The idea that time moved forward, or that it even moved at all, was always somewhat of a strange concept to him.
Sitting in his chair, chin resting in his palm, he stared out the frosted window at the snow that fell and sprinkled the ground with flecks of white. Honestly, he wasn't very fond of the cold, but he preferred it to the heat of summer. It was uncomfortable, sweltering, and he hated not wearing layered clothing. Basically, warmth wasn't really his thing.
His yellow eyes slipped shut, ears tuning into the soft classical music playing in the background of the living room. He was in his own world. Nothing reached his ears aside from the CD's soft tune, his mind whirling with various thoughts and plans.
He only snapped out of it as he felt arms wrap around his neck, a chin soon resting on his shoulder. His eyes opened, watching the reflection in the window. Lips pulled to a soft smile, and he turned his head to gently press his nose to her cheek.
"Micky. You're home early."
"Yep," she replied, placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. "You didn't hear me come in?"
"No," he answered honestly, eyes returning to the window. "I was lost in thought. The cold tends to do that to me... Makes my mind wander more, if that makes sense."
Micky giggled, hugging him a bit tighter before releasing her grip and moving to sit beside him on the arm of the chair. "Sort of. So you're cold? Then again, I'm not surprised... Albone, It's like 60 degrees in here." Pointedly, she rubbed her arms, frowning a bit. "It's nearly colder outside... Why not turn the heat on?"
"Well, I don't need to now." His shoulders raised in a soft shrug, smirking as his eyes flicked to her direction.
"Why's that?"
"Well..."
She watched him with confusion for a few seconds before Albone was hugging her, pulling the small Korean girl down into his lap-- forehead pressing into the back of her shoulder, he chuckled softly as he buried his face.
"I'm warm now."
He wasn't very fond of the cold, but he was fond of her, at least.
He stepped off of the plane, feeling his soles hit the firm ground, and for the first time in years he knew he was honestly nervous.
Not about to turn back, he simply pushed himself to walk.
All he had on him was his thick, woolen coat.
The temperature wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, almost pleasantly surprising but his mind didn't linger on the observation too long. He had somewhere to be.
He seemed to pass by other people without anyone so much as glancing at him, despite knowing he had been gone for nearly two months. The fleeting idea that he was still dreaming crossed his mind, but no one walked through him even if he was ignored. It was a good enough sign for him.
He took a breath and pushed open the academy door.
That seemed to be the time people took notice of him, but it was his turn to ignore the eyes. The whispers and the stares and murmurs of "I heard he was dead" but he was focused on one thing and one thing alone.
Soon, it was all silent as he left common area and maneuvered his way back into the dorms and found himself staring at the room number that was all too familiar to him.
He raised his hand and knocked.
Seconds seemed like hours as he waited, the footsteps nearing the door and metal clicking as it was unlocked. It carefully swung inward and the head peered around it.
"Hello?"
His breath caught for a moment, scared that, perhaps, she couldn't see him after all. That this was still all a dream. He really did die and she really vanished and he was alone... But her eyes soon widened as she saw just who roused her awake late that evening.
White hair that was a bit longer than she remembered but still the same style. Face purple and blue and brown from fading bruises, bandages covering healing cuts. He stood at a bit of a slanted angle, the limp obvious, chest moving in and out and inhaling.
"Micky...!"
He breathed and with a quick motion, grabbed her into his arms and clutched at her tightly, falling to his knees as he did. His throat tightened and he felt his lips pull to a smile, hands gripping the fabric of her shirt. She was soon holding him back just as hard, the tears escaping her eyes.
Finally finding her voice, she whispered:
"Albone, you're... you're alive-- You idiot, you total idiot! How could you do that? I-I was worried sick! I was scared!"
Her words cracked from tears and he just chuckled softly, his own voice wavering as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.
"I know," he replied quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Micky." He brought his hand up to rest on the back of her head, gently stroking her hair.
"I... I was so s-scared you were g-gone," she hiccuped, shaking her head.
He only held her closer. "I know," he murmured into her ear. "But, I swear this time... I will never leave you again."
She knew, just somehow knew, that he really did intend on keeping that promise.
Each one was pressed and preserved, dried so it would last forever. The type he would give varied almost daily and were usually simply what he would discover outside (as far as he could go, that is). Despite the snow, and no matter what month, he always seemed to find something to give to her.
