Sweet Devil [BL]

Breathing in and out to push down the lump in his throat, Misha stood before a small table on which lay a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. Just beside the food, there was a beautiful golden wristwatch and a note that said:

"We need to talk."

Back when he had a little chat with Santa Claus, just before his transmigration, Misha vaguely remembered asking if the golden watch could do more than just travel back in time, to which Santa Claus had said something about being able to stop the time. This way, he could distribute the Christmas gifts to all the children in the world in a single night. But this also meant that Misha would be frozen in time like everyone else and wouldn't see Santa Claus when he passed by his house. It made it impossible to ambush him, and thus Misha decided to leave a message instead.

The boy had set the table between the hearth and the Christmas tree, so he was confident that if Santa Claus did come to drop gifts under the tree tonight, he would undoubtedly see it. Now, he only had to wait for midnight, the time at which people said Santa Claus appeared.

Because no one in his immediate family celebrated Christmas Eve this year, they all went to sleep early. They were emotionally exhausted by today's excursion to the cemetery, and Misha was left alone in the living room. Earlier, he had pretended to go to bed, and once he heard Gabriel's even breathing, he quickly fled downstairs, the time-travel device in his hands.

As midnight grew closer, Misha became increasingly nervous, glancing at the clock every second or so. Deep down, he was afraid that Santa Claus wouldn't come or wouldn't care about his note. He knew he was betting everything on something very uncertain, hoping that Santa Claus would consent to meet him and listen to his request. Honestly, Misha didn't even know why Santa Claus saved him in his first life; neither did he know why he sent him back in time. Misha wasn't foolish enough to think it was because he was 'special' or 'unique'. He was well aware of his own shortcomings.

Still, Santa Claus did allow him to transmigrate into his nine-year-old self, so why wouldn't he accept to do it a second time?

As such thoughts came and went, tormenting his mind, the clock hands fell upon midnight. One second, there was no one in front of Misha, and the next, a figure clad in red appeared before his eyes, fiddling with the wristwatch, a pensive look on his face. Following his sudden arrival, the temperature in the room drastically cooled, making a shiver crawl down the boy's spine. Instinctively, Misha rubbed his arms as he lifted his head, staring into the man's grey eyes.

Although Santa Claus had the same chubby face as he remembered, the expression he wore wasn't the same. It was far less kind and much more cold. It was a little shocking, and Misha was left at a loss for words, unable to utter anything. Time ticked by, but neither talked, silently sizing each other up. After what seemed to be an eternity, the chubby man opened his mouth. Despite his gentle voice, Misha could hear the silent threat permeating it, giving him goosebumps.

"So, tell me, where did you obtain this watch?"

"Ah? What are you saying? You're the one who gave it to me!" blurted out Misha, looking at Santa Claus as if he was an idiot.

"…I did?"

"Yeah, of course! Didn't you say something like there's only one device in the world like this one? So who else could have given it to me if not you?"

"When did that happen?"

"…In my past life? I guess you can say it like this? You kinda save me from freezing to death on Christmas Eve, and after a long chat, you just threw me back in time. Back then, I was drunk out of my mind, so I thought you were being senile and spouting nonsense about time travel. Well, even if I had been sober, I would never have guessed you were telling the truth! Do you have any idea how shocked I was when I woke up in my nine-year-old body?! What's with that look? Don't tell me you don't remember!"

"…"

Santa Claus felt a little wronged. How could he remember something that still hasn't technically happened…?

"And—Wait! Who cares about that!" Misha shook his head, making his fluffy hair bounce on each side of his head. "It's not important. You know, I couldn't save my mom again, and things became worst instead. My sister's legs were crippled when they hadn't been in the first timeline. This time, she was the one who crossed the road instead of me! I just…" The boy took in a deep breath before sighing, "I just want to go back in time a year ago, just before my mom's accident. Please, is it possible?"

"Could you stop talking for a second? I want to check something first off."

"Ah? Sure, hm, sorry."

Squinting his eyes, Santa Claus stared at the child before him. According to his records, the young boy was supposed to be 11 years old, yet he looked a lot younger, 8 years old at most. The kid was thin with frail shoulders, fair skin, and big round eyes. He didn't seem to be lying, all his emotions being openly displayed on his doll-like face. If everything the child said was true, then Santa Claus knew his future self should have left a message for his current self in the watch.

A short second passed before Santa Claus lowered his head and brought the wristwatch to his forehead. With his eyes closed, he stayed in this position for several minutes, not moving an inch. It made Misha wonder what exactly he was doing. Still, he restrained his curiosity, biting his lips to keep himself from talking, though he only wanted to urge him to hurry up. And so, he waited and waited until the chubby man opened his eyes again. Then, the gentle yet sad expression Misha knew him so well flashed across his face, giving rise to an odd feeling inside his heart.

