Chapter 2 - The Giver of Flowers

As always, the bar felt warm and cozy, and the smooth music in the background was relaxing, a mix of classic, jazz, and popular songs, which helped to appease Misha's lousy mood as it tuned down the loud laughs of Vanessa.

Every time Misha saw the place, it reminded him of a chalet. As such, it gave a familiar feeling that didn't make him feel like he was at work, but on vacation instead.

The milky white glass ball fixed to the greyish wood log walls and the antique ceiling lamps cast a pale light over the wooden tables, the black leather benches, and the old piano in the corner of the bar. The decoration was modest, even simple, but everything was well balanced and pleasing to the eyes. Moreover, the woody smell of the walls still lingered around and blended with the discreet citrus scent of the drinks, creating a distinct and enticing aroma.

However, Misha still couldn't forget the antlers on his head. Thus, the bar lost a bit of his charm in his eyes, and he didn't feel like admiring his design for very long; even the Christmas tree, wreaths and garlands annoyed the hell out of him.

With a frown, he walked straight to the wooden counter while Vanessa took a broom and swept the hardwood floor, humming the song playing in the background.

Then, Misha cleaned his work area, and when he was done, he threw the wet towel under the bar counter, turned around and inventoried the different bottles of alcohol on the vintage shelf. As he bent over to take note of what was missing, a large hand suddenly tousled his hair. The long fingers carefully avoided the antlers, the reindeer ears, and the leather straps, only messing up the soft blond hair.

"Your hair is damp. Don't you know how to use the hair dryer?" asked a husky voice near Misha's ear, sending shivers down his spine. As always, that man didn't have any idea of what 'personal space' means, making Misha's whole body stiff. Even though that childhood friend of his knew he wasn't good with physical contact, and that it was even worse when it was with another man, he always stood close to him, just like glue.

"Of course it's damp; it's snowing outside if you haven't noticed it yet," grunted Misha, slapping the man's wrist with the back of his hand. "Piss off Dereck. I'm not in the mood to listen to your lectures."

Misha lifted his head to look into the eyes of the tall, bulky man by his side. Dereck's gaze, as well as his smile, were genuinely gentle and warm. The trimmed black beard hid half of his thin lips, but the dimples in his cheeks were somewhat visible. The curly crew haircut enhanced his sharp facial features, yet couldn't diminish its gentleness.

The dimples deepened when Dereck chuckled. He said, "I won't lecture, I won't lecture. But there's going to be a storm tonight, and so the bar will close sooner than usual, probably around midnight. So, I could give you a ride home if you want."

However, his childhood friend didn't move an inch, and after a while, Misha finally asked, his mouth twitching, "Can I help you with something?"

"Actually…" Dereck hesitated a second, glancing at his friend with a strange expression. "You see, this morning I went to the cemetery to visit my grandmother's grave. While I was at it, I decided to pay my respect to your mother and sister…"

"Oh, well, thanks," slightly smiled Misha, raising his eyebrows.

Dereck didn't know his mother for long, only two years, and she died when they were both ten years old. If it weren't for the old pictures of Mrs. Brown that Misha showed him for time to time, his friend wouldn't even remember the face of his mother. However, Dereck knew his sister pretty well since Misha had always been close to her until her death. Still, they were the family of his childhood friend, and he didn't have any obligation to them.

Despite that, Dereck took the time to visit his family grave when no one else did, which surprised Misha but also stirred a warm feeling inside of him.

"My p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e. But that's not the point. I may have bumped into your 'giver of flowers'. You said that no one but you and them were still visiting your family grave, right? So I guess it probably was him."

"Wait. Him? It's a man?"

"Well, his back looked like the one of a man. When I hailed him, he left without looking back as if I was the plague, so I didn't see his face. He was a bit taller than you, had broad shoulders and good fashion sense. Ring a bell?"

Misha did have an idea, a perturbing one, and it made him clench his fists with so much strength that his knuckles turned white, and his fingernails slightly cut his palms.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Misha lowered his head and closed his eyes. The sudden adrenaline rush made him feel dizzy. He hadn't thought of that horrible father of his for a long time, and he sure didn't want to remember his existence.

