#songbased

“Little bit of poison in me, I can taste your skin in my teeth. ‘I love it when I hear you breathing, I hope to God you’re never leaving’.”

Michael wakes up in hell at the exact same spot he was killed. Sprawled on the street, his clothing dirty and the sun burning in his eyes. His hands grab for his head, when memories of two lives lived flood his mind.

He remembers it all, the life of a man that had stopped when the Supreme had fallen from the balcony. To the memories of an almost grown boy growing up to be what he was in his first life. His body is hurting where the car had ran him over. He’s shaking with sobs as he remembers the way Constance had looked down on him.

“Go to hell.” He does not stand up yet, instead Michael rolls over to watch the sky. He has no idea what his hell exactly is like. Maybe he will be overrun by the witch in this timeline over and over again. Dying the way he did might have been painful, but the actual painful part of his demise was that he had been completely alone. The woman who raised him didn’t even stay to watch him die, spitting on his dying form as if she never loved him.

And when hours pass and still nothing happens, Michael finally stands up from the place where he had died. The silence confirming what his head had been thinking in the hours that had passed. Nothing was going to happen, because there is nothing here to hurt him.

They’re all gone, this world empty of all people, except him. Michael does not know if he wants to cry or laugh when he realizes it. He does not think he will be here for long.

Maybe his father wants to punish him for failing, but he must surely not be this cruel to let Michael truly rot away. Michael is his only son, and he is still the one who needs to end the world after all.

Maybe dying was a blessing. Him regaining the memories of his first life would make sure things will go different this time around.

And naïve as he is, he enters his grandmother’s house. Thinking it will be just a matter of time for him to return to the real world.

Months later Michael would find out how naïve exactly he had been, as he finds himself on top of one of Los Angeles tallest buildings.

--

The wind is blowing his hair to the left, his view corrupted by the tears in his eyes. It all lives inside him. He’s the epitome of the insecure love hungry boy and the cruel powerful lonely man. All of the hurt he had to endure in his two lives caged in his heart. That combined with the loneliness and the angry disappointment that his father abandoned him once again (he wonders, why does it still surprise him?) makes his head spin.

He wants to sleep all day, to at least escape from the world he mentally is trapped in. But this world is too silent for sleep to catch him. He remembers the story his grandmother used to tell him when he was younger. The sandman whose magic dust brings sleep to children. The part of his young naive heart wishes it wasn’t just a fairy tale. To sleep for forever, to don’t have to feel a thing. To finally escape from the war that is ruling his heart.

Michael wants to die, to die as if there is nothing after death. He longs for blackness, longs to be numb to it all.

His eyes look down to the ground, he never had a fear of heights but this height makes even him dizzy. And maybe dying like this is the poetic justice he deserves. His two lives had not been much unlike the climb to get here. Tiring and hopeless at times even. It seemed like the stairs didn’t have an end. He just kept climbing and climbing. Both here and in his lives the view had been worth the climb. Although he also believes that in his second life he hadn’t really reached the rooftop yet.

He had fallen from his mountain of fake victory as Cordelia had from the balcony in the Outpost. Only now he realizes he had been lost way before the witches had challenged him.

He always had been this insecure boy that was pushed down on the bed by this little witch. Her fingers had tickled his sadness away back then, her cunt had fucked his insecurities away that same night.

And admittedly, Michael had grown stronger, more powerful and confident even with time. But deep down he had always been lonely and bored with life. Beside his revenge on Cordelia there wasn’t much for him to live for. Besides the occasional game of tag he played with the little witch, who once had him cursing out of the horny need to just taste what was between her legs, there wasn’t much to ache for.

It’s extraordinary, for him to still think about his little mouse when her sister witch is the reason he is here. Even with the memories of two lives in his head, the memories he shares with her are still one of the few he remembers clearest and dearest.

To feel nothing, to escape the loneliness. The wish taunting his heart to the point he no longer sees another option. It’s unlikely he will ever escape this place alive, so in death he must find the sweet release.

He looks up, the sunset colouring the sky a blood orange. The glass of the buildings who reflect it, almost gives him the feeling it’s heaven to where he fell. Such beauty shouldn’t exist in a world as cruel as this one.

One last breathe, his head filling up with the memories he wishes to remember. Ms. Mead her smile when she serves him his breakfast. Constance her voice telling him a bedtime story. The atomic bombs destroying the world, the sea of fire reminding him of thousand setting suns. Fingers tickling his stomach, the taste of her blood in his mouth. He steps forward; falling down.

He feels free for maybe the first time in his life, the wind is hurting his face. The ground coming closer and closer.

He falls on his side. He can hear the bones in his right arm and leg shatter. His head smashes against the asphalt, his skull cracks. Blood drips from his nose and mouth. He probably broke some ribs as well.

And it hurts so much, he never had felt pain like this before. Even being shot by the actress-witch hadn’t hurt him as much as this does. But he is not dead. His heart still beats steadily in his chest, his eyes still see the now darkened sky above him.

His body is destroyed, he can’t move, everything hurts. But Michael did not die.

And he can’t move until the sun rises hours later again. When the sky turns pink his bones mend back together and he can feel his legs again. His clothing torn, blood is still upon his face, but when he slowly sits up, it is as if he never jumped at all.

 “Running through the parking lot, he chased me and he wouldn’t stop. Tag, you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

Repeat a word often enough and it loses all of its meaning. It probably is a thing that can be said about every subject. Kill one person, you might feel guilt. Kill nine people and it becomes normal. Kill twenty and you’re a serial killer. Murder the whole world, and you’re numb to it.

There is excitement in every first time, familiarity in the seconds. The third time makes you feel comfortable, because yes, you know how it works. The fourth time you know what to expect. And by the fifth time you learned it all and is it more a routine than anything else.

Michael lies in his childhood bed, his eyes staring up to the ceiling. He had jumped a second time after his first attempt had failed. The second time he had broken his back, his legs and his arms. He hadn’t felt his body until the sun had risen the next morning again.

His head had been filled with thoughts though. The sun burning in his eyes, the nasty burning smell of the heated asphalt in his nose. The night had even been worse, the silence surrounding him more deafening than the sounds of a thousand exploding bombs.

Michael knew the world would reset itself to its former state every night. Only then he realized the same goes for him. He can’t die, he’s a part of this world. His body will always be brought back to its original state when the sun rises.

Michael tears his gaze away from the ceiling, trying to think about something else than the disappointed but also relieved feeling he had that day.

Droplets of blood are staining the blue sheets. Dried up it has the colour of copper rather than the bright red he likes so much. Dying like this goes slower than he thought it would. The knife shakes in his hand when he cuts his veins open. He had done this so many times before, but never with the intention to be actually drained.

He could have been dramatic, lying in a tub with water that slowly grows cold and red. But truth be told, Michael is bored. Every form of dying bores him more than the fact he will be back again tomorrow. By now it’s more the ache to think about something different than being stuck here alone than him actually wanting to die.

Dying like this makes him more tired than anything else. The hurting of his skin keeps him from his sleep at first, but when the sun finally rises and heals his wounds, his eyes finally close.

He tried a lot of things by now. Each attempt more desperate than the one before, each attempt another failure.

After the first two attempts didn’t play out like he wanted it to, he decided that maybe the fact that his body didn’t really disappear was the problem. He had thought long about it for a couple days, trying to come up with a better way to dispose of himself. He had visited the ocean to clear his mind, his eyes staring at the way the waves reflect the sun. The ocean still so wild, crashing against the rocks.

Erosion does not exist in this world, but Michael imagines in the real world this place wouldn’t stand the test of time. Than it dawns on him, when the sun hits his body he comes back to life. Maybe if he went to a place where the sun wouldn’t be able to touch him, maybe then he would stay dead. And if that wouldn’t work he will make sure he will die again and again.

It’s easy, it’s the solution to all his suffering; he must trap himself at the bottom of the ocean.

--

Is this how the witches felt during the time humans still killed them? Float and you’re a witch. Die and you’re human. The heavy steel he is carrying is almost too heavy for him. Michael wishes he still has his magic, but even that was taken from him.

The water has a greenish colour, not the clear blue he imagines most people long for. Michael longs for neither. The only colour he wants to see is black when he fades into the realm of nothingness.

Drowning is less satisfying than jumping from the building was. Less theatrical, less colourful. His lungs are starting to burn, but his body is without his consent still fighting to stay alive. The heavy steel he is bound to pulls him down to the bottom. His mouth finally opens, his loins are hungry for air. The salt water fills his mouth, lungs, stomach. If it weren’t for the fact Michael is so eager to die he would find it disgusting.

Sand floats up when the heavy steel crashes into it. Like smoke would during an explosion, the sand corrupts Michael’s vision. It’s like he’s trapped in a mist, weren’t it for the fact his body is hurting so much, he might had enjoyed the tranquil feeling being underwater gives you.

He can’t move, his body tries to float up to the surface again, but the heavy steel keeps him grounded to the ocean floor. There is still light enough for him to see what lies on the bottom. Plastic mostly, human pollution. They truly deserved to be wiped out from earth, Michael once again thinks darkly by himself. The willingness with how they destroy their own world so keenly. How many animals had died because of their superiority complex? How many did they destroy already by not wanting to change?

Time passes by, the ocean gets darker, Michael his body feels heavier. It feels like he’s being pulled down, his eyes closing as he feels himself finally slip away. 

For him to wake up on a beach days later. He coughs up water when his opening eyes are greeted by yet another sunrise. He screams then, an all-consuming madness taking control of him. He kicks sand away, his legs still unsteady as he walks towards the water again. He walks into the ocean until it hits his face. His cries swallowed by the salt water, when he floats with the waves back to the shore.

His thoughts wander to her, as he floats in the water. She would have loved a day like this, the sun warming her skin and the salt in her hair. He remembers her in so many ways now. Maybe he is making her a god in his head, clinging on the memory of her like she is the one who keeps him floating.

Like a fire his desire for her had burned until his soul was blackened by it. One look from her was able to burn his soul to ash, one smile was enough to set his whole heart ablaze. He had liked to hate her, had liked to be destroyed by her. He had liked destroying her as well. Killing her sisters not only as a revenge to Cordelia, but also to spite her in a way. To feel her anger directed at him, for her anger to turn into lust when one of their games ended.

As much as he liked to win, he never minded it when he got caught by her. In a way their game never truly had a real loser. Maybe the machoism in him just liked to be burned.

Burned, fire, ash. His eyes open, maybe there is another way to die. Maybe if there is nothing left of him, he would be able to finally descent from this place.

To be extra dramatic Michael decides to choose for the place where he lost his first Ms. Mead. There are no stakes this time around, but the place reeks of ash anyway.

He spits out the gasoline that accidently comes in his mouth, almost gagging because of the taste. It almost makes him laugh because of the irony. He is willing to burn himself, but he can’t take a bit of gasoline in his mouth?

When he is drenched with the stinking substance, he brings the torch he lighted closer to his body, pushing the fire after one last breathe against his stomach.

He screams at first, it hurts a lot. But when smoke starts to fill his lungs, his screaming stops.

Everything tastes like ash and gasoline, his skin pink and damaged. His blonde curls burning away, the strokes of hair that remain are melting against the skin of his skull. Is his skin really melting of his face, or is the pain making him see things that are not there? A raspy sound comes out, the tears he cries immediately burn away.

He burns until night falls, and all that is left of him is a blackened corpse. He miscalculated, he could have known he wouldn’t really burn to the ashes he wishes to be. Of course his body would remain, of course this would not work.

He imagines himself to be ash anyway, blown away by the wind. Like dust he would float around. He tries to think through the pain, tries to imagine that he is floating. Floating through space, darkness, an empty room. Floating around without the need to think or feel, all he has to do is be.

When sun rises he still has the taste of ash in his mouth, his throat feels a bit sore. But as expected, as designed, he is like the boy he was before. And he finally gets it, finally knows there is no other way.

He leaves the place where his heart once was shattered into a million pieces behind, Michael finds his way to the city he is starting to loathe. Naked he walks the streets, not bothering to take the burned clothing that magically had resurrected next to him when the sun had risen.

It does not matter, nothing really matters anymore. In this lonely place, all there is for him to do is to just be.

And that is how he ends up in his childhood bedroom, bleeding out upon the old blue sheets. Nothing really works anyway. It became clear to Michael, no matter what he does, that he is here to stay.

--

Like a normal human being would scroll through Netflix to search for a show to binge watch, Michael strolls through the neighborhood searching for a place to kill himself. He does this every evening, finding a bit rejoice in dirtying other people’s stuff with his blood.

He’s feeling nostalgic tonight, though. So he decides to choose the Murder House. Standing in front of the window like Ben Harmon did, minus the crying and jerking off. His eyes scan the empty street as if there will be something there this time. But of course it’s empty as usual. It’s empty, as empty as the colour grey, until it’s not.

Out of nowhere a figure had appeared in the middle of the street. Michael’s breathe comes out rushed, when he sees the figure look up to the house.

There is someone here, there is a living being standing on the street. And when he catches the persons face, he almost wants to take a step back. Not just any person, not just any living being. He knows her, he knows this face. And it looks exactly how he remembers it, only a bit younger. It’s her, it’s his little mouse.

Blood rushes through his body, his ears buzzing because of it. It feels like the world is crashing down, all falling down to where she stands. He takes a step closer to the window, not believing she really is here. Has he gone mad? Is this another way to torture him? Or did he really die this time? For a blissful, cruel moment Michael thinks he is in heaven, something to soothe his suffering heart.

Tears are forming in his eyes, when she turns her back to the murder house and crosses the street to enter his childhood home. Is this real? Is she real? He cries now, not believing what he sees. His body is trembling, his cheeks are burning. His head is hurting from the emotions that swirl around.

The knife falls to the ground, as his teary eyes stay on the house across the street for maybe another hour. He needs to know this is real, he needs to make sure this is not another of hell’s evil tricks.

  “Grabbed my hand, pushed me down. Took the words right out my mouth. Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

She can’t walk straight, an empty bottle in her right hand. It took madness longer to get her then he thought it would. She looks like a mess, even from where Michael is watching her he can see it. She probably smells as well.

He had been watching her the last couple weeks. Watching how she lived like this is not hell but heaven. Making full use of the fact that there is no one to stop her from doing whatever she wants. He isn’t sure what to think of it. She seems to be much like the girl he remembers, but there is something off.

At times it is almost as if she’s waiting for something, perhaps even someone. Does she remember? Is this one of their little games? Or did she die and did she get send here as well? Satan hoping Michael would be her big punishment. Michael does not know what to think, but he does not like the way she lies crying between the roses. Loneliness is a slow killer, and it seems it finally caught her.

He had been thinking about a way to test her motives for a while now, and maybe this is the perfect opportunity for Michael to strike. But all he truly wants now is to spare her what he had been going through. To give her any kind of comfort, to let her know she’s not alone. He does not wish for her to be as depressed as he was, or still is.

He does not dare to come too close, too afraid she will wake up. Or for her to disappear. Michael is at times still not sure she is real. Still, he lingers on the path to the front door, his eyes scanning her sleeping form. Her clothing is dirty, she is still holding an empty bottle in her right hand. He can’t help but wonder why she is here. Is this punishment or is this a treat?

Does she still know him? Or was hell kinder to her and does she only possess the memories of the life she lived in the second timeline? Michael does not really know what he hopes it to be.

It would be easier if she remembered as well, but it would be kinder if she did not. He could start all over with her. They could make new memories, he can plant a different version of himself in her head.

It’s a small test, something that she might not notice to be one. And if he plays his cards right, he can even still the longing inside himself to comfort her.

And when he watches her drink the tea hours later, she unknowingly to her passed his test. The witch he knew would never drink something if she did not know where it came from. The witch he knew was calculating, a planner and careful. The witch he knows would never drink the tea he made her.

He is sure now, she tries to hide her smile, but the glint in her eyes is still there for him to see. This is not a coincidence, this is not a punishment or a treat. This is his little mouse wanting to play a game.

--

The closet in front of the bed is too small for him. His body curled in an uncomfortable position, but he is glad he is hiding where he is hiding. His face is dangerously close to the small creek. The last sunrays fall in his eye. She’s naked and wet. Her curves dimly reflecting the sunlight and droplets of water are dripping down between her breasts, over her back, over her ass. Hungrily his eyes scan her body, feeling a bit foolish for having this kind of reaction at seeing her simply naked.

She knows exactly what’s she doing. It is what he had admired in her, or maybe it was just something of himself he had seen back in her. She knows how to manipulate him, not only with her mind but with her body as well. Her attempts to lure him out amusing and angering him at the same time. He is stronger than just that, as if her skin alone would be enough for him to approach her. But he’s angry as well, angry at her for making him to want to do just that. To emerge from the closet, concur her right now. To fuck her on the bed where he hadn’t been happy since he grew up too fast.

She had laid down on the bed, her legs spread. From his position he can see straight between her legs. He can’t see her face, only her hand tracing her own skin. What is she thinking about?

The first moan she lets out goes straight through his body. His body grows cold and stiff. Blood rushes through it, he leans back from the creek. Is she really doing this? Does she think this will lure him out? His hand pressed against his own mouth to silence his loud breathing, when her moans gets louder. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He forget how sweet the sounds she could make were. Goosebumps spread over his body, his mind is going back to the many times he was the cause of the exact same sounds she’s producing right now. Michael feels his cock twitch in his pants by just the thought of kissing her.

Replacing her fingers with his own, to suck her juices from his fingers. The hand that is not placed on his mouth goes to the growing erection in his pants. His hand catch his rough breathing when he touches himself.

He moves closer to the creek again, desperate to see what she is doing. He almost gasps when he sees it is his teddy bear that is rubbing between her legs. Her hips moving up to touch the toy that once was filled with his tears. Oh, she knows he’s here, he’s sure of it now. And he knows exactly why she’s here now. Why else would she be here? Not because she cares for him, she only cares for his body. He smiles darkly to himself, oh, he will make sure she gets what she came for. If she’s here to play games he will make sure he is the winner.

She pushes the bear away to finish herself of with her own fingers. He can hear her skin slapping against her skin as she roughly finger fucks herself. Her moans almost muffled now, as if she tries to keep them in. Michael almost groans because of it. He’s painfully hard, just the thought of her doing this specially for him is enough. Oh, how he wants her. How he wants to wipe that smug smile of her face, to dive his head between her legs. To taste her until she’s coming all over his tongue. He wants her so badly it hurts.

With one last moan she comes, and then it is silent.

He waits until he is sure she sleeps to emerge from the closet. She is under the sheets now, the stuffed animal placed against her stomach. He resists the urge to touch her, to let his hand wander over her face. He has to be patient, has to wait for their game to unfold. He takes his teddy bear though. It’s warmed by her skin, and it smells like her.

Michael presses his nose in the brown fur of the bear, sniffing in the scent of her. How will she react when he reveals himself? Will she pretend to not know him, or will she rush to him like she did so many times before? He cannot wait to find out.

He leaves the bedroom, the animal still in his hands. He can no longer wait, he needs to confront her tomorrow. Michael needs to find out why she is here and what she is planning.

