#2 Red
Beside me, he coughs, clears his throat of smoke. The yellowish cigarette in his hand flickers and dies as he grinds it to death in the ashtray by his bedside.
"Mi bello." He purrs, putting on the very best spanish accent he can. He was born there, of course, but he was raised in England, his voice is no more exotic with accent than mine when he's speaking naturally. He just knows the words and is able to roll his 'R's in that certain way.
One of his little-known talents, being able to put on just about any accent requested.
He pushes himself onto his elbows and kisses my cheek. "Mi bello Mihael."
We must look like a couple of bohemian poets. Laying in bed like this, naked but for where the single thin sheet is tangled around our waists, him smoking those cheap cigs like a chimney. In a pathetically furnished room, only the bed and a single lamp, on his bedside table made from a couple of empty market crates.
Because I didn't inherit the house fortune that Near did. I'm providing for us on what little is let of the mafia funds and whatever the red-head beside me can bring in from hacking for hire. That irritating little scab, Near… I bet he's spending what he has on toys, we're just barely making it from one meal to the next.
We're better than this. Both of us, we were born geniuses; we should be in mansions with chocolate-bar shaped pools.
Last real big expenditure was his birthday present, I suppose. He was turning twenty and he'd always said he wanted a real sports car one-day. A red one, because they went faster, or so he said.
So on his birthday, I gave him a little package. And I know he would have been happy, or at least pretended to be, with any small token of affection. But the way his eyes lit up when he saw those car keys in that box…
If I never do anything else with my worthless life, I think did enough for him in that moment for him to love me forever.
I remember how he ran down to the parking lot like a little boy on christmas morning, how he stroked the lines of that car and whispered reverently that it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen…
No, the most beautiful thing, excluding me.
Because in his eyes, even with this hideous scar… even with this tortured soul and temper like a lion…
"Mi bello." He purrs once more. Then sighs and drops the accent. "Hey, earth to Mello. Come in Mello."
I turn and smile.
Even with all that, to him I'm the most beautiful thing in the world.