Woo! It's finally finished! I spent most of yesterday marathon-writing the final chapter. Next thing I have to do is edit all of them. I am thinking that I will probably be able to post a chapter per week with the way my schedule is currently. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Warnings (for the entire story): Strong language, suggested sexuality, mentions of recreational drug use, and heavy doses of teenage angst (haha).

Suggested Listening: Failure by Design - Brand New

Feel it in My Bones

~Failure by Design~

There was something to be said of a lazy afternoon spent staring up at the ceiling numbly. Maybe it was the shapes appearing to dance before my very eyes or the sun flooding into my haven through half-turned blinds – I was slowly going insane.

It was the heat of the summer, the layers of clothes I persisted in wearing despite said heat, my mother watching cartoons downstairs because she said they were the only thing that she could stand to watch anymore – who was I kidding? Above all else, it was the snarky little blond that I knew would be ringing me up any moment to tell me to get my ass out of bed.

If you asked anyone about who Matt was, they would undeniably give you a blank stare. If you reiterated, and instead asked who the dorky ginger kid was with the gaudy goggles, they'd most likely laugh and answer that he was Mello's friend. Keeping that in mind, ask anyone who Mello was and you'd get everything from his favourite colour to the very intimate fact that he goes commando.

How people found out about that particular fact is anyone's guess.

The truth stands: everyone knows Mello. Everyone loves Mello. Everyone wants Mello.

And what about that ginger kid? The so-called "Matt" with the odd-looking goggles? Well, that's me. And if you were paying attention, you should recall that barely anyone is aware of my existence – except Mello.

Mello: the guy who must always be the center of attention, the one with a fiery temper and slightly effeminate looks, the one who is decked out head-to-toe in leather but is always so careful to wear the least he can manage without the risk of being fined for stopping at street corners – was my best friend. And for some odd reason, I was his.

Don't get me wrong; it isn't that I am really that much of a loser, but more that I just can't bother myself with people. Idle conversation, endless complaints about non-existent angst, selfish priorities, and superficial ideals were just a few of the things that annoyed me to no end. How unfortunate that the things I loathed happened to plague the general population on a daily basis.

I chose at a young age to blend into the social backdrop. Sure – bright red hair, streaky shirts, clunky combat boots, and – lest we forget – my goggles are Grade A attention-getters. However, they all-together amount to such an oddity that I am rarely approached – except for that fateful day in Kindergarten.

As would be the norm for the rest of my school career, barely anyone approached me on the first day of Kindergarten. There had been Linda – a girl who would continue to pester me from that day forward – but other than that, I had not been bothered. I had been grateful.

The second day of Kindergarten had been a very different story. Only two minutes into recess and I was faced with a blond hellion only an inch shorter than myself with a feline grin and trouble brewing in his eyes. No words were exchanged; he merely pulled down my goggles in a reckless gesture – and I was his.

Thirteen years later – give or take a few months – and here I am lying on my bed, rotting my mind as I listen to the distant sound of 'Mellow' by Spacekats playing in the background – and I was still his.

Wait – 'Mellow' by Spacekats? Shit! That's Mello's ringtone!

Moments later I had my cell phone to my ear and was abruptly greeted by the sweet sound of Mello's voice.

"Get out of bed, you lazy fuck! It's four in the afternoon, and the party starts in an hour!"

I grimaced. Did I honestly say sweet? My mother always did say I was too sarcastic for my own good…

"Do I have to go?" came out more as a wishful sigh, a vain attempt at coaxing Mello's steel will into submission.

I heard something that could only be identified as a scoff. "Are you kidding me? You are going to get out of bed right now, get into clean clothes, tame that bed-head of yours, and meet me downstairs in five minutes – or so help me, I will tether your ass to my motorcycle and drag you behind it down the highway."

So I was going to the party, then.

Sounding rather resigned, I told him, "I'll see you in five minutes." With that, my phone was discarded on my night table and I dragged myself out of bed with a groan.

Finding something to wear wasn't much of a problem; I just pulled on an old Ramones t-shirt, got into a clean – as Mello had emphasized – pair of jeans, and stepped into a pair of converse. Of course, my trusty goggles completed the ensemble.

Going into public without my goggles was the equivalent to other people's fears of going into public without clothes on. Except nudists, I suppose; those people had to be fearless.

Now that I had completed the first part in Mello's set of instructions, I begrudgingly took a comb to my hair. Two minutes of struggling with tangles spent, and I half looked presentable – if that was at all possible.

The only thing I had left to do was gather my phone, house keys, and my DS (in case of emergency – a.k.a. mind-numbing boredom), a task that took up quite a bit of time due to the all-consuming messy state of my room. Key items finally located, I shrugged into my coat and put the objects I had spent so much time looking for into the deep pockets.

The house was almost entirely quiet when I finally left my room. Down in the living room I could hear the TV set still on and the occasional rustle of a blanket. I took the stairs two at a time, the creaks of the steps sounding out louder than usual.

My mother looked up at me with her usual soft smile when I came into the room. As I had suspected, she was curled up on the sofa under a blanket (under which she was most likely still wearing her bathrobe) and was watching Bugs Bunny.

I chose to ignore the prescription bottles that had sat untouched on the coffee table for the last few days.

A light seemed to come into my mother's eyes as she took in my appearance. "Well, don't you look handsome! Are you off to see Mello, then?"

I was about to answer her when there was a loud knock on the screen door. With a roll of my eyes and a knowing smile from my mother, I walked over and opened the door.

Unsurprisingly, Mello stood in the doorway in his usual leather get-up, helmet under his arm. In a gesture that spoke volumes of his personality, he walked into my house without being invited in and grinned widely.

I swear, the room brightened up considerably just from his smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Jeevas! I am here to pick up Mail." I cringed inwardly at my real name. "I promise whole-heartedly that I will bring your son back in one piece and entirely unscathed." At this point he had raised a hand to put emphasis on his vow.

Scouts honour, is it?

My mother giggled and I smiled. When Mello was in a good mood, it was more infectious than you would believe.

Mello waited patiently off to the side as I went over and kissed my mother on the cheek. "Bye, Mom. 'Love you."

"I love you, too. Behave yourself." She gave me a mock-stern look before calling over my shoulder. "You watch him like a hawk, okay?"

Mello laughed. "'Will do."

With that, Mello and I were out the door.

Despite the fact that Mello's motorbike being parked in front of my house was a common occurrence, it never failed to amuse me just how out of place it always looked. More specifically, it never failed to amuse me just how much my suburban-dwelling neighbours unabashedly gawked at it.

Mello sauntered up to the bike and swung a leg over with ease, a sight I was also familiar with. His eyes met mine from under his blond bangs a moment later, and I noted the sudden change in them.

A smirk was settled on his face and he had that same feline way about him that I had noticed the day I had met him. I returned the smirk, amused even further.

Once again the front he always put up for my mother had melted away.

Mello gave me a toothy grin and gestured for me to come over with a tilt of his head. "C'mon, momma's boy. We have to haul ass just to get there in time to be fashionably late."

As I got on the bike behind him, tentatively wrapping my arms around his slender waist, I allowed myself to wonder the same thought that had risen to the forefront of my mind numerous times since meeting Mello all those years ago.

Just what am I getting myself into?