Years ago, even before Masha's death, he had cut the man out of his life. However, his mother was still his wife, and his sister, his daughter. It wouldn't be surprising if he were to visit regularly their grave without him knowing, yet Misha refused to accept it; that drunkard didn't have the right to ask for forgiveness and kneel in front of those he had let down.

The same could be said for that other ins.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e bastard. But then, only those two had a reason to avoid Misha and secretly lay flowers on the grave – it was a fact that the bartender always wittingly disregarded since he didn't want the mysterious 'giver of flowers' to be one of them. In his mind, that 'giver of flowers' was undoubtedly a kind person, not an asshole that he wanted dead.

In the end, Misha still bit his lips before forcing himself to ask, "… Then, was it Gabriel?"

The name left a bitter taste on his tongue.

"I don't know; I didn't see his face as I just said, but it probably wasn't him."

"Yeah. You're right," gulped Misha before shooing the bouncer away. "Shoo! Do your job and guard the freaking door, not the damn counter! The bar opens in a few minutes, you know?"

Dereck laughed wholeheartedly, then raked through his hair once more before leaving him alone, not without saying, "It's Christmas Eve, Mish'. There won't be a lot of people coming in today anyway."

Indeed, the evening was quiet. With Christmas Eve and the soon-to-be storm, only lonely, single, or desperate person came by, drowning their sorrows in alcohol, although there were a few foreigner university students that also showed up to enjoy the drinks. The university campus was near the neighborhood, and thus the students that couldn't go back home often spent their Christmas Eve in the bar, chitchatting and laughing. The lively and festive atmosphere surrounded them vividly contrasted with the low-spirited men sitting in the corner of the bar.

However, even if Misha did recommend Vanessa for the job, he didn't know her for that long either, not even a year, and so he couldn't answer his questions most of the time. Dereck didn't get discouraged, though. The waitress always talked a lot when she was with Misha. Therefore, the bouncer thought that his childhood friend could easily gather information about her without raising her suspicion, and thus send him to test the waters, asking him to find out if she was interested in a romantic relationship and such.

Half an hour before closing the bar, Misha was still chatting with Vanessa. Well, he was listening to her endless blabbering and uttering "hm" once in a while, cleaning the glasses at the same time. Then, a certain person entered into the bar, and Misha couldn't listen anymore.

The man walked to the counter and sat on a bar stool, taking off his long scarf, leather gloves, and knit cap. He put them on his t.h.i.g.hs under the counter and ordered, "A big glass of vodka, please."

Misha didn't move, his hand frozen in mid-air and his blues eyes locked on the man's face. His haircut was different, very formal and plain, and his dark copper hair went gray at his temples, but his face hasn't changed much over the years. The same emerald eyes, the same shaved-clean chin, the same strong jaws, and the same straight nose – no, the nose was slightly crooked now since Misha had broken it with a punch the last time they had met. But overall, it was the same handsome face that haunted many of his nights. Yet, it was also very different. The eyes were lifeless, the lips, tightly shut, and the expression, tired, very, very tired.

"Didn't you hear me? A big glass of vodka, please," repeated the man, his low voice bringing back many memories to Misha, so many that his brain shut down on him.

"It was about time! I thought you would never come by now, Mr. Laflamme," said Vanessa after recognizing her history teacher, a big smile stretching her lips.

"Is that how you greet a client, miss Abbett?" mocked the man, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh come on, don't act so distant! Oh yeah, let me present you…" Vanessa turned to face Misha and saw his blank expression, making her forget what she was about to say. Slightly taken aback, she frowned and asked, "Sweetie, are you feeling unwell?"

The bartender didn't answer. He didn't even hear her, her voice muffled by his thoughts in turmoil.

"Do we know each other?" asked the man with a frown, staring at the bartender until a flash of understanding and uncertainty crossed his eyes, but it was already too late.

"You son of a bitch!" screamed Misha before jumping over the counter and gripping the collar of the man's coat. "This time, you're f.u.c.k.i.n.g dead!"

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Author's note

Author: MC... Could you please avoid killing the ML so soon in the story? I kind of need him.

MC: *Takes a peek at the synopsis* You're going to send me back in time anyway, so who cares if I kill him in this timeline. It won't affect the rest of the story, dumbass.

Author: Oh, yeah. You're right. Have fun then.

ML: !!??