A/N: Ahhh, finally! A story about my favorite bachelor. A place where I can put all my Fritz hatred! Okay, fine, I just kinda hate Fritz. He made me water his crops, that I will never forget or forgive. Anyway... There aren't any Mistel chapter stories?! (None I could find, anyway) That's insane. Like super insane. /Why/? I don't know, but here ya go. (Rhymes...) I really wanted to improve on my writing before I wrote this, I just imagine Mistel fans would be very picky, and am proud to say that I have. There's still room for improvement—there is always room for improvement—but hopefully you will find this more agreeable than my past writing if you are familiar with it.

Annie's name has been changed to Beatrice. I like that name. It's cool. Don't diss on my names. I considered Charlotte or Raven, but Beatrice really speaks to me for some reason. So I don't care if it's an old lady name! I like it. After thinking about it...Is it still even Annie if you change the name? Does it become an OC after that? Is Annie not someone you can turn into whoever you would like? Weird. I'm gonna leave it at Annie in the tags...

I start all my stories at T because I don't trust myself, but surely this will be M before I even know it because I am incompetent human being who cannot write a love story without it getting smutty sooner than later. BUT. But—it will also be bitter and sad probably because I am a bitter person. This will NOT be fluff, though. I am sick of fluff and I will never write it again. I haven't really decided if it's going to be angst or drama, though, so for now it's just romance and a bitter Mistel. Expect angst /and/ drama. By the way, like the dramatic chessboard photo I have as the picture? Haha I crack myself up.

Chapter One

Mistel tentatively stood behind his counter at the antique shop, waiting for something, anything to happen. Today had been one of the most boring days of the whole short lived Fall season and he could not wait for it to be over. He already dusted every single thing in the shop, and it wasn't even four o'clock yet. Not a single customer came into the shop all day. Klaus visited, but it wasn't as a customer, he just came to see his sister. He wasn't stupid, he knew he wasn't there to peruse the antiques, he would rather peruse Iris—and that's just what he did after a short conversation on the weather, he excused himself to go upstairs and distract his sister from writing her new novel. He could vaguely recall her mentioning that is was about a doomed love story, one of unrequited love. He chuckled dryly to himself. They were all doomed, how could she not see that?

She didn't even visit today, and he was glad. He knew just one look at her would turn his expression sour. That was a lie. One look at her would make him elated for about a second, then it would turn sour. She probably wouldn't even notice and just go over to his bookshelf to smell the oldest of them. That's what she usually did, at least. Sometimes she would stay and play a game of chess, but she wasn't very good at it and would often get angry at losing. He liked that look, the one where he knew he had to of had a smug look of his own at viewing the owner's face so defeated. He just didn't find it so triumphant when she looked that way, it made him want to go against all of his beliefs and let her win just to see her face light up in victory.

That look he had only seen a handful of times on her face, but when he did see it his own didn't twist into one of failure as it usually would when seeing his opponent victorious; he couldn't help but to smile with her. After all, she had beat him, fair and square. At least, that's what he told himself. He didn't want to admit that he was just happy to see a smile on her face, that would just be ridiculous. Why would seeing someone else happy make him happy? That made no sense, even if it did come from a pretty girl with big eyes. He had seen plenty of pretty girls beat him at chess, but only she seemed to have that effect on him.

He didn't like that. It made his stomach squirm knowing she had an effect on him at all. She had no right, and she didn't even know she was doing it. That was what really dug at him. She would skip in all bubbly and cheerful, chocolate colored hair bouncing and red eyes searing, flash her brilliant smile at him and start talking in her sing-song voice about something or another; all the while his heart would be fluttering—despite himself. If she did notice she didn't act any differently, or say anything to indicate that she had. She would just stand there, her ruby eyes burning into his brain while she waited for a rebuttal that she would never get, because while she had been talking he hadn't heard a word; too busy trying to get his heart to settle and her eyes out of his head.

Then she would laugh loudly after an uncomfortable silence, ask if he had anything new, skip over to his bookshelf and smell them, present him with a butterfly—then leave never knowing just that simple act had made his day. He hated that. After she left he would shake his head that was now clear due to her not being in his presence, but undoubtedly less happy, and sigh loudly. Iris would usually run downstairs and ask what was wrong—she had heard through the thin walls—and he would always say nothing was wrong, that she should go back to her work and stop worrying about him.

