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The basement was especially this cold this time of the year. There was no proper heating, so Mischa found himself huddled underneath two thick blankets, none of which technically belonged to him. One of them was a wool blanket he’d managed to pilfer from his adoptives. They had been keeping it in a closet, anyway. Clearly, they didn’t care about the blanket, either. Besides, they had central heating in the main house. They could deal. The other one had been from Ricky, disguised as a casual gift. Mischa knew better, though. After visiting his place once, the others very clearly had concerns. He did his best to stop them from asking questions and offering a place to stay. Once they’d shut up, Ricky had mysteriously turned up with a “spare” blanket that was completely devoid of cat hair. Mischa had opted to just accept it, since he really needed the extra warmth anyhow.
Today, as he shivered beneath the two cozy blankets, he was glad he’d made that decision. His phone was the warmest part of the room, running hot after he’d left it plugged in during a call with Talia. She had left at some point, but the device hadn’t had time to cool down. Mischa stayed close to the wall, curled in an uncomfortable position to keep his phone charging as he started doom scrolling again. There wasn’t much else to do on a weekend during break. The choir had done their end of semester concert, and they didn’t have music to practice yet. Without that, there wasn’t really an excuse to hang out with anyone.
Instead, he was here, alone, trying to stay warm enough to not fall ill. As another violent shiver hit his body, Mischa became sure he would end up bedridden soon. Maybe if he got up and started moving a lot, he’d be able to warm up the room. The choir room was always inexplicably hot, though Ocean attributed that to it being an enclosed space with several moving bodies. Mischa usually complained about the heat, whining every time they paused singing, much to Father Markus’ annoyance. He’d take off his vest and unbutton his shirt until Ocean started complaining about it. Now, however, Mischa wished he was in the warm room, even if that meant listening to Ocean and Noel’s bickering, Father Markus’ scolding, and Ricky’s rather awkward first attempts at any piano piece.
Mischa scrolled again, as if hoping the next video would give him more dopamine than the last. It did not, instead leaving him annoyed with himself.
“Я ненавиджу своє життя…”
Mischa didn’t stop scrolling, though, because, at this point, he was too bored to sleep.
After a moment, a notification popped up at the top of his screen. For a short instant, his heart soared, thinking Talia might be messaging him despite the awkward time in Ukraine. Instead, the contact name “Yaoi Lover” popped up. Mischa pressed the notification anyway, figuring that was better than nothing.
[Hey, Mischa?? Can you come over???]
Mischa read it over a few times, trying to figure out whether or not this text was urgent. Constance tended to register as dramatic over text, but she could have also needed help. She sent another.
[I was thinking we could cook/bake together?]
[I’m bored.]
[Please say yes.]
Mischa sat up, some energy finally seeping into his body, even as exposing himself made him shiver violently again. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get his brain to work again as he typed out the best message he could manage.
[yes. will be there in 30]
[cooking w/ u isd always fun]
He didn’t bother fixing the mistakes as he sent each message. He got up, glancing around. He didn’t need to look nice, or even very presentable. It was Constance. She wouldn’t care if he had very obviously slept in these clothes. He didn’t feel like changing them, because that would mean worrying about it and actually doing it. He was far from in the mood for that.
Instead, he just tried to smooth his outfit a little, put on his thickest hoodie, which, come to think of it, he should have been wearing in the first place, and pocketed his phone and lighter. Cool.
___
Mischa wasn’t unused to walking through the freezing cold or the snow. He had to get to and from school, and occasionally to one of the others’ houses. He took a left on the second block, heading for the nicer part of town. Constance would never say it, but her family could absolutely be considered wealthy or upper-class, at least compared to the rest of them. Her house was the largest, warmest, and nicest-smelling. It was always everyone’s go-to for when they suggested hang-outs for those reasons.
As Mischa walked past Ricky’s house on his route, he started wondering why they all weren’t hanging out right now. There was barely any distance between them. The town was small, and the drive was never much of a big deal. It was usually as simple as deciding they wanted to play video games on a Friday afternoon and getting together in Constance’s car. The walks were definitely less enjoyable, as they were cold and windy and lonely. Still, they weren’t unreasonable in the small place. Besides, none of them had anything to do. There was nothing to do in this stupid little town, and most of their families couldn’t care less if they were together over the holidays. He supposed the others just needed some alone time, which was okay. School was draining as hell. There really wasn’t anything wrong with taking time to themselves.
