A/N: It’s here, the sequel I don’t think anyone expected. But I felt the need to tell you all the REST of the story. This takes place three years after the ending of Pais Philos. For those of you who didn’t get it, Mello changed his last name to Matt’s since he couldn’t remember his own. Same for Near.

Nekros Philos

ONE.

Blessed be the child who fell asleep in you.

-

Miheal Jeevas felt something warm beside him.

And he remembered.

He remembered rubbing up against his Mom in the bed when he was little, the feeling of her skin - hard, calloused from work and soft from being with Miheal - against him as he searched around for warmth. There was always one pillow in the bed and it seemed like his head was always on the other side of the pillow because it was always cold. So he let Mom have the pillow mostly and he just lay his head up against her side.

It was like that now, Miheal’s hand unconsciously inching up under the pillow he rested his head on and he squinted at the cold that shot through him. In his dreams, Mom was the warm thing next to him and despite how in reality, he was a man of twenty-one, he felt small and fragile next to what he believed to be her form.

He nuzzled up to her and she was just so…

-

… sweet smelling, yummy, nearly spicy and maybe it was because she had been baking all day long, things he loved, topped with pepper flakes and tomato sauce. Though it was not the kind of smell that lulled most people to sleep, Miheal just fell into it and loved it because, hey, this was MOM after all and who didn’t love Mom?

“Miheal, if you’re cold, I could turn the heat on. All right?” Her voice in the darkness of the bedroom. Miheal’s own room was across the small hallway, barren and even colder now that he wasn’t in it.

Miheal shook his head, simultaneously pushing his forehead into the small of her back. “It’s all right,” he said. After all, that would only eat up the grocery money if they had to pay for heating too.

She paused, her body a furnace in the small bed. “I’m sorry, Miheal,” she whispered.

“For what?”

More silence and Miheal heard her breathing begin to shake, become irregular and shallow like the cold was becoming even too much for HER and THAT was a scary thought. Miheal looked up, his hands taken away from her body and rubbing up and down his thin arms. He looked up at the long blonde hair that pooled on the pillow and tried again: “F-For wha-”

“Sorry that you… you have to live like t-this…”

She was crying.

Miheal struggled not to shake - to be a strong, big man for her. So he stopped his quivering for the most part and took his hands from himself and put them around his Mom’s wide waist, resting them on her hips as he curled up behind her. He held her tightly.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way we live, right? We’re just as good as everyone else, yeah, Mom,” he said and there was an unsure strength in his voice. He steeled himself against his Mom’s crying as she tried to gather herself, trying to ignore the fact that her ten-year-old son was holding her and being sweet to her like no one ever had before.

A few minutes passed in silence and she turned around, causing Miheal to retract his hands.

Her eyes were red and her cheeks were blotchy but, oh, those green eyes were just shining and those lips that were rubbed free of lipstick were pulled into a fake but strangely comforting smile. Yeah, fake but comforting.

That’s just how Moms are, Miheal told himself as he replaced his hands around her waist and pressed his gentle cheek against her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and Miheal was safe then so he didn’t have to be a man and he let the tears fall.

“Shh, honey… Shh…”

The tear drops falling from his eyes wetted her shirt and beneath the sheer cotton of her nightgown, her nipples hardened. Her eyes closed.

Miheal spoke softly, “It’d be better if Dad was here, wouldn’t it?”

She said nothing.

“Dad could pay for the heat, you know,” he whispered, more so to himself than to her, “he could even do some of the shopping, you know, because Dads do that too, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

Miheal was quiet for a second, thoughtful. “I’ll do some shopping, too,” he said. He opened his mouth to continue but he was pulled from his ponderings as his mothers hands lifted him under the armpits and set his head at level with hers on the pillow. Green and blue eyes locked.

“… Yeah, Mom? What is it?”

“Miheal, I… You know how I made you. But I…”

She looked aside - ashamed, embarrassed.

Then, a desperate sob.

“But I’ve never made love before.”

-

“Nn…”

Miheal felt something warm beside him and grasped onto it like it was the only thing that would keep him alive.

“Miheal. Miheal.”

He opened his blurry eyes at the calling of his name and recognized right away the form beside him. Still, he didn’t let go. He felt a dampness surrounding him and it was obvious that he had been sweating profusely all over the bed. The sheets clung to his legs like he clung to Nate.

Miheal let out a breath and eased off of the younger man, laying on his back in the midst of the sheets and pillows, staring up at the dingy gray ceiling, his chest heaving.

Nate listened to his breathing as if he would a radio and didn’t bother to turn over, just lay on his side, curled up so that he seemed as if he would fall off of the bed any second. Nate preferred the side of the bed closest to the door and Miheal had never questioned it.

