Misha happily swung his legs back and forth, making it hard for Gabriel to keep his balance as he avoided the roots, holes, and sharp-edged stones littering the trail. Thanks to Misha's antics, he often swayed on his feet, and yet, he never told the child to stay still. Instead, he silently endured.
Now that the boy was finally on his back, Gabriel didn't dare say or do anything that would make him unhappy—otherwise, it'd surely result in another tantrum. Since that brat loved to act before thinking, Gabriel had the feeling that he'd struggle and make a scene despite being on his back, forgetting that if the teenager were to lose balance and fall headfirst, he'd also fall.
However, Misha was in a pretty good mood and didn't plan on being unreasonable. Hearing the teenager huff and puff was enough to make him forget the displeasure of climbing onto his back. It brought about a vicious satisfaction, even.
It was the beginning of the afternoon, and the sun was beating down on them. Although it was a bit cooler in the forest than at the beach, it was still hot. The humidity was also high, weighing heavily on their shoulders.
A few minutes later, Gabriel's t-shirt was drenched in sweat. He had put it on before leaving the beach, not wanting the mosquitos to devour him alive. But he was now wondering what was worse: being biting or dying of heat. His forehead and neck were also damp, making his hair cluster around his face.
Misha wasn't heavy, but he wasn't weightless either. Gabriel was also carrying the backpack, wearing it on his chest. Walking on a rough trail with those two extra weights was by no means an easy feat, and it demanded a lot of physical effort on his part. Even if he was in good shape, he wasn't an athlete!
But although he was laden like a pack mule, he didn't complain and walked forward.
Gabriel had slid his arms behind his back to make it more comfortable for the little king, using his forearms as a chair for the kid's butt. Of course, Misha wasn't polite and shamelessly put all of his body weight on the teenager's forearms, not even straightening his back or holding onto Gabriel's shoulders to distribute his weight more evenly. The child only rested a hand in the crook of the teenager's neck, close enough to pass his arm around his neck if he were to lose balance. Meanwhile, his other hand held a tri-colored popsicle.
Because Gabriel's hands were full, he couldn't eat his snack. Thus, he decided to give his popsicle to the child. But it had long started to melt in its packaging, and when Misha opened it, he realized that he had to wolf it down quickly, or there would soon be nothing left in his hands but a mere wooden stick.
Yet, when Misha saw the popsicle slowly drip onto the teenager's neck, he didn't eat it immediately. 'A stick isn't so bad,' he thought, a wicked grin curling up the corner of his mouth. 'It even has its charm.'
Narrowing his eyes, Misha weighed the pros and cons, and he concluded that sacrificing the second popsicle wouldn't bring about too much heartache. After all, he still had the sweet aftertaste of the first popsicle left in his mouth.
And so, he happily observed the process of the droplets forming on the edge of the tri-colored popsicle before falling onto the nape of Gabriel's neck. The steady drops of the popsicle somehow hypnotized him, and he only snapped out of his trance when he heard the teenager say, a touch of impatience in his voice, "If you're not going to eat it, then throw it! Please!"
"But I'm eating it!" Misha hummed as a strange sense of fulfillment flooded his heart. "Just not fast enough."
It was the first time since his rebirth that Gabriel was starting to lose patience; he was thrilled! It almost made him want to dance and scream in joy. Ahem. He still had a bit of common sense left and ultimately restrained himself, only swinging his legs back and forth with more strength.
"Really? But as I see it, the popsicle is quite far from your mouth," Gabriel pointed out after glancing over his shoulder.
To contradict his words, Misha quickly moved his mouth closer to the said popsicle, but the moment his tongue touched it, its top broke, and a small-sized piece of ice fell onto the teenager's neck before viciously sliding into his clothes.
"Ah!" a soft cry of surprise escaped from Gabriel's mouth as he instinctively straightened his back. It made the child lose balance, and he had to pass an arm around his neck so as not to fall.
"My popsicle broke! It's your fault for urging me!" the boy grumped while trying hard to stifle his laughter—it wasn't very successful.
"Okay, okay, I won't urge you, but I'm begging you, can you try to eat faster? It's cold! And please, loosen your grip a little, you're strangling me!"
The popsicle piece slowly slid down Gabriel's spine, leaving a cold, sicky feeling on his skin in its wake. Because the child was on his back, his body pressed against his, it couldn't fall to the ground. The popsicle piece was thus stuck in the teenager's clothes, near the small of his back.
Gabriel couldn't help but let out a grunt of discomfort.
Still, he didn't put the child down on the ground to get rid of the popsicle piece for fear that Misha would not want to climb back onto his back afterward. Anyway, they were about to reach the campsite, so he told himself to bear it.
