Hey guys! A big thanks to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/followed so far, you are what keeps me going. Also a big thanks (again and again and again) to my betas, who kick my butt into gear. Before we get into Chapter 4, I'd like to make a quick announcement: For anybody who'd like to see little snippets of the behind-the-scenes tomfoolery that goes into LBLP, follow loudbreathslongpases on Tumblr (I'm still working on it so forgive the layout!). And for anybody who would like to follow me on Tumblr, my personal/fandom is leftyagami.
Friday, December 16, 2011
"Hey, Miha, move your legs for a sec. I gotta get a roll of receipt paper." Rafaela scoots up beside Mello and gently swats at his hip.
Mello moves a few inches down the bar, still staring absentmindedly out onto the empty dance floor. The club won't open its doors for another ten minutes at least - but he and Rafaela are pretty much done getting the bar ready.
Mello's been avoiding Matt for almost two full weeks now. It feels weird, but he doesn't know what else he can do. For some reason, Matt has been intent on putting Mello on a crazy emotional roller coaster lately, and Mello can't help but ride every time. He doesn't know what happened, but his self-control is shot to hell and even though he knows better, he still can't act any differently. He's even started getting dizzy when he sees Matt, just like back when his feelings were new. So he's keeping his distance, trying to push his hope down and build himself back up enough to be able to handle Matt and his oblivious hot-and-cold games.
And yet, as much as he knows the distance is a good thing for both of them, he still aches for Matt. He misses their morning coffee the most - that hour that belongs just to the two of them, their inane conversations, the companionship. It's been weighing on him more than he wants it to.
"You know, it feels so, so weird to call you Miha," Rafaela says from where she's crouched in front of the bar's shelves. "Like, so weird. It's like I'm calling you mija, right?"
Mello rolls his eyes, ticked at the interruption. "You say that pretty much every shift we have together, Rafy. Get over it."
"Yeah, well," she replies, standing up with three rolls of receipt paper in her hands, "I just have to use such an American accent when I say it. Mee-haw."
"You do not say it that way. Ever."
"Psh, whatever, Mee-haw." Rafaela finishes loading her printer and stacks the other two rolls next to her register. "In any case, I need to find something else to call you."
Mello shrugs. "All right."
"No hints, huh."
"Nope."
"No embarrassing nicknames from your family, from high school, nothing?"
"No."
Rafaela sighs in response. "Boy, you're not having it tonight," she says. "Been sleeping okay?"
"Fine," Mello says, and it's a lie, but it's beside the point.
The night's first DJ, just one of the local nobodies who plays the dead hours, finishes talking to the sound guys and starts his set. "I'm gonna figure something out," Rafaela yells to compensate for the increase in ambient noise level. "Something I can call you."
The first few people start to come in. "Well, good luck with that," Mello says, and quickly double-checks that everything at the bar is ready.
"Oh hey," says Rafaela behind him, "I still gotta restock some waters. You good solo?"
Mello looks out at the ten people who've come in so far - three of them look pretty drunk already - then back to Rafaela. "Please."
She shrugs. "Hey man, just checking." Then she disappears into the back.
A group of six people come in and make a beeline for the bar. Mello smoothes down his hair and does his best to look tippable.
It's about a half hour after opening when someone walks in who Mello doesn't particularly want to see. He's with the same group of friends as usual, chatting away with them as they make their way across the dance floor toward the bar. Mello wonders if he should walk away and let Rafaela handle the bar for a few minutes, but by the time he can seriously consider it, Oliver has already noticed him.
Oliver Chan, 21 years old. USC senior, double majoring in…something, and...something else. See-you-next-Friday guy. Flaky asshole. Houdini with the disappearing act.
T-Pain, his brain provides unhelpfully.
Mello doesn't have a line. Oliver comes right up to the bar.
"Hey, Mihael," he says, running a hand through his tuft of silky black hair. "How's the frizz?"
"What'll it be," Mello says flatly.
Oliver gives him a questioning look but just says, "Mai tai."
"Eight fifty."
"Keep the change."
Mello starts making the drink. He works almost robotically, eyeballing the rums as he pours them into the shaker. He can feel Oliver's eyes on him, and it makes him hold the bottles at odd angles and move his hands in a way that feels just a little off. It's not that he wants to be weird about things, he just...doesn't have time for flaky bullshit. He doesn't have time for any bullshit, actually, with all the stuff he's got going on.