Mischa took in a breath of the cold, crisp, not-quite invigorating Uranium air. It definitely woke him up, but it didn’t give him life. Just kept him from dying.
What was wrong with him today?
The walk took a little longer than expected. Mischa couldn’t be sure whether it was because of the cold, the deep snow, or his sudden, inexplicable inability to think properly. Whatever it was, something had stopped him from making the journey in a reasonable thirty minutes.
Mischa shivered and stomped harshly as he came up to the door, trying to knock off as much of the snow as he could before going inside. He knocked on the door, the last hit having more force than he intended, as he shivered again.
“Cece! Door! The doo-oor!”
In spite of it all, Mischa laughed softly. Constance’s little brother was so much like her: chaotic, loud, humorous, and somehow endlessly full of love. He brushed away the snow on top of his hood as he heard Wesley start shouting for his sister again. If she didn’t come to the door soon, he might break it down.
Actually…
Mischa sighed and glanced around. It wouldn’t be on top of the doorframe, because Constance and her mother were incredibly short. He knelt down and lifted up the doormat but saw nothing. That’s when he noticed the dog turd by the wall. So far as he knew, the Blackwoods didn’t have a dog. Plus, he couldn’t smell anything; although, that may have been his nose being stuffed from the cold. Despite that… Mischa sighed and reached for the turd, praying that he was right. He could at least feel the texture before trying to grab it.
However, his fingers were so numb from the cold that he couldn’t really feel whether this was plastic or genuine. He decided to risk it, just grabbing it with his whole hand and turning it over–
Thank God it was fake.
Mischa grabbed the spare key from under the fake turd and stood up, shivering as he tried to unlock the door. He missed the keyhole at first, and at second, and at third. Mischa cursed to himself again, stomping. He groaned and tried another time, slowly. This time, he managed to get it in. When the door finally opened, he sighed in relief. Finally, he did something right today.
A four-year-old boy was sitting on the couch with a coloring book. Mischa grinned at him and shivered as he shut the door. “Hey, Wes-Man.” He placed the key on the table by the door, because no way in hell was he going to accidentally steal that. He stepped on his own heel to take off his sneaker because his feet were now soaked. He should have thought about that before leaving, but it’s not like he could get boots from his adoptives. He leaned down to pull his socks off as well. “Where’s your sister?” Mischa asked Wesley.
“Cece’s in the kitchen. She’s not listenin’.” Wesley sat up, setting his coloring book to the side. “I can get her!”
Mischa chuckled, his smile widening despite how exhausted he felt. He took off his snowy hoodie and hung it up, feeling the warmth of the household seep into his bones. “Hey, I can go see her. Thank you, bud.”
Wesley raised an eyebrow at him and suddenly stood up on the couch holding his arms out. Mischa raised his eyebrow right back. “You need a hug,” Wesley told him.
Mischa wasn’t sure how he felt about the toddler making that assumption of him. He didn’t like that he’d been that easy to read, that Wesley was right, that someone that young could tell. He supposed he had the emotional intelligence of his father.
Just to make Wesley feel better– and for no other reason whatsoever– Mischa went over and accepted the hug. He still had to lean down quite a bit for Wesley to put his arms around his neck. Mischa sighed at the warmth and hugged the little kid back. He had to admit, the hug helped a little bit. It didn’t make his brain work any better, but it made him feel less shitty about it. He waited until Wesley pulled away and smiled at him. “Is it better?”
“Much better,” Mischa lied. He ruffled Wesley’s hair and let the kid go back to his coloring. “Have fun with that.”
“I will!”
Mischa’s face fell again as he entered the kitchen of the house. He saw a few different utensils and ingredients strewn around the counter, and Constance was by the oven, humming slightly off-key, probably on account of bad breath support while she was bent over.
God, Ocean was getting to him.
Mischa stepped back, not wanting to startle Constance while she had her hand in the hot appliance. Once she stood up, shut the door, and turned around, he made himself known. “Hey, Constance.”
Constance jumped and let out a sharp, short scream when she saw him. Precisely why he didn’t call to her while she was at the oven. Constance sighed in relief when she realized that it was just him. She pulled a set of earphones out and set them with her phone on the counter. “It’s just you. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Constance?!”