“What was it this time?” he asked softly, his dark gray eyes surveying the early-morning light flooding into the room.

Miheal ignored him, only concentrated on the ceiling.

After a long silence of panting and shifting of covers, Nate said, “You slept through the bells.”

Miheal slightly turned to him. “It’s Sunday?”

“Yes.”

He sat up and looked off through the window, the blinds open and the light crawling across the bare wooden floors of the bedroom. It couldn’t be seen from their small apartment but the large church in the city was calling…

(ringing)

… every Sunday, three times a day, calling the faithful to prayer. Always, always, calling the faithful.

And always calling Miheal.

He stared for only a second more before turning to the side and stepping out of the bed, his bare torso revealed as the covers fell away from him. He only ever wore boxers to bed in comparison with Nate, who was always covered from head to toe in his long pajamas no matter how warm it already was. He only seemed to mind sometimes when Miheal mistook him for his Mom.

As Miheal walked around the bed and mumbled something about taking a shower, Nate watched him, not moving from his fetal position in the bed and when Miheal left the room, Nate finally let out his breath.

-

It happened a lot over the years - the changes.

Slowly but oh so deliberately, Nate and Miheal, they…

-

“Ahh,” Miheal moaned, his head banging into the wall in the small living room. He squeezed his eyes shut and slid down to the floor violently, twisting and twitching.

Nate watched from his spot on the couch, his hands wrapped around one knee raised to his chest. He held it tighter than need be.

The tolling, tolling, tolling at seven AM every Sunday.

Miheal screamed thinly and rolled over into a fetal position of his own. He struggled to stand, his nails digging into the floor, clutching at any little bit of sanity he thought he saw. Oh and Nate knew how he hated looking so weak and broken.

He bit back screams as the bells rang and there it was -

“Mom…”

- like a lightning bolt that doesn’t scare even little children.

And Nate came over to him slowly and leant beside him, taking hold of his ears despite the fight Miheal put up.

-

And sometimes, when the darkness had inched across every part of the apartment, when Nate wasn’t unresponsive and when Miheal wasn’t completely tired from work and the horrible people that the Outside World was made of, Miheal kept the promise he made to Nate eleven years ago…

-

Miheal breathed in the clean, rain-like smell of Nate and enjoyed it placidly as he knew from experience that it would soon be swept away by the stale smell of their sheets and pillows. He cupped Nate’s cheek and lead their lips to meet.

Click.

Nate never made a sound, no giggle, no sigh, no pleas for more or for less.

He took what he was given.

And that was just fine with Miheal who had grown into a man of his word, a man who…

(“I promise to love you like you were Matt.”)

… had need of another.

Click, click, click.

And Miheal wasn’t like Matt. It just was never enough for Miheal and so he loved and loved on Nate until he broke away, their lips less than an inch apart and just as Miheal leaned in to continue, Nate rolled completely over and fell asleep soon.

-

The morning that Miheal dreamed of his Mom again, Nate was feeling ambitious. A few moments after Miheal had gone into the shower and Nate could faintly hear through the paper-thin walls of the apartment the water running in the tub, he got up himself, always neglecting to change out of his pajamas. Miheal had managed to buy him normal clothes and Nate took them without neither a “thank you” nor a “no, thank you” but he never wore them.

He went into the kitchen and proceeded to take things from the cabinets, quietly setting down boxes and plates on the countertops.

When Miheal was out of the shower, bathed and clothed, his hair still damp, clinging to his neck and cheeks, he came into the small kitchenette and his blue eyes widened slightly.

Nate looked up at the sound of boots clicking on the linoleum.

Miheal surveyed the wooden table at the side of the room by the little television on the counter that was turned on a low volume - the News recounting some dubious events of the previous night’s happenings. Beside it on the countertops, there were splashes of some batter and on the stove, some pots, a few burned slightly on the bottom, batter hanging around on the handles and a open, empty box of fruit.

On the table, there were two plates neatly set across from each other with pancakes and syrup liberally splashed over the tops; strawberries decorating the sides of the plates.

Miheal’s eyes rose again to meet Nate’s eyes that were then averted as the paler one pulled out his chair and sat down, one knee pulled up to his chest as per usual.

Miheal smirked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Nate, you did this for me.”

He still didn’t look up. “Maybe,” he said and took the fork.

Miheal watched him for only a second more before advancing to the table and sitting down himself. He was so shocked - flattered, really - that he didn’t notice when a familiar institution flashed on the screen just beside them.

-

To be continued.

-

A/N: Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think of this beginning or any thoughts you have so far. Like the prequel, I will have to go at my own pace.