"Mai tai," Mello announces, garnishing the drink with a pineapple spear and sliding it over.
Oliver takes it a little hesitantly, giving Mello another look. "Thanks," he says.
Mello nods.
"Mind if I stay and chat while it's still slow?"
Yes, I mind, Mello thinks. Instead of saying that, though, he says, "Sure, whatever. Just don't interrupt me while I'm working."
It has the same effect. Oliver recoils. "Whoa. Okay. So. Tell me if I got something wrong here, but the last time we talked, I thought we were connecting?"
Mello resists the urge to cross his arms but takes his left wrist into his right hand and begins kneading it. "Yeah, I thought so too, and then you disappeared on me." He pauses, then adds, "So what did you expect?"
Instead of accepting the rebuke, Oliver relaxes and says, "Oh, is that all." He takes a sip of his drink. "This is really good. So, look, here's the deal. See that drunk asshole over there?" He turns around and points to a guy on the dance floor that Mello recognizes as one of the friends he usually comes to the club with. "Last time we came, he pre-gamed way too hard, got sick, we had to take him home. Only one DD, only one car, only one chance to get back." He turns back around to face Mello again. "The night ended early for all of us - this was at like. Ten-thirty, maybe not even. Okay?"
Mello huffs, still a little frustrated. "Oh," he says. "Well. Okay."
"Yeah," Oliver says. "Really, it sucks to have five people and one car, it really ties you down."
"I'll bet." Mello looks away.
Oliver frowns. "Are we good?" he asks. "You look like we're still not good."
"I don't know," Mello says.
Oliver takes another sip of his drink. "Okay. What can I do about that?"
Mello knows he shouldn't be irritated with Oliver. There was a misunderstanding, it was fixed, everything should be good. But everything's not good, Mello's still mad, and it's entirely because he wants to be. It's got nothing to do with Oliver. Mello just doesn't feel like getting chatted up right now. He's been in a weird place, ever since all this weird shit with Matt started.
Why can't Oliver just know that Mello's got shit on his mind? It would make things so much more convenient.
"You can't do anything," Mello replies crossly. He's surprised that he doesn't have a single customer, until he looks over to Rafaela and sees that she's been quietly picking up some of his slack. "It's got nothing to do with you. I've just got other stuff going on."
"Other stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Well, let's talk. Maybe I can cheer you up."
Mello waves a customer over. "Just drop it, Oliver. Not tonight. Maybe I'll see you next Friday or something."
Oliver downs the rest of his drink as a small crowd starts to form around Mello's end of the bar. "When's your break?"
"Drop it, okay?"
"I just wanna talk. About whatever. It doesn't have to be about anything important."
Mello stops in between pours on some girl's Long Island iced tea. "Oliver."
"Mihael."
Mello resumes making the drink, still feeling that same self-consciousness from before. "I'm not up for it," he says. "Stop pushing."
Oliver tugs at his hair and purses his lips. "Look, I'm just trying to help."
"Long Island," Mello announces. He turns toward Oliver for just one more moment before tending to the other customers. "Well, stop trying."
Mello hears Oliver sigh. "Okay," he says, defeated. "I'll be back later if you change your mind." He slides his empty glass over, and then he's gone.
"So, what was that?" Rafaela asks, coming behind Mello to pour a glass of beer.
Mello puts a lime on a margarita and sends it out. "Nothing," he replies, "just...stuff."
"Didn't look like just stuff." Rafaela crosses back over to her customer, handing out the beer and taking the next customer's order. "It looked like you were getting kinda snippy."
"Ugh." Mello doesn't want to get into this. He just wants to finish his shift, go home, go to bed, and get on with figuring his shit out. "He kept trying to talk to me, that's all. Next! What can I get you?"
"Mm," Rafaela hums in response, busy pouring vodka and triple sec into a shaker. "Wait. Isn't he the guy from like...two weeks ago? I thought you two were really hitting it off, what happened?"
"Like I just told him, it's not your business." Mello fills a glass with ice and sets it down on the bar.
"Two Cosmos. You told him it was none of my business? Hey, what'll you have?"
