The insistent electronic beeping of his alarm startled Mail Jeevas from his previously deep slumber. He slowly ran freckled fingers over his face as he tried to adjust to the blinding rays of sunshine invading his townhouse window. Sitting up and glancing out at the hectic city through his curtains he felt very small and insignificant. His apartment was modestly furnished but very cozy, and the dark covers were beckoning for him to ignore responsibility in exchange for a day of video games. However, logic told him that he needed to get to work so he reluctantly headed to the bathroom.

As he glanced at himself in the mirror he couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the stark protrusion of his rib bones. He felt a slight pang of loneliness and tried to swallow it. Since he lived alone he typically purchased takeout or skipped meals altogether, and his overly introverted personality made him more trusting of electronics than people. Sometimes he felt like he was missing something, like a person who couldn't see color or a puzzle without several critical pieces. He secretly fantasized about someone or something blowing his mind into millions of pieces and putting it right back together again. But his real life was plain, he was alone, and he was late for work again.

Several hours later, Mail peered out from his gray cubicle. The previously sunny sky had turned ominously cloudy and the office seemed to be overcast. Boring chatter drifted through the air and he found himself anxious to leave early. He could hear the rhythmic clicking of fingers hitting keyboards, the churning of bubbles in the water cooler, and the depressed sighs of other computer scientists. Mail stretched, unbuttoned the top button of his white collared shirt, and propped his feet up on his desk. Again, he gave into his daydreams and began to imagine intriguing adventures. The drab office melted away to vivid fictional scenes. He saw himself dressed in camouflage, traveling through a lush jungle with only a silver machete in hand. He envisioned himself flying a militia helicopter over a battlefield to rescue gorily injured troops. He felt himself plunging to the depths of the Pacific Ocean in a compact glass submarine to scavenge for lost treasures.

"Ma…il…Mail…Mail!"

Mail jumped at the pitchy female voice that he was all too familiar with. It was his boss, Halle. As he quickly slipped his loafers off of his desk he found himself face to face with slick blonde hair, ample cleavage, and sharp stilettos. Halle was eye-catching, but he wasn't attracted to her. She'd made her interest quite evident several times after a few drinks and he had always responded awkwardly. He remembered the red lipstick heat of a kiss she'd given him at an office party and tried to settle the flush on his face as he made eye contact with her. "Yes Halle?" Mail hated his voice; it always cracked and shuddered like raw glass when he was nervous. She gave his unbuttoned shirt a suppressed look of hunger then brought her sharp gave back to his eyes. "I need you to take another project. The one located within the inner city?" Halle's golden eyebrows arched in a very unpleasant manner. Mail felt his stomach drop more than a few stories to the bottom of the building. He would never dream of setting foot in such a tedious, crime ridden location.

"M-me?"

"Yes, you."

"But…I…I'm…"

"You're the most technically competent programmer we have and this is a vital assignment. I know the location isn't ideal, but I need you to do this for the company…unless you don't value your job?"

"No, I mean yes, I do value my…"

"Excellent. I'm glad that's settled. You can relocate your belongings to the apartment that the company has purchased for you tonight. Let me know if you need any assistance. Your temporary supervisor is named Nate Rivers."

She assertively stood over Mail, being sure to expose her supple curves and allow her heady perfume to settle on his clothes. She stroked his tomato hued cheeks with a manicured fingernail and handed him a thick Manila envelope.

"Here is all of the information you'll need. Do not disappoint me."

She winked at him, the soft corners of her eyes softening for a bit, and then she walked briskly away.

Once she was far enough away, Mail reached into his pocket and clasped his metal lighter with white knuckles. He shuffled to the exit door, averting the smug glances of his coworkers and trying his best to quash humiliating tears of frustration. He desperately needed a smoke.