That was a lie, though. Everything was wrong, how could she not see that? She had left and in doing so had left a hole in his heart, one that would never be filled now that she had a boyfriend, a boyfriend that wasn't him. Well, he wasn't sure if he was her boyfriend but he did know he had seen his lips upon hers. That was all he had seen, though, as he had ran away as quick as his legs would carry him. It was his worst nightmare, and his heart had broken a little with every step he took away from them.

He had went to see Giorgio to pick up his order of flowers—or rather her favorite flowers—apparently they didn't usually grow them in town and Giorgio had to specialty order the seeds. Who would have known that the town didn't usually grow yellow roses, that was just strange to him. Then on his way back the corner of his eye had caught red hair, then red eyes, then a shut of them as the redheaded boy's lips found hers. He wouldn't think either of their names, it would just sound bitter and prove to disgust him even further.

Needless to say the flowers never found their way to her, as he had dropped them at the sight of them together in such a way and hardly gave a second thought about the flowers. How could he, when he had them in his head now? It consumed his every waking thought. They would never last, it was a doomed romance, even if it was requited love. That was, at least, what he had to tell himself to stop from perishing due to a broken heart. That would never do. If he was going to die it would have nothing to do with either of them.

He gave a slight jump when he heard two knocks on his door, then an abrupt opening of it. Speak of the devil. He would never understand that. Why would she knock on it if she was just going to open the door anyway? Why would someone knock on a shops' door in the first place? It made no sense, but then again, she made no sense. It was her first visit since he had seen them, which was two days ago, and he was really hoping she would never visit again. He never seemed to get his way, though, and that was probably why she was here—just to rub it in.

In spite of himself he felt his blood run cold when her eyes pierced his, skipping over to his counter no matter how many times he told her not to skip in an antique shop. She pulled her long ponytail over her shoulder, as she often did, and ran her hands through her brunette locks as she said in a sing-song voice, "Hello, Mistel."

"Hello, Bee," he said, his voice quivering slightly—notwithstanding his demure attitude.

"Bee?" she asked confusingly, the most perplexed of looks upon her face. "You don't usually call me that."

"Well, I suppose I do now," he said more bitterly than he wished he had.

"Alright... Well, as I said before, I really don't mind if you call me by my full name if you prefer it."

"I think your boyfriend would mind if I called you by a name that only I used. I fear he will get the wrong impression."

"My boyfriend?" She looked horror stricken for about a second, then lifted her head up, her chiming laughter filling the room.

"Your boyfriend," he remarked dryly. What kind of game was she playing?

"I do not have a boyfriend, so it seems you have gotten the wrong impression."

He felt his lips twitch into a smile, but quickly composed himself, saying in his usual teasing voice, "I see. So you just kiss all the boys in town? When will I get my turn? Please, do not tell me I'm the last. I would have thought that would be Fritz, but I see now that I was mistaken."

He watched as her face turned bright crimson, her lips compressed into a straight line. He liked that look, but liked it a little less knowing he wasn't the only one who got to see it. "Oh, so you heard about that," she sighed. "Who told you? I told him not to tell anyone."

"No one told me. I saw it with my own two eyes." My eyes that I would like to pluck right out of my skull.

"Well your eyes have mistaken you," she said flatly. "He kissed me, I did not kiss him."

"Oh?" He felt a wrath beginning to build inside of him, and smiled sweetly. "Then that means I have no choice but to shove his head right into the pavement the next time I see him."

"I really wish you wouldn't!" she pleaded, her eyes wide in fear. "He already had his ears chewed off, he doesn't need that, as well."

"So you are defending him for his inexcusable behavior?" he fiercely asked.

"I am not," she said, sighing deeply. "I only wish that you would keep your hands to yourself."

"Perhaps I would keep my hands to myself if he could keep his hands to himself."

"Two wrongs do not make a right, Mistel," she sang, crossing the room and going over to his bookshelf, pulling out the oldest of them. She had a knack for that, or rather would just take out her favorite of the lot. It was the saddest book he had ever read, and he had to stop reading in the middle. He couldn't see where the story was going, and he didn't like that. She opened the book and hid her face in it, inhaling deeply. A wide grin spread across her face as she lifted her head back up, and he found that the smile was contagious.