Mello groans and accidentally overpours the peach schnapps. "Shit. God damn it." He starts the drink over, trying to pay better attention. "No, I told him it was none of his business."
"I still don't get it. You told him that whatever's going on between you two wasn't any of his business? I thought he was involved. Right behind you." Rafaela crosses back over to pour another beer.
"No," Mello corrects. "The stuff isn't about him, so he's not involved, so I don't want to talk to him about it, because it's none of his business." He takes a deep breath. "Now leave it alone."
Coming back to her crowd to hand out the beer, Rafaela lightly nudges Mello's ribs with her elbow. "Well hey, I think it wouldn't be that bad to talk to him," she says. "You've been really weird all night, maybe getting some stuff off your chest would help."
"No."
"Plus, he seems like your type."
"No."
"But Miha-"
"Sex on the Beach."
"I mean yeah maybe, that wasn't what I was getting at, but-"
"Rafy, the drink."
"Oh. Well, okay. But I really think-"
"You don't understand."
"I don't. And neither will anyone, if you don't talk about it."
"Ugh." Mello grabs a couple empty glasses off the bar and shoves them one at a time on the glass washer.
"Okay, Miha, listen." Rafaela takes out a glass, fills it with ice, and starts making a drink. "Something's going on with you, I don't know what it is, but it's something, and it's been on your mind all night. You're not having a good time, I'm not having a good time, that kid over there's not having a good time - where's the harm in letting it go for a while and having a normal conversation?"
"Oh, Jesus." Mello can feel Rafaela starting to wear him down. It's hard to stay moody and irritable around rave girls, he's been learning ever since he started working with her. But that doesn't mean he won't try. "I'm just not in the mood to talk right now."
"But you're in the mood to argue and be ornery."
"...No."
"See?" Rafaela garnishes the drink with an orange slice. "Sex on the Beach." There's a pause. "Um. Sex on the Beach?" She turns toward Mello. "I thought you said someone ordered a..."
Mello hangs his head. "No, Rafy, I was announcing the…."
"...Oh. Well. Okay, but you get where the misunderstanding came from, right?"
"I…" Something gives. Mello huffs. "You know what. Fine. I'll talk to Oliver."
Rafaela gives Mello a cheeky asshole smile for cheeky assholes. "Good," she says. "Oh, speak of the devil." She nods toward the dance floor, where Oliver is making his way back to the bar. Then she turns back toward her customers. "Okay, next? Hi, what can I get for you?"
Mello helps three customers before he gets to Oliver. As it's gotten later, the crowd has gotten larger, and it's at the point where both Mello and Rafaela are fairly busy. There'll be a lull a little later, while the early-comers, who are just now coming in, get drunk enough to start dancing; but right now, Mello's got his hands full.
"Hey," Oliver says when he comes up to the bar. "Can I get another Mai Tai?"
"Mai Tai," Mello repeats, and takes the ten Oliver hands him.
Oliver watches him work on the drink. "So," he starts casually.
"So."
"Still not up for chatting?"
"I…" Mello looks at Rafaela, who's busy helping customers and doesn't notice him. "I...guess I can talk for a while. On my break. Right now I'm busy."
"I can see that. So, what time?"
"Hm." Mello takes a second to think. "Hey, Rafy."
"Yeah?" she calls back, not taking her eyes off the drink she's making.
"What time are you going on break?"
She shrugs. "Whenever it slows down."
"Helpful."
"I mean-"
Mello turns back to Oliver and doesn't listen to the rest of what Rafaela says. "Come back when it's slow, and if my coworker's not on break, I'll go. This little rush should die down soon, we'll get some downtime between the earlier people and the after-eleven crowd."
"Sounds great," Oliver says, flashing Mello a warm smile that reminds him why he was into Oliver in the first place. "I'll be back soon." He takes his Mai Tai and goes off to rejoin his friends.
"And then he has the nerve to tell me he 'doesn't want to ruin our friendship,'" Mello gripes. "He says this. After how long I've tried and how hard I've worked and how- just, ugh. I don't understand."
