Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not (Matt x Mello wooo) Chapter 2: I Bet That You Look Good On The Dance Fl, a death note fanfic

Stop making the eyes at me, I'll stop making my eyes at you/what it is that surprises me is that I don't really want you to/and your shoulders are frozen (as cold as the night)/oh, but you're an explosion (you're dynamite)/your name isn't real, but I don't care for sand and lighting/the fuse might result in a bang b-b-bang-go.

I bet that you look good on the dance floor/I don't know if you're looking for romance or/don't know what you're looking for/I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor/dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984, well, from 1984!

I wish you'd stop ignoring me because it's sending me to despair/without a sound yeah you're calling me and I don't think it's very fair/that your shoulders are frozen (as cold as the night)/oh, but you're an explosion (you're dynamite)/your name isn't real, but I don't care for sand and lighting/the fuse might result in a bang with a bang-go…

Oh, there ain't no love, no Montagues or Capulets/are just banging tunes and DJ sets and/dirty dance floors, and dreams of naughtiness!

Well, I bet that you look good on the dance floor/I don't know if you're looking for romance or/don't know what you're looking for/I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor/dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984/well, from 1984!

Wow. Damn, that guy was hot. Hot, cute and beautiful, all in one. Too bad he was on the other side of the club, not dancing, just drinking a beer and…eating a chocolate bar? Hm. You did get some odd types around Soho. Although, Matt had seen weirder. There was that guy in the pink, sparkly thong…and the dildo poking out of the back of his neck…block the memories, Matt, just block the memeories. Focus on the hot guy. Look. Long-ish blond hair, in between his shoulders and his chin. Clean cut, straight fringe. A girl's cut, but that only added to the feminine charm of him. And the leather clothes. Tight, shiny black leather. High heeled black leather boots. Bare arms and neck. That was sexy. Especially as you could see the muscles. Strong little boy. Angular face…high cheekbones, straight nose, slightly slanted eyes thick with guyliner (also sexy), thin pink lips pulled into a smirk…fuck. Dude, just get up there and dance already! I'm sure everyone else agrees with me, we need to see you dance. You're standing there with your shoulders fucking frozen, and you're making eye contact with me. I wish you'd stop. Well, I don't. If you're going to come over here, hurry the hell up.

So. My job to approach you, huh? Well, guess it makes sense. The hot guy stands and basks in the glory and humiliation as countless less hot guys ask you to dance. Well. Might as well give it a try, eh? I've dolled myself up. Skinny jeans, tight enough age old band shirt, boots and gloves and my best goggles. Not a crack in the lenses. And my hair was clean, too. Freshly dyed as well. Naturally, it was a mouse-ish/blond-ish colour…I'd tried going all the way blond, failed, same with brown. So I settled on red. Not ginger, red. Garnet coloured. It was a fright when the dye was coming out. So, desperately hoping I looked good enough, I walked over to you and asked you to dance.

"So, uh…would you, um, like to…dance?... Perhaps? No? Sorry…"

"Sorry? Why should you be sorry? And when did I say no? In fact, I'd very much like to dance. That's what the staring was for, idiot."
"Oh. Well. Then…let's dance?"

So we danced. We danced all night long, not caring about the music, or the other people around us. Dubstep switched to emo pop switched to rap switched to pop switched to goth switched to whatever, who cares. Countless couples left and arrived, but it was nothing but a blur to us. We just danced, and danced, and danced. And do you know what? I entered that club single, bored and full of energy. I left that club with a boyfriend, definitely not bored, and I'd used up my energy with all that dancing. What. A. Night.