[ each day I promise ]
[ to leave a flower for you. ]
After the first initial flowers, he would watch her reaction. Mostly, she was surprised at the sudden gifts, but she was mostly confused. He never left a note nor any way to discern his identity. She begun to assume it was a secret admirer.
In a way, she was right.
[ And if the day comes ]
[ where I leave only air ]
It soon became a daily ritual for the both of them. Micky would awaken and find the flower next to her, pressed but always cold like it had just been plucked from the outside itself. Sometimes she found one in her hair, or in a book; one showed up in her laptop and another was tucked into her uniform pocket. One was even taped to the back of her ID card.
They seemed to be everywhere and she had no clue how the flowers even ended up in most of those places, or how she didn't notice anyone putting them there.
[ know in your heart ]
[ that I still care ]
Even though it made little sense to her (who was possibly putting this much effort into showing affection? Should she be finding it vaguely creepy?), she accepted the silent gifts with a smile.
It did eventually make her somewhat excited to wake up and find where the flowers were hidden. She questioned friends to see if they recalled seeing anyone around her room or in her things. Even Weston denied anyone coming into the dorm. It left her puzzled, not entirely sure what was going on.
After awhile, she begun to assume it was actually just her friends leaving the small gifts and not admitting to it. The flowers were their way of cheering her up.
Albone never tried to tell her otherwise.
[ Roses are red ]
[ yet blood is, too ]
Curiosity got the better of her at some point, and she set up a camera to try and record if someone would come into her room or tamper with her things. Although she was sure the camera was set up correctly, nothing showed. The flower was left hanging from the lens of the camera.
Micky eventually stopped trying to figure it out and let it happen without question. But, time moved on and, soon, so did Micky. She left the academy and Albone found himself at a total loss. He didn't know where she went or why she did.
He fell into his own bout of depression that no one seemed to notice.
[ I died before saying ]
Yet, even still, he continued to leave flowers on what used to be her bed, what used to be her things. Weston had begun to throw them out and, soon enough, Albone gave up.
He didn't appear to anyone for a long time after that. Whether he ever truly got "over" her leaving, no one was sure-- but eventually he was back to his usual and brooding self.
Something still seemed off, but he never would admit otherwise.
She was used to him being ambiguously upset; what was unusual was the fact he came to her first.
Usually, Micky would be able to vaguely tell that he wasn't feeling quite right that day. There would be something off in his eyes-- a particular spark of life that was absent when he was down. The people that said he was nothing but cold, harsh, and strict just didn't know him as well as she did. He had that hidden side to him-- one where he'd smile and chuckle and make jokes, eyes showing amusement and sometimes (although perhaps she read too much into it) affection.
No one else noticed when he was in a bad mood and, usually, Micky had to seek him out and ask him what was wrong. After a few denials of his state, he'd cave and admit what was troubling him or on his mind.
It happened every month or so-- enough that it almost became a routine, not that Micky really minded, that is.
It was just really odd to her to wake up to a text on her phone, from Alpaca Sandow. Her heart skipped a beat and quickly brought the message up.
[ Micky... I apologise if this message wakes you up, but please let me know when you're free today. I need to talk to you about something. ]
She frowned, reading over the message again. Unusual. He had never approached her first when presented with a problem, but perhaps she was over-thinking it. It might not be an actual, troubling thing-- maybe he just was unsure about... about what? He wouldn't ask for the help unless he had no choice. She knew this, and she knew this well.
Getting herself out of bed, she sent him a text back and quickly got ready. As she was adjusting her uniform, the phone went off again. She peered at it best she could, seeing it was from him again. That was fast.
Bow in place and necklace on, she picked the phone up and looked at the message. Just his confirmation, saying to take her time-- he was in his room. She smiled lightly and put the phone in her pocket, quickly scuttling out the door.
Her pace slowed down as she thought more and more about the texts. The Officer practically lived in his office, breathing paperwork and bleeding ink. He was almost the very definition of diligent worker. For him to be in his own room so late in the morning (granted, 9AM was a fine start for most, Micky knew he always woke up at 6AM on the dot) was a little more than bizarre. Was he not feeling well?
She trudged through snow and the chill of the winter morning, finally approaching the Defence dorms. With a shiver and a few shakes of her boots, she slipped inside and just hoped no one saw her as she made her way back into the rooms. Unnoticed, she bobbed and weaved through the hallways and, soon enough, found the door she was looking for. She knocked hesitantly and lightly, glancing worriedly over her shoulder, as if the sound of her knuckles on the wood would wake up every other room in the immediate vicinity. No one else came out.
