A/N: This will be the first chapter of what I hope to become a long, long story. So, I will ask of you, readers and co-authors to be patint. This is my first upload in a very long time (almost three years) and, althought I consider myself to be efficiently skilled in english, my grammar and vocabulary still suck. :P

This chapter serves as a prologue, so I think it quite necessary that you read it (since it will be the base of the story/plot) and, if possible, comment on it ^_^ (Also, the whole story is rated "M" for future chapters and language, adult themes and realistic adaptation. All of the above on a long-term. You won't find anything steamy in this chapter. I wanrend you!)

As always, I do not own Death Note, Matt or Mello.

"It all started with some coffee"

"What can I get you?"

"A Fredo Espresso. Sweet."

"Right away…"

The waitress turned her conspicuous glare from the man to the bartender. He nodded in acceptance and the waitress shrugged and let the man be.

While waiting for his order to arrive, said man preferred to silently scan the small place – so not to his liking it was almost unbearable – and the staff. He knew he had made rather an impression to the few customers reluctantly sipping their drinks, and the waitress seemed baffled, talking quietly to the rest of the employees.

Explaining that this man entering the cafeteria wasn't her fault, maybe?

He wasn't much of an attention seeker, our man silently sitting there, but attention he would get wherever he went. Rather handsome he was – for a guy- or maybe you'd mistaken him for a transvestite. He used to wear his hair long a few weeks back, while among people who could see behind his mask; people he used to call friends.

But now his friends were not there, people stared at his blond mane a tad too much to his liking. His new haircut allowed his straight strands to gracefully graze the nape of his neck, forming a protective barrier around the angry scar on the left side of his face; a trait he won while skating very close to a rusty staircase, a few years back.

When he was still home.

In real time, Mello (that was our man's name), former amateur skater, now a student of arts at the local Art University, lightly scratched the scar right under his eyelid, waiting for his coffee. He stretched his hands above his head, yawned soundlessly and the eased his plain black t-shirt over his tight black jeans. His troop-decorated belt matched his black all-star shoes, each one laced with a differently colored lace. Under the table, Mello crossed his legs and fell back on his tiny, uncomfortable chair.

"Your coffee." Said the waitress and left a tall glass on the table; it was sweating to due to the September heat which could not be avoided even with the mild air-conditioning.

"Thank you" Mello said and fished his wallet from his backpack that was conveniently hanging from the back of his chair. He handed the bill to the waitress, noticing her awkwardness. Smirking knowingly, he took some change fro his jean's pocket and left it on the table, next to her awaiting hand. "For you, miss."

The woman arched a brow at the money ('Maybe it's not enough' Mello thought) and collect it with her long, square nails, polished a bright red. 'Anything else I can do for you?" she asked again, slightly more polite this time, but still staring at his face. Her eyes fell on his scar, then on his icy cold azure eyes; they flew and landed accusingly on his high cheekbones and small nose, then on his thin but well-defined lips.

"No" Mello replied, feeling his irritation growing under her thoroughly investigational look. "And, please, stop staring. It's not polite." Her sudden blushing a bright crimson color gave him a secret joy.

Mumbling a few words, the waitress withdrew, and Mello stared at the coffee. Beads of water slowly run down the length of the glass… too slowly…

They looked like tears to him.

Mello knew his looks were, with no doubt, weird. Were he a woman, no one would give a damn, no one would spare a second glance. But being a guy and at the same time looking femininely good, not only raised a few eyebrows or turned more than just a few heads. It made him a living target for mass discrimination, automatic ostracize…

…and the object of desire for a series of unconventional individuals.

"Thank God I'm pretty." Mello murmured and retrieved a sketching pad off his backpack. He slipped an inker from his pocket and rolled to a blank page. Giving another glance around him, he sought for something, anything, to capture his attention; something to put his mind in this special, creative trance.

Finding nothing, he huffed and turned his eyes to the glass again.

"It seems it's just you and me, then."

…

"I so, so need some caffeine…" whined the brunette, and matt sighed in annoyance. "Can't you get me some?"

The bench was meant for three, maybe four people, but the girl had scooted so unbelievably close to him he could count the pores on her nose; and it wasn't the most satisfying sight .

The bright sunlight –so rare for the usual gloomy September weather of London – burnt the back of his neck as he bent forward to loosen his shoelaces. The clarity around him –so different from the dim-lit room in the dormitory- hurt the back of his mind. But it was ever so rarely dim-lit or quiet these days…

'Blame her for that.' Matt thought and got a glimpse of her snuggling into the tiniest of spare room between their bodies.

