Archive of Our Own

At five years old, Mello begins ballet lessons after weeks of begging, dozens of fights, and eventually, acceptance that he wasn’t going to drop it. All it had taken was the baby sitter showing him a photo album full of her dance performances—full skirts, sparkling leotards, and pointed toes holding up beautiful figures.

The young boy was absolutely hooked. He, for the time being wanted to be “just like Halle.”

Unlike Halle, Mello takes an immediate, abhorrent attitude towards the tutu, and throws it as far away from him as his small arms can manage.

It takes his mother, his father, even some of the other children trying to coax him back into it with various methods, whether it be threats, bribes, rewards, even an extra half an hour to stay up, for the instructor to step in.

“He’ll just have to do without it,” the instructor finally decides, and leads Mello, gleeful, jumping up and down with boundless energy, to the practice room.

His father whispers to his mother that it’s just a phase. Boys are boys, and this isn’t the type of thing he’ll want to do forever.

It doesn’t help that Mello’s not very good when he starts. But after all, he’s five, and most five year olds have barely accomplished survival, never mind ballet.

When he’s nine years old, he starts practicing in his room after he’s supposed to have gone to bed. Whenever he can, he practices standing on his toes, spinning, stretching, anything he can to make himself better.

At twelve, those words have stopped falling from his father’s lips. Mello’s on stage, bowing after what was undoubtedly a beautiful performance, hair tied into a tight bun and glitter all over his skin. 

Even he had to admit, the kid’s fucking good.

Fifteen, and Mello’s helping instruct younger students on the side, spending every waking moment in the practice rooms.

When the dance studio closes, Mello’s absolutely devastated.

His father empties the guest room, drills a couple of mirrors on the wall, and puts up a makeshift bar. He keeps it boarded up until Mello’s birthday, smiling with his mother when Mello’s jaw drops, eyes blown wide at the sight in front of him.

Ballet turns to street dancing turns back to ballet.

Eventually, a mix of the two.

Mello stretches on the bar nailed to the side of the wall, staring at himself in the mirror. His face is thin, nose sharp, hips narrow.

He cracks his neck.

He could be thinner. His stomach pushes out ever so slightly against his practice top, and he’s hyper focused on it. Has been from the moment he walked into the room.

His instructor told him an hour ago to head home before he overexerts himself, but he’s overly critical, and two hours isn’t going to cut it for where he wants to be.

He moves across the dance floor, spins, and stops to face the mirror once again.

To dance is to become another being. To dance is to become perfection.

Mello shuts his eyes, twirls, and moves into a jump, landing with a stumble.

He swears, bites his lip, and tries again.
~~

Mello’s got his fingers laced with this pretty brunette’s, leading him through the halls of his house to the guest room. “This’s my favorite room,” he says proudly, swinging the door open to show the boy.

He thinks he loves him.

He’s only sixteen.

“What’s the big deal? It’s empty,” this boy says, clearly unimpressed. Mello smiles anyway, and presses a kiss to his lips.

“I do a lot of ballet. I practice in here every day.”

“Ballet?”

Mello feels his heart sink, and he has no clue what to do. He holds this boy’s hand tighter, and the brunette responds by backing him against the wall. “Yeah. I’ve done it since I was five.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

The brunette hums and kisses Mello with too much tongue, but he’s young, he’s not really sure how this sort of stuff works, so he assumes it’s because this boy likes him.

“You’re not the type of guy that’ll want to wear a dress when we fuck, right?”

“Huh?” Mello narrows his eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Mm.” He’s leaning in to kiss him again, but Mello’s stomach is twisting, and his chest aches, telling him to get out.

The door to the practice room swings back open, clattering against the back wall, and Mello’s jerking back while this boy’s jumping back as fast as he can, shoving his hands in his pocket, doing whatever the fucking hell he can to turn the situation less compromising.

Mello’s never seen his father more angry.

He’s demanding softly, dangerously, for him to get out.

And Mello thinks that his father’s talking to him, until he’s stomping across the room to the brunette, who’s scrambling back, yelling that it was just a joke, he didn’t mean it, shit, he didn’t mean it, he’ll leave, he’ll leave, it’s fine, sorry, sorry,  sorry.

