HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATT!!! We all love you! Well, I do….
Disclaimed. That's all. *hiss*
Silver-gray curls of smoke rise into the slivers of morning light. Boot heels click against concrete.
Unrepentant, unforgiving.
A hand shoved into a pocket stretched with wear and shoving hands, packs of cigarettes, and a multitude of miscellanea into its depths.
Flashes of light from passing cars illuminated by the rising sun glow against a pair of orange goggles, obscuring the blue eyes that hid beneath. Another curl of silver-gray, another three clicks against the concrete, seemingly in a rhythm with the wild city.
"Matt, wait up!" A flash of bright blonde to match the shine of a pleather coated teenager. Mello. Hurried, clipped clicks of a second pair of boots against the concrete, adding a blood-rushing beat to the bass beat Matt's boots had started. A hand landing on a striped shoulder, the rustle of a faux-fur lined coat brushing across a stripe-coated back. "Where the hell are you going in such a rush?"
Matt closes his eyes to savor the vocalist's harmony. A harmony that, despite time, despite the scratches on the disk, has not changed. A harmony that has always remained untainted, innocent, and beautiful.
A hand lifts a small plastic-wrapped box out of a pocket. "I'm going to the gas station to get more smokes. Could have sworn you were right behind me." A playful tone. A smile plays on the edge of cold-pinkened lips. A dance to accompany the melody.
"Yeah, right, you bastard." A pleather clad hand playfully shoves that striped shoulder, sending a footstep slightly off its beat. "Let's go together. I need more chocolate anyway."
"You just got more chocolate about six hours ago. Don't tell me you went through it already."
"I would tell you, but I would be a liar." The pleather clad hand finds Matt's hand, digging it out of its warm haven by the wrist, twining fingers together as the clicks on pavement speed into the chorus.
Matt sighs as Mello casts an entertained smirk over his shoulder. The left side of Mello's face, while scarred, is the poetry of life, because it was fucking beautiful to see that scar and know that Mello was alive.
The clicks on the pavement slow again and Matt is unexpectedly pushed against a brick wall. The rhythm is silent now, but still surrounds Matt, still surrounds Mello. It beats along through their blood-vessels, speeding toward the inevitable climax of the song as lips draw closer, until a chaste meeting is made.
The beat stops completely, giving way to a soft, dream-like lyric, one that writes the tale of love on the worn walk-ways, the busy streets, and the blinding lights of New York.
Matt sighs. This song is one he could listen to his whole life in contented bliss.