His hand wrapped around his erection, the teddy bear pushed against his face as he brings himself to a climax. The bear will stop carrying her smell in the morning, but for now he treasures it. It almost feels like having her here for real.

Soon, Michael promises himself. Soon she will be lying next to him.

--

“What’s your name?” Michael wants to cry even harder when she wraps her arms around him. The feeling of someone holding him being an almost foreign one. How good it feels to be held, how good it feels to be no longer alone. The tears were there to trick her, but in this very moment they’re quit real. He leans back to watch her face. He wants to drown in her eyes, wants to shout he knows her name. That they don’t need to pretend. But she is here to play games, and Michael is a sore loser.

“Michael.” She gives him a smile. “I am Baby.” Michael almost wants to laugh. Out of all the fake names she could have chosen, she settled on this one? A pet name? When Michael repeats her name as a question she tells him a story about Dirty Dancing and her parents loving the movie. She really is a good liar, Michael is impressed with her.

Later they’re walking to ‘her’ home. She might be a good liar, but Michael is the best. He slips so easily in the role of the innocent tortured soul, that he is impressed with himself as well.

The first night all they do is talk, his voice is hoarse when they fall asleep in the morning. And when he catches her sleepy smile, eyes glowing with satisfaction, he feels satisfied as well. For the first time it had felt as if he wasn’t in hell.

--

Three weeks later Michael wakes up to the sound of a voice singing along to a song the radio plays. There is noise coming from the kitchen, the smell of food filling up his nose. The living room is bathed in sun light, she must have opened the curtains when she came downstairs. While she was still sleeping in his bed, he had decided on the couch. Sleeping in his grandmother’s bed would be too much for Michael.

He does not really mind though, living together had been scary easy. They fell so easy in this life of being together it sometimes frightens Michael. How is it possible for him to want this so badly? How can he be content with the lie she lets them live in? She didn’t even tell her real name, how can he still want this?

If depression is considered as a wound upon the soul, then this is Michael’s slow recovery. Her presence like a balm for his tortured heart. Life is easier when they are together, sometimes he even forgets he has to play a game. It feels like the boy in him is finally getting what it desired, and the older and wiser version of him can only watch from the side lines. Weakened by the emotional trauma being alone for so long gave him.

‘Baby’ smiles when she sees Michael is awake. “Hi sleepyhead, I made us breakfast.” He sits up straight on the couch, gifting her with one of his brightest smiles.

Breakfast turns out to be burned waffles and strawberries that are too ripe. “What shall we do today?” He asks her, popping a strawberry in his mouth after. “Let’s visit the ocean, I want to see the waves.”

Michael agrees with her, but lately that is all he seems to be capable of. To want everything she is wanting, to be together like they really are who they are pretending to be. Two soft, gentle souls who do not belong in hell. Michael almost wants to laugh at the irony of it, because this is exactly how he imagines his grandmother wished him to be when he was still alive.

 “Can anybody hear me? I’m hidden under ground. Can anybody hear me? Am I talking to myself?”

He can feel her shoulder against his. He can hear her soft breathing, her smell in his nose. The ocean a soft background noise, the sun sinking lower in the sky. He thinks about her words, the look in her eyes and the hesitation in the tone. Will she stay or will she go?

“Everything happens for a reason after all. Maybe this is what I deserve." A lie, Michael is sure of it, but a lie he wants to believe nonetheless. Michael wants her to stay, he no more wants to be alone. She can’t leave him physically anyway, but he wants her mentally as well. Michael wishes to live the lie she created, wishes it to be no longer a lie. They can be together, he does not have to be alone. He does not need to fall for her, but it is important she falls for him. For her to be subjected to him with not only her cunt but heart as well. To be in control of at least something in this hell. His heart screams murder, while his head is plotting. Young Michael has different reasons for her to fall in love then older Michael has. But both versions of him long for it.

“Do you remember how it felt? Dying I mean.” He is calculating with his words and the tone of it. He wants to know how dedicated she is to her cause. How long will she be able to fake this other version of herself? How long will it take for her to show her true colours?

“I only remember feeling cold.” Her eyes are avoiding his, as if she is afraid he will catch the lie. “How did you die?” Michael knows it is cruel to keep on asking. He knows going to hell is a tough transmission. To soften his words he takes her hand. Partly because he wants to keep up the act of a soft boy, but also because he wants to touch her. To comfort her, to let her know she does not need to feel sad any longer. Her hand immediately squeezes his, her face softens.

“I did it to myself.” Michael is surprised, he thought she would lie. “Why?” He asks her. Without really noticing it, he inches closer to her. Not wanting to miss her words. “Because I was missing someone.” She almost sounds ashamed. His face is so close to hers now, he can see every imperfection on her skin. Her eyes are darkened, her lips slightly parted. This person is him, Michael is sure of it. “Are you still missing this someone?” He can see her think, he can see her trying to find the right words. She does not disappoint.

“I will always miss that person, but with each day passing by I handle it better.” Michael leans in closer, a strange jolt goes through his body. The thought of her missing him makes his stomach jump, heart clench and mind scream in rejoice. A feeling he cannot really explain masters him. The words that slip out are being said without a thought. It’s the truth, it’s all what Michael wishes for her.

“I hope you’ll never be sad again.” His lips are almost touching hers, he can almost taste her.

She is the first one to lean in. Her kiss soft and gentle. His heart splits, his mind goes blank. It’s the first kiss Michael had in years, the love that pours from it almost tearing him apart. He kisses her back, his head tilted to the right.

He is lying on his back, she’s on top of him. The salt ocean wind is the only thing that cools them down. Michael thinks of nothing, nothing but her hands in his hair and her body against his. She moans when she grinds down on him. A sweet sound Michael wants to remember for forever. Her lips are sucking at his throat, Michael closes his eyes at the sensation.

Michael can feel her hot core against his erection when she grinds on it. His mouth is at her throat, the moans he can’t let in silenced against her skin. His hands go beneath her shirt, the top of his fingers lightly trace her skin. It feels like his first time all over again. He wants this to be soft, he wants this to be intimidate. The gentleness of it reminding him of the love he only got to experience briefly when he was younger.

“Fuck, Michael, I can’t wait for you to be inside me.” Michael groans, when she pushes her lower body against his to strengthen his words. Fuck, Michael can neither. He aches for it, it’s been so long. “Oh, fuck.” Michael his hips buck up to her touch. He wants to feel her, he wants to connect with her. He wants to fuck her, fuck her as hard as he can. “You don’t want to know how long I’ve wanted you like this. Just looking at your long fingers sometimes was enough. The thought of having them inside me, the thought of you touching me, driving me insane.” Older Michael snickers. I bet, you filthy little whore. But her words drive love starved Michael crazy. That and the way her body is moving against his, makes him lose it all. He curses, when he comes undone. His briefs are stained, his body slumps down to the ground. Her eyes are widened when she realizes what happened.  

Michael his cheeks are coloured red with embarrassment when he apologizes for the sixth time. She only laughs, her eyes filled with trust. Michael shakes his head, maybe it wasn’t the worst. It does strengthen the lie he had been feeding her. Michael blames it on his young body, blames it on being alone for so long. Michael blames it on sexual tension, and on the lie he wants to keep on going. He blames it on everything but her. He does not want to face the fact that she might have, even now, the upper hand in their little game.  

--

She agrees to travel around with him, pretending that she also has the hope to find other people. For Michael it is just a way to get them away from the city. To get closer to each other, to make her never want to leave.

Michael grew to hate sunrises, but the way she watches this one makes him reconsider. She dragged him out to this place, out of her ever hunger to experience things.

His fingers buried in her cunt, he feels her clench around them. His name shouted into the world, her nails pressing into the skin of his shoulder. This could be heaven, but it is hell. Michael tries to remind it himself every day. But it’s getting harder with the days that pass by. When she offers to return the favor he rejects it. He does not know if he will be able to stop himself, he does not want this to be over yet. He can’t bear it, he does not want her to leave him. There are still so many things he wants to see with her, still so many parts of her he wants to explore. He can’t lose her, not yet.

They continue their road trip an hour later when the sun is fully up. He is the one driving now. It is the end of the afternoon when she starts to complain about being tired and wanting food.

When they find a place to stay, she proposes for them to do something fun in the evening. The mansion they chose is located in a ‘rich’ neighborhood. The place is surrounded by a forest, shielding the mansions who all look the same from the world that is outside it.

Michael thinks that it is much like their relationship is right now. A thing that almost seems too good to be true. They live hidden in a way as well, hidden away from the living and the obligations she probably feels towards them. In the real world they probably would never be able to live the domestic life they live now. The other witches would frown upon it, Michael is not sure if he could stray away from his destiny for too long.

They go to the local bar as if they’re a couple going out for drinks. She even dressed up for the occasion, Michael notices with some delight. The younger version of him couldn’t give a damn about looks, but older him approves the way she seems to care.

Michael pours the two of them a drink while she gets the music running. At first all they do is talk, but she mixes the drinks stronger and stronger. And after a while she’s so tipsy she can’t sit still any longer. Michael tries to test her, maybe drunk her will give him some sober truths.

“Do you really want to stay in this world?” He watches how she studies one of the dusty liquor bottles. When she does not respond he asks it again. She turns around in a dramatic manner. Sighing loudly.  “Why would I not? The drinks are free, we can go wherever we want to go, and I have you.” The tone of her voice is annoyed, she opens a bottle of strong liquid.

“But we can have that in the real world as well. Don’t you miss the people you love?” She fills two glasses with the liquid, mixing it with coke.

“Yes, but there is no way out. Sometimes you just need to accept the things that are given.” She passes him the drink, drowning hers almost immediately after.

“But don’t you ever wonder? Don’t you ever get sick of the emptiness?” Michael knows he’s pushing it, but he wants to know what she is planning. She surely must know by now she does not have her magic.

“Michael.” Her voice suddenly sharp. “No one ever came back from the death, neither will we. Just drop it.”

But Michael does not want to drop it, this annoyed version of her comes very close to the witch he knew when he was alive. Are they about to have their first fight here? Will their lies fall tonight? Michael is about to argue with her, when she suddenly jumps up from the stool.

“Oh, I love this song! Come, Michael, dance with me!”

He watches her walk away from him, his brain almost overheating. He does not want to fight with her, he does not want their lies to fall, yet. So he stays silent and watches her.

She is drinking straight from the bottle now, Michael wonders if he should be worried about her tendencies to drink too much alcohol. But she seems to be in a better mood than minutes ago and he does not want to complain too much. “Come on, Michael, drink some more!” She dances around the empty bar, it might be the most ridiculous thing Michael had ever seen. She’s being so theatrical, dancing on the eighties music she wants them to dance to. To please her he drinks the drink she had made him anyway.

--

Michael’s drunk. She’s spinning him around the bar like they’re children.

He can’t stop his laughing, his stomach hurting because of it. He is dizzy from all the swirling around, without really caring about it he lets himself fall down to the floor. She keeps on dancing, singing along with the song as if she was the original singer.

The way she looks at him makes him laugh. Her arms stretched out to him, hips moving to the beat of the song. “And I, got to have my way now baby.” Michaels takes the hand she is offering him, clumsily she pulls him of the floor. Their uncoordinated drunk bodies clashing in the process, almost making the both of them fall to the ground again.

You spin me right round, baby right round, like a record baby, right round. Much like the lyrics from the song she spins him round. Mentally and physically. Michael is not sure what to feel, he can’t believe he is the one falling for the trap he had set up for her.

Maybe he is the one who is falling, he should have expected it. There is no other person like her. No other person who can make him feel this way. And to taste how life could have been with her in it, only makes him thirstier for her company.

She makes him angry and insecure, she makes him happy and confident.

The feelings he has for her contradicting his actions. He wants to have her tied up on his bed, to ridicule her, to make her never leave him again. He wants her subjected to him, Michael wants her to crawl for everything she wants from him.

But Michael also wants them to dance around drunk like they’re doing now. Michael wants to make her breakfast in the morning, Michael wants to hear her laugh about his jokes. He wants to be domesticated, he longs to be dominated. But above all, he longs to be loved.

It’s not really dancing what they’re doing, they’re both too drunk for it. And if Michael has to be honest, it’s the most fun he had in, well, forever. He can’t remember feeling this careless before, giving into his childlike desires. He only wants to spin around the room like the drunk fool he is. To dance with his Baby until his feet hurt and he forgets about everything but them.

“When the lady smiles, she holds me in her hand.” He is the one holding her, but he sings the song for her anyway. “I can’t resist her call, as a matter of fact, I don’t resist at all.”

And that is the awful truth, he can no longer resist. When her faces clashes into his for a messy kiss, he is sure about it. Their game of tag is about to end.

 “Saying, “Tag, you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.” He’s saying, “Tag, you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it””

Michael his drunk dreams are sweet and colorful and she appears in all of them. Flashes of her face, her hand reaching out to touch his. They’re never close enough to touch, but he keeps on chasing her anyway. The flashes he gets of her are never enough, he wants all of her.

He’s so afraid to lose her, even in his dreams is the fear of being alone the wicked theme. He does not need to be afraid of loneliness; he has her now. She won’t leave him until the she gets what she wants.

All of this is clear in Michael’s mind. But when he wakes up in a cold lonely bed, all those thoughts disappear. His arms search for her warmth, but there is none of it.

What if she left? What if her supreme came to get her? What if she had enough of him?

Michael jumps from the bed. Maybe he’s being ridiculous, maybe she just went downstairs to get something to drink.

But the house is empty and silent. His heart starts to beat faster, his cheeks heating up. It feels like he might pass out, the emptiness triggering something deep within. Something buried beneath him pretending being a good boy had awakened. A monster who did find rejoice in dying and rage in coming back. The beast who wants to claw out its own eyes and rip the ears of its head, just to feel numb for a while.

Michael calls out her name. Her real one, not the made up one. It’s like a prayer in the silence, a whimper in the cold night air. The glass doors that lead to the garden are opened, maybe she just went outside.

Outside he calls out her fake name, his desperation growing when there is no immediate answer.

He finds her at the pool, questions in her eyes when she sees him.

And when she holds him, there are no longer two Michael’s. There is only one version of him now, the one who does not want to be alone. The one who wants to chain her to his bed so she can never leave him. He’s the lonely, love hungry man-child when he’s with her. And he no longer feels shame in it, accepting that she will never want from him what he wants from her.

--

Michael no longer can wait, he has to give her what she came for. Maybe that will make her stay. He crawls on top of her when their kiss deepens.

She looks up to him with more trust in her eyes than he deserves. Her skin is hot against his, he leans down to kiss her again.

He wants to slam into her with a force that makes her cry out in pain and pleasure. To wrap his hand around her throat. But instead of doing just that, he takes his time. He covers her skin with soft kisses. Like silent whispers they tell her how good she smells, tastes, feels.

He kisses her on her mouth before slipping inside. It feels like all the clichés; super nova’s and coming home. He feels connected and whole again. But all his cliché thoughts disappear into an everlasting nothingness when her hands cup his face. “Are you okay?” Michael opens his eyes; the softness of her voice surprising him. “Yes, are you?”

She does not answer, instead she pulls his face to hers to kiss him. “I’m so glad you found me.” And it is all Michael needs to hear. 

His movements are gentle, giving about her pleasure more than his own. What he wants does not matter, what she wants neither. It’s only about them right now. Them living this beautiful lie, him drowning in his desire to be loved.

And it feels so good, so good to be intimate with her like this. The room filled with their breathing, moans, the slapping of skin. They are sweating, in this forever summer even the nights don’t cool down. The only sounds are the ones that their body’s make. Their final dance, they found each other in the arcade and the loser will be determined. After tonight they won’t be the same again. 

Her moans are muffled against his shoulder when Michael feels her clench around him. It takes him not long to come as well. 

After Michael watches how the light of the rising sun slides over her skin. His hand rubbing circles over her stomach. She is asleep, but she does not move a lot. Bitterly Michael thinks about what will happen next. Now that she got what she wanted, she definitely will leave him.

They had sex, the ache she probably considered as a sickness, is cured. She no longer needs him, she will try to dispose of him. Even if she does not know there is no magic here. The thought alone is enough to break Michael’s heart. He wants her to stay, but he knows she won’t. He has to confront her. Michael knows it’s time to reveal his real self. If she wants to break his heart, he will make sure he breaks hers first.

--

“Can I ask you something?” He chews on the bacon he made them. “Ofcourse, my darling.”  She takes a bite from the scrambled eggs. “Do you consider yourself smart?” He can see the confusion wash over her face. He waits for a bit, finding her confusion hilarious. “Because I was wondering, now you got what you came for, Y/N, what will be your next step?”

Her reaction amuses Michael. She freezes, he can see the sudden panic in her eyes. They are wide open and watching him eat his breakfast calmly. “Uh, what did you just call me?”

“Y/N, or do you really prefer to be called Baby? Because the name doesn’t really change who you are right? You’ll always be my little witch who likes to play dangerous games.”

They jump up from the chairs at the same time. She’s sweating, her hands are clenching and unclenching into fists as she finally realizes what this means. “How long have you been remembering me?” She looks like an animal who knows it is prey. The way her big eyes stare him down. She knows she walked willingly into his trap, she must realize that she will be hunted and caught. “Well, I never forgot you to begin with.”

She takes a step back after his words. He can see her eyes dart between him and the glass doors that will lead her to the garden. “Did you really think you could fool me, baby?” Michael walks around the table, closer to his mouse. He can almost smell her fear, can almost taste her panic. Nostalgia for long forgotten games fills his heart. It is almost as if they’re in the world of the living.

“Don’t come closer, Michael. You might think you got me where you want me, but you’re still the one that’s stuck here.” She says the words as if they are supposed to hurt him. “And so are you now. You really are not the brightest, huh?”

Her hand moves in the air, but of course nothing happens. It takes all Michael’s strength to not burst out in laughter. What a dumb little witch, if she weren’t so desperate to seduce him, she might had noticed the lack of magic here. Her hand moves a second time. “Magic doesn’t work in hell, didn’t your supreme tell you that?” She looks so angry right now. Angry and lost; she knows she is trapped.

“Fuck you."

Michael’s smile is broad after her words. “That’s why you came her right? To fuck me? Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences? I am all that’s evil after all.” She is silent, she watches him. Michael is sure she is thinking of a way to get out. But won’t she realize? There is no getting away from him.

“You’re saying it as if you didn’t enjoy it.” Michael wants to roll his eyes, this is what she is worrying about? “I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Even though I know you like it a bit rougher.” She takes a step away from him. Michael wonders why, there is no escape. “Well, you did play the ‘angsty, no one ever loved me sad boy’ part very well. It’s almost like it really was you.” She brings her hand into the air, taking another step away from him.

Michael tilts his head. “But, oh, wait, I guess it wasn’t an act after all! I wonder how it feels like to be abandoned by everyone you ever loved.” Her words hurt, hitting a painful spot inside. She is right, he was abandoned by all his loved ones. Even she plans to leave him. He takes a step into her direction, she’s gone too far. He won’t be abandoned again.