The door opened a moment later, but he wasn't in the frame. Blinking, Micky carefully looked in, confused, but saw the retreating figure that soon buried itself in the nearby sheets. She couldn't help but smile lightly, shutting the door behind herself as she walked in, looking at the mound of blankets in amusement. He was a big kid, even if no one else believed her aside from Manon.
"Good morning, Albone!" Micky chirped, sitting in the nearby chair.
Albone peered out at her from the blankets, cheeks flushed-- it was then she noticed how red his eyes were, and the smile dropped from her face. Had he been crying?
"Hello," he said quietly, shifting a bit to at least sit up despite the protests of his body wanting the warmth of the blankets back. "I didn't wake you, did I...?"
There was something almost fragile in his voice.
"No, no, not at all!" Micky quickly objected, a worried smile gracing her lips as her eyebrows knit in worry. "I was up." Okay, that was a lie. He knew that too, but said nothing. "Is... everything all right?"
He averted his eyes, leaning against the wall and the bed's backboard. "Not particularly," he admitted, one hand moving up to rub his neck. The flash of purple momentarily distracted her-- he was wearing the ring she gave him for his birthday.
"What's wrong?" Micky asked worriedly, pushing the excitement of him actually wearing the ring aside. "You never come to me first."
Well that slipped out before she could stop it-- she winced a bit, hoping he wasn't going to be offended, but he only smirked dryly.
"You're right. I don't."
Albone fell silent for a moment. Micky was about to press, but decided it was best to let him think. He'd speak when he was ready. A few seconds later, he was.
"My step-father called me last night," Albone started quietly, sighing lightly and running a hand roughly through his hair. "I don't know why, but he did. For once, he woke me up-- I was actually asleep at 3AM."
Micky's stomach churned. Her jaw subconsciously clenched and her body became tense-- just hearing the word 'step-father' from him was upsetting after knowing all of what the wretched man did to him. She stayed silent, however, eyes urging him to go on.
"I..." He hesitated, hands going to mess with the collar of his shirt (a t-shirt for once; he was distraught enough to not dress nicely?), "I answered... just out of habit. He started yelling. I suppose in hindsight, I could've hung up... but something was compelling me to listen. So, I did." Another pause. "In retrospect, I shouldn't have. I really, honestly, undoubtedly shouldn't have."
"Albone..." Micky mumbled, worriedly moving the chair a bit closer to his bed. She felt a distant anger in her, something that could have wished that man dead and not felt a lick of regret if he croaked. "Albone," she repeated, a bit stronger, "What did he say?"
"Usual stuff," Albone muttered. "How I should've been dead by now, I'm a waste of space, he had to take care of me when I was my mother's responsibility..." He ran a hand through his hair again, keeping his fingers entangled in the white mess. "I'm used to all of that... but then he started to tell me how my eyes are the exact same colour as his--"
(His father? Micky assumed so.)
"-- And how my eyes are the same as his, too. How they're cold, harsh, unfeeling, manipulative, dark," the tone in his voice took an angrier turn. "How bloody ironic, coming from him... but he kept... talking." The anger broke and now he sounded hurt. "People tell him that I look 'just like my mother' but 'that's not true' because my eyes are his and my face is different and my body is wretched and my hair is nowhere near the same shade as hers had been and it's a stain to the heritage. He's sick of being associated with such an utter disgrace."
Micky felt her heart drop.
She wasn't sure if he was done speaking, but she started anyway, "That's not true!"
Albone looked up to her, confused, and almost stunned. "What?"
"That's not true," she repeated, leaning in a bit as she frowned. "Your eyes are not any of those things. Nokk called them fireflies, remember? And fireflies are bright, childish, happy...! They're the symbol of summer-- of warmth," she smiled weakly, "and you may not outwardly show all of those things, but you..." She was blushing now. "You're warm in your own way. Childish in innocence. You're protective and kind." Bashfully, she looked off, smiling a little wider despite her heart pounding hard in her chest. "Your eyes are nothing like your father's."
The English boy seemed to be have taken totally off-guard. He said nothing, so Micky just continued.
"And your hair... Don't hate it," she said softly, tilting her head a bit. "Even if it's not the same shade as hers, it's... It's nice. White's a nice colour."
"Not really," Albone retorted, blushing a bit as he looked away, rubbing his neck again. "What good is white, anyway?"
