Runaways: Chapter 1

Again.

_MATT'S point of view_

It doesn't take much for Mello to get stressed. Not really. It usually takes around twenty seconds at the most of him not liking something to become stressed – and even then, there are so many out-puts of stress-appearing signs that sometimes, I wonder if Mello is even human. It can't be normal. If he's in a conversation with an annoying person, and they stress him out, he'll simply tell them so and walk off calmly, his heartbeat fluttering its way back to normality. Sometimes I get to hear that – it's a more discrete sign of his stress, though. More obviously, in a stressful situation like being stuck in traffic, he'll curse the heavens down with anything he has, maybe even break a few objects (which he'll get stressed out later for because he broke them) – they're the type of stressy moments that Mello has that I don't like. Because he scares me sometimes. Then there's the completely silent moments, where his body movements are cautious, uncertain and hesitant. If Mello isn't sure of something then it has to be bad, because he's always sure. Not being sure of things can stress him out too, he likes to know everything and anything, even down to the most weirdest things ever, like, who would want to know that Venus spins opposite to all other planets? Or that the first person that died on the Titanic was actually the last one to get a headstone, almost 100 years later? But he does. He likes those kind of things.

Ah, I digress. Not knowing how to act, or what to do, why someone has done something (to name a few) can blow Mello's stress-o-meter completely off the scale. He likes to keep control, and be in control, so that others can't control him. Though, Mello isn't one to be easily controlled or manipulated, I know that much. It takes a lot of force and maybe even a lot of time – especially when it comes to making big decisions, or being pressured into making decisions. These type of things make his stressed self very silent, so nobody knows what he's thinking or planning, so nobody can tell what he might do or say; he becomes completely unpredictable. You know how in the movies, the insane criminal is always the more dangerous one? Like the Joker in Batman or something, because he's so unpredictable, not like a normal criminal? Mello becomes that kind of unpredictable. When this happens, I tend to just stay quiet in the corner somewhere, preferably near a door or window for escape. I switch between watching him, reading books and thinking, that way he doesn't get too irritated. He gets a little snappy too, does Mello, with his voice or his eyes – they're so intense it's electrifying when he glares properly. But I love them. They're lovely to watch.

However, at the moment, we are in a stressful situation, and Mello is somewhere in the middle of his stress-o-meter. His heart is probably fluttering, but it's most likely because of the constant almost-jog pace that we've kept going since the train station. We've been doing it for a least two hours now, and no matter how jelly-like my legs feel, I can't let Mello down by slowing our pace. That, and the fear of being caught again is making my head swim, so I pace myself faster with my hand locked with Mello's – he's in front because he's better at sports than me – and almost level peg with him. Only for a few seconds though, cause I'm not that good. And I'm cold, wet, and physically exhausted from the previous running and the whole suddenness of the situation, but then again so is Mello. My point that Mello is better than me still stands. And also that he is still inhuman. My throat is getting clogged up with something, my mouth is dry and my lungs are burning – which is ironic because I smoke when I can get my hands on any cigs. I won't quit.

"M-Mel!" I rasp out, my jelly-legs wobbling with every stomped, quick-footed lunge I could still make – I don't even think you could call my running actual running – it's more like -…it's worse than a penguin. Mello turns quickly to face me, his ice-cold beautiful eyes strained with the need to reach somewhere safe. We stop, striding into a near-by bus shelter for cover, the rain thrashing down overhead. He takes his hand out of mine, fluffing up the collar of my coat and checking my temperature before resting his hands either side of my face, all the while my lungs are dying and I can't breathe. But it's ok, because we've stopped for a few seconds. Despite the fact my legs are growing steadily more numb. He releases my face and I double over, my hands gripping my wet jeans at the thigh as I cough up whatever I can, swallowing whenever possible to try and moisten my throat. Mello's still worried, I can't see his face like this but his hand is clenching and unclenching, his waist shifting from side to side as he checks out our surroundings.

I stand up straight and heave a sigh. "Mel?"

"I think we lost them now" He breathes, a cold whisp of a white cloud forming, that distant look in his eyes as he keeps checking, just to be sure. The sky is almost dark, and I briefly wonder what time it is. Or where we even are for that matter – we were in London, but had taken many random busses elsewhere, then a long train ride and then another couple of busses! But it doesn't dominate my thoughts for long. "Come on, we have to find somewhere to dry off and sleep or something – we can't afford to be sick" He takes my hand again in his – it's really warm too, despite being wet – and rechecks our position. No men in suits chasing us on foot – Level up for us! We're free! I grin and tug Mello from his peeking, pulling him back to me and noting that we were alone in the bus shelter. Giggles!

"What?" He sighs, quickly turning back and preoccupying himself with finding any suspicious people. Doesn't he get by now that we lost them. Bang goes the kissing in the moonlight theory.

"Fine, ignore me. S'alright" I snap my hand out of his and walk ahead, 'ahead' being in the general direction we were heading in – because we don't really have a destination in mind. Somewhere warm, preferably. Somewhere isolated where nobody will bother us.