"Maaattt…." She dragged, and rubbed her face against his neck. "Coffee!" she demanded, and Matt asked himself for the umpteenth time that week why had he even agreed to be her fuckbuddy. Of course, she preferred to call it "an open relationship" but…

He sighed, imagining a small, dark cloud raining misfortune down on him. "Okay, okay…" said he and stood, stretching under the merciless sunlight. Right across the bench stood a small café; the kind you knew you'd have to pay in gold just to set foot inside. Yet matt pinted at the store with his chin. "I'll be there." said and marched forwards, thankful to have regained some of his personal space back.

He crossed the street and, right before entering the café, he glanced back at the seated figure. The girl waved and his stomach twisted. He breathed heavily and climbed the two small steps; the cool air embraced him and the smell of freshly-brewed coffee engulfed him.

…

"Jee, you guys sure have the most expensive coffee in town!"

The half-funny, half-annoyed comment rung and echoed inside the rosy painted walls of the store. The customers turned, surprised and scandalized.

Mello tore his eyes from his half-finished sketch of the glass and glared questioningly at the newcomer. He saw red, and it wasn't just a figure of speech. A red t-shirt with black stripes, under a brownish-red, messy haircut, full of edges and soft locks was all he could see over his sketch-pad. He lowered it and a thin, almost slender body supported by a pair of long legs clad in loose jeans greeted him. The man wore loosely tied army boots on his feet, worn out; they must have been black once upon a time.

"Sir" addressed the man the waitress, although she obviously had no respect for him "please step out. You're disturbing the customers." she stated, as politely as she could. A mixture of annoyance and worry created wrinkles on his, otherwise, youthful face.

"But I've ordered a cup of coffee!" the man protested. "I'm not a beggar, I'll pay for it!"

Mello saw the irritation growing stronger on the woman's face, the same waitress he tipped not too long ago. Te cashier and the bartender were giving the man spiteful glares as the argument continued on, their eyes aiming his face and, occasionally, his clothing and boots. It was apparent they degraded him.

Man and store were, indeed, oceans apart. The newcomer, from what Mello could see, was a far cry from the rest of the clientele, raising a low murmur of commentary.

"Dude, just…" the man waved at the coffee "look, I'm sorry for commenting on your prices, okay? Just let me pay and I'll go." He tried to smile and sound convincing, but Mello could see how badly he was shaking.

And then he felt annoyed. Hell, he himself was being judged for the way he looked, had denied entrance more than once for the way he dressed. The scene playing before his eyes was a scene on repeat for the past few weeks of his everyday life. Shaking his head lightly, he stood and shoved his sketchpad in his bag, throwing it over his shoulder.

He stepped closer to the arguing duo, now being the center of attention for the customers. "What's the fuss all about?" he asked, and two pairs of eyes fell on him; waitress and man, both flushed an angry, opened their mouths to explain.

"Is that enough to cover a take-away?" Mello turned at the waitress, handing a bill to her. She looked at him, speechless; throwing him poisoned darts with her eyes. "I thought so." Said Mello and grabbed the coffee. Turning to the man, he nodded towards the exit and, him in toe, paced away.

A few feet away from the store, while Mello's heart was still stomping from anger, the man dared talk. The pounding was so deafening, Mello almost missed the faint, breathy voice.

"Uh….Thank you.."

Mello stopped walking right before his foot touch the ground, and turned on his heels. With the corner of his eye, he could see the staff nodding, talking and commenting on the incident. It pissed him so much he wished he had a cigarette, although he loathed smoking. "Fuckers…" he snarled.

"Excuse me?!"

The surprised voice made Mello finally look at him; he was younger than he had previously thought, not a man at all. Maybe he was twenty, maybe a year older or two. Mello noted the many freckles thrown carelessly on his pale skin; surrounding his nose, on his arms, even on his neck. His eyes had grown the size of saucers, his pupils dilated, surrounded by his orbs; a fine shade of forest green, emerald and a tint of gold.

He also noticed a pair of goggles hanging around his neck. 'A strange attire if you don't live close to the coast' Mello thought, but pushed that thought to the back of his mind. "Mello" he said and offered the hand that was not holding the coffee.

"Matt. And I really hope you didn't just call me a fucker." The redhead replied and hesitantly took Mello's hand in his own. But he pulled it back quickly. Looking ashamed. "Sorry, my fingers are stained with charcoal."

Mello looked at his own hand and a tiny smirk crept up his face. A fine sheet of dust covered his palm. "You're an artist?" he asked, and matt stopped trying to wipe the charcoal from his hands.

