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“You’re my only one.” Mignon’s pleading voice fills the space between them. Sniffles interrupt his speech, grip tightening on Young-One’s hands. “Please don’t toss me away.”
Young-One’s mind reels with the confession, thoughts racing through his head. None of them are coherent enough to grasp, and his head pounds from the influx. He always had his suspicions, knew that Mignon’s infatuation with him ran deep.
Love, however? He hadn’t expected that.
Two years they’ve been together, almost three now. His affection for Mignon has only grown with each passing day, and Young-One fears that his vulnerability is the reason Mignon is now tangled up in his mess.
He had been irresponsible (when had he ever drunk a blood bag with the door unlocked?), and Mignon was at risk because of it. Because of him. Master Woo’s threat appears at the forefront of his mind.
How could he be selfish enough to desire him, to want him all for himself?
Because that’s exactly what Young-One wants to do. He wants to stop Mignon from hurting, wants to kill those who take advantage of his trusting and compassionate nature, but… that’s all he’s done, too, isn’t it?
He doesn’t know what to do. His rationality is screaming at him to push Mignon away, to tell him he’s confused. Implore him to get far, far away from this fucked-up situation.
Mignon should be enjoying his life somewhere cut off from the people who cheer when he gets beat to the pulp, from his piece of shit coach who uses him until he’s broken and bruised, from him, who depends on people’s blood, their life source, to function.
But here he is, the holder of his heart, the one who’s managed to break down his heavily fortified walls, begging him not to throw him away.
Who could’ve possibly earned this amount of unwavering devotion?
Certainly, not him.
With that final realization, Young-One lets out a deep sigh, one that speaks of many long years of living. He finds his voice within the jumble of arguments and reasonings rushing through his mind. “I don’t deserve someone like you, Mignon,” he says softly, hoping that, for once, he listens to reason.
“That’s not true!” The urgency with which Mignon raises his head startles him. “Don’t say that!”
Young-One feels his eyes widen. Mignon genuinely means that, the sincerity in his voice piercing. “Mignon…”
“You’re the only one who’s ever shown me kindness, Doc,” Mignon continues, shaking his head frantically. His tears fall uninterrupted. “I know I’m asking for too much, but-”
Now that is unacceptable.
Young-One pulls his hands away from Mignon's white-knuckled hold, making sure to grasp his face with as much gentleness as he can muster. His face is still swollen, and it’s with a heavy heart that Young-One recalls how battered he had been when he was moved into his clinic earlier tonight.
With cold hands, ensuring Mignon can’t look away, Young-One gives him a sad smile. “You’re too pure for this place. You always have been. No one out there, especially not your coach, should get to tear you down as much as they do. You deserve someone who’ll love you without reservation. I-”
Young-One inhales sharply, closing his eyes in defeat at the one truth he’s held onto all this time of being undead. “I’m just as much a monster as they are.”
He’s met with a deafening silence. It begins to sound as though Mignon is finally coming to his senses about him when a grunt is forced out of him, a crushing weight suddenly pushing him backward. Young-One tips back, bracing for impact when two familiar, strong arms wrap around his back, squeezing him to a firm chest.
He opens his crimson eyes to the sight of Mignon’s muscular back, his white hair tickling the side of his face. Young-One holds his arms out to the side, frozen in shock at the abrupt change of position.
“You can’t-” A hiccup breaks off his statement. Young-One can feel Mignon’s panicky breaths against his neck, his full body tremors coursing through him now, too. “You can’t possibly believe that, Doc.”
“I-” He can’t seem to string a single thought together. It’s useless to try, anyway, because Mignon appears to be more than glad to fill his stunned silence.
“I’ve been around so many terrible people, too many to count. I’ve seen what they do and what they say. None of that trash is even remotely like you.” Mignon stops to rub his forehead across Young-One’s neck. He suppresses a shiver. “You’ve never hurt me. I love you.”
Young-One’s hands gain a mind of their own as they eventually land on Mignon’s back, feeling his tendons and muscles rise and fall and twitch with every breath. He knows his expression is stuck, mouth agape and eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t know what to think, let alone say.
Mignon pulls away from the crook of his neck with his signature petulant pout. “Do you understand?” He asks, just as confident and sure as he usually is, the bastard.
He feels himself nodding dumbly, biting his lip as he looks to the space above Mignon’s ear.
“I’m-” Young-One shakes his head, refusing to allow his muddled brain to prevent him from getting this important point across. “I’m tied to this place, Mignon.” His shaky hands move upward until landing in his soft hair. “You can leave, and if we do this, you’ll just get pulled along with me. That’s the last thing I want.”
“I’d go anywhere with you, Doc.” Mignon smiles, eyes creasing at the corners as he realizes that he’s got what he wanted.
Young-One gets the immediate urge to meet him halfway. If Mignon is willing to endure this terrible place, all this pain, just for him, then- “I can go a few weeks without feeding. I’m sure I can find something else to survive.”
Mignon tries arguing instantly, as expected. “Doc-”
“No, Mignon.” With courage he thought was long gone, Young-One leans in to capture Mignon’s lips. He had meant for it to be a chaste peck, but Mignon doesn’t let him get far.
He moves his arms from Young-One’s shoulders to take hold of the back of his head, tongue pushing into his mouth urgently. The sounds leaving him are downright embarrassing, but the way Mignon’s lips slide against his own, the desperate way he holds him against him like he’ll die if he even inches away, burns a fire in Young-One’s core that’s too poignant to ignore.
He moans when they both pull back, foreheads pressed together. “Mignon.”
Mignon laughs, the sound so sweet that Young-One might melt on the spot. “That was my first kiss. You were my first.” His smile is wide, threatening to pull his cheeks apart. “I’m so happy right now, Doc.”
Young-One recognizes the feeling of his lips pulling into a matching grin. “We’ll leave this shithole together.” He cups Mignon’s face, hoping to convey the absolute conviction in his voice. “I promise.”
The naive boy who wandered into his clinic those two, almost three years ago, emerges from the very bottom of his memories to display an image in the back of his eyelids. Nineteen-year-old Mignon’s easy smile, the lack of bruises, the way he had been filled with excitement at the prospect of victory, all of it brings Young-One back to this moment.
“I don't want you to hurt anymore.” He hides his face in Mignon’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Mignon holds him back fully, and Young-One misses the utter bliss on his expression from his hidden perch on his broad chest. “I won’t. Not as long as you’re with me.”
Young-One takes another deep breath, pressing his lips to Mignon’s shoulders, and compels himself to give Mignon a snippet of what he deserves.
The declaration he’s been looking for. “I love you, too.”
They’ll be okay, Young-One reasons.
As long as Mignon keeps looking at him like that, like he just hung the fucking stars, everything will be just fine.