Chapter 4
Late at night Matt had untangled himself from the soundly sleeping Maurice and clothed himself. The whole house was quiet. People passed out on the couch and some even on the floor. The twenty-year old found his jacket and headed out of the building, when a sleepy Derek walked up to him.

"Leaving already, champ?" The words came out slurred and with a great amount of tiredness. He didn't wear a shirt and the zip of his loose trousers was open. Matt stopped outside the door and nodded his head. "Yeah, have to get up early and prepare for a test. You'll be alright, yes?" Derek only smiled and returned back inside. Wind tousled his auburn hair, making some strands fall into his eyes. He strolled down the empty streets. He didn't live far away, so he wouldn't have to worry about getting a cold if he wouldn't bother to wear a coat. He hated the snow here in England with a passion, despite his love for winter and coldness. Streetlamps gave the world an orange touch at night and Matt couldn't help but smile at its temporary beauty. Indeed, the night was wondrous, mysterious, and dangerous and filled with adventures of all sorts. Sleep is for the weak, the night belongs to the wicked creatures.

But snow could melt and cars would rotten the white layer. Only the black and grey remains were visible after a day or two. Sometimes he thought that Jack Frost or whoever makes this repelling snow in the city, must be a drunk bastard, who's unable to control himself and his actions. The next day he'd wake up with a massive hangover and the guilt of suffocating another beautiful city in disgusting snow. He wasn't one to care though, was he? Jack Frost could do whatever he wanted, that crazy idiot.

A blinking red light above his head saying "Red Velvet" interrupted his frivolous thoughts. About seven years ago, this area had been a Red Light district but the police was strictly against it and a few prostitutes and drug dealers were put in jail. Horny teens from his class used to sneak out of their houses at night and venture to this exotic part of the city. The next day everyone would hear the shocking stories of the naked women, strippers or prostitutes. Matt never bothered to listen to this nonsense anyway. If anyone asked him to go there, he'd have kindly declined with the simply words of "I don't need to see human skin more than necessary. It's a waste of valuable time, don't you think?" This got him many weird looks as a young teen. Many assumed he was gay until he dated Natalie, the German exchange student in his sophomore year. They broke up a week later.

Matt passed an old man, who then grabbed him by the arm and coughed. "Excuse me, young man, do you have something that could keep me warm on nights like this?"

"Would you die otherwise?" he asked out of sheer curiosity. "Would that be really bad?"

"W-Well, my body feels really weak already, and I can't say for sure how long I'll live… I want to enjoy the last moments of my life, young man," he retorted and shivered in his own skin. "Would you do an old man a kind favour of giving away your beautiful jacket?"

"That depends. Would you like to suffer or die immediately?"

"I would rather die immediately."

"Why won't you, then? Otherwise you will suffer from the cold."

"I can take a little bit of suffer, young man. I've been in wars. I'm awfully old, but my wife died and my children abandoned me. I'm at the end, nowhere to go and nowhere to stay."

Matt smiled. "Life is cruel, isn't it? Giving death to people who don't want it, and letting people live who are desperate to die… Here, you'll have my jacket. Let's hope that you'll live and I'll see the sweet, sweet death soon." Without any more words the old man took the jacket and mumbled a million thank yous at the student. Matt couldn't help but chuckle when he realized how confused the man must have been at his words.

He inhaled the fresh, cold air and kept moving. Only now he remembered Gigi, who he left at Derek's party without further notice. His thoughts went back to Maurice, who was so very sweet to him. The way their bodies moved in that dark room, his laugh, his clumsiness – It all came back to Matt and he loved every second of it. It was exciting, daring, thrilling and gave him that spark of life he rarely experienced. Sometimes, and only sometimes, life would seem liveable. One day he would wish to die in an instant and other times he would like to hold on to that thread.

As he tip toed through the alleyway he always crosses in order to get to his apartment block, the redhead began to feel uneasy. He believed to hear a creature walking behind him, yet every time he turned his head, nothing was to be seen. All of a sudden he was grabbed at the wrist. Matt was pulled to the wall and got pinned down there. His opponent made it impossible for him to move an inch.

Not that Matt did protest though.

A smile crept up his thin lips as he felt the cold metal of a gun pressed against his forehead. Life was so ironic. Just three hours ago he had been shagging a pretty guy for the first time and actually wanted to live. That's when death decided to visit him. "Hi," he whispered to the strong person that held him down. Matt didn't lack physical strength, it's just that he refused to put up a fight. This was his ticket to Painville. Bloody, horrible, short.

His opponent stepped into the light with a confused twinkle in his eyes. For a moment Matt believed to be looking into the dazzling blue eyes of an angel. He gulped and kept the gaze for some time. The only sound between them was their fast breath. The fair-headed Angel before him seemed angry, his pupils diluted and grip still undeniably tight on Matt's wrist. Minus the gun, Matt was now in the same position as Maurice had been just hours ago: Pinned against a wall, his wrists held together above his head. The redhead almost wanted to kiss this person for fulfilling their dearest wish, but a drop dead sexy growl from his Angel held him back. Angel pressed his gun more to his forehead. He seemed to be waiting for a reaction from Matt. Any signs of fear, anxiety or uncertainty that any normal victim would show to their murderer, but Matt smiled like a dork instead.

"Tell me right now, why you're not fucking whining like a baby."

Sweet, sweet death! Here you finally are!

"Go ahead. Kill me. I beg you, kill me right now." Matt almost moaned. Now he noticed that his Angel wore nothing but tight brown leather. Tight brown leather all over his body gave Matt pictures he liked more than he probably should. His Angel was actually a Death Angel. Aforementioned Angel raised an eyebrow at the redhead. Blonde strands hid the eyebrow almost.

"What the fuck are you saying?" Irritation laced his voice, which was almost an octave deeper than Matt's own.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Matt actually laughed, "Kill me already. I don't know what you're waiting for."

"José! Plan K."

Just as Matt began to wonder what "Plan K" could have been, his Death Angel kicked him in the stomach. He winced a little but then grinned. It felt like dying, getting kicked in the gut over and over again. It felt like something. Something new, exciting, thrilling.

He soon felt his vision become dizzy and the world around him went completely black. His last thought was a hopeful sounding "Death Angel killed me."