Mello can drive.

This kid failed his license test.

It’s an unbearable half an hour that the three of them wait, seated silently at the kitchen table while he waits for his mother to pick him up, and before the front door’s even shut, Mello’s sobbing, eyes red, stinging, apologizing for god only knows what, he’s not even sure.

He feels disgusting.

Mello’s apologizing, saying he’ll do better that he’s not.

Not what?

Gay?

That’s a fucking joke if he’s ever heard one.

Finally, his father’s had enough, and he slams a hand down on the table. “You will never bring a jackass like that into our house again.”

“What?” Mello sputters through tears, wiping at his face too harshly, spreading salt water over his flushed skin.

“If someone’s talking to you like that, punch their fucking lights out, Mihael.”

“I’m sorry,” Mello forces out through sniffles, through trying to wipe his face off and pull himself even the least bit together.

His father squeezes his shoulder, far from rough, and gives him a gentle shake. “Mihael, I’m not upset with you.”

“But I’m gay!” Mello wails, and he doesn’t know where that’s coming from, why he’s even saying it, because all it's going to do is make the situation worse, make tempers fly higher, and conflict harder to step back from.

His father doesn’t say anything. He wraps an arm around the blond in an awkward attempt at a hug, and it’s hardly comforting, but Mello’s leaning into it, sobbing, grabbing at the back of his father’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs out over and over again, and his dad’s shaking his head, telling him it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s fine, it’s really going to be okay.

Really, it’s going to be okay.
~~

Matt’s a normal guy. That’s the only way anyone can describe him. Anything special? Not particularly.
He plays the guitar, and sometimes he likes to skateboard.

A ton of other guys at his school do, too.

Well, it’s faster than walking, at least.

He’s smart, but he’s lazy as all hell, and it shows in his grades. A couple of teachers have even gone as far as to writing that he’d be best going for performance in college if he wants any hope of a decent job.

Matt doesn’t disagree.

His voice is raspy, low, drawn out like he doesn’t even have the energy to talk properly. He’s not really sure how his girlfriend, Linda, can put up with it, because his own parents barely can.

After school, he smokes in the woods and plucks sleepily at the strings of his guitar, writing songs that don’t make sense and playing chords that don’t go together.

But Linda, tells him he’s really fuckin’ good when he actually tries.

Well, yeah.

He’s good at most things when he actually tries.

~~

One day, Matt decides he hates himself. It’s a sobering realization, and he sits in his room, guitar on his bed, and marks up his arms in red.

It’s not a big deal. It hurts (that’s the point, isn’t it?) and he washes himself off in the bathroom sink before his parents get home.

Why?

He doesn’t really have an answer.

It’s okay.

Not a big deal.

He picks at his scabs until they scar over, then redecorates himself all over again. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. Songs become more disjointed, darker, more bizarre, and Linda tells him to maybe lighten it up a bit, if he doesn’t want anyone to worry.

~~

Mello loves competition, so when it comes time to apply for colleges, he’s all in on it. He’s got auditions set up months in advanced, and with his hair tied into a tight bun, he spends every day in that practice room until his feet are aching, and even past that, he continues.

His mother tells him there’s no way he won’t get in. It’s one of the best schools in the country, just paired up with a performing arts school across the street. He was second place at nationals, and would have even been first if he had practiced like this before, so why wouldn’t they accept him?

But it isn’t just about getting in.
It’s about being the best.

He’s admitted to his first choice with half of his tuition completely paid for. He’s thrilled, because scholarships are so rare there.

He’s thrilled because that means he’s actually good.

~~

Matt barely scrapes by, no merit scholarships and at the bottom of the barrel for financial aid.

But hey, he got in.

It’s going to be a bitch, paying off those loans, but at least his friends have an apartment by campus he can move into. It’s not pretty, but it’s cheap and that’s all he really cares about.

When he starts classes, Linda is long gone, all the way off to UCLA. She’s not exactly sure what she wants to study, but she’s absolutely positive that she needs to get off the east coast.

Matt’s crushed for a couple of weeks, but he figures hey, it doesn’t matter. It’s fine, he’ll meet someone in college. No one like Linda ever again, but someone, surely.

