Untold Stories of Our Past [Mihai]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

IT'S EMPTY IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR HEART. THE SUN, IT RISES SLOWLY AS YOU WALK.

It was the first day of December. There was a steady, feathery snowfall, giving the atmosphere a soft sort of luminescence, contrasting with the usual intensity of the events at Weeds. Arthur had someone to meet after his courses had finished for the day. He had only an hour left to get to his dorm; they were supposed to be there half past five just as the doors closed. One of the many mandatory and exceedingly dull rules of the academy. Time and punctuality, Arthur had no problem with. Submission and acceptance was another story. Despite the bitter chill, the ache in his limbs, and the taste of blood in his mouth from a fight that he’d gotten himself into with another mutant, his cheeks were flushed pleasantly against the weather, hardly taking any heed as to where he was heading as his mind rummaged over the possibilities for what he could bring for the evening. It was his dormmate's sixteenth birthday. While the staff of Weeds only viewed the students' birthdays as a countdown for when they would leave, a while ago, Arthur and Mihai created a bit of a tradition. They recognised each other's special days, attempting to make it into something a little more than just passing time, waiting for the inevitable. Of course, just as he was about to enter the dorms, he was intersected by a familiar face. A stern-looking administrative member usually renowned among the students for his swift and oftentimes unspoken discipline. Arthur averted his eyes, again his mouth filled with that same iron taste, the reminder for why he was about to be punished. Oh yes, he knew what this was about. He was beginning to wonder when they would eventually start looking for him, probably combing the grounds, to mettle out their pain-riddled response to his ‘inappropriate’ behavior. He was led in the opposite direction from where he was initially heading. The administrator’s door shut behind him, the lock sliding in place, and he wasn’t able to leave for another hour. . . . Arthur emerged, tight lipped and pale. There was a slowly darkening bruise across his cheek and he kept licking the corner of his lip to stop the bleeding from where he’d been cut. The door clicked softly shut as he made his way down the silent hallway. He had to pause to force himself to hold it in. The anger, the prickling wetness that threatened behind his gaze. He couldn’t let them get to him. No matter how many times they saw it fit to punish him. His fingers clenched, fingernails biting into his palms where the skin had already been broken while he was in the administrator’s office. Take a breath. Just breathe. He’ll be alright. He has to keep telling himself that, because no one else will. He had only himself to rely on in this sodding world. When his resolve felt pieced together once more, he continued down the hallway. Everyone would be in their rooms by now. His body ached, but something as trivial as pain wasn’t enough to stop him. With his pulse pounding, his blood warming with fury and purpose, he made his way assuredly towards a section where students were rarely allowed. He was listening intently, hearing words and direction from unseen guides, at least unseen to most others. He used his ability discreetly whenever it was necessary, whenever it wasn’t too evident in front of the instructors. His school bag had been empty, dangling against his hip as he made his way into the back of the kitchens. Definitely not an area where students were allowed. For the most part, with the extra help from the entities, the passageways were clear and he was able to start slipping things into his bag—mostly luxury foods, items that the students never had access to, presumably these were only for the staff members. Just as he was about to leave, hearing soft murmurs approaching from down the closest hallway, his eyes trailed over to a bottle of wine at one of the administrators’ desks. Half the offices were empty. What a gloriously tempting opportunity. The label was in Russian, so he wasn’t sure what caliber the wine was. That didn’t matter. He wasn’t picky. Walking past, he slipped his fingers around the neck of the bottle, taking hold and tucking it into the last bit of space that his bag offered. The end of the bottle was still visible, so he hid it the best he could as he hurried in the opposite direction of the voices, his heart pounding, his skin warm with the prospect of his small conquest. It took minutes before he was able to reach his and Mihai’s dorm. Their third dormmate had recently been removed for a short while, though they were likely to get another soon. Arthur paused before the door to check the injuries that he couldn’t see. The corner of his lip stung when his fingertips grazed over the wound and his darkening bruise on his cheek still felt tender. No mind. There’s nothing that can be done at the moment. Of all the students here, Arthur felt the most comfortable with allowing his stiff guard to lower just a bit, to allow those injuries to show, with his current dormmate. He was sure that Mihai would understand. Grasping his bookbag filled with apology items for his lateness as well as his little taste of revenge, he opened the door. He quickly made his way into the room before shutting the door behind him. Glancing about their modest-sized room, he called out as he unslung the now heavy bookbag from his shoulder. ”Mihai? Sorry I’m late…” He carried his small burden further into the dormroom until he found the nearest surface to lay it all out.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

For Mihai, that day was a one which passed without incident. The other students hadn't seen it worth their time to trouble him on that particular occasion, and the fact that the school hadn't had an incident with him since four years ago, except for the rare episodes the staff found fit to punish physically, meant that he normally slipped under their radars. He supposed that was as good as he could hope for as a birthday gift from the Academy—indeed, the best favor they could do for him was leaving him the fuck alone. The only person whose company he would enjoy on that particular day had still not returned. The hour was getting late and Arthur was supposed to have come back before the doors closed.

Mihai was waiting for him now, laying on his bed, head hanging over the edge for an upside-down view of the world. The book he'd borrowed from the library was weighing a bit heavily on his arms, but as much as Mihai was trying to immerse himself in the volume, he couldn't seem to avoid shooting nervous glances at the clock mounted on the wall anyway. With a little bit of difficulty from his position, he could make out that it was thirty minutes past their meeting time. A bit of uneasiness gnawed at his gut as the minutes ticked by. Was Arthur all right? Did he get caught up in something? Or had he just decided to ditch?

He bit his lip, feeling guilty for questioning his friend. Arthur was the only person in this facility worth trusting at all. They'd known each other almost since Mihai's first day at the school and were on remarkably good terms considering their conditions; they shared similar tastes—books, classes, a hatred for the administration—and told each other things they hadn't said to anyone else. The tradition of celebrating their birthdays (if it could even be counted a celebration) was something they'd come up with awhile ago only for themselves, just as other children had secret hideouts and special handshakes. All in all, it was pretty good, and Mihai wanted to have faith, but the thing was that being at the Academy tended to strip all optimism from a person.

To stave off these encroaching thoughts, he tried to turn his attention back to his book. The volume in his hands was at least a decade old and was about the golden age of the Ottoman Empire, which he simultaneously found interesting and tediously boring. The author really could work on her writing skills. As it were, the monotonous drawl of the text on page and the tenuous light from his desk lamp were lulling him into a comfortable daze. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, and he might have allowed the atmosphere to overtake him completely if there weren't some reminder at the back of his mind that he was waiting for Arthur.

It wasn't much longer afterwards that the doorknob turned and the door opened silently on its hinges. Mihai flung his book unceremoniously to the side as Arthur stepped into the room, carrying with him what seemed to be a heavy burden in his schoolbag. Mihai sat up and yawned, stretching as he watched Arthur set his load down on the table. The anxiousness that had gnawed at him earlier faded away as he grinned at his friend.

"And I'm usually the one who's late," he commented, otherwise seemingly unconcerned with Arthur's tardiness. His nervousness from before seemed trivial now—after all, Arthur was here and he appeared to be somewhat preoccupied with the pack he'd brought with him. Mihai jumped up to join him, peering over Arthur's shoulder as he continued talking. "What kept you anyway?" he asked. "Run-in with someone? Cleaning duty? A girl? Tryin' to get me a last-minute present?"

He always rather enjoyed teasing Arthur. It was easy to fluster him and put him on the defensive, and Mihai was always quite good at pushing all the right (wrong?) buttons. Besides, he had a full idea what was going on now, and he was sure that Arthur would prefer it if he didn't make a big deal out of it. If they were casual, they might be able to enforce some semblance of normalcy even in the face of cruelty.

A glance sideways had shown him the darkening patch of skin on Arthur's cheek. It was apparent to him now what had kept his friend. Arthur had probably done something again that inspired the teachers' rage, made them put that ugly print on his skin that was much too solid to simply be a cast shadow. Mihai liked to think that he could imagine it to be—that the bruises that periodically graced their jaws and wrists and necks were only tricks of the light, that the school was nothing more than an ephemeral dream. But that would require some measure of idealism, and that he found impossible to uphold at the Weeds of Tomorrow.

"Ah—give me a second," he said as he left Arthur to do the unpacking. With a quick step, he headed into the adjoining bathroom, turning on the cold tap water and running a towel under the faucet. Barely a minute had passed and he was back at Arthur's side, pressing the cold towel against the other's injured cheek. "It's not ice, but it should help," he said, removing the cloth for a moment to inspect the damage. He wondered if he had any spare bandages and ointment lying around, but that would be unusual considering he never made use of those things anyway. Though the staff usually did worse damage to him, his healing ability rendered the use of medicine virtually null. He really ought to steal some from the infirmary sometime, if only for Arthur's sake (but he knew there would be kids willing to pay a small price for some bandages too). He would make sure to snatch some the next time he was referred to the Academy nurse, but the towel was the best he could do for now, and red was already staining onto its white surface.

Mihai sighed, pressing the towel back against Arthur's injury. Just because they tried to uphold an atmosphere of casualness didn't mean he didn't worry. Even though "permanent damage" was disallowed, there was no lack for cruelty at the Academy. He knew it well and first hand, and part of him always feared that the staff would exceed their limits someday. What could be done to him couldn't be done to Arthur without a corpse being left behind.