Mello takes a deep breath. This conversation is not going as planned. He wanted - he only wanted - to have a normal conversation with Oliver, just to take his mind off of everything he's been feeling about Matt. But somehow, something set him off, and he's spent the last ten minutes ranting about every single Matt-related upset he's experienced in the last couple weeks. But he's fine now. Mello's gotten everything off his chest, he's done talking about it, he's done thinking about it, he's just done.
"And another thing," he adds. "The cake he got me for my birthday had a stupid text heart on it - you know, that less-than-three thing. He actually had the staff at the Baskin-Robbins write that little icing heart on the cake. Isn't that the most ridiculous fucking thing? I just don't know how to handle him. This is exhausting. I'm exhausted."
Okay. Now he's done. Mello huffs and sits back, and immediately feels embarrassed.
Fuck. Mello shouldn't dump all his stupid emotional baggage on a stranger. What a dumb thing to do. He thought he had more self-control than that, but hey - he thought he had more self-control than a lot of things. It looks like that's just not how his life is shaping up right now.
Mello looks over at Oliver. Surprisingly, he looks more amused than anything.
"God, I hate guys who can't decide what they want," he says.
"What?" Mello asks.
"Your friend. Sounds like a pretty classic case to me."
"Of…"
Oliver gives Mello a knowing look. "Of, you know." He stretches himself out and tucks his arms behind his head. "That experimentation-but-not-experimentation, hot-cold, gay-straight-bi fuckery that guys who are 'figuring themselves out' try to pull."
"Oh." Mello didn't actually know that sort of thing existed. He can see how it would, but he doesn't have the experience to back that up. But, "Wait." Figuring themselves out? "So, you're saying...Matt's...experimenting…."
"With you? Yeah, probably. And backpedaling when it gets too homo to handle."
Mello considers that for a moment. He goes through all his interactions with Matt over the last weeks, few as they are, and finds...exactly that sort of fuckery. Drawing Mello in, and then pushing him away. Mello's stomach flips. "Oh," he says again, and scratches at the back of his neck.
Oliver pulls himself back in, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs. He bites his lip, looking a little nervous. "You mean, you didn't…?"
"I...no." Mello feels his cheeks heat up. "That's…."
"Shitty? Pretty much," Oliver says.
Mello would have used the word humiliating. If he's been falling all over himself with this stupid hope while Matt's just been playing around, then….
No. "Matt's not like that at all, though," Mello says. "He wouldn't."
Oliver goes silent for a second. Then he says, quietly, "Give it some thought."
Mello huffs. He won't give it any thought. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Mm." Oliver looks down at the space between his crossed legs. "I'll admit, I don't know Matt, other than what you've told me about him. But I've seen this behavior...a few times."
"You're wrong."
"I want to be." Oliver doesn't look at Mello, but his voice is clear, honest. Urging. "I do want to be wrong, but I've wanted to be wrong enough times to guess that I'm probably not. I don't mean to be so blunt with it, because I do know how it is, but there are too many guys out there who do exactly this. And they keep doing it because they can get away with it."
"Shut up! Just, shut up." Mello pulls away from Oliver, putting a good foot and a half between them. His stomach flips again. "Matt and I are best friends. Don't talk about him like he's using me."
Oliver sighs, so quiet it's almost inaudible under the muted music. "I won't," he says. "I'm sorry."
"We're friends. We've known each other forever."
"That is...how it usually…." Oliver shakes his head and doesn't finish his sentence, but he doesn't need to. Mello knows what he was going to say, and he doesn't want to hear it.
"Just stop talking." Mello grits his teeth. "Matt and I have known each other forever, I know him way better than you ever will. And I don't know what your shitty friends did to you, but Matt's not like that."
Oliver folds in on himself a little more. "Ouch," he says, glancing at Mello out of the corner of his eye. "That was...pretty harsh."
"...Yeah. I guess it was." Mello lets his head fall back against the wall. He takes one deep breath, then another. "Sorry."
"It's okay." Oliver ventures a little closer, beginning to close the gap Mello put between them. "I'm sorry I said some harsh things too. You're right, I don't know Matt."
Damn right Oliver doesn't know Matt. He doesn't know Matt, and he doesn't know that Matt wouldn't do anything like that.
...At least, not intentionally. Matt has been pulling some stuff that looks an awful lot like experimentation, but there's no way he can be aware of it.