“You up for tonight? Heard there’s a party across town,” Near says from the couch while Matt’s pulling on a sweater in the other room.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He’s between a guy’s legs at the end of the night, and by morning, he’s in someone else’s bed.

Surely, not someone like Linda.

He’s sore, and he’s got one hell of a mark on his throat, but he doesn’t mind it. If anything, it’s exhilarating.

~~

Mello learns quickly that the perception of ballerinas in the public eye are much different than reality. Yeah, he practices almost every day, but when there’s a party, he likes to party.

Anything with music, anywhere he can move, that’s where he likes to be.

He ends up with his new friend, L, at a basement show in the bowels of the city. Dressed in a thin, jersey turtleneck and black skinny jeans, he feels tall, lanky, and out of place.

Three beers later, the panic’s quelled itself.

Someone’s bumping into him, and Mello has half a mind to push them out of the way, but his head’s swimming, and a boy’s looking at him, eyes wide, jaw dropped, mouth trying to move into a smile.

“Oh, shit.”

Mello’s not really sure what this boy’s cursing over, and honestly not really sure if he even cares. Instead, he’s leaning forward, kissing that open mouth with way too much tongue, and hands are in his hair, pulling him in, trapping him in warmth and clothes that smell like smoke.

~~

In an apartment he doesn’t remember getting to, that boy with sparkling emerald eyes pushes a pill onto his tongue.

Mello doesn’t care. He swallows, and this boy…Matt? Matt, yeah. Maybe. Matt’s got their lips together, lips against the blond’s neck, then his collarbone.

He’s tripping hard.

He lets Matt fuck him on a bed that smells like cigarettes, face pushed into the mattress and a hand pressing down the small of his back.

“What, babe?” he drawls out, pulling out just far enough to thrust back into Mello with the loud smack of flesh against flesh.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, hey, I can’t—“

“Feels good, right?” Matt’s gasping over his back, free hand moving to scratch at Mello’s chest. “It’s my favorite, getting fucked like that.”

Matt hits inside of him just right, and he’s sobbing out moans, fingers curling into the sheets. His cock’s throbbing, caught between his torso and the sheets, the friction sending tingling jolts through his gut. “Matt.”

“Fuck, my name sounds real good coming from your mouth.”

This boy’s filthy.

Mello adores it.

It’s hot. It’s hot. It’s really fucking hot.

Matt’s cock twitches inside of him, and he’s shivering, bucking his hips against the mattress. He comes with a sob, Matt’s hand pushing his back down, the other tugging his hair so hard that his neck’s forced up, throat bobbing as he tries to swallow.

Matt thinks he’s ethereal. He keeps fucking him, eyes locked on half lidded eyes and an open mouth that lets soft, tired moans slip between them. He flips Mello over, coming with his lips against the blond’s throat, teeth biting at heated skin.

“Good?” he gasps out, collapsing next to the blond and draping a leg over the boy’s torso.

Mello exhales heavily, nods, and lets Matt nuzzle against him.

~~

Three hours later Mello jolts up in bed, dehydrated, head spinning, and sore from the waist down. The first thing his hands go to are his feet. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he feels the thick fabric of his socks and the bandages underneath completely in tact.

He’s not particularly upset, but he doesn't want to stick around.

Without a glance beside him, he hoists himself out of bed, pausing for a moment when the redhead stirs, but continuing on once he’s settled back down.

He’ll go home, sleep for another hour or two, shower, then get to the practice room.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push out the throbbing in the back of his skull.

An hour nap’s really only thirty minutes before Mello decides he’s just going to deal with things the way they are. He showers, eats an orange in small, calculated bites, and brings a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch.

No matter what music he plays, no matter how hard he practices and exerts himself, no matter how many times he goes over the rehearsal notes in his head, his mind’s always drifting back to that boy with emerald eyes, a freckled face and a crooked smile.

~~

Three weeks later, he spots messy red hair and a guitar case in the hall.

Face burning, Mello turns right around and then back to the practice room.

Matt follows.

Mello considers screaming at him, because this shouldn’t be happening. They shouldn’t be at the same school, never mind in the same building.