The teens both turned to see Mr. Blackwood looking at her in concern. “I heard you scream. Did you burn yourself? Did you cut yourself? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” Constance said with a smile. “Just got startled. Mischa’s here, by the way.”
“Hello, Mischa,” Mr. Blackwood said with a soft smile. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Dinner?” Fuck, Mischa hadn’t eaten all day. He hadn’t been given breakfast, and his adoptives had been out of the house at noon. Why was he only thinking of that now? Should he stay and eat here? He didn’t want them to know how hungry he was all of a sudden. But… He couldn’t refuse the kind smile Mr. Blackwood was giving him. “Sure, if you will have me. Thank you.” He hastily, but not insincerely, tacked on the last part.
“Of course. There’s always a few extra seats at our table,” he said. He gave them a quick wave before going back down the hall to the café that was attached.
Constance smiled widely and looked up at him. “So, I was thinking of making–”
Constance paused when she saw the look on his face. She waved a hand to bring Mischa back into focus. “Hey. Are you okay? Mischa?”
Mischa looked back at her, not snapping into focus, but fading back in. Mostly. “Hm?”
“You look really tired. How many hours did you sleep?”
“Mm… Like, thirteen?”
“Uhhh…”
Mischa hugged himself, shivering again. It wasn’t even cold in the kitchen! What was wrong with him? What was wrong with him? What was wrong with him?
Constance wordlessly put a hand on his back and led him to the barstools on the other side of the kitchen island. He sat down, and she took his hands. “You wanna talk about it?”
It was so hard not to be comforted by Constance and her smile. It was far from her only trait, but there was no denying that she was the nicest girl in town. Mixed with all her chaos, dark humor, wild laughter, and search history that should probably be in some sort of watchlist, she was still the nice person everyone knew her to be. The fact that she was all of that was probably the reason Mischa felt that she was genuine. The reason he sighed, leaning down, and let her hug him.
“I…”
“Hm?”
“I have been in funk today.”
“Oh?”
“I was too cold to do things, then I was too tired, but I never got out of bed. And I just realized that I have not eaten today.”
Constance rubbed his back, and he felt himself warming up a little more. Mischa hugged her back, taking a deep breath. He already felt so much better. Constance hummed when he did, and he felt a little glad that he’d made her feel good too. “Just one of those? One of the days you can’t get yourself to do what the back of your mind wants you to?”
“Exactly! See? You get it.”
“Yeah, I was having one of those today.” Constance pulled back and looked around at the kitchen. “That’s why I did this. And why I invited you.”
“Was Ocean not available?” Mischa asked, reluctantly pulling his arms back to himself.
“I dunno. I asked you first.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Constance told him. He looked over her face. Constance could keep a secret, but she hated lying. He smiled warmly at her. “I just felt like it was a good time. Guess I was right.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mischa turned and looked at everything as he leaned on the island. “How do you get yourself to do things when your brain can’t decide if it wants to?”
Constance shrugged. “I have to force myself at first. That usually comes after hours on end of sitting in my bed on my phone.” She glanced at a book and opened the fridge. “Then, I try to do something simple. Or listen to music. The music really helps.”
“Hm…” Mischa looked around, not fully registering what all the things around him were supposed to do.
Constance put a few vegetables on the counter and smiled at him. “I get it if you’re still, uh, uuuggghhh…” She made a dramatic zombie face, and Mischa couldn’t help laughing loudly. Constance laughed softly in return. “Hop in whenever you feel like it. Until then, we can chat. Or not. Uh. Oh, you can choose some music if you want.”
Mischa pulled out his phone and grinned at her. “You do not mind Eminem?”
“As long as my mom doesn’t hear serious profanity or anything,” Constance said, grabbing a knife to start chopping up a carrot.
As Mischa set the music to play in the background, he asked, “What are you cooking?”
“Split pea soup,” Constance answered. “It’s simple, but really really good. Noel and I used to adore this stuff. It was kind of a comfort meal.”
The next hour– or however the hell long it was, was far more rewarding than laying in bed with his phone. Instead, he was rather enjoying sitting and talking to Constance. She didn’t seem to mind that he was barely helping until he offered to stir the pot towards the end. She just seemed glad that he was willing to help out when she suggested they make shortbread cookies, which were probably the simplest thing she could give him. He wasn’t sure if she did that so he wasn’t overwhelmed or because they both ended up totally addicted to the cookies, but Mischa found that he didn’t really care. He only cared that by the time the cookies were in the oven, he and Constance really felt like people again.
