A/N: And here we go again ^_^
Seated on a bench just outside of baggage claim, Matt calmly listened to the chaos of roaring buses and squealing breaks and that annoying intercom voice that insisted any unattended baggage would be confiscated. The cold air was thick with engine exhaust, making it difficult for him to enjoy his own cigarette, which at the moment, was the only thing keeping him relatively warm.
He lifted his cell phone out of his pocket and glanced down at the screen, a little dismayed when he saw no new messages. His last message from Mello was nearly two days old, informing him that his plane from London left in five hours. Matt reread it for what must've been the eighth time and let the smallest of grins crease his lips.
British Airways, Flight 558.
Leaves at 6:30 p.m.
Your ass had better be on it.
So, hearing Mello's voice in his head as he read the message, Matt had packed a small duffle bag of belongings, hired a taxi to the Heathrow airport, and hopped on a flight that took him halfway around the world to Japan. Nearly 28 hours later, he had yet to hear a single word from his friend.
It was a little unnerving, devious and rude, but Matt couldn't imagine it any other way. Mello operated on Mello's terms and Mello would call when Mello wanted to. That's just the way Mello was.
Matt reached for the small bag between his feet, realizing that he could be sitting at the airport all night and day if he waited for Mello to contact him. He slung the bag over his shoulder and hailed a taxi, cursing the wintry cold air that bit through his gloves.
"Where you go?"
The small man in the driver's seat swung open Matt's door for him and a waft of old carpet upholstery and warm, smoky air rushed out to meet him.
He threw his bag onto the floor in front of the seat.
"Hotel."
Just as he was about to sit, he caught a sleek, dark shape out of the corner of his orange-tinted vision. Amidst the grating noise of ancient bus brakes and dying horns being blared at pedestrians, he heard the suave purring of something that anyone with half an ear would describe as downright sexy; a jet-black Ferrari.
The sleek vehicle came to a halt, even as the engine revved almost musically, demanding the attention of everyone in a two-mile radius. The driver emerged and Matt grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. The blonde sauntered over to the front of the car and leaned against the hood. Black leather pants, combat boots that reached his shins, sleeveless leather vest and a matching black fur coat to complete the ensemble. Matt decided the two belonged in a fashion magazine. Or a museum of modern art.
While the rest of the terminal turned their heads towards the extravagant individual, Matt recollected his bag.
"Sorry. Change of plans."
He made sure to slam the door shut before the taxi driver could say anything and stomped out his cigarette on the sidewalk. He could feel those electric blue eyes on him, waiting as patiently as that hot blood of his would allow and when Matt finally looked up, the two men met each other's gazes for the first time in nearly five years.
Matt crossed the road, ignoring the shuttle bus that blared its horn at him for not using the crosswalk, and kept his gaze fixed on the lavish hood ornament that was Mello.
"Really, Mel? A Ferrari?"
"Well it's not like I was gonna pick you up with the bike."
"Sure."
For five years Matt had dwelled on the image of a young 14-year old boy with cornflower-gold hair and a girlish figure strutting around the orphanage, lashing out at anyone who so much as brushed shoulders with him in the hallways. Back then, those bright blue eyes demanded life's answers, blazing with the untold promise of what he would do if he failed to get them.
But that image vanished like thin smoke in the wind as he looked at Mello standing before him. No longer a boy, but a young man that had grown too fast in too short a time; the visage of someone who had all of life's answers thrown back at him at once, where they now resided as a fresh burn scar on the side of his beautiful face. Matt tried hard not to stare at the angry discoloration that encompassed his Mello's skin. He didn't want to imagine the pain his friend had endured to become this damaged ghost of an angel.
Matt sank into his seat, relishing the heat that radiated from the leather cushion, and threw his legs up on the dashboard, pretending not to see the disapproving glare from Mello. The blonde gripped the steering wheel with his leather gloves, took a hard bite out of one of his many unfinished chocolate bars littering the cup holders, then roared out of the terminal and into the grey, snowy landscape.
After a quick stop at a convenience store (they had confiscated Matt's lighter at the airport), Mello drove on into the core of the city, disregarding every road sign and traffic rule ever devised. Matt grinned. His friend didn't play video games; he lived one.
"Don't you fucking light up in here."
Trying not to smile, Matt clicked open the little flame and touched it to the end of his cigarette. Sweet, warm nicotine flooded his blood and he leaned his head back, blowing gray smoke into the ceiling.
"All right, look." Matt grinned at Mello's voice. Pissed was an understatement. "If we're gonna do this, there's gonna be one rule."
Matt's green eyes slid over to Mello. "Oh, really?"
"It's my fucking apartment." The redhead chuckled. "And you will not smoke in it. If you want, you can go out on the balcony and smoke your brains out, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah. I've missed you too, Mello."
The apartment—no, Mello's apartment—was nestled deep within the shady slums of the city. The complex itself was littered with garbage and adorned with bright blue and pink graffiti all along the dingy brown walls. Glancing up at the rooms stacked on top of each other, Matt saw raggedy curtains closed against filmy windows, most of which looked like they'd been hit with a baseball. Or two.
So pulling a world-class Ferrari into a rat hole of a garage seemed a bit strange, but Matt shrugged it off as another one of Mello's idiosyncrasies and obediently followed the blonde up to the small room. A tiny living area furnished with chairs that looked as comfortable as rocks, a grimy little window with moth-eaten curtains, a bathroom that Matt was afraid to venture into, and a small bedroom cast off to the side; this was Mello's domain, his kingdom that he so proudly ruled and protected. Regardless of the post-apocalyptic-bomb-shelter ambience, Matt welcomed the room with a heavy sigh; it was warm, it was quiet, and it reeked of Mello. It was home.
A/N: You know it can't stop here ;)