Mikael felt like his mind was slipping from his fingers like sand. He had tried grabbing onto memories like a man dying of thirst. Like a fool. He could not seem to leave it be. Each catch brought him somewhere long forgotten and long burdened by the truth of what haunted him. His Mother, his light, hadn't been as bright as he had thought. He could still see her crazy eyes staring him down as she stood over the Pastor. Feral. Like a wolf about to rip out the lamb's throat. Absentmindedly, he felt his brows furrowing together as he brought his hand up to rub absentmindedly at his face. Fingers spread across to hide the downturn of his lips as he tried to focus on other things.

Brick pressed uncomfortably against his spine from where he leaned against the wall of a building. His gaze caught the chatter and jovial smiles of people passing with packages in their hands. Bodies turned toward one another in a familiar sense of belonging. Heads dipped close as inside jokes seemed to slip easily from easy grins. It felt strange watching people carry on as they did. happy and content with the world. It made him feel strange. His mask had long since lain broken on the ground, and yet he did not find the freedom he had been hoping for. For now, he was a prisoner of loneliness.

Once, he had Yefim and Valentin to fill the void in himself that he seemed incapable of filling. But who was he to expect them to fill the gaping hole that Jakob had left? How could he have not noticed the pattern? He could see each of their faces. Valentin. Yefim. Replacements. Each one for something larger. Something holier. Jakob. How long had he been worshipping at the altar of better things around him? Ever since he was a child? When Jakob had whispered sweet nothings of acceptance and love? And he had fallen for it. Let the boy lead him to the water, wearing a thorn crown. And he would have been happy for it. So happy that Jakob was pleased with him.

Mikael swallowed thickly as he watched a dark-haired man walk by. Tall and stoic, so much like Jakob. Though he lacked the broad planes of his form, and his hair was less than perfect. The man continued his way down the street, his sombre walk ambling on. Maybe he was a banker who was an angry drunk. Or potentially, he had just lost a fight and was now stalking off to lick his wounds. It was a nice distraction. Thinking about the secrets that people carried beneath their coats. He wondered how much someone could see his own secrets that peeked out beneath his grey turtleneck. The boy's left hand absent-mindedly reached up to pull his collar slightly higher up his neck.

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Russian/French | 04.14.2026 | WC 498