"Hey" Mello hasn't moved from under the shelter, baring his 'awh, you srsly gonna' leave meh?' face. The rain that hand showered his hair has left it still dripping drops from the ends of his blonde matted hair, plopping on his shoulders. His cheeks are slightly pink, his face paler than ever. His eyes are still shocking, but they're shining like they do sometimes, playful. I put my hands behind my back, linking them by the fingers and spinning around to face away from him. I hear him scoff and imagine him folding his arms daringly across his chest. I look around out of habit, looking for anything odd or out of place, before walking ahead on my own, trying to find a hint as to where we were. Mello should be scowling by now—

He surprises me by quietly appearing behind me, his arms flinging themselves around my waist and pulling my body backwards and into his. He automatically kisses the nape of my neck, brushing his cold lips over to the right side and then proceeding to kiss my collarbone and suck it. I resist the urge to move my shoulder to irritate him, but I think we've both had enough irritation for today. He stops, his chin propping naturally over my right shoulder as he hugs me closer. The rain is easing off – it isn't as heavy as before. I hear Mello sniff, followed by his head leaning into mine slightly.

"We need to find somewhere to sleep" He reminds me. I scoff at this. I'm not much of a sleeper, never have been. It took ages for Mello to trust me with the night watch, not believing me. "Well I do, then. And right now, anywhere will do" Mello releases me and recaptures my hand in his, our fingers sliding together lightly. I don't want another night on the street. Not now it's all cold and wet and eugh. Mello hates it too, I know he does.

He'll never voice it though. He hates weaknesses. But sometimes, the streets is all we can do until we know we're safe to move on. I don't voice my opinion because what Mello says is what usually ends up happening. If Mello's prepared to sleep anywhere, and the first place we come across is a cozy looking ally-way, then we'll do it. And I don't want to complain, or make him think that I'm ungrateful. So I agree with everything he says, occasionally putting some challenges or oppositional ideas to keep him on his toes – but Mello has a brilliant mind, and I trust him. Even the streets were better than back with those Douche Bags and that fucking Officer Jenkins. We call him OJ for laughs – cause, y'know, OJ – Orange Juice - …whatever. It was funny at the time.

"Matt" Mello tugs my hand to get my attention and I realize that we've already started walking, started searching for somewhere to spend the night. I press my palm to Mello's, out hands interlocking fully as he scrutinizes every nook and cranny and building. I stay close in case we have to run again. Which I doubt. We ran for two hours and didn't even look back to see if they were still chasing us.

"Where are we?" I mumble, frowning and looking around at the high-street we appeared to be on. There were many shops, dolled up and looking new, used and well old dated buildings that seemed to be more appreciated and historic. The streets were cobbled, but pedestrian friendly and there weren't that many cars. But that would probably be because of the time. "What is the time?" I question quietly, looking around for maybe a church steeple, a town clock or something. I see a map over the road, a huge one. It's in a glass box or something, but there's a name at the top of the map, in huge white letters against the black frame. "Hey, Mel, we're in Wi-…Winch-…Winchester" I turn to him with a smile, but he's still looking around distractedly. Mission number two, find the time. I thought Mello had a watch? "Mel, do you-"

"Matt, shut up!" Mello's stress level has gone up a notch. He's Snappy. I blink and say nothing, turning my attention elsewhere. Mello does the same. I see a nice looking gentleman on the other side of the road, he doesn't look all that suspicious, maybe the black trench coat was a small reason to be wary, but it was raining quite heavily before. I wrench my hand out of Mello's and run across the road. By the time he acknowledges my reason, I'm too far ahead for him to stop me. I stop the man as best I can, without seeming like the hopeless, homeless, street-bound kid I was. He peers at me cautiously, but doesn't seem all that phased. I put on my polite face.

"Sorry to be a bother, but do you know the time?" He smiles, as if relieved that I wasn't going to ask for money or something, and checks the watch on his wrist.

"Almost half two in the morning – aren't you a little young to be out so late?" I smile at him with what Mello calls my 'convincing' face. What instant-lie will my brain make now?

"I just went to see a concert and it finished late – I'm on my way home now" He smiles and nods.

"You best get home safely then" I nod back and we continue our separate ways, him walking one way, I in the other, with Mello walking the same way as me only on the opposite side of the road. He's scowling. I stay on this side of the road until I'm sure that he's forgiven me enough to come over to my side, or until I'm sure that he won't kill me if I go over to his. Remember what I said about Mello being controlling, so that he isn't controlled? This would be one of those situations. I'm staying on This side of the road so that I can remain in the right for leaving him and going to find out the time. If I go over to That side of the road, then Mello will just scold me for leaving him and say that what I did was stupid and irresponsible, and I will be wrong, and Mello will be right. Mello knows this. It's my decision to go over to That side of the road, and therefore I am in control. HA! So Mello comes over to This side of the road and shoves me playfully in the arm.

"I won't rescue you if you get picked up by a paedophile, all because you left me"

"That's harsh" I pout. "I still want you to be my first" I smile bashfully, and then look away as he smiles. I know I'm not Mello's first, so the topic's still a little strange. We're still underage after all.

