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we could take a walk to the plains and find a sunny shore to sit on. there would be shells in the sand and the sound of waves as background noise. i think that sounds nice.
It sounded as nice as he thought it would. The scenery was almost picturesque, too beautiful to be considered real.
They were lucky to have a warmer biome nearby. The snow became an inconvenience over time. Lumen sat near the coast, running his hands through the sand beneath him. The water was a bit cold—he had let it lap at his feet a few minutes prior—but the sunlight reflected wonderfully off of it all the same.
He wasn’t sure why he came today. Misha hadn’t replied to his letter, but he just assumed he was still available. They had decided to meet a bit past noon, when the sun was still out but it wasn’t too hot. It had been a few minutes since he got here, maybe around half an hour. Part of him was simply expecting him to appear, like one might do in a movie.
However, another part of him regretted not waiting longer for a proper reply.
But how could he wait? How could he wait when things were finally going his way for once? How could he wait when he was at a point where death and grief didn’t chain him? Life hadn’t been like this in years—literal years.
He recognized Misha now. He recognized that name, the one he had given him all those years ago. Had he recognized him, too, but decided against saying anything? The moment he knew that this was the same Misha he had confessed to when he was a young boy… he knew he didn’t want to let go of him again.
Today was supposed to be the day where everything spilled from his lips. The day where his inner feelings, repressed and beaten and left in the hands of time, were laid out for him to see. Where being vulnerable and sentimental was no longer a weakness, but a shared and intimate feeling.
But instead of sitting in silence for however long it would be, he went to Misha’s house. He left the warmth and vigor of the plains behind for now, and reluctantly trudged back into the taiga. Although unnecessary, he strayed from the main community, taking an alternative path through the mountains. It was out of instinct more than anything. Even if the curse had left him alone now… he didn't want to risk anything more.
Misha lived far from the plains and a bit closer to the warmer sections of the spruce forests, so the walk was farther than he'd like. Snow had fallen and made thick, uneven layers that crunched under his feet. This specific area of the taiga was rocky and littered with small alcoves that could lead to God-knows-where. Lumen knew better than to walk through here without watching his steps.
By the time he saw the faint puffs of smoke—a sign Misha was home, he noted—the sun was only slightly lower than it was originally. No issue, they had plenty of time left. Maybe he wasn't ready to come yet and forgot to send a letter? Or maybe he was preparing to go now?
His house was built into a small hill—a quaint place that had enough room for one and their essentials. The entrance had patches of varied flowers blooming around it, bursts of red and purple and blue bringing life to the stagnant white.
For some reason, he was starting to feel uneasy.
He knocked on the door and got no reply. Strange. He knocked again, and received nothing again. Had he already gone out? No, then there’d be no smoke coming from the chimney. Unless he left without extinguishing the fire, which was a—
Before deciding to turn away, he heard something past the door. “C-Come in, it’s— the door’s unlocked…”
Misha.
Hearing his faint voice made him more nervous than he’d rather be. His voice hadn’t always been that quiet, had it? He knew his memory wasn’t failing him.
The door creaked on its hinges as Lumen hesitantly passed through the threshold. Although his house was cozy—the interior nicely lit by a small, contained campfire in the corner—and overall seemed very welcoming… he could slightly feel the familiar tingle of death in the air.
And that scared him more than anything.
“I…” The words were suffocating him. What could he say? “Um… Hello.”
Misha looked different. Not in appearance, no, he was still as beautiful as when they last met. But this time his dirty blonde hair was damp with the sweat coating his face, his brilliant eyes clouded with something he recognized all too well—sickness. The covers of his bed enveloped him tightly.
Lumen only got a soft smile in return. Too weak to say anything more. “…I assume you can’t go out today?” he asked quietly, as if speaking any louder would hurt him more.
A shake of the head, followed by a wince. “I’m sorry…” Misha whispered softly. “I wanted to, but I…”
“You’re sick, aren’t you?” He was stating the obvious. Oh, how he wanted to just sit down and comfort him. To stay here alongside him, to help him get better.
But no. He couldn’t. Not when he was probably the one to curse him in the first place.
He didn’t want to meet Misha’s gaze, didn’t want to look at him for longer. Was it his fault? Had the curse stuck to him after all? It was too good to be true. This bliss was impossible. Of course he’d make this happen the moment he let his guard down. Even with the love of his life beside him.
“Lumen…?”
Coming here was a mistake. Staying here was a mistake.
“I-I—” Why couldn’t he move? The best thing to do was leave before he made him worse, but he could only muster an uncoordinated step back. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t even have the chance to turn around. “Wait, stop,” Misha begged, sitting up in bed. God, his voice was so weakened that it made his head spin. “S-Stay. Please.”
“No, I— I can’t,” Lumen cried. “I can’t, Misha, I’m sorry—”
“I need your help.” Sorrow and fear were present within the haze in his eyes. It felt like looking in a mirror. “Please, Lumen.”
“Misha—”
“Please.”
Why on Earth would you ask for help from the man stalked by the shadows of death? This was his fault. He knew—he knew—any attempt of “help” would only snowball into something he couldn’t reverse. You could heal from an illness. You couldn’t fix death.
Against his will, the door shut behind him. Against his will, he got closer to Misha. Against his will, he knelt at his bedside, hands on his knees.
