Sweet Devil [BL]

Chapter 5. The Mother

A splitting headache woke Misha up. It felt like his skull was trying to crush his brain into a paste, whereas thousands of sharp needles were pricking his temples. That odd but agonizing feeling pulsed like a heartbeat, sending waves of cold shivers down his spine.

Soon, muffled whimpers resonated within the room.

'Gosh, my voice sounds like a kid's,' Misha silently winced, not knowing whether to laugh or cry—in the end, he cried.

The pain was too much to bear, enough to make Misha wish he'd faint on the spot. He had hangovers before, but none were as bad. Honestly, there were no words to describe how terrible he felt.

In the back of his mind, he warned himself never to drink again. Gulping down half a bottle of vodka in less than twenty minutes was not his brightest idea; well, wandering in the middle of a snowstorm wasn't exactly any better. Not only did he hallucinate talking with Santa Claus, but his whole body was now screaming in agony!

Nausea suddenly turned his stomach upside down, making Misha curse as he tried to crawl out of his bed. He wanted to at least reach the toilets before throwing up! However, all his muscles were sore, as if a car had run over his body multiple times. Goodness, even moving his pinkies was akin to torture! For the second time, he told himself that he was done drinking. He'd never touch a bottle of alcohol again in this lifetime!

His nausea grew stronger, and Misha dragged his body out of bed only to land on his butt with a loud thud. His head spun, and stars flashed in front of his eyes.

Goddammit, where was the toilet?! He couldn't see a thing! And he wasn't familiar with this room! Wait. Where was he?

Anyway, first thing first: he had to calm down his nausea. Misha put his hand on his mouth, waiting for the dizziness to subside. It took a moment for it to happen, and another for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. The first thing he then saw was a tall mirror fixed on the wall beside the bed. A mushroom-shaped night light brightened the floor near the mirror, allowing him to peek at his reflection.

But what Misha saw wasn't an adult in his prime; it was a young child. A delicate boy that looked like a life-sized doll, with a tiny upturned nose and pink, soft lips. His snow-white cheeks looked incredibly tender, and his short messy blonde hair gave him a naïve but fresh look. Green dinosaur pajamas draped his small body, adding another childish touch to his overall appearance.

Misha blinked. Then the boy inside the mirror also blinked.

"What the...," Misha muttered, a frown creasing his face. And again, the child mirrored the action.

A foreboding feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. Misha hesitated but ultimately decided to poke his cheeks before pulling both of his ears. Whatever he did, the boy did it too. There was no mistaking. That tiny little kid was him! And now that he thought about it, he also looked somewhat familiar.

Perhaps the emotional shock was too strong, but the pain suddenly lessened, becoming bearable. Misha then forgot everything about the headache, cramps, and nausea, and he examined his body, trying to understand why he had shrunk. It didn't make sense!

The gears moved in his head, and his discussion with Santa Claus popped up in his mind. Right. They talked about going back in time, didn't they? But he didn't have the leisure to delve into the matter further, for his bedroom door slowly opened with a squeak.

A soft voice asked, "Are you ok, sweetie? I heard a loud noise...."

Misha instinctively turned his head toward the door and then froze, his body stiffening from head to toes. It couldn't be...?