Chapter Text
It was never meant to go this far.
Lips devouring lips, teeth clash against teeth. The heat between them was rising so quickly it bordered on lethal; for a heartbeat, Mike Schmidt genuinely thought he might die. His fingers twisted into Michael’s shirt, torn between shoving him away or tearing the fabric open just to feel more. Blood slipped down his lip, warm and thin; the metallic tang blooming across his tongue.
However, it was the other that pulled away first, eyes alight with a wicked, fevered desire. His lips too, were stained with red. Michael lifted his hand, letting his fingers ghost along the sharp line of Mike’s jaw, each movement deliberate, reverent, as if the slightest tremor might shatter him utterly.
“And here I thought I’d be the one to break first...” He whispered, a devilish smirk beginning to form on the side of his lip. “If only she knew-”
“Stop.” Mike tilted his head just so, though his body leaned into the ghost of Michael’s touch. His gaze averted Michaels, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he reached for a cigarette. “Don’t... don’t bring her up,” The warmth from his touch faded as the flame rose and the smoke curled into his lungs. “Last person I want to think of right now,” He muttered. Michael’s hand rose, but Mike flinched slightly.
Michael’s cheshire grin faltered a bit. “Alright. Fine.” He wiped the remaining blood off his lips and sat next to him. Normally, this would be the end of the evening, the two would fuck off back to their own lives, or, in Michael's case, his usual lack thereof. Silence poured between the two, Michael gazed at Mike, tilting his head slightly, “I don’t understand you sometimes.” He remarked, his signature smile creeping back up.
“Is that so?” White tendrils of smoke clouded his words. He drew his knees to his chin, using a nearby pebble as an impromptu ashtray. “I could say the same about yourself.”
“Funny,” Michael remarked, his tone flat as his gaze wandered toward the shadowed river threading through the barren, half-rotted structure. “What I meant was… it’s strange, isn’t it? How you could so easily abandon my sister, yet find yourself so eager to tangle with her psychotic brother.”
He let the words settle like ash.
“Even here,” he continued, voice low, “in the very place your sister nearly died.”
“I could kill you right now, you know. Charlotte may be asleep, but I’m still just as dangerous as I ever was.”
Mike didn’t flinch. He didn’t even dignify the accusation with more than a brief, uninterested glance, only a flick of his eyes toward Michael. “You don’t scare me, you know?” He shrugged, the butt of his cigarette lighting up. “Without those bots, which Charlotte controlled, by the way, you’re just another pale, skinny loser with a shitty haircut.”
Then he rose to his feet, slow and steady, brushing the dust from his palms as if Michael’s words were nothing more than dirt he’d gathered from the ground. “Now, if you don’t mind me,” He stretched his back, rolling his shoulders. The cigarette was still dangling between his fingers as he exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke. “It’s way past Abby’s bedtime. I need to make sure she isn’t being haunted by the curses you and your sister dragged into our lives. Wouldn’t want your family drama creeping into her nightmares too.” He stepped toward the exit of the ruined structure, leaving the stench of rust, river water, and old ghosts behind him.
Mike had barely taken three steps before Michael’s voice cut through the hollow air.
“What are we, then?”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. It was a low, deliberate question.
Michael took a single step forward, head tilted, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “I lured a group of teenagers to this dump just to die,” He said, the words leaving his mouth as if torn from somewhere deep and rotten within his hollow soul. “Carrying the legacy my father bestowed upon Vanessa and me.”
“Teenagers,” he repeated, almost tasting the word. “Kids. Like Abby, who Charlotte nearly killed.”
Mike, back still turned, held back a wince.
“And you still stand there,” he murmured, “as if any of this is normal.”
The river whispered in the silence that followed. The mini marionettes almost mock in their presence.
“So, what are we, Mike?” He asked again, quieter this time. It is almost human, almost pleading.
Mike didn’t turn around.