And against his will, he began to speak. "…What do you want me to do?"
"Just talk to me."
Talk? Well, he was always better at speaking than writing… “I do have something to tell you," he explained. "In your letter you… You talked about—”
“About the lilies of the valley?” Misha said weakly.
“Yes, yes, about the lilies,” Lumen confirmed. The cloth of his robes were balled in his fists. “I remember them so well— I am the boy you were talking about.” Recognition and satisfaction shone in the other’s eyes. “I remember when Lynn taught me how to care for them properly, I— I didn’t know they were poisonous and I remember the way you laughed when I gifted some to you.”
“M-hm…”
“I remember when Lynn taught you how to weave flowers in her hair. And when you got good you would weave some in mine, and when I learned we all took turns…” He missed those days. Those days where his hands brought life and happiness instead of misery and pain. Those days where his presence was accompanied by laughter instead of fear.
“I loved putting flowers into your hair,” he thought out loud. “It was so soft and lush. I remember how much I loved running my hands through the layers.”
His voice started to falter. “One time I snuck a few of those lilies into your hair”—a shaky chuckle—“and you threw them at me upon taking them out. Lynn and I were hysterical.
“And… And it’s foolish to wish for that back. Forgetting everything about myself ruined me, but recalling them hurt more.” Was he about to cry?
“I… I wanted to bring you to the plains to tell you a story of my own,” he admitted slowly. “I remember everything. More than I’ve remembered before. I remember our hometown. You wouldn’t have noticed because you were gone, but a year after you left I felt as if I was cursed with death. People at our home, people I know you knew—they were dying all of the sudden and I still believe it’s because of my curse.”
Now that the words were flowing, there was no way to stop them. Here he was, confessing yet again to the man he held so dear. “I left home to save those who remained, but now that I’m here I feel like I’m only repeating history. I’m dooming everyone. And you’re here and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.
“But I— All I want is to get rid of this curse. All I want is for us to be normal again, for me to not worry about hurting you. Because I’ve already hurt so many people—”
“Lumen.”
“Don’t talk,” he spat quickly. “Please just— You have to understand. I didn’t want to stay here because I was scared. Scared that I was going to ruin your life like I have before. I love you, I really do, but I don’t—”
“Lumen.” Misha’s firm yet gentle tone caught his attention. It was silent for a while. His hand, trembling with exertion, reached to cup his cheek. It was cold. Colder than he was used to, perhaps as cold as death itself.
A smile, resigned yet somehow content, graced his fever-ridden features. “I’d rather die in your embrace than die alone.”
Against his will, he began to sob.
It was slow at first, punctuated by only a few bursts of breath. But as Misha’s touch lingered, his cold was contrasted with warmth from his tears. Within the span of only a minute—although it seemed impossibly longer—he was gasping for air as if he was drowning.
How was it possible that a few words could break him? How was it possible that he cared so much? Perhaps if he stayed in the dark, believed this life and everyone else's held no meaning… he wouldn’t care. It was a curse to care when misery clung to your skin. It was a curse to love when relationships crumbled beneath you.
It was a curse, knowing Misha didn’t care.
It was a curse, knowing Misha was still willing to stay.
Knowing Misha was a curse on its own.
And so he sat there with a hand on top of his, soaking in his touch because for all he knew, he would never feel it again. Crying was liberation. Everything he couldn’t say escaped in the form of drops that could be wiped away without a second thought. “I’m sorry,” he said, forcing the words through his tightened throat. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry.”
He repeated it over and over and over again, a sickening mantra that got harder to say the more he said it. Yet it was useless to convince himself to stop. There was so much to apologize for. He had to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye. For crashing into his life years later, when he already moved on. For giving him the smallest sliver of hope in this wretched world. For putting the burden of reality, of illness, onto his shoulders.
“Stop saying that,” Misha pleaded. “You… did nothing wrong.” His thumb ran across his face, swiping off the tracks of tears. “I saw this coming. S’not your fault…”
Lumen’s fingers wrapped around the other man’s wrist, refusing to let go even as his shoulders grew tired from shaking. “You’re too good,” he spat. “You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve your love. I don’t deserve this life with you.”
Misha shook his head. “Stop. Stop saying that.”
“I mean it, Misha. I really do.” He took a moment to breathe the best he could. “I’m only giving you hell.”
“No… No.” He brushed aside his tangled hair, meeting his blue eyes hidden beneath the hood. “It’s not your fault. Forgive yourself, for me… Please. I don’t… I don’t want to see you cry.
“I don’t want to see you dead!” Lumen’s voice cracked. He didn’t mean to yell but it was either that or keeping it in forever. His head moved a bit closer. “Do you think I want to kill you?!”
“You won’t kill me.” There was defiance in his voice now. “I brought this upon myself far before I saw you again.”
Lumen didn’t have it in him to say any more.
Misha was tired. Exhausted. Tired of fighting his sickness and tired of fighting him. But it was so hard not to fight something he deemed true for years. “Love yourself. As much as you love me.”
Saying he couldn’t wasn’t an option. But saying he would? It’d ruin them both. He didn’t want to make any more promises he couldn’t keep.
So he left the request to linger in the air.
Maybe falling back in love was a double-edged sword.