Die young

The spy’s cheeks warm, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He hasn’t warn this expression in a long time - it’s a relief to not have the weight on his shoulders any more. A relief to be with the town again.

“It’s fantastic to see you as always, dragoste,” he croons, giving his boyfriend a little peck on the cheek as he enters the familiar house. He inhales the scent of Mikey and he calms. He had to be honest about this, but it wasn’t a deal breaker for their relationship. This, he was sure of.

He’d always hold hope for their love.

“I…have to tell you something. I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but…I suppose you might.” He twirls a strand of his hair with his pointer finger, a nervous smile on his face.

“I’m a spy again,” Sorin states. “Um…the mafia is disbanded.”

Now that he says it, he realizes that was probably a horrible way to announce the change. Too late now.

The grin for some reason sets a level of calm into Mikey, reminding him that Sorin- although appearing sad- has better control over himself than what he often gives him. His shoulders relax immediately the moment a kiss is placed to his cheek, and the other’s wonderful Romanian reaches his ears-- he could happily listen to Sorin talk for at least a week straight.

Admittedly, his heart sinks a little- ‘I have to tell you something’ was typically never followed by any amount of good news. He bites his lip a little bit, walking closer to Sorin to hold the other’s hands, patiently awaiting for the news behind the statement.

I’m a spy again, the mafia is disbanded.

A flow of relief washes over him, relaxing him entirely once more and causing him to rest his head on Sorin’s chest. “I see,” He replies, a little unsure on how to actually respond. He would follow the other to the ends of the Earth- naturally- but this had him a little bit stumped.

Sorin approaches the house of Michelangelo with hands clasped together, sunglasses tucked into his pocket, and shoulders slumped with worry. How was he going to explain this?

He’d attempted rehearsing a speech, but they’d simply fallen flat of what he hoped to say. “I have an announcement to make” sounds far too elementary school in nature anyways.

He knocks on the door with spirits low. Would Mikey still want him when he wasn’t his padrino? Would his boyfriend want to follow him and join the town or - or would the spy end up shot for trusting the wrong person..?

He eschews this thought. No. Mikey would never do that to him, this he believes firmly. He loves the mafioso with all his heart, and will accept him even if he chooses not to follow him into joining the town.

That doesn’t stop Sorin from hoping, however.

So, naturally, it comes as a rather pleasant surprise when the other was at his doorstep. His arms are immediately around the other, squeezing him tightly as his face nuzzles into Sorin’s chest-- God he missed him.

“Sorin!” He laughs, though is soon to let go, he doesn’t want to break the other’s spine from pure excitement- he feels rather puppy-like in that regard, and he hopes that his boyfriend didn’t mind. “What brings you here?” He’s not complaining, just curious.

Mikey steps back into his home and waves Sorin to come in a little eagerly, and it’s only really when he forces himself to calm down a little more that he makes one decisive note about his boyfriend’s demeanour-- he’s upset about something... he won’t bring it up for now. Sorin would tell him if it was important.

Adrian waves the other off, a smile on his face. He’s been working hard - going on walks, eating when he can, drinking plenty of water…he really wants to make a full recovery.

Partially to show Elwin what he was missing out on. And partially to impressive his cute doctor friend.

“Don’t worry so much, Aaron. I’ll be fine!” He seems a bit uncertain himself but hey - he’s making an attempt to stay positive. His legs have gained some muscle again at the very least and he feels confident enough to return to work. He’d found his house and fixed it up, he’d found his car again and - well, luckily, he’d been able to repair and tune it once more.

“Do it anyway.” He starts, a soft sigh exhaling out of his nose, his mouth subtly twisting into a soft frown at his companions seemingly blind optimism. “Even if you’re texting me every ten minutes, I’d rather get a barrage of texts than none at all.” He needs to know that his patient– and, dare he say, friend– was okay.

It would be too much on him if he didn’t know where the other was if he were to be injured. “Granted nobody can touch you in your car, but I’d still like to know.” It gives him a peace of mind at the very least. “Plus it lets me know when you get back so I can prepare something for you, and it lets me time your checkups better.”

