Dance with the Dragon [Mile x Apo] [MileApo]

Chapter 11: Red Snowflakes

~"...Happy birthday Mile..."

How do they know it was his birthday today? Was he being tricked again?

Having lost track of the minutes, the hours, the days, the weeks – for all he knew – even months; it felt like an eternity. Being only nine years old – the flicker of hope that mercy would be graced on him on his 'special day' – finally granted him his freedom. An answered prayer. His gaze peeked to his companion, a boy not much older than himself yet they had never spoken (mostly his fault for being taught to never speak to strangers), but one that knew him well enough to utter the good wishes? Who?

Mouth sandy dry. Throat parched for limited days of water he was allowed. Each drop treasured as it slid down his throat, lubricating his vocal cords and his small body that needed the nourishment to survive made sure to never let it go to waste. Did he reply? His parents taught him to do so. Being a prodigy from a young age as well helped to develop his capabilities yet faltered him in other areas. Like subtlety.

Doing his best to clear his throat, tongue licking at the chapped, cracked lips that had seen better days and responded.

"...Thank you..."

"How old are you turning?"

"...10..."

A low whistle, "Wow! Pretty cool. I remember being that age. It's exciting," The boy commented, Mile couldn't make out the features due to the dank surroundings but took in the silhouette and didn't feel the need to be as defensive as before. Slowly, but surely, his hesitance was melting away at hearing the sincerity and honesty, the first person to treat him decently since his arrival, and he nodded in return. No other answer.

"Being here it isn't..."

"You're right it kind of sucks being here," A head rolled in his direction and Mile shifted in his seat on the floor as there was limited room to do much else, "I'm 16."

Mile didn't know where the trek of this conversation was going and nodded once more before curling his knees to his chest and staring at the scratch marks, he had made with a metal nail he'd found nearby. He glared at each little line as if trying to understand why this was happening to him and when it would end.

"You don't know who I am do you?"

"..." Quietly, he shook his head, his hair having grown some in his time of captivity and flopped around with the motion as his eyes did their best to adapt to the flickered lighting of the small space, they were confined in. His pudgy hand lifted to brush back the bangs, the leather band around his wrist rattled with the chain attached to it. The steel links ran along the floor till they were hooked into a nearby wall. No amount of tugging would loosen its grip, no measured force allowed it to give way, he accepted this after a few days of struggling to do so. Since he had developed his motor skills, his family guard was quick to initiate and instill in him the mechanism of survival and understand when the fight had to mellow into the flight to remain alive.

He never understood that reasoning until now he did as he leaned back against the stone-cold wall of his prison, looking at the boy who had been tossed in with him not even three days ago. The grim situation was not any better with the added company ... or perhaps ... it was. It alleviated the loneliness that bloomed inside of him from only being jostled about by ruffians who only bruised his arms with their punishing grips, their yellow-teethed snarls in his face when he retaliated in the beginning, and the barked hollow laughter was derogatory. This boy had been silent, perhaps unwrapping his own fate, but then reached out to give him a kind wish. The bleak reality shedding away - even if it was just one layer. Time ran differently when imprisoned and he looked around calmly, "Should...I?"