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Suggested Listening: "Tongue Tied" - Grouplove (lyrics in this chapter are from this song)

Feel It in My Bones

~Tongue Tied~

So, I ended up finding out the truth behind whether Mello goes commando.

… Indirectly! Not like – uh – that…

Let me explain.

I ended up getting to Mello's house right on time, which was a miracle in and of itself considering I have a penchant for being lazy. I had been worrying about what Mello had planned all day, so when it had come time to go, I was more than ready.

When I got there, Mello had still refused to tell me where we were going until we had made it upstairs to his room, away from his eavesdropping sisters. Once inside, Mello promptly threw a pair of leather pants at my head. I was in awe of my own ninja skillz when I actually managed to catch them.

"Put them on," was the command.

I blinked. "Can you at least tell me where we are going?"

He smiled and said, "Dancing," – as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Which leads me to how I ended up in the bathroom across the hallway, trying to stuff my supposedly skinny ass into a pair of leather pants that hugged all the wrong places (in my opinion; I like loose clothing that hides and conceals), secure in the knowledge that it was only logical that one would have to be going commando when wearing a death trap like these.

Because, seriously, as cool as my boxers with the one-up mushrooms on them are, they don't help the situation in any way.

"Matt," Mello called, rapping his knuckles on the door. "Are you okay in there?"

I gave another harsh tug, and wiggle as I might, the damn things didn't move an inch.

"Peachy keen, Mellybean," I called back in a sugary-sweet tone because I knew it would piss him off.

I could almost hear him twitch.

His voice was more strained as he asked, "Do you need any help?"

Instead of answering him, I tried again to pull them up, ended up stubbing my toe, and swore profusely.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I heard the doorknob start to turn and panicked. "No, don't!" I cried, my voice cracking embarrassingly on the last word.

Oh, God. You think you're done with voice cracks when you finish puberty – but no. They come back at the worst times to haunt you.

'Like when your best friend is forcing you to put on hooker pants in his bathroom.

Mello snickered.

Yeah, he definitely had heard that...

"Don't be a baby, Matt. I'm not going to look at your junk or anything; I'm just going to help you get the pants on."

I licked my lips nervously before calling back to him, "Fine."

The door creaked as it opened, and then there he was. He held my gaze in the mirror as he walked over to me, keeping his promise. I felt like he was approaching me like I was some sort of wounded animal or something – slowly, cautiously – but then again, I was the one with my pants around my ankles.

What a pathetic state I had gotten myself into.

"Okay. First off, you're going to have to take them off and remove your boxers," he instructed with an entirely straight face as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather.

I nodded, but didn't move.

"It's okay, Matt," he coaxed. "I said I wouldn't look and I meant it."

I swallowed and then slowly did as I was told. I could feel my face heating up, hear the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears, but I trusted him. Mello's eyes didn't stray from my face the entire time.

Then, they were both off and there was no turning back.

I looked up at the popcorn ceiling and heaved a sigh. "The rumours were true then, eh?"

"Which ones?" There was a weird note in his voice and my eyes flicked back down to him. I could have sworn I had seen panic in his eyes, but it was gone before I could be sure.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "The ones about your lack of underwear."

He chuckled and leaned against the counter. While he ran a hand through his hair, I started tugging the pants back on.

"Right," he said. "Those got started after that Halloween party in Junior year."

I squirmed and wriggled so much that Mello finally took pity on me and started helping me, laughing at my expense. Relieved, I took a break while he went at it, watching him in the mirror.

"That time you went dressed as Lady Gaga after you lost a bet with that Charlie kid?" I inquired.

I got a self-satisfied smirk in response and knew that I was right.

Charlie Garrigan had moved to our town from Australia at the start of that school year. He had been a source of gossip for our classmates not only because he talked a big game, but also because the girls had deemed him attractive. To be honest, I had found him hilarious with his mid-western accent (apparently he had only lived in Australia for a year) and his phony stories that made him out to be the next Crocodile Dundee. Mello had joined me in mocking him – that is, until the kid had joined the soccer team and started telling everyone that he was the team's greatest asset.

