America. Land of the free and home of the brave.
Tch, more like home of the idiots.
The Wild Adventures of the Misplaced Mello!
My name is Mihael Keehl, but for some reason unknown to me, the human race is incapable of pronouncing it correctly, so you can just call me Mello. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer it if you did.
"What's this guy's problem?" some of you may be wondering. The answer is: "nothing". I'm just a moody fucker. Got a problem with it? Well tough shit, bitches, this is who I am. If you don't like it, then get the hell out of here.
Shoo, scram.
Now, if all the spineless cunts have gotten their asses out, let's get this party started. It was a dark and stormy night…uh, yeah, I'm not that lame.
Life officially sucks for me. No, I don't have abusive parents and I'm not dirt poor. Quite the contrary. My dad's a well respected and feared leader of the mafia in Slovenia and my mother is his money-guzzling trophy wife. I was raised in good ol' Ljubljana for about the first 10 years of my life. After an attempted hit on me, dearest Daddy thought that studying abroad would be a far better thing for me. So, the next day I was packed up and shipped off to Winchester, England. There I suffered at Wammy's Prestigious Boarding School all the way through the 9th grade. Predictably, my father's enemies found out where I was, so once again I was shipped off overnight.
Quillsh Wammy was a friend of my father, so thanks to the short notice I was sent to America where Quillsh's adoptive son lived. You see, this is where my story really begins. It starts on a sweltering August day with me standing in front of a small house with no front lawn and stranded in the middle of nowhere.
"Welcome to Texas," the taxi driver mumbled before he drove off, taillights shining in the distance. A fucking tumbleweed blew by.
"You have got to be shitting me," I hissed as I dragged my precious suitcases to the front door. Taking in my surroundings, I couldn't help but get even more pissed off. From where I was standing on the front porch, I could literally see the edge of town which stretched out into the flat plains with a few dried out trees. In the other direction was some more run down shacks with all kinds of garbage sitting in the front yards. Was I in the Twilight Zone or something? No, this was more like Hell.
I was brought out of my thoughts when the door opened to reveal my new caretaker. A naked, bony foot rubbed against the opposite shin which was covered with a pair of baggy jeans. Dragging my eyes up, I was graced with a sweaty white t-shirt clinging to the man's slouched figure. Dark unkempt hair and sleep deprived eyes finished off the bizarre creature standing in front of me. Not knowing what to say or do, I just stared as the young man in front of me unlocked the screen door and pushed it open. For a moment, the two of us just stood there wordlessly.
"You must be Mello," he observed flatly.
"Um, yeah, that's me," I replied lamely. This day was absolutely wretched.
"Well, come on in," he sighed, stepping outside to hold the screen door while I struggled to get my bags inside. "The swamp cooler's broken right now," he explained as I began fanning myself. What the heck was a swamp cooler? "Just crack open a window if it gets unbearable. Oh, this way. I spent all day emptying out the guest bedroom."
I grimaced as I struggled to step over the fruits of his labor. Clothes, pillows, boxes of books, random toys, and other garbage littered the floor. He was obviously used to such chaos, but having lived in near-mansions all my life, I felt a bit claustrophobic in the small house. By the time I forced my way into the bedroom, I was sweating and more than willing to strip out of my sweater.
"By the way, you can call me L," my care taker informed me as I looked around my new room. There was a small bed in the corner of the room and a desk pressed against the wall opposite the door. Two windows rested side by side on one wall and one more window overlooked the sad excuse for a back yard. The only vegetation consisted of some strange looking weeds and some sparse patches of yellow grass. "Well, I'll leave you to unpack," L muttered. "The closet's empty too."
With that, the strange man shuffled out of the room and left me alone with my thoughts. Walking around the tiny room, I ran my fingers over the used furniture. The digits came up with dust. Homesickness hit me like a brick in the face. Once again, I had been ripped away from my friends, from my life, from my home. Pulling off my sweater, I used it for a pillow and curled up on the bed. Even though I had slept on the whole trip over here, I was tired. Maybe a nap would help all the emotions bubbling within me.
"You should check on him."
"I don't think it's necessary to check on him as if he were an infant. Surely he can manage to survive alone in a bedroom."
"Come on, L! He just got torn away from his normal life! You should be comforting him, not letting him be!"
"…"
"Don't give me that look. Now, go in and check on him!"
