Authors Note: Hi guys! This is the translation from another fanfic I had written in another language and the first thing I post here, although I write MattxMello fanfics since 2010 and post them somewhere else :)

GingerificFabulousTime was so kind to be my beta, if there still are mistakes it's my fault, cause I changed some things, I think... and there's just one more chapter left to post, which is already translated :)

The picture of you – Part 1

Matts POV

6:47 PM. He was late today. Whole three minutes. For others it was a barely-existing delay, but for him it almost meant the end of the world. At least, that's the way I saw him.

I knew him for almost two years.

Maybe the word "knowing" was a bit too big. I was more like the silent stalker from the streets, than a friend or something. I didn't even know his name.

The road at which I was sitting was fulfilled with the echoing of heavy boots hitting the ground.

I was sitting on a folding chair by the big road, which was paved with large, round stones. In front of me were my drawings. I wasn't really a street artist who tried to earn money with his pictures. I had a job, which brought me enough money.

Nevertheless, I sat every day at the same time here and drew the people while they walked by. I wasn't sure, why I did this for so long. It was just a change from my usual lazy behavior and my boring life.

I looked up. Just as I thought that he passed me, he glanced at me.

Cold. Bitter. Depressed. Wistful. Sad. Blue. Every time I saw the same feelings in his gaze.

Three...two...one. And he was looking away again. Almost every day, since almost two years, he went by at exactly 6:44 PM, looked at me for three seconds with a really intense gaze, and passed me. He was a perfectionist. That was for sure. Or maybe he just had forced neurosis...

And he was beautiful. So beautiful that it almost hurt to look at him.

I would probably go as far as to claim that I was affected by the blonde.

I never really paid attention to other people. I looked shortly at them, remembered the most important traits of their faces, and drew it. But I never had the urge to talk to those people. This time it was the exact opposide. I just wanted to change words with the leather wearing blonde. I wanted to ask him what had made him the way he was.

I began to pack my stuff. In the meantime I've gotten hungry and the daily eye contact with the blonde was over. It was the perfect time to go home.

The next day I was sitting like always at my usual place and drew the random people. It was exactly 6:44 PM, and he didn't pass me yet. 6:54 PM. No trace of him.

Maybe today was one of the rare days, where he couldn't come? Perhaps.

Somehow, the next half an hour was over, and I tried to convince myself that I had no right to be disappointed and went home.

But what I didn't really expect was that he didn't show up the following day, too. And the day after that. He didn't come the whole week. The whole month.

The desire to draw vanished each day a bit more. Until now I didn't know that you could miss people you just communicated through glances.

I learned to feel that as he was away. Three months passed by. Three long, boring, and never ending months... I didn't have a destination anymore. Nothing special to wake up to.

I sat at my usual place, let my gaze drift around and let the drizzle meet my skin.

Why didn't I talk to him?! Fuck, why didn't I?! I regretted it. I so regretted it... Had I been scared to get a rejection?

I didn't know. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to see him again. And how did you find someone, whose name you didn't know? I sighed.

That wouldn't work.

Again, I heard the sound of heavy shoes hitting the ground and with hope glistering in my eyes, I looked up. Most of all because I was used to this. But the image I got wasn't what I expected.

Blond hair. Black, tight leather. Perfect body. Cold appearance.

My heart began to pound faster and my breath caught in my throat. I waited for him to turn his face in my direction and look at me, but the opposite happened. Instead of looking at me, he turned his head in the other direction, so I could just face his hair, nothing more, nothing less. I considered waiting until the next day, but decided against it. I just couldn't leave this to our fate or something anymore. That just wasn't the way the life worked, was it?

This being decided, I took my stuff, piled my sheet of papers one above the other, without looking if I damaged something, and filled my bag with it.

And then I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me after him. What did I actually want to say to him?

'Hey man, I really don't know who you are, or what your name is, but you and me, we belong together!' sounded pretty dumb, even for me.

…

Hang on. What if he wasn't even interested in me?

And since when did I actually begin to be interested in men? I honestly never thought about it. For me it was just the most normal thing in the world, thinking about him this way.

It was worth a try. I just couldn't let him leave.

And so I kept running. He turned into a little side street, I followed, took the opportunity, and grabbed his shoulder. He was so slim...

My blood seemed to rush in my veins very fast, and my heart beat rapidly.

For a minute he stopped in his tracks, before he slowly turned his face over his shoulder to me. One of his eyes widened, and the other half of his face I couldn't really make out because of our postitoin.

For a while we were just standing there, and said nothing. No one daring to be the first to talk, although I knew I should be the first one to speak up. I made my mind up for possible questions I might ask.

"Do you know what time it is?" Okay, that was just the dumbest question I could have asked. I just hoped that he didn't notice the fact that I was wearing a watch. Well that would be embarrassing...

I still couldn't see his whole face, because he looked back to me over his shoulder, but I was sure that one of the corners of his mouth turned up to a little smile.

"Why aren't you looking at your watch? As far as I can see from this position it's working perfectly fine."

Oh my god his voice. Even his voice sounded right. He sounded different than I imagined he would do, but I wasn't disappointed, to say the least. And somehow it felt like the invisible wall between us crashed.

"Oh, right. I..actually didn't notice." I took a breath and began laughing nervously. Fuck this. It was obvious that this wasn't the real reason I was talking to him and I was sure he knew this, too.

"Would you like to have a drink? I mean...maybe not today...", I began and was determined to be confident.

Again, his eyes widened. Suddenly he turned his whole face to me and seemed to wait for a reaction.

I froze and looked at him dumbfounded.

"Don't worry, you can take your offer back, I won't be angry."