Then things had become personal.

Soccer was Mello's sport of choice, and he was fiercely competitive. At the time, he had been the team captain and the player that usually scored the most goals. When he had caught wind of what Charlie had been saying, he had approached him in the middle of the cafeteria and declared that Charlie wasn't capable of scoring a single goal.

And so the bet had been born.

Unfortunately for Mello, during the next game (against our rival high school, no less), he had been proven wrong; Charlie scored the first goal of the game. To Mello's credit, he didn't get mad, but rather did his best to score more goals than Charlie could. It's not like anyone in the stands had complained; we had gotten to watch an entertaining competition between the school's two best soccer players, and our rivals were obliterated in the process.

Once again, Mello surprised everyone when he upheld his end of the deal and showed up to Charlie's Halloween party dressed like a girl. What hadn't been a surprise, however, was when Mello had gotten totally smashed, and then got up on the coffee table with Halle and danced to "Milkshake" by Goodnight Nurse, effectively high-jacking the party.

Everyone had had a great time – except for me. Besides the fact that I had spent most of the night playing poker for Goldfish crackers in the basement with Near and Teru Mikami (some crazy guy that had a creepy, obsessive crush on Light, and probably tortured small animals in his spare time), it wasn't really that fun to come upstairs to find my best friend dancing suggestively on a table, earning cat-calls and wolf whistles from basically everyone in the crowd. I had been the one that had pulled Mello down off of the table, and then he had thrown up on my Link costume as thanks for my efforts.

I guess he'd kind of made up for it, though, when I'd walked him home – carrying his high heels in one hand with his arm slung around my shoulders, propping him up because there was no way that he could walk straight – because he'd said something that was so entirely unlike himself. Between muttering unintelligible nothings and belting out verses of "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen, he'd leaned in really close to my ear and whispered that I was his hero.

Then he'd promptly lurched and threw up into somebody's rose bushes.

To this day, Mello insists he doesn't remember that part.

"Suck your stomach in and stand up straight," Mello said, dragging me out of my thoughts and into the present.

Exhale. One last tug. And then...

Holy shit. They're on.

I did a little happy dance after zipping them up while Mello looked on with a smirk. Clearing my throat after I had stopped acting like an idiot, I composed myself once more.

"So why did the rumours start that night?"

Mello shrugged. "It was just a lucky guess that happened to be true. Apparently, it was started because someone said that they couldn't see any underwear when they had looked up my dress – but they were lying."

"Oh."

There are some depraved people out there...

Also, I found it alarming that Mello could be so blasé about such a thing.

I mentally shrugged it off; if he wasn't bothered by it, then that was his choice.

For the first time since Mello came into the bathroom, I got a look at what he was wearing (hey, I'd been a little distracted earlier for obvious reasons... Don't judge). He donned a black wife beater under a leather jacket that just reached the top of his thighs, and he was wearing a pair of ripped, dark-wash skinny jeans. Despite the fact that his pants looked almost painted on and therefore unthinkable that they should fall down, a studded belt was cinched through the loops. A silver chain hung around his neck, and I could have sworn that he was wearing eyeliner.

"Are you planning to sin tonight?" I asked jokingly, referring to the fact that his rosary was noticeably missing.

An enigmatic smile was the answer. "It might be in the cards."

Mello opened the door and retrieved something that had been hanging from the doorknob on the other side. For the second time that night, a piece of clothing came flying through the air at my face.

This time, my ninja skillz failed me, and I got a faceful of shirt.

"Put that on and then meet me back in my room," Mello tossed over his shoulder as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Two minutes and an epic struggle with buttons later (damn Mello and his taste in complicated clothing), I finally looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes widened behind my lenses. The person in the mirror certainly looked like me, but I was suspicious nonetheless.