He hesitated for a moment. Meekness wasn't in his nature, but he understood the reluctance to talk about the treatment of the Academy staff. Keeping his tone light, he asked anyway. "How bad was it this time?"

Word Count: 1146

Notes: I hope this is okay uvu;;

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

IT'S EMPTY IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR HEART. THE SUN, IT RISES SLOWLY AS YOU WALK.

Regardless of what had happened, even in the wake of tragedy, Arthur thought it important to carry on a sense of regularity, if only to keep them sane and relatively functional. An idea that may have sounded like masking the real problem, but it felt more like a steady frame that he could grasp, to rest on while the world continued to change, continued to throw more filth in their path. More like the unspoken rule of survival. Books and classes were a good distraction—an interest that Mihai shared with him. Society made it clear that they wouldn’t amount to anything, so learning all he could from whatever books he could get his hands on and whatever was offered in the meager classes was yet another form of rebellion. In retrospect, this tradition that they held for their birthdays could also be considered the subtle warmth of rebellion. Arthur and Mihai gave these days value by recognising them, adorning them with importance where the government failed to offer any. That’s why he had to be there. He didn’t want to disappoint Mihai, firstly; but he also didn’t want to miss his opportunity to continue this secretly obstinate show of preservation. Even if the added relish of showing up the government was absent, Arthur had a feeling that they would continue the tradition of sorts far past graduation. It was always more than that. It was something that only belonged to them. The approach of evening brought a fierce chill to the already bitter December air. The academy had never been generous with heating the dorms more than what would keep them alive, it seemed. Why waste the money for comfort? Perhaps this was some sick preparation for what was to come for the majority of their students, in an even smaller room used for containment instead of comfort. Two years. He has two years left at the Academy until that became his reality. Arthur staved off the disconcerting thought as his eyes found Mihai sporting his usual grin as he stepped deeper into the room. The corners of Arthur’s mouth rose slightly, nearly effortlessly, in a small, returned smile. Those were rare, but every time he managed one, it was accompanied with a warmth he wouldn’t mind feeling more often. The scant smile solidified with Mihai’s greeting remark about his lateness, the side of his face aching with the effort, ”Obscenely,” was his dry, slight tease back. As expected, Mihai continued to talk, peering over Arthur’s shoulder as he started to slide items out of his bag—first was the foreign labelled wine, packages of what looked to be crackers and some kind of sweet covered in chocolate. Lord only knows what it was until they bit into it. There was also a parceled, manageable block of hard cheese, and a roll of pâté. To be honest, the last item held hardly any appeal for Arthur, but some students loved it and he’d never been able to afford being picky. Still, while working everything out of his bag, his ears drank in Mihai’s usual chatter—normalcy, normalcy. The sense of familiarity with his usual teasing calmed his nerves, like a balm over the damaged, frayed ends. And his cheeks warmed, a hint of his usual flustered response, though not for the intended reasons. He wanted to hide the injury, to carry on that same sense of stability. ”Shall I keep you guessing or will you assume the worst? was his amused reply, an invitation for further teasing or banter. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to be working. He could breathe a little easier, the prickling anger towards the institution eased, and his attention was diverted. Practically feeling the graze of Mihai's glance over his bruise, Arthur averted his eyes, lowering his chin; an unthinking attempt to hide whatever discolouration was already forming across his cheekbone. They’ve never been able to hide very well from each other; it was both disconcerting and a relief. When Mihai moved into the adjoining bathroom, Arthur pulled his now empty book bag from the table, pushing it beneath his bed and exchanging it for a carefully parchment-wrapped parcel. He set it on his bed before returning to the centre of the room, Mihai was back and pressing a cold towel against his cheek. Arthur’s eyes found Mihai’s without words. Words weren't needed, they both understood and they both endured. Arthur reached up, pressing over Mihai’s fingers, readjusting the towel just a bit over the tender part of his cheek. His fingers pushed, flinching slightly behind the pressure. Arthur incisors tucked into the uninjured side of his lip when Mihai lifted it, checking the damage beneath. The staff at the Academy never left a permanent mark, to enhance their future value no doubt. Receiving contracts meant filling the government’s pockets. No matter what they did, they would serve some sort of purpose, benefiting the very institute that claimed ownership over their bodies and abilities. Hearing Mihai’s question, Arthur’s eyes lifted once more, his fingers still pressing over the cloth, his thumb brushing briefly against Mihai’s. It was easier to talk about what happened with someone who knew exactly what it felt like. ”They’ve done worse. Fortunately for them, nothing permanent. They’ll fetch an attractive price yet,” he laughed, low and quietly without humour. ”It’s a shame they kept me for an hour, though. I repaid them for the courtesy,” a shadow of amusement pulled the corners of his mouth once more, the light of mischief entering his gaze as it trailed over the stolen items. ”Well, that—and I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning.” He briefly raised an unconcerned shoulder in a half shrug. Deprivation was not an uncommon punishment. Quick and simple. It made it easier for them to avoid leaving behind any permanent impairments. ”And you? Hopefully your day was less eventful than mine?” Eventful, meaning that it lacked under-the-table unpleasantness and other forms of abuse. Still keeping the cool towel against his cheek, he moved to pull the small table towards the edge of Mihai’s bed. After it was positioned, he grabbed the parcel at the end of his bed across the room, tucking it under his arm before sitting at the edge of Mihai’s bed alongside the table. He unfolded the quilt with chilled fingers, making himself comfortable. His eyes raised towards Mihai, invitation evident in his gaze.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

At the brush of Arthur's skin over his own, Mihai felt a little bit of tension and worry drain from his body. Arthur was one of the few people he could stand touching him, but certainly the only one from whom he welcomed the physical contact, could say that it was comforting and wanted. Trust only went a long ways when both parties allowed it to after all, and somehow, over the years, they had relented to share each other's secrets and one another's pain. This was what it led to: some precious moments of skin-on-skin, knowing looks passed between them, and the silent, slow ache of wishing for something better.

With his hand pressed against Arthur's cheek, the cold water from the towel seeping through to his fingers, he felt that familiar ache manifest. He wished he could do something for Arthur, something to make it (everything) better; a hug, maybe—some sort of physical comfort to assure Arthur that everything was okay, at least for the moment, but this wasn't the sort of thing a hug could fix. Maybe during their childhoods that would have been enough, but those were distant and wistful memories. All he could do now was ignore the bruises and follow Arthur's cue—pretend that it never happened—and hate his own helplessness. But he wouldn't push the issue, would bite back his desire to at least try to make things better because he knew the only thing that would was letting it go.

He relinquished the towel as Arthur moved away. Seeing Arthur's intentions, he moved over to grab the other end of the table so that they could lift it to the edge of his bed. Dragging it would've been just fine under different circumstances, but the sound of the table legs scraping on the floor might rouse suspicion, and with that stockpile of food, the two of them would surely get in trouble. The invitation was conveyed to Mihai without words, but he had other plans before joining his friend. First, he grabbed the quilt off of Arthur's bed and dragged it over to his, jerking the blanket up into the air so that the cloth spread out evenly. He laughed a little as he positioned it so that it would flutter to a rest squarely over Arthur's head. Taking the opportunity, Mihai grabbed either side of the blanket, framing Arthur's face like a headscarf.

"Poor sweetheart," he crooned, bending down so that he could get a good look at the other. His tone of voice would've been mocking had he been talking to anyone else. "Made the teachers mad and got his food taken away, did he?" His lips were curled into a teasing smirk, but he meant no harm by it—both of them knew that. Yet, Mihai would consider it mission accomplished if it got on Arthur's nerves even a little. Feeling satisfied, he let go of the quilt, throwing his arms up and twisting around so that he fell into the bed on his back. "But you got them back," he said, referring to the stockpile that laid on the table. "You did really nicely."

Only then did Mihai worm his way into the warmth of the quilts. He settled in next to Arthur, pulling the blankets over his legs, then grabbed his pillow. He turned over onto his stomach so that he could hug the cushion and propped himself up on his elbows. All the movement had caused his book to slide off the bed and onto the ground with a dull thud, but he spared it no more than a glance to make sure it had landed on its cover. He might've been more concerned about it another time, but that night was his to spend with Arthur, so any other sort of escapism could be abandoned without regret. He sighed contentedly as he curled up beneath the blankets, allowing a feeling of tranquility to settle over him. It wasn't something he felt very often, but at that moment, it was easy to forget the horrid world that existed outside of their room.

He twisted around halfway to face Arthur. It was true that his day had been greatly less hectic than his friend's—all the fights that had happened were other peoples' business, and thus the teachers had paid him little attention. Mihai was normally one to evade fights anyway, to talk himself out of them if possible, but that day had been unusually calm in that no one sought to antagonize him in the first place. That, however, didn't stop him from tapping into a more melodramatic vein. "Oh, it was awful," he said drolly. "No one wanted to pick a fight with me! Didn't even want to break my fingers to see how fast I could heal." He sighed, as though it all had been a huge disappointment. "Can you believe that? I guess they finally wanted to do something nice for me on my birthday."

