Archive of Our Own ^beta

The wind hit his face through the open window. “Next stop: Kiev Central Station!” said the train's electronic voice. Mischa looked out - his home, spread out and visible at a single glance. He took a breath of fresh air, air he hadn't had the opportunity to breathe in years. The kind of air that he had not been sure if he would ever be able to breathe again.
After Constance's turn, the vote was made. Without further discussions. That's where it became apparent how selfless you really were.
Unsurprisingly, Constance chose Ocean. Although Mischa was unsure whether it was an honest voice that stuttered the others name out into dark.
Ocean chose Jane Doe and she seemed just as surprised about it as everyone else, especially Noel.
He chose Mischa, which made his jaw drop. "Love conquers all. Find your Thalia." he said. Typical of him, the most romantic boy in town. How could you expect it to be any different... and yet... Mischa always felt dizzy when he thought about it. The poet had so many ideas, so much passion (and he had a lot of the latter himself, so he knew what he was talking about) and yet he was willing to give that up for something as simple as love.

Though it was in fact not THAT simple, was it?

Ricky swayed between Mischa and Jane. Ultimately, however, he stayed with the second one.
The angriest boy in the city himself, of course, only had his passion in mind: Thalia. He wanted to go to her. Despite Karnak's warning, he wanted to take the risk and vote for himself. Of course he was surprised when not only his own hands, but also Jane's and Noel's, went up.
"I liked the way you sang. Maybe someone once loved me like that too." said the girl with the doll's head as a melancholic look dimmed over her face - as long as that's possible without eyes and other features. He could have cried right then and there, how could he be so selfish? But this thought was quickly stopped by the black-haired poet's gentle smile. Maybe there was something sad about it, who knows.
And now here he was again, having woken up in the hospital with more than his fair share of injuries. His first question was about the others, his second about the Internet. As expected, the choir had died shortly after he woke up, except for Jane.
Now here he was, a few weeks (if not months) after the Cyclone incident, sitting on the train on the way to Kiev. He would do what Noel wanted, what Jane wanted and what he himself had so much anticipated.
He would get to know Thalia. After a whole song about her, it was about time.
Mischa knew her address; he had often sent her things like flowers online or gifts according to her wishes. The problem was the money he didn't have any and his parents said that a supposedly 2-year-old child didn't need any pocket money. He hated them. They seemed to have problems with everything; With rapping, with Thalia, even with the choir.

But that didn't matter now. He was getting closer and closer to his goal - the love of his life. His passion. His previous anchor in this whole argument and grief over his mother.
Misha looked down at his cell phone again.
“I have a surprise for you, my love.”
No answer. He didn't need that either, she could answer him right in front of him, with eye contact, they could talk to each other hand in hand...
and all that in only about half an hour.

After the train arrived, there wasn't a long way to go to his big destination. Not even 20 minutes. No, less than that because he would run. He would finally meet Thalia. And he did so as quickly as he could. Up the stairs, 6th floor, apartment number 603. He had memorized that, like her favorite color, and favorite cake, favorite hairstyle - everything.
Mischa straightened his shirt. Noel would know what to do in such a situation, instead of the Ukrainian who stood somewhat helplessly in front of the bell and waited with his heart pounding for it to ring itself. No, no more delays, he didn't rise from the dead just to back out now.
A whirring sound echoed.
“Wait a second!”
Misha furrowed his eyebrows and froze. Was that just a male voice?
No, that cant be. After all, she was 17, like him.
Shortly afterwards the door burst open. Inside it smelled of fish, dead flowers and pizza boxes.
"Yes?" a man asked. His hair was receding and his shirt showed remnants of his last meal.
"I wanted to go to Thalia." Misha said in a firm voice.
Now it was his opposite who froze.
“the Ukrainian Canadian.”
"Yes"
“…”
“…”
“…Go away!” a croaking voice shouted from inside the apartment.

“What do you mean…?” Mischa tried to look around the man, who was blocking his view.
"Kid, there's nothing to see here. Thalia is just... uhm“ it seems as if he were fighting tears, „... how do you say it. I advise you to go-"
"Oh stop that shit, it's pointless! It started when she was stupid enough to ask for gifts instead of money!" the voice shouted. “Oh but she DID love him.. did she not? My girl… My Talia..“
„Listen.. Thalia is no more.”
Misha immediately took a step back.
A grown man stood in front of him. An adult man with leftover pizza on his shirt. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol. (Was the smell really that bad? The Ukrainian internally apologized for all the times he drunkenly flirted with someone at a party. No wonder that after his (forced) join, Ocean first gave him a toothbrush and a pack of Mont chewing gum.)
"Excuse me…"

Please say no. Please say that this is all just a misunderstanding.
Someone appeared behind the man. "…Thalia left us. A few days ago. She cost us everything we had left and we needed the money. Even if you can't do much with a bouquet of flowers..." she sobbed.
No, that can't be the case. Mischa reflexively glanced at his cell phone, sent a dot and cursed the moment when it rang from somewhere inside the apartment. His first instinct was to lash out, scream that this could not be true, demand to see her right now… His fist clenched and yet, it did not move.
“So have…”
The (presumed) alcoholic took a step towards him. "Look, this may sound strange, but my condolences. She was a wonderful daughter, and even though we both never really got to know each other, she really liked you. Her condition-"
But Misha heard nothing more but sniffles and sighs. He was devastated. His only reason, one of his great passions, was gone. Karnak was right.
How could he have expected that he would get away without any consequences? Selfishly wishing you back home and pretending nothing had happened while five corpses accompanied your journey back? He had disappointed his friend. What was left of him? The choir was gone and even though he didn't want to admit it, he missed the time a little. Thalia was gone before she could even get there, rapping wouldn't be half as much fun without the sweet girl's comments.

Anger bubbled up. Mischa immediately felt this sadness turn into pure energy. He slammed the door shut against the half-bald man who opened it again in desperation. "Boy-"
But by then he was already gone. All 6 floors. Most Stairs in his way were skipped over if not completely ignored. His chest felt like a horde of wasps, ready to burst out.
Everything was gone
Thalia.
His mother.
The choir was gone.
Noel was gone.
Everything.

That same evening he took the flight back to Uranium. Or rather Canada since this so called “community” still didn’t have a damn airfield. There he would go back to that shitty town, to his shitty "family" and that shitty school, only without the choir. It was a miracle how both choir members and choir director could die within just 8 hours. All but one, and most of the school made it clear to him how much they wished that any of the others had survived, like Constance, or rather "that one nice one" as they kept calling her.

The funeral took place not long after the news. Mischa was also invited out of kindness, although he didn't allow himself to shed a single tear. The last time he cried was over Thalia and now it was over. It was as if he hoped that they would come back somehow, he was just waiting for Oceans voice to shush him again, tell him that he was singing in the wrong octave- EVERYTHING. No matter how annoying they were at first, he wouldn't forget that time in the warehouse.
Days, perhaps weeks (…or was it months?) later he visited the graves. They stood there all next to each other, almost lined up like a choir, and the wind played a song. A song of sadness. Ocean would have been able to tell him the exact name of this phenomenon, some french dude thought of in the fifteenth centure. And now Mischa sat there, his brown hair falling over his face as he looked at the writing with his head bowed.
What should he do now? How is his life supposed to continue like this? Is this the Utopia Ocean and everyone else fought for?