible thumbers who shunned her for raising a child on her own when she was twenty. She had overheard them boasting of a baby from “The Ukraine” that they were adopting a year or two ago. She remembered the week after when they would go stone-faced whenever someone brought up their ‘baby’. A month later, Mischa was enrolled in St. Cassian’s High School.

Noel stood abruptly and began clearing the dishes from the table.

“Oh I can get that honey.” Ms. Gruber rushed forward. 

“I got it.” Noel was covering the top of his bowl with his palm, grabbing Mischa’s bowl with his other. 

“Oh-Okay.” Ms. Gruber frowned but didn’t intervene, stepping back with her same sad smile. Mischa felt uncomfortable knowing that he was the buffer that was keeping the two from having a clearly important conversation. He awkwardly stood, excusing himself back to Noel’s room. He tried not to listen as he left, but he could hear Ms. Gruber ask something before being cut off by Noel’s persistent denial of something else.

Mischa sat down on Noel’s bed and pulled his phone from his pocket. No missed texts. He decided to message Talia anyways.

mischa : can we call soon? need 2 talk abt sumthing important

He decided against his normal ‘love you’ and shut his phone back up in his pocket. He laid, stretching his arms out and looking up to the ceiling in defeat. He didn’t feel physically tired; more like his brain was exhausted. He could barely process the room around him let alone a stressful conversation. 

The bedroom door open and closed before Mischa had time to sit up. By the time he had, Noel was already sitting next to him, knees to his chest and eyes down. Mischa laid his arm across Noel’s shoulders, gently pulling the boy closer.

“You are tense.” He observed, his fingers rubbing gently on Noel’s upper arm. Noel mumbled something in response before burying his face in his knees. After a few seconds, he let out a deep breath and relaxed his body. He let his legs fall over the side of the bed and his hands fell into his lap. Mischa’s arm did not move from his shoulders. 

“I keep stressing myself out over random things.” Noel sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with his palm. Mischa had observed this type of behavior before. Noel never seemed to enjoy it, but he seemed to always be in the middle of some sort of stressful situation. Whether it was an argument with Ocean, an awful day job, or a far too long essay to be written last minute; Noel was a magnet of misfortune. Sometimes he seemed to be seeking it out. He would start petty fights with Ocean just to get a rise out of her, even though they would both end up pulling their hair out. He was working at a job he hated for a pay that was boarding on illegal and with an unreasonable goal in mind. Mischa wondered if Noel secretly enjoyed the torment of it all. 

“Do you not like your- eh - тьотя…” Mischa failed to find the english word he was searching for. Noel looked at his with a raised brow. “Your mother’s brother’s wife.”

“My aunt?” Noel asked with a confused smile. 

“ Yes !” Mischa lightly thumped Noel’s shoulder. “Her. Do you not like her?”

Noel sighed, smiled faltering. “I like her fine.” He ran a palm across his face. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.” Mischa shrugged, leaning his head onto Noel’s shoulder as an attempt to comfort him. Noel loosened his shoulders, melting into Mischa’s embrace. 

“Do you remember when I missed school for all of February?” Noel much preferred that he could speak to his lap rather than Mischa’s worried face.

Mischa nodded into his shoulder, curly hair tickling Noel’s neck. “I thought you were badass; skipping school for fun.” 

“Thats not-” Noel laughed; actually laughed. He brought a hand up to his flushed cheeks to bury his smile for a moment. “Thats not what I was doing.”

“Oh.” Mischa faked disappointment.

“I was at a… hospital.” Noel began to pick at his nail polish, though his voice sounded more stable than it had before.  

“For whole month?” Mischa turned his head slightly, trying to catch Noel’s eyes. The other looked up to stare into his wall. 

“It wasn’t-” He sighed, shoving his hands down in frustration. “I wasn’t a… normal, hospital.” Noel began clenching and unclenching his fists, taking a deep breath before he continued. “It was a mental , hospital.”

Mischa could feel Noel tense up again, as if bracing himself for the other’s reaction. Mischa didn’t say anything, just let his arm drop from Noel’s shoulders and slid his hand to Noel’s lap. He carefully placed one large palm over Noel’s fist, which soon opened to embrace the contact. Their fingers intwined, not a word shared. 

