It was a hot night, humid and almost suffocating. The taste of city smog on his tongue and a constant stream of words, confessions, thoughts flowing out of his drunken, numb mouth made the long summer night seem a little less lonely. It felt like it wasn't the first time he ever met this man, this tall guy with a stiff looking suit and a wicked smile. It felt like they were best of friends, like he wasn't just some scrawny, arrogant kid walking along side some strange man down the side walk.

"I wanna know all about you, kid," he said, leading them into some rough, cigarette smelling bar, and it had been so long since someone actually wanted to hear him share his story, and after a few drinks the words were spilling from his mouth, stuff he'd long forgotten now front and center on his mind.

"You got a lot to say," the man said with a grin as they were back walking down that sidewalk.

"I know," Mello smiled an equally wicked smile, jumping right back into why he was the best, not one of the best, not above average or any of that other junk he refused to hear back at the orphanage, the best of the best. And he liked the way the man would smile and nod and agree.

"You sound like a smart kid."

"I know," Mello laughed, and he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol talking for him or his honest answer.

And their walk soon ended, the street lamps fading further away but the night felt just as hot, in front of a shiny, fancy car that he knew must have cost a fortune.

"What kinda job do you have to afford something like this?" Mello exclaimed, running a hand over it, his perfectly manured oil black nails matching the color of it perfectly.

"You know the mafia?" and Mello snorted in response, "Of course! Why are you mentioning it? Are you a mafia boss or something?"

They both laughed at this, Mello laughing at his own words and the way his face was distorting in the sheen of the car, and the man laughing at Mello unintentionally guessing it correctly right off the bat.

But the man stopped laughing and snatched him upright, keeping a hand slug over his shoulder to keep him from teetering, "Are you drunk or what?" he laughed into Mello's ear, the hot air from the man's mouth on his ear feeling much hotter than the air around him, strangely.

"Yeah," was his only stunning intelligent response, completed with a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"You want to help me? You sound like just the kind of man I want. You want to take down that murdering ass hole as much as I do."

And Mello paused for a moment, the longest pause he had took that night in his drunken, long speeches before saying,"Help you with what?"

"I am the boss," and the man's wicked grin was back.

And for reason Mello wasn't even shocked.

"You'll get a nice room, practically be treated like royalty. Lot better than that old orphanage you said you lived in. You just have to prove to me you can do it.

"I haven't even said yes yet!" Mello snapped.

And the man laughed before saying, "I know you will," squeezing his shoulder.

"Fine. This does sound like my kinda business."

And the grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Let's go. No need to waste any more time bullshitting."

The man slid into the car and Mello did the same on the other side, enjoying the way the hot leather seats felt against his bare arms.

"I don't even know your name," Mello said, as the engine roared to life and the AC started blasting into his face, blowing sweaty bangs off his forehead.

"Rod Ross," was the reply, complete with a grin he would remember the other man for.