He then sat up, restless as he usually was, but also unable to resist food for long. Inspecting the packages Arthur brought back, though he was unable to understand any of them but for the depictions, he picked a red one with chocolate-somethings on its foil covering to open. He bit off the end of one snack, chewing for a second as he tried to figure out what it was under the flavor of dark chocolate. It tasted like a cookie, some sort of wafer, and he told Arthur as much. That sat just fine with him. He liked sweets, and those were usually a rare luxury at the academy. Dessert foods were reserved only for holidays and as the occasional bribe for younger students, which meant that his sweet tooth was being ignored for entirely too long. He slid the rest of the cookie into his mouth with a happy, pleased noise.

"This is so good," he said delightedly, relishing in the taste of sugar. Turning to Arthur, he gave the other a playful shove on the shoulder. "C'mon, eat up!" he prompted with a grin. "You're the one who hasn't eaten all day." He removed another cookie before offering Arthur the package, raising an eyebrow as he spurred the other to join him.

Word Count: 1049

Notes: —

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

IT'S EMPTY IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR HEART. THE SUN, IT RISES SLOWLY AS YOU WALK.

There are times where suffering in silence appeared to be the best alternative, because certain brands of pain seem better left unspoken, to slow the spread of the inflicted poison. The only problem with containing it so tightly is that it slowly devours everything else. There were moments where he’d give anything to escape from that constant inner gnawing. Any form of escapism was welcome, a frequent temptation for his wandering hand whenever he spotted an unattended bottle of liquor or, like Mihai, to bury himself in a book. It was that form of relief; however, that he usually found within these four walls with another who knew what it felt like. He glanced appreciatively at Mihai as he helped him to lift the table, eliminating the sound of its worn legs dragging across the floor. There was also the question of what they would do with the evidence of their spoils, but Arthur would see to that after the fact. He usually did. Arthur’s eyes rested on Mihai, a taste of suspicious notion in them when he jerked his blanket up and began to position it so that it would fall over his head. He heard his laughter, easy and scant as he framed the cloth along each side of his head. Arthur’s back arched in the slightest, as if to move away, though his palm pressed against the bed, forcing him to remain still, watching and waiting to see what Mihai would do. His entire body was taut, like a cat of poor humour who barely tolerated being treated like a bauble to poke and play with. Miahi was an odd exception to this rule. Although Arthur would never admit it to anyone, he was probably the only one who could get away with touching and teasing him like this. Hot, brittle words were waiting on his tongue until Mihai drew closer to get a good look at him. Although Arthur’s features were quickly drawn into a bit of a scowl at his words, his attention was caught over the ever familiar curve of his mischievous mouth. A light brush of heat crossed Arthur's features, heat that was deceptively light, leaving a peculiar desire for more once it cooled. Something tightened in his chest—the lingering of a craving perhaps. Not unlike anything that the mutants had ever felt before. They were always wanting for something, whether it be food, warmth, or for things that they weren't willing to admit. ”Oh, piss off,” his words a mixture of irritation with the barest hint of amusement, although they were far lighter than usual. Arthur was quick to recover from his moment of odd pause, pushing Mihai’s little blanket creation away just as Mihai threw his arms up to remove it. Arthur’s mouth curved slightly at Mihai’s next words, referring to their little prize for the night. ”Hardly,” Arthur scoffed softly. ”They deserve far worse, but I suppose this will suffice.” Already eyeing the item that he was the most proud of filching, his fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, bringing it onto his lap as he started to work at the stubborn opening. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Mihai curling up in their little nest of blankets, twisting around and lying contentedly. Arthur paused to move just a bit closer, finding the slightest hint of warmth radiating from the other even as he was covered in quilts. With Mihai’s first statement, dramatic presentation and all, a small grin formed over his lips as he continued to concentrate on opening the bottle, though he also continued to listen. When he mentioned some of the others, making mention over what they usually did to him whenever he did have one of those days, Arthur’s expression tightened, his knuckles turning white over the neck of the bottle. ”So inquisitive, those lot,” Arthur commented offhandedly, though there was a vicious undertone. His fingers paused in his endeavour, his glare moving forward, focusing briefly on the centre of the room as if pausing over an unseen outline. ”They probably won’t bother you for a long while—not after receiving such intimate experience with how long it truly takes for broken fingers to heal... It would be cruel to leave such curiosity unsatisfied.” Arthur’s voice was bitter with the insinuation and thick with mockery towards the others. The corner of his mouth tightened briefly into some semblance of a self-satisfied smirk, still too riddled with anger to look truly satisfied. The tip of his tongue swept over the reminder along the edge of his lip. It still tasted like iron and salt and it still stung like hell. Arthur usually kept quiet about the reasons for why he started so many fights with the others. Yes, while he had been treated as if he were the Devil’s envoy, particularly when he was younger and less likely to fight back, he now he had a far more convincing reason to start fights with those just as cruel as their human keepers. There was a reason why he preferred to act in front of Mihai as if the abuse on his body had never happened. Arthur’s silence ensured that Mihai wouldn’t develop any foolish notions to attempt to dissuade him from getting back at them for all the pain they inflicted—as if they were running low on misery as it were. His obstinate nature had measly boundaries. Very few could verbally confront him with the expectation that he would even consider their words. And perhaps, Arthur did enjoy indulging in his desire for some well-deserved retribution. Still—he was pleased to hear that his time spent getting into all sorts of scrimmages, and paying the price for it in the end, made Mihai’s day that much easier. The nasty sods were already far too occupied. He felt Mihai move to retrieve one of the unknown packages on the table. Just as he bit the end of one of the snacks, Arthur finally managed to pop open the bottle. His lips sought the bottle's mouth, already taking a hearty drink, the steady and ever-lovely burn coaxing his dry, sore throat back to life. Liquor on an empty stomach is probably not ideal, but he didn’t care. It would be quicker to seep into his bloodstream, quicker to ease the steady ache both over his body and over the other resoundingly empty spaces of his being. The alcohol met painfully with the corner of his broken lip, but he didn’t mind. Having such a delicacy was pleasure in and of itself—he could already feel the false warmth advancing along his limbs. Lowering the bottle, the end of his tongue swept along the rim to catch any precious excess just as he felt a playful shove against his shoulder. Arthur pushed the bottle into Mihai’s hands in exchange for the offered sweet. In all honesty, he would have far preferred to drink himself into numbness over eating, but it was easier to simply push something into his mouth instead of instigating a half-hearted protest. Although he didn’t miss sweets as much as the others did, the rare chocolate still felt decadent against his tongue. Well—it was either the effect of deprivation or the fact that it was stolen right beneath the administration’s nose that made it taste that much more sinful. Arthur perhaps secretly reveled in his vices far too indulgently. Forbidden pleasures made it that much more gratifying. A small shiver from the approaching night passed through his body and he pulled up the other quilt, wrapping it about his slight frame as he inched his way closer to Mihai, attempting to share body heat. Arthur normally held some reservations with being touched, not to the same extent as Mihai, though he sometimes suspected that their reasons weren’t so dissimilar. With him, however, those reservations seemed weaker, easy to dissolve. It's said that people thrive on touch. If kept from basic human contact for too long, some wither in their own, unnoticed way. There were moments where Arthur found that he enjoyed the soft, sometimes accidental touches between them. Touches that held no promise of pain or purpose, simply soothing human touch. Even now, as Mihai lay on his stomach with his quilt and pillow, his side was pressed against his own, his hand brushed purposefully against Mihai’s arm as he reached for the bottle once more. ”I have something for you,” Arthur muttered as he glanced at Mihai, amusement softening the edges of his expression. ”It’s not particularly attractive, given what I’ve had to work with, but it should find some purpose.”

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

When one's situation was so decidedly miserable, it was always within one's nature to seek out what little instances of laughter was possible. It was a mechanism of survival, you see, to find things funny and to remind that there was still good and joy somewhere in the world, but more importantly, that those things were still somewhere within reach. For that matter, Mihai smiled more often than he felt like it and laughed whenever there was the smallest excuse for it, but at the moment, all these little gestures of survival were coming to him easily. They were honest in their expressions, bits of giddiness welling up unsought for. He didn't doubt that this was caused by his companion and their surroundings, made merrier by the stack of food on the table and the pile of quilts on the bed. While he agreed wholeheartedly that their stolen loot would by no means transfer upon the academy staff the rightful amount of misery they deserved, what they had at present was enough for some small degree of satisfaction.

However, the moment he mentioned his tormentors, he saw the tenseness arise in Arthur. Even though he tried to sound casual, Mihai did not miss the way his grip tightened on the bottle, the harsh glare in his eyes, and he definitely did not miss the venom contained in the rigid words that Arthur spoke. He himself withdrew somewhat at the other's comments, biting down on his lip as their full meaning—insinuation and all—dawned on him. "Oh, Arthur," he said. "You didn't—"

But it was all too evident that Arthur had. Concern swept over Mihai, though it seemed clear that Arthur was seeking no concern. Mihai's eyes searched the other's face, looking for a cue for what to say, but Arthur was staring resolutely at the emptiness in the centre of the room. Mihai was at a loss. He wanted to tell his friend not to do such a thing, never again, that he could take his own blows and he needn't Arthur to take them in his stead, that he was precious to Mihai (couldn't he see that?) and he never asked and never wanted Arthur to get hurt for his sake. But he also knew that Arthur was a stubborn fool, and his protests would only be met with a wall. But he still had to try.