"And- and, if he is...experimenting, I'm sure he doesn't know he's doing it."
Oliver looks confused for a long second before he scoots all the way next to Mello. "Some guys don't. Does that make it any better?" He turns to look Mello in the eyes.
Mello turns his gaze away and brings a hand up to massage his neck. "It's different."
"Different how?"
"I can handle it."
"Handle it? You mean, like, talk to him?" Oliver keeps pressing. It's giving Mello a full-on stomachache, all roils and flutters.
He takes a few breaths and tries to will it away. "No. I can take care of it on my own."
"Are you going to talk to him?"
"No."
"But why?" Oliver looks completely lost, and Mello wonders for the second time why he can't just understand.
"Because I've been doing this for years. This isn't new, it's just different."
"Why, though?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"Why do you want to let him keep doing this to you?"
"Because I have to!"
"The only thing you have to do…." Oliver starts, then trails off. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then worries his lower lip between his teeth. "Okay," he says finally. "I don't wanna be too blunt again. But don't think the responsibility for your friendship rests only on your shoulders."
Mello shakes his head. "Like I said, I can handle it."
Oliver studies Mello's face like he's searching for something. Not finding it, he makes a little "mm" sound in the back of his throat. "What I meant to say is, Matt's doing what he's doing because he's in a weird place in his life. And you're letting him because you're in a weird place in yours."
"Don't assume-" Mello tries weakly to say, but stops. It's not worth it. He's not going to get anywhere derailing this into an argument, and plus Oliver's not wrong.
"And if all you do is handle it, handle it, handle it, you're only opening yourself up to more shit." Oliver puts a hand on Mello's wrist. "My totally unsolicited advice? Let it go for a while. Have some fun, forget about him. Get a clear head, and then you can come back to the situation and do whatever you need to."
Mello looks down at the hand. He thinks about pulling away, but the contact is...nice. "I…." He looks away and sighs. "He's not a...don't talk about Matt like he's a situation."
"Mihael. I'm not talking about Matt like he's anything. I'm talking about you." Oliver's thumb begins rubbing little circles into Mello's skin. "Think about it, okay? Or, don't think about it, maybe. All I know is you don't deserve to be in this mess."
Mello sighs again. He doesn't want to be convinced. More, he doesn't want there to be anything he has to be convinced of. "I guess."
"I know." Oliver stops the thumb-circles and slides his hand into Mello's, lacing their fingers together.
Mello looks at their hands again, then around at the scenery. He and Oliver are sitting on the floor, tucked into a little hallway by the bathrooms. Mello thinks of it as the "break room," but it's really just a hallway with a door at the end that leads outside, to the alley behind the bar where the security guys take their breaks. Rafaela breaks outside with them, but Mello usually doesn't. And Mello doesn't think they're bad guys - he actually likes them a lot - he just prefers to have his break to himself. They understand that, which is part of why he likes them so much. It's quiet enough in this little hallway anyway, since the music doesn't really reach this far.
Oliver's hand is warm in his.
Mello's heart sinks.
Mello pulls out his phone and checks the time. "Oh, shit. I've got to get back." He's two minutes over. Rafaela probably won't care, but Mello holds himself to a standard. He stands up.
Oliver stands up with him, keeping their hands intertwined. "I probably shouldn't stay here then. That guy's been giving me looks anyway." He nods toward the security guy guarding the hallway so messed-up clubgoers don't wander out the door. "Back to the bar?"
Mello nods and starts back.
"Yo, Oli!" A group of guys accosts them on the outskirts of the dance floor. One of them says, "We've been looking all over for you!"
"Oh, hey guys," Oliver says. "What's up?" He doesn't let go of Mello's hand.
The guy in front, who Mello only knows as the pre-gamer (but who appears pretty sober now), says, "We're gonna go around midnight. It's Tricia's birthday, did you know that?"
"Uh, no, I didn't." Oliver glances quickly at Mello, then back to his friend.
"Yeah, so we should hit up her party tonight." The guy continues talking, while Oliver gives Mello another look.
For the third time, Mello looks down at their hands. It was nice while it lasted, he thinks, but if this is the end of it, he's not too disappointed. He's not holding out hope, either. He doesn't really have the patience for endless see-you-next-Fridays.