“It actually was my plan all along to leave you as well. Who could ever love someone like you? Like you said, you are indeed all that’s evil.” She spins around after her sentence, running into the living room. Michael sprints after her. Anger sweeps through his body, as he tries to catch her.

She’s at the fireplace. Michael’s lungs are hurting because of the sprint he took. “You’re playing dangerous games, Y/N. Games I tend to win most of the time.” He tells her anyway, not wanting to let her know she’s faster than he can take.

“Well, as long you don’t get hit by a car.” Her words are cruel, he jumps towards her. Ready to tackle her to the ground. But she is faster, the shovel hits his leg hard. A groan spills from Michael’s mouth when the iron slaps against his skin. She runs around him, in the direction of the hallway.

He runs after her, slowed down by his hurting leg. His lungs are aching from the sudden activity, Michael damns his young body. The man he was wouldn’t be slowed down by her antics. She crosses the street, running for one of the cars. If she gets in the car Michael won’t be able to catch up, he knows this.

He breathes out, forcing himself to run as fast as he can. She slips into the car, the door automatically locking when it closes. He is so close, but it is too late. Their eyes find each other for a last time. Hers are big with fear, her face covered in sweat. Michael needs to jump out of the car’s way when she hits the pedal.

He can still hear the car’s engine echoing in his head when she is long gone.

--

Him finding her is pure coincidence. She had confirmed all his fears, all his dark thoughts. The moment their game ended, she had left him. He should’ve listened to his gut feeling. Of course she left him, like the wicked soul she is. Once he revealed his true self, she knew she had to flee. The ultimate proof that she indeed only wanted him for his body.

He watches her enter the grocery store like she isn’t on the run. Michael must admit she doesn’t look too well. He hopes she lives under the constant fear of being caught by him.

Michael will make her pay, he swears to make her regret ever coming here. He will have her no matter what. Now he had a taste of how life is with her in it, he will never let her go. Even if she does not want to stay, she will have no other choice then to obey him. Michael stuffs the needle in his pocket; for when she struggles too much. He wets the cloth with chloroform, waiting for her to emerge from the store again.

When she emerges from the store a quarter hour later, Michael attacks her from behind.

She falls on the concrete, her head hitting the ground. The clothing she wears is dirty and she stinks of sweat. It takes some time for Michael to get her properly in the backseat of the car. He now only has to find them a house.

Oh, Michael will make her regret leaving. By the time he is done with her, she will wish she had never met him.

--

Michael watches her with a growing grin. She is waking up, finally. Amused he watches her struggle against the ropes. Her breathing loud when she realizes the situation she is in. Michael wonders if she will cry, he kind of hopes she will.

“It’s always so funny to watch a mouse try to outsmart a cat.” She freezes after his words. “But doesn’t the little mouse realize, she will never be on top of the food chain.” Michael enjoys this too much, finally he has his much desired control back.

Her head moves to watch the exit of the room. Michael grins, “Other side of the room, darling.”

If looks could kill, Michael would have been death by now. Her anger amuses him even more.  “I have to admit, you did win the first round. But when it comes to the real game, you’ll always be the sore loser.” Michael unfolds his legs, standing up from the chair.

He walks her way, his eyes scanning her naked body. He watches every curve, every beauty mark, every scar, the swell of her breasts. He stops at her face. There is fear in her eyes, but anger as well. Michael loves her for this, for the fire inside her that never seems to cool down. But right now he wants her to be submissive, right now he wants to be the cold water that cools the fire down.

He touches her stomach, letting his finger wander to her breasts. To stop where his dried up blood stains her. “Look what a mess you made of yourself, I had to take your blouse of to wash it. Did you know you get blood out of clothing with cold water?”

She grinds her teeth. “I know Michael, I am a woman. I have periods you know, and a lot of panties I don’t want to throw away.” He laughs at her words, with his right hand he cups her breast. Squeezing it as a warning. It will be better for her to stop her clever words. He is no mood to be ridiculed. “Do you remember the rules we made back then?” He asks her.

Stubbornly she does not answer. Michael squeezes her breast again. Leaving it alone after, to continue his track. He stops when his hand is at her throat.  “I said, do you remember the rules?” With his index finger he taps against the skin. Another warning. He is standing next to her head now. “Yes, I remember.” She finally answers him.

Michael wraps his hand around her throat, pushing her head against the hard mattress. He leans over her face, enjoying the emotions he can see in them. “I think it’s safe to say you lost our little game of tag.”

She keeps on staring back, challenging him to do something. Oh, Michael will do something, if she wants to fight with him. He will make sure once again he is the winner. “And the winner takes all.”

His mouth pressed against hers in a rough manner after his mocking words. She kisses him back, opening her mouth for him to slip in. Michael let’s go of her throat, he focuses on the kiss. Until her teeth sink into his bottom lip. Michael groans because of the pain; immediately he moves away from her. With the back of his hand he swipes the blood away.

“Oh, Y/N, I wish you had more respect for our games and its rules.” He sits down on the bed. “Untie me, and I’ll show you how much I respect our rules.” Michael wants to laugh. He completely forgot about wanting to cool down the fire in her. He loves her for this, of course he does not want her to cool down. On the contrary; he wants to feel all of it. “Tempting, but tonight I like it better when you’re not able to move.” He leans over her body again, ready to claim his prize. “Tonight you’ll take it like the loser you are.”

He licks his own blood from her skin, he sucks at the skin until his mouth is filled with the iron taste of blood.

“If you didn’t already feel dirty enough for wanting to fuck me, your coven’s worst enemy might I add. When I’m done with you, you will be stained for forever.” He leans up to watch her face, then he takes of his shirt. Exposing the bandage on his chest. When the sun rises tomorrow it will not be needed anymore. He climbs upon her body, sitting on his knees with her body between them. “Aren’t you afraid you will just stain yourself again? Because if I remember correctly, it didn’t take me much last time.”

Her words annoy him, how dare she? She said it didn’t matter. He made it up to her, why does she feel the need to attack his already fragile ego?  Michael leans down, pushing his full body weight on top of her. He kisses her throat. He slowly moves down, kissing her skin. Licking at it, sucking it. He stops when he is between her legs. He can see her cunt shimmer with need. Pathetic, she wants to be strong but when she is subjected to him she always responses like this. “If you could see what I am seeing right now, you wouldn’t be that bratty. You’re so easy to get wet.”

Michael lets his finger slide through her wet folds. The shudder that goes through her body satisfies him. He adds his thumb, he lets is circle over the skin. “I don’t think you really mind being dirty. I think you love to be stained, corrupted, destroyed, by me.” She lets out a moan. Michael smiles at this. “Do you surrender?”

Her hips are moving up to his touch, the way her body responses is an answer of its own. But he wants to hear it coming from her mouth. “Yes.” She says with one breathe. Michael presses two fingers against her entrance. “Tag, you’re it.”

He pushes them inside her without saying another word. Her body moves as much as the ropes allows it, meeting his pumping fingers. But Michael does not give her what she wants for too long. When he pulls his fingers from her, she lets out a disappointed sound.

“What’s the matter? Are you angry for not getting what you want?” Michael sucks his fingers clean. “I should leave you here, and just use you whenever I want to use you.” His voice is soft. For once she does not give him a bratty answer. “You probably would like it, because that’s all you good for. To be used like the dumb slut you are.” She fights against the ropes again. “Like I planned to use you? I am sure you can relate. Because you knew why I was here, and you allowed it to happen anyway.”

Michael his eyes narrow, she is right. He let this happen, he had let himself fall in love with her.

He moves down, placing his head between her legs. “I would believe you to be as tough as you pretend to be if you weren’t so dripping wet for me right now.”

His face is trapped between her legs, not that she can really trap him there. But he knows she would like to. To add to her embarrassment he sniffs her in an extra manner. Michael did not lie when he said he had liked the soft sex they had. But what is about to happen is what he truly desires from her.

He spreads her folds with his right hand, giving it an innocent not at all satisfying lick at first. Just to tease, to torture her some more. But who is he fooling? It’s more himself he’s torturing by not giving her what she desires. He likes to hear her moan, likes to give her contradicting feelings. He knows she hates him. She must be so ashamed to want him still.

His kisses are loud and wet, barely audible because of the moans she lets out. He keeps on going and going, even when he feels her coming on his tongue. When he rises from between her legs, the smile he wears is smug. ‘You’re the most pathetic witch I’ve ever met.”

 “Eenie meenie miny mo, catch a lady by her toes. If she screams don’t let her go.”

Her body is still trembling from the orgasm. Her breathing is loud, sweat shines between her brows. The skin of her ankles and wrists are hurting because of the ropes. A triumphant smile decorates his handsome face, his mouth and the area around it wet with her arroussal. Oh, how she wants to slap that smug smile of his face. “You seems to think I need you so bad, but the way you just so eagerly did what you did proofs you are my fool after all.” And I love you for being my fool. She adds secretly in her head.

“And yet you’re still the one lying here all tied up.” He pushes his thumb against her swollen sensitive flesh. She can’t help but to gasp a little. “Imagine being this desperate to have some good dick you willingly lock yourself up in hell with your worst enemy.”

She wants to answer him something sassy, something mean. But the tone of his voice is a bit too sharp for that. There is something beneath it, something that reminds her of the Michael she had fallen for these last couple weeks.

“You never were my enemy.” And it’s the undeniable truth. She had hated him, yes. But she also knew no matter what would happen he never would truly hurt her. Not in a permanent way anyway. He might hurt her self-esteem with his mean words, fuck her until her cunt is burning and bruise her skin with his hands and mouth. He would do all that, but he would never try to break her truly.

Michael watches her, something changing in his expression. But he shakes his head before it completely breaks through. Instead he pulls back his hand, leaving the bed all together after.

He walks towards the door, giving her one last look over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” She can’t help to ask. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He winks, and then he leaves the bedroom.

She feels cold, wet and dirty. Michael leaves her alone for far longer than she thought he would. She can’t feel her arms, her legs are aching because of the position they’re forced in.

Maybe he left her for being too rude, maybe he intends to use her for as long as he likes. And if the latter is the truth, she knows she will be here for a long time. But isn’t this exactly what she had wanted? The Michael from her past, the one who used to give her pleasure so well she wasn’t able to walk the next day?

She remembers being fucked by him in his adoptive mother’s house so hard, she had to sit on a bag of frozen peas the next morning to make the ache go away. That was after he had killed her sisters, she had been so mad at him. And yet, even though she found him in a rage, it had been so easy to fall in his bed again.

“I brought a mutual friend.” His voice interrupts her train of thoughts. A friend? They’re the only ones in this world, how can he possibly indulge someone else in their rendezvous? But when she sees what he is holding in his hand, she feels her body grow cold with embarrassment. She feels embarrassment but also slightly smug when she sees his teddy bear.

“You surely remember him?” He throws the bear her way. It lands next to her stomach. “You really should work on your aim, because even a blind person would be able to throw it on me.” She answers him.

“Did you like ruining my childhood toys? Did it make you wet?” He is pushing his pants down when he speaks the words. “Not as wet as the thought of you watching me did.” She admits, all her sense of shame gone. She is tied up here anyway, what does it matter if he has something else over her? Her eyes fall on the bulge hidden behind the black fabric of his boxers. “Did you enjoy the show I put on for you?”

“You really are the worst. Will there ever be a time where you don’t have to have the last word?” She smiles, shaking her head. “It’s almost as if you don’t know me at all.” She can see how he tries to hide his smile. She does not understand herself. Why is she being so light hearted with him? Why does she longs for their banter? He tied her up, she should be trying to manipulate him. She should do everything to break free, but instead she’s acting as if she had asked him to tie her up. As if her being here had been a mutual decision.

“The only thing I know about you, is that you are dumb and pathetic.” She is ready to give him an answer. Who is the one who came in his own pants after only a few rubs? Who was the one who became panicked when he woke up alone in their bed? But she can say none of that, because Michael had pushed the stuffed animal against her face. “You should be taught a lesson. I wonder if you can be silent. Open your mouth.” She does as he says. Carefully he pushes one of the animal’s paws in her mouth.    

“Do you know what I do with girls like you?” She rolls her eyes, not liking the tone. Maybe he expects her to call him ‘daddy’ now. “They need to be slapped on their wrists.”  

His flat hand slaps hard against her cunt.

Her pained cry is muffled, her tongue is dry, the dusty taste of the toy’s fur fills her mouth. She closes her eyes when his hand slaps a second time between her legs. The shameful sound of dry skin hitting wet skin fills up the room. It hurts, but she embarrassingly does not care for it. It burns, it aches and she never wanted him more than now. “Didn’t I tell you to be silent? Keep in those desperate sounds.”

He slaps her for the third time, this time she does keeps in the sound she wants to make. Her teeth bite into the animal’s paw. “Good girl.” He praises, he slaps her again after his praise. She stays silent, her head filled with mean comments and ways she will torture him when she frees herself.

His hand grabs her cunt in a rough manner. His palm pushing against her sensitive flesh. Her eyes close at the painful but good feeling. She hates him, she wants this to go one for forever. There are so many contradicting feelings inside her when it comes to him. But they are all forgotten when he rubs his palm against her flesh in a much gentler manner than expected.

“Will you keep your filthy mouth shut when I take my dear Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy from it?” She wants to laugh when she hears the bear’s name. She wants to ridicule him, to give him something to be truly angry about. But with the way he is cupping her pussy she decides it’s better to be silent. So she nods fanatically. Swallowing her comments away when he takes ‘Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy’ from her mouth. He throws the animal next to the bed. She almost wants to comment if he shouldn’t be more careful with his precious friend.

But the teddy bear and its silly name are long forgotten when he crawls on top of her. He pushes his still clothed bulge against her core. She can feel his erection through the fabric, it is not enough. She wants, no, needs more.

He rocks against her, she hates him for stalling this moment. “Don’t go on for too long Michael, I don’t want you to jizz your pants again.” She thinks he will leave her now, the way he looks down on her almost radiates hate. “You’re such a bitch.” He moves away from her, he sits on his knees. He looks down on her with a smile she does not like. “As if you’re so attractive in this moment. You have no idea how you look like right now.” Her eyebrows are raised. “You stink of old sweat, your hair’s a mess and above all that the neediness in your eyes almost makes me want to throw up.” Offended she moves her arms to pull at the ropes. Once again she is imagining him being tortured by her. But for now all she has are her words.  “At least I don’t have to drug and tie you up to feel in control.”

Michael laughs. “At least I won’t be pretending I didn’t like it if I were the one lying here. You’re a terrible liar.” He finally pushes his underwear down. Her crawls on top of her again, wiggling completely out of the fabric as he lies on top of her.

Her eyes close when he finally slips inside her. Her cunt feels overused, abused. He slips in so easily, she’s still wet from the things he did to her. His hips slam down on hers, he is not slow, not teasing. It is all about what he wants now. She screams when he hits exactly where she likes it the most. He stays buried inside her, his body still, his eyes are wide open. His hair falls around his face. The orange light the sunset brings makes it look like a halo. But Michael is no angel and never will be one. His hips move away from hers, almost completely pulling out. For him to slam back roughly again.

It is nothing like their first time in this hell. But she loves it anyway. She is completely out of control, he decides what happens to her. His hips are setting the rhythm, his mouth kissing her throat. The only thing she can control is if she keeps her eyes opened or closed. She keeps them open, she wants to see every expression that crosses his face as he loses himself in her. He must hate her, he must hate her so much for what she did. And he is still willing to fuck her like she wants him to. He still gives her what she secretly had been wanting for so long. He may be the one in control, he may pretend he only does this for himself. But she is the real winner, because this is all she had wanted when she came here.

She gives him her loud moans; to let him know he is doing what she wants him to do. To let him know even though she is subjected to him physically, mentally she is the one in control. With every moan he gives her one back, too lost in her to speak words. Droplets of sweat cover his face, his hot skin sliding over hers.

She comes before he does, her eyes wide open and staring into his. His pupils are dilated, the light blue much darker now the sun had set. Every thought she ever had gone, all that matters now is him. He kisses her on the mouth again when his hips fall for the last time. And even when he grows soft inside her, he keeps kissing her like it is the last time he is able to do so. She kisses him back, her heart aching with the love she wished she did not possess.

 “Eenie meenie miny mo, your mother said to pick the very best girl. And I am.”

Everything hurts, the skin of her wrist feels raw, her legs feel numb. She is no longer bound, but she is not sure if she is able to leave. What will happen now? Now all the secrets are out in the open, now that they no longer need to pretend. What will become of them? Is this how they will live the rest of eternity? Chasing each other around this empty world until even that will become a bore?

Michael lies on his stomach, his arms beneath the pillow. She wonders why he so easily fell asleep next to her. Isn’t he afraid that she will leave again, or even worse, that he will be the one bound to the bed when he wakes up? Maybe that exactly is what he wants, maybe he is testing her, to see how far she will go.

She will not be played again, she refuses to be submitted to a life of games and unstable feelings. She does not want that for herself, she deserves better than that.

Her feet touch the cool floor, she feels dirty, cold and vulnerable. In the bathroom she finds pieces of clothing from the former owners. The t-shirt is too big, but it is better than being naked. The boxer short is comfortable enough, even if it is meant to be worn by a man.

She watches her face in the mirror, she tries to resist the urge to cry. There is a rage within her that can’t be cooled. There is a sadness as well, but she does not want to think about what all of this means. It feels like someone she loved had died. And in a way that is what happened, the Michael she fell for is no longer here.

She needs air, she needs to get away from him.

She wanders through the woods without real purpose. Where can she go? Does she even really want to get away from him? She remembers how awful the loneliness was, she does not want return to that desperate feeling. But does she really want to stick around with a person who probably dislikes her? Who only sees her as a way to get rid of the boredom?

“Running away again?” Of course he had followed her. He is only wearing his boxers, a knife in his right hand. She feels her rage return at the sight of him. How dare he follow her with a knife? Is he here to finally get rid of her? She grinds her teeth, eyes narrowing when he comes closer. “I am not really running now, huh?”

He is too close now, her eyes fall on the knife in his hand again. She will not be played, she will not be defeated. She takes the knife from him before he realizes what she is doing.

The knife sinks into his stomach, his eyes looking straight into hers as she does so. The gasp loud, his hands go to his stomach, he takes a step back. His right hand at the handle. “No! Don’t pull it out, you will bleed to death!” Her voice is desperate, she lounges forward to stop him. But it’s too late. The blood pours from the wound like a red waterfall. It’s dripping over his underwear, his legs are shaking because of the shock. His eyes are filled with tears, his teeth clenched to stop him from crying out in agony.

Even when he is on the brink of dying, he looks beautiful. The words that come from his mouth are not. “Fuck you, Y/N.” This drives her into a rage again, she kicks his leg. “What the hell Michael!” He falls down, his right hand tries to stop the wound on his stomach from bleeding. “You really thought you could kill me? I don’t think so.”

She sinks to her knees, she tries to take the knife from his hands. He does not struggle, he only hisses when she leans on the wound to get it. “Tying me up like I am some sex slave, saying mean things and then wanting to kill me? You fucking thought, Michael.” Despite her words she tries to close the wound with her hands. It has no use, she knows it. But she does not truly want him death.