Before he can, the redhead’s got him cornered, and he’s mumbling something about how he didn’t know Mello went into the same school, that he had a really good time the other night (well, of course he did, Mello thought snidely), and that he seemed like an interesting guy, and —

“Okay, what’s the point?” Mello snaps, but that doesn’t seem to deter him in the least. He’s pissed, because Matt’s attractive, with freckles dusting his cheek and bright green eyes. He’s thin, probably out of shape, and he stands like he doesn’t have a bit of life to him.

“Uh…I was wondering if you wanted to go out some time. We could catch a movie, or go to a show or somethin’.”

“I’m busy,” Mello replies too quickly, frowning, staring at the ground. He doesn’t want to talk to Matt. Doesn’t want to look at him, and certainly doesn’t want to think of how he fucked him within two hours of meeting him.

“Well, uh…I could bring dinner and we could hang out and do homework, or I could just hang out while you’re practicing if you wanted.”

He’s flustered as all hell, and Mello’s embarrassed.

Somehow, Matt’s number ends up in his phone, and his in Matt’s.

He’s not even sure if he wants to see the redhead ever again. Not like this, with a pit in his stomach and an ache in his chest.

Still, Matt smiles, ears turning red, and gives a quick “Thanks, I’ll catch you later,” before scurrying off, guitar case bouncing against his back as he walks.

~~

Matt shoots him a text telling Mello that he and his friends are doing a show in a few days, if he wants to stop by.

He doesn’t hear anything back, but he crosses his fingers and hopes he’ll see him in the crowd.

~~

Their show ends with screaming, someone throwing their shirt on stage, and a glass of water over Matt’s head.

He’s sure he saw Mello in the back, hands crossed over his chest and standing next to a boy with stark black hair and porcelain skin. A boyfriend?

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

They hit a bar or two on the way back, and Matt’s warm, fingers and tongue tingling. Near’s carrying his guitar, God only knows why, and he’s singing in the streets even though it’s two in the morning and he’s sure most people are in bed.

His phone rings, and he’s answering it with shaky hands and a hopeful heart.

“Matt?”

“Yeah? That’s me.”

“Right. Are you around?”

“Is this Mello?”

There’s a pause. “Uhuh.”

“Yeah, totally.”

“Mind if I stop by?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s cool.”

As soon as he’s hanging up the phone, he’s breaking into a run, Near following behind him, because fuck, they’re still on the other side of the city, and he’s gotta be back there now.

They don’t fuck, but Mello’s sitting next to him on the couch, head on his shoulder, and Matt’s never felt more fucking alive. Who cares if it’s five in the morning? He’s pulling Mello onto the fire escape to try and pick out stars past the clouded city sky, but the sun’s already starting to rise, and Mello’s calling him stupid before pressing him against the brick wall of the apartment building and mashing their lips together.

Sundays, apparently, are Mello’s off day.

They sleep until noon, and when they wake up, the blond’s almost immediately on the way out the door.

“Hey, don’t you want to stay for a little bit longer?”

Mello shakes his head. “I have to go grocery shopping. I’ll text you my address, feel free to stop by whenever.”

That’s good enough for now.

~~

Matt writes a song. Maybe it sounds good, maybe it doesn’t, and he sings it a couple of times while he’s in the bathtub until someone banging on the ceiling from the apartment directly beneath him tells him to either shut the fuck up or he’ll come up there and do it for him.

Matt sings it one more time.

Mello’s cool.

Mello’s pretty.

Matt dries his hair until it’s just less than dripping, slides into a fresh change of clothes and his beat up denim jacket, and he’s out through the fire escape.

Any time counted as now, yeah? He’s all the way down the stairs before he even hits the call button on his phone. Mello could be asleep.

“Uhuh?”

“It’s Matt.”

“I know, you gave me your number.”

“Did I?”

He’s breathing heavy over the phone, and his voice echoes.

Matt adores him.

“Can I come over?”

“I’m kind of busy.”

“Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Mello sighs on the other end of the line. “Unless you don’t mind sitting around while I finish practicing.”

“Uh…yeah, sure, that’s fine.” He doesn’t mention that it’s pretty fucking late and doesn’t mention that Mello said he gets up at six every morning to start his routines.