He slips his hand into the pocket of his beloved leather jacket - he’d been so thrilled to find it in his closet - and began to press some of the many buttons on his fidget cube. William had been kind enough to purchase one for him, and Adrian certainly appreciated it. After a few moments he offers Aaron a smile.

“If you insist, I’ll keep you updated. Just let me know if I get annoying, though. I’ve been told that I have a tendency to get annoying.” Memories of Sorin angrily snapping at him cause his smile to fade a tad. His friends weren’t as tolerant of him anymore, besides the vampire hunter.

Aaron shifts his weight to lean against one of his legs as he looks at the other, shaking his head. “You won’t get annoying.” Nobody else texts him anyway, “So long as you’re not in trouble.” That is to say, so long as you’re okay and safe and alive then he is also fine about it. He does however, wince at the story.

Werewolf wounds were never a pleasant thing to see, though it did explain the mass amount of scarring that Adrian had. Nobody should have to deal with a Werewolf on a full moon. “Try not to transit any more wolves on a full moon...” he wouldn’t ask the other to outright not go out, he couldn’t take Adrian’s free will, again, so long as he were careful. “I’m not one for diets, but if you’re aiming for weight- fats in moderation, proteins for muscle building, you know that already. Get whatever you can eat.” Aaron isn’t a picky eater to say the least.

Adrian waves the other off, a smile on his face. He’s been working hard - going on walks, eating when he can, drinking plenty of water…he really wants to make a full recovery.

Partially to show Elwin what he was missing out on. And partially to impressive his cute doctor friend.

“Don’t worry so much, Aaron. I’ll be fine!” He seems a bit uncertain himself but hey - he’s making an attempt to stay positive. His legs have gained some muscle again at the very least and he feels confident enough to return to work. He’d found his house and fixed it up, he’d found his car again and - well, luckily, he’d been able to repair and tune it once more.

“Do it anyway.” He starts, a soft sigh exhaling out of his nose, his mouth subtly twisting into a soft frown at his companions seemingly blind optimism. “Even if you’re texting me every ten minutes, I’d rather get a barrage of texts than none at all.” He needs to know that his patient-- and, dare he say, friend-- was okay.

It would be too much on him if he didn’t know where the other was if he were to be injured. “Granted nobody can touch you in your car, but I’d still like to know.” It gives him a peace of mind at the very least. “Plus it lets me know when you get back so I can prepare something for you, and it lets me time your checkups better.”

The long pause causes Sorin to panic a bit but he refuses to leave unless it’s a hard no, he’s not going to run away, no -

Then he feels Mikey’s fingers entwine with his own and hope bubbles in his chest. The other is warm and Sorin gives his hand a squeeze and then Mikey is leaning up and-

They’re kissing and Sorin swears that time stops during that time, as cheesy and ridiculous as that sounds. His mind sure as hell stops - he can’t contain the toothy smile on his face.

Then Mikey says yes and the godfather leans in and he wraps his arms around the mafioso, pulling him into a hug and holding him close. He squeezes him lightly, a laugh escaping him. “Thank you,” he says softly, his grin only widening.

Mikey inhales the smell of Sorin, cinnamon flooding his senses as he squeezes Sorin just as tightly. He wanted to stay like this for an eternity, just letting Sorin hold him close as his sinuses were clouded with the faint smell of sweet smoke that had coated the other’s clothing.

He pinches himself lightly and though its original intent was a gesture of playfulness, he really did want to make sure that this moment wasn’t a dream, and that Sorin really did just ask him to be his boyfriend.

His cheeks flush at the thought.

“Hey… Sorin?” His voice is soft, and with reluctance he lets the other go, the smile still plastered onto his face as he leans back a little before pressing their foreheads together, softly nuzzling the Romanian and linking their fingers together.

He allows a moment before finishing his thought, though he’s fairly certain that what he’’s going to say would have been anticipated by the former Spy. 

“I love you too, Mikey. Te iubesc, dragoste.” The familiar petname rolls strangely across his lips but he wants Mikey to know how much he cares, and that he really means this.

Sorin gives Mikey’s hand another small squeeze, looking him in the eyes. His own shine with adoration - he supposes he could try to veil his affections, and maybe he should. But his eyes have always betrayed him, and that’s why he utilizes sunglasses so often. He doesn’t need this crutch around Mikey, he knows.