"So? When do I get mine?" he asked sweetly, beaming at her with his hands tightly clasped behind his back.

"Your what?" She put the book back in its respectful place then placed a hand upon her hip, tilting her head slightly in confusion.

"My kiss, of course!" He chuckled loudly at seeing the heat rise back into her face.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to steal that like Fritz did, that isn't something I just give away freely," she replied darkly.

"Ah, that will never happen, then. I am not some foolish barbarian who just goes around kissing everyone without asking first. That is an absurd thing to do, and is something that is just going to get your head shoved into the pavement."

"Then I suppose you're just going to have to ask, then," she said teasingly, walking past him and examining something on his wall.

"Excuse me?" he hastened to ask. He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly, or if this was just a cruel dream he was going to wake up from any second—that he was correct, that her and Fritz were dating, that they were getting married, in fact, and already built a family together with only their lifelong happiness to look forward to.

"Ask," she said, turning around to face him and looking him up and down. "If you would like a kiss, just ask."

"Do you say that to all the boys?" He quirked an eyebrow and laughed loudly, but cringed inwardly. He was never going to get a kiss if he kept acting like a jealous lover. "Nonetheless, I want a kiss far less than you think I do, Beatrice."

"Oh? Am I Beatrice again?" she giggled. "Ideally, we would be dating first, but since that seems like it's never going to happen if you want a kiss I will happily give you one."

He was dreaming—he knew it in his heart of hearts. There was no way that his Beatrice was talking of such things. "I would like a kiss, then," he said firmly. If she was going to play this game, then he was, too.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to ask better than that," she teased, taking a step closer to him.

If this was a dream he hoped he would never wake up. He felt his heart quicken as he took a step closer to her, asking, "So I am who you would rather kiss?"

"You are," she hummed. Her cheeks turned a slight hue of pink, a coy smile adorning her face, and he cursed his mind as the word adorable ran through it with a relentless passion. He enjoyed this look much more than the last, and hoped Fritz never had a chance to see it.

"I see..." he trailed, trying his best to get his heart to stop pounding so quickly. "If that is the case, may I kiss you, then?"

"You may," she replied in her usual sing-song voice, but it quivered slightly.

He put a hand to her face and gazed into her ruby eyes; they were unflinching, fierce. They were not the eyes of a liar. "Goodness, you are going to give me a heart attack."

"I'm waiting," she giggled, bouncing from her heels to the tips of her toes.

"You are going to have to stop moving." She instantly stopped the moment the words slipped from his tongue. She gazed back at him with an intensity in her stare, and he feared his heart was going to jump right from his chest. "So... you like me?" he asked with uncertainty in his voice. "As in, you like like me? Like, as a man? As a man you like, like? Like—"

Beatrice put a finger to his mouth and shushed him with the most sly smile on her face. "If you say that word one more time you're going to give me a heart attack."

"So...you do?"

She looked away for a moment and sighed loudly, "I may...does it matter?"

"I suppose it doesn't..." It mattered a lot to him, but he wasn't about to say that if it didn't matter at all to her.

"If you don't kiss me soon I am going to have to kiss you," she sang, and started swaying again.

Mistel gently grasped her forearms to stop her pestering movements. "Fine, but you must close your eyes." She complied, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. It was a lot easier now that she wasn't looking at him with those eyes. He put his hands on either side of her face and noticed that it was heated still. Good. He felt a lot better knowing that he made her nervous, or flustered, it didn't matter; as long as he knew he made her feel something.

He heard her swallow hard as he leaned in, tilting his head slightly—his heart pounding in his ears and his hands trembling on her arms. It was unfair, this effect that she had on him. Certainly an unfair advantage in this idiotic game they were playing. Parting his lips, he barely felt hers brush along his when he heard a creak on the stairs and Iris try to stifle a giggle. He straightened his spine and yelled slightly, "Sister, may I ask what you're doing?"

"Oh, nothing," Iris sang, rounding the corner and leaning against the wall, her arms crossed causally below her chest. "Bee, you can open your eyes now, I don't think he's going to kiss you anymore."