There was something to be said for leather. I must admit that I actually felt pretty badass in it, and so I could understand why Mello felt so confident when he wore it all the time. At first, I had been a little confused by the choice of shirt (a black, button-down dress shirt), but seeing it as a complete package, it worked. I was naturally pale thanks to my Irish lineage, but the black clothing brought it out further. As for my hair, the contrast transformed it from a dark russet to a bright ginger.

I actually looked… pretty good.

However, how I looked did nothing to deplete my insecurity.

I was going to stick out like a sore thumb, I was sure of it. You might as well stick a kick-me sign on my back and toss me to the wolves. There was no way that I could live up to what the clothing advertised.

Mello was going to be embarrassed to be seen with me.

Swallowing back a wave of anxiety, I started frantically messing with my hair. Anything short of extreme-hold styling gel wasn't going to tame it, however, but I tried anyways. No matter what I did, my hair… well, my hair acted like how I usually wanted it to: to do absolutely nothing at all except keep my head warm. I couldn't expect anything different just out of the blue.

I couldn't expect to be anyone but the dorky redhead with the goggles.

Frustrated, I whipped off the offending object – in turn, mussing up my hair again – and tossed them in the direction of my discarded jeans. The world lost its darkened tint, and brown eyes met my own in the mirror.

I paused.

What am I doing?

I ran my hands through my hair, purposely returning it to its bedhead state. I tried on a smirk, tried to tap into the confidence that I knew I must have had somewhere in me. It didn't look quite right, but it was close enough.

I shrugged, gathered up my clothes, and went out to meet Mello.

Maybe I could try something different tonight.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I was initially nervous about walking through the house where anyone in Mello's family might see us and comment on our attire, but Mello did his best to placate me.

"Seriously, my mom doesn't care what I do as long as I don't injure someone, do something illegal, or stain the Persian rug. Don't worry so much."

Assuring people wasn't one of Mello's strong suits.

"I don't," I huffed as we stole out the front door.

He snickered. "You do, too. You're like a nervous, middle-aged woman."

I rolled my eyes at him. I found that said gesture was a lot more effective when my goggles were off and people could actually see it. "What does that make you?"

"Anything you want me to be, darling," he simpered and batted his eyelashes at me.

I seriously needed to stop taking the bait all the time; to Mello, those kinds of questions became ammunition.

I shoved him in retaliation and he cackled.

Just as I pulled out the keys to my mom's Nissan, the pounding of a bass could be heard as a car pulled up to the corner at the end of the block. I didn't think too much of it until I noticed the flash of anger in Mello's eyes. He held up a hand to signal me to wait, and then he walked over with a purposeful gait, his boots hitting heavy against the pavement. I threw my extra clothes in the trunk, shuffled my feet and twiddled my thumbs for a moment, before deciding that I might as well follow him over there.

The first thing I registered when I reached the car was that Miranda was climbing out of it – and she was wearing a very short skirt. The two siblings sized each other up for a moment, Miranda coldly defiant and Mello silently livid. I peered over at the driver and he met my eyes; his expression read apathy.

Well – this is going to be interesting.

Mello was the first to tear his eyes away. He pointed an accusatory finger at the driver. "You – out of the car."

"Yeah, yeah… Whatever, man," the guy grumbled, but he did as he was told regardless.

The guy came to stand beside Miranda with his hands in his pockets and his jeans riding low. He grinned at Mello as if to say are you happy now? – but Mello was already looking back at Miranda.

"What?" she demanded. "Are you going to tattle on me to Mom? Or are you planning on filling her role tonight?"

From my place on the sidelines, I lit up a cigarette and took a drag. I shoved a hand in my pocket and resolved to wait it out.

"How old is he?" Mello's tone was cool, but the fire in his eyes was unmistakeable. For all the bravado Miranda's "friend" was putting forward, I knew he'd noticed it too, and he was beginning to look less sure of himself.

