He looks so uncomfortable. The thought hovered in Misha's mind as he scrutinized his father's face. Like always, it held a calm, detached expression, but that wasn't what had caught Misha's attention. Rather, it was his father's hands. He was holding his cup of coffee with so much strength that his knuckles had turned white. Now, the taut nerves seemed about to pop out from under the skin, and the veins slithering atop the hand were overly visible. "I'll behave the way that makes you the most comfortable." The words reverberated in Misha's head. He pinched his lips. Knowing his father, he'd go along with whatever he wanted, even it hurt him.
This father wasn't the father of the first timeline.
If anything, they were akin to strangers.
Yet, the shadow of Misha's first life still hung over him, and now his current father felt guilty about it. Misha could tell heartache was crushing his heart, and the pain was silently tearing him apart. His father might not be the most expressive man out there, but Misha had learned to pick up the signs over the years, thanks to studying his every move every day—out of fear that he'd go on an inexplicable rampage. In this life, Misha had been on high alert during the "childhood" and "pre-teenage years", always second-guessing his father's words and actions.
But… At some point, he'd let his guard down.
Misha couldn't pinpoint when exactly, although that didn't really matter. Perhaps time simply did its wonders, or perhaps the message left by his other self was more impactful than he'd thought.
Either way, Misha refused to let a ghost sabotage the current relationship he had with his father. It was the kind of relationship he had only dared to dream of.
"Just…" Misha's words got stuck in his throat as his father straightened his back like a man awaiting the death sentence. A sigh escaped him, and Misha slumped into his chair a bit more. He grunted through pursed lips, "Just don't drink, and everything's good on my side."
His father blinked.
"Look," Misha took a deep breath, "you only became a monster 'cause of alcohol. That thing destroys the mind. I've seen it happen to you over the course of years, yes, but I've also seen it happen to a lot of other people, and they didn't need years to turn into assholes." Thanks to working in bars for far-too-long, Misha had seen his fair share of people flipping after drinking one too many. It wasn't something rare. "Sometimes, alcohol just rewires the brain in a strange way. It's even more effective when the mind is already torn apart by grief."
A hand grasped his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Misha glanced at Gabriel. His gentle smile sent shivers crawling down his spine. Fine. I know. Talking about this part of his life was difficult, and he was beating around the bush. He could feel his throat clench and his chest squeeze, constricting his lungs.
Still, it had to be said; it had to be clarified.
"Sure, I'm not going to lie; it took me a while to get used to you again." Misha lowered his eyes, unable to face his father. In his first life, he'd spent so many days praying the man would stay away from his room or would fall asleep on the couch before the TV. He prayed for a safe night and prayed for a miracle. Even if he felt like he deserved the beating for driving his mother to her death, some night, it was too painful to bear. Regardless, these events were now in the past, a past that wasn't his anymore. "But, to be honest, you two look so freaking different that it wasn't all that difficult to separate you."
The last image of his father he had from the first timeline was that of a belly-potted man with rotten teeth, greasy, unkempt hair, and crazy eyes. It'd been quite the shock to meet with his father again after his transmigration and be reminded that, once upon a time, his father looked like a human being, not some garbage monster from the skewer. Their appearances were like night and day, and so were their personalities.
"Different?" His father repeated, a hint of confusion in his voice.
"Yeah." Misha nodded before daring to peek at his father. Even though there were now some wrinkles adorning the corner of his eyes and the hair near his ears had striking whitish-gray strands, he was still what Misha would call a handsome man. Hopefully, I'll age as well as him. Misha chased the intrusive thought and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, saying, "Drink every day from early morning to late into the night, and trust me, your body is going to suffer from it at some point."
"Right," his father stiffly agreed.
"Gimme me a pen and a piece of paper, I'm gonna draw it for you," Misha hummed, looking around for said items. There was a pen and a notepad on the desk beside the landline phone. After snatching it, he sat back and hunched over the table, scribbling. "You see, that guy got one hell of huge belly after a few years, enough that he looked pregnant with twins, if not triplets. Also, he'd rather drink his mind off than shave his bear or take a shower. He was a smelly mess every day of the week."