“You’re a bitch. I wish you never came here.”

The knife might as well had gutted her stomach, because his words hurts as much as that would. She might even rather have the knife than his cruel words at this point. Her hands leave the wound, her eyes finding his. And when she looks at him something breaks, the way he looks at her makes her want to cry. Why does she love him? Why can’t he love her? “Well, that’s a thing we have in common, at least I’ll have some peace after tonight.”

All she sees right now is the man who killed her sisters, who ended the world, the man who tortured her, the man who had fed her lies. And without really thinking about it, she plunges the knife in his chest.

His eyes are wide open, a shocked expression on his face. She cries when she pulls the knife from him, cries when his blood wets her hands. Cries because the world is silent. She cries for him, she cries for herself. She cries out of rage, she cries out of desperation.

In the moonshine she weeps for the unfairness of it all. If only faith had been kinder, if only she hadn’t remembered him. She tries to imagine how she looks, her tears glowing in the silver light, body bruised and a heart abused.

It is how she imagines heroines to look like when they’re on their lowest. The moment in a story where life is low for the main character, for it to turn out to be great after an inspiring montage of the character regaining his or hers power. She wonders if there will be an epic, everything will be alright montage for her as well.

But who is she kidding? Her life is not a movie, this is not a story, this is real life and she is stupid for doing the things she did. She shudders because of the cold and something else. A bitter taste forms in her mouth when she looks down upon his body.

She dammed herself to a life of loneliness. She had dammed herself the moment she fell in love with Michael Langdon. To live here with the bitter realization he never loved her, to know she never was more than a plaything.

She tries to overcome the feelings of rejection. At least they had their fun, at least she had him for a short while. She can’t help it, the tears are falling from her eyes again anyway. She does not know what to do, but she can’t leave him. She does not want him to be alone in the woods, she does not want herself to be alone.

Why is he the way he is? Why does she love him for the way he is? Love, she does not want to love him, but she can’t stop her feelings. Her throat is aching because of her cries. Her cheeks are burning and her eyes are swollen. She keeps sitting next to him, her face wet with morning dew. And when the sun rises she finally looks away from him.

A hand closes around her wrist when the first rays of warmth touch her face. Her scream so loud it would have woken up everyone in the forest, were there to be people. Even with his voice raspy he still manages to sound annoyed. “Did you really have to kill me?”

“Michael?” She cries, throwing her body upon his. Tears spill from her eyes, when the relieved feeling masters her body. Despite being killed by her, he closes his arms around her trembling form. She should have known, everything in this world resets itself. Of course Michael’s body would do the same.

“You really are giving me mixed signals, baby. Do you want me gone or not?” She almost rolls her eyes when he gives her that particular pet name. “It doesn’t matter, you’re back now.” She can’t believe he manages to make her both happy and annoyed in such short amount of time.

“You didn’t know I would come back, but you did it anyway.” He folds his arms, a stern look upon his face. “Well, what did you think? You coming at me with a knife like that. It was self-defense.”

“The knife you plunged in my heart when I was lying on the ground wasn’t though.” He sounds so offended it makes her laugh a little. She knows the situation isn’t funny at all, but the fact that they’re talking about her killing him like it’s the same as her eating his food, is just too absurd. His eyes narrow, but when she keeps laughing he joins her. She takes his hand in hers when their laughter dies.

“I am sorry for killing you. I am glad you’re back. I really mean it. Not just because I would be alone without you.” His eyes soften, squeezing her hand a little. “It’s a good thing you’re the only one I have here. Otherwise…” His words are supposed to be a warning, but she does not really feel threatened by them.

“How did you even know that you would come back anyway?” She asks when they are walking back home. He avoids her face, not answering her question. Her eyebrows are raised when he fastens his steps so he is ahead of her.

Her eyes stay plastered on his back. There are still so many things they need to talk about. This situation is as terrible as the smell she wears.

When they’re inside the house she tries to ask him again. But he cuts her of. “You stink, Y/N. Maybe it’s an idea for you to take a shower.” Her eyebrows are raised, her eyes falling on his in blood covered torso. “You are one to speak.”

“And whose fault is that?” His eyes are flaring, the tone of his voice is annoyed. She is surprised by the lustful feelings that sweep through her body. What is it with her and being turned on by their fights?

She walks away before she does something stupid. “You could always join me! And if you won’t I can always take ‘Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy’, you know it likes to be wet” She shouts to him anyway. The weird sound he lets out is a mixture of a growl and a sniff.

She does not have to turn around to see his soured face. There are a lot of things she should have done differently, but the one thing she always succeeded in, is annoying Michael.

  “Running through the parking lot, he chased me and he wouldn’t stop. Tag, you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

“Maybe we should travel to New Orleans, maybe we can find some magic there.” They’re sitting in the living room, the television playing a movie they’re both not watching. “There is no magic here.” Michael his voice is cold, his eyes still on the movie they’re not watching. “How are you so sure? Did you already go there?”

Michael does not respond, instead he keeps ‘watching’ the movie. She is not ready to drop it just yet. “Michael, answer me.” Her voice is loud. He still doesn’t answer. So she stands up from the sofa, picking up the remote to turn of the television. “Why do you not want to go to New Orleans?”

“Because I don’t want to. Now turn on the television again, I was watching that movie.” She rolls her eyes. “The movie will be on tomorrow again.” He does not watch the television any longer, instead he watches her. His blue eyes hard. “I know why you want to go there, you hope to find a way to leave this world.”

The tone of his voice surprises her, why does he think about her leaving? “Michael, you still didn’t tell me how you knew you would come back. Tell me.” Suddenly he is shy again, his eyes go to the black screen of the television. He’s silent for so long she considers to just leave the room. But then he speaks. "Because I died before.”

“How? Are you really that clumsy to kill yourself?”

“I did it on purpose, I saw no other way out.”

He tells her about buildings and the ocean. He tells her about burning and cutting his veins. He tells her about hanging himself and taking too many sleeping pills. And when he’s done she almost wants to cry.

She’s can’t shake the image of him alone and ready to die from her mind. She aches for him, while she was only thinking of their time together, Michael fell into a deep depression. It explains why he was so keen on playing the game she started. She can’t imagine how he must have felt. To come to the point to end it all, for there to be no end.

“I need to think.” And with that she leaves him alone in the room.

She wants to cry, she wants to scream. How can she be so selfish when he suffered for so long? Of course he acted the way he did, of course he would do anything to be never alone again. She wants him to never feel bad again, she wants him to be happy. She wants to cure his depression, to kiss away his fears and pain.

And it might was a game, for him to not have to think about dying; she now knows for her it is so much more. She loves Michael. The version of her first life and this Michael. She had loved him all along. How can she leave him; how will she ever live without him?

She wanders around the darkening town, thinking about what to do. She only knows what she does not want, she never wants to be without him again.

--

His back is facing her when she enters the bedroom. He is pretending to be asleep, but she knows him well enough by now to know he is awake. She will never be able to leave him, no matter how much he loathes her. She will accompany him until he disposes of her, chase him until he no longer can run. He doesn’t need to love her if he can’t. But she will love him, for as long as they are here. And she knows it will be for a long time.

She lets the bathrobe slide down her shoulders, taking a step closer to the bed. The white silk pools at her feet when she disposes of the robe completely. In the moonlight he looks more innocent than he is, his golden hair silver. His back emptied of all his beauty marks. In this light it almost is as if she stepped into one of her sweetest dreams.

The sheets are cool against her skin, but his skin is hot. She moves until all of her body is touching his. Her legs pushed between his, their curves melt into each other. Her arm is draped over his waist, her face pressed against his shoulder. She feels his body sinking into hers, when he probably realizes she is here to stay. Her lips touch the skin of his shoulder, gifting it with a kiss. His hand moves to hold hers. His fingers threading through it, his breathing is soft.

“Please don’t leave me when the sun rises.” His words spoken so softly, a plea for something he is almost afraid to ask for. She does not answer him immediately, instead she kisses his shoulder again.

“I won’t.”

--

“I always preferred sun sets, the golden hour before it actually. But now I know the sunrise is what brings you back, it’s the morning I will choose.” She’s lying on her back at first, but after her words she rolls to her side to watch him. He’s still watching the ceiling.

“I don’t want you gone, I don’t want that you want yourself gone.” She sees him swallow heavily, he still refuses to look at her. She moves closer to his body nonetheless. “How can you think I will leave you, when you’re all I ever wanted?” 

His head snaps to the left, his blue eyes hard. “You only want me for my body.” She rises, looking down on him. “That’s what I thought as well. But if it really was about sex, anyone else could have done it. It was you I was missing, you I am longing for.” There is fire in her eyes, blood rushes through her body because of the confession. Michael considers her for a while, shaking his head out of disbelieve.

“You just fell for the one I pretended to be. You don’t really want me, you want the thought of me.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he sits up before she can do so. “Don’t deny it, you rather have the softer, purer version of me.” Bitterly he spits out the words, tears are forming in his eyes.

“You might not believe it, but that was also you. You don’t have to be just one version of yourself Michael, you can be both soft and confident. Be both gentle and rough.” She leans in, cupping his face in the palm of her hands. His eyes are bloodshot teary messes, his bottom lip trembles. She aches for him, how can he be so damaged, how can the world damage him so much?

“Can’t you see? How can I not love you? You are so easy to fall for, so easy to be with. Every part of you is a part I will cherish. You are so easy to love, please never think otherwise.” She’s feeling bold, bringing her face closer to his. “I will never abandon you, please understand that.”

She is afraid he will reject her when she leans in to kiss him. But he surprises her. There is urgency in his kiss, his hands grab her head. He kisses her like she’s the rain a desert needs.

“You really won’t leave?” She almost wants to cry because of the insecure tone of his voice. “No.” The insecurity floods away, his face slowly breaks out to a smile. “This does not mean you suddenly will go all soft on me right?”

As an answer she hits him. “No, you’re too much of a bastard for that. Someone needs to keep you on your toes.” Michael leans in to kiss her again. Their kiss is slower this time, when they have to part to breathe, they’re both smiling.

“I love you.” He tells her. And Michael may have told her a lot of lies, but she is sure this is not one of them.

 “Grabbed my hand, pushed me down, took the words right out my mouth. Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

“I really hate this place.” Michael takes the academy in as if it’s the ugliest thing he ever saw. “But I don’t.” She pulls him with her. “Come on, I’ll show you my old room.”

--

Giggling she pushes his head away from her throat. “Michael, no, I am too hungry for this.” His hand hovers over her body, he tries to sneak beneath the t-shirt she is wearing. “I am hungry as well, hungry for you.” She hits his head after his sentence. “Don’t be a cliché, I know we’ve been watching romantic comedies, but you don’t have to quote them.” His laughter is muffled against her skin when he moves his head lower and lower. She pretends to fight him, but it’s only halfhearted. Her stomach grumbles, which makes him laugh even harder.

If she closes her eyes she can pretend they are in the world of the living. If she closes her eyes she can pretend Michael and her will be disturbed by a witch at any given moment. To have both versions of the one she loves, she feels spoiled. Living a domestic life in a world that does not change, it is not how she thought her heaven would look like.

It truly is heaven, to have this world for themselves. To have him to herself. She does not need to worry about anything else here, a very blissful thought.

She tastes herself in his mouth when he crawls up to kiss her. The sunlight falls in his hair, his cheeks rosy and his eyes are bright. They watch each other for a moment. She can’t believe she can call him hers. She can’t believe she is so lucky to have his love, to have him in her life. She closes her eyes when she leans into him for another kiss.

“I’ll make us breakfast, stay here.” Naked he leaves the room, her eyes stare at his ass. This must be heaven, she thinks again. And she’s right, it feels like heaven, but it is hell.

--

She finds Michael sitting on the sofa, a book balancing on his knees. There is a knife lying in the middle of the pages. He looks very innocent like this, reading the old book. His curls fall in his face, when he leans closer to the book, rather than moving the book closer to his face. She watches him for a bit, sipping from her lemonade as she does so.

“Reading something interesting?” It is meant teasingly, because who reads spell books for fun? But Michael his answer is serious. “Actually, yes, it says here how to get out hell without using magic.” She feels her heart drop. Get out of here? The moment she realized her magic was no longer there she had given up on ever getting out. “What does it say? Kill a goat?” She tries to joke, not wanting to face the possibility of losing him. Because she is sure he will leave her if they ever get out.

“No, it says blood of the death witch will free the soul.” She frowns, taking a step closer to him. “So I have to die for us to get out?” Michael stands up from the sofa. “You won’t really die, you will be back at sunrise.”

She considers him, not liking where this is going. Why is he even considering this?

“And what makes you think I will ever let you escape this prison? The world is a better place without you in it. Even if there was a chance that it will bring us back, I wouldn’t fucking try it.” It takes all her self-control to not throw the glass she’s holding to the ground. She does not want to leave this place. Partly because she does not trust Michael to not end the world when they’re back, but mostly because she does not want to share him. She got so used to them being together.

Can they even be together in the world of the living? Will they survive when there are other people to tempt them? Not that they will cheat on each other, it’s more the temptation of evil. The temptation of not wanting to let her coven down.

She hates that he looks excited about the idea to get out. He’s been so afraid she would be the one to leave him. But she is sure he will be the one to leave her when they’re back.

“Does the world mean so much to you? So much that you are willing to die here?” He closes the book, the knife still between the pages. Her laugh is humourless. “No one dies here. Aren’t you the proof? Do you really think I will let you out so you can leave me?”

Michael’s face softens. He takes a step closer to her. “I will never leave you.” Her heart clenches because of his words, Michael sees his chance.

“You’ll be back in the morning. It will be quick, you won’t feel a thing.” Michael tries to argue, but she shakes her head. “No way, we’ll talk about it later.” Michael sighs, he walks her way. “Fine, but you’ll make us dinner tonight.”

She gives him a smile. “As long as you make breakfast tomorrow again.” Michael stops in front of her, the book still in his hand. He kisses her forehead. “I’ll make you breakfast every day for the rest of our lives.”  

He watches her for a bit longer, his movement so sudden she can’t stop him. The knife plunges in her chest, her expression shocked, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Michael moves forward to keep her from falling to the ground. In his arms she breathes for the last time.

He lies her down on the sofa, kissing her forehead again. “See you at sunrise, my love.”

 “Running through the parking lot, he chased me and he wouldn’t stop. Tag, you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

When the sun rises, she does not. Her eyes stay closed, they do not see the glorious colours the morning sun brings. Her body cold and growing stiff, her face is starting to swell. The wound in her chest is not healing, the blood merely had dried up. The wound is starting to stink, in time it will sure attract meads, if they’re not already there.

Michael his hands are at her shoulders, shaking the body as if she is asleep and not dead. Panic rises in his body when nothing happens when the sun is fully up. Tears are forming in his eyes, his shaking becomes more violent. Michael his wails echo through the room when she does not return to him. Maybe he needs to bring her outside, maybe the sunlight needs to hit her body directly.

Like a broken doll she lies in his arms when he carries her outside. He almost runs to where the sun hits the ground. Away from the mansion’s shadows.

The grass outside is wet with morning dew when he lies her down in it. In a field that looks like jaded diamonds, he feels the last of his hope slip away. The sun light touches her skin, Michael can feel its heat on his own skin.

But nothing happens, her eyes are still closed, her lips slightly parted. He calls out her name, his desperate brain refusing to believe she’s not really here any longer. He can’t believe it, he won’t believe it. Maybe she is joking with him, pretending to be dead to spite him. A cry comes out anyway, because he knows this is very real. Like a defense mechanism his brain comes up with things to protect his heart, but it has no use.

His fingers push into her cold skin, when he buries his head against her shoulder. Tears fall from his eyes, his body violently shaking because of the sobs that are escaping him. He holds onto her stiff body like she’s all he has. And it is exactly that, she was all he had. In hell and maybe in the real world as well.

He clings to her, not fully understanding what this means yet. He is alone again, his world empty for real this time. The last person who cared, gone, because of him.

He clings to her until his body is hurting, clings to her as if she will come back as long as he holds her. He kisses her cheek, lips, throat. Mumbling spells over and over, trying to find even the faintest of magic in his body.

And when he kisses the wound, the dried up blood becomes wet against his lips, something happens. The metallic taste fills up his mouth, wets his mouth.

The first drop of water falls upon his hand, after that one he feels wetness in his neck. Michael looks up to the not so blue sky. Something had changed, the sun is starting to disappear behind the clouds that are ruling the sky now. The raindrops are wetting his face now, his blue eyes wet with tears again.

With his right hand he grabs her arm, afraid to let her go. Something is not right, it never rained here before. The days they had spent here the sun had been shining the whole time.

The rain is soaking him, his white t-shirt becomes see-through, his hair falls flat on his head. Goosebumps spread over his body because the lack of sun makes him feel cold.

His gaze turns away from the sky, instead he looks at her. He shifts, so he sits on his knees. Her face is wet with rain, but her eyes are still closed. He leans over her body, he holds her wet face in the cup of his hands. His thumbs stroke the skin of her cheeks.

“Please come back to me, don’t leave me. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to be alone, please, I love you.” Something is pulling at him, but he pulls back. “Come back to me, please come back to me.”

The raindrops are not the only thing wetting her face now. His tears fall on her face, an invisible pulse is getting to him. It starts with his hands, fading away as if they’re dust. And it goes too fast for Michael to even properly respond to what’s happening to him.

Like the iron that had pulled him underwater, the darkness pulls him away from her. He’s swallowed by it and for a moment there is nothing but him and him repeating her name over and over again.

--

The windows of the Murder House reflect the rising sun like a mirror would. That’s the first thing Michael’s eyes see when he sits up from the place he died so long ago. Somewhere in the street he hears the engine of a car being turned on. A cat chases after a mouse, Michael watches them until they disappear in the rose bushes of his grandmother’s garden.

The world is filled once again, but he had never felt more alone.

 “Grabbed my hand, pushed me down, take the words right out my mouth. Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

Everything tastes like blood. The world too full and empty at once. Too many voices for a man who longs to hear only one. This world is bitter, an after taste of the sweet.

Everything tastes like blood, her blood. A cruel reminder for what it took for him to get here. And all he wants is to go back, to undo everything that happened. If only that was possible. But he cannot change time, he is not even powerful enough to make something move without touching it.

His magic is still growing, swirling around in his body as if it is searching for a purpose. And maybe that is what the problem is. Michael has no purpose, ending the world being a less pleasing idea than it was in his other life. In this timeline Cordelia did him no harm, in this timeline Ms. Mead is still alive. In this timeline he damns the devil for taking away what mattered the most. He shakes his head, the devil did not take her away, he did it himself.

Everything tastes like blood. The cold iron taste the last that will be of her. He is the only one who remembers her how she was, she was the only one who saw him for how he truly is.

He is lost, he is alone. Grieving his love lost, wandering around this world as if he does not belong to it. In his mind he doesn’t, he rather belongs to death.

Nothing really matters, not any more. Games are there to lose or to win, but Michael did neither. He drives through the empty wasteland, leading him to a place of familiarity.

