Sweet Devil [BL]

Chapter 3. Santa Claus

The blood dripped from his knuckles, splattering up the wooden counter. But it still wasn't enough. Breaking his nose and a few teeth couldn't calm his seething anger, not even a little. Misha wanted to wreck that hateful face until it was nothing more than a red mess. And so, he lifted his fist once more.

However, the punch never landed. Dereck intervened, grasping his wrist with just enough strength to hold him down without hurting him.

"Enough!" he said, casting a warning gaze at Misha. "He's not defending himself."

Misha's lips trembled, and he stared back at Dereck with a wronged look on his face. He pointed to the bloody man, asking, "Why did you let him in?"

"I didn't recognize him," Dereck mumbled, guilt distorting his voice. "It has almost been ten years since Masha's death. He... he grew old."

It was a half-truth. What Dereck found familiar was not the man but the clothes. At first glance, he recognized him as the 'giver of flowers' that his friend had always wanted to meet, so he let him in.

But because he wasn't sure of the man's identity, he decided to wait and see Misha's reaction before telling him that the 'giver of flowers' was right in front of him. Now, Dereck regretted his decision. He couldn't bring himself to tell Misha the truth, aware that the wounds in his friend's heart hadn't healed. Instead, they had festered.

"Let him go." Dereck took a deep breath and added, "You're scaring Vanessa."

Misha stiffened at these words and turned to look at the waitress, whose face was as white as a sheet. Her trembling hands covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide open with fear.

A slight wave of guilt surged in the pit of his stomach. Eventually, Misha let go of Gabriel, who instantly fell to the floor with a thud, holding his bloody nose and busted lips. Then, he cast one last glance at the man before snatching a bottle of vodka from the shelf and fleeing outside.

So not only did that jerk show up at his workplace, but he was also jobless from today onward—no sane boss would keep an employee that beat up the clients, after all. Stephan was an eccentric, but he wasn't brainless.

When Misha opened the door, the icy wind rushed inside. The snowflakes were already falling heavily, blinding him. The snowstorm was still in its early stage, but he knew gusts of wind would soon pick up and push him around like a plastic bag.

Misha heard Dereck call his name, his voice filled with worry, yet he didn't turn around and walked into the falling snow. Muffled screams blended with the howling of the wind, but seconds passed, and he couldn't hear his friend's voice anymore. Everything became quiet.

Thousands of thoughts swirled in his head, and to shut them up, Misha drank about half of the bottle of vodka. He tried not to think of anything while aimlessly wandering around the streets. It didn't take long before the alcohol clouded his mind, and his fingers became numb. His cheeks flushed red, and his toes seemed to have been set on fire, making it hard to walk and stand. The cold had frozen him to the marrow in only a few minutes. Still, he dragged his body forward, even after he couldn't see anything before him, the heavy snowfall hiding the flickering light of the streetlamps.

But in the end, Misha was only human, and his body couldn't take the harsh treatment eternally. A moment later, he dropped the bottle of vodka and fell on the nearest snowbank, curling up into a ball.

When he was on the verge of falling into a deep slumber, someone pushed his shoulder, forcing him to open his eyelids. He vaguely heard them say, "Boy if you sleep here, you will freeze to death. Come on, wake up, and come in. I'll give you a hot chocolate and some blankets, so please don't die in front of my house."