“I was there because of my aunt.” Noel continued, voice quiet and soft now. “She thought it was best for me. I didn’t. I really, really hated it.” He squeezed Mischa’s hand.

“Why, милий?” Mischa rubbed the back of Noel’s hand with his thumb.

“They were awful .” Noel admitted with a shaky sigh. “Maybe they were just trying to help- I don’t know. I cried every night for a month.” Noel watched Mischa’s thumb running over his hand and smiled meekly, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. 

“I am so sorry, моя любов.” Mischa leaned closer to Noel, sliding his left foot behind Noel’s right one so their legs overlapped. 

“Don’t apologize.” Noel scoffed, dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his left hand. “They probably weren’t as bad as I remember. I just hated them because they made me eat.”

“Why e s that so bad?” Mischa asked softly, brows knitted in confusion. He stared down at his and Noel’s hands.

Noel didn’t speak for a moment. His breathing stilled and his body was nearly limp. He stared down at his hand, which was engulfed by his friend’s own palm. Mischa waited. He didn’t want to scare Noel away. How ever long he needed, Mischa would wait. 

“It’s not… bad .” Noel decided after a beat. He curled some of his hair behind his ear. “It’s just scary.” 

Mischa nodded into Noel’s shoulder. He didn’t understand, but it felt rude to question.

“It got really bad after the holidays.” Noel paused to take a deep breath, recomposing himself. “Mom noticed I wouldn’t eat when I got home from school. And then I wouldn’t eat breakfast. And by then I really didn’t see the point of eating at all.” 

“But you need food to live.” Mischa spoke without thinking, immediately wishing he had bit his tongue.

“I know.” Noel laid his head on Mischa’s, closing his eyes for a minute as an attempt to blink the tears out of his eyes. “I didn’t really want to live, though.”

Oh , Mischa thought. He thought back to January, right before Noel’s one-month disappearance. Noel had come back from holiday with bed head and a sweatshirt, things he normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. He didn’t argue with Ocean during choir practices, he sat quietly in class, his eyes looked dark and sad. Mischa didn’t really know him then so he hadn’t payed much attention. He hadn’t noticed that Noel was no where to be found during lunch time. He hadn’t really acknowledged the sound of dry heaving from the bathroom stalls when he skipped last period. He had ignored it because he didn’t care. Now he knew and he did care, and the boy he cared so much about was quietly crying in his arms. Mischa had never felt more useless. 

“I want you to live.” Mischa spoke quietly, accent thick which left his words barely audible. 

Noel hummed, wiping his cheek with he left palm. “I want you to live too, chérie.”

Carefully and slowly, Mischa slipped his hand away from Noel’s and sat up. He turned to his left, knee bent up on the bed so he could face Noel. He dove forward, wrapping his arms around Noel’s waist while tucking his head by the crook of Noel’s neck. Noel laughed softly, grasping onto Mischa’s back with his own arms. He leaned his cheek onto the top of Mischa’s head. They didn’t move for a while, too focused on each other’s warmth and affection to pull away. It could’ve been a few days or a few minutes before Noel leaned back. 

“Thank you, Misch.” He said, still holding onto Mischa’s shoulders. Their faces were close and he could feel Mischa breathing against his cheeks.

“For what?” Mischa asked. His eyes fluttered up and down, struggling to focus on a specific feature of Noel’s face.

“For listening.” Noel slid his arms down to Mischa’s lower back, hand still interlocked. “And not being a dick.”

“Why would I be dick?” Mischa’s brows knitted, deciding to focus on Noel’s eyes. “I care about you.”

Noel smiled. “You mean it?” He was teasing, but Mischa didn’t catch it.

“Of course, поет.” Mischa’s eyes fluttered down again. “я тебе люблю.”

“Hm?” Noel was still smiling, but his brows quirked at Mischa’s words. He had a guess what they meant, but he wanted to hear Mischa say it. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he needed to hear it.

“I love you, поет.” Mischa locked their eyes again, carefully curving his palms around Noel’s waist. 

Noel didn’t say anything, smile faltering a bit. He let out a short breath, sliding his hands back to his own lap. His eyes fell from Mischa’s, face flushed and burning. He brushed his hair back and took a deep breath before standing. 

“Thank you.” Noel’s voice was quiet. He refused to make eye contact as he left Mischa on the bed and walked out of his room without saying another word.