"None of your business," Miranda snapped at about the same time the guy replied, "Seventeen."

The corners of Mello's lips twitched up into a smile. "Seventeen," he repeated.

The guy nodded.

Mello's hands slapped down with a bang on the car window on either side of the guy's head. The suddenness of it made Miranda gasp. The boy was now a stark shade of white.

I spared a glance back at the house; the porch light was blocked by the shrubbery, and I doubted that anyone could see us from the windows. Smoke curled up from the end of my cigarette, the embers shining like little, red beacons in the shadows. A wind came up and Miranda shivered.

'Serves her right for wearing so little in cold weather.

"If you come sniffing around my baby sister ever again," Mello growled, his voice intense and perhaps more intimidating for its lessened volume, "I will chop your dick off, run it through a blender, and then spoon-feed it back to you."

The guy nodded yet again, head bobbing frantically like one of those novelty bobble-head dolls.

Mello released him then, and the smile was back as if he'd just hugged him rather than getting up in his face and threatening his reproductive organ. "Have a great night, now."

The guy didn't have to be told twice; he got back in his car and made a speedy exit.

Miranda shook her head and scoffed. "I can't believe you." With that, she whipped around and stormed off towards the house.

Mello heaved a sigh, deflating with it as he reached up to rub at his temples. He looked so small at that moment. I placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Quicker than I could blink, he reached out and snatched my cigarette from between my lips. He crushed it beneath the toe of his boot, and then – without a glance in my direction – he started off towards the car. I blinked and looked down at the remains of my cigarette. No use in mourning; I followed him back, catching the tail end of his shadow as he passed under the streetlight.

I nudged him with my shoulder when I caught up to him. "Do you want to talk about it?" was the silent question.

He kept his gaze pointed forward. "No," was the non-verbal response.

We got into the car, and all was quiet for a moment when neither of us reached to put on our seatbelts. I considered making a comment about how it felt nice to be the driver for once instead of riding bitch on his motorcycle all the time – anything to make him smile – but I didn't. I pressed the brake down and turned the keys in the ignition.

As I moved to finally put on my seatbelt, the leather pants squeaked quite audibly – and suddenly a horrifying thought came to me.

I turned to him. "You've never worn these pants, have you?"

He looked at me for a moment as if I had two heads, obviously still stuck in his thoughts and caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. Then, a startled laugh bubbled up and he couldn't stop from grinning.

"You wish." The playfulness was back in every aspect of his expression and I silently cheered.

"'Just checking." I smiled with a great sense of satisfaction as I looked over my shoulder and started backing out of the driveway.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

It might be hard to believe, but even on a weekend, the number of cars on the road out of town was small. Or maybe it just appeared that way; there was a stretch of it as we came out of the foothills where all you could see at the very top were the city lights spilling over the brim. Where the earth meets the sky – or rather, the asphalt.

I'll leave it to Mello to come up with the poetic sayings; I could barely keep my eyes open during English class.

Speaking of the blond, he had his feet up on the dash and his head lolled to the side, watching the nightscape speed past. I could see the reflection of his eyes in the glass, and he must have noticed me looking in his direction, because he smiled. I bit my lip and grinned, turning my eyes back to the road.

Maybe five minutes later, I heard the crinkling of tinfoil and a resolute snap. A quick glance confirmed that Mello had gotten bored with staring out the window and had produced a chocolate bar (my theory is that he has at least five of them hidden on his person at all times – but I'm not prepared to do anything to prove I'm right, either). Once again, he caught me looking – as if he had a frickin' radar for it – and what he thought was a logical response was to waggle his eyebrows at me and then lick slowly across the top of the piece he had just bitten a chunk out of.

I cleared my throat and once again became very involved in watching where we were going.