The whispered voices pulled me out of my happy little dreamland. I recognized L's voice immediately, but I had no clue who the second one belonged to. Yawning, I rolled out of bed and raised an eyebrow as I saw the door crack open. Obsidian eyes stared at me for a moment before there was a sigh and the door opened. A tall good-looking Asian stood behind my strange babysitter and he gave me a sympathizing glance. He had caramel brown hair with a few highlights and his soft almost gold eyes were full of life and intelligence. Even the guy's clothing looked as groomed as he did. When L didn't bother to introduce him, the guy rolled his eyes and stepped forward.
"Hey there. My name is Light Yagami, and I came from Japan a few years ago."
"I'm Mello. Just got here from England. So tell me, do you like this shit-hole? Is there even anything to do around here?"
Light smiled with a knowing look in his eye. Welcome to the Panhandle of Texas, Mello! Actually, I don't like in this, I quote, 'shit-hole'. Ryuzaaki just lives here because it's cheap."
"Ryuzaaki?"
"Oh, sorry! That's my nickname for L. It sounds cooler to me. Anyway, about 45 minutes away is as close to a real city as you'll see for a while, and that's where I attend college." It was a relief to hear that civilization was still within reach. "It's not as big as Tokyo, but it's better than this place. They've got a few good clubs we like to frequent and some decent restaurants."
I perked up at the mention of clubbing. Back in England, I would sneak out all the time and go out partying. I had quite an active nightlife and it would be a shame not to carry that over. "Can you take me clubbing?" I would have just gone without asking, but two things prevented me from doing that.
One: I couldn't drive.
Two: I didn't know where the heck anything was.
I didn't want to wander off and never be found again.
"Aren't you too young for that?" Light chuckled.
"Mate, I'm from Europe." Yes, that says it all.
"As long as you don't drink," L butted in, making Light jump a little. "That way, I don't have to stay home babysitting. We'll just call it a 'field trip'." And that was that.
I was a unique and beautiful creature and I knew it. All you need to know is that I'm pretty vain about my looks and I take special care to flaunt it any chance I get. That's why I was in my skin tight leather pants and my matching leather vest. Special order alligator skin boots covered my flawless feet and my high-maintenance hair was combed just right.
"Are you ready yet?" L asked boredly as I gave myself a final checkup.
"Coming!" Boy, I was planning on getting wasted tonight. This place might be Hell, but it was nothing a good vodka couldn't fix. Well, I had been drinking since I was a baby, so I doubted if any cheap America alcohol was going to even phase me.
When I walked out, I saw both guys' eyes widen in surprise. Tch, I bet both plonkers thought I was going to go in a suit or something. Just because I came from England didn't mean I was an uptight proper asshole. Since they stared at me, I stared back. L was wearing some fashionable torn jeans and a tight white t-shirt which showed off his surprisingly fit physique. Light, on the other hand, was every sorority girl's wet dream. Tight stonewashed jeans clung to his thin legs and a purple polo shirt with a popped collar was unbuttoned enough to show off part of his smooth chest.
"Were you a Euro prostitute?" L asked flatly.
I just winked in response. Personally, I didn't give a damn what they thought about me. If it had been my choice, I wouldn't even be here. I'd be somewhere important and cool like New York, or Los Angeles. Not…well, I didn't even know where the hell I was. Somewhere in tragic Texas.
"We can take my car," Light stated cheerily, brushing back his fringe in a distinctly homosexual manner. "Let's get going! We want to get there sometime before the party ends."
With that, all three of us piled into a sleek, yet older car. I was impressed at how clean it was, especially after having been in L's house for a short while. Not even fingerprints on the windows. L sat in the front and made some light conversation with Light about the economy and other garbage that didn't matter. Biting my lip, I looked out the window as nothing but scarce shrubbery and plains rolled past. Canyons, dirt, rocks, an abundance of anything but life. Not even lights out this way. Shivering, I turned my attention to my expensive boots. As much as I hated being at Wammy's I found myself missing it. At least my mom and dad could occasionally visit me when they went undercover. Now that I was this far away, I wouldn't be able to see them at all. Did they miss me? Did they even care that I was out here?
The 45 minutes went by quickly enough and soon enough we were walking up to a seedy looking place. Stairs led down to a cement door with a large tattooed man standing guard. He took one look at my guardian and moved to the side. Bass music filtered gently through the heavy door, but as soon as it opened, my ears were assaulted with the eardrum shattering beats of a club.