The sun sets, the road ahead is as empty as his heart. Blood is all he tastes, she is all he wants.

He leaves everything else behind, nothing really matters. Not anymore.

As always, thank you for reading! 

Notes: For the ones who read my ‘You want it darker’ series, there is a small part that references to a particular scene out of that fic. (Michael remembering being tickled by the reader when he was ‘younger’)  This story does not necessarily exist in the same world as that story, but it could be. To me it was just a fun Easter egg to put in the story to throw back to one of my more earlier writings in the Michael fandom.  

Also, sorry for the ‘humans destroy the world’ shit. Those definitely are my own thoughts. I am a huge sea life lover (sea turtles are probably my favourite animals, omg i love them so much.) so I had to put it in. 

Also 2, Michael really is a dumbass for thinking sunlight won’t reach him if he’s on the bottom of a bay. The ocean doesn’t get dark until you’re around 1000 meters. Until that point light still reaches you. 

"He kisses me like I am the rain the desert needs," A reference that always sparks thoughts; because does the desert truly need rain? With rain the desert will no longer exist. Not everything needs to be fruitful to be needed.

Like Real People Do.

Strong alcohol and heavy smokers give the dingy bar its never-changing scent. The lighting is scarce and the patrons even scarcer. A total of 6 people are here tonight, all of them alone. You included. You would say the night has just begun, meaning things could still liven up, but you wouldn’t mind if it didn’t. You sit in the far corner of the room, back against the wall, able to see everything but the front door.

Just then, another loner walks into the establishment, bringing the body count up to 7. You stop in the middle of taking a swig of your Guinness. There’s something familiar about this newcomer. You turn your torso to look.

A man in a cheap gray suit with dark shades and a white cane is walking up to the bar.

“Jameson on the rocks, please.”

His voice is scruffy and somehow soft at the same time. You recognize it in the same moment you recognize all the bruises and cuts below his clothing. You sensed them just yesterday, although that man had seemed quite different than the one sitting a few yards from you now. You swallow the last of your beer and decide you just have to say hello.

You walk up to the man with a purpose, doing a good job of keeping your slightly tipsy ass completely on balance. He doesn’t turn towards you as you sit on the stool beside him and order another beer. Then you glance over at him.

“You know, a handsome man such as yourself shouldn’t be out alone at night. You never know what could happen, especially in this city.” You make sure to lay on the playfulness so he knows for sure that you’re joking.

The man chuckles lightly, shifting ever so slightly in your direction.

“Does me being blind have anything to do with that?”

“Oh, it was the main concern. Of course.” You then lean in a little closer and talk a little softer.

“Don’t want you running into anything dangerous, do we?”

“I think I can take care of myself, but thank you for the concern.”

“Mmm… I know you can.”

“And how’s that?”

Making sure no one can hear what you say, you scooch your mouth as close to his ear as you can without it being weird.

“Because you’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

The man’s demeanor stiffens at the turn of a dime. You can tell he’s gone on the offensive and is ready to fight, so you take a step back.

“I believe we met last night in the alley behind the Salvation Army on 46th street. My name’s Y/N.”

You extend your hand, exuding all the sincerity and warmth you have to help him relax and prove to him that you’re on his side. He surely remembers your little chat last night. It was mostly about how he was confused as to who you were because he’d never heard of or seen you before, which was fair. Still a little insulting, but fair because you were new to the scene. You started going out not long before Fisk was exposed.

Your soft smile and steady heartbeat prove to your companion you mean no harm, but he’s still a little hesitant in taking your hand and shaking it once.

“Matt Murdock.”

“A Matthew. Interesting. It’s nice to meet the daytime you.”

“Likewise.” You appreciate the small upturn at the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s move this conversation to a more secluded area, yeah?”

Matt lets out his held breathe, “yes, please.”

You lead the way with your arm reaching out behind you, barely grazing the side of his wrist as a guide that you know he doesn’t need. You return to the table you were at before, the best private vantage point in the whole bar.

The two of you take seats opposing one another. Matt’s body has fully relaxed, but you know he is still keeping his guard up.

“So, why a suit?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I actually just got Fisk convicted.”

“Ah, so you take care of criminals in more ways than one. I’m impressed.”

“What about you though? You help people in more ways than one. I know you heal and can somehow heal others, but you also have some serious skills with a blade. AND you’re a doctor, right?”

“Not anymore.”

You weren’t expecting Matt to bring up such a sore subject so soon. You liked the guy but you didn’t want him knowing your whole backstory already. You quickly changed the subject.

“So, you can’t use your eyes to see, but you know everything that’s happening around you. How does that work?”

“That’s a bit of a long story.”

Yikes. There’s his backstory. He doesn’t seem ready to share that yet either. You glance over Matt’s shoulder and see the dusty jukebox in the back corner.

“Do you dance, Mr. Murdock?”

“A little, Ms. L/N.”

“Perfect. Give me one moment.”

You swiftly move your way over to the jukebox, throw in the dollar that you have left for tonight and pick the first song that pops up in the “smooth tracks” section. A soft melody on a banjo rings out.

I had a thought, dear, however scary

about that night the bugs and the dirt.

You go back to Matt and gingerly take his hand into yours. He stands with a grin and follows you to the small place between the speaker and the bathroom.

Why were you digging? What did you bury

before those hands pulled me from the earth?

You place your left hand on his right shoulder and continue holding his left hand with your right. Matt takes his glasses off and places them in his pocket with his free hand before placing it on the back of your waist. The pair of you start slowly swaying to and fro, shimming around in a circle.

I will not ask you where you came from.

I will not ask you, neither should you.

You take a glance up and are stunned by Matt’s irises. In the dim yellow glow of the bar lights, their shade of brown is somewhere between honey and chocolate, appearing to be two little sweets for you to hunger for. Even though they aren’t able to focus on you, it somehow feels like they are looking deep into yours. The blind trust you give to him scares you for a moment.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.

We should just kiss like real people do.

“So how did you know it was me?” You’ve been anticipating this question.

“I can sense injuries and illnesses in people. I do have some influence over a person’s healing too, but it’s mainly my medical training that does the trick. I recognized your bruises, which are everywhere, and your many fractures and cracks, new and old.”

“That’s incredible… but also weird.”

You both laugh and break a little tension that has built from everyone else in the bar noticing your dance.

“I don’t think you have any room to talk.”

“You’re probably right.” Matt remarks with a little chuckle.

I knew that look dear, eyes always seeking,

was there in someone that dug long ago.

“What we do- it all feels like a lot, but... it’s worth it. Don’t you think?”

Matt takes a moment to think about his answer.

So I will not ask you why you were creeping.

In some sad way, I already know.

“I think it can be, yeah. It also feels way less daunting when you’re not doing it alone.”

You smile. He’s right. You didn’t realize it until he just said it, but ever since your encounter last night, you felt a little lighter, as if you didn’t have to hold so much on your plate anymore. It allowed you to take a breath and go out to the bar for once. You earned it.

“I agree.”

I will not ask you where you came from.

I will not ask you and neither would you.

The both of you continue to sway as you feel the song nearing its end. That song was your last dollar so you were done drinking tonight. You thought about how badly you now wanted to be out in the city, helping whoever you could. With Daredevil by your side, you could know about anyone that was in trouble and he could have backup to take on even more bad guys. You both could accomplish so much more.

“What if we went out and kicked ass together? Right now.”

The possibilities are starting to build in your gut, pushing up adrenaline. You both stop swaying.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.

We should just kiss like real people do.

“Well? What are we waiting for?” Matt smiles and you copy.

Before even thinking about it, you pop up on your toes and kiss your lips to Matt’s cheek. His scruff tickles your nose and chin and his aftershave zips into your nostrils, leaving a minty burn behind.

With his hand still in yours, you bop back down and lead the way out of the bar and into the next adventure of your life.

I could not ask you where you came from.

I could not ask you, neither could you.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips.

“Looking at me through your window. Boy, you had your eye out for a little. ‘I’ll cut you up and make you dinner. You reached the end, you are the winner’.”

Whether it is placed in the real world or in hell, the so called ‘Murder House’ always seems to radiate something sinister. Even if the only ghost who lives there now is him. She never had been inside the house, but she had heard the story Madison told them. It’s an impressive building, the gothic look of it reminding her of places that only exist in fiction.

Her eyes stay upon the house for a short while, taking in the beauty of it. Like a moth attracted to light, she always had been attracted to things that give her feelings she cannot explain.

A house famous because of its bloody past, abandoned buildings, a forest at night. She is the type to walk towards the moaning of pain instead to walk away from it. The girl who probably is the first to get murdered in a slasher movie, just because she can’t resist the enteral pull of curiosity for the things unknown.

The murder house calls out her name like a desperate salesmen who only needs one more sale to reach his quota would. But she does not enter the house of death, instead she walks across the street to break into his grandmother’s house.

Roses are decorating her garden, their smell so vivid in her nose, it makes her wonder if she truly is in the place where cruel souls end up. This world is as empty as any politician’s words would be, the only habitants this world has are him, and now her.

She wonders if he felt her coming into his world. He must have felt the shift of power, must know he isn’t the only one here any longer. Maybe he already is here, watching her from behind the curtains of the house across the street. Maybe his crystal eyes are following her form breaking into the house where he had been loved and hurt a long time ago.

She can’t imagine him to live willingly in his grandmother’s house, for how much nostalgia the place may hold, it was also the place where his heart got broken for the last time.

Her index finger is collecting the dust that lays upon the furniture. Her eyes scanning over the pictures decorating the walls. Constance Langdon might have been the worst, deserving to be in a hell as well, she at least did love her children. Even if it was in a twisted unhealthy way.

The house had been left behind as if Constance still had been there minutes ago. She guesses it is the beauty and cruelty of this world. This world, despite being empty, has been lived in. The torture of the thought they all once were here but now no longer are, must be enough to make any sane person go insane.

Michael has been abandoned by everyone his whole life, it only makes sense for him to be completely alone in his hell.

A cigarette is still burning in the ashtray, a tea cup filled with something stronger standing next to it. There is music coming from a small stereo, some song that makes her think about the sixties. The kitchen is cleaner than the hallway was. There are roses upon the kitchen counter, freshly plucked from her garden. She isn’t entirely sure what day or period this hell is designed around, but it seems to be summer.

There are a lot of things she isn’t sure of, starting with why she decided to come here. It all ends with this particular decision as well, it all ends with him. Michael Langdon, the one she hates so much it makes her blood boil to just think about him. But he is also the one she wants so much it makes her bones ache, her muscles sore and her head spin. And that was the reason why she came here, to feel what she had felt so many moons ago again.

Drowning the burning liquid from the cup away, a cigarette smoking between her fingers. The kitchen slowly growing dark as night takes the day. She doubts Michael will recognize her, they had never met each other in this timeline after all. A game she has to play again very carefully, a game she had thought out long before coming here.

Michael Langdon will find her interesting once again, if not only because of the fact she will be the first human he’ll see in months. He will not bite at the very moment he sees her, she knows it. Michael Langdon likes to hunt for things and she will make sure he’ll think she’s the one being chased.

--

Days go by, and slowly the loneliness of this world is starting to get to her. She tries to make the most of it, trying to find a new adventure every day.

Visiting museums, watching movies in an empty cinema. Getting herself drunk on Moët, to pass away in the same bar hours later. Every morning she returns to Constance’s house. But there never is a sign of him. After day ten she starts to wonder if she didn’t make a huge mistake coming here. Maybe he isn’t even in this city, maybe he decided to make the best of his days as well. And for the first time she is not confident with the plans she made, maybe it had all been for nothing. Maybe she did willingly lock herself up in hell way before her actual past time.

Day twenty nine she spends being drunk, smashing everything in Constance’s house. The floors covered in glass dust, pictures burning in the kitchen. Rose petals bruising between her fingers, skin cut open because of the thorns, blood covering her face as she swipes the sweat of her forehead. She screams until her throat is sore and her lungs are hurting. She screams until sobs are all that come out.

She doesn’t care for her plan at all in this moment, all she wants is for the loneliness to go away. She falls asleep in the middle of the ravaged garden, wishing for the first time she never had come here.

She wakes up with her lashes wet with morning dew. Her body cold and aching, the sky coloured a light pink above her. The garden is as beautiful as it was before her breakdown, the smell of roses filling up her senses. A groan escapes her when she tries to sit up, despite the world turning back to its original state, her body does not. Maybe it is because she does not truly belong here, a thought that both excites and saddens her. This world is in a way an extension of him, to not belong to him a blessing and a curse at the same time. She wants to be wanted but she wants to exorcise him from her heart as well.

As fast as her aching body allows her to move, she makes her way inside, her index finger tracing the in dust covered furniture once again. It all is the same, it is as if she never had been here before.

And it indeed is all the same, except for one thing. A small thing she wouldn’t have noticed, didn’t she grow to know this kitchen so well. The cigarette is still burning in the ashtray, the same song is playing from the radio. It is the cup that had changed, for there is steam coming from it. She almost trips over her own feet when she tries to make her way to the table. Clumsily she falls down on the wooden chair, her hands reaching out for the cup. The tea is fresh, the faint smell of jasmine coming from the steaming liquid. Everything is the same, but nothing really is. Her smile hidden in the cup as she gratefully takes a sip. She tries not to feel too good about herself, for this is only the start of everything. But she can’t help it, a victorious feeling filling up her aching body. Finally she had caught Michael’s attention.

“Rolling down your tinted window. Driving next to me real slow, he said, ‘Let me take you for a joyride, I’ve got some candy for you inside’.”

The game truly had begun now. With every move she makes, she considers how it will look to him. She continues living her days like she did before, not wanting him to know she knows. This might be the most exciting part of the game to her, to have the control while pretending to have none.

“If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.” She sings along with the song, a bottle of white wine in her right hand. She swings around the living room, she’s a bit tipsy. The bottle brought to her mouth, the drink spilling over her chin from being too greedy.

She dances around the house as if she owns it, she climbs the stairs for the first time. In the time she had been here, she never really explored the house properly. She wonders if there will be traces from Michael living here as well. Would hell be that cruel, to show him memories of when things were better?

Ofcourse it is cruel like that, with her left hand she had opened what she supposed used to be his bedroom. Toys are still lying around at the floor, the bed is neatly made, but the rest of the room is messy. Clothing that belongs to a much younger child he is right now lie folded upon the bed. Children books are stacked upon the nightstand next to the bed.

She sits down on the bed, placing the almost empty bottle beside the books. Her eyes scanning the room, trying to collect her thoughts. Here was where Michael Langdon once killed a priest, but it is also where he used to be innocent. The place where his grandmother had told him bed time stories, the place where he had been a child unknowing of its future.

This is the place where he once felt save. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, tongue suddenly dry. How would his life have been if he weren’t the anti-Christ? Would he be as fucked up as Tate, or would he be a good child, a good human? She sighs, leaning back on the bed, her eyes falling upon the teddy bear that lies lonely next to the pillow. She finds disappointment in the fact that they will never know how life would have been if Michael Langdon wasn’t born evil.

Boring, she thinks later, her face pressed into the blue pillow. It would be boring, her drunken mind repeats it again. The sheets smell like him, she had forgot about how he smelled. Boring, life would be better, but it would be boring without him. No matter how wicked their games were, she had loved them nonetheless. She falls asleep with her face pressed into his pillow, reminiscing past events that had made her come to this hell in the first place.

The basket hanging at her right arm is filled with groceries. Sweets, fresh fruit, expensive coffee, that one cereal brand Coco never allowed her to buy. The only thing she likes about this world is that everything is free. The dress she wears today has a pastel pink colour, it falls just over her knees. The colour making her look more innocent than she truly is. It is all on purpose, she wants to be seen as weak as possible. To drive him insane to the point he no longer can hold himself back. She likes to push him to the edge, enjoys to be the one who will let him lose all control. She just has to be smart about it, soon enough she will have for what she came.

She sleeps in his childhood bed every night now. The sheets still carry the smell of him, like they will do for forever. After the third night she is sure he is in her room when it gets dark. She notices it in the small changes. A toy not lying were it normally lies. The window not properly closed, the bedroom door closed instead of almost closed. And like the ‘fool’ she is, she pretends she doesn’t notice it at all.

--

A dripping path goes from the bathroom to his room. Her body still wet from the shower, a wicked glint in her eyes. She’s been doing this the whole week now. Walking around naked as if she’s not being watched. The last sun rays that are coming through the window are hitting her body. He’s here, she is sure of it. She almost wants to open the closet, or peek under the bed. Just to freak him out. Maybe he’s using magic to conceal himself and is he standing right behind her. Is he close enough to touch? If she closes her eyes it’s easy for her to pretend he is. His hand hovering over shoulder, his eyes plastered upon her ass.

She lies down on the bed, not bothering to hide her body beneath the sheets. The evenings are always hot, it’s only natural for her to not lie beneath the covers. She spreads her legs, her hands hovering over her body. Stopping at her breast, with her index finger she circles the areola. She’s growing frustrated with his lack of action. She didn’t have a mental break down for him to ignore her again.

Her nose pushed into the brown fur of the teddy bear, did Michael sleep with this bear as well? Did he give it name? Was this stuffed animal once filled with his tears? The thought of small Michael clutching onto the bear to find comfort hits her harder than she thought it would. She does not want to feel for him, the only thing she wants from him is his dick. The only thing she wants to feel is lust, not empathy for the bad childhood he had.

Lust, she misses Michael. How he’d been able to crawl underneath her skin without really trying. How he had exactly know what she had wanted before she spoke of it. God, she misses him so much. His open mouthed kisses against her throat, his fingers tracing the veins on her wrist. His moans swallowed away by her mouth, his hands upon her breasts. Her tongue licking at his skin, her hand wrapped around his throat when he was younger. His around hers when they met again in the outpost. His cold rings striking her hot skin. His long fingers filling her cunt during dinner, her knees raw from sitting too long upon them. His pulled out hair between her fingers like silk, her body marked by his mouth, teeth and hands. They had hated each other, they had wanted each other. The most exciting part of their relationship was that she never knew if he would kill or fuck her.

She needs it again, maybe this time without the murder part. She will fuck him and leave hell again. The ache would be gone, she would be able to live her life further without him. But he must be the first one to show his teeth. He must feel save enough around her, he must think he had caught his prey. And after that, she would leave him, her departure hopefully tearing him apart.

He had hurt her, disappointed her even. For killing her sisters but not her. For giving her the false pretense he had cared enough to spare her. For her lovesick heart to realize he only had spared her because he knew he would be bored in the future again. No one knows how to fuck Michael Langdon over like her, so it made sense for him to keep her around. She will fuck this version of Michael so good he will forever mourn the loss of her pussy when she leaves him again.

She pushes the bear between her legs, needing the friction. Her hand pushes the innocent stuffed animal against her core. The thought of dirtying something from his childhood making her hornier than it should make her. Her hips pushing up, rubbing against the teddy bear like it is his hand. She does not let the moan that threatens to escape her in. Let him know she’s having fun, let him know she’s deviling his favourite childhood toy. She is careful enough to not moan his name, but it is him she thinks about. The thought of him hiding here somewhere almost enough to make her come. She hopes he sees everything she does, that he enjoys the show she’s putting up just for him.