"I wish—" he began, then paused, his eyes dropping to trace the contours of the blankets, shaped and folded around their forms like proof of solidity. He'd known that Arthur did things like this—or at least suspected—but to have the confirmation hanging in the air, nearly tangible, was another matter altogether. Before, he may have been able to excuse it away, pretend that he didn't have suspicions, but he couldn't now. To know that Arthur had done it for him, had gotten broken and bruised because of him, sent guilt coursing through him like a wave. Suddenly, the closeness wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to show him that Arthur really was there, not fractured and taken to the wind because of his own obstinacy and all the doing-what-no-one-asked-you-to. He reached out until he brushed Arthur's hand, his fingers curling against the other's palm, nails digging perhaps a little too harshly into flesh.

"I wish you wouldn't do that sort of thing for me," he finished, inadequately. He didn't like the sort of attention he got from the other kids—no one in their right minds would—but he liked having his friend getting in fights even less. If they were Arthur's own fights it wouldn't pain him as much, but for him to pick fights for Mihai's sake—they were unnecessary, not worth it. And if they were just fights, maybe he'd be less concerned. He knew Arthur could hold his own, and at least a fight meant that he could retaliate, but it was the punishments that made Mihai sick. The staff could confine him to his room, deny him food, or dish out those beatings that they were so fond of, and to that there was no retaliation. Well—no retaliation but for whatever luxuries they could steal, but that was never quite proportionate to the damage those people did to them, their lives, their psyches. But it wasn't that alone that made the guilt gnaw at him. The truth of the matter was, maybe he would not feel nearly so ashamed, nearly so helpless if he could just reciprocate. If he weren't such a coward who flinched at the merest insinuation of trouble, would keep himself in line just so that he wouldn't have to be hurt anymore (but funnily enough, no matter how well he behaved, the hurt kept coming in the form of underhanded favors from the rich to the school). No, he would never be able to reciprocate. Even at that moment, when the desire to be able to return something was the strongest, the fear overpowered him and clung to his limbs like ice.

His eyes flickered over to Arthur, a small, uncertain smile on his lips. Arguing with the other was, in all likelihood, useless, and he would rather not start a row now. Besides, he wasn't angry. Saddened maybe, even ashamed, but he was grateful too. It wasn't often anymore that he felt like he was worth something, certainly not cuts and bruises, but Arthur seemed always to be able to elicit some feeling in him. Like he mattered. And Mihai loved that part of him to the end of the world, but he didn't want the price to be paid in suffering.

"I'm not delicate or anything," he said with a small laugh. He was trying to make light of it now, to take away the seriousness so that Arthur wouldn't divine how thankfulfearfulrueful he was. He let go of Arthur's hand, sorry for the loss of contact, but he was okay now. Back to the jokes, back to the casualness, straying from the secrets locked deep inside that begged to be put into words. He was retreating to what they were comfortable with, the light-hearted quips and escapes, from things that maybe should be said but were too frightening or too superfluous to say. "You don't need protect me."

Even as he tried to keep the mood light, his fingers worried at the fabric on his sleeve. He wasn't sure if he'd said the right things. Usually, he had at least a vague idea of how to weave his words, but that wasn't the case this time. What simple explanation was there for the inadequacy, the concern, the gratefulness he felt? But it seemed that the moment had passed, and he couldn't say whether it came as a relief or a disappointment.

He accepted the bottle when it was handed to him. He felt like he actually had a need for it this time, to forget, if just for a moment, some of the things Arthur had said and the thoughts he'd had that Arthur would never listen to. They could all use something to soothe their frayed nerves once in awhile, and alcohol was by far the easiest option. He tilted his head back and swallowed, wincing as the bitterness of the drink hit his tongue. For whatever reasons he chose to indulge himself in the rare instance of alcohol, it certainly wasn't for the taste. He placed the bottle back on the table, licking his lips to rid of the remaining flavor. Looking over to Arthur, he was at least relieved to see that the other was eating. As much as he understood the appeal, drinking everything away on the absence of food usually didn't make for a comfortable aftermath. They needed to eat, otherwise it was much too easy to enforce the habit and lay waste to their own selves.

Feeling the shift on the bed as Arthur moved in closer, he mirrored the action. When he was younger, he'd liked being in contact with people. He'd grown up with hugs from his parents and friends, careless touches whenever he sprawled over them, games made up of piggy-back rides and trying to see just how far off the ground they could lift each other. He'd never had an aversion to touch until a few years after coming to Weeds, when contact that signified warmth and safety suddenly stung like needles on his skin. Fear of and desire for the physical contact of others, a constant push-pull as he tried to seek comfort through touch but instead was afflicted by a fright that threatened to overwhelm. It was a relief to have someone who he could trust enough that his terrors, irrational things that they were, would melt away so that touch could once again become a haven. He would venture to say that there was only one person with whom he held no reservations, and it was for that reason that he could be so mindless in his actions, so casual in the light brush of their skin. It was a welcome relief from the hyper-vigilance, the tension he'd feel whenever a stranger so much as passed too close to him.

He turned towards Arthur when the other began speaking again, tilting his head inquisitively. As the words sank in, they brought another smile to Mihai's face and a delighted flush to his cheeks. It wasn't unusual that they would scrounge up whatever they could within the limited confines of the academy to make gifts for each other, but such an act, nevertheless, never failed to make him happy. It was a simple gesture, but carried with it all the intimacy of fondness and rebellion and self-preservation that they harbored inside them. What Arthur had decided on for this year must have been the small parcel he'd been carrying around earlier, and Mihai's eyes darted from his friend to the parchment-covered bundle and back. He leaned in, grinning, never disinterested about secret things. "Show me."

Word Count: 1661

Notes: That took awhile, sorryy. ;w;'

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

IT'S EMPTY IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR HEART. THE SUN, IT RISES SLOWLY AS YOU WALK.