He leans into the touch, his eyes closing and his body melting a little bit. “I think I still would have loved you even as a Spy.” No, he knows that he still would have loved the other, even if such an action would have been frowned upon by the town. It would have endangered Sorin... his chest constricts at the thought.

His eyes open once more, and he grins at his boyfriend- the word felt weird in his mind, but it fills his stomach with butterflies. Mikey feels so sappy, but it feels so natural to be that way before Sorin.

“’m looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you, tesoro.” He winks, playfully, a grin stretching out over his cheeks.

He snorts at the first question, his eyes never straying from the other as he studies. That’s a habit he has not dropped from his spy days - always scrutinizing everyone he sees. Paying extra attention to those he cares about most. He sees the slightly flushed cheeks, the leaning in, the twinkling eyes

The godfather leans in closer as well. “Sure - you can strip too. I’m not complaining.” He smirks once more, almost ear to ear. “It would be rude of me to indulge in comfort alone, after all.” He chuckles and leans in even closer, his face now mere inches from Mikey’s.

“How I’m doing? Well…I was doing pretty shitty. Then you showed up, and well - I’m doing fantastically now,” he comments, his own eyes shining with a hint of mischief despite the seriousness of what he plans on saying next.

“Which leads me to something important…Michelangelo, I need to tell you something.”

His eyes avert, a soft laugh bubbling from his chest once more. He won’t admit that he’s shy, he’s been dying to be this close to the other forever, and with their faces so tantalisingly close, he really would like to close that gap between them. He swallows instead and allows his eyes to flick back and lock with Sorin’s.

The invite to strip is met with his heart leaping into his throat, the request was playful and so he didn’t expect Sorin to agree to it, but he isn’t going to complain. He unbuttons his pants to wiggle them off of his legs and folds them onto the chair of the couch, and having them off of his body felt fantastic. He’s tempted to take his shirt off too, but it would be unfair if he were more undressed than his companion.

Michelangelo notes the mischief– reminding him of the goals the other had as a blackmailer, it was like all of Sorin’s past was held solely within his gaze. “I’m glad that my company brightens your day.” He chimes, his voice almost sing-song with happiness.

The happiness fades some as the other addresses him by his full title.

“What is it, Sorin?” He tries to not let his nerves get the better of him, and the intuition in his gut is telling him something isn’t wrong per se- and naturally there’s a very small voice in the back of his mind telling him of the possibilities of a confession.

He is nervous. He wants to run, even - his flight or fight response is heavily leaned towards flight on most days. But no, no, he’s got to do this. His eyes open once more and he is met with the sight of Mikey, and he can’t stop his smile, or the way his heart leaps in his chest, or the tinge of pink on his cheeks -

And he knows that yes, this is the right decision. He needs to be honest. He licks his dry lips and he takes a deep breath and at last says,

“I think I’m in love with you. At the very least - I know I have very strong romantic feelings and I…well, I was hoping you would allow me the utmost of honors, and be my boyfriend.”

It’s hardly the first time he’s asked someone out but - he’s hoping this is the last time.

One may raise question to such a statement- well if he was expecting something then why wasn’t he expecting a legitimate confession? and honestly, he couldn’t answer it. His brain had turned into complete mush at the thought. 

He swallows thickly, the question lingers in the air, and Mikey doesn’t know whether to speak or act or sit there and stare at the other, hoping that telepathy was a long-hidden power of his. His fingers twitch before he finds them lacing with Sorin’s.

Mikey doesn’t want him to think that he wanted to say no, he had dreamed of this, he had fifty different responses in fifty separate fantasies and-- God that sounded cheesier than fresh curd.

So instead of really thinking, Mikey shuffles up on the couch and does something he had been wanting to do all day. He cups Sorin’s cheek and softly presses his lips against Sorin’s own, a smile barely hidden on his face as his thumb rubs over the other’s cheekbone. It’s only when he parts that a lopsided grin morphs from the smile, his eyes shining and his heart practically in his throat from the boldness of the action.