___
That night, after that dinner of split-pea soup, Mischa and Constance sat playing Mario Kart on the living room television. Her parents and brother had left them alone, so Constance was able to see more of Mischa’s real passion. He could talk the worst smack, but Constance was sure he would never act on it. So when he shouted, “I will shove my foot up your ass,” she didn't think much of it.
Constance cackled as she sped ahead, using up a golden mushroom. “Take that! Eat my dust, sucka!”
Mischa groaned, taking the path with a speed boost to try and catch up. He managed to come in second just as they rushed through a cluster of lucky blocks. When Mischa saw what popped up for him, he grinned maniacally. “Choke on this, bitch!” Then, his Bowser threw it.
Constance gasped as her Shy Guy was taken out by a red shell. She groaned as she tried to regain her place. Bowser zoomed past. “No, no, no, no, no!” She glared at Mischa. “Dickhead.”
“Loser.”
The race soon ended, with Bowser in first and the little pink Shy Guy falling in third to Waluigi. Mischa started cheering, while Constance moaned in defeat.
Mischa stood up, doing some weird dance and putting an “L” above his head. “Take that! Nobody beats the Money!”
Constance glared playfully, flipping him off with both hands. “Oh, go fuck yourself.”
Mischa laughed, falling back next to her and saying, in a teasing tone, “Awww, you a sore loser?”
Constance grinned mischievously, rolling her head. “I must declare… war!” Her hands shot out, wiggling into Mischa's sides aggressively. He burst into laughter, squealing like a little kid. Constance laughed out loud at the sound, doubling her efforts. “How does it feel to be helpless?”
Between gasps and giggles, Mischa sputtered out, “Pl– Please– Stop!” Constance smirked, moving one hand under his armpit. Mischa all but shrieked, trying to smack her away. “No!”
Oh, he could take a little more. She could tell when he was being serious. “Not unless you use a safe-word,” she joked. She made a dig at his stomach, and he squealed again.
“Connie!”
She beamed at the use of her nickname. “What?”
Mischa gasped, writhing as she attacked his other armpit. “Qui– Quit it!” She tried in vain to smack away her fingers, but she kept returning with a fury. “I'm– I'm gonna piss–”
Not wanting to see if he was serious, Constance threw her hands up, grinning as he took a second to calm down and breathe. He sighed and pulled away. She snickered when he glared at her.
Then, Mischa just kind of went quiet, staring. Constance looked back at him, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head. She looked like a puppy. After a moment of quiet, she asked, “Are you okay?”
Mischa nodded.
“I didn't hurt you, did I?”
Mischa lunged at her, his arms suddenly crushing her in a hug. Constance squeaked in surprise but ultimately hugged back, humming.
“Are you okay?”
“Thanks to you,” he said. Mischa clutched the back of her sweater. She still smelled like shortbread cookies. It smelled like home. Not his home, but a home. A home he was welcome and safe in. “Thank you for getting me out of wicked funk.”
Constance let out a soft “aw” and rubbed his back. The action reminded him of his mother, and Mischa teared up. “Thank you for coming to hang out with me. I've really enjoyed this.”
“Yeah…” Mischa almost pulled back, but Constance kept her hold on him. He huffed out an affectionate laugh. “We must do this more.”
“Absolutely…”
“...”
“Mish?”
“Yes?”
“You wanna stay tonight?”
“Please.” He didn't care if he said it so quickly it seemed desperate. He was desperate for a little more connection. He was desperate for warmth. He was desperate for more shortbread cookies.
Constance grinned as she pulled away. As if she'd read his mind, she asked, “How about we grab more cookies and start another race?”
“You are on. ”
Constance leapt up and started heading to the kitchen. “Chocolate milk?”
“Yes, please.”
A few minutes later, Mischa had everything set up to start a race. Constance set down a plate of cookies and two tall glasses of rich chocolate milk. “Ready to taste defeat?”
“You wish, cunt.”
Constance gasped in mock offense, sitting with her controller. She waited until Mischa was busy taking a sip of chocolate milk to start the race. He gasped in surprise, choked, and rushed to put everything down as he reached for his controller. Constance managed to get the speed boost, but he was waiting for a moment.
“Hey!”
Constance cackled, nudging him playfully. Mischa gently pushed her back, smiling just as wide.
They needed to hang out like this more.