He practices with nothing but the sound of a timer clicking away in the background.

It would drive Matt out of his fucking mind.

“I’ll be done soon,” Mello says

“Take your time, I don’t mind waiting.”

Mello sighs. “If you say so.”

Mello stretches, dances, then stops to think. He doesn’t get why Matt bothers sticking around, when there’s a thousand better things to do, but he’s not going to complain.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

His tank top’s soaked through with sweat, hair stuck to the curves of his face.

It’s aching pain, unbeatable drive, strained muscles and calloused feet.

After a while, the pain melts away. He sees Matt’s eyes flicker up and down his form, traveling with him as he moves. He arches his back, shooting his leg straight up over his head in one clean kick, ending on a spin to face the redhead.

Matt voice echoes through the empty practice room.

“Holy shit, man.”

~~

Back in the blond’s apartment, Matt pushes Mello into his bedroom as soon as he’s out of the shower, tossing his towel on the floor and forcing a thigh between warm legs.

“Matt,” Mello gasps out, arching his back, rolling his hips against the redhead.

“You’re a fucking tease,” Matt breathes out, moving down the blond’s frame with his mouth until he’s nipping at the waistband of his boxers.

He thrusts his hips up, and Matt greets him with his mouth, tonguing the fabric over his cock. He coaxes heat into Mello’s gut, blood straight to his groin, and by the time he’s finished teasing, the blond’s painfully hard, head thrown back into the pillows and twitching at the slightest movement of Matt’s body.

“Hurry up,” Mello finally breathes out, and Matt obliges, dipping down and taking the other boy into his mouth, moving until his lips hit the blond’s hilt.

Mello’s swearing, hips bucking against him.

He’s so beautiful that Matt’s chest twists while he teases him with slow strokes of his tongue and gentle sucks that are more than enough to push him but not enough to let him finish.

He loves it, that he can do this to Mello. To make him come undone like this.

Mello comes with a finger inside of him and Matt’s name on his lips.

~~

Mello’s practicing by himself, this time with wireless headphones jammed into his ears to try and distract himself.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe.

B r e a t h e

He peels off his ballet flat, eyes clenched shut. The blister’s already popped, sticking the inside of his shoe to his skin.

He thinks it’ll peel away like a bandaid.
Quick, anyway.

It rips off, he yelps, and there’s blood.

Won’t be the first time, won’t be the last.

He whips the shoe against the wall, only mildly satisfied with the smack it makes before thunking to the ground. “Fuck.”

It’s the kind of wound that water stings. He sticks his foot onto the bucket of water, ripping it out with a curse on his lips and hands on his eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Christ.”

Neosporin, bandages and a couple of painkillers later, Mello decides he’s done for the night. The show’s in two weeks. He just has to get through a few more days.

In front of the mirror, hands dance down his form, over ribs, muscles, hips.

One cup of yogurt, three bananas, and a salad for dinner.

Mello’s stretching in bed, body folded over between his legs.

Oh, and protein.

An egg?

One cup of yogurt, an egg, two bananas, and a salad for dinner.

Fuck, he forgot to boil eggs.

With a low groan and muscles begging him to just sit fucking still, he peels himself out of bed, trudging over to the stove. He doesn’t want to do it now, but he doesn’t have time to do it in the morning.

There’s a knock on his door as he ’s draining the water from the pot.

If I ignore it, they’ll go away.

Five minutes later, another knock.

When he tears the door open, Matt’s standing there, guitar slung over his shoulder, raindrops dripping from soaking wet hair.

“…Mhm?”

“You said I could drop by whenever.”

“I’m on my way to bed.”

“That’s fine.” The two of them stand, neither of them budging for the longest time. “Should I leave?”

“You already walked your ass over here, that would be a waste.”

“Well, you’re going to sleep, right?” Matt argues, and he’s not really sure what Mello wants from him. He can tell the blond’s tired by the way he slouches his shoulders and how heavily he leans against the doorframe.

Mello shrugs. “Do what you want,” he eventually says, and moves aside for Matt to come in.

Hesitant, the redhead steps into the apartment. “Do you have roommates?”

“Yeah, they’re asleep.”