Mischa watched him leave, feeling like he had just been pushed to the edge of a mountain and left to teeter back and forth at the top. He felt hot all over despite Noel’s room being similar to an ice box. His breath came thick and heavy, knocking at his chest with every exhale. Mischa was nearly positive he was about to faint. He laid back on Noel’s bed, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 

Before he could completely catch his breath, Mischa felt his phone buzz. He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open.

talia : did something happen?
talia : i can call if u want

Mischa re-read his previous text, having slightly forgot about the other bombshell he had learned that day. He decided the other discussion could wait for another day. If anyone could tell him why he felt like he was near to loosing consciousness from a simple conversation with his friend, it was Talia. He ran his thumb over the keys, typing a simple ‘ yes ’, before pressing send. With that, Mischa dropped his arms back on the bed and waited. 

Chapter Text

“моя любов?” Talia called through the phone pressed up to Mischa’s ear. He hadn’t moved from Noel’s bed. His left hand lay limp over his stomach and his legs were thrown off the edge of the mattress.

“Hey.” Mischa smiled contently at the sound of his fiance’s voice. 

“What happened?” She asked, pushing Mischa out of his day dreaming and back into reality. 

“I am…” Mischa sighed rolling his head away from his phone as he thought of the right word. He ran his left hand over his face before turning back, “confused.” 

“About what?” Talia’s voice made it clear she was smiling, amused by Mischa’s dramatics.

“I was having deep conversation with friend and now I am feeling like I am being suffocated by large animal and submerged in кипляча водяна баня.” Mischa rubbed his thumb and pointer finger on his temples, attempting to sooth his headache.

“What do you mean by deep?” Talia asked, holding her phone between her face and shoulder as she unpinned her braid and began to untie it.

“Emotional.” Mischa annunciated every syllable as if he were performing beat poetry. “Personal-”

“інтимний?” Talia asked with a coy smile.

“а? No no, not intimate.” Mischa shook his head frantically ignoring his migraine and the hot flush that spread over his cheeks. “It is not like that.”

Talia giggled from the other end. “It is fine to have crush, ya’know.” She teased.

“It is not crush!” Mischa kept his voice down but spoke intently. He rolled onto his stomach in one quick motion, barely noticing the sharp jolt of pain that shot through him. “я закохана в тебе!”

“You can love me and have crush.” Talia proposed, returning her phone to her hand and running her other hand through her wavy blonde hair to untangle it.

“But I am not-” Mischa paused, debating the validity of his statement. He shouldn’t have to debate it though. “I am not gay.”

“ ох .” Talia emphasized the noise, rolling her head in realization. “I did not realize your friend is boy.”

Mischa groaned dramatically, and Talia giggled into her palm.

“Liking boy does not make you gay .” She explained when she composed herself. “You could be бісексуальний, because you like girl and boy.”

“бісексуальний.” Mischa repeated softly, thinking it over for a moment. He knew he loved Talia, with all of his heart. He loved her in everyway he could. When he told Noel he loved him, he had meant it in a platonic way; the way you love your friends. As he thought it over, Mischa questioned if that was the only way he loved Noel. He wondered if there was something more physical there, another type of attraction he wasn’t addressing. 

“Is your friend boy gay?” Talia cut him from his thoughts.

“так.” Mischa nodded as he spoke.

“You should talk to him about it then. He will know more.” Talia wouldn’t say it then, but she knew plenty about liking the same gender. She, similar to Mischa, wasn’t entirely prepared to come to terms with it yet. 

“I would, but he ran off.” Mischa sighed, resting his chin in his palm. 

“Why?” Talia was trying incredibly hard not to break out in a fit of giggles again.

“I tell him I love him and he leaves like I have spoke ill of his mother.” Mischa hissed, voice quiet so no one else in the house would hear.

That broke Talia. She began a fit of giggles, hand clenched over her mouth to muffle it. She had to put her phone down to prevent breaking it, laughing so hard she felt woozy. She eventually caught her breathe after a few seconds, pink blush over her cheeks. She picked up her phone and wiped her eyes.

“I think he may have crush.” She teased.

“що?” Mischa nearly dropped his phone. “How do you know?”

“I do not know .” Talia teased, mocking Mischa’s urgency. “That is why you should talk to him.”