It had become a part of Michelangelo’s daily routine; wake up, brush teeth, brush hair, don clothes, grab his bag, head out to Sorin’s home. He’s sure that the Lookout had seen him by now, walking to and from his new Godfather’s (and old crush’s) home, but if the Lookout dared ask, at least he could state that Sorin hadn’t been feeling all too well since his breakup and he was making sure that he was okay.

It was the truth, after all, Mikey had made it a part of his daily life at this point and even as he heads outside and walks down the street, counting the door numbers until he gets to Sorin’s, he’s still mentally checking himself for any signs in the other’s behaviour.

Who knows, maybe Sorin would have second thoughts one day and go back to being a Spy– he still had habitual tells which gave that away, and the way that Sorin’s eyes would quiver during conversations, how he wrote, his old coat that blended in with nighttime. Mikey has to stop a giggle from surfacing and pats his long-time crush back down as he knocks twice and steps inside.

Sure - he’s still not incredibly happy, but…Mikey made him smile, made him laugh - and made his heart feel warm.

He hears Mikey’s voice and he brightens immensely - he stands up from his position hunched over his desk and he rushes to the door without even considering what he’s wearing - just his boxers and his pajama shirt with little hearts on it.

He opens the door and smiles widely at his mafioso and closest friend. He considers asking if Mikey wants to be more than friends…but he is uncertain if he should. Maybe…no, no, he shouldn’t.

“You sure you’re warm in that?” He takes his shoes off by the door and walks a little further into the home- it always smelled of cinnamon of some kind, whether candles were lit or incense were burning, cinnamon was definitely the go-to smell whenever one were to think of Sorin.

He looks back at Sorin– though he’s not complaining about the other’s lack of attire, if anything the lack of clothing suits him, it’s just that if the other got to be in his boxers then so should he. Alas, he is but a guest in Sorin’s house, so he can’t just strip off in front of the other.

Well, that and the thought stripping off in front of his Godfather gave rise to other more fruitful thoughts. He pushes them down with a soft blush coating his cheeks. “I guess we have the whole house to ourselves then?” Mikey hates to admit that his heart just started to race at the thought- alone time, with Sorin..

Nervousness bubbles in his stomach but he tries not to pay much heed to it. No - he has decided. He is going to be up front with Mikey how he feels.

“I’m sure,” he replies to Mikey’s first query, his smirk only widening as he pats the spot on the couch next to him invitingly. “Make yourself at home!” He chimes, crossing his legs.

“Relax. It’s just us - I don’t have to be your godfather right now. You don’t have to be my mafioso. We can just be Sorin and Mikey, yeah?” His expression softens into a warm smile. Spending time with the other was the light of his day, but Mikey still didn’t loosen up very often.

He leans back into the cushions, inhaling deeply, before glancing over at his God-- no, his friend, Sorin. Mikey allows a smile to rest on his lips before a spontaneous laugh bubbled from his chest. “Does this mean I can strip down too?” The request is mostly playful.

Michelangelo won’t lie, the other’s body was nice to look at and while the shirt was loose around Sorin’s frame, his stomach could still be seen. Mikey can’t help wanting to squeeze it, it just looks so plush and soft-- he’d been tempted to want to sleep on it before now.

He has to stop the heat rising in his cheeks.

“How are you feeling today, by the way?” He asks, the smile still on his lips as he leans forward, eyes twinkling. He wanted to hear Sorin’s voice a little more today--

Ah, who is he kidding? He wants Sorin.

It had become a part of Michelangelo’s daily routine; wake up, brush teeth, brush hair, don clothes, grab his bag, head out to Sorin’s home. He’s sure that the Lookout had seen him by now, walking to and from his new Godfather’s (and old crush’s) home, but if the Lookout dared ask, at least he could state that Sorin hadn’t been feeling all too well since his breakup and he was making sure that he was okay.

It was the truth, after all, Mikey had made it a part of his daily life at this point and even as he heads outside and walks down the street, counting the door numbers until he gets to Sorin’s, he’s still mentally checking himself for any signs in the other’s behaviour.

Who knows, maybe Sorin would have second thoughts one day and go back to being a Spy– he still had habitual tells which gave that away, and the way that Sorin’s eyes would quiver during conversations, how he wrote, his old coat that blended in with nighttime. Mikey has to stop a giggle from surfacing and pats his long-time crush back down as he knocks twice and steps inside.