Maybe he is touching himself as well right now, his eyes closed as he tries to be silent. His large hand wrapped around his cock, sweat glistering upon his brow. Oh, how she wishes to taste him again. To lick away his salty sweat, to wrap her mouth around his pretty cock. To suck him off until he comes, moaning her name so loud it will be echoing through the room. She wants to be used by him, to feel this deep ache in her core for days after. Fuck, she needs to have him inside her. She pushes the bear away, ignoring the wetness that dirtied its fur. She only needs to tease herself a little with her fingers, sliding into herself with ease. She does not want it to be over this soon, but she had been too long without Michael. Her breathing hastily coming from her nose, her body moving desperately against her own hand. She bites her tongue until she tastes blood to keep herself from screaming his name when she comes.

  “Running through the parking lot, he chased me and he wouldn’t stop. Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

“Are you real?” His voice echoes through the empty grocery store isles. She is shocked to hear his voice, her body stiffening, the mango she just took falling from her hands. It feels like her stomach is jumping up, his voice so familiar yet so unfamiliar. Goosebumps spreading over her body, not out of fear, but out of recognition.

She turns around in one fluid motion, her eyes catching his. She did not expect to feel how she feels. He looks different from how she remembers him. His hair short, his curls giving him a youthful look.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt and shorts. It kinda looks like he just rolled out of his bed. Maybe he did, stalking her must be tiring. Seeing him likes this makes her remember exactly why she came her. God, he is so attractive, it’s unfair. She wants to run towards him, wrap her arms around his shoulders and kiss him. Crazy with want, she takes a step back before she does what her mind tells her to do.

“I don’t know, are you?” Taking a step back had been the wise idea, it strengthens the faux feelings of fear she is supposed to feel. And then he does something she did not expect him to do. He starts to cry. Without having a second thought about it, she walks his way. She never had seen him cry, it surprises her how much she dislikes it. She only had known him as this cocky powerful monster, never realizing he was human as well. She wraps her arms around him when she is standing beside him.

Eagerly he leans into her hug, face pressed against her shoulder. She pushes her face into his hair, sniffing in his smell. Her hands stroking his back, as his tears wet her shirt. She is overwhelmed with the feeling being this near Michael gives her. She knew she had wanted him, but she didn’t expect it to be this intense. Just being near him makes her want to throw off all her clothes. His tears creating feelings she never thought she would have for him. She wants to kiss his pain away, hold him until he feels whole again.

“What’s your name?” She asks him, her hands still stroking his back. It feels weird to be this soft with him, to comfort him. “Michael.” His teary eyes look straight into hers. She gives him a smile. “I am Baby.” She does not tell him her real name, she never planned to do it. She doesn’t want this Michael to know her. “Baby?” She laughs because of his confused tone. “My parents really like the movie ‘Dirty Dancing’. I was named after their favourite character.”  Michael smiles at this. “I can’t believe you are real. I never thought I would ever see someone again.” She almost feels guilty for her plan to leave him again after she gets what she came for. “Neither did I. But we’re not alone anymore.”

She proposes to go to ‘her’ home, so they can talk for a bit. Something he ofcourse agrees on.

They walk side by side in silence for a while. Until she breaks the silence, her steps slowing down. “Where have you been living?” Michael shrugs, his eyes going up to find the blue sky. “Everywhere, to be honest. I don’t like to stay in one house.” She almost let’s out a snort because of the lie. As if he wasn’t stalking her the past couple weeks. “This world is an explorer’s wet dream.” She says instead, giving him a grin. “Is there anything outside the city? I was too, uh, busy to explore.” She doesn’t want to mention the complete mental break down she had only a week ago. “Yeah, I think this world is pretty much a copy of the living one. But, you know, emptier.”

Living one, funny he calls it like that. “So you died as well?” Her heart skips a beat when she asks the question, she is curious for his response. She’s looking at his face, to analyze his precise reaction.  He keeps his tone light, his head turning into her direction. “I am pretty sure I did, yes.” After that they’re silent again, until they arrive at his grandmother’s house. “This is where I’ve been living.” Michael his eyes scan the place, he’s acting as if he does not know the place. It amuses her a little. “Why this house?” He asks her then, a question that surprises her. “I guess I just loved the roses. It reminded me of my childhood.”

They talk the whole night, getting to ‘know’ each other. She soon realizes this Michael is nothing like the Michael she had known. In a way they are the same, but this Michael is way softer than ‘her’ Michael was. She is not sure if she likes it, but being around him excites her too much to think too much about the fact they’re not the same person.

The one that’s living in her memories will never be hers again, a fact she isn’t able to accept. For now she just keeps on hoping she will find what she’s looking for in the different version of him.

--

They’ve been living for three weeks together in his childhood home. Falling into an easy almost domestic like routine. She still sleeps in his childhood bedroom, he sleeps on the couch. She can’t blame him for not wanting to sleep in his late grandmother’s bed. At times like these she wished they could be honest with each other. She wants to to know his mind, with each day they are spending together, the less she thinks about the reason why she actually came here.

They talk a lot, more than she did with the original Michael. Being around him feels natural, comfortable. Every day they do whatever they like, eat whatever they want to eat. They have all the time of the world, and although she is not the most patient person, she does not mind her game is taking this much time to unfold.

For today they traveled outside the city. Deciding to picnic somewhere where they can hear the ocean.

“Baby, if you could go back to the real world, would you?” He suddenly asks her. He is leaning on his elbows, watching her. She takes of her sunglasses, pretending to think hard about his question. Ofcourse she will go back to the real world, it had been her plan all along. “To be honest, I don’t know. Everything happens for a reason after all. Maybe this is what I deserve.” He thinks a couple minutes about her lie. “What would you do if the opportunity presented itself?” She asks then.

“I am not sure. I would want to go back, but I am not sure if I have much to go back to.” Her eyebrows raise after his words. What is he talking about? He still had his grandmother, maybe in the other timeline Ms. Mead would have found him as well. “Did I tell you how I died?”

She shakes her head, wondering what he will tell her. “I was killed.” There is so much sorrow in his voice that it shocks her. Her hand going to her mouth, to cover her shocked expression. She hopes this is the reaction that fits his sentence the best. How does anyone react to a confession like that anyway?

“Why were you killed?” She needs to know if he’s evil. She needs to know if he truly was innocent when he died. “I don’t know, the car just came out of nowhere. The only thing I know is that I deserve to be in hell.” Tears are forming in his young eyes. She feels for this Michael, her heart aches for him. Without really thinking about it she pushes his hair back, keeping it from falling in his face. “This can’t truly be hell. How can this be hell when we found each other?” It’s a filthy lie, a desperate manipulative lie she so badly wants to believe herself as well. She wishes it was the truth, for this hell to turn into their heaven.

He smiles at her, something had changed in his eyes, but she can’t exactly name what has. “Do you really think so?” His words come out carefully, as if when he would say them too loud they will lose their meaning. “Yes, we no longer are alone. That does have to mean something right?” He looks at her as if he wants to kiss her, and she wishes he did. He lies down instead, his eyes looking up to the sky. She joins him, their shoulders touching as they bath in the afternoon sun.

Her thoughts wander to the coven she had left behind. Time in hell passes differently than the time in the world of the living does. Are they missing her already? Or did they just assume she left them? She didn’t have a bad relationship with the other witches. She adores her sisters, even Mallory who did kill Michael. She doesn’t mind him being death, Mallory saved countless lives because of her deed.

If they search for her, she hopes they never find her, she decides. If this is the Michael he was supposed to be, she wants to be forever with him. Not caring it’s all built upon lies. She does not want to go back to a world without him. Who cares she has to live under a fake name, who cares he only will know this caring, kind, version of her? She wants him like this, all his love, his trust. She wants to be the one who will make him believe in everything good again. She wants to experience all of his love, she wants him to be a prisoner of her love.

“Do you remember how it felt? Dying, I mean.” His voice is small, as if he is afraid to ask it. He is no longer watching the sky, he had rolled over to lie on his side. She rolls to her side as well, to face him.

“I only remember feeling cold.” She says honestly, her eyes avoiding his. She is not the supreme, bringing herself to hell had taken its toll on her. “How did you die?” He asks her then, his hand reaching out to hold hers. She allows him to touch her, even finding a bit of rejoice in him making the first move. And she doesn’t want to be too vulnerable around him, but she likes them being like this. She had loved fucking him over in their first live, but she thinks she likes the intimacy of what they’re having right now better.

She can’t really lie to him, but she can’t tell him the whole truth either. “I did it to myself.” This comes close enough to the truth, she decides. “Why?” His eyes had widened, his face inching closer to hers. “Because I was missing someone.” She whispers, a bit ashamed that it’s not a lie. His face is so close now that she can feel his breathing on her face. “Are you still missing this someone?” She thinks about this for a short while. She adores this Michael, but she will never not miss the Michael she got to know. How dangerous that Michael may have been, he had been the excitement in her life as well.

“I will always miss that person, but with each day passing by I handle it better.” Their noses are almost touching, they will kiss. She knows it will happen, she can practically taste the tension that buzzes in the air. “I hope you’ll never be sad again.” His words whispered against her mouth.

She is the first one to lean in, gently kissing him. He immediately responses, his head slightly tilted. She wraps her arm around his waist, pushing her body closer to his. It’s been so long that she had kissed someone, but it feels like they were doing this every day. It probably is the same as horse riding, cycling and tying your shoes. Once you know how to do it, you will never forget.

Their kiss deepens, and before she knows it she’s lying on top of him. She had missed this so much, the way his breathing gets heavy, his taste, the feel of his hot skin against hers. It feels like falling into a lake filled with all her happy memories. There is a buzzing sound in her ears, his hands are on her hips. She grinds into him, needing some friction. This was not how she expected to get what she wanted. She thought it would take some more time for them to get to this point. But at the moment she doesn’t really care about it.  

All she cares about is kissing him and the soft feeling of his hair in her hands. A small moan escapes her when she feels Michael’s bulge through his shorts against her leg. Fuck her plans, she really imagined for it to go different, but she wants him. It had been a dry season, and right now she will take whatever she can get. She’s kissing the skin of his throat, knowing exactly how he likes it.

She starts to grind her body against his, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. He kisses her throat, her skin catching the moaning sounds that escape him with each movement she makes. She’s so wet already, her underwear is probably soaked. Michael his hands move underneath the white t-shirt she had been wearing. His nails softly scraping her skin, he is very careful with her. Something the other Michael definitely wouldn’t have been. He would have had her begging by now, begging to be even touched. This Michael is generous with his kisses, his touches and his moans. Generous but soft. She wants to know if he can be rough as well. “Fuck, Michael, I can’t wait for you to be inside me.” Her words whispered in his ear, her hips pushing down against his to strengthen her words. “Oh, fuck.” She hears him muttering, his hips bucking up. “You don’t want to know how long I’ve wanted you like this. Just looking at your long fingers sometimes was enough. The thought of having them inside me, the thought of you touching me, driving me insane.” Michael let’s out a raspy breathe, his hips bucking up for a last time. A foul curse word falling from his mouth as he comes inside his pants.

She only laughs at this after, telling him it’s okay. He had been alone a long time after all. He apologies for the 10th time. “I am so sorry, Baby. I promise I will make it up to you.” Her smile is as bright as the sunset colouring the sky a flaming orange. “I’ll keep you to that one.”

“Grabbed my hand, pushed me down. Took the words right out my mouth. Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.”

“Maybe there are other people here as well.” They drive through the empty city. He is leaning against the window, watching her. “You think so?” She answers him. “This world is so big, there could be people alone everywhere. Don’t you think they deserve to know they’re not alone?”

She is sure that there are no other people in this world. But she ofcourse can’t tell him this without giving him a valid reason as well. “What are you proposing?” She says instead, her eyes tearing away from the road ahead. “We should travel around. Visit other places, and if we don’t find anyone else, we at least saw some of this world.”

She nods at this, if traveling around will make him happy, she will happily oblige.

--

Something between the two of them had changed. If it is because they finally kissed or because they spend most of their time cramped in a car together, she isn’t sure of it. She only knows something had changed. Michael seems different, growing more confident in his demeanor. Not as confident as her Michael had been, but he neither was the crying boy she had met in the store. He was a good in between now, she decides. This Michael is all soft smiles, dramatic verbal expressions of love and heavy make out sessions. He is so easy to fall in love with, it frightens her how much she wants it.

Every place they visit, they’re the only ones there. Ofcourse, she had known this. Her presence never had been one of coincidence either. But with each empty city they find, Michael still finds the strength to be an opportunist. “This world is so big, eventually we will have to find someone.” She will search the whole world for him, if it meant being with him. She doesn’t care it is all based upon a lie. She doesn’t care for anything at this point at all. All she cares about is to see him smile.

They’ve been driving up the west coast. The smell of salt had been stinging in her nose for a week now. She had forced him out of their bed early today so they could watch the sun rise. Her head is leaning on his shoulder, they’re seated on a wooden bench. In the real world this place would have been crowded with tourists, desperate to see what they’re seeing right now. She likes moments like these, just the two of them watching the beauty of the world. In moments like these, it is as if they always had been like this. That they’re not in hell, but just a lucky couple who found an undiscovered place of beauty. They stay silent for a while, watching the sun rise over the valley.

He looks heaven send in the pink light of the rising sun. His hair wild and shiny in the morning. Like the Morningstar his father was named after, he is all that promised. Life, love, innocence. The start of a new day. He is the excitement that comes with trying something new, the feeling in your stomach right before you fall on the ground. “Do you prefer sunsets or sunrises?” She asks him.

“I like the moment before sunrise and the moment after sunset. To know the light is coming, to see the sky turn a lighter shade with each passing minute. It brings some sort of hope, to know the darkness will be over soon.” She sits up, shifting her body so that she completely faces his. “And why after the sunset?” He smiles, his hand going to her face to touch it. Automatically she leans into his touch, her face leaning in the palm of his hand. His thumb moves over her cheek, just to feel her skin.

“The afterglow, to realize what you just saw was real. Much like recovering from something excited I guess, to have this blissful feeling it happened to you.” She smiles after his words as well. “To be swallowed by the dark night after. Good things never are permanent.”

He leans in to kiss her, his lips lightly touching her. She sighs into his kiss, she’s so starved for his loving touches. “The memories of the sunset are sometimes enough to face the dark night. The sun will rise tomorrow again after all.” She feels like his words have a deeper meaning, but she does not ask him to elaborate. They never talk about what happened before they met, and he clearly prefers not to. She kisses him again, trying to stay in the moment.

“Sit on my lap,” He orders, “I think it’s time for me to make it up to you.” At first she does not understand what he meant with his words, but when she does as she is told she realizes. His hands are on her ass, squeezing it. “Try to be quiet, we don’t want to be caught.” His words surprise her a bit, maybe he misses the real world more than she thought he did. She plays into his game of pretend any way.

She kisses his cheek, moving her head to whisper in his ear. “Are you so sure you can make me scream then?” His right hands moves from her ass to her leg. “Oh, I’ll make sure your tongue will be bleeding from biting it too hard.” His words create a weird feeling, but she does not know where it comes from. And she forgets about the feeling all together when his hand slides between her legs. She’s glad she’s keeping up her innocent style. The dresses and skirts she’s wearing nowadays make sure he can access what’s between her legs whenever he wants.

He starts by rubbing over her underwear, his mouth kissing a way down from her throat to her collarbone. It takes all her strength to not let out a moan. She had missed his fingers so much, she had fantasized so much about this moment. Countless nights with her own fingers filling up her cunt, the whimpering sounds she would make muffled by her pillow. It does not compare to the feelings this simple act of rubbing does. She’s so hungry to feel him, to have every part of him. The finish line is in sight, the game she had been playing is coming to an end. It won’t be long before she will get more than just his fingers. “You are already so wet.” His fingers push against her entrance through the fabric, teasing her with what she clearly so desperately wants. “If we weren’t in hell, would you let me do this to you? At this same exact spot?” Her breathing is shaky, she needs to grip his shoulder to keep herself steady. “I would let you do anything everywhere.” This Michael does not know that they exactly did that many times before. Not in a place as beautiful as this one, but they both did like to find out how far they could go.

Two of his fingers slide with ease into her wet cunt. His thumb pressed against her flesh to keep his hand steady as he pumps his fingers into her.

Her head falls back as her lower abandonment rides into the palm of his hand. Michael his other hand goes up to crab her breast. Fingers kneading into her with cotton covered skin. “Fuck, it feels so good, Michael.” Her hand is squeezing hard into his shoulder when she tries to keep herself steady on his lap. “You feel so good around my fingers, Baby.” She wonders if this Michael is a virgin, but the way he moves his fingers into her makes her think he’s not. A jolt of jealousy goes through her body, she always liked the thought of being Michael’s only one (even though she probably wasn’t). The thought of him with another person makes her see red. Her nails press hard into his shoulder. She wants to conflict pain on him, as if it’s his fault he had a life before her.

He does not seem to mind, keeping up his pace. His fingers curling inside her, his thumb rubbing her nub. Her body heavily leaning against his, she rides herself on his fingers. Her eyes finding the empty trees behind them, his mouth sucking marks on her throat. Her arms around his shoulders, as she clenches around his fingers. She is not quiet, does not bite her tongue. His name screamed into their world of emptiness. She almost regrets the fact no one will hear it.

When she’s recovered from her orgasm, her hands go to where his pants grew tighter. To touch him, give him something back, maybe fuck him even. Who cares, she had a taste, now she wants more. But he shakes his head when she wants to unzip his pants. “No, not yet, my greedy darling.” She pouts, not understanding why he wants to wait. Maybe he is a virgin after all. “When?” She asks, she wants him to know how much she wants him. She had waited long enough. “When the time is right, patience is a virtue after all, Baby.”

--

She had lost him in a way. Her days spend aching for something that can never be retrieved again are not over yet. She had found what had been haunting her, but with everything in life, it was given to her in a way she did not want it to have. And yet; only when the world stops spinning she will not love the Michael hell had given her.

Mallory and she had been the only ones to remember the other Michael. She is not sure why she remembered him. Maybe it was the universe’s way to punish her for her betrayal in her other life. She liked to think it was her that was pulling the strings all along. But maybe this was planned for her as well. She crosses her legs, staring up to the stars and the darkness surrounding it.

To be alone in this world with him for forever. Will she ever not think about the other Michael? Will this one ever be enough? She knows the answers to her questions, but her heart does not want to admit them.

They made it a habit to break in houses instead of sleeping in hotels or motels. Just to learn a bit more about the ones living in the empty shells of what once was a home. The place they had decided on for tonight was more a mansion than a house. She didn’t really think it as a home either. The hallways too large, the rooms too empty. But the four-poster-bed has a nice mattress and the fridge is stocked with food.

Sleep wasn’t able to catch her, so she went outside to clear her head. The cool summer night air creating goosebumps, she rubs her hands over her arms to create warmth. The owners of the mansion sure had a great love for flowers, even in the back of their enormous garden she can still smell the sweet smell of them. It even overrules the stinging smell of chlorine coming from the dimly lighted pool.

