"I hate you, Mello. Hate. But Mail loves Mihael.. it's confusing.. Is there something wrong with me? Because I hate you.. but Mail keeps winning," the redhead moaned, hands holding his head as he tried to keep from crying.
"I know, Matt. I know."
...
Matt.
Cold. Hard as ice, a killing machine. Alcholic, smoker, drug abuser. Never once backed down out of a fight.
Mail.
Everything was warm about the boy, he was soft to the core. He was passionate, loving. The complete opposite of Matt. He was in love with a boy. He never doubted this. He embraced his self, his sexuality, and never let the cold man his other half had become make him doubt this. Little Mail was in love with his best friend.
...
"Mihael."
The short blond man turned, surprised. This side of the crimson haired young man rarely showed. It made Mello ecstatic, the boy he had been best friends with sometimes won the fight, managed to pull through the dark mask of the man named Matt. But just as suddenly as the boy had pulled through, he shut down. A cold mask showed on his handsome face, and the smile Mello had longed for turned to a straight line.
"Nothing, Mello."
"Fine... Mail," the blond says with high hopes to see the cute smile again, but he was crushed.
"My name is Matt. Thank you for your time, but I do have a job to do."
...
Sighs, moans, and whimpers fill the air.
Mail is back.
Mihael relishes this time to be with him, to be close to him, to smell the scent of smoke on his skin... and yet he can't make up for the lost time. Furious kiss after kiss, he realizes that his Mail had stopped kissing back. Matt pushed him away without a word and stalked off. Mihael sat, defeated. His stone cold mask faded as he cried... wept for the boy that held his heart. The mafia boss broke, broke into millions of pieces, and bawled. He stands shakily and runs after the man, grabbing his arm, hugs him close, wants him to feel his tears. The blond gets shrugged off, and this time he screams, wailing, as the pain of a severely broken heart takes him captive. Why would the world be so cruel as to give him his love, then rip it away the second he pours his soul into it? Why him? He slams his fist into the hardwood floor, giving hisself severely bleeding knuckles. It isn't fair, never fair, and never will be. But the mafia boss couldn't stop smelling the sweet smoky scent of Mail's skin. He couldn't stop picturing his beautiful emerald eyes smiling down at him. He could stop seeing that smile that Mail had reserved specially for him. And it was driving him insane.
...
There are arms around Mihael's waist. That much he knows, and the stripes he sees upon them notifies him that they are, in fact, Mail's. Or Matt's. He hopes with all his heart and soul that it was the weaker side of the man, and was delighted to feel slight movement and a warm mouth on his neck, suckling the soft ivory skin. Mail, soft, weak Mail. Beautiful, perfect Mail. Striped, crimson haired love. Mello was a killer, of course, but Mihael showed through his mask as he melted into the thirteen year old, terrified boy as he lost his virginity to a soft skinned boy that just happened to hold his heart. A boy that would never hurt a fly, a gentle boy that Mihael envied for his patience. A boy that turned into a monster.
I like it. (:
-Megann.