We had just cleared the hills and gotten onto the flat stretch when he turned the radio on. I chuckled as he left it on the Top 40's for a moment, made a gagging sound, and then turned the dial. He flipped through a few commercials, lifted an eyebrow at the psychedelic music station he stumbled across, and was about to turn it off when he finally found a good station with a clear signal.

An energetic bass line came through the speakers, and he immediately reached to crank the volume up.

"Matt!" For some reason, he found it necessary to smack my arm even though I was already paying attention. "I love this song!"

"Take me to your best friend's house… Going 'round this roundabout, oh yeah…" the singer belted out, and as the verse went on, I heard Mello jump in.

"Come on, Matt!" he yelled over the music. "Join me!"

"I don't know the words!"

He broke out into a wide grin. "It doesn't matter."

So, I ended up humming along while Mello swayed to the beat and rivalled the singer for volume. Eventually, I got louder and louder still. Halfway through, I was just as loud as Mello. When it got to the bridge, we were both trying to make each other laugh by mocking the female singer and improvising lines. We were laughing too hard after that to sing anymore except for half-hearted attempts during the last chorus.

"That was… interesting," Mello said after composing himself, the occasional chuckle still coming through.

I beamed. "We kicked that song's ass."

"Sure…" he snickered. "Don't quit your day job, Matty."

I laughed and gave him a playful shove.

Neither of us was going to get a record deal, but hey – we at least knew how to have fun.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Mello directed me to drive to a club that was near the downtown core, so I had to circle the block a few times to find a good parking spot. As soon as I put the car in park, Mello was jumping out. I retrieved the keys from the ignition and stepped out into the cold night air. At first I was a little disoriented by the number of people that were still out and about (granted, they looked a lot different than most people you would see out during the daytime), but I quickly located Mello who had stopped to look back at me. He beckoned me to follow him before melting in with the crowd.

The general flow of foot-traffic went from bar to bar, so it was hard to miss the intended destination. I caught up to Mello as he hitched onto the end of the line. Twenty minutes passed before I decided to smoke to curb my boredom. Mello shot me a look and I stuck my tongue out at him.

'Like I was the only one in line smoking…

I released the smoke from my lungs, careful to not exhale in Mello's general direction so as to avoid his wrath. "So why clubbing?"

Mello wrinkled his nose at the smell despite my efforts before shrugging. "'Thought it might be fun. Halle's been here once with a few of her friends and she recommended it."

I snorted, but smiled nonetheless.

If Halle recommended it, I wasn't quite sure what to think of it.

The wait ended up being a lot longer than necessary because of a group of guys in front of us deciding to argue with the bouncer when they were barred from getting in. They eventually left, yelling slurred swears as they went, but the damage was done. The bouncer set his eyes on me, the scrawny ginger next in line, and looked like he would enjoy making me cry.

Imagine my surprise then, when Mello tipped his head back and laughed as if I'd just said something particularly hilarious.

"Oh, Matt, you're so funny!" I blinked at the higher register of his voice, and his eyes flashed a warning at me.

I recognized the look from all the times that we'd been caught by an authority figure in the middle of pulling off a prank. It said: "Shut up and let me do the talking."

I think Mello keeps me around half of the time for the sole reason that I listen to most of his orders without question.

He flipped his hair over his shoulder, and then turned his baby blues on the bouncer, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. The upturning of his lips was disturbingly flirtatious. I'd already caught onto his ruse, of course, but that didn't mean I wasn't made uncomfortable by the ease with which he carried it out.

The bouncer obviously didn't notice anything amiss because he eagerly ushered us inside. Mello slipped a twenty into the guy's pants pocket, and I pressed my lips into a firm line to keep from saying anything. Only when we were out of earshot did I lean over to speak into his ear, trying to be heard over the bass.

"No wonder people mistake you for a girl all the time."

He dug an elbow into my ribs and barked, "Shut up."

"Okay, okay," I relented.

Yeah, I am totally going to tease him about that for the rest of the week.