Mischa felt like objecting but he couldn’t land on a valid reason. 

“Does it not bother you?” He finally decided. “That I may have crush.”

“You love me, yes?” Talia asked.

“Of course.” Mischa replied immediately. 

“And you can love me the same while loving him?” She continued. “That is what you feel now, yes?” 

“I… think so.” Mischa felt that the words he was saying were true, but they also felt dirty in his mouth. He felt guilty for admitting it. He felt unloyal.

“Then it does not bother.” Talia promised. “If you wish to date him, I do not mind.”

“що?” Mischa shot up in bed. “Why would I- I said nothing-” But he was cut off by Talia’s giggles.

“You know of полігамія, yes?” Talia asked. “I do not mind it. Our distance makes this hard, but I trust your love for me. I would not mind полігамія if you do not.”

Mischa wasn’t sure how he felt about dating two people at once. Part of him saw it as a luxury; as if he were the luckiest man in the world. Another felt guilty for even thinking of another person while in a relationship. He sighed, headache taking over his thoughts. 

“I- I will think over it.” He rubbed his eyes and crossed his legs in front of him. He began to remember his original intention of the call, feeling guilty for straying away from the topic. “There is something else I must tell you though.”

“Ay- Я буду там за мить, мамо!-” Talia tilted her phone away to call out to her mother. “I am so sorry, моя любов. I must go. We call tomorrow, yes?”

Mischa sighed. “Yes. я тебе люблю.”

“я теж люблю тебе люба.” Talia promised before the call ended.

Mischa shut his phone, shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants without another thought. He began to worry why Noel had not come back yet. Not wanting to seem impolite, Mischa decided to leave Noel’s room in search of him. 

When Mischa left through the bedroom door, he noted that while Ms. Gruber’s door was closed, the bathroom was open. He decided that if Noel was talking to his mother, he shouldn’t intervene. Instead, Mischa left the hallway and began walking into the living room. Noel wasn’t there either. Nor the kitchen, nor dinning room. Mischa walked up to the front door to look out the window, but Noel wasn’t on the porch either. He wondered if the Gruber’s had a back porch. Mischa turned around, finding his way back through the living room in search of another door leading outside. Sure enough, in the far left corner of the house, there was a windowed-door leading to a different porch. When he peered through the glass, Mischa saw Noel sitting on a bench with his knees to his chest, head resting on his knees. Taking a deep breath, Mischa placed a hand on the doorknob and twisted. Noel looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey, поет.” Mischa greeted as he stepped across the ingress. He shut the door behind him.

“Hey.” Noel replied. He was attempting to discreetly put out a cigarette in a clay ashtray.

“You smoke?” Mischa asked, sitting down next to Noel. He was sure to keep a small distance just incase Noel was uncomfortable.

Sighing in defeat, Noel met his eyes. “Don’t tell Ocean?”

“I would never.” Mischa promised, smiling sympathetically. 

“Thanks.” Noel turned away, though a smile crossed his face. 

A calm silence fell over them. Noel traced the brick ground with his eyes while Mischa’s gaze fluttered between Noel and his own hands. Mischa wanted to speak up but he bit his tongue. He figured that any conversation between them would best be had if it was started by Noel. 

“Misch.” Noel’s voice was muffled from where his chin sat on his knee. 

Mischa turned his head, suddenly feeling dizzy. His vision warped in and out, eyes widening as the world around him moved without him. He breathed deeply, trying to stabilize himself by blinking repeatedly.

“ -cha, can you hear me?” When Mischa’s eyes focused again he found that his face was being held by one of Noel’s hands. The boy was tilting Mischa’s head up, other hand pinching the bridge of Mischa’s nose.

“Mm.” Mischa grumbled, head still spinning.

“I’m gonna get a towel, okay? Just lay your head back against the wall.” Noel began to let his hands slip from Mischa's face, so Mischa did as he was instructed. He looked up at the overhang on the porch, trying to ignore the feeling of drying blood on his upper lip. 

It wasn’t long before Noel was back with a damp rag. He positioned himself so he had one knee up on the bench next to Mischa’s thigh, while his other leg was on the ground. With the wet rag, he carefully dabbed the dried blood off of Mischa’s face. Mischa hissed, turning his face away from the cold rag. 