"I'm hungry, child. Let me eat a little, and we can talk at the same time."

"…Sure," nodded Misha, taking the plate of cookies and offering it to the man.

"Let's sit too," smiled Santa Claus as he took the plate, indicating the sofa with a tilt of his head.

Again, Misha nodded before leaping to the sofa and sit still, just like an obedient child. He clenched his fists on his l.a.p, looking at Santa Claus in apparent anticipation. With an inaudible sigh, the chubby man sat beside the boy, nibbling on a cookie. He seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes locked on the wooden floor. However, it didn't take long before he spoke again.

"How was the past year?"

"The past year? Not too bad, I guess? Of course, it was a difficult year too. My mother's death was hard on everyone, but I kept my father away from alcohol, so he didn't become an asshole. Surprisingly enough, he's actually quite a good father. He just has to stay sober. And this time, Camille broke up with my sister a lot sooner than she had in the previous timeline. Good riddance, if you ask me. And you know what? It allowed Masha to find herself an awesome girlfriend. You should see them when they're together! They're as adorable as can be!"

Smiling broadly, Misha couldn't help but flaunt his sister's love life as if it was his own. Unconsciously, he started to blabber like a chatterbox, unable to contain himself. It was as if Santa Claus' presence made him lower his guard; he felt like he could confide everything to the man, and he did just that. The first time they met, Misha told him about his mother and sister, about how he missed them and wished they were by his side. It was something he hadn't done before, not even with Dereck.

This time around, Misha the Great Sis-Con mostly talked about his sister, how great she was, and how much he loved her. All along, Santa Claus didn't complain, only smiling faintly. The boy's sparkling eyes softened the heart, and it was hard to bring himself to interrupt him. He waited until the kid was out of breath before softly saying, "You said you wanted to go back in time, but if you do so, everything that you have just tell me will be erased."

"…I know," whispered Misha, pinching his lips. "But I want to save my mother, and I don't want my sister to be disabled. She's acting fine, but how could she really be? You know, she's the kind of person who loves to move about, always having too much energy, yet, now, she can't do the sports and activities she loves so much, all because of me. It was my fault she was injured. I was the one who was supposed to cross the road, not her. I… I just want my mother and sister to be safe and sound."

"I see. But I'm sorry, even if I wanted to send you back in time again, I can't."

"Why?! You did it once, why not twice?!"

"Misha," sadly smiled Santa Claus, "how was your body after your transmigration?"

"A real pain in the b.u.t.t, but so what? It was just a bit of a fever and muscle ache and fatigue and—," as he went on, the boy stopped abruptly and awkwardly coughed, rubbing his neck. Now that he thought about it, it really hadn't been easy on his body. How many times did he faint, and how many times did he curse this weak body of his? He hadn't counted, but it sure wasn't a small amount. "Anyway, it's not a problem. I can handle that much! Easy-peasy!"

"It's not that simple, child," gently said Santa Claus. "If you make your conscience travel back to a year ago, your body will have to accommodate itself to your a.d.u.l.t mind a second time while it still in the process of integrating the one from your first transmigration. Again, it will have to absorb all of your memories and reflexes. It's too much to bear for a child's body, especially yours. You won't only have a fever this time; your brain will be injured beyond repair."

"Then, then what about before I transmigrated? Like a day before my first transmigration? Won't it erase the first timeline in which I transmigrated? So, so, there won't be any problem with a 'double' integration of my a.d.u.l.t memories and reflexes. And even if that timeline ceases to exist, I'll still keep all the memories of this second timeline intact, right? Didn't you say that they're stored in the watch? It's perfect!"

"Sadly, that's also impossible. The day you transmigrated into was the farthest day you could go back to. An hour earlier, and that would have caused irreversible damage to your brain. Although you won't be in a vegetable state, you will lose bits of information now and then, became dazed, and much more. It was already a risky move to send you back so far in the past, and I can't send you back just a minute before your first transmigration. The reasons are a bit complex, so I won't explain why. I will just tell you that you can't. Misha, I'm sorry, it's impossible. You cannot go back in time."

"But… I… What about my mother? What about my sister?"

"Misha… I'm sorry."

"No, tell me you can do something about it! Please, I'm begging you!"

"Misha…"

"If he can't do it, how about I do it instead?"

The moment the voice echoed inside the living room, Misha instinctively turned his head toward its origin, his heart skipping a beat. The bathroom door, which wasn't entirely closed, slowly opened in a squeaking sound, revealing the figure of a young man. Although he wore a gentle expression, unfathomable emotions twirled in his emerald eyes, making it hard to guess what he was thinking.

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