Work Text:
The Cyclone never happened in this AU. I'm open to constructive criticism, so feel free to leave some if I made any mistakes in the RTC lore, spelling, grammar, etc.,.
J'ai perdu mes lunettes Enfin j'ai pas voulu les mettre Elles me font une drôle de tête
Une tête de flamme à lunette.
Noel Gruber, a hooker. He was a resident of Uranium in North Eastern Saskatchewan. He had always dreamt of going far, moving to France. He had hoped that his dreams would come to a reality after his father left, but his mother instead just took up aerobics.. Eugh.
The raven haired boy makes his way downtown, flicking a lighter open and on, holding it to his cigarette while leaning against a cold brick wall, one of an alleyway. This was where he was stationed majority of the time.
Noel was never one to care about turf, but this was where all of the "bad" yet "attractive" men came through. Noel honestly couldn't careless about the money, as long as he was... Happy? No, happy isn't the word. Well, this was always his dream, yes, but it was created and brought to life through hatred and self-loathing. This was a way of self-harm, despite him not harming his frail, malnourished body himself.
His mother had hoped he would "dial it back," hence him picking off his black nail polish while walking to school back when he was 17, in his youth, as one might say. He was 28 now. That was 11 years ago.
Je n'y vois que du feu En quelques pas seulement Je peux me perdre au loin Si loin dans ma rue Et même que je n'ose plus Regarder le soleil N'y regarder le ciel Droit dans les yeux
Je n'y vois que du feu
He lets out a soft sigh, glancing up at the sky, bringing the tip of his cigarette to his lips. He closes his eyes after staring at the stars for a considerate amount of time, taking in their beauty. Who'd ever think that Noel Gruber, The Most Romantic Boy in Town , would be jealous of a bunch brightly burning clusters? It's amusing, honestly, and Noel knows that. He's ashamed of it. Very.
He had wanted to be a booze hounding harlot , but that life was tough. Harder than he had thought it to be. He had almost lost an eye after a customer had refused to pay. And what's he supposed to do, go to the police?
He worked alone. Didn't have a pimp, wasn't in a brothel. It was just him on the streets most of the time. He was only treated to the luxury of a warm meal and place to sleep nearly every other month, is what it was getting to.
Je vous guiderai A l'extérieur de votre tête Je serai votre paire de lunette
Vous seriez mon allumette.
Mischa Bachinski, The Angriest Boy in Town , has mellowed out. He got himself in check and moved back to Ukraine, there meeting his fiancée, Natalia Muruska Bolinska.
He had felt dizzy, like passing out after meeting her at the airport in Severodonetsk. She was as beautiful as always. Long, brown hair tied up in a bun, tanned white skin, slim body. She was like a saint. The definition of perfection. Mischa was lucky, and frankly, felt undeserving.
She wanted to get into business. Which was good, because the part of town they lived in lacked business men and women. Natalia also wished to start a family.
When she brought the idea and question up, and Mischa agreed, willing to do anything to keep Talia happen.
Though, that's when the marriage turns to trash.
At 29, Mischa had filed for a divorce. The process was awful, and Mischa had been sleeping in his office, where he produced music. He wasn't successful yet, but it was enough to get him started.
The process was agonizing, and they weren't even a quarter through it. They still had a custody battle to fight, over their first born son, Oleksiy Bachinski-Bolinska, and the possibility of child support was still in the picture.
It was all scary, honestly.
Mischa held in his hand a bottle. Vodka. He didn't have an alcohol problem, despite needing it hourly throughout the divorce. Despite it destroying his already damaged liver. He starts treatment for it this year in July.
He doesn't want his kid. Nothing against Oleksiy. The boy's grin made him rejoice, in all honesty. Mischa knew he had problems and didn't want the possibility of those problems affecting his own son, though. He already knows he can't clean himself up. So, here he is, stuck drinking himself to death.
Oh, mon petit incendie Laissez-moi croquer vos habits Les déchiqueter à belles dents Les recracher en confettis
Pour vous embrassez sous une pluie
Mischa had never thought of this happening to him. No one does! Well, unless your Noel Gruber... Noel Gruber, the name rings a bell, and it takes a second for Mischa to remember the boy and stick a name to a face, but he eventually gets it.
They had been friends in their senior year highschool, though they hadn't ever really been all that close.
Mischa regrets not keeping in touch.
Noel was fun. They mainly skipped class together and worked at the same mall. Mischa was the only person Noel trusted enough to tell about him "saving up to move to France" or even working at the mall's Taco Bell. Mischa worked at Hot Topic across from him.
Work was fun with Noel around.
Life was fun with Noel around.
His heart always raced when Noel was near.
Mischa looks up, looking to the stars in awe, only now noticing their beauty. One never pays attention to something that is always there.
Je n'y vois que du feu En quelques pas seulement Je peux me perdre au loin Si loin dans ma rue Et même que je n'ose plus Regarder le soleil N'y regarder le ciel Droit dans les yeux
Je n'y vois que du feu
Both boys, now men, had been separated. Though, somehow, across the world, they feel reunited. They had been separated, sure. But they felt together. Like they were only seconds away while staring at the stars. It hurt one and helped the other, knowing someone was near and there for them.
Noel found clarity in it after pushing past the pain. Mischa saw hope. Though, whatever the burning orbes in the sky would bring them, they'd always be able to cherish each other,
even if they were worlds away.