Moist, twinkling snow flurries drowned the city in white sparkles. Mail struggled to make his way up a very steep flight of metal stairs to his temporary home at an extended stay motel. His duffel bag smacked him repeatedly in the hip and his glasses were clouded with ice. He honestly couldn't believe this was happening to him. His parched throat was aching and his limbs were cramped from driving his beat up van hours in the snow. Mail knew that Halle resented him for rejecting her advances, but this was too far. Everyone was aware of what a pushover he was and his docile demeanor was the only reason he'd gotten this assignment. Mail wondered how exactly being a kind person had caused him so much misfortune.

He opened the upstairs door that led into the hallway and surveyed the top of the staircase with dismay. Trash, used condoms, and dirty clothing littered nearly every step of the walkway. As he searched for his room (254) he could hear a tormented infants crying, broken radiators growling, and piercing gun shots in the distance. Moving down the hallway he could see that carpet was a shabby oriental pattern and the cream plaster walls were coated in explicit graffiti. There were only two small, dusty windows to let in the melancholy twilight.

As he averted the eyes of two very large quarreling men, Mail realized that being unnoticed and passive wasn't such a bad thing. When he reached the end of the hallway, his eyes finally locked onto his soon to be home. Room 254 was tucked into the corner with faded gold lettering and a small brown welcome mat. Mail jammed the creaky key into the keyhole and propelled himself into the small studio; locking the door behind him. He put down his duffel bag with a pathetic thump and slumped to his knees by the door. Fishing out a bottle of whisky; let the acrid fluid slip down his throat. He tried very hard to stop shaking. As he listened to the sound of the heavy snow outside intermingling with the agitated echoes of his neighbors, he finally gave himself permission to cry.

A faint knocking caused Mail to nearly slip off the tattered couch that he'd drunkenly fallen asleep on. His heart raced so loudly that he could barely hear himself breathe. Who could be at the door at such an hour? Was this some sort of a mugging? There was no way he could answer it…it wasn't like he could defend himself. With his thin arms, nimble fingers and gangly frame he was no match for some burly mobster or shady criminal. Besides, he wasn't emotionally capable of hurting anyone or anything. The faint, insistent knocks continued. Mail took the last swig of his whiskey and peered through his peephole. A shriveled elderly woman was anxiously hunched outside of his door. Matt's moral heart kicked into overdrive, and he could not refuse. He unlocked the door, letting in the blue twilight and the stranger.

"Ah, thank goodness." The woman's voice croaked; she sounded relieved and apprehensive. Matt gently grasped her arm and brought her into the small entrance way of the apartment. Her eyes were pools of silver and the dimples in her wrinkled face were kind. Matt figured she was a resident in the apartment; besides, she didn't look very much like a gangster. He exhaled a bit and waited for her to speak. Her skin flushed from white to red as she calmed down, but she remained silent with shock. About a minute passed, then he attempted conversation.

"Um hello…how can I help you? I-I mean is everything alright?"

The lady's eyes nervously shifted to the side. "Well you see, I've been knocking on everyone's door but no one has answered…" She paused to take a breath.

"There is a young person out there…in the cold I mean…they're outside my window. I heard a struggle and some gunshots…the snow turned red. Please…if you could…"

Mail could feel his legs going wobbly. He was so not the individual for this task. He was terrified of guns, terrified of people, terrified of life. But something in the old lady's eyes was a plea to the core of his moral conscious and he instinctively knew that he was needed. All his life he'd craved adventure and he supposed that now was possibly his chance to experience it. He had nothing to lose.

"Okay, show me."

The woman slid her gnarly hand into his and they swiftly moved down the flights of stairs to the bottom of the complex. Mail could hear the wind howling before they reached the outdoors, and he was greeted with an onslaught of crystal snowflakes upon exiting the building. He was grateful that he hadn't changed out of his simple tweed coat and khaki pants. The woman's red scarf blew frantically in the wind as she moved to a shaded corner underneath a window.

Mail saw the figure almost immediately. A lean body was slumped painfully against the wall. Lengthy trails of streaked crimson crudely tainted the silvery snow and Mail heard the old woman's soft gasp. Mail squeezed her shoulder to halt her in her tracks and he timidly moved forward. The whole situation felt surreal, like a scenario from one of his novels or video games. Crouching down, he carefully tilted the bloodied chin up so he could see the battered stranger's face. Mail held back an astonished gasp of his own.

