I'm back with a drabble of sorts. Just a little something I wrote whilst listening to Cascada during my writing class. Don't look at me like that, my assignment was done! And here is a shameless plug, The lovely Ambyrawrawr and myself are writing an AU MatxMello story called "Photo Finish" where I shall be writing as the ever sexy bitch Mello and she the every cute puppy Matt. Please, I implore you go check it out.

I don't own anything...and Matt and Mello are not locked in my closet...-shifty eyes-

suggested listening "Bad Boy" by Cascada

-Matt-

I remember when we were fifteen. Mello was my best friend; I suppose you could say he was my boyfriend too. He never asked "will you be my boyfriend". It just changed; one day we were best friends, the next we were boyfriends. I remember our first kiss; class had just finished (it was the one class we didn't have together). Mello just stalked across the hall, pinned me to the wall and kissed me right there in front of half the staff and student body. That's just Mello for you. We would climb out our window and onto the roof. Sometimes we would kiss, sometimes we would cuddle, sometimes we would talk, and sometimes we wouldn't. It was on that roof that he promised we would stay together –always- no matter what. When L did he was inconsolable. I pulled him into a hug, which turned into kisses…The next thing I knew our clothes were on the floor and we both knew there would be no stopping. I gave my virginity to my best friend that night, and when I woke I was alone; a note on my pillow read "I'm sorry. I love you." I naively believed he would be back for me. A month passed, then three, then a year…Four years…Four fucking years it took him to call me…

When I arrived…I don't know what I expected, a tearful heartfelt reunion is not Mello's style. I was not, however, expecting him to be in all leather and scared from being blown half way to hell and back. At first I was hurt. He ignored me for a few days except for barking commands at me. Then one night he started kissing me, leading me to the bedroom. I thought he had remembered, that he still felt the same; that we would be together again. When I woke alone…I had my suspicions. When he had a whore come the next night all illusions I had of continuing where we left off were shattered, he obviously didn't care for me any longer. That wasn't the only time either. I guess I was a convenient fuck; that four years of separation was too much for our relationship. We had gone from lovers to fuck buddies. Call me a masochist, but I went along with it, hoping that our frequent trysts would spark something, cause him to remember. At first he would stay and I would fall asleep in his arms, my face pressed to his neck. He was always gone when I woke though, and eventually he wouldn't even stay. He would catch his breath after orgasming then he would leave. Slowly, bit by bit, night by night, what remained of my mangled heart shattered. Soon I was the one leaving after I came. One night he grabbed my hand and asked me to stay, to hold him. That was when I realized that perhaps he did feel the same, but didn't know how to show it. Four years of being in the mafia had left a layer of ice on him- making emotions dangerous. It was too late however. I was thoroughly broken, incapable of feeling. I would continue with our sexual encounters-as would he. But he was no longer my boyfriend, or even my friend. Part-time lover? Possibly, He was a fallen angel; one who would shoot someone in the head, then, clasping his rosary would pray for forgiveness. It was the same rosary that would cut into my chest as he pounded me into the mattress night after night. Only one description I could think of would fit. Bad boy.