“It’s late, isn’t it.”

“Uhuh,” Mello grumbles back, and puts the eggs in the fridge. “Sticking around so you can tuck me into bed?”

“I wouldn’t mind, if I could join you,” Matt shoots back, and he sees the way Mello pauses for a moment, as if he’s actually considering.

“Freaky.”

“Nah,” Matt huffs, and Mello’s puling off his sweatpants and night shirt, leaving him in a pair of loose boxers for the redhead to stare.

“Are you tired?”

“I can sleep whenever.” Truth is, he’s actually exhausted, but this boy won’t get out of his head long enough to let him stop thinking.

Mello grunts in response, climbing into bed, and Matt follows, stripping down to his underwear and socks, just like Mello. That is, until he decides that the blond is nuts for sleeping with them on, and peels the two things off of his feet.

“You’re not gonna talk to me until I fall asleep, are you?” Mello mumbles as he flicks the lights off, and Matt can’t help but laugh, because that sounds like something he’d do in a nervous frenzy. The most he can give the blond is a shrug.

“I’ll do my best not to.”

They lie on their backs, until Mello turns over, flops back, then turns over again with a loud sigh. “You can hold me, if you want.”

It’s a statement disguised as a request, and Matt rolls over to join him, pressing his front to Mello’s back. He tucks an arm under Mello’s neck and drapes an arm around his waist, fingers spread out across the middle of his chest. Mello leans into him, and Matt presses kisses into his back, tangling their legs together as they drift off to sleep.

~~

Mello wakes up to instant oatmeal, a sliced banana, and a boiled egg cut in half.

He’s seething.

“The fuck is that?” he snaps, motioning in a hardly diplomatic manner to the food that Matt’s placed on the kitchen table, alongside a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

Matt’s folding his fingers into each other, letting them fall onto his lap out of the blond’s sight. Underneath the table, his foot is tapping against the leg of his chair, shaking against the table. And suddenly, inexplicably, he’s nervous. His stomach twists, and his mouth’s dry no matter how many times he swallows. “Uh…I mean, I, uh, you said you had a long day today, and I felt bad for staying over, so I made you breakfast.”

“That’s…” His anger evaporates as he watches Matt fumble over his words like a fool. Mello sighs, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. “…really nice of you.” He watches the redhead’s shoulders relax and his whole form slump forward. Matt lets out a deep breath and grins, flashing dull white teeth.

“No problem. Is it too much? I can uh…I dunno, I’ll make something else if you want, or—“

“It’s fine, Matt. Here, have the oatmeal, I don’t usually eat this much before practice.”

“Uh…sure. You’re not upset, are you?”

“Relax, it’s fine.”

“What are you doing after practice?”

“Rehearsal.”

Matt blinks. “That’s not the same thing?”

“Practice is to stay in shape, and rehearsal’s for the show.”

“There’s a show?”

“Yeah, in two weeks,” Mello mumbles into his breakfast.

“Can I go?”

“Anyone can go. Just get a ticket.”
“Rad, I’ll be there.”

~~

They see each other on and off for a week and a half, and Mello drops off the face of the planet the three days leading up to the show.

Matt’s not really surprised. He gets a tattoo in his spare time, and spends most of his time holed up in his apartment, playing music and video games. Scars and marks come and go, but hey, it’s no big deal.

The night of the performance, he’s not really sure what to expect, so he comes dressed in his normal clothes, the slightest bit of gel and spray in his hair.

It’s loud, a mix of interpretive and classical dance, and Mello’s one of the main performers.

With skin tight clothes and sparkling makeup, Matt can’t think of anything more stunning.

~~

“Oh, you came.”

Thick eyelashes blink at him, and he’s fumbling through his backpack like an idiot, pulling out a plastic bag. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, my buddy gave me his extra ticket.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

And suddenly, he knows that Mello’s embarrassed. His hands fold over his torso, and he’s letting his hair fall in his face to hide the makeup.

Oh, right. Matt’s never seen him like this.

Worse than that, he can feel his parents’ eyes on him. Well, the two he guessed were his parents, anyway.

Ah, shit. Maybe the converse that really couldn’t even be classified as shoes anymore weren’t the