Ah, this was…well, I guess that this was as good as it was going to get. American music was definitely not something that I was used to dancing to. Instead, I distinctly remember making fun of the style with my friends back at Wammy's. I wasn't surprised to see Light and L rush off into the crowd, completely forgetting about watching me. Meh, I was more than fine with that; at least this way they wouldn't give me shit about drinking alcohol. Walking up to the disinterested bartender, I ordered the most expensive Vodka mixed with strawberry and a hint of lime. The man shrugged and carried out my order before turning his attention back to the front of the club where a live band was playing. Definitely not a techno club.
Finally deeming the band worthy of my attention for the moment, I nearly spit up my extremely expensive drink. Instead of stereotypical guys in tight jeans, cowboy boots, and ten gallon hats, there were four rather gay looking scene kids. Not that scene kids didn't already look gay, but they were…more gay. Gayer. Whatever. The drummer had unruly layered black hair with red streaks hidden throughout and his blood red contact lenses could be seen by me all the way in the back as they contrasted with the heavy eyeliner he used. His pale skin was almost translucent in the glaring spotlights and I observed that his white shirt was covered in what looked like blood stains.
The girl at the keyboards had a delicate combination of gothic Lolita styled clothing in ridiculous shades of neon pink and her pigtailed blonde hair showed flashes of pink and black streaks. Her powdery makeup was applied with a heavy hand and boasted of pinks, purples, and even some glitter. Spindly fingers were decorated in heavy metallic jewelry which made me wonder how she could even stand to play her instrument.
Strumming enthusiastically at his electro-acoustic guitar, the third member of the band was grinning stupidly as he tossed his head to the beat of the music. Dark brown hair had white-blond stripes dyed into his fringe and the hair bounced happily with each bob of the head. His white t-shirt was plain save for the purple hand screenprinted in the center chest area and clung comfortably to his lean body. Grey stonewashed skinny jeans, a necklace with different guitar picks, and a black arm band completed his look.
And then there was Mr. Popular himself. Standing there in all his atrocious overly gayness, the bass guitarist and lead vocalist was shouting into the microphone with all his energy as he violently beat his poor instrument. His flaming red hair that had been so obviously flatironed into chaos screamed for attention with the help of strange goggles perched on top of his head, well placed snake-bite stud piercings would catch the lights and draw the eyes to his cupid-bow lips, and then one's eyes would be drawn to his sweat-soaked LGBT t-shirt before being nearly blinded by his ridiculous rainbow striped arm warmers which led to his painted fingernails. By this point, I was close up enough to the stage to see the exact shade of fuschia they were painted. And then, as the excitable young man began to eagerly grind against his bass guitar, eyes were drawn to the purple skinny jeans that had to have been sewn onto him in order to fit and hugged his shaking ass far too well. Lastly, as I was up near the very front by now, I could see that this strange ensemble was completed with his purple leopard print Converse shoes.
Now, this guy was no Frank Sinatra or Whitney Houston, and yet by looking at the crazed crowd, you wouldn't have known. Hell, the Beatles could have walked right through the front fucking door and no one would have given them a second glance. Even the sorority-wet-dream that drove me here was head banging to the music and lip-syncing with the song. So, the beat wasn't bad for the American crap that it was, and after a few minutes even I couldn't help but allow the crowd's enthusiasm to infect me. Fingers danced faster over the instruments, bodies swayed together more passionately, and arms waved though the air more rapidly.
Oddly enough, I found myself smiling, my ass grinding against some stranger's crotch, and my glass of alcohol waving around. The lead singer's eyes found mine, even through the crowd and I felt a pleasant heat curling in my stomach. His crystal blue eyes were the loveliest shade and they easily made up for his horrendous clothing decisions. Shit, I was attracted to anything of the homosapian persuasion and although I didn't generally think that the secondhand British rejects on this continent were all that open about such liberal sexuality, I was pleased to find that even the cowboys here weren't complete heterosexual wankers.
Maybe Texas wouldn't be so bad.
"Hi, my name's Matt," the cutie from the band said cheerily as he squeezed next to me at the bar.
My eyes went directly to those sexy snakebite piercings before jumping back up to his eyes. "Hey there, Matt," I replied back easily.
"Whoa, sexy accent! British?"