At the left side of his face was a wound, which slowly scarred. The skin was rough, darker and uneven. Was that the reason for staying away the whole time? Was this why he didn't turn around a few moments ago?

"Why should I withdraw my offer?" I asked seriously. It was true. He looked different. But a scar in his face wouldn't prevent me from thinking about him as I did. It wasn't just his good looks that affected me. It was his gaze and his whole manner. And fuck, I felt like a damn stalker.

"Because I'm disfigured, and you're not. That's why." I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"You're not disfigured," I contradicted him.

"If you don't want to go out with me then that's the way it is. But I won't take my offer back."

He looked at me, disbelieving.

"Are you being serious?" He asked and I nodded in response.

"Then...I'd like to go have a drink." He smiled at me and I just wanted to kiss him. I wanted him for so long...

"And...what are you going to do now?" He asked, as I was standing quietly in front of him.

"I...have no clue. Talking to you?"

"I'm Mello," he introduced himself and looked at me expectantly.

"Matt," was my response to his silent question.

"Fits you."

Again, I just nodded and the drizzle that hit my skin turned into heavy rain, which drenched me in a few seconds.

"Fuck!" he cussed.

"I'm living five minutes from here. Are you coming with me or going home?" he asked me. Probably it was just my imagination but I had the feeling that he sounded hopeful. At least, I hoped so.

"If I don't make any circumstances..."

He shook his head as he started to go and motioned with his hand for me to follow him. We ran for about 30 seconds before we noticed that we were so soaked that it didn't make any difference for us to run, so we slowed down a bit.

I just hoped that my pictures weren't drenched, as we arrived at his flat. My PSP had a case, so this baby should be alright.

"What's your size?" he asked as we entered the flat and I couldn't help the dirty thoughts wandering into my brain. It took a minute to realisize what he was actually asking.

"Bigger than yours, I think," I answered.

He nodded while I let my eyes wander in his place. It was just the way I imagined it would be. No matter how cold and depressed he'd look at me, I always saw fire burning in him. The walls were painted orange and there were many candles, which kept the room cozy.

I followed him into his bedroom, where he threw a towel at me. This room seemed warm to me as well. He had a big bed with dark red sheets. I already imagined so much happening in his bed...

"Hurry up with drying yourself, otherwise you catch a cold," he mumbled, while he rubbed his blond hair with the towel. For a while I stayed quiet.

"Did the injury happened three months ago?" I asked straight away.

"Why do you want to know that?"

"You passed me every day and then, suddenly, it stopped. I noticed that, you know..."

He sighed. "Yes, you're right. It happened three fucking months ago." He seemed to like swearing. Interesting to know...

"You know, your scar doesn't bother me. It fits you somehow." At that he just began to laugh humorlessly. Even his laugh sounded bitter...

"You're crazy," he stated and it was my turn to laugh.

"Maybe I am."

He left this room and headed for the kitchen, where he took out two big cups from his cupboard.

"What do you want to drink? Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?"

"I'm feeling like a scrounger," I confessed

"I invaded you, so stop complaining and decide."

With a cup of coffee between my palms, I sat with the blond pretty-boy in his living room on his couch.

Mello had given me clothes for me to change into which were a bit too large for him.

For a long time nobody said anything and you couldn't hear anything except of the rain pattering on the window and our sipping while we drank our hot drinks.

The blonde was the first to break the calming silence, "Why, of all days, did you ask me today if I wanted to do something with you?"

"I didn't want to take the risk of you leaving again," I confessed honestly.

"Why?" My heart was in my throat. After all this time I was finally sitting here and talking to him.

"I dunno...I think you're interesting. I mean... you're probably going to think I'm some psycho stalker, but-"

"Then I'm no better, am I? I sort of replied to your gazes." So I wasn't the only one thinking, that our gazes meant more.

I smiled at him. I felt like a psycho for having the urge to know him. I mean really know him.

He smiled back and for a moment I stopped breathing, stared at him. I've never seen him smile this bright.

"I just think it sucks that I won't know how I looked before this accident. For me it's like I always had this scar in my face," he said a bit sad and confused me.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have any pictures of me. I never let anyone take photos of me."

I bit at my lip, feeling a bit insecure. Should I..?

"Would...you like to have some? Pictures, I mean."

He shrugged and leaned with his side at the back of the couch.

"I don't know. Maybe..." I eyed him up for a while and got a hold of my folder, which lay in front of me at the table and searched for a picture.

"What are you doing?" he asked. I really wasn't sure if I wanted to show him what I wanted for so long. Would he send me away? Was I an official stalker, then? No... or was I?

"You do know that I sit there day after day and draw?" I began and he nodded a bit confused.

"I like to draw the things I happen to see. And there's one thing I happened to see very often..."

I drew out the searched picture, took it out, and held it in front of him. His eyes widened again and he looked at me, perplexed.

"Did you draw this?"

"Who else?" I laughed.

It was a picture of him. One of the older ones, when he hadn't worn leather and his hair had been neatly cut to a bob. His optical appearance had changed while he grew up. But whose didn't?

He put his cup of cocoa at the table and took the picture carefully in his hands. He began to grin.

"This was what I looked like?...Was I drunk the whole time or something when I had this hair cut?" He laughed, warmer than the time before, and I suddenly got goose bumps.

"Why? It fit you well..."Now he was laughing harder and I smirked.

"You said this already about my scar. I begin to doubt you."

I didn't answer him. Instead I looked at him. He looked right back with his typical, intense gaze, which I was already used to. But this time it was much longer. And much better.

Authors note: What do you think? I'd love to hear your opinion since I don't know if it was worth translating it! Anything you liked? Anything you disliked? Tell me!