She had discovered the pool in the back of the garden just now. Thinking maybe tomorrow the both of them could go for a swim. There are still so many things she wants to do but never got to in her life. Maybe this world is the chance for her to do them. Visit places where the ocean is blue and the sand is white. Travel up to where it snows, she wants to experience everything with him.

“Baby!” She doesn’t react at first, not as used as her fake name as she should be. “Baby?” There is desperation in his voice, her head snaps to where his voice comes from. “I’m here! Back of the garden!” She wonders what makes him panicked like this, maybe there were other people here after all? A thought that worries her, she doesn’t want to share him with anyone.

His hair untamed, he’s wearing a weird expression upon his face. His shoulders slumping down when he sees her. “What’s up? Why were you shouting my name?” She stands up from the plastic chair. With three long strides he is standing in front of her. His arms around her body, to pull it against his. A small sob escapes him, his nose nuzzled against the skin beneath her ear. “You’re still here.” Weren’t it for the fact his mouth was so close to his ear she probably wouldn’t have caught his phrase. She sniffs in the smell of him, her hands stroking his back. “Ofcourse I am, I will never leave you.” He leans back, taking her face in. “When I woke up and you weren’t there I thought you disappeared.” His sentence breaks her heart. Oh, Michael, she thinks, doesn’t he know that she will never leave him willingly?

“But I did not, I am here.” Her hands are in his hair, her fingers trying to tame his wild curls. He breathes out slowly, there is something in his eyes that she cannot explain. “You’re my savior, Baby. Please never forget that.” She wants to disappear, burn, to be buried alive. She does not deserve him, they have been living this lie she so selfishly made up just so she could fuck him. She doesn’t want to lie any longer, so she tells him the truth. “I do not deserve you.”

When they’re inside lying in the bed again, they both smell like the flowers decorating the garden outside. His mouth attacking hers in a hungry manner. Almost as if it’s the last time he will taste it. She’s lying beneath him, only wearing her underwear.

She licks the skin of his throat. He tastes like the forever summer this world is caught in. Something sweet and heavy. It’s a bit like the sleeping potion Cordelia had made her after Michael had killed her sisters. Her feelings of guilt had resulted in insomnia. Nights spend sleepless, her mind always going back to the games they used to play. Luckily they don’t have to play them anymore. Ironically, they can be the better versions of themselves in hell.

Her legs around his waist, his erected cock pushing against her core through his underwear. One of his hands on her breast, the other one just above her hip. “Is it the right time?” She asks, afraid he will say no. “Yes.” He says instead, kissing the tip of her nose. “You have been patient enough, my sweet baby.”

He positions himself between her legs, his head above hers. He kisses her first, slowly guiding himself in her wet cunt after.

She almost wants to pinch herself, to make sure it’s real and not just one of her fantasies. The way he stretches her, is so familiar it makes her want to cry. This is what she had been wanting for such a long time, but is everything she didn’t think it would be. She expected it to be rougher, maybe some hate fucking. But instead of finding what haunts her memories, she fell in love with a different version of him. A version of him that will never break her heart.

His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed. There are droplets of sweat on his forehead. She wonders what he is thinking right now. Had he been wanting this as well? How does it feel for him? “Are you okay?” Her hands go up to touch his face. His eyes open, his pupils are blown out. “Yes, are you?”

She answers him by pulling his face down to kiss him. “I’m so glad you found me.” She whispers. And it’s all he needs to hear. He starts to move, experimental thrusts at first. Going slow, but with time he grows more confident. And it all feels so good, the sounds he’s making, the way he smells, the way their skin slap together.

They don’t talk, afraid words will break the moment. Her senses overwhelmed, because now she can only focus on his body and the way he feels inside her. It feels like floating, everything else fades away, she can only think about the two of them. She doesn’t even feel the crumbled sheets sticking to her back, her head a little bit dizzy. And when she comes, her moans are screamed against his shoulder. His hips losing the steady rhythm in which he was fucking her as he comes two minutes later as well.  

She falls asleep in his arms, watching the sun rise through the window. His hand tracing figures over her stomach, the touch luring her into sleep like a lullaby would.

 “Can anybody hear me? I’m hidden under ground. Can anybody hear me? Am I talking to myself?”

When she wakes up she feels cold, the sheets had fallen of the bed. An empty bed, she realizes when her arms reach out for him. Slightly panicked she opens her eyes, immediately she sits up straight. When she hears his soft chuckle she calms down. He is leaning against the dresser opposite the bed, he had been watching her sleep. “Hey.” The smile she gives him is filled with love. His smile is a bit too bright, but she thinks it’s because of the sex they had last night.

“Good morning, Baby. I made you breakfast.” She falls back into the pillow again, a lazy smile decorating her face. “Michael! I didn’t know you could cook!” His smile is almost secretive. “I have a lot of hidden talents, Baby.” Her smile grows larger. Oh, he has no idea how much they have that in common. “I know more than you think I know, can do more things than you think I can.” With a wink he leaves her to get up from the bed.

“Can I ask you something?” His mouth is full with bacon when he asks the question. “Ofcourse, my darling.” She takes a bite of the scrambled eggs. “Do you consider yourself smart?” She frowns, where does this question come from? 

“Because I was wondering, now you got what you came for, Y/N, what will be your next step?” She freezes when he says her name. Panic rising up in her body, how did he know? What else does he know? Her heart is starting to beat faster, the fork falls from her hand. Michael does not respond to this, he calmly swallows the bacon. How is this possible, he didn’t knew it was her right? They never had met in his timeline, this Michael never heard of her. Ice cold fear runs through her veins when she sees the look in his eyes. “Uh, what did you just call me?”

“Y/N, or do you really prefer to be called Baby? Because the name doesn’t really change who you are right? You’ll always be my little witch who likes to play dangerous games.”

She jumps up from her chair at the same time he does. She feels something buzzing in the air. He knows, he knows who she is. “How long have you been remembering me?” His smile is as empty as the look in his eyes. “Well, I never forgot you to begin with.” She feels herself getting sick, she takes a step back from the table. Her eyes darting between him and the exit of the house. He laughs out loud now. “Did you really think you could fool me, baby?”

He walks around the table, her hands ball to a fist. “Don’t come closer, Michael. You might think you got me where you want me, but you still are the one that’s stuck here.” She spits out the words in a fruitless attempt to let him back off. “And so are you now. You really are not the brightest, huh?”

She has had enough of him, she moves her hand to make the knife that lies upon the table move towards his back. But nothing happens, the knife doesn’t move a single inch. Confused she tries again, but still nothing happens. “Magic doesn’t work in hell, didn’t your supreme tell you that?” He looks at her like she’s the dumbest person he ever had the pleasure of meeting. Amused even, he likes to see her struggle probably. “Fuck you.”

“That’s why you came here right? To fuck me? Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences? I am all that’s evil after all.”

She’s calculating her options to get away from him, she does not like the look he gives her at all. She can leave through the glass sliding doors. She will have to run through the backyard, jump over the fence. She isn’t sure if she will be fast enough to outrun Michael. He is standing closer to the door then her right now.

Another option is to run towards the living room, grab something to defend herself with. She knows there is a shovel next to the fire place, heavy steel that will definitely cause some pain. She can escape through the front door, run across the street to get a car. That will be the fastest way, she will be able to get further away from him with a car.  

“You’re saying it as if you didn’t enjoy it.” She needs to keep him talking, needs to keep him distracted. “I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Even though I know you like it a bit rougher.” She takes a step back, making her get closer to the opening that will lead them into the living room. “Well, you did play the ‘angsty, no one ever loved me sad boy’ part very well. It’s almost like it really was you.” She brings her hand into the air, taking another step further away from him.

“But, oh, wait, I guess it wasn’t an act after all! I wonder how it feels like to be abandoned by everyone you ever loved.” He actually looks hurt because of her words, his mouth forming to a thin line. He takes a step in her direction, when she takes another one away from him. “It actually was my plan all along to leave you as well. Who could ever love someone like you? Like you said, you are indeed all that’s evil.”

She spins around after her words, running into the living room. She hears him coming for her, but she had a head start. She runs towards the fire place, grabbing the poke. When she turns around he’s closer than she thought he would be.

“You’re playing dangerous games, Y/N. Games I tend to win most of the time.” His hair is messy from the sudden sprint he had to take, his breathing uneven. Guess he isn’t as fit as she thought he would be. “Well, as long you don’t get hit by a car.” She bounces back at him. He jumps towards her, but she is faster.

The shovel hitting his upper leg, a pain filled groan escapes him. His hand touching the place she hit him. She wastes no time, running past him, towards the hallway. Her hit had slowed him down, but not enough for him to not run after her. The front door is luckily not locked, her bare feet are hitting the stones of the pavement. The stones hurting her skin, but now is no time to worry about shoes. 

There are only two cars parked in the street, she knows only one has the keys still in the contact. She runs as fast as she can. Her breathing uneven, panic rising up in her throat, she does not dare to look over her shoulder, knowing it will slow her down.

She reaches the car, hands wet with sweat, she barely gets the door open. But when she does, she is relieved to see she got the right car. With the door locked, she finally dares to look behind her. He is getting close, a murderous look upon his face. The engine starts, her feet pushing in the pedal for the car to ride backwards. He jumps out of the cars way just in time. For a moment their eyes lock, his furious, hers filled with fearful adrenaline. He jumps forward at the same time she hits the pedal again. 

Her heart still beating too fast, as she watches his figure grow smaller in her rear view mirror. Her breathing finally calming down. An almost insane like laugh escapes her, her head falling back. “Tag you’re it.” She whispers, feeling a bit high because of the adrenaline. She won, she got away from him. Another laugh escapes her. He had been knowing it was her all this time, it all had been fake. She wants to scream, but instead she keeps laughing like she’s mad. Which she probably is at this point. The car is speeding up, driving faster and faster until she no longer is in the city.

She escaped him once now and she knows there won’t be a second time.

--

She’s been driving around for days now, trying to find a spot where he won’t search for her. But she’s exhausted and needs food. She leaves the store with a bag filled with food that should keep her alive for a couple days. She isn’t sure where to go. Maybe she can drive all the way to New Orleans, maybe she can find something that will make it possible for her to return to the world of the living. A potion, some sort of artifact. She is desperate, she knows she has to escape this world. She doesn’t want to think about the fact Michael had been lying this whole time. A part of her still believes the time they shared was real. The sweet nothings he had promised her were true, that the innocence in him was not false.

She had wanted this life with him. To be in love, to share this world together. She had wanted to explore every part of it with him. She had wanted to explore every part of this new him. Just thinking about the fact that it’s all shattered now, hurts her too much.

Mindlessly she walks the parking lot, trying to not think about him. Not knowing she is being watched.

A strong arm around her body, a cloth drenched with something intoxicating pressed against her mouth. Her scream muffled, her body struggling against his in an attempt to get away. The bag with groceries fall to the ground. She pushes her elbow back, hitting him in the stomach with it. A low groan escapes him, his grip on her loosens. She takes her chance, fighting herself out of his unwanted embrace with ease. She runs from him, her groceries scattered at his feet.

But she is not fast enough, his hand wrapping around her arm. She is pulled against his body, she tries to move away from him. But he is strong, his arm pressed against her face in the attempt to drag her body closer to his. She bites his exposed skin, not thinking about the consequences. Blood starts to pour from the wound she made, his arm sliding down. Blood is wetting the blouse she’s wearing, his voice loud in her ears. “You fucking bitch!” She feels a sharp sting in her arm, she jerks away from it the seconds after. Breaking herself free from him once again.

She runs as fast as she can towards the car she had been driving the past week. But her body is weak from being without food for so long, she’s tired from being on the run. The fear making her alert, but also a bit uncoordinated. Her mind can only see the end goal, not the details to get to it. Everything is starting to spin, the world around her is getting misty.

She falls down, her knees scraping against the asphalt. Her body feels heavy, it feels like she’s falling asleep. Too late she notices the needle sticking in the skin of her upper arm. With the last of her strength she pulls it out, falling in an all-consuming darkness after.

 “Saying, “Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it.” He’s saying, “Tag you’re it, tag, tag, you’re it”.”

When her eyes open they find the ceiling. She tries to move, but she can’t. The ropes around her wrists and ankles are keeping her grounded against the bed. He had taken off her blouse and skirt, dried up blood is decorating the skin between her breasts. She feels cold, her body hurting from the fight they had before. She tries to move her body again, her arms above her head moving in an attempt to free herself. Her head feels heavy because of the drugs, but she knows the situation is bad. Her ass wiggles in the sheets, her breathing is getting heavy. Panic slowly overtaking her, as the harder she tries to free herself from the ropes, the more they hurt her.

“It’s always so funny to watch a mouse try to outsmart a cat.” His voice stops all her movements, ice cold fear runs through her body because of the tone of his voice. “But doesn’t the little mouse realize, she will never be on top of the food chain.” Her head turns to the left, to face the door, but he is not there. “Other side of the room, darling.”

There he sits, in the chair with his long legs crossed. Watching her as if she’s an amusing show. “I have to admit, you did win the first round. But when it comes to the real game, you’ll always be the sore loser.” Michael unfolds his legs, standing up from the chair. She suddenly feels very naked, even though she isn’t completely in the nude. His eyes scanning over her body, stopping at her face. And she hates him for being the way he is, she hates herself for still wanting him.

His skin is hot against her cold skin, her body jerks away from his touch automatically. But she can’t escape him, he made sure of that. His fingers make their way up, stopping between her breasts. “Look what a mess you made of yourself, I had to take your blouse of to wash it. Did you know you get blood out of clothing with cold water?” She grinds her teeth. “I know Michael, I am a woman. I have periods you know, and a lot of panties I don’t want to throw away.” Michael laughs at her words, his hand cupping her breast as a response. His fingers squeezing into her skin, touching her like he has every right to do so.

“Do you remember the rules we made back then?” Ofcourse she remembers, but she will not surrender, not even when she’s completely at his mercy. He squeezes her breast again, to leave it alone after. His finger is tracing upwards her body. She is afraid for what there is to come, but she is excited as well. What will he do? His hand is at her throat now. “I said, do you remember the rules?” His finger tick roughly against her skin. She turns her head away, trying to escape his touch.

He’s standing beside her head now, her eyes staring at his crotch. “Yes, I remember.” The little sexual games they had played always resulted in the same thing. The one who got caught had to surrender.

He wraps his hand around her throat, pushing her head against the hard mattress. Mentally she scolds him, the fucker didn’t even bother to get her a pillow. His face leaning above hers, his eyes empty of emotions. A mocking smile decorating his mouth, he never had looked more like the evil long haired men she had met in the outpost than he did now. “I think it’s safe to say you lost our little game of tag.” Her breathing comes out heavy, she wants to close her eyes to avoid his gaze. The hand around her throat is hurting her. But she keeps staring at him like she is not bothered by his actions.

“And the winner takes all.” His mouth pressed against hers in a rough manner after his mocking words. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to escape from his cruel kiss. But her treacherous body responds before her mind can, her lips parted for him to concur her like he did so many times before.

His hand leaving her throat, giving her the luxury to move her head in a more comfortable position. She won’t surrender that easily, because she indeed is a sore loser. Her teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the groan that escapes him flushing her skin with heat. He leans back, his lips covered in blood.

He swipes it away with the back of his hand, there is something wicked burning in his eyes, and she knows she made a mistake to fight him back.

“Oh, Y/N, I wish you had more respect for our games and its rules.” Michael sits down on the bed, his brows furrowed as if he truly is disappointed in her. “Untie me, and I’ll show you how much I respect our rules.” Despite the fact she wants to escape, she still wants to know what he will be doing. With each minute that passes by, it gets more unlikely that he will kill her. He must have been lonely as well, he won’t kill the only company he has right?

“Tempting, but tonight I like it better when you’re not able to move.” He places his hand on the other side of her body, making him lean over her upper body. “Tonight you’ll take it like the loser you are.” He leans down to kiss the part of her skin that is bloodied. His tongue licking it away as if it’s icing instead of his own blood. Her breast is wet with his spit, when he leans up to watch her face.

“If you didn’t already feel dirty enough for wanting to fuck me, your coven’s worst enemy might I add. When I’m done with you, you will be stained for forever.” He leans away from her, pulling his shirt over his head. There is bandage covering the wound she made, and she feels good for hurting him. It gives her the feeling she’s not entirely powerless. Michael climbs upon her body, sitting on his knees. “Aren’t you afraid you will just stain yourself again? Because if I remember correctly, it didn’t take me much last time.” Her words are hitting a sore spot, she can see it in the way his eyes darken.

He leans down, pushing his full weight on top of her. A sigh escapes her when his mouth attacks her throat. She wishes she wasn’t tied up, she wishes she could put her hands in his hair and pull at it. She hates herself for wanting what he is doing to her.

He drugged her, he had hurt her, tied her up like some sex slave. And her cunt is dripping because of it. The thought of him doing to her whatever he wants to do, turning her so much on she wants to scream. She will indeed be stained for the rest of her life. No shower could ever wash away the need she has for Michael Langdon.

He moves down her body, his mouth leaving a wet trail over her breasts, ribs and stomach. He stops between her legs, looking up to her panting form. “If you could see what I am seeing right now, you wouldn’t be that bratty. You’re so easy to get wet.” He lets one of his fingers slide through her folds, collecting her wetness with the movement. A shudder goes through her body because of it, her breathing shaky. She is afraid if she says too much he will stop. He touches her again, this time with his thumb. “I don’t think you really mind being dirty. I think you love to be stained, corrupted, destroyed, by me.” And with the way his thumb is circling over her clit she almost agrees. She can’t think straight, an unwanted moan falls from her mouth.

“Do you surrender?” He doesn’t really need to ask, with the way her hips are moving up to his touch he knows she had. But he likes to torture her, likes to humiliate her. “Yes.” She says in one breathe, her eyes closing, she wishes to not face him. Two of his fingers are pressed against her entrance, his smile one of victory. “Tag, you’re it.”

(to be continued in part 2.)

As always, thank you for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading this as I had writing it! I was a bit afraid to post this at first, because it’s a bit more plot heavy than the usual stuff I post. But I spend so many thoughts on this that I had to post it. 

Part 2 will be a bit darker and more smutty. (And Michael’s POV for a part.)

ALSO: For the ones familiar with the vampire diaries, this ‘hell’ is kinda based on the prison world. Why does reader remember Michael even though she is not the supreme? Well, because I am a lazy writer and it didn’t work for the plot for her to not know who Michael is. Then why kill him off like they did in canon? Because it’s not realistic for Outpost!Michael to be killed by the witches. (You know, fuck canon, but don’t fuck canon at the same time) 

“Only losers go to school, I taught myself how to move. I’m not the type to count on you. Because stupid is next to ‘I love you.’”

A cigarette rolling between his fingers. The top button of the crisp white blouse he is wearing loose. It is night, but the full moon colours the desolated area surrounding Hawthorne silver. The lonely warlock is not much later joined by a blonde who likes to pretend he is a warlock.

“Did you bring a lighter?” He speaks the words without looking at his company.