"Lots of things," Micky replied easily, shrugging and leaning back in the chair again. She started listing off things with her fingers, counting. "There's bunnies. Kittens are white sometimes-- puppies too! Clouds! And.. and my uniform." She grinned. "Ice-cream, frosting... the foam of the ocean water waves and-- oh! Snow! Snow is white, especially when it first falls."
"Don't let Teitsson hear that," Albone grumbled, frowning. "He might start calling me 'snow man' or something..."
Micky just smiled, giggling a bit. "Still... White is kind of like the beginning of stuff. People associate white with babies, sometimes-- or religion. It's kinda pure and holy, right?"
"I can't say I agree," he simply replied, yellow eyes flicking to her brown ones to watch her carefully. "It's just white. Bland. Plain. Boring."
"No, it's not. It's... oh, what was it-- it's all colour. If you split white, something seemingly boring, you find all the magnificent colours in it-- all the amazement and beauty." She smiled warmly, "White is just... amazing."
"If you haven't noticed, though, my hair is far from being a prism," Albone pointedly out dryly. "Splitting my hair does not create a rainbow."
Micky giggled a bit, shaking her head, "Your sense of humour is one of your hidden colours, you know. Albone, really. You are nothing your step-father says you are. And what would he know about you?" She paused, taking a bold leap. "It's not as if he's ever tried to get to know his step-son."
"While that may be true," Albone began bitterly, "I still don't think there is anything 'white' about me, by your definition. If anything, I'm an aged yellow off-white or something."
"... What does that even mean?" Micky frowned, confused, before she shook her head. "You are not 'aged yellow off-white,' geez," she pursed her lips and furrowed her brows. "You are white; your hair is pure white. You're pure."
He fully turned to her now, crossing his arms and slumping into the corner of the wall and the bed header. He frowned, meeting her eyes irritably. "No, I'm not. If anything, I'm tainted. I'm far from pure, and that much even I know."
"Your kind of white can't be tainted, Albone," Micky said softly, blushing as she looked away. "You're not corrupted or evil. I don't know how many people could go through what you have and not break apart. You're amazingly strong and... I really wish you'd see that."
Albone looked surprised at that, eyes widening slightly and lips parting in a silent protest. He didn't say anything for a moment until he finally, and lightly, smiled. The eyes softened, and he took his gaze absently off to the side, rubbing his neck. "I don't think I'm all that strong."
Hearing his words thrown back at him, Albone's smile turned to a smirk and he looked to her with a quirked brow. "You aren't going to let me disagree, are you."
"Not a chance," she chirped, smiling cheerfully at him. "Do you feel better now?"
"A bit," Albone admitted, rubbing his neck again and sighing. "I don't exactly feel physically that well. I think I've overworked myself again."
"Shocking," Micky responded teasingly, giggling again. "Why don't you lie down... I'll get you some tea, or something--"
"Actually, could..." He started blushing, sinking down into the bed and pulling the covers up a bit with a shiver. "... Is there a chance you could get me a cup of... hot chocolate...?" The cheeks turned redder and he looked off in embarrassment.
Micky just smiled. Case in point. He was a child (a really cute one). "Of course! Whip cream and marshmallows~?" She bounced up and moved to the small cabinet on the other side of the room. "I'll make you a cup and then why don't you go to sleep?"
"Sounds like a good idea, really," Albone quietly agreed, rolling onto his side with a weak smile. He watched her make the drink with careful precision and sat up a bit as she brought it over to him. Soon enough, he drank half of it and nearly fell asleep with the cup in his hand. It was set on the nightstand and he buried himself in the blankets again, blinking tiredly. "Micky...?"
"Hm?" She responded disjointedly as she took the mug to wash it out.
"... Thank you," he said quietly, barely above a whisper. "I'm really... I'm really glad we're friends..." He smiled warmly at her as she turned around, blushing, before she smiled back.
"Me too."
He was asleep after barely a minute later, breathing steadily and finally looking at peace. She watched him for a moment, expression unreadable, before she walked over to the bedside. Brushing his hair away from his forehead, she leaned down and softly pressed her lips to it.
Deciding she had nothing else to do with the day, she sat down in the chair and begun to read.
She wasn't aware Albone actually hadn't fallen totally asleep yet-- he felt the kiss and his cheeks flushed, but he didn't move. He wasn't scared of her. She was the only one in the world aside from Manon that he trusted his entire life to.
