Anticipation has the habit to set you up/for disappointment in evening entertainment but/tonight there'll be some love, tonight there'll be a rawkus/regardless of what's gone before.
I want to see all of the things that we've already seen/the lairy girls hung out the window of the limousine/and of course its fancy dress/and they're all looking quite full on in bunny ears and devil horns.
Anticipation has the habit to set you up/for disappointment in evening entertainment but/tonight there'll be some love, tonight there'll be a rawkus/regardless of what's gone before.
I want to see all of the things that we've already seen/I want to see you take the jackpot out the fruit machine/and put it all back in/You've got to understand it you can never beat the bandit, no.
And she won't be surprised and she won't be shocked/when she's pressed the star after she's pressed unlock/and there's verse and chapter sat in her inbox/and all that it says is that you've drank a lot/you should bear that in mind tonight/bear that in mind/you should bear that in mind tonight/bear that.
You can pour your heart out but her reasoning will block/owt you send her after nine o'clock.
Anticipation has the habit to set you up/for disappointment in evening entertainment but/tonight there'll be some love/tonight there'll be a rawkus, regardless of what's gone before.
And she won't be surprised and she won't be shocked/when she's pressed the star after she's pressed unlock/and there's verse and chapter sat in her inbox/and all that it says is that you've drank a lot/you should bear that in mind tonight/bear that in mind/you should bear that in mind tonight/bear that.
You can pour your heart out around 3 o'clock/when the 2 for 1's undone the writer's block.
9:00pm. One pint of beer. No dances. Just dirty looks, packets of crisps, fruit machines and rude barmaids. Maybe he'd get laid.
10:00pm. Three pints of beer. No dances. Just dirty looks, fruit machines and relief from the weight on his shoulders. Maybe he'd get laid. Then again, probably not.
"Excuse me, could I sit here? I'm alone, you're alone, everywhere else is full and you look like you could use a friend."
Matt looked up. A tall, blond guy in punk-ish clothing stood with his hand on the back of the chair, very obviously checking him out. Matt grunted and waved his hand, gesturing that it was fine, take the bloody seat for all I care. Another gulp of beer.
"So…I'm Mello. And you are?"
"Matt."
"What an amazingly long, enlightening answer I just received. I should so award you with a medal for it, my ears were blessed for hearing such an amazing sequence of words. Grumpy, aren't we, Matt?"
"…Bitch."
A laugh. Loud, genuinely amused, quite a nice sounding laugh. Apparently this 'Mello' found being called bitch funny, rather than offensive. Although, it generally wasn't used for insult, more humour, if the person on the receiving end was male. Wait…Mello did look extremely feminine…but there was a lack of boobs, so?...
"Uh, if you don't mind me asking, are you a girl or a boy? Not…biologically…you know."
"I'm a guy. But I get that a lot. Thanks for rubbing it in…bitch."
"You're welcome. Made your day, I'm sure."
"Oh, so you can do sarcasm then. I was beginning to worry."
"What?"
"Never trust a guy who can't pull off sarcasm, and never date one either."
"Who said you were dating me?"
"Oh…I don't know…Mail Jeevas. So, you don't remember. Not that you would. I've changed a lot. You haven't."
Mello eyed the 3DS sticking out of Matt's pocket. Nope, same Mail he'd known.
"What do you mean, 'remember you'? I've never seen you in my life! And how do you know my real name? Who are you?"
Sighing, Mello looked Matt straight in the eyes. He pulled his hair back behind his head and pulled a chocolate bar out of what appeared to be nowhere.
"You sure you don't remember me, Mail? You don't remember Mihael? I wouldn't say I'd become unrecognisable…I'm not 15 anymore, but I don't think I look that old."
"Oh my God. You…you…what the fuck is wrong with you, Mihael?! You fucking ran away, and you expect me to fucking…I don't know…forgive you, or something! I haven't seen you in three years, you absolute cock! How dare you?!"
Mello looked down. Mello looked sad. Mello looked like a little puppy who'd gotten lost and was about to cry. Mello looked like the most fucking beautiful man in the world. A sight for sore eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mail. I mean it, I'm sorry. I'd go back and undo it if I could. I'd have come back sooner if I could have. "
"Did you even try?" Matt's voice was thick with holding back tears. A look of surprise crossed Mello's face.
"Of course I tried! What, you think I just…pissed off to South London for three years and lounged about not trying to contact you, or see you, or anything? Don't you see? I still love you, Mail."
A tear dripped into Matt's beer. Another. Drip, drip, drip. His heart felt like it was deflating, but like it was flying off to Neverland at the same time. Mihael was back. Mihael still loved him. Well, he said so anyway. So, Matt kissed him. Full on the lips. Threw his arms around his lover's neck, knocking over his beer in the process. But what did he care about alcohol? It had been a substitute for Mihael. And Mihael was back. Nothing else mattered.