Chapter Text
Day One
"It wasn't the knife that killed me. It was who stabbed me with it." - Ayesha Chenoy
***
“If the two of you start making out here I'll throw you both off the pier.”
“And if you don't put a cork in it, I'll throw you off, alright!”
Mihhail would've thrown himself off the pier if he hadn't been so pleased to see them. Having to travel to and from Kouvola thrice a week was a necessary evil, and the dreary, too-long ferry trips (made even drearier by the recent inclement weather) were at times a test of his sanity and patience. Dream college or not.
“Don’t fight,” he pleaded, even as he looped an arm around each of them. “I'm here, aren't I?”
Arlet Levandi rolled his eyes. His hair was longer than it'd been when they'd last seen each other, and it was spiked up with gel. It was all the rage amongst the high school boys. Most of the spikes had fallen over in the wind, though. The harbour was always bustling. Always reeking of fish. Always windy.
But docking at the harbour meant the first steps towards home. Mihhail could never forget that. Mihhail could never complain about that.
“Yeah, yeah. About time. We waited an hour.”
“Don't make your lack of patience the whole world's problem.” Niina, who was the most impatient person in the world herself, piped up. Her green eyes- just a shade or two lighter than the Selevkos'- were bright and brimming with mirth and mischief.
“You hungry? We're starved, and you're buying, college boy.”
Mihhail rolled his own eyes.
“That's-”
Whatever “that” was, he never found out.
The pain that ripped through his head from the temple to the base of his skull to the base of his spine made him drop to his knees. The only reason why he hadn't gone down facefirst was because Niina caught him.
“Misha!”
Through watering eyes, he could see and feel Arlet rummaging through the pockets of his jeans in search of his inhaler. While his asthma was slightly more controlled than it was in his childhood, it was still apt to flare whenever there was too much pollen in the air. Whenever the temperature was too high. Whenever the temperature was too low. Whenever the moon was waning. Whenever the moon was full.
Okay, so maybe his asthma wasn't THAT much better…
But whatever it was, they had inhalers all over the house for that very reason. In their bedside dresser, in the refrigerator, in the medicine chest under the sink in both bathrooms. His parents had inhalers (plural) in the glove compartment of their car. There was an inhaler in his locker at the Tondiraba Ice Hall, another in Aleksandr's, another in Niina's. Niina always had a spare inhaler on her at all times. As did Aleksandr. Mihhail himself carried no less than three inhalers in his school bag AND skate bag- his regular inhaler, a backup, and a backup if the first failed.
And if EVERYTHING failed and he was marooned on a desert island somewhere with no one and nothing, he always had his pills in the locket around his neck. He wouldn't die that easily.
But even through the pain, he realized that he was breathing fine. And the pain was in his head, not in his chest.
“No. Am fine.” He managed to gasp out.
“You're very not fine!”
“Not me.”
The initial agony, which had felt like a drill bit to the brain, had backed off. All that was left was something worse. Something way, way worse.
Confusion. Pain. Guilt. Pain. Anger. Pain.
None of them his.
Now all of them his.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in Arlet's metal water tumbler- his face was as grey as the choppy sea and the clouds gathering overhead.
“We need to get home.”
It was the tone they almost never heard from him. The one that brooked no argument and warranted absolute, immediate obedience- no fuss, no bullshit.
“Now!”
***
To their credit, they obeyed.
They flew through the Old Town in record time. It was too early for dinner, so there wasn't much dodging required, and they were flying up the Selevkos' driveway within the next ten minutes, rather than the twenty they'd have taken on a leisurely stroll home.
There wasn't a police car or an ambulance or anything in the driveway. No police cordons, no crime scene tape. Thank goodness. But then again, it took the FBI a while to get anywhere. They couldn't very well teleport.
“Mimi,” Niina's eyes were wide and almost scared. Almost, because she never got scared. Tondiraba was supposed to be their safe place. Their sanctuary. Theirs. No one could harm them when they were there.
No one… aside from one another.
“What's going on? You've never been like that before.”
She'd seen him go white from pain when Aleksandr broke his right arm. She'd held him through the nights when he too was sleepless from pain after Aleksandr's surgeries. But it wasn't a piece on what had happened today.
“Did… did something awful happen to Sasha?”
It was a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might send it straight to God's ears.
Mihhail opened his mouth to say yes. To lie, “yes”. But he already knew that wasn't the case- even before he hit the ground.
Guilt. Pain. Shame. Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
“No.. it's worse.”
He took a deep breath. Amazing how the one time he could breathe was when his world was completely falling apart.
“Nothing awful happened to Sasha. I think (I know?) Sasha did something awful.”
***