“Did it hurt?” Noel asked, quickly pulling his hands back.

“Cold.” Mischa mumbled. The headache that pulsed through him made his mouth numb. He reached out for something to hold onto to ground himself, palm landing on Noel’s calf. The other boy opened his mouth to protest but all his words died off in his throat.

Noel mumbled an apology for the coldness but continued to clean the blood. He tried to ignore that whenever Mischa winced, his hand would squeeze Noel’s calf. Not tight, more like a slight jolt. It sent chill up Noel’s spine. He also had to ignore the fact that he loomed right over Mischa’s lap, only one steady leg preventing his fall. He ignored the face Mischa made whenever the cold rag brushed too close to his neck. The way his eyes screwed up and he either bit his lip or mumbled something in Ukrainian. They way his brows furrowed or tilted upward in near desperation. Noel’s hand shook, chest moving quickly as his skin lit ablaze. 

When he had cleaned all the blood up, Noel moved away without hesitation. He looked Mischa up and down for a moment when his eyes landed on something. He chewed his bottom lip.

“What?” Mischa asked, voice still rough and jumbled. He slowly rolled his head up despite how heavy it felt. “Do I have something on my face?”

“There’s blood on your pants.” Noel said simply. He crossed his arms over his chest while his brows moved together.

Mischa glanced down to find that, sure enough, a couple large drops of blood had somehow missed his shirt and fallen straight into his lap. He felt guilty for getting Noel’s clothes dirty, knowing from his own experience that getting blood out of most fabrics was near impossible. 

“I am sorry, поет.” Mischa looked back up, assuming that was what Noel seemed so perplexed about.

“What?” Noel seemed jumped out of his thoughts.

“I am sorry for getting blood on your clothes.” Mischa repeated.

“Oh- Oh .” Noel blinked quickly before coving his mouth with his palm to hid a flush spreading over his cheeks. “It’s not that. I just- I don’t think I have other pants that’ll fit you.” 

“I do not mind it.” Mischa assured him. He swiped at the drying blood with his fingers, checking to see if it would spread. He held up his clean fingers to Noel. “It will not make mess.” 

“Are you sure?” Noel dropped his hand from his face and began picking at his nail polish. 

“Yes.” Mischa promised as he pushed himself off of the bench. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, walking over to stand directly in front of Noel. He had words ruminating in his mind, but no feasible idea of how to say them. Noel looked up at him with blown pupils and ever-so-slightly parted lips. He stopped picking at his nails, letting his hands fall and interlock atop his thighs.

“Mischa-”

“Why did you leave?” Mischa cut Noel off without thinking. His brows were slightly furrowed but he wasn’t being forceful or accusatory. His eyes remained soft as they scanned over Noel’s face. 

“What?” Noel’s voice broke off in his throat, words coming out quiet and muffled.

“When I tell you I love you- Why did you leave?” Mischa repeated. His hands shuffled uncomfortably in his pockets. 

Noel’s face went blank and Mischa was worried he was about to run off again. His eyes dropped to Mischa’s chest, arms crossing over his own stomach for reassurance. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“You can’t say shit like that so casually.” Noel spoke so quiet that Mischa wouldn’t’ve heard him unless they were already a mere inches apart. “c'est trop intime.” 

Mischa’s eyes narrowed. “But it e s true. Who cares if it e s in- teh -ment?”

“I do.” Noel’s eyes flashed up, similarly narrowed. “Maybe you’re not trying to, but it feels like you’re trying to flirt with me. It’s not funny, okay?”

The pain in Noel’s voice made Mischa’s stomach churn. He felt guilty for making Noel feel like he was leading him on. He wanted to explain it all, to admit how he felt. He wanted to hold Noel in his arms and whisper every wonderful thing about him into his ear. 

“I am not making joke.” Mischa spoke slowly, not entirely sure what he was saying. 

“Well, you’re not flirting with me either so just stop it.” Noel shook his head and turned away, heading to the door. Mischa reached out for his wrist. He missed. He let Noel slip back into the house, leaving Mischa alone on the Gruber’s back porch. 