“No need for that.” The other boy rolls his eyes at this, locking the cigarette between his lips. His eyes finding the light ones of the so called ‘boy wonder’.

Sucking in the heat, when the tip of it burns. The smoke filling his lungs, as he breathes in deeply. Feeling the familiar burning of the nicotine. He blows out the smoke in the grinning face of his friend. “You’re such a fucking show off.” White teeth being exposed, the halfhearted insult only amuses the blonde. “I can’t help it that you’re failing your classes.”

The warlock takes another long drag from the cigarette, being relieved to have some nicotine in his system again. “Maybe we should have better teachers. I never heard of a witch failing her classes.” The warlock offers the burning cigarette, fingers touching as Michael takes it from him.

“There are witches as well?” There is curiosity in his eyes, the cigarette stopping halfway in its track to his mouth. “Didn’t they tell you? That’s why they like you so much. They see in you a way to defeat them.”

The cigarette balancing between Michael his lips, he is not used to smoking yet. But the coughing is getting less with each night spend with his new friend. The cigarette wet with his spit, as he gives it back.

“Ew, now I will have your spit in my mouth. You really need to learn how to smoke properly, Michael.” The warlock laughs, putting the cigarette in his mouth despite his mocking words.

“But why are the warlocks so keen on overpowering the witches?” There is genuine curiosity in his voice. And maybe this is why the warlock likes Michael so much. Despite being the most powerful warlock he had ever seen, Michael still seemed to own some sort of innocence. “I guess it is just in our nature. People in general, actually, I think. We always want to be better than someone else. Everything will never be enough.”  The warlock shrugs, taking a last drag. He gives the last of the cigarette for Michael to smoke.

His fingers squeezing into Michael’s shoulder, when they are inside again. “Thanks for the fire.” And with a last wink from the warlock, they part ways.

“Only losers go to school, they can’t teach what they can’t prove. Come put this inside a test-tube, because stupid is next to ‘I love you.’”

Liquid swirling around the jar, the green coloured substance carrying the smell of rain. With curious eyes Michael leans his elbows upon the dark wood of the table. Trying to get a better look at the potion his friend made. “What is it for?” Michael watches how the other boy holds up the jar, his brows knitted. “It’s meant to bring the feeling of nostalgia, but it’s missing something.” The jar violently slammed back on the table. Dissatisfaction dominating the warlock’s facial expression.

“I wish I could help you, but I know nothing about potions.” Michael his statement genuine. The warlock sighs, his eyes scanning the notes he took during the class for what feels like the millionth time.

“Sometimes it feels like that even the teachers don’t really know what they are doing.” Michael laughs at this, his hand grabbing his friend’s notebook. “They do act like they know what they are doing though.” The warlock rolls his eyes. “Being confident doesn’t automatically mean you’re good at it.”

Michael his finger traces a line of handwritten text. “What does ‘mal du Suisse’ mean?” Michael his finger is ticking against the word. “Schweizerheimweh, being homesick. Nostalgia is actually a real illness. Some Swiss student discovered this, so I guess that’s why it’s called like that.” Michael his brows are raised, he leans in closer to the other warlock. “Really? I didn’t know being nostalgic is considered an illness.”

“Oh yes, it used to be this thing during the 17th century in Europe. Swiss soldiers often had this ‘sickness.’ Because they couldn’t find a treatment against nostalgia they put bloodsuckers on the poor soldier’s stomachs. In the hope that would help. Russian soldiers actually got punished for having it, because it was seen as being ‘not manly enough.’ When the sickness started to spread among the soldiers, they told them that the first one who was diagnosed with nostalgia would be buried alive.”

Michael’s chin is leaning on his hand, fascinated he listens to the other warlock. “So this potion you’re making is actually a disease?”

“It is what it’s supposed to be, but like with everything, I fail at this as well. Maybe I should become a magician, because being a warlock clearly does not work for me.” The warlock laughs after his sentence, but Michael can practically taste the bitterness of his heart.

“Neh, you’re not pretty enough to be a magician.“ Michael hands back the notes after his words, drawing a genuine laugh from his friend.

“Maybe you forgot an ingredient? You did underline the Swiss word. Maybe like a Swiss ingredient?” Michael tries to help him a bit. Not really knowing if he is making sense.  “Oh shit, Michael, you’re a genius!” The warlock exclaims. “I totally forgot about it, I needed to use this Swiss flower!”

The warlock throws his arms around Michael his waist, hugging him out of happiness. “What would I do without you?”  The warlock is too busy pouring the edelweiss into the jar, to notice the blush that had formed upon Michael’s cheeks. His smile almost shy, as he answers the other boy. “Nothing, I guess.”

“So what can you show me, that my heart don’t know already? We make our own sense and you’re qualified to me.”

Knuckles white because of the stern grip they have on the wood. His blue eyes watch the witches dance around. “You have to admit that they are stylish.” His friend leans on the balustrade, watching the witches as well. “They’re a problem.” Is all Michael says.

“Well, okay, let’s go for a smoke.” The warlock wisely doesn’t answer Michael’s remark.

“Smoking kills, you know.” Michael seems to be in a better mood when his friend offers him a cigarette when they’re outside. “Well, I heard some warlocks are able to bring people back from the death.” The warlock lights up the cigarette with a blue lighter, not bothering to give Michael the lighter.

“Who says I would bring you back?” Michael teasingly bumps his shoulder against the warlock’s one. “As if you could live without me, I’m the only one who doesn’t kiss your ass here. You definitely need some refreshing backlash sometimes.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You probably are the only one I don’t dislike here.” Michael’s words come out like they don’t mean a thing. But yet, they mean everything. The feeling pooling in the warlocks stomach is not an unfamiliar one. With the weeks they had known each other, they grew quit close. He thinks Michael never really had a friend before, but he also never had a friend like Michael before.

“I got you something, by the way.” The warlock throws the cigarette on the ground, his right feet stomping the cigarette into the dry sand. Michael his smile is filled with curiosity, eyes sparkling with wonder. “What?” The warlock takes a step closer towards his friends, something mischievous in his eyes.

Michael his smile does not disappear when the warlocks leans in to his friend’s face. The shift of the mood mirrored in his darkened blue eyes. The warlock’s unshaved jaw scraping against Michael’s, as his mouth moves towards his ear. “Meet me tonight in my room when everyone else is sleeping. Then I’ll show you.” 

–

Michael does not understand his nervousness when his fist knocks three times upon his friend’s door. They do this often, meeting late at night. Most of the time for a smoke, but sometimes they also meet to do homework together. The dark wooden door opens only seconds later, with a grin the warlock welcomes Michael inside.

“We need to celebrate you passing the test, so I bought us something to drink.” The warlock takes two bottles filled with an amber coloured liquor from his night stand. Holding it up in the air as if the alcohol is his most prized possession. It’s a small gesture, but the fact the warlock even thought about it makes Michael’s heart swell in affection. His hunger for a real connection making him overwhelmed by even the smallest displays of love.

Despite being the product of sin, Michael never drank alcohol before. He does not dare to tell his friends this, because judging by the way the warlock takes two shots without gagging makes Michael realize the warlock had plenty alcohol in his life before. The cold of the glass placed hesitant against his lips, the warlock watches Michael with a smile.

“It will burn, don’t think too much about it.” Ofcourse the warlock sees right through Michael, but he does not really say something about it. He only laughs when he sees Michael’s facial expression after he swallows the strong liquor. “Blergh, this is disgusting.” Coughing Michael speaks the words.

“It can be worse, my friends back home once tricked me into taking a full shot of Gold Strike. Well I never liked cinnamon again after that experience.” The warlock fills up Michael’s glass again.

“The second one is always better.” This time Michael takes the shot without hesitation. Resulting into him coughing very loud after.

“Or not, sorry I lied, it never gets better.” Michael, still coughing, hits his friend. “Fucking prick.” He gets out between coughs. The warlock his smile is filled with affection as he watches his friend. He can’t believe Michael actually believed him. He kind of feels better because his powerful friend actually seems to trust him. Him, a weak warlock who can’t even properly make an object move with his magic, is allowed to be friends with someone more powerful than the supreme. The warlock can’t help but feel a bit privileged.

The bottles empty, the boys intoxicated.  Sharing secrets they probably wouldn’t have shared if they were sober.

“I wish I was better at magic, I feel like such a disappointment sometimes.” They lie next to each other on the bed. “I can help you improve, maybe I can teach you some things. I think you’re better than anyone else here.” Michael dares to be bolder because of the alcohol.

“Would you really do that? Shit, you really are my best friend.” The warlock his emotions untamed. Whenever he is drunk he reacts strongly to whatever people offer him. The kindness of Michael his offer hitting a spot in his heart, not believing someone is actually seeing potential in him. “Yeah ofcourse, you’re my best friend as well.”

They fall asleep in the midst of a conversation about the warlock’s youth. Lying next to each other in a comfortable distance upon their backs. Sharing the thin grey blanket, the warlock his head resting on his pillow, Michael’s head on the mattress. The warlock’s soft breathing filling the room, as Michael thinks this might be the happiest he had been in a while.

The warlock is the first one to wake up, feeling a bit too comfortable. Michael’s body pressed against his, they both had shifted in their sleep. The warlock his legs pushed between Michael’s. He closes his eyes again, trying to hold on the warm feeling for a bit longer. Michael his shirt had shifted up in his sleep, a strip of his bare back pressed against the bared stomach of his friend. He moves a bit in his sleep, shifting closer to his friend’s heat. The warlock feels his cheeks heating up, as Michael’s skin rubs against his. His ass almost pressed against his underwear. The warlock decides to leave the bed before his thoughts go somewhere where he does not want them to go.

In the shower the hot water hits his back, his eyes closed, groans echoing in the steam. His hand around his erected member, his mind filled up with the memory of Michael’s skin against his. He almost feels guilty for feeling like this. How can he objectify his friend like this? Michael deserves way more than to be a simple thought for him to orgasm to.

And when he does, orgasm, he watches the product of his pleasure disappear in the drain with the water. His eyes locked upon the drain, as the truth finally hits him.

The feeling in his stomach, the need to make Michael smile, the happiness he felt when Michael offered to practice magic with him. Everything Michael offers him, he gladly takes. Always hungry for more, always needy for his company. Michael is his best friend above all, but now the warlock finally realizes what it is he truly wants from him. And it’s not just carnal pleasure. The thought both scaring and exciting him, because he finally has a name for what he had been feeling the last weeks.

“And now, we’re all grown up, who do we owe it to? And now we’ve come this far, who do we owe it to?”

The warlock his hand slapping Michael’s away, when tries to show how to move his hand.

“Fuck, I am never going to make this thing move.” The warlock throws the candle with a frustrated sigh from the bed. “You’ll never learn if you stop practicing.” Michael’s degrading tone does not make the mood better. “Well, we’re not all boy-wonders.” The warlock spits the words out with a dirty look upon his face. Michael can’t help it, he feels insulted by the words.

“I’m here to help you, you dumbass.” The warlock his brows are raised after Michael’s words. But he smiles, he is amused by Michael’s angry tone. The warlock does know he is being petty, he is just frustrated with himself. He sometimes feels so out of place, with the other warlocks being better at magic. “Did you just call me a dumbass?” The tone of his voice amused. “Only because you are one.” The warlock grabs for his pillow, hitting Michael with it. “Fuck you, Langdon.” Michael his laugh is loud, as he grabs the closest thing within his reach to hit him back. Their fight playful, filled with laughter.

And then suddenly Michael his hand is placed upon the warlock’s leg, their eyes locked. The playful tension from before gone. There is something shifting in the air, their faces inching closer. Michael his eyes are closed before his lips touch the ones of his friend.

The warlock is not used to kissing boys. But Michael his full lips against his strangely feels like all the clichés. From Christmas morning to coming home after a long time of being on the road. Dizzy with the way Michael makes him feel. Michael is even more flabbergasted then his partner. It being his first kiss, the first time he felt something like this.

Tongues sliding against each other. The warlocks hand placed upon Michael’s thigh as he leans in to deepen the kiss. Heat burning through the black fabric of Michael’s trousers. A feeling in his stomach he had only felt once before. Almost being in a drugged state, his mind filled with clouds, as he forgets about everything except kissing his friend. Fingers trembling, Michael is hesitant with his movements. Shyly he looks up, his long lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes when he looks down again when he catches the warlocks gaze. The warlock his fingers trace the outline of Michael’s erected cock. His fingers almost burning with the heat that Michael radiates. The simple touch makes Michael hold in his breathe, cheeks colouring a heavy pink. A smug smile appears upon the other man’s face. A sight he never thought he would see, the beloved boy-wonder flushed because he simply touches him through his pants.

His lips finding Michael’s swollen ones, once again. His tongue pushed against his lower lip begging for entrance. The warlock’s hand still stroking the fabric of Michael’s pants, his lips going to down to kiss his throat. Michael’s low moans vibrate against the warlock’s mouth, his lips closed around the skin. Sucking softly, his hand going higher to undo Michael’s belt. He ignores his own erection for now, wanting Michael to feel good. He realizes this must be the first time Michael is intimate with someone, an experience that should be special. Or at least good.

“If you want to stop, tell me.” Despite his words, the warlock really hopes Michael does not tell him to stop. “No, don’t stop.” Michael his cheeks are still coloured pink, but there is something new in his eyes. A confidence the warlock did not expected to find is burning in the blue colour. With a little help from Michael he pushes his pants down, leaving Michael in his grey briefs.

“Maybe I can teach you something new now.” His hand rubbing its way up to the waistband of his underwear. Pulling it down with one movement, freeing Michael’s erection. The warlock needs to keep himself from rolling his eyes when he sees Michael’s cock. It’s almost unfair how everything in Michael’s life seems to be perfect. The warlock’s hand wrapped around the base, searching eye contact with his friend. Michael his voice soft and pleading. “Please…”

The warlock does not need to hear more. He strokes Michael until his hand feels numb and it’s covered in Michael’s cum. 

–

After that night everything is different. Their friendship still there, but not how it was before. The nights spend secretly smoking outside still happen, what happens after is the thing that had changed. Hours spend kissing, feeling, touching and talking. Because above all they are still friends. Michael loves the warlock, even though the warlock does not know what Michael truly is.

Michael is convinced their love is strong enough to overcome this one lie. And if that one lie was indeed all that Michael kept from him, Michael would have been right. But there is one thing Michael had underestimated. The warlock, despite not liking all of the other warlocks, would always feel extreme loyalty towards his ‘brothers’.

When John Henry Moore returns Michael does not. The warlock his heart breaking when he finds out about the lies he had been fed by the one he considered his true love. And with days turning into weeks, the warlock hopes Michael never returns. Not wanting to know what happens if he does.

“We did it all alone, now we’re coming for the throne And now that we all came up, do we lose, do we lose?”

Panicked screaming, long legs covered in black leather. Blood of his former brothers staining his shoes. They run, they scream, some try to fight them. It has no use, he is destruction itself. The place once filled with life, is now one of death. His hand waving in the air with such elegance it almost looks like he isn’t using the darkest of magic. Taking lives without really feeling anything during it. A dark raging anger running through his veins, his vision blinded by hatred.

“So, here you finally are.” His voice the calm in the raging storm of the dying bodies surrounding them. Michael does not like the way his former friend looks at him. His eyes narrowed, hand being lifted to end another life. The warlock is gone before he can finish his movement. The buzzing of his magic still lingering in the air. A small shock going through his body because of the familiar feeling of it. The only feelings Michael’s heart had known the past few weeks were the feelings of grief. And after that the blazing need for revenge.

The nostalgic feeling the warlocks magic gives him, feels like a slap in his face. It’s like smelling a certain smell that reminds people of a memory or a person. His magic having the same effect on Michael’s mind and heart. Michael shakes his head, exorcising the thoughts of happier times from his head. He knows exactly what is expected of him right now, and it’s not wallowing in old feelings of love.

Love, it’s the last thing on his mind when a knife slides Michael’s thigh open. The warlock had obviously practiced his magic, but the boy never was good at spells. And he never would be good at them either, because after tonight there won’t be anyone left who could teach him how to do it properly. “I see you finally learned to perform the simplest of magic.” Michael his eyes are scanning the room, there is no one to be seen. He wonders where he is hiding, he knows he is still there somewhere.  “Such a pity you’re still not really good at it.” A low blow, but Michael knows how to hurt with his words.

Another knife comes his way, but this time Michael sees it coming. His hand pushed forward, changing the sharp tool’s direction. The sound of it collapsing into something confirming Michael’s thoughts. The small moan of pain is close. Michael wonders when his friend had learned to conceal himself. He must have hit him well, because there is blood on the floor. A dripping track, leading Michael to the library.

His legs crossed, an unlit cigarette between his lips. His lips are bloodstained, body heavily leaning in the chair. A knife stuck in his stomach, he must be on the verge of collapsing. But his smile is still confident, almost mocking when his eyes meet the vengeful ones of Michael. “Did you bring a lighter?” The warlock his smile is dripping with nostalgia.

“No need for that.” Michael almost chokes the words out. The cigarette burning, smoke blown into air. The warlock can almost taste Michael’s heartbreak in the nicotine that burns his loins black.

Ash falls to the ground, as Michael burns his lover like the cigarette does between his fingers. The flames reflected into his eyes a weak projection of the burning what Michael’s heart does.

“And you’re qualified to me.”

Years later Michael finds himself at the exact same spot once again. His mind fooling him into seeing the flames. The ghost of the one he loved and lost plastered all over what once was his school. A blue lighter balancing between his long fingers. It’s still full with liquid, for Michael never really needed to use a lighter. For the sake of his still mourning heart he had kept the warlock’s favourite item anyway.

A cigarette between his lips, the blue lighter used to light it up. The small flame shaking with the invisible passing of air. And when Michael closes his eyes, he can almost hear his former friend’s voice calling him an idiot for not using his magic.

Sniffing in the air, the smell of rain and Swiss flowers filling his senses. He didn’t really understand back then how ‘nostalgia’ could have been a sickness. Michael never really thought memories of happier times were considered a bad thing. But now Michael can finally feel the pain that comes with nostalgia. The feeling burning in his veins, cracking his bones, slowly he feels how it eats his heart away.

The ache the memories bring almost painful. Frustrated with the fact he will never be able to touch what is inside his head. Nostalgia, he never really considered a sickness before. But with the way it’s eating him away right now, he knows it is.

As always, thank you for reading! I really hope this did hit the right tone/feeling! I think this concept deserves a longer, better (maybe even hogwarts AU?) fic, but lately writing fics does not come as naturally to me as it did a couple weeks ago. Also, I really love dom!michael, but for this fic soft michael worked better. This feels so much like my older stuff tbh. In the beginning I almost only wrote fluff, so it was fun to go back to this way of writing!

* Pls, always tag me in your MichaelxMale reader stuff, it’s a concept i’ve really grown to love. 

** The story about the illness Nostalgia is a real one. Edelweiss is also a flower that only grows in mountain regions. I’m a nerd and love historic facts, so ofc I had to put it in this story. The source is Dutch, so I won’t bother putting it here haha