Despite the fact that he knew Mihai wouldn’t like his actions, he was also abrasively aware that he would do it again if his tormenters dared to try to gain any more brutal amusement from their usual target. Still, he couldn’t say that he was completely unaffected hearing Mihai come to the realisation of what he had been insinuating, feeling him withdraw from him in the slightest. Guilt still pricked at his sore conscience, a conscience that he tried to hide away whenever doing these sorts of things, though he still couldn’t find enough of it to sway the temptation of doing it again if necessary. He kept his eyes trained ahead until he heard Mihai speaking. His eyes were drawn to his friend, currently eyeing the blankets. He waited for the rest of his statement, cut short after only two words. Arthur was patient; however, and used the time to rest his attention on Mihai in the meantime. It had been a long while since they’d spent time in the quiet of their room without dwelling on the intrigues and injustices going on beyond these four walls. He longed more for the moments where the world outside seemed nonexistent. He felt Mihai’s hand brush against his, he felt the slight prick from his nails against his palm, but he didn’t mind—he only focused on the lovely burning of his skin whenever they did accidentally (or in this case, purposefully) brush against the other. It was both pleasant and confusing, an extraordinarily messy feeling, one that he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. He wanted to pull his hand away, but found his fingers curling back in a near caress against Mihai’s, the messy heat in his body protesting the thought. He glanced back at Mihai when he finished his thought, still silently mulling over the internal struggle that he couldn’t even begin to describe or would ever be willing to admit. Arthur felt another flare of heat rise in him, this one born of frustration. For him, the two passions oftentimes ran similar lines, though it was easier to quell in order to avoid any further argument on the matter, unknowingly reflecting Mihai’s attempt. ”Then who will?” Arthur responded, his eyes still alight with fervor, both his stifled ire at the situation and the confusing heat, currently entwined so that they were nearly indistinguishable. ”Those bastards have no right, touching you, hurting you—no more than the bloody administration,  laying their hands on us, telling us we're less.” The venom crept into his words, though he lowered his voice, as though unconsciously wary with such risky sentiments, as if the walls had ears of their own. Any student that dared to talk like that was usually a prime target for another underhanded beating by the nearest staff member. The students were taught, almost brain washed, into thinking differently, that they were less. Perhaps it was Arthur’s notoriously stubborn nature or even the way that he hardly was able to accept anything else at face value, that kept him unwilling to conform. A smile cracked at Arthur’s mouth with Mihai’s laugh and comment, willing to go along in the lighter direction. ”I know you aren’t,” he snorted softly, also missing the sudden loss of contact as Mihai retreated his hand. The warmth and the prickling of his palm remained. ”Perhaps that’s part of the problem,” he said, a small laugh followed, although a shadow grew over his mind the longer he wondered about it. For Mihai’s sake as well as trying to avoid yet another argument, he kept his voice lighter than usual. Concern tightened his brow all the same. ”It seems like you give yourself such little regard at times.” His eyes trailed over Mihai as he seemed to be thinking about something, his fingers fiddling at the ends of his sleeves. Again, he felt that confusing cocktail of emotions, burning and cooling beneath his skin. Arthur itched to do something about it, but had very little idea as to what. Hell, he didn’t know why he harboured the confusing mulch of emotions, or even when it had started to bother him so. Whatever the case, looking over Mihai once more, he knew that he would put himself in harm's way again if it meant throwing off his tormentors. He would do it in a heartbeat. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t feel right to do otherwise. Seeing Mihai’s smile and the flush of delight rise in his cheeks was enough to colour Arthur’s own. His own pulse rose in the slightest, but he dismissed the silly notion, despite practically feeling the light, quickening resonance as he tried to gather his thoughts. Instead, Arthur worked open the carefully wrapped parcel, revealing a shock of colour between his hands. His fingers almost ached at the sight of the long hours he’d put into it. A lone memory accompanied the softness between his fingers. Oftentimes teachers would lock up their belongings, a handbag, a bookbag, anything, during class and between breaks. It had happened once or twice before that a teacher either hadn’t locked up their things correctly or had forgotten to shove them away at all. After one such occasion many months prior, a couple of students were raiding a teacher’s handbag after it had mistakenly went unsupervised after class dismissal. They took menial, useless things most of the time—things that the mutants couldn’t use within the confines of the academy. Arthur had been there, glancing over curiously along the mess of scattered items across the floorboards. He found two knitting needles, thrown so carelessly aside. He was curious. Before he could think of why it would be a good reason not to, his fingers curled around them and he left the room before the teacher could discover the mass thievery of her belongings. The next month was spent in frustration over those damned needles and how he could use them to create anything worthwhile. He soon discovered books in the library, even yellow-paged, difficult-to-read manuals shoved between chunky reference books. Eventually, he began to sneak back into the same teacher’s handbag. Locks had never been a problem for him, there had simply never been a purpose or desire to filch items from an elderly teacher's handbag before he had acquired the needles. With the first couple of small raids, after discovering that the woman had replaced her stolen needles with new ones, she also carried a half-finished knitted product of her own as well as some soft, workable yarn. Those, he grabbed. When one wasn’t enough for his period of trial and error, he began to take it from classrooms—particularly from the children’s classrooms whenever they worked with such materials on occasion, giving him a mix-match of different colours and textures that was a somewhat laughable collection when pushed together, mostly shoved into a corner beneath his bed. And so began his work. He began to work in the quiet, lonely corners of the library, whenever he attempted to hide from administrators looking to extract punishment, or even during restless nights, pulling his little project from hiding, his cold fingers straining over a simple pattern. His fingers would cramp and were quick to grow numb, but he kept at it. When he ran out of one colour, he simply started with a different colour, whatever he had on hand that day. The end product looked more like a colour-blocked item from an art student’s project, but the rows were simple and neat, only after frequently throwing the thing in frustration and later picking it up again to pull out the lumpy tangles. It was difficult to screw up a scarf too horribly in either case. Arthur glanced at Mihai with a bit of an accomplished grin. ”Unbeknownst to you, I’ve been acquiring a skill of making something from useless scraps.” He drew his legs up on the bed as he moved closer, looping the scarf around Mihai, using it to gently draw him near, an almost mischievous tug. ”It’s not the prettiest thing, but nevertheless, I wanted to see you in it eventually." Arthur murmured, his voice dropping into a tease, puffs of breath warm amidst between their faces collected. The unfriendly chill of the room felt a little more distant. Slowly, he secured it loosely about Mihai’s neck, leaning close to drape one section over his head, similar to how Mihai had fashioned the blanket over his earlier. ”It suits you,” he grinned slightly, his voice lowered, the playful lilt still present, pulling down the makeshift hood before Mihai could do it himself and risk messing the arrangement he already had in place. His fingers felt numb, no doubt from the cold. His thumb grazed along the side of Mihai’s jaw while tightening the fabric just a little. The tempting brush of warmth against his own chilled skin drew his fingers closer. Arthur could already feel the slight rise of colour in his cheeks and the tight, puzzling warmth one more settling low in his body. Thought didn’t catch up with his movements, as his fingertips brushed next along Mihai’s chin, pretending to straightening out the overlap of the knit. Arthur’s eyes rose to meet Mihai’s, for once, terribly self-conscious in a way that most sixteen year old boys are, the edge of his teeth grating slightly at the inner corner of his own lip. Impulsively, his thumb slowly brushed upwards, mere millimetres, along the corner of Mihai’s mouth. His pulse rose excitedly, born of curiosity that was innocent enough. The smallest pause passed as his thumb moved slowly along the edge of Mihai's lower lip, pressing just enough to feel the slight, pillowed contrast. It was soft, dry, and warm, and he had to stop himself from doing it again. Despite how his pulse raced, and how the heat seemed to tremble beneath his skin, he moved his hand away. He released an unsteady breath as he attempted a small smile, an all-too pleasant knot forming in his stomach. ”…It should find some use… at least,” Arthur muttered lowly, speaking just for the sake of speaking, though not loud enough to break the gentle, perplexing atmosphere. In a way, it was akin to tempting the boundaries of something forbidden, something yet to be explored and savoured.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

It is the way one treats his inferiors more than the way he treats his equals which reveals one’s real character. Those were the exact words his mother had once told him, and though he no longer remembered precisely how it went, the message still remained. Even, supposing, that they were inferior as mutants, what right was there for them to be treated in such a manner? To be torn from their families, indoctrinated, abused? Not that he believed they were inferior in the first place—perhaps they were, only as a victim of circumstances, but he'd never encountered as much cruelty from other mutants as their human keepers. Sure, sometimes the other schoolkids did terrible things, but who were the ones who condoned it? The ones who turned a blind eye to their abuse, but punished him when he fought back? And each time, no matter how sadistically the other children treated him, they had never opened him up body and mind and destroyed it all like his human caretakers had. Inferior? How could he—they—possibly be inferior to people like that? He didn't care if they had "proof" of it, if they had charts and graphs to back up their claims. Each assertion of their inferiority brought a bitter taste to his mouth, until it stayed and clung to his being like a scar.

A small grin curled the corners of his lips at Arthur's comment. Little regard? He thought he gave himself much more regard than anyone else—though not over Arthur. He could deal with his share of violence, but he didn't need Arthur to take his place. And that wasn't giving himself little regard, was it? It wasn't self-sacrificial—if anything, that was what Arthur was doing. He was always the one who went and got into trouble, necessary or not. Sometimes not even for his own sake. In the meantime, Mihai always calculated, cost and benefit, pros and cons, and he stayed under the radar if he thought it would be better for him. "I think you mistake me for a great deal less selfish than I actually am," he said, a bit sadly, though the smile was still present. He wished Arthur wouldn't worry like that about him—he could do with more concern for himself, judging by all the trouble he got into. It was a great deal more than what Mihai had to put up with. "Maybe you should use the energy you spend worrying about me to worry about yourself for a change, huh?" he suggested, tone lighter and teasing.

He allowed the joke to die on his lips as Arthur pulled out the parcel and began to unwrap it, as he watched on curiously. As the paper became undone, he was greeted with a splash of color. His eyes flickered up to meet Arthur's as the other spoke—he could only imagine how long his friend had spent on the scarf, how much effort had gone into it. A swell of feeling surged up inside him, momentarily overwhelming him. It was a confusing mingling of emotion—affection, appreciation, others he couldn't quite put his finger on—and he quite likely would have fallen on Arthur in an embrace if the other hadn't decided to wrap the scarf around Mihai's neck himself to tug him closer instead. He followed the draw of the yarn closer to Arthur, leaning forward and setting his hands on the sheets to brace himself. "Well, if 'pretty' means 'colorful' then I think you nailed it," Mihai said, grinning in amusement. "It looks like you have the colors of the whole rainbow in there—and then some." It looked cute though, he had to admit. Cute in its own atrociously multicolored way, and one couldn't help but love it.

A sound of protest escaped him as Arthur looped a piece of the scarf over his head, though he was grinning as he attempted to bat away the other's hand. His attempts ceased at Arthur's compliment however, as joking as it may have been, and light flush rose to his cheeks. For a moment, feeling self-conscious, he quickly looked away in hopes that his reaction wouldn't be noticed. He was certain the blush only would have been exacerbated if he met Arthur's eyes. "You think?" he managed to ask, voice nearly catching in his throat. The situation seemed suddenly intimate, and he was quite aware of their proximity, their shared breaths, and he was certain that the redness in his cheeks wouldn't die down now. His chest felt tight, wonderfully so, and the breadth of space between them was so short, so easy to close. All it would take was one small shift forward.

A light shudder went through his body as he felt the brush of Arthur's fingers on his cheek. Unthinking, almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch as he finally met Arthur's gaze again. As he'd predicted, the blush flared up, though this time it was a pleasant rush of expectation tangled with small threads of panic. He felt terribly exposed under the other's scrutiny and wanted to look elsewhere, but couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away. He kept still, with bated breath, as Arthur's finger traced upwards, and he stuttered on his inhale as he felt the gentle pressure against the edges of his lower lip. Slowly, his eyes fluttered closed. Warmth spread from their point of contact, from his mouth to every point of his limbs, into his bones where it settled like molten gold. His breathing deepened, letting out shuddering puffs of air, as time seemed to slow to the tempo of the leisurely drag of Arthur's finger past his lip. It felt lovely.