Mello stomped off into the crowd, leaving me to fend for myself. I gravitated towards the bar and chose a seat near the end, away from the horde of people vying for the bartenders' attentions with their credit cards and cash waving in the air over their heads. I took in my surroundings with a reserved curiosity, reaching the verdict that I would have been better off to have brought my goggles along as the lights were already hurting my eyes. Also, my ears would probably be buzzing for the entirety of the next day.

Over all, the experience wasn't too bad so far.

I stayed at the bar through the next few songs, tapping my foot along to the beat. A girl had approached me at one point, asking if she could sit beside me and I said yes – because really, why did she have to ask? It's not like there was a law against it. She tried to strike up a conversation with me, but my attention kept drifting to the dance floor where I was looking out for any signs of Mello, and so she eventually gave up on me and walked away.

Speaking of Mello, he came up to the bar to get a drink once, but spent the rest of the time dancing. I caught only glimpses of him in the crowd; he was dancing with this person, or dancing with that person, and sometimes just dancing by himself. He was in his element – untouchable, unreachable.

I was working up the courage to go and join him, but I hadn't found it yet.

"All dressed up with nowhere to go, hey, sweetie?"

I turned my head to see that the brunette bartender was leaning across the bar in front of me, head propped up in her hands. I smiled weakly at her. "I guess you could say that."

She grinned and regarded me in a way that someone would a puppy. Great. I'm "puppy" cute, am I? "What can I get you?"

"Coke, I guess." I passed her a five-dollar bill. Then, I provided as way of explanation, "'Got stuck as the designated driver."

She laughed. "That blows. I'll be right back."

Not more than a minute later, my drink came sliding across the bar to me and I caught it before it slid over the edge.

"Good catch," she said as she walked back over. She returned to her occupation of leaning against the counter and looking at me expectantly. I was of the mind to remind her that she had other customers to serve, but thought better of it. Instead, I pointedly turned around and went back to crowd-watching.

"So, are you just going to sit at the bar all night? I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't mind. It's just… you look kind of lonely."

I grunted, but didn't say anything.

Suddenly, I caught sight of Mello in the crowd and straightened in my seat. His chain reflected the lights as he moved with the music, as sinuous and fluid as smoke. He ran his hands through his hair and rolled his hips, eyes closed to the world. He wasn't dancing with anyone at that moment, but I could tell from the looks that he was getting that he wasn't short on options.

I felt my mouth go dry and I took a big swig of my drink.

"Is that your girlfriend? I saw you guys come in here together." The amusement in the bartender's tone was plain as day.

Startled, I threw a hasty no over my shoulder.

I didn't bother to correct her over the matter of the gender; my response was still true.

Her expression was one of sympathy. "But you want her to be, right? Poor thing… The Friend Zone is a bitch."

Just then, Mello's eyes slid open and his gaze met mine. In that moment, he looked more than ever like the cat who had caught the canary. He didn't walk over, but he did crook a finger at me.

Oh. Oh, shit.

The bartender clapped her hands with glee. "'Looks like that's about to change!" She shooed me off with a, "Go get 'er, tiger!"

I took another big drink, praying that somehow even caffeine would lend me courage at that moment. I slammed it back on the bar, hopped off of the stool, and started weaving my way through the crowd to the dance floor. Mello was making his way towards me as well, and he met me halfway.

We stood facing each other for a moment, neither of us saying anything.

Never mind the fact that I'd known him since Kindergarten, that I knew things about him that his parents didn't, that I'd trust him with anything – right now I was facing him as a stranger. I was facing him as a new person, the person that I was beginning to recognize since the start of the summer.

Who was I kidding? Even before then.

I couldn't think of Mello as just my childhood friend anymore.

There were tonnes of things I could say, but instead I started off with a lame, "Hi."

Mello grinned, a big, genuine thing that lit up his face and reached his eyes.

I guess sometimes hi is as good as anything else.