Despite their gory condition, it was evident that the victim was beautiful. Soft corn silk locks framed an angelically angled face. Frantic, shallow breaths feathered in and out of full lips. Deep black bruises soiled large eyelids and a flawless jaw sat at an angle that indicated a brutal break. He wondered what their voice sounded like, what their favorite food was, the color of their eyes…were they as piercing a blue as he imagined?

But…this was certainly not the time or place. Mail reached out hesitantly to examine the stranger's body, which he felt was a bit too muscular to belong to a female. There seemed to be countless fractures, tears, and contusions. The stranger was dressed all in black, with a heavy fur jacket and combat boots. His elegant hands were coated in leather gloves. An embellished silver gun lay next to him but it was visibly unloaded. Copper bullets were eerily nestled in the icy ground. Mail was certain that something illegal had taken place and that a hospital was not necessarily the best option.

In this part of town, patients could wait hours for assistance and end up bleeding to death in the waiting room. He wasn't going to let that happen to this man. For some reason, he felt fiercely protective of this stranger and his previous anxiety evaporated like hot steam. He steadily met the worried eyes of the elderly woman. She clutched her rosy scarf apprehensively.

"Please get some blankets, alcohol, and hot water. We have to get him out of the snow."

Sometime later, Mail sat in disbelief on his ragged futon with a golden head cradled in his lap. With the careful hands of his neighbor and lots of rubbing alcohol, the worst of the stranger's ailments had been stabilized. Now he was swaddled like an infant in blankets and gauze. His inhalation pattern was a bit more even, but his red wounds stood out angrily against his pallid skin. Mail had carefully folded his clothes and placed his unloaded gun on the counter. The man's body bulged with lean, tanned muscle and he had a large inverted cross tattooed under his ribcage. Something told Mail that the stranger wasn't used to being vulnerable.

Despite the muscle mass, the man looked fragile, like a lion trapped in an iron cage. Even unconscious, the raw energy that pulsed from his body captivated Mail. Everyone in his life seemed dull, but this person appeared in living color. Mail had never been around anyone so beautiful, male or female. He was positively spellbound.

Barely aware of his actions, he brought his face intimately closer to the man's. The blond let out a soft, wistful sigh. His eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. Mail softly traced the line of the stranger's broken jaw with his finger. He slid his pampered, soft hand into the stranger's roughly calloused one. The fingers unconsciously twitched and clasped towards the heat of his touch. Mail experienced an inexplicable thrumming deep within his chest. What was this feeling? His ears buzzed and his mouth was dry. He felt like a pink cloud of passion was muddling his senses, his emotions, his brain…

As if in a trance Mail leaned down and pressed his lips to the stranger's in a momentary, virginal peck. The irrepressible heat from his kiss seemed to melt the blond's frigid mouth and it softened instantly. Warmth spread through Mail's veins and softened his heart; he'd never felt such intimacy in his life. Holding someone else, caring for another, exchanging body heat; these things had always seemed so unobtainable to him. His life was destined to be boring, or so he thought. Mail was positive that he would always be alone, but perhaps this was not the case. This enigmatic man had somehow managed to light his small ember of existence into a sparkling, multihued firecracker.

A characteristic blush instantly fueled the veins in Mail's face. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened. In fact, he wasn't sure he was ready to acknowledge the overwhelming sensual overload he was feeling or the questionable act he'd just committed…with a complete stranger no less. For the first time, he was relieved that the man was unconscious. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes closed as he tried to calm the tornado of warmth that threatened to overwhelm his body and heart. Gradually recovering, Mail sluggishly opened his eyes after a moment.

He froze with a harsh inhale, and felt his blood instantly run cold. Icy shards of blue glimmered up at him. The lips he'd just touched with his own were pursed in an unreadable smirk. The body below his thrummed with rage and tension. The man had awakened.