"A trainee one." He mused "Actually, I'm an Art Student." And he took the coffee from Mello's hand, blinking it to his lips. He took a gulp and immediately shut his eyes and viciously bit down on the straw. "Yuck! I'm so sorry you had to pay for this! It's awful."

Mello laughed, trying to muffle it with his palm, and then coughed. "You really need coffee that bad?" Matt glared behind his back and sighed so heavily his whole chest heaved and fell.

"She does."

Mello looked across the road. A feminine figure was sitting on a bench, texting on her phone with vigor.

"I think she can wait for a while longer. Come on, I know a nice tea-house close by. They make really nice coffee." Mello smiled at his new friend baffled expression and how drastically it changed. The eagerness to go was so vivid it made his eyes shine. Together they took the nearest road to the main boulevard, and soon their ears were filled with the loud noise of moving cars and screaming pedestrians.

"So, Matt, you said you're an Art Student?" Mello asked a few moments later. He heard matt stumble on his feet, curse and then his red mop of hair appeared next to him.

"Yeah. First year." The quiet 'click' of a lighter followed a sharp smell of gas, and then a puff of gray-ish white smoke flew with the gentle breeze. Mello cringed his nose at the smell, but Matt's words made him smile.

"Then I think we'll be classmates. Colleagues. Call it as you wish, but there are not many Art Schools that I know off here in London." He turned his eyes to him, and they both nodded.

"Here we are." Mello said after a while. They had stopped out of a small building, a tiny teahouse. His windows were foggy, as if they'd never been cleaned up, and, barely visible through them, the old-fashioned chandelier created a feeling of old glory. "Don't judge it by its cover." Mello said when Matt's eyes fell on the glass and the frail woods supporting the roof.

"As if." Matt replied and stretched out a hand for Mello to shake. "Thank you for walking me here. Oh and…" he searched in his pocket and fished some change "That's for the coffee."

"nah, keep it. You need it more than I do" Mello said, regretting his joke the moment it fell from his lips. "I mean…I didn't mean t-"

No one means to, but they do. That's insulting, you know." Matt huffed and crossed his arms over his torso, glaring Mello so angrily the latter could feel the heat of the feeling scraping his skin. "I'm not that poor, I sure as hell can afford a coffee and" he gestured at his boots with a single finger "I know they look old, they are old, but I love them. Fucking Hell…" He stomped his foot on the pavement and greeted his teeth. "I don't look too fancy, but that's because I work my ass off."

Mello glared up at him and Matt x-raid him from head to toe. "I bet you haven't worked a day in your life and your parents pay for your studies." He spat, and Mello felt his cheeks flushing this time.

"Wrong all the way, actually." he said between clenched teeth and breathed heavily through his nose, trying to keep his head. 'My parents are dead."

Matt's body language immediately changed, his arms fell to his sides and a small, sad exhale parted his lips. "I'm… really sorry to hear that." He chewed on the end of his cigarette and stared at his feet "My mother passed away a month ago."

A pair of azure eyes fixed into forest green orbs, and a sad smile curved Mello's lips downwards. "I'm really sorry, Matt." he simply said, his voice giving his sadness away. He swallowed hard, wishing he had a cigarette too, although he hated the scent of smoke.

"No" Matt said, and the tip of his boot scraped the pavement as he took a step closer to the blond. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I said such horrible things." he made a noise in his chest, between a cough and a huff. "I am a fucker, after all."

They both smiled awkwardly and glared away from each other, then stared back at the old, wooden door with the metallic handle. The inviting dim light from the inside was too tempting.

"Say, how about I make it up to you?" Matt said, and then blushed. Damn had it sound like a date proposal! But Mello smiled a genuine smile this time, and nodded, tacking some locks behind his ear, uncovering the scar that covered almost half his face. Matt's eyes fell on it and widened.

"Wow. You need to tell me about this" he whistled, throwing his cigarette on the street next to him. He put his hand around the handle, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"What of your friend?"

The question brought him back to the sad reality of his life, his shared dormitory room. And then he glared at the hand on his shoulder.

"She can wait."

The happy jingle of a bell welcomed them as he pushed the door open; the sweet, rich aroma of tea embraced them as they entered the "Golden Cup"

I think you know what to do :)

Oh...for the residents of London and all foreign countires... I don't know if you serve Fredo Espresso or Fredo Cappuccino. In my country we do, but I felt I should explain how I'm not familliar with coffe in outher countires, so..yeah. O_O (I don't mean to offend you.)

Until my next chapter,

xxx

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