Plus, he has to get back to work. So, while Oliver's discussing group plans with his friends, Mello quietly extricates himself and heads toward the bar.
"Welcome back," Rafaela says when he returns. "So, how'd it go?"
Mello shrugs and waves a customer over. There are still only a few people around the bar, since the next wave of people needing drinks haven't started showing up yet. "He's nice. He's leaving."
"He's what?" Rafaela whirls around, almost dropping a bottle of simple syrup. "Why?"
Mello fills a glass with ice and starts making a vodka tonic. "His friends are all leaving."
"Oh. That blows."
"It's fine."
"If you say so." Rafaela adds a lime twist to her drink. "Mojito. So, next time then? Hi, what can I get for you?"
Mello sends the vodka tonic out and starts helping a new customer. "No. I don't want to waste my time. Next, what can I get you?"
"Fair enough, I guess…." Rafaela grabs a bottle of Fireball and a shotglass. "Kind of a shame, though. You were cute together. Shot of Fireball."
"Uh-huh." Mello pulls out a bottle of tequila. "Wait, what do you mean we were 'cute,' 'together'?"
Rafaela shoots Mello an exaggerated wink. "Saw you two holding hands just now."
"Oh, God…." Mello could throttle her. He really could.
She just laughs. "Hey, I said you were cute. Hi, hi! Next, what'll you have?"
"And she's brought out the 'Hi-hi,'" Mello grumbles. "At least one of us is in a good mood." It's probably for the better that Oliver's leaving, he thinks. He came out of their conversation with a lot to think about.
Mello still doesn't want to think that Matt's doing anything wrong. But even if he's not, even if Mello ignores the overwhelming evidence, Mello's still not happy with the situation as it is. He's spent so much time thinking and over-thinking and pushing down his feelings that he's lost sight of that. He can't see any way to change that, though. He doesn't want to change their friendship, and neither does Matt, and that's what's most important. Above all, Matt's his best friend, and Mello doesn't want to risk losing him. So no matter what Oliver says, Mello knows he can't do anything extreme. He's got to keep as calm and controlled as possible.
"Tequila sunrise."
But, loath as Mello is to admit it, Oliver might be right in what he said last. For the past couple of weeks, Mello's been tripping over his own thoughts, trying to deal with Matt - trying to deal with himself. He'd never say it outright, but Matt's words on his birthday were as hurtful as they were embarrassing, and he's still figuring out how to reconcile his feelings with his friendship. He doesn't want to feel tied down to this issue - especially if it's an issue that only he has. He wants to be able to put it behind him and get out of this mess, at least for a little while.
Maybe that's it. Mello's been putting distance between himself and Matt to pull himself together enough to keep his control, but maybe that's not all he needs. Maybe what Mello really needs is a distraction - something to let himself forget for a while, so he can refresh and recharge. He's been overloading himself with work, but that's not distracting as much as it is something to do idly.
"Miha! Customers." There aren't many, but Mello snaps back into reality and realizes he's been just standing around.
"Oh, sorry. Next - what can I get you?"
Rafaela goes to start making a drink, then stops dead and stands with a glass of ice in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. "Well, look at that," she says, gesturing with the bottle toward the dance floor. Mello can hear the smirk in her voice. "So, uh, about that wasting your time."
"Rum and...coke." Mello looks up just in time to recognize Oliver before he arrives at the bar.
"Hey," he greets, bringing a hand up to lightly brush his fingers against Mello's knuckles.
"Hi." Mello moves his hand away to wave over another customer. "Next!"
Oliver takes his hands off the bar. "Do you have a car?" he asks without preface.
"Open, or closed?" Mello asks the customer.
"Open."
Mello takes the card back to his register and opens a tab, then comes back to Oliver. "Yeah, why?"
"Okay." Oliver brushes a lock of hair out of his face and takes a breath. "Well," he explains, "I'm asking because I...don't want a repeat of last time."
"Okay…." Mello starts working on a whiskey sour. He doesn't want a repeat of last time either, but he's not holding his breath.
"The other guys are leaving soon, though."
"I know, I heard you guys talking. Whiskey sour." Mello's not sure why, but he leaves his hand on the bar after sending the drink out.