Feeling Arthur draw away, he opened his eyes again, his heart still fluttering in his chest. The loss of contact disappointed him, especially one that had been so pleasant. He'd enjoyed the gentleness of Arthur's touch more than he cared to admit, the closeness and intimacy causing heat to settle deep at his core. And he wanted more. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he bowed his head slightly as his face reddened again at the thought. He'd never denied, not even to himself, that there was something more that he wanted out of his relationship with Arthur, but he'd never dwelled on it. There was always something else on their minds, things like avoiding the negative attention of the teachers and sometimes the students, like getting enough food so that they weren't always hungry, like finding clothing that was thick enough to ward off the chill of their barely-heated rooms. He'd never seriously entertained the possibility that they could succeed in "something more," whatever it may entail. That is, until that moment.

Could he go through with it? Could he possibly close the distance between them? Most of all, what did he even have to lose? He didn't think—it didn't seem like his feelings were unrequited, particularly after… whatever had just happened. That wasn't what was holding him back. What was, then? There was fear and doubt swirling inside him. The worry of a relationship born in this institution—unsustainable, volatile, a weakness. There were so many things that could become of it, and most of them unhappy. But didn't they deserve it? Didn't they deserve what little happiness was within their grasp, even if it was unstable and brief? He could bring it one step further, and allow time to take its course from there. Couldn't he?

His fingers curled into the bedsheets and he felt short of breath as he looked up at Arthur. He wet his lips before speaking. "Is that all?" he asked, feeling like his voice was molasses leaving his mouth—slow, mellow, just catching on the back of his throat. He shifted forward even more than Arthur had brought him by the scarf, close enough that he could feel the warmth of the other's exhales. The feeling clouded his head and made his heart beat faster, rapid palpitations he was certain could be heard. "I can think of something else you can give me," he said, mere millimeters of space keeping them from touching. His eyes lowered, tracing the contours of Arthur's mouth, rather the same way the other had done so physically earlier. Then, he tilted his head the slightest bit, leaned in and placed a chaste kiss just on the corner of Arthur's lips.

Word Count: 1398

Notes: Mi stop that sounds like it came out of a porno

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

IT'S EMPTY IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR HEART. THE SUN, IT RISES SLOWLY AS YOU WALK.

If anything, it seemed like the disagreements and the violent incidents were almost encouraged in the school setting, as if preparing them for the far harsher reality behind concrete walls and beneath the weight of a crowd’s scrutiny as they sought to draw another mutant’s blood. It was a reality that waited for the vast majority of them as soon as they graduated from Weeds. There was a small, soft snort from Arthur—though it was a great deal more breathy than before, the harsh rush of air through his nostrils, when Mihai answered him. A small part of him wasn’t quite sure how he felt about his response, unsure if he was being more literal with his answer or if he was insinuating something deeper. Arthur didn’t want to make a quick judgement, especially considering that it was Mihai, so he tucked the information away for now, ready to reference it later if need be. ”Perhaps, then, I can admit to sharing some of that selfishness,” he admitted, a bit reluctantly. It wasn’t exactly a piece of information that he wanted to share, but as it stood, there had always been few secrets between them and even fewer surprising insights into what exactly lay beneath their presented façade. ”I know you’re capable of defending yourself—whenever it best serves you, that is,” he bit the inside of his lip briefly before gathering fragments of his courage to say the rest. ”But you’re still the better reason to start fights than others, even if it's not always the most accurate. Some just happen to come with a bit of shared history.” Like nearly all others at Weeds, Arthur hadn't gone unscathed during the portion of his earlier childhood spent in Weeds, scrawny and small as he was at the beginning. He acknowledged it, and was usually without apology when it came to accepting his rather vindictive nature, for his desire and hunger for retribution that probably went beyond sensible measures at times. But it was a different thing to show others the uglier side beneath the façade, particularly with someone whose opinion mattered quite a bit more. At the same time, it seemed fair—Mihai insinuated at a less attractive side of himself and Arthur inadvertently reciprocated. It was easier to ignore the implied heaviness behind his statement as he wrapped his gift around Mihai. Arthur laughed, a quiet kind of laugh nearly beneath his breath and his eyes flickered toward Mihai’s, when he commented on the colours of the scarf. ”I hardly expected to have such 'captivating' materials to work with. Weeds apparently attracts colourful donations,” Of course, that was regarding the yarn he’d been able to salvage from the Academy’s supplies whenever necessary. Arthur was taken off-guard when Mihai reacted the way he did to his teasing compliment. The lighter atmosphere had fled, though still flitted about the edges. The intimate weightiness that seemed to follow uncertainty descended, more so upon realising their proximity and with the oddly exciting way that colour gathered in Mihai’s cheeks. Arthur could feel a light warmth in his own with the sight. He also averted his stare, his eyes trailing along the windowpane. In response to Mihai’s question, an immediate response rose. They were once just passing thoughts, only now forming into words. They weren’t unbidden, but the awkward sincerity was still present. ”You always look nice... no matter what you wear.” Admitting it only made his face darker and warmer—the rich, tight feeling in his chest only growing. And it was only growing worse as his eyes finally trailed back toward Mihai, watching his reaction to his own curious touch, born of a secret desire for something that he couldn’t quite place a label over. Intimacy was something that he’d yet to broach, yet to experiment with, and he suspected the same of his friend. Simple touches were new and exciting, even touching the edge of Mihai’s lip, and watching the way that his eyes fluttered closed. It was like a savoured moment that couldn’t be bottled and saved for a harsher day, only experienced in the moment. When he drew away, there was yet another moment of doubt and indecision, watching as Mihai lowered his gaze, as if in thought. The doubt thickened and Arthur wondered if perhaps he’d gone a step too far, if he should apologise for being so forward. Still—the subtle reaction that Mihai presented didn’t seem to be one of alarm or discomfort; quite the opposite actually. But Arthur was also aware of the fact that he needed to tread carefully whenever it came to offering any sort of touch. Touch was a tentative subject, though Arthur seemed to have warmed Mihai to his over the years. Whatever touch Mihai had been subjected to before, whether it was one that promised pain or displeasure from others, Arthur wanted to think that his could be a reprieve from such. Although he had never been known for his gentleness or softness, he made an effort to be so whenever his skin ever brushed against Mihai’s. Conscious and purposeful. When Mihai looked up at him again, Arthur’s attention was first drawn to his lips and the way he wet them, before returning to his eyes. With the way that Mihai asked him if that were all and the way he moved forward even further, Arthur had to fight shifting away involuntarily, his fingers curling behind him in the bed sheets for anchor, his heart beating quickly. Words hadn’t formed in his now dry mouth—speechless for once. Words were far less interesting compared to the way Mihai’s breath felt across his face and how the warmth of his proximity seemed to rest against his skin. When Mihai spoke again, Arthur released an unsteady, slow breath. He only needed to lean forward… just a tad. His own lips pressed together, briefly wetting them just a touch. The small kiss to the corner of his mouth felt far too warm and left him feeling a little flustered. He didn’t want it to show. Instead, he allowed himself to become a bit lost in the moment. He tried to quell the small shaking in his fingers, still against the bed sheets as he tilted his face to press his mouth to Mihai’s, relinquishing his first kiss. The kiss was sweet in its own way, unsure and earnest. As he finished it, his mouth parted, a small, broken breath released before he pressed in to brush their mouths together once more, just to feel the dry, soft, unfamiliar texture of his mouth. It was experimental, like a wonderful fire against his skin. Another unsteady breath was drawn as the few millimetres of space between them was regained, the corners of his mouth raising in a rare, scant smile. ”...Have you ever done that before?” was a breathy inquiry, soft and hazy. Arthur’s hand raised from the sheets, just enough to push his fingers up like a caress along the side of Mihai’s cheek, his thumb moving steadily along the line of his jaw, until it ended just beneath his chin. Despite how much his heart felt like it was tightening in his chest and how the lovely warmth continued to flare beneath his skin, there was still the lingering wariness of what exactly they were stepping into, over what new development they had just wrought on their friendship. Doubts would always hound him regardless, but the reckless side demanded its own form of satisfaction. This, in essence, almost felt like another taste of normalcy. Teenagers were supposed to be reckless, to test their boundaries, and to occasionally show up authority.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

The blunt, sour edges of his psyche softened at Arthur's words. He hadn't meant for his comment to be much of a revelation, to prod Arthur into making his own admissions. His flaws were already identified to him in cruel detail by classmates and superiors; it surely could not hurt to accept them, so that others' criticisms and opinions did less harm. If he could be anything in this twisted system, he could at least be painfully honest about his own faults, hold no illusions about himself. What he'd said had been nothing more than a frank statement on his own nature, however, he could read Arthur easily enough by now to see his hesitance to speak on the topic. It seemed they were always different in that respect: Arthur, always covering up his uglier truths, and Mihai wearing them like scars. Yet, it hadn't been his intention to make Arthur confess his failings, and the slightest bit of guilt wore at the edges of his mind, wondering whether it was the revelation or his bitterness that had pushed Arthur to admission. And as much as he wanted to reach out and give some measure of comfort, he found himself shaking his head at Arthur's words.