Sure - he’s still not incredibly happy, but…Mikey made him smile, made him laugh - and made his heart feel warm.

He hears Mikey’s voice and he brightens immensely - he stands up from his position hunched over his desk and he rushes to the door without even considering what he’s wearing - just his boxers and his pajama shirt with little hearts on it.

He opens the door and smiles widely at his mafioso and closest friend. He considers asking if Mikey wants to be more than friends…but he is uncertain if he should. Maybe…no, no, he shouldn’t.

“You sure you’re warm in that?” He takes his shoes off by the door and walks a little further into the home- it always smelled of cinnamon of some kind, whether candles were lit or incense were burning, cinnamon was definitely the go-to smell whenever one were to think of Sorin.

He looks back at Sorin-- though he’s not complaining about the other’s lack of attire, if anything the lack of clothing suits him, it’s just that if the other got to be in his boxers then so should he. Alas, he is but a guest in Sorin’s house, so he can’t just strip off in front of the other.

Well, that and the thought stripping off in front of his Godfather gave rise to other more fruitful thoughts. He pushes them down with a soft blush coating his cheeks. “I guess we have the whole house to ourselves then?” Mikey hates to admit that his heart just started to race at the thought- alone time, with Sorin..

“Yeah - I like soup.” It reminded him of Otis, his beloved guardian - speaking of which, he should probably get in contact with him…

No, no - his thoughts were wandering. He takes the spoon and cup gratefully, swallowing another spoonful of the thickened liquid. It goes down fine, but he coughs a few times afterwards.

“Sorry, can’t seem to knock this cough…” he mumbles, his voice slowly coming back to normal. It sort of hurts to talk but he wants his voice back - he wants his life back, really, but the transporter knows that will not happen.

He sips another spoonful, glad he no longer has to tip his head back to swallow. He looks forward to food - he was so very hungry, but when you’ve been dead for eight years there tends to be a significant lack of food in your house, and he was certain he couldn’t have made the drive to get groceries.

He’s glad to be in Aaron’s care. Being able to drink something after so many years was a blessing, Adrian knows. Being able to eat will be another. Hell - just breathing again was a blessing. And thanks to this man, he was going to be able to live again.

He wonders if he can ever truly repay that.

Liking soup is definitely a good start in Aaron’s book, he’ll make it when the other’s at least drank half of the fluid in the cup. If his throat was getting used to swallowing then at least he’d be able to drink proper fluids soon enough. He will keep the other on the gel for now, he doesn’t want to risk it even if the other is managing to swallow.

“It’s fine, better to get it out of your system.” At least then Adrian would be able to get any gunk out of his stomach. He’s hoping that the magic had repaired any muscle damage, the last thing they need is a tumour or growth. He stands after a moment and walks into the kitchen, opens the soup, puts it into a bowl and sticks it in the microwave- he’d make it normally but that would be an awful lot of time spent making something the other may not be able to swallow.

He chews at his lip and closes his eyes for a moment– he doesn’t want to admit that there’s worry clawing at his stomach for Adrian’s well being, and inwardly he’s cursing out the retributionist for not reviving him with at least the swallowing reflex. He doesn’t know enough about magic to actively curse the other out aloud, so he keeps it in his thoughts for now.

Halfway through the timer he pulls the soup out, stirs it, and puts it back in for the remaining minute. He checks around the corner to watch the other drink, the microwave beeps and he takes out the hot bowl, transfers it to a cooler bowl and brings it over to Adrian.

“We’re going to have to take this slow, like with your fluids, we’ll wait for it to cool down so that it doesn’t burn your throat. It’s just tomato soup, so it should go down easy.” He places the bowl on the table. “Don’t eat too much at once, you might upset your stomach, no doubt it’s not used to food yet… eat about a quarter, I’ll put the rest away and we’ll slow-feed you.” It’s best not to gorge on food in case the other pukes it back up.

He gingerly takes the bowl of soup into his lap, dipping his spoon into the warm liquid and taking his first tentative sip.  It tastes vaguely reminiscent of dirt, but he assumes this is just a side affect of the whole coming back to life thing.