"So? What did you find out?" He sighs, tiredly.

"We're in Winchester and it's nearly half past two in the morning"

"Winchester?" He sighs. "Well we're not going to find much in the way of abandoned buildings here – it's all rich and cultural"

"There's a cathedral, right?" I ask.

"Yes – not been in there before. It's the most popular attraction" Mello says offhandedly. Remember what I said about him retaining weird things? Well, maybe that's more of a known fact, but still. "We're not sleeping in the Cathedral, Matt" Mello rolls his eyes, but I wasn't even thinking that. Though, now he put the thought in my head… No. Don't want to sleep near a graveyard.

We're still walking down the pavement, slow steps and no destination.

"Winchester's actually quite interesting y'know. There's a sculpture in the cathedral square – visitors can change the colors of it…you might like that" Mello says randomly.

"Really?! Where?" I look about, enthralled by the idea of something technological and modern in the archaic looking town. Pretty though. But yes, technology! Mello shakes his head and I get the feeling that it's not within eyesight, this sculpture thing.

"Jane Austen was also laid to rest in Winchester Cathedral" He supplies.

"Who?"

"Never mind" Mello laughs lightly. "and Keats got his inspiration from here, for 'To Autumn'"

"Cool"

"You don't even know who Keats is" He chuckles, stroking my hand with his thumb.

"Uhm, a famous…poet?"

"You guessed" I grin and say nothing. Yes, I did guess. Who was I to read poetry? Shakespeare scared me off ages ago, all his poetry in plays…strange man. "There's a B&B there…" Mello stops, looking ahead at a glowing Bed and Breakfast sign. "Thirty five pound per person?" Mello's tone dismissed the place altogether. "You look tired, though"

"Not" I frown.

"It's ok y'know" He reassures me.

"I'm not tired" He know's im not a big sleeper.

"I doubt you've slept for over a week, Matt"

"I slept on the bus, I'm fine"

"Matt, think of it as recharging" He turns to me worriedly. "Not sleeping for a whole week is damaging to your body"

"You let me smoke" I argue.

"And I hate it every time" He scowls. "Once we find somewhere, you're sleeping. I'm too buzzed up to actually nod off anyways"

I sigh in defeat and then spot something out of the corner of my eye, across the road. I debate not telling him so that the argument can be left alone, but I find my head pulsing with the thought of sleep. Maybe Mello was right, maybe I did need to 'recharge' myself. The last thing I needed was to be collapsing in the middle of an escape.

"What about there?" I sigh and indicate over at the pretty much small and abandoned building, hidden slightly by the new shop put up in front of it.

"It's perfect. Let's go" Mello pulls me over and pushes in some boarding that's already barely clinging to the window frame. He gracefully jumps inside first, and then helps me in as I wobble un-athletically over the window ledge. He looks around and nods. "It'll be fine" He pulls out a sleeping bag from his huge bag-pack – which I forgot to notice because he wears it so often it's practically become an actual part of his back – before laying it down and taking off his drenched coat, his most likely damp vest before pausing with his thumps in the rim of his pants – also dripping with rain drops and in need of drying. He smiles mischievously at me. "See something you like?" He shimmies them off slowly for my entertainment, leaving me blushing and very very warm, allowing them to drop to his ankles before he kicks them off, picks them up and straightens them out, hanging them over a pipe.

He shuffles over to me, kissing my cold nose – his lips now warm – before unzipping my jacket and tossing it near that pipe. He them kisses my cheek, then off comes my sodden-through stripy jumper – then he kisses my lips, lightly. Unlike Mello, my torso wasn't exactly the most toned thing ever, but it wasn't all fatty and disgusting. It was ok, just thin. Mello called it anorexic sometimes, which hurt my feelings cause I always ate noodles. I flick off my shoes and peel off my socks with my toes – genius!-, leaving my exposed feet to the chill in the air of the building.

His fingers pause at the belt of my trousers, but I wriggle away and go to pick up the jacket and jumper, putting them on the pipe. Mello's behind me again, his hands on my hips, sneaking over my waist so that he can undo the belt from behind. By the time it 'clicks' open, his thumbs are already tugging the pants down as he kisses my neck, distracting me. I sigh and spin, full on kissing him – tongue and all – as he does things with mine that fifteen year olds like Mello really shouldn't know. He pulls away.

"All warmed up now?" I nod, my trousers falling to my ankles. "Good. Go get some kip" He refers to the sleeping bag and watches me step out of my jeans and tread over there carefully. By the time I'm snuggled inside, warm and now strangely very tired, he's hung the socks and the trousers on the pipe next to the rest of the clothes.

"Are you sure you're ok to-" I yawn, finishing lamely with "stay up"

"I'm not that tired. I'll amuse myself – I'll make a list of things to do or something …gimmee the bag" I reach behind me and haul the bag to his side. I curl up the sleeping bag around Mello, my head on his leg and my legs over his other leg to keep him warm.

"Night Mel" I whisper. He smiles and kisses my head.

"Night"