"No, no." He was at a loss. So many thoughts lingered on his tongue that he wished to convey—how much he appreciated being the reason (the reason for anyone to do anything), and how much he hated it, to place the burden of his protection and his vengeance on Arthur's shoulders. He struggled not to allow the emotions to overwhelm him, struggled to keep the atmosphere light. He didn't want another fight, not right now, so he swallowed the brash, rushed words that threatened to burst from his mouth and grasped for more appropriate things to say. "If you have to—if you have to do these things, at least do them for yourself. Though I'd prefer if you didn't." He smiled weakly at Arthur, hoping to soften his objections. "These revenge fights aren't worth it, Arthur. It was already over. I don't need you to—you shouldn't start up new ones. Nothing changes. The teachers'll punish you and then they'll just do it again." He twisted his fingers together, hoping this was enough to get his point across, to show Arthur the futility—but some part of him also knew the futility of his own argument, knew Arthur's infamous hardheadedness.

The tension slowly drained from his shoulders with the drape of the scarf around him, his hands stilling and smoothing out against the sheets. A soft sigh left his lips, comforted by the soft texture of wool and the warmth of Arthur's proximity. It was a much better feeling than the biting concern on the topic of their disagreements, and he sank into it, the tenderness and care that brought tranquility to him. "Colorful donations from dull people," he mused quietly in response, before his eyes flickered up to meet Arthur's, bright with mirth. If anything, they could always find humor in shared derision for their so-called masters.

His two-worded question in reply to Arthur's compliment, meant to be a light tease, did not appear to want to leave his lips that way. He could feel the settling of a heavier atmosphere over them, brought on by what he'd said and the breathless way he'd delivered it. Oh. He bit down on his lip, self-conscious, the shift in the air making him suddenly wary about every part of him—how he sat, so very close to Arthur, his head turned away and his hair mussed from the scarf being tossed over it before. However, when Arthur spoke again, his answer was appreciative, and that did absolutely nothing to lessen Mihai's flush. Still, it would be a lie to say that he wasn't pleased with it, and perhaps the redness on his cheeks had something to do with that as well. "Well…" he managed after a brief pause, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky smile. "I must be a sight for sore eyes in these rags they give us to wear."

Then, that contact over his lips stopped his breath altogether. Something—a little ridiculous and a little yearning—made him to pursue it, leaning in and closing the distance between them until his mouth was brushing the corner of Arthur's. He didn't need to keep still for long, didn't need to pull away, there was not even much time to second-guess himself before he felt Arthur shift, turning his head, and the next thing he knew, they were kissing. The surprise almost made him pull back, but he braced himself and stayed adamantly in place, allowing his eyes to slip shut as he took in the feel of Arthur against him. In a moment of daring, he pressed in closer, tilting his head so that their lips could slot together comfortably. He didn't know what to do beyond holding that position, and that was what he did—somewhat awkwardly—relishing in the soft feeling of Arthur's lips, the warmth that spread from their point of contact down to the tips of his fingers.

Finally—a bit hesitantly—he pulled back. He opened his mouth, searching for the words to convey his feelings, but he hadn't the chance to even begin putting his thoughts together when Arthur kissed him again. At that point, the wispy strands of things he wanted to say quite simply vanished as he made a small, surprised noise against Arthur's lips. Still, he sank into it quickly enough, responding tentatively as one of his hands left the mattress and curled lightly on Arthur's chest. He released a soft sigh into the kiss. Yes, this felt good, it felt right. The contact was comfortable and welcome, and he could feel himself relax into it, sharing breath and heat. After a long moment, when they finally pulled back, the arm Mihai had supporting his weight felt shaky—his entire body felt shaky—but he stayed sitting, resisting the urge to lick at his lips. He was all too wary of the cut that adorned the corner of Arthur's mouth and the drying blood around it.

At Arthur's question, he looked up again. "No," he said honestly. He had a difficult enough time not jumping at another person's touch, much less be attracted to them in such a manner. Arthur… Arthur was the only one he could allow close enough for this—whatever it was—to work. So of course not—of course there couldn't have been someone else. Not that he wished for there to be. One person to worry over, to cling to in this godforsaken school was more than enough. Maybe he was even lucky, to be so privileged to have such a person. After a brief hesitation, he ventured to return the question "have you?" He knew Arthur didn't have issues with contact as severe as he did, but Arthur wasn't the easiest person to get along with either. But who knew? They never pried into the parts of each other's life that the other didn't want to tell.

Feeling Arthur's fingers on his cheek, Mihai leaned into the touch almost instinctively, eyes slipping shut. They opened again as Arthur's thumb stopped under his chin, and Mihai allowed a small, sheepish smile to tug at his lips as he met Arthur's gaze. "I wasn't that bad, was I?" he asked, tone light and joking, though (as it might be with any teenage boy) a bit of insecurity nagged at him. Then, after a brief pause and that smile still on his lips, he allowed his arm to give in, and he shifted forward and leaned down until his forehead was resting on Arthur's shoulder. He let out another small sigh, a release of the small bits of disbelief over what they had just done. Something good had actually happened to him, to both of them… Imagine that. The assurance of Arthur's solid form under him, however, was very real, and a much more familiar one than that of their kiss but no less pleasant. There was no telling how this little affair could end up nor where they would go from there, but he allowed himself not to care about it—not yet. Not when he could breathe in Arthur's scent of chalk dust from the classroom, sweat and dirt and blood from his fight. Not when he could feel Arthur's heartbeat, strong and steady beneath his hand.

Word Count: 1420

Notes: Finally, a post!

by worldie on iof

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

IT'S EMPTY IN THE VALLEY OF YOUR HEART. THE SUN, IT RISES SLOWLY AS YOU WALK.

When Arthur noticed Mihai shaking his head at his words, he could already feel light heat brushing across his body, heat from the stifling urge to defend his position and the tightness that seemed to swell behind his thoughts. This was how arguments usually started. And glancing over at Mihai, he could tell that he was also probably holding back—but the hot, brash words didn’t emerge. What Arthur expected even less was the softened tone and the weak smile playing on Mihai's lips, and he could feel his own reaction slowly soften in return. The sight was both endearing, yet triggering his own desire to pull Mihai away from whatever was causing the distress—matters were infinitely more complicated when that happened to be from himself. "Perhaps I am doing this for myself as well—I feel better doing something so that these bastards get the comeuppance that the teachers sure as hell don't give them for treating you like that. I feel like I'll go mad if I don't—" he broke off, realizing that there was a sudden sharpness in his voice that he hadn't intended. He took a shaking breath until he could feel the artificial calm flooding his senses, his voice lowering and following suit. "Perhaps I already am," he joked softly, a self-deprecating curve to his mouth that disappeared too quickly. "When the teachers punish me, they get punished, too. It's the only thing that seems to work." He raised his shoulders minutely, barely visible for a moment, although the assuredness and fire was still evident in the tenseness of his expression. He liked to think that the torment from the other students ceased at least a little, and if they didn't cease, then at least it wasn't Mihai, but him who became the centre of their macabre fun. Arthur was only able to relax when he noticed that Mihai seemed to also sink into the tranquility of the moment. He laughed, quietly, at his comment about the colourful donations. The flash of nearly obnoxious bright colour from the scarf seemed to match the bit of life that flared up in Mi's cheeks after Arthur's little comment. He couldn't help but to mirror that cheeky expression with a milder one of his own. "Mm, yes, dreadfully so. You're rather distracting in them, I must say." Despite the heaviness in the air, Arthur was able to smile a little, the playfulness and sincerity showing freely in his usually guarded eyes. Mihai was a safe place for him to show how he felt about something, a vulnerability that he rarely felt free to reveal to others. And that was perhaps why that kiss felt like an added layer of intimacy within this world they co-created behind these four walls where it felt like no one could hurt them, where they could be free to feel things that only normal humans were allowed to feel, and to experience things that mutants were forbidden to experience unless it was to fulfill a human's needs. Mutants could never be with other mutants, at least in the ways that Arthur sometimes imagined. Although he would never admit it, t wasn't uncommon for him to imagine being with Mihai (of all the things that Weeds taught them could never be theirs) in ways that Arthur knew was wrong, forbidden. But that's never stopped him before. He wondered what their lives would be like outside their confines, where no one knew who they were or what they could do. The soft way that Mihai's lips moved against his own felt too natural to be condemnable. He sank into the moment, the brush of Mihai's mouth and the closeness of his body, the thick warmth and the unexpected flare of desire that heated Arthur's skin. It was all a new and curious feeling. Pulling back, he knew that he couldn't resist another taste, a greedy dose of this new feeling, and he pressed his mouth against Mihai's once more, Mihai's mouth partly open as if to say something. He tried not to smile into the surprised noise that came from Mihai as his eyes closed. This kiss was just a touch more wet than the innocent one before, and Arthur could feel the thrill of it trickle through his body, the warmth reaching the tips of his fingers. With Mi's mouth open just a little, it made it easier for Arthur to be a little more daring, deepening it as he pulled just a tad on Mi's upper lip before separating to take a shared breath before brushing his mouth now along Mi's lower lip, experimenting. Everything was softer and warmer than he had imagined it would be. His pulse felt like it was pounding in his ears and he finally separated after a long moment. He drew a shaking breath as he opened his eyes, immediately noticing the small bit of rosy wetness he'd left behind on Mi's lip. The tip of Arthur's tongue trailed along the edge of his own, as if gathering the tingling, warm feeling that remained, the cut on his mouth stinging slightly. Arthur could feel his cheeks darken with his own question and with Mihai's simple answer. He glanced up, connecting with Mihai's eyes briefly before glancing down at the bed sheets, wrinkled between them, his fingers just a finger-width away from his. He moved just that little bit to close the distance, brushing the tips of his fingers with Mihai's. "No," he murmured in response to the returned question, his eyes still on the bed sheets and his cheeks reddening even further. "I've only wanted to do that with you," he admitted rather awkwardly, but with sincerity, his palms sweaty and his pulse quick, as if admitting to something embarrassing, or something that he didn't yet fully understand. And of course, he couldn't stop that ever present, soft and wandering touch, as those fingers left Mihai's and brushed along the side of his face, relishing in the way that Mihai closed his eyes, leaned into his touch, and graced him with a smile. He sighed, releasing the tenseness he didn't know he was holding when Mihai leaned forward, resting his forehead against his shoulder, his body softening against Mihai. His hand moved up Mihai's spine, a gentle, yet firm pressure, fingers curling softly against the harsh threadbare of Mihai's clothing. And it was in that moment, a somewhat frightening moment, when Arthur suddenly became aware of something slightly different between them, different from their friendship and different from the simple bond of camaraderie drawn from their similar circumstances. It felt more tender, more exciting in ways that he had yet to explore, and infinitely more vulnerable. And vulnerability felt frightening in an unsafe place like this where their circumstances would inevitably tear them apart. But no, Arthur had to stifle that, hide away those ever intrusive thoughts. They still had two years. Two years of enjoying this before they'd be shipped off to be exploited. It was easy to be strong for Mihai; it was difficult to be strong for himself. Arthur just held that for a moment, holding Mihai and enjoying the heat between them. He wet his now dry lips before adding in a cheeky, "Maybe by your next birthday, I'll manage to break us out of here. That'd be a better gift." He wasn't entirely serious, of course, because he didn't even believe in the possibility himself, but the idea was still an attractive one to dream about. Two more years... two more years. In the safety of their bedroom, Arthur sometimes freely spoke about things that would likely get him punished if spoken in front of a teacher. He sometimes shared his desires with Mihai, about what it must feel like to go to university, what it must feel like to own his own things, like books and a chess board without any of the pieces missing (like most donations at Weeds), or even what it would be like to be with whoever he bloody well pleased. He drew Mi just a little closer, holding him in a way that relayed a longing to protect, and in his most hidden of desires, to cherish. It never ended well whenever Arthur chose to care for someone other than himself, so the motion was also a bit frightening in its own way. Yet another forged vulnerability in this cruel world. Hearing Mi voice, asking if the kiss was okay, Arthur's face became a bright red and he muttered close to Mi's shoulder to hide his embarrassment with his thought, becoming words before he could stop them. "It was perfect." The way he said it, he tried to place meaning in that it felt perfect to him, not necessarily in its delivery. It was exactly what he wanted in that moment and it was exactly how he imagined it to be. Awkward, warm, and satisfying in the oddest way. "I...I wouldn't mind doing it again... in the future. I'll practise until I get better at it," he finished with a slightly cheeky grin. Again and again and again, is what he really meant. His cheeks were still warm with excitement, embarrassment, and accomplishment, and his request was probably appropriate for his age, always looking to explore and test his limits.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

