After the meal, they went to the Jardin Botanique and strolled around under the blazing sun. Each garden had its own distinct theme, and the said themes came from all around the world. Masha and Camille were particularly fond of the Chinese and Japanese gardens, having fallen in love with the architecture of the Chinese pavilions and the bonsais exposed in the rock garden.

When the two girls weren't giggling while whispering in each other ears, they were in awe, mouth agape. Every two steps, they asked Gabriel to take a picture of them. Sometimes, Camille and Gabriel switched their roles so the couple would have a few pictures of them cuddling cutely in front of some beautiful flowers in full bloom.

In contrast, Misha was as silent as a corpse, and also looked like one. His eyes seemed lifeless. He wasn't in the mood to admire the immense garden, nor did he felt like posing for the camera. He didn't run around, didn't play in the playground, and didn't even throw some fish food at the colorful koi in the pond – they weren't even supposed to do that! Not like Masha and the rest cared, though.

His sister came prepared and brought the fish food from their home after seeing a picture of the pond in the pamphlet, hiding the food in her bag. 'As long as you are not caught, there would be no consequences even if you transgress the rules' was her motto after all. Their mother also turned a blind eye, suddenly fascinated by the cloudless sky.

While they were having fun and teased the poor fishes, Misha stood there without doing anything. The little boy didn't want to be deliberately unfriendly, at least, not in front of his mother and his sister, but he couldn't concentrate on their conversation; he couldn't even afford to let his thoughts wander for too long, even less move around recklessly. He was battling with his eyelids to keep his eyes open, feeling like he was about to lose his consciousness, and the dizziness made him see double, if not triple at time.

The tiredness he felt before eating was now overwhelming him to the point where he didn't even have enough strength left to talk or look ahead of him, his head felt too heavy and his neck hurt. As such, the little boy kept his mouth shut and his head low, staring at the ground and dragging his feet like a zombie.

More than once, his mother glanced back and asked if he was feeling unwell, and every time, Misha said that he was fine, just a bit tired. He ate too much, that's all. Of course, his mother wasn't convinced by such a white lie – she wasn't blind. Moreover, since this morning, something seemed off with her son. Firstly, he was oddly silent and obedient; secondly, his face turned sickly pale over the past hours.

Again, his mother frowned in worry, and asked the same question, although it hadn't even been five minutes since she last asked about his well being.

Misha gave her a bright smile and answered, "It's only too hot today, mom."

It wasn't a lie. The weather was torrid, and the humidity was high as well, which was kind of surprising for June. They were all soaked in sweat!

"Don't worry; your son is a strong man!" added Misha while puffing up his c.h.e.s.t, trying to look imposing despite his tiny body and his doll face.

"I know, I know," chuckled his mother, gently tousling his hair. "The top of your head is really warm. A bit too much actually…"

With a frown, his mother fumbled in her backpack for a while, then took a lovely hat out of the bag before squatting down and putting it on her son's head. She also gave him a bottle of water.

"I know you don't like wearing a hat, but bear with it for today, sweetie. It will help you cool down a little. And even if you're not thirsty, drink a lot, ok?"

"… ok."

'I don't especially hate wearing a hat, mom. I just really hated those girly, cute ribbon hats that you always want me to wear,' silently complained Miha in his heart while opening the bottle and taking a sip.

Perhaps in this life, he could start training early on.

In his teens, because of the self-loathing and anger he had built up after his mother's death and his father's physical abuse, he often lost it and fought with his classmates for the stupidest reason. Those reckless fights in the backyard of the school honed his instinct and his reflexes over the years, and also left many scars.

However, he never properly learned how to fight, and since he had a bad reputation, every martial art classes refused to acknowledge him when he tried to join them later on. They didn't want to deal with the problem child, and their disciples weren't allowed to fight outside the dojo, a rule that the young man clearly wouldn't follow.

In the end, Misha could only keep brawling with punks and drunkards and learn by himself. He was perfectly aware that he lacked in techniques and was full of openings. He was nothing more than a wild beast – in his present state, he didn't even know if his body would react accordingly to his 'past' experiences, if his reflexes were still there or not.

In this life, he wanted to be able to defend himself and protect his beloved ones. If his father still turned to alcohol despite his mother not dying, then he had to be able to crush him in spite of his small body. That man was a violent drunk, and he knew his family would suffer from it; his mother was too frail, his sister was still a teenager girl, and he was only a little boy.

None of them could fight back if his father were to lose his temper.

When they come back home the next day, the little boy planned to ask his mother to sign him up for Aikido. It wasn't the most impressive martial art, but it was the most useful one for children and women since it used the strength of their opponents to overthrow them. In the back of his mind, he also thought of pestering his sister to take the class with him. It wouldn't be bad for her to learn a move or two.

As for the physical contact that would inevitably occur while practicing joint-lock and throwing techniques with other disciples, Misha told himself that he would think about it when it comes to it. Fighting with his fists was fine. Therefore, Aikido should be alright as well. If not, he would think of a solution when he gets to that point.

Anyway, he also knew he had to get rid of this little problem of his sooner or later, so it wouldn't be a bad idea to get accustomed to physical contact with others as part of his training.

But in truth, he, too, wanted a lover, a person with whom he could share everything. He wanted to be intimate with them; wanted to be able to touch them freely without feeling disgusted; wanted to cuddle; wanted to kiss; wanted to make love.

Misha slightly shook his head. His thoughts were drifting further and further away. First, he had to dispose of Gabriel, discard his father from their life, and ensure that his mother and sister escape their fate. Only after all of that would he have the right to think of a happy ending.

Still, the little boy didn't know where to start. Everything that required to use his brain, he always avoided it like the plague, and now that he had to use his head, nothing came to his mind. He couldn't think of any plan that made sense. They were all childish or unrealistic.

Lost in his thought, Misha mechanically followed behind his mother like a shadow the entire time they were in the garden.

His sister was busy with her best friend and her lover, and thus, she didn't notice something was wrong with her little brother who normally clung to her all day long. She still bought him an ice cream along the way and asked him if he was feeling unwell, if the weather was too hot for him, if their rather long stroll had taken a toll on his body, and so on – just the basic questions and her usual concern, nothing Misha couldn't deal with. Only a few words were necessary to send her off to her friends.

It was her birthday and Misha didn't want to cast a shadow over her special day, so he kept telling everyone that he was fine.

Afterward, Misha was mostly left alone with his mother. As he was thinking of what to do while eating his ice cream, he felt more and more tired, and his head soon started to throb with a terrible headache. At least, he hadn't fainted, but the unpleasant feeling of gradually losing his consciousness was still there, putting him on edge.

Thus, when they finally arrived at their hotel a little after 4:00 PM, the little boy was exhausted. After checked-in and putting their luggage in the corner of their room, without a word, Misha dragged his feet to the closest bed, sprawled onto it, and quickly fell into a deep slumber.

____________

ML: You know, when you're not feeling well, you're supposed to say it.

MC: Shut up.

ML: I'm just showing concern for your well being, don't be so rude!

MC: Yeah, sure. I don't need your fake concern, thanks.

ML: *Mumbling* But I'm not faking it…

Author: *pat pat ML*