"So." Gabriel chuckled and shamelessly called Misha's drawing for what it was. "He was like a stick figure with a circle for the belly and tentacles for hair, hm?"
"Shut up!" Misha growled back, menacingly pointing at his partner with the ballpoint pen. "At least, my stick figures look like stick figures, unlike yours!"
"Touché," Gabriel admitted with an indulgent smile. Misha's mouth twitched, but he kept quiet. On the bright side, his partner's light tone broke the tense atmosphere and even managed to snatch a faint laugh from his father. It alleviated the heavy feeling in Misha's chest, too.
"Indeed, we look nothing alike, huh?"
"Right, right!" Misha nodded proudly. But a second later, his face had grown a tad somber as he pinched his lips. Seconds passed before he added, "Also, I'd never call that guy my father. He wasn't. But you, you are. I don't feel ashamed to call you my dad, and I never will. It's just that sometimes, bad memories resurface, and I need some time to myself. But it's not your fault!"
The last sentence was said in earnest. Misha might be petty, but to those he loved, he refused to put them through pain. It took time for him to accept Alexis for whom he was in this life, and he didn't want to go through that ordeal again, thanks to someone who was long gone.
"I mean, think about it! I've even forgiven Gabriel, and I'm dating him now!" And even let him put his thing up my ass. But that bit, Misha had the decency to keep it to himself this time. "So, really, don't worry about it. It's fine. I'm fine now. I don't want the ghost of my past life to hang over this one. Masha and mom are alive, and you're an excellent dad. There's no need to dwell on a reality that isn't ours."
"Alright," his father nodded. "Still, I'd like to apo—!"
"Don't," Misha cut him, his voice frigid. "Don't say sorry for something you haven't done."
Gabriel's hand tightened its hold on his thigh, and Misha slid his atop, intertwining his fingers with his. His hand was trembling. In reality, he'd dreamed of that drunkard apologizing on his knees and begging for forgiveness time and again. But what's the point now? There was none. Misha would repeat it as many times as necessary: his father wasn't that man, and he'd make sure he'd never be.
"I think the conversation is going in circles," Gabriel spoke up. "For now, maybe we should eat our breakfast. Or your mother is going to scold us for skipping it."
"I'm not very hungry, though." Misha grimaced. Just drinking his coffee was enough for him, his bowels twisting in protest when all he did was take a sip.
"Still, you should eat a bite or two," his partner insisted.
"Well, sorry, but my stomach feels like shit thanks to someone com—!"
Misha couldn't finish his sentence, a hand pressed against his lips. He glared at Gabriel, grabbing his hand to lower it, but froze mid-movement when he saw the discouraged look in his emerald eyes. Ah, shit. Misha snapped his head toward his father, who was shaking his head with a similar discouraged expression.
"Maybe you should think twice before speaking," his father recommended, arching an eyebrow in what seemed to be amusement. "Your mother will have a heart attack if you continue blurting out your adventures in bed in front of her. She can be a bit… shy when it comes to these matters."
"Duly noted." Misha let out an awkward laugh and focused his attention back onto his breakfast, but just as he was about to bring the toast to his lips, the door of the entrance flung open. His sister, followed by Yuki and his mother, entered the house, a light layer of snow covering their shoulders and sparkling under the light. "You're back already?"
"Already?" Masha repeated as she removed her boots. "Well, we decided to turn around when we saw the atrocious number of people waiting in lines. Boxing Day is such a pain in the neck."
Fair point. Misha nodded, only for his sister to pounce on him for a hug, almost causing him to choke on his food. His sister didn't seem to care, though, and rubbed her cold cheek against his. "Fuck, girl, you're ice-cold! Get away from me, you jerk!"
"No way!" Masha tightened her hold, chuckling.
While Misha fought with the clingy octopus in search of warmth, he could hear laughter echo in the dining room. The atmosphere was affable. He peered at his mother as she leaned over to plant a kiss on her husband's cheek. The hint of a smile finally bloomed on his father's lips. Suddenly, Misha stopped to struggle and stared at his parents instead, at the loving gaze they shared and the smile they gave him when they noticed his not-so-discreet stare.
A ticklish sensation sprouted in his chest, and a foolish smile found its way on his lips.
Well, guess all of that praying wasn't totally for nuts, huh?