luminary
karierte
The luminaries were what traditional astrologers called the two astrological "planets" which were the brightest and most important objects in the heavens.
--Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
He doesn't know why he's at someone else's wedding reception.
Mello's pretending to be a distant relation to the bride, because she's blonde, and it's believable, and he smiles as he sips on flutes of champagne. He doesn't even know her name. Every so often, someone comes up to him with a tray of bite-sized crap, and he refuses in a no, I really shouldn't sort of way. They're circulating the room, the 'happy couple', but the groom lacks enthusiasm; as if his petite wife is sapping his energy through their linked arms. She's pretty, the kind that you see in a magazine, and he's handsome likewise, but it appears more a marriage of circumstance. He seems more interested in his best man, anyway; though for the life of him, Mello can't imagine why. Although, the best man's eyes –that shade of reflective blackish-grey– remind him distantly of Near. Hm, he'd better stash that thought somewhere under the bed.
There are more lace doilies than he can count, upon white table clothes, each festooned with a vase of pink, virginal flowers, crinkled roses and lilies, and he imagines them rotting; brown and withered petal soup. For a painstaking moment, a minute or two, a middle-aged woman attempts to start a conversation with him. She has a tired, wrinkled face and a tired, wrinkled suit in a shade of pastel green. It looks like sick, watered-down. The blond depresses himself with thoughts of her hypothesised life, drains the glass, sets it on a nearby table and makes a polite reference to the toilet.
He sees Matt. At first, he thinks it's a dream; he's wearing one of the uniforms, pinstriped waistcoat and a neatly buttoned shirt, brandishing a silver dish of canapés like a weapon. Mello can see the lost expression on his face, like a small child or abandoned kitten – something that has a charity against the cruelty of it – and knows he can't have dreamed that. Matt turns, and looks at him, fifteen metres away at the least. His lip, the lower one, (that Mello liked to suck on, once upon a time) trembles, and the most nostalgic nausea rushes though him, remembering faint freckles and speeding up his heart. He can't quite remember why he left him.
And so he leaves him again.
He bolts, striding away as fast as he can in his leather, elbowing people out of his way, pulse thudding drum-like in his ears, the heady fragrance of mixed colognes in his nose. It feels like he's in someone else's clothes, he feels so detached, and dear God, is his life flashing before his eyes? He trips over a toddler. The young girl, clad in a dirtied blue dress, promptly cries and he stares dispassionately at her as she tugs on her mother's sleeve. It makes him want to cry too, even though he probably didn't even hurt her.
Something inside crumples, like a dying butterfly, and he runs back in the direction he came.
"Matt!" He yells, very slightly crazy, and the redhead shoves the nearly empty tray at a rather surprised-looking man and sprints towards him. Their lips are crushed together with incredible force: teeth clinking together, and the rest of him follows his bruised mouth. Everything slots into place, in this parody of a kiss, and he discovers amongst the small of Matt's back that it's all he's ever wanted. Even though it's very uncomfortable with a cufflink pressed into his neck.
Matt's almond-shaped eyes are open and alight with green fire as he pulls away with laboured breath and Mello can still find the taste of him on the tip of his tongue.
"Took you long enough…" He grins lopsidedly, and leans up again.
…he's right.
A/N
It didn't sound like Mello at all ; - ; ...what did you think?
I prefer Matt's POV, and it probably shows. I'd love if you could give me any critique on how to improve Mello's character as I need help with it ^^. Can you guess whose wedding it is, XD?