Chapter 38 - Piggyback Ride

Misha swung his legs back and forth, which made it hard for Gabriel to balance himself while avoiding the roots and the sharp-edged stones. He swayed a little but still endured silently, not telling the child to stay still. Now that the boy was finally on his back, the teenager didn't want to say anything that could make him throw another tantrum.

If the child were to struggle, Gabriel wasn't sure that he could keep his balance and not fall head-first. Since that brat loved to act before thinking, he would certainly make a scene at the slightest provocation, forgetting that he was on Gabriel's back and could fall.

For now, though, Misha was in a pretty good mood and didn't plan on being unreasonable. Hearing the teenager huffing and puffing under the effort was enough to make him forget the disp.l.e.a.s.u.r.e of climbing onto his back.

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. Moreover, the humidity was quite high, weighing heavily on their shoulders as if someone was trying to push them down.

After only a few minutes, Gabriel's t-shirt, that he had put on before leaving the beach so the mosquitos wouldn't devour him alive, was drenched in sweat. His forehead and his neck were also damp, and his hair cl.u.s.tered around his face.

Even if Misha wasn't heavy, he wasn't weightless. Moreover, he was also carrying the backpack, wearing it on his c.h.e.s.t instead of on his back. Walking in a trail with this extra weight was by no means an easy feat.

In short, the teenager was laden like a pack mule but didn't complain a single time.

To make it more comfortable for the little king, Gabriel had put his arms behind his back, using his forearms as a chair for the kid's small b.u.t.t. 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 all over his back. The child only rested a hand on the crook between his neck and his shoulder, close enough to pass his arm around his neck if he were to lose balance. As for his other hand, it held a tri-colored popsicle.

In the end, because Gabriel's hands were full, he couldn't eat his snack and give his popsicle to the child. However, 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 else there would be nothing left but a stick in his hands if he waited any longer.

Still, when the child saw the popsicle drip onto the teenager's neck, he suddenly found out that a stick wasn't so bad, it even had its charm. Misha also had the sweet taste of the previous popsicle left in his mouth; he could sacrifice the second snack without too much heartache, especially if it were for a greater cause.

A smile stretched his lips, and the child carefully observed the process of the drops forming on the edge of the tri-colored popsicle and falling onto the nape of Gabriel's neck. The steady drips of the popsicle hypnotized him, and he only came out of his trance when he heard the teenager said with a bit of impatience, "If you're not going to eat it, throw it!"

"But I'm eating it! Just not fast enough," hummed Misha, feeling a strange sense of fulfillment. It was the first time since his rebirth that Gabriel was starting to lose patience; it was worth celebrating!

The teenage boy glanced over his shoulder, pointing out between two huffs, "The popsicle is quite far from your mouth."

To contradict his words, Misha quickly moved his lips closer, but the moment his tongue touched it, the top of the popsicle broke, and the piece fell onto the teenager's neck before sliding into his clothes.

"Ah!" a small cry of surprise escaped from the teenager's mouth, sounding quite soft to Misha's ears.

"My popsicle broke! It's your fault for urging me!" pouted the boy, blinking innocently, while Gabriel straightened his back, unable to restraint a grunt as the piece of sticky ice made its way down his spine.

"Okay, okay, I won't urge you, but I'm begging you, can you try to eat the rest of it before it falls? It's cold!"

"Sure!" happily laughed the boy, wolfing down what was left, almost gobbling up the stick while he was at it. For now, he couldn't push his luck too far. Anyway, his family wasn't there, so there was no point in breaking the teenager's mask.

When Gabriel realized that the child had finally eaten all of the popsicle, he heaved a sigh of relief. That brat sure knew how to rub people the wrong way.

After a moment of silence, the teenager opened his mouth again. "Where did you learn to fight? You were quite impressive earlier."

When Misha heard his question, he froze. He had forgotten that at this age, he shouldn't know how to fight, at least, not that well. Gabriel wasn't a fool, and after two months, he had learned quite a few things about his family, which included the fact that neither he or his sister studied martial arts. They did other sports, though, but those sports didn't involve brawling with their opponents.

It was just that, back then, Misha was so angry that he had let his body act on instinct without thinking about the consequences.

Well, the fact that his body moved the way he wanted it to move was also a big surprise. Misha didn't expect it to be so cooperative, not after the fever and the constant fatigue. It had thrilled him so much that he had forgotten about his surroundings, about Gabriel and everything else. He became engrossed in the fight, and if the teenager hadn't stopped them, Misha probably would have jumped on the third kid despite his injured ankle, which would have certainly ended up with him worsening his injury.

Misha hurt 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 body, his legs muscles were still too weak while his ankle wasn't flexible at all to keep up with his moves. Therefore, it was easy to injure himself, especially when his feet weren't steady. Luckily, it was only a small injury that would heal by itself in a day or two.

Truth be told, Misha still couldn't understand how Gabriel had figured out that he had twisted his ankle. He thought he had hidden it quite well, not showing the pain in his face, but it seemed like it wasn't the case. Or perhaps Gabriel had closely watched over his fight and noticed the discreet pause Misha had no other choice to make after hurting his leg. At the time, his movements suddenly became unnatural for a fraction of a second.

The child shook his head. Was the teenager even able to notice such a small detail? Probably not. So he concluded that it was his expression that gave him away. Anyway, he had always been an open book, and it wouldn't be that surprising if he grimaced in pain at one point or another.

"You can't tell me?" asked Gabriel after a while. The child was lost in his thought, and he had forgotten to answer.

"No, no," stuttered Misha while shaking his head, making his blond hair bounce on each side of his head. "It's just that you probably won't believe me even if I tell you!"

"You never know!" gently replied the teenager, quite amused by the sudden change in Misha's behavior. Was he shy?

"Well, I just watched a lot of martial art movies and copied their moves at home," whispered the boy with burning cheeks. What a lame lie! But nothing else came to his mind, so that was all Misha could answer, hoping that the teenager wouldn't probe further.

"Then, you have to teach me some of those moves. They are quite effective," chuckled Gabriel, deciding not to expose the kid's lie.

"Oh, yeah. Sure, one day," mumbled the boy, a bitter-sweet feeling twisting his stomach at the teenager's words.

Resting his head against his shoulder, Misha closed his eyes, remembering the day Gabriel learned what his father had done to him and how he had handled him afterward. Back then, the young a.d.u.l.t that was Gabriel had easily thrown a grown-up man who was twice his weight through the window. The way he moved wasn't something an amateur martial artist could have done.

That guy sure didn't need his teaching. The teenager wasn't like him, who 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 that, he would never admit it aloud.

In the corner of his mind, Misha knew the teenager probably noticed his small error while he was fighting and didn't need to look at his face to understand that he had hurt himself. However, he preferred to believe that it was the later simply because it was less humiliating to be an open book than a dunce who couldn't even coordinate his own two feet.

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Author's note:

ML: You know, you can just ask me, and it will be my p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to teach you.

MC: Exactly. You will be too happy, so there is no way I will ever ask you. Hmpf.