"Oh, yes, of course," Beatrice sputtered, her chest heaving slightly as she took a step backward while her face turned beet red.

He crossed his arms and fiercely glared at Iris, growling, "I hope there is a very good reason for why you interrupted us."

"Soften your stare, brother!" Iris laughed. "Do you want your face to stay that way? I just came to see my two favorite people, and to tell Bee that I would like to speak with her once you're done with your little..." She paused, looking them both up and down. "Chat."

"What would you like to speak to her about?"

Iris opened her eyes wide and said in the most innocent tone she could muster, "Nothing in particular, brother. We often have our little talks, don't we, Bee?"

"We do," Beatrice replied in a low tone, nodding her head slightly.

"We do! So it is none of your concern."

"Sister..." he warned, clutching his hands into fists at his sides so tight his knuckles turned white. "Fine, but I will be listening."

"That is unnerving, brother," Iris laughed, turning around the corner to walk back up the stairs. "Listen all you would like, we have matters we need to discuss. Just send her up when you are done."

He turned his attention back to Beatrice and huffed loudly. "I'm sorry for the interruption. It seems the mood has been broken..."

"So it seems it has," she sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'll just have the taste of Fritz's lips in my mouth for a little longer."

"Oh? Is that why you wanted to kiss me, just to get his taste out of your mouth?" he asked bitterly.

"Perhaps..." she cockily said, walking past him to the staircase. "Or perhaps I just would rather have your taste lingering on my tongue."

Her ruby eyes met his violet ones with a spark and he stood there, gaping at her, for what felt like five minutes. He was certain now that something must have possessed her, there was no way his Beatrice would be talking like this. "Perhaps does not sound very...certain. Please be more forward with your words," he said after a minute.

"I'm trying to, but it appears that you cannot take a hint."

"So it appears I cannot..." he whispered, barely audible. She batted her long lashes at him, and he wasn't sure if she was doing it on purpose or if she was just that naïve.

"If it makes you feel any better, our barely-a-kiss was much more enjoyable than Fritz's kiss. He stuck his tongue in my mouth, and it tasted like grass!" Beatrice exclaimed, sticking her tongue out slightly in disgust.

"That is because he is a boy, whereas I am a man, Beatrice. I assure you that our kiss would have been marvelous and passionate," he said earnestly, but with a slight hint of teasing in his tone.

Her cheeks turned a shade that almost matched her eyes, and she put a hand in front of her mouth as she murmured, "I-I'm sure it would have been." Mistel grinned mischievously at her, she was being far too adorable today. "Oh!" she gasped. "By the way, remind me that I have a butterfly to give you before I leave." She shook her rucksack slightly that was hanging off her shoulder.

"Of course," he said, his grin turning devilish. He tapped his elegant glass terrarium on the counter on his left which he had taken to putting the butterflies in that she gifted him. "You haven't gifted me with one in a couple of days, they seem to be getting quite lonely without any new friends."

"I'm sorry... I, uh, have been quite busy the last couple of days," she sputtered, her face turning slightly guilt stricken. He decided to ignore it, rather then to question why she looked ashamed. He didn't want to know the answer.

"That's quite all right. I suppose I have just grown accustomed to seeing your adorable face everyday," he teased, and building up some confidence that was no doubt due to everything that just took place, he gave her a small wink.

"As have I," Beatrice whispered, the heat still in her cheeks. "Well, I will see you soon."

She started walking up the stairs and he called after her, "Keep in mind, I will be listening!"

He heard her let out a little gasp and her footsteps stomping loudly on the stairs as she began to run up them. He chuckled loudly, then sighed. Now that he couldn't see her anymore his head was clear, and he wasn't sure how to comprehend everything that had happened. Did she like him? Did she just want him? Or was this a just game to her? Could she not see that he was smitten with her, that he may even love her?

Now that he couldn't see her face the hole in his heart had formed again, a longing ache in it that made him feel ill. This was a game, he was sure of it. A game that he knew he was going to lose. He had placed his queen right in the middle of the board with no other pieces around to protect it, just waiting for one of her pawns to seize it up at any moment—and she was playing with no strategy, no thought in her actions as she always did. No matter how much thought he put into every action, every move, her spontaneity was sure to win over his logical reason. She was too adorable, and he knew she would destroy him.