Mortification

The half-native sleeps on his couch, unaware that soon, he will be found out. His legs hang over the end, his head lolls onto the back, his lips are slightly parted as thick, inebriated breath passes through them. The bronze skin around the eyes is tinted red, as though thousands of salty tears have passed through. Raven-coloured hair, as long as to reach his knees, is everywhere. Twined around an arm which lays limply at his side, hand holding stubbornly to a small photo. His other arm is almost laying similarly at his side, but is stopped by the hand, which is tucked into the man\'s pants, hanging to a stubborn erection that he couldn\'t quite get rid of. The man, Mikhail, has neglected to take several empty bottles of beer from the coffee table and floor, and has even kicked over the one he was still working on. The brown liquid is soaking his sock and foot. He wears no shirt, and is perfectly still except for an occasional twitch. The TV is blaring at an unnatural volume, an ages-old cartoon on the screen. Music contrasts the explosions and high-pitched voices from upstairs, louder even then the television, and the stove is on, though there\'s no evidence of what the teen had meant to cook. Surrounding him on the couch are three photo albums, and several loose pictures that had been removed. All of the removed photos feature the same person. A young man, looking the same age as Mikhail, rarely smiles out of them. This man is Konstantin.

Konstantin killed himself two months prior. Mikhail and Konstantin had a stubborn, cursed love together, and though Konstantin ended it out of guilt and duty, they both felt the same. The half-native says he is over it, but whether he is or not remains to be seen by his companions. In private, he cries for his lost love, even after having found a new love. He tries to fix himself, but it never comes, yet he stays strong for everyone. For himself. His new lover, Bran, doesn\'t even know whether this \"Konstantin\" is alive or dead. Mikhail hasn\'t even mentioned that they were very much in love. That they would have married were it possible.

The night is Friday, July 22. Every Friday night, Bran visits Mikhail. And every Friday night, Mikhail leaves the door unlocked so he can come right in.

When Bran walks in, what he sees is the first man he\'s trusted himself to openly love. He sees this man with a hand down his pants, and pictures of some other person surrounding the area. A private, drunken, messy shrine to someone else.

Bran isn\'t the type to let jealousy show, though. Instead, he cleans up the mess his lover made, throwing bottles in the garbage, placing albums and loose photos to the side. The older man turns off the TV, shuts off the stereo, and switches off the stove before the house burns down. He draws the hand in Mikhail\'s pants out, gently, hoping not to wake the half-native, and picks him up. Cradling the bronze man in his arms, like a child, Bran walks to the bedroom, and there, they both spend the night.

The teen, Mikhail, wakes up sometime late afternoon the next day. The light from the window hurts his eyes, and he climbs over Bran to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Stumbling down the stairs, holding the railing for support with a shakey hand, he tries to remember what happened the night before until the raven-haired teen reaches the living room and sees the neatly stacked photo albums. He stumbles to the center of the room, images flashing to him from the night before, making him dizzy and causing him to fall to the ground. Dark hands claw into the fibers of the carpet as sobs wrack through his ribs and before he even knows it, tears are once again falling down his face. The man jerks, unaware that his love, his new one, is watching from the stairs.

Bran heard him get up. He woke up himself and, rather then alerting the other, became curious, deciding to follow and see what he\'d do. The brunette gasps when he hears the first of what will be many sobs, having to bite his lip to stop his own, half-jealous tears. His hand grips the railing until the knuckles turn white, and his body is tense.

They are like that for fifteen minutes. Then the half-native stands up, turning around, planning to just go back to bed before he sees Bran. After finally regaining composure, he loses it all again and, as though he\'d still had enough water for a river in him, starts crying again. A shivering, cracked voice manages to get out \"He\'s dead.\", before once again the teen is on the floor, jerking with every sob.

His are echoed by light ones from the other man. Relived, saddened, regretful, in love as he ever thought he could be, Bran moves forward until he, too, is on the floor with his arms around Mikhail. To hear that the other man is dead, what a world of hurt for his love, but he can\'t help but be happy for himself! He does have someone to his own!