Mischa stood there dumbfounded. He swayed on the spot, wondering if there was any possible way he could’ve saved that interaction. He felt so many unidentifiable feelings at once. His head pounded in his skull, also overwhelmed by the emotions. He ran his palm over his face in one slow motion. Once he was sure he was still conscious, Mischa made his way back inside. 

Ms. Gruber was sitting on the couch, legs folded up next to her while she read her book. She looked over the cover to smile at Mischa before dropping her eyes back down. Mischa shuffled back to the hallway, hearing the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He frowned. Returning to Noel’s room without him felt invasive, but Mischa wasn’t sure if he felt comfortable going anywhere else in the house. He sat down on Noel’s bed and pulled out his phone. There were no texts from Talia, but there were a few from the choir group chat that Mischa typically ignored. He opened the chat without missing a beat.

ocean: How is everyone feeling?

constance: a lot better! :)

ricky: me too
ricky: can I add Penny to this chat?

ocean: Of course.

ricky potts added penny lamb

penny: hi :]

constance: hi! how are you feeling?

penny : good. still super tired, but good.

ocean : Has anyone heard from Noel or Mischa?

ricky : nope

penny: I think they went home together from the hospital. 

constance: they’re probably doing good then :)

Mischa felt awkward entering the conversation so late, but he pushed the thought away. They were his friends.

mischa : hey

ocean : How are you feeling, Mischa?

He debated telling them right then and there about everything that had happened; his dream about Karnak, his injury. He decided he wait till he could see them in person again.

mischa : fine

ocean : Where is Noel?

mischa : taking a shower

ocean : Okay. I was going to wait until we’re all here but Noel can read this later.
ocean : Has anyone else’s parents started talking about us attending group therapy?

constance : oh yeah! my mom said it would just be us and one therapist
constance : it sounds like a good idea imo :)

penny: I agree. 

ricky : idk, i feel like karnak’s whole afterlife game was just one big group therapy session :P

mischa : i agree

ocean : Well, I think it would be a good idea. I’m just not sure if a therapist would understand all the Karnak mumbo-gumbo.

penny : mass hallucination. 

ocean : Oh, okay.
ocean : Well that’s one idea

constance : how about we all meet at my parents bakery to talk it over?

ricky : idk if my parents will let me leave rn

ocean : What about this weekend? 

ricky : i’ll see what I can do B)

penny : can i bring my brother?

constance : sure :) 

mischa : i will tell noel

ocean : Good. 
ocean : I love you guys. <3

constance : we love u too :) 

The sound of the bedroom door opening made Mischa’s eyes shoot up from his phone. Noel stood in the doorway wearing a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around his head. 

“Out.” He said, refusing to make eye contact as he dumped his dirty clothes into his hamper.

“Noel-”

“Please, Mischa.” Noel stared at the ground. “I need to change.”

Mischa’s face flushed. He nodded frantically and shoved his phone into his pocket. Noel walked away from the doorway so Mischa could leave. The second Mischa stepped through the doorway, Noel shut the door behind him. He flinched but didn’t dare go back in. He stared at the door, feeling ignorant and humiliated. His skin burned and he began patting his palms against his thighs impatiently. Mischa wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wait there or wait somewhere else. He wasn’t sure if Noel ever wanted to see him again. His stomach churned again and he debating running to the bathroom. There was bile building in his throat, but a moment later, it would fall back down. The back of his throat felt acidic. 

Then the door brushed open, only a crack. Mischa wasn’t sure if it was intentional. He waited, attempting to peer into the room through the small opening. In the corner of the room, Mischa could barely make out Noel slumped over at his desk. He decided the open door was for him and nudged it farther open so he could step through, before carefully closing it again.

“Noel.” His tone was cautious, not wanting to alarm the other boy or scare him away again.

“What?” Noel’s voice was muffled, head buried in his arms.

Mischa slowly made his way across the room. “I am sorry.”

Noel turned his head slowly, still laying over his arms. His eyelids were hooded, hair messy, face red. He looked an absolute mess. Mischa decided he preferred it to Noel’s normal neat and tidy appearance. 

“For what?” Noel was testing the waters as well. He couldn’t decide wether or not he was still upset.

“For making you uncomfortable.” Mischa slid his hands into his pockets. 

Noel sighed. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” He sat up, leaning back against his chair. He rubbed his eyes, then pushed his hair back. “You make me too comfortable.” 