He didn't know what he liked less: Arthur trying to take on all the trouble by himself, the two of them arguing about it, or his own weakness that made the entire situation necessary. It was easy to sink into the morbidity, the frustration, because this was only the newest in a series of arguments they'd already had that made it feel like all paths of diplomacy had been exhausted. But he reined himself in, not wanting to ruin this mood, despite how much he wanted to shake some sense into his friend, to show him how serious he was about not letting Arthur run around and take the punches for him. And it was about him, there was no denying that. Still, he couldn't help but flinch--almost imperceptibly, just a small shudder of his shoulders--at the sharpness in Arthur's voice, at the words "treating you." Another reminder that he couldn't even help himself, that he made things harder for Arthur. It wasn't that he didn't fight, but there was only so much he could do with nails and teeth, and the ones who liked to flaunt their powers were the ones who had useful ones in the first place (if the capability of grievously hurting other people qualified as useful).

But even that was only the very surface of it. Beneath, there were the panic attacks, the moodiness, the nightmares that woke him from restless sleep and roused whoever else was in the room. It wasn't something small to contend with, and oftentimes he contemplated those things as an unfair burden. He knew Arthur well enough to guess he'd deny it if he ever said something like that, but that really was the truth of the matter, wasn't it? Nevertheless, he let those words die in the back of his throat, knowing that Arthur would only try to wrestle those thoughts from him, and he didn't want this to be about him, about his own insecurities, in the first place. "I don't want them to be punished," he muttered finally. "I just want you to be okay."

And that was the blunt, honest truth of it. He didn't know if that would accomplish what their arguments could not--he doubted it--but at least he could say it for all it was worth. That he didn't give a shit about revenge. He'd always have to deal with people like them, that was the fate of them all--even the schoolyard bullies--to be shipped out and put at someone else's disposal, and against humans, none of them could fight. It didn't matter much to him whether he suffered it now or later. Might as well build up the hide for it, he thought sarcastically, bitterly. As though he should be having these thoughts now, of all times.

Such a feeling did not dissipate easily, but it eventually did as their discomfort melted into banter once more. He dared to raise his eyes to meet Arthur's again, his mood a little bit lightened at how pleased his friend seemed to be to see him dressed in the colorful little trinket. "Then I wonder what you'd think of me if I were actually dressed well," he returned, feeling a little heated at what he supposed was a compliment. Even from a friend, it was rather unexpected--he'd meant it was a joke, and by all means had expected it to be taken that way. It seemed that it was taken in quite the opposite way, not that, in the end, he supposed he minded it much.

If anything, he could forget the negativity in that moment, exhaling it into the air when they pulled back. He wanted so desperately for a kiss to always remain so true, like a promise, even though promises were more often broken than kept. He could hope, he thought as Arthur leaned in again, and he once more squeezed his eyes shut as their lips pressed together. The deepness of the kiss caught him slightly by surprise, and he couldn't help stiffening for a moment as his train of thought derailed and a shudder crawled up his spine. A brush of heat lit up his cheeks, but eventually, the tenseness faded and he shyly, tentatively, responded, brushing their lips together as his fingers curled into Arthur's shirt. Feeling the hard edges of teeth, he jumped slightly, finding this all so new and unexpected. This was something he'd never tasted before, was told was forbidden to him, and which he had never dared to--truthfully, never wanted to--touch until this very moment. It made the experience all the more exciting, sparking a light in his chest he hadn't known was there. When they pulled back, his heart was still beating that steady rhythm, drenched in a comfortable warmth.

Then, his eyes fluttered open, watching Arthur as he licked over the cut on his lip. Mihai bit down on his own in order not to do the same, then reached over for discarded towel again, pressing the damp cloth lightly over Arthur's small wound. It came away pinkish, but at least he didn't think much of the blood was fresh anymore. He glanced down when he felt Arthur's fingers brush against his own, and he--somewhat less shy about affection--shifted his own hand forward so their fingers could intertwine as he dropped the towel.The awkward admission only won him over more (not that Arthur needed to spend any more effort doing so), but it couldn't stop the elated stutter of his heartbeat as the corners of his lips twisted into a small smile. "Me too," he said quietly, in reassurance, seeing that slight nervousness in Arthur's features and wanting to make sure that Arthur knew those sentiments were reciprocated, to every degree.

He thought the message got through, when he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, felt his arms circle him in turn, and the tenseness drain out of his body. Mihai smiled slightly, sighing with contentment at the soft caress against his spine. The small jest drew a wistful smile to his lips, and he allowed himself to be pulled closer, until their chests were pressed together and he was nearly seated in Arthur's lap, knees to either side of his waist. Mihai didn't mind that position terribly much--it comforted him to feel the rise and fall of Arthur's chest beneath his own, and this way he could tilt his head into Arthur's neck and breathe in his scent, its edges tinged with the smell of blood and dirt from the fight. Being reminded of it still scared him a little bit, but not enough to pull away. Not in the moment. "I'd like that," he said instead, his voice dreamier than Arthur's. "Where would you take us?" But he didn't pause for response, answering the question on his own. "I think the sea would be nice. Or the mountains. Somewhere far away from people." He still had fleeting glimpses of those images, those times he spent with his parents with his feet in the sand or his fingers wrapped around the branches of a tall tree. The latter was what had landed him in this nightmare in the first place.

He shuddered at the thought--the memory--and scooted yet a little closer to Arthur, before he could fall back into the morose hypotheticals of what his life could have been if not for one misplaced step. He focused on Arthur instead, determined not to let his thoughts wander. He was more than prone to them when he was alone, anyhow--better to leave himself something to think about when no one was around. He managed to get another smile to creep to his lips with Arthur's next words, however shy and hesitant it might have been. "With me, I hope?" he asked teasingly, turning his face until he could somewhat see Arthur's, then raising a hand to rest behind his neck, combing through the short, messy strands of gold there. Morbid, depressing thoughts were never far from his mind--nor the minds of many of his schoolmates, he presumed--but he always found them the furthest away at times like these, when it was just the two of them behind four walls, safe and sound for one blessed moment.