Grinning more widely, I nodded. I never thought that my hard-earned accent would be used as the opening pick-up line. "I notice that you have a very distinctive lack of an accent. What, did you miss cowboy training or something?"
Laughing heartily, the red-head scooted closer to me; we were practically chest to chest at this point. Even with the sweat soaked through his shirt, Matt had a strangely sweet smell clinging to him. "Actually, I haven't lived here very long."
"Oh? Where are you from?" My voice had dropped lower, a husky tone saturating each syllable.
Matt took the cue and reached up to stroke my cheek lightly. "Oh, a little bit of everywhere. France, originally. Then, to Great Britain for a little before coming to the States."
"Really? Where in England?"
"Mmm, some place not too far from Winchester."
Widening my eyes in surprise, I let my fingers tease the edge of his flatironed hair. "I lived in that area! I was at Whammy's boarding school!"
"Seriously?" he squealed cutely. "I was there, for like a fucking month before we moved to the U.S.!"
"Wait," I mumbled looking at his face more closely. Sharp features softened with remnants of baby fat and a sprinkling of freckles…"Bloody hell, you were a brunette before, right? I mean, little scrawny Jeevas?"
His eyes lit up like it was fucking Christmas or something. "Hey, that's right! I went by my first name back then. Wait, you can't be!" Immediately, he began laughing again. "Mihael Keehl, was it?"
Hearing my name from those pouty lips gave me an instant boner. He fucking pronounced it right. "Matt, I think that we're going to have to go somewhere a little more private if you don't want this whole damn club to see me fucking your bare ass on this counter. And I mean right this bloody second."
Matt looked a bit surprised at my bluntness, but pleasantly so. "Let's just slip to the back of the club."
By the time L found me, Matt and I were pleasantly riding the downward spiral of contentment. Sitting on his lap, we shared a cigarette to help with the after effects of a nut-busting makeout/handjob session. I mean, hell, I wasn't about to stick my dick up some possibly STD-ridden ass no matter how pretty it was.
"I take it that you're having fun?" the smartass nanny of mine commented sarcastically.
"Aren't you?" I muttered in response. I was feeling way too good to let him get under my skin.
"We have to head off. You have school in the morning."
My shrug didn't seem to impress him much. Matt gave my hips a gentle squeeze as I placed the cancer-stick into his awaiting lips. "I guess I need to leave," I whispered before nipping at his lower lip. My tongue ran over the studs situated beneath his lip, grinning at the foreign feel. I could get used to kissing this guy.
"Where's he going, L?" Matt questioned as he kneaded the flesh above my hip bones with his thumbs.
"You know L?" I chuckled in surprise.
"The same school as you," the black-haired man replied.
Grinning wickedly at the red-head, I winked sultrily. "Looks like I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Matt." I thoroughly planned on interrogating stupid L on the way back to the house.
"Mmm, definitely. I guess that we'll be continuing this?"
"Maybe. If you're lucky."
"Well, am I lucky?" an obnoxiously cheery voice demanded from behind my locker door. Pulling the metal door from its obstructing view of a beautiful red-head, I couldn't help but cringe at the assault of fashion sense standing before me.
"And I thought that you're outfit last night was bad," I groaned. "Seriously, a Hello Kitty hat?"
"Hey! My Grandma knitted this awesome one-of-a-kind Hello Kitty beanie complete with ear flaps and matching gloves!" His fingers waved in front of my face, flaunting the knitted horrors.
"Why the bloody hell would your Grandma knit such crap for her in-high-school grandson? And why are you wearing them on a 90° F day?"
Those snakebites glistened naughtily in the glare of the fluorescents. "Because she knows I'm gay, I'm obsessed with Hello Kitty, and I wore it because I know that bad fashion turns you way on. So, am I lucky Mr. Britain?"
Pulling loose my navy blue tie (I definitely needed to go shopping), I leaned closer to that overly eager face. "Maybe, Mr. Kitty. Just maybe."
Author's Notes: Okay, so this random little one-shot was an old fic of mine that I found hiding out in my files. It was strange/entertaining, and although I had originally planned on making a series out of it, I thought that it would make a nice little one-shot gift for all the readers who are patiently waiting on Tattered's next chapter. About two weeks ago I was ready to upload the newest chapter when I read through it and decided that Mello needed a little more work. So, expect some quick updates soon!
I hope that you enjoyed this! It was a blast writing Matt and Mello this way.