Mikael Pacioli
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
19,574
Reviews:
109
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
19,574
Reviews:
109
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
July 23: Saint Bridget
Author's Note: I've rewritten the preceding 3 chapters. If you begin with the first Feast of the Saints, you will arrive at the current status of Mikael, in the current canon.
July 23: Saint Bridget
The door creaked open behind him. Mikael tried to keep very still.
Father Pacioli took two steps into the room and stopped. The air was thick in here, he decided. Too thick. Too cut off, too isolated. The air of a quarantine room. He stepped forward, towards the thin figure stretched out in the bed. Mikael did not flinch; he barely drew breath.
Closer, Father Pacioli could see over the young man's shoulder, spied the bandages that covered both wrists. Mikael lifted one hand to scrub at his eyes; the rustling of cloth broke the silence.
The elder man stepped up to the bed. Gently, he reached over and grasped one of Mikael's wrists. The young man did not move in response to this. Father Pacioli's thumb stroked over his son's bandages.
"This is a sin, Mikael." he said, gently, his tone detached.
Mikael sniffled a little and pulled his wrist away.
"I know. I'm sorry."
Fr. Pacioli seated himself on the bed, pulling the blankets taut over Mikael's legs, outlining the thinness of thighs and hips. The older man saw this and sighed.
"I love you, Mikael." he reached out to lay a hand on the quivering side. "I don't want to lose you."
Tears flowed freely from Mikael by now, and he rubbed at his eyes with a white-gauzed wrist.
"I'm sorry." he repeated, unsure what else to say.
Father Pacioli reached out to his son, ran a hand over the hair that had grown long since he'd last seen the young man. It felt slippery, unwashed.
"We all love you. You're not alone, you know."
Mikael worked to keep from shaking. Tears came, but were unnoticed - they appeared so regularly now that he accepted them as the norm; in the brief periods when he was composed, his eyes felt dry and itchy.
"I'm sorry." he repeated.
Father Pacioli shook his head.
"It's alright, Mikael. It's alright. We all forgive you. Everyone does."
Mikael shook his head. Everything felt gray and confusing.
"I don't - I mean I don't want to - "
The older man shushed him.
"Mikael. It's OK. You're here now, my boy. You're here with us, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"And you're going to stay with us, won't you?"
"Ye - yes."
Father Pacioli nodded, patted the joint of hip and waist that had also grown thin.
"We love you, Mikael. God loves you."
Mikael just trembled and was quiet.
"But we've got a lot of work to do now. You know that, don't you?" Mikael nodded. Fr. Pacioli pressed on. "But we are going to do it. We will take things one step at a time, every day, until you are all Mikael again. Until you are yourself again, whole."
Mikael nodded and tried to keep up.
~:~
July 23: Saint Bridget
The door creaked open behind him. Mikael tried to keep very still.
Father Pacioli took two steps into the room and stopped. The air was thick in here, he decided. Too thick. Too cut off, too isolated. The air of a quarantine room. He stepped forward, towards the thin figure stretched out in the bed. Mikael did not flinch; he barely drew breath.
Closer, Father Pacioli could see over the young man's shoulder, spied the bandages that covered both wrists. Mikael lifted one hand to scrub at his eyes; the rustling of cloth broke the silence.
The elder man stepped up to the bed. Gently, he reached over and grasped one of Mikael's wrists. The young man did not move in response to this. Father Pacioli's thumb stroked over his son's bandages.
"This is a sin, Mikael." he said, gently, his tone detached.
Mikael sniffled a little and pulled his wrist away.
"I know. I'm sorry."
Fr. Pacioli seated himself on the bed, pulling the blankets taut over Mikael's legs, outlining the thinness of thighs and hips. The older man saw this and sighed.
"I love you, Mikael." he reached out to lay a hand on the quivering side. "I don't want to lose you."
Tears flowed freely from Mikael by now, and he rubbed at his eyes with a white-gauzed wrist.
"I'm sorry." he repeated, unsure what else to say.
Father Pacioli reached out to his son, ran a hand over the hair that had grown long since he'd last seen the young man. It felt slippery, unwashed.
"We all love you. You're not alone, you know."
Mikael worked to keep from shaking. Tears came, but were unnoticed - they appeared so regularly now that he accepted them as the norm; in the brief periods when he was composed, his eyes felt dry and itchy.
"I'm sorry." he repeated.
Father Pacioli shook his head.
"It's alright, Mikael. It's alright. We all forgive you. Everyone does."
Mikael shook his head. Everything felt gray and confusing.
"I don't - I mean I don't want to - "
The older man shushed him.
"Mikael. It's OK. You're here now, my boy. You're here with us, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"And you're going to stay with us, won't you?"
"Ye - yes."
Father Pacioli nodded, patted the joint of hip and waist that had also grown thin.
"We love you, Mikael. God loves you."
Mikael just trembled and was quiet.
"But we've got a lot of work to do now. You know that, don't you?" Mikael nodded. Fr. Pacioli pressed on. "But we are going to do it. We will take things one step at a time, every day, until you are all Mikael again. Until you are yourself again, whole."
Mikael nodded and tried to keep up.
~:~