Bad Blood (MxM)

Memories - Family

TW: 15th century in a nutshell - death by measles and religious trauma (homophobia).

His mother's poutine. His oldest brother's hands were holding tight while he climbed his first tree by the river. His sisters' giggles. Running around the grapevines. The smell of grass and the mud on his feet after a rainy day. The taste of wine he and his brothers would steal from their dad's barrels.

Milo was curled up in a ball in the middle of the living room, the tears already streaming down his face. His head felt like it was being torn into a thousand different pieces - and he could see each one of them in his mind. He could hear other men talking near him, but their words just didn't make sense.

A particularly bad drought that almost ended the family business. Hunger. Measles. Being in the same room with his seven siblings, all sick and yet, all playing and singing songs to distract one another. Feeling better. The funeral of his two younger siblings. Numbness. "I miss mom's smile". His father held him. Comfort. Nothing bad is going to happen, dad is here.

Viktor. Alexej. Vincenc. Olívie. Petra. Silvie. Vít. Mom. Dad. How could he have forgotten? He had killed a man, he forgot about his own family. Poor Vít and Silvie. His sobs got louder and louder as his heart sank deeply into his chest, burning from the effort to continue to beat under the weight of sadness.

The family vineyard started to pick up again. His father had saved enough money to get them through the crisis. Numbness. Olívie and Viktor in the river, competing to see who would swim faster. Alexej teasing him. Fighting Alexej. Grounded and made to help collect grapes for the wine. Eating grapes until his belly hurt.

Now he was laughing. Viktor was so pissed when Olívie won. Alexej was envious of how many grapes he ate. Sobs. Goddess, he missed them.

Numbness was a part of him, now. A side-effect of his siblings' measles. How much time had passed? Christmas. His mother smiled again. The warmth of her arms around him, the smell of food in her clothes. Gifts!! What a strange shape... "It's yours". The strong, deep voice of thunder. His father looked like he was made of rock, steel, and muscles. He admired that man so much. He opened it - what was that? A...

- "Oh goddess, the violin..." - His voice was barely audible as he sobbed even more, his whole body shaking from his bawling. The voices around him got louder. Milo could not understand if there was that much noise around him or if his head just couldn't take the pain anymore.

His father in the room with him at night, while Milo tried to understand how to play that instrument. "Milo... A man, a real man, needs to hold his emotions in and deal with them alone. But if you don't cope, you become... Something else. Sad, or violent, or both. So use this and get over your siblings, because I cannot lose another son nor do I want to deal with one that will not honor my name". The pressure of his parents' expectations, the daily classes with a teacher.

Numbness. It was just way too much. His heart was about to fail him. No, it was his head. He felt so scared, so alone... A hand stroked his hair, his face was lying on someone's tights. His eyes were just too full of tears to see who it was, the sobbing was too loud to hear anything else.

It sounded so bad when he played but the teacher could move him to tears with just a couple of notes. Going home and practicing, practicing, practicing. The numbness was gone now - it didn't matter that he wasn't able to play yet, just holding the wood between his chin and his shoulder made him feel something, finally. 

He was dead set on learning how to play. Planning to create a song about his siblings so they'd always be with him. Practicing until his fingers bled. Vicenc complaining about how awful it sounded. Punching Vic. One week without violin classes. Practicing, practicing, practicing at home. Playing in a city event for the first time. His parents standing so tall, so proud, showing him off to everyone. His uncle Sebastian coming to visit, talking about how beautiful Paris was. His father pulling him aside. "You're going to live with your uncle in France. God made you to be a musician, son".