Oliver closes his hand over Mello's. "So I was wondering, if it's not too weird," he says, his voice taking on a devious tone, "can I ask you for a ride?"
"Oh," Mello says.
"Over here! Next!" Rafaela calls out.
Oliver tugs at his hair and then runs his fingers through it, looking down at Mello with heavy-lidded eyes. "What do you say?"
Mello looks down at the polished wood of the bar. He thinks about returning home, turning the key in the lock as quietly as possible, hoping Matt didn't decide to stay up, hoping Matt doesn't want to talk to him. He thinks about Matt, with his fiery kisses and icy words and dated pop culture references and the way the thought of dealing with any of those right now makes Mello want to run far, far away. Then he looks back up at Oliver, with his bright smile and warm hands, blunt honesty and temporary distraction, and he makes a decision.
Let it go for a while.
"Sure, yeah." Mello looks toward Rafaela, but she's busy with a customer. "Yeah. Yes."
"Great." Oliver flashes Mello his stunning smile. "I'm gonna go chill with the guys, but I'm yours at midnight."
"It'll be busy."
Oliver raises his eyebrows. "Hope you're not gonna do the same shit you did earlier."
Mello feels his cheeks turn red. "No," he says, "but I do have to work."
"Yeah, you do. Work it," Oliver says somewhat lazily, then turns and walks off.
Mello's eyes follow Oliver until he's out of sight.
"You hate to see him go, but…." Rafaela, who Mello guesses was stealth-listening the whole time, hums knowingly and nudges Mello in the ribs.
"Shut up," Mello says.
"Hey, thanks for the ride home, I really appreciate it," Oliver says once Mello parks outside his apartment building.
"Yeah, no problem," Mello says. "Sorry my car is so shitty."
Oliver just laughs. "You should see Alex's."
"It's worse?"
"Oh, you have no idea." Oliver moves as though to get out, then stops with his hand on the door handle. His gaze meanders up to meet Mello's. "So…."
Mello turns the car off. His fingers play with the key in the ignition. "So."
Saturday, December 17, 2011
In the early afternoon, Mello wakes up alone to a ray of sunlight running right across his face. He groans and covers his eyes in a futile attempt to make it go away, then sits up and stretches before running his hands through his hair. It's all frizzy on one side and all flat on the other. Great. Grumbling and swearing under his breath, he turns over and pats the floor by the bed to find his phone.
There's a folded-up note taped to it, which reads:
Hey Mihael - sorry I had to run out. Got called in to cover a shift, didn't want to wake you. Coffee in the pot, door handle locks. Again, sorry. ~Oli
Mello's stomach turns. He pockets the note and unlocks his phone to check his messages. His phone is still showing the last text he sent last night.
[3:15 AM] To Matt: hey i'm not coming home tonight. don't wait up. (Read 3:16 AM)
No text in response. There usually isn't one, but today it makes Mello feel on edge. He flips through his phone to see if there's anything else. One missed call, one voicemail. Both from Jack, which makes Mello a little worried, so he goes to listen to the voicemail.
"Mello. Jack. I know you said not to bring it up again, but I got something you might be interested in. Not quite your standard fare, if you get my drift. Money's good. Call me back if you wanna know more."
Another one of Jack's "interesting jobs" pitches, huh. Mello supposes it was only a matter of time. He's been doing more work for Jack and his boss recently, and while it's just been the typical grunt work he usually does, Jack's definitely noticed that something has changed.
And something has changed. Mello knows his goals, and how he intends to achieve them. But he also knows that he needs money - and something to do while he's out of the apartment. He hates himself for even considering it, but with everything that's been going on in his head, he might welcome the distraction. Surely there are jobs he could take that would be more interesting than painting a car but that wouldn't tie him down to the organization.
Right?
Mello's thumb hovers over Jack's phone number. It would be so easy, he realizes. So easy to pick up the phone, call Jack, take a job. So easy to ask for information, and receive it.
So easy to get in too deep.
Mello groans and drops his phone back on the floor. He looks for his underwear, finds them dangling off the headboard by their waistband, and has the urge to hang his head in his hands.
Instead, he puts them back on, gets out of bed, and heads into Oliver's kitchen. He'll find the rest of his clothes later. If he's going to survive today, he's going to need coffee.