"Sure!" Misha giggled, loosening his grip and wolfing down what was left of the popsicle, almost gobbling up the stick while he was at it.
He knew he couldn't push his luck too much, so he stopped making things difficult for Gabriel—for the time being, at least. Anyway, his family wasn't there, and thus there was no point in breaking the teenager's mask.
After a moment of silence, Gabriel asked, "Where did you learn to fight? You were quite impressive earlier."
Misha felt like a bucket of cold water was poured on his head, and he froze. Oh shit, he had forgotten that he shouldn't know how to fight at this age. Gabriel wasn't a fool, and after two months, he had learned quite a few things about his family, including that neither he nor his sister studied martial arts. They did other sports, though, but said sports didn't involve brawling with their opponents.
It was just that, back at the beach, Misha was so angry that he had let his body act on instinct without thinking about the consequences. One of his bad habits.
And his body moving the way he wanted it to was also a big surprise. Misha didn't expect it to be so cooperative, not after the fever and the constant fatigue that plagued him for the past two months. It had thrilled him so much that he had forgotten about his surroundings, Gabriel, and everything else. He became engrossed in the fight, and if the teenager hadn't stopped them, Misha probably would have beaten the third kid to a pulp, regardless of his injured ankle.
'I could have done without that injury, though.'
Pursing his lips, Misha thought about how he had injured himself. He had sprained his ankle when he landed on the sandy ground and veered to hit the tallest boy. Although it seemed like his reflexes had been well integrated into his younger body, his leg muscles were still too weak, while his ankles weren't flexible enough to keep up with the quick moves. It made it easy to injure himself, especially if his feet weren't steady. But thankfully, it was only a small sprain that would heal by itself in a day or two.
Still, Misha couldn't understand how Gabriel figured out that he had twisted his ankle. He thought he hid it quite well, not showing the pain on his face, but it seemed like it hadn't been the case. Perhaps, Gabriel had closely watched over his fight from the beginning and noticed the moment he hurt himself…? His movements had been unnatural and stiff for a fraction of a second as he instinctively tried to redistribute his weight on his uninjured leg.
But was the teenager even able to notice such a small detail? Probably not. So Misha concluded that it was his facial expression that gave him away. At any rate, he had always been an open book, and it wouldn't be that surprising if he unconsciously grimaced in pain at one point or another.
"You can't tell me?" Gabriel insisted after a short moment of silence. "Is it a secret?"
"No, no," Misha stuttered as he furiously shook his head, making his blonde hair bounce on each side of his face. "It's just that you won't believe me even if I tell you!"
"You never know!" the teenager gently replied, quite amused by the sudden change in Misha's behavior. Was he shy?
"Well, you know," Misha whispered, his cheeks bright red, "I just watched many martial arts movies and copied their moves at home."
What a lame lie! But nothing else came to his mind, so that was all Misha could come up with as an answer, hoping that the teenager wouldn't probe further. He honestly couldn't elaborate more!
"Then, you have to teach me some of those moves," Gabriel chuckled, tactfully not exposing the kid's lie. "They are quite effective."
"Oh, yeah. Sure, one day," Misha mumbled, a bitter-sweet feeling twisting his stomach at the teenager's words.
Resting his forehead against Gabriel's shoulder, Misha closed his eyes. Memories flooded his mind, and he remembered the day Gabriel learned what his father had done to him and how he had handled Alexey afterward. Back then, the young adult that Gabriel was had easily thrown a grown-up man twice his weight through the window. The way he had moved about wasn't something an amateur could have done.
That guy sure didn't need his teaching. The teenager wasn't like him, who had learned everything with first-hand experiences without any theoretical knowledge. Misha was like a rusty dagger, whereas Gabriel was a well-polished sword.
The child scoffed at himself. The one that needed the teaching was him, not the teenager. But this, he would never admit it aloud.
Deep down, Misha knew Gabriel probably did notice his small error while he was fighting and didn't need to look at his facial expression to understand that he had hurt his ankle. Still, it was less humiliating to be an open book than a dunce who couldn't even coordinate his own two feet.
Misha shamelessly convinced himself that Gabriel had realized the truth because of his facial expression. It wasn't because of the clumsy movement of his feet. No, nope, definitely not!
___________
Mini theater
ML: You know, you can just ask me, and it will be my pleasure to teach you.
MC: You'll be too happy, so there is no way I'll ever ask you. Hmph.
ML: ...I just want to help T-T
Chapter revised on 2022-05-05
Edited by Clozed! ♥
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