YOU NEVER GAVE UP ON ME; WHY DON'T YOU?
I'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU SEE; WHY WON'T YOU?

( TW : death & panic attacks )

He should've known that something was wrong when the house wasn't in chaos when he got back from his usual day of work. He should've known that something was wrong when the front door wasn't flung open, with an armful of coyote absolutely barreling into him. He should've known that something was wrong, when there wasn't a single sign of Trevor on this day. It was an important day, and one that his husband had been hyping up for weeks – Valentine's Day. It was supposed to be the greatest day of the year, at least according to Trev, and it would involve the other absolutely pampering Michael for the entire day. The dealer had tried to protest such one-sided treatment, but Trevor had insisted, and as usual, Michael was fairly powerless to stop him. He had figured that he would just return from his usual day of dealer duties to find the house absolutely decked out in decorations and everything else. No doubt that his husband would be trying to cook a meal that would go absolutely disastrously, and would probably end with them just eating at the tavern.

In fact, he'd been preparing for the special treatment of Valentine's Day. He had been ready to get swept up in Trevor's twitchy and excitable aura, and had even gathered some flowers to give to the other. The coyote had never really been the flowers type, but he also liked pretty much anything that Michael gave him, and the bobcat had figured they could spruce their place up a little. He had been prepared for the perfect amazing, loving, chaotic night with his husband, and he had been excited for it.

However, as he moved up the steps of their shared hut, the thief was confused to find that the door was slightly ajar, and no sound emerged from inside. There was just... silence. No kids, no Trevor, no... anything. Stepping inside, Michael's ears flattened to his head as he looked around, the hut dark and devoid of any life except for himself. It wasn't surprising for the pups to be out and about, but Trev? The other preferred their house to anywhere else, and it certainly didn't seem as though he would leave on such an important day. Feeling a gnawing pit of anxiety building up in his chest, Michael left his bouquet of flowers on the coffee table, searching around until he finally came across something out of place – a note. Sitting on the counter, folded over and ready to be perused.

Feeling his heart speed up, the bobcat's immediate thought was that his husband had set up some elaborate scavenger hunt for Valentine's Day. With a grin on his muzzle, Michael eagerly snatched up the note, only to freeze when he saw the actual contents of it. There was no cheeky note from Trevor. No riddle to a scavenger hunt, and no shitty poem.

"Maybe this time you'll finally learn your fucking lesson.
— The Lost."

The Lost. The group of rogues that had kidnapped him long ago, torturing and nearly killing him before he had eventually escaped to The Pitt. Michael had thought that he and Trevor were free of them long ago, having successfully avoided The Lost's attempts to get revenge for their thievery. He was wrong, though. He was so, so, so wrong. The anxiety that had once gnawed at his chest had grown into an all consuming void, a harsh breath leaving the dealer as he turned and looked around, frantically. Where the fuck was his husband? Where had they taken Trevor?

Only a second passed before Michael was out of his hut, running across the sands and calling out as loudly as his lungs would allow, "Trevor! TREVOR!" Already he could feel tears clouding his gaze, but he refused to stop, or give up. He didn't even know where The Lost could have taken his beloved, but he didn't care. He just sped towards the border as fast as his legs could carry him, ignoring the way that others sent confused glances in his direction. He had no time to stop and answer their questions, not slowing down until his paws collided with the cold metal and sandy surface of the train tracks. Even then, he only slowed because his lungs were burning, the pain all consuming as he continued to move forward through it. The farther along he went, the more he wondered how long it had been since The Lost had arrived, and how much of a chance he even had of finding them.

Spirits sinking lower and lower, Michael felt the tears in his eyes grow larger, the burning getting even worse. However, his mismatched gaze snapped up when a familiar scent reached his nose, right near the border – Trevor. In the distance, he could see them. A small group of three, dragging along the form of a coyote with them. Among them, the dealer recognized the leader of the whole group, a large savannah cat with a scar running along his side. He ruled mainly through fear of his past exploits, considering his stature didn't exactly do much to intimidate. In that moment, though, Michael cared little for the male's history. Or the history of the whole of The Lost themselves, actually. Instead of caring about any of that, or even thinking, the bobcat was filled with rage. Red hot fury that made the world spin around him, and bile raise up in his throat.

A frantic and enraged shriek left Michael's relatively small form as he threw himself forward, colliding with the savannah leader of them all. The rest of it went by in a blur, with his claws and fangs sinking into flesh as snarls of anger quickly turned into cries for mercy. Vaguely, he heard the quick steps of the other Lost members running off for safety, unwilling to rip the bloodthirsty vampire from their leader's form. It was probably for the best, as Michael had no intention of letting up. He just let his fangs sink down into the vulnerable flesh, ripping and tearing until there was very little left that even vaguely resembled a savannah. When he was finally done, he found that he didn't feel any satisfaction or sense of justice from it. Instead, he just felt... empty. Numb. Like there was nothing at all left within him. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but usually it was just a side effect of his depression coming and going. In this case... he knew what was going on.

Moving in a sluggish manner, the bobcat slowly dug a pit down into the sand and dirt, shoving what remained of the Lost's leader down into it. He was quick to cover the corpse up, stubbornly refusing to turn his gaze towards the limp form of the coyote nearby. Instead, he just focused on the task at hand, not wanting any of his groupmates – particularly the children – to see the bastard that he had just torn apart. Blood dried against his dark fur as he worked, that sense of numbness not leaving him, although it was joined by that earlier sense of anxiety, and dread.