“що?” Mischa’s brows twitched, eyes narrowing. He found himself focusing on the drops of water that spilled from Noel’s damp hair. They trickled down his face like beads of sweat. Mischa chewed his bottom lip. 

“It’s the way my brain works.” Noel leaned his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he spoke. Mischa watched intently. “It’s not a joke for me- It feel so real .”

“What i f e t i s real?” Mischa spoke quickly, accent causing his words to come out thick and jumbled. He flinched. 

Noel turned his head to the side, slowly sitting up straight. He looked Mischa dead in the eyes. Mischa swallowed, only drying his mouth out more. He rarely felt nervous, but something about Noel’s deep brown eyes staring into him sent a spark up his spine. 

“You’re not gay.” Noel said flatly. 

“I think-” Mischa cleared his throat, voice sounding high and strained. “I think I may like girls and guys.” 

Noel’s blank expression changed slightly, eyes narrowing. “You think?”

“I know.” Mischa replied. He watched as something flashed over Noel’s eyes.

“How?” Noel turned in his chair so he faced Mischa. He crossed his leg over his knee, staring up at the other boy intently. He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it. Noel had begun to realize Mischa’s high strung demeanor and he wanted to toy with it. The idea that he could make someone like Mischa nervous had shifted Noel’s mood substantially. 

“I was talking with Talia about something,” Mischa’s arms were stiff, feeling frozen in Noel’s gaze. “ Someone . She says the way I describe him and how he makes me feel sounds like a crush.”

“What do you think?” Noel tilted his head to the side slightly, still staring up at Mischa.

“I think I may love him.” Mischa’s voice was just above a whisper. He felt he couldn’t physically amplify his tone any louder. 

“What does Talia think?” Noel was teasing. His coy smirk made it obvious. Mischa didn’t care. He was going to be honest, even if Noel didn’t recognize it.

“She says I can love both.” Mischa could feel his knees lock up, praying he wouldn’t pass out on the spot. “полігамія. Like the Mormons.”

Noel scoffed, covering his mouth with his palm to prevent laughing. “I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

“Whatever.” Mischa’s brows furrowed but his tone wasn’t harsh. He wanted Noel to take him seriously, but he could understand why the other found it difficult. 

“Polyamoury.” Noel corrected once he had composed himself. “To love multiple people.”

“Yes.” Mischa nodded stiffly. 

“So you could do that? Date two people?” Noel couldn’t tell wether he was toying with Mischa anymore. He liked Mischa’s reactions, but part of Noel was hoping he was getting honest answers. 

Mischa nodded, finding himself unable to pry open his clenched jaw. His skin was burning all over, a red hue on his cheeks making it quiet obvious. He stood stiff, breath flowing slow and faint. He felt like he may pass out, though his vision didn’t falter and his knees didn’t shake. His stomach churned and an electric buzz bounced around in his abdomen. He felt completely and utterly exposed. 

“You must really love this guy.” Noel was teasing again. He was also searching for a response; a sign to prove Mischa’s words were reliable. 

“ I do. ” Mischa sounded pitiful. One might even say desperate. Noel felt his mouth go dry and a similar flush sweeped over his cheeks. He tilted his head down, adjusting his legs without thinking. He shouldn't push any farther, Noel knew it. He knew he couldn’t take it. He was going to crack if he kept this up.

“You should tell him.” Noel tilted his eyes back up to Mischa, finding the boy hadn’t moved an inch. Mischa’s lips trembled, threatening to open and spill everything contained in his mind. He could barely produce a noise, let alone sensical words. 

Before Mischa could find his voice, the sharp trill of the Gruber family’s doorbell sounded from the front of the house. Whoever was on the other side of the front door began thumping their fist against the wood. Both boys could hear Ms. Gruber call out to the people outside as she rose from the couch and scrambled to the door. There was a short silence as Ms. Gruber opened the front door and began to talk to whoever was there. Mischa and Noel exchanged glances, neither sure of what to do now. Then the door closed and Ms. Gruber’s quiet footsteps came up to Noel’s bedroom door. She knocked softly. 

“It’s open.” Noel called, not trusting himself to stand up. Ms. Grubber pushed it open, appearing before them with worried eyes. “What is it, mom?”

She cleared her throat. “Your parents are here, Mischa. They want to see you.”