When his task was done, Michael finally allowed him to look towards Trevor, his heart sinking as soon as he gazed upon what he had most feared. His husband's form was utterly unmoving, cold and dead to the world at large. There was no sign of shifting or breath, instead just a nothingness that made the bobcat's chest clench painfully. It wasn't long before Michael stumbled forward towards the sand colored canine, tears flowing freely as he let out a pained sob. His breath came out in pained gasps, quickly turning to hyperventilation as he pressed his face into Trevor's coat, desperately searching for something, anything. Any sign of life that he had potentially, somehow, missed. However, he found nothing, just pressed into his lover's chest as he continued to sob, his breathing becoming faster and even more erratic.

In between unhealthy gasps of air, the dealer could be heard muttering, desperately, "Please... please, please. Stay with me. Come back. Trevor, don't leave me! I need you!" His frantic cries only made it more difficult for him to breathe, his words breaking, "Don't leave m... me... T... please..." Michael knew that it was too late, and there was nothing more to be done, but he was just so desperate. So heartbroken.

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( tl;dr : Michael came home on Valentine's Day expecting to spend the night with Trevor, but instead he found the house dark and abandoned, with a note left by his and Trevor's worst enemies, The Lost. They had taken Trevor for his past transgressions against them, and in order to hurt Michael. Michael went after them to try and stop them, running all the way out to the border, but he was too late. Three members of The Lost were dragging Trevor's corpse along, and the leader of The Lost was among them. Michael attacked the leader, a savannah cat, and killed him, tearing him apart before burying him so that other Typhooners didn't have to see what was left. Michael is now curled up against Trevor's corpse, having a severe panic attack while sobbing and begging him to come back )

The shriek. The sobbing. For a moment it felt too real. A dream. But the serval followed the sound anyway. He honestly wish he didn't. "Michael? Wh- oh god.." the tom felt his throat close up. Slowly he approached the broken man, a wing splayed out as he sat next to him, providing a little shelter. A mournful, quiet sigh left him.

[color=#ffeb84]"Michael.. Michael you have to listen to me. He's gone. I'm sorry." He spoke calmly, though he felt his body ripple with an anger. Who had done this? Who broke this dealer? Who killed the coyote? Blinking, he closed his eyes. [color=#ffeb84]"Just cry. Let it out. No amount of pleading can bring the dead back.. I've tried."

[color=transparent]template by orion

ALL I FOUND THE SPACE BETWEEN THE SPACES
STANDING IN THE NOTHING, AND TIME RECLAIMS YOU

Too much. It was all too much for him to try and process, or handle in any sort of reasonable manner. His chest felt so tight, the sobs leaving him only bringing more pain as time went on. Vaguely, he could hear the footsteps of others approaching, a soft voice trying to reassure him. However, his "relationship" with Eltrous was new and weak at best, and Michael couldn't help the way that his words came out in a snarl, "Get... Get away from me. Now. Just leave me be..." He felt as though he couldn't breathe, although he shoved his face back in Trevor's fur anyways, ignoring the way that only made things harder. In the back of his mind, he was very much aware of the fact that the blood on his fur - and by extension the blood from Trevor - was beginning to dry. Time had passed, and there was no point to him sitting there, clinging onto a corpse that was already long gone. Still, it felt impossible for him to step away, knowing that once he did, there was no getting his husband back.

The next to arrive was Deldrach, her quiet and logical presence a comfort for the grieving bobcat. She didn't try to provide him with any meek words of comfort, instead just turning and trying to make herself useful. He watched her walk away from the corner of his gaze, a shaking wheeze leaving him before he slowly pulled himself away from Trevor's body. He still felt vaguely like he was about to pass out, but he knew he couldn't just fall apart. Or, at the very least, he needed a bed before he collapsed and shut the world away. There was no point to just sitting and letting Trev's corpse begin to rot, when he deserved some sort of proper burial. Swaying in his upright seated position, the thief then muttered, scrubbing at his own face, "M'sorry... I... he needs to be buried. Somewhere... maybe along the beach." That was always where they had taken their strolls together when they wanted to get out of the hut, after all.

Goldie's approach filled Michael with mixed emotions, the male feeling both grateful to see her, and also immeasurably guilty. After all, even if she couldn't remember it, she too had lost her spouse, and he didn't want to expose her to such a situation once again. Still, though, it wasn't as if he could've done anything to prevent it. He couldn't blame himself for what The Lost had done, as much as he wanted to. Wordlessly, the feline pressed himself into Goldie's side, closing his eyes briefly as he accepted her comfort. He muttered weakly, his voice hoarse and soft as he spoke, "Sorry Gold... you shouldn't have to see this. I should've..." He couldn't figure out what to say, not sure of what exactly he could've done. Still, it felt as though he should've done more.

Harland's presence also didn't go unnoticed, although Michael didn't say anything in response to his approach. Instead, he just remained half hidden in Goldie's fur, directing a mute nod in Har's direction. He knew the other mainly through Diya, but he still felt grateful for him coming over, the presence of others dragging him forcibly from his grief. At least, for the moment. He had no doubt that once he was in his home and alone again, he would fall apart once more - unless his children stayed gathered around constantly.

E L T R O U S

The words Michael snarled didn't hurt the god and he stood and stepped back, nodding. "Of course." still his voice soft and quiet, though he turned away from the group. Without another word he walked off in some direction, breath heaved in a sigh. Yes, the words didn't hurt, but the god was again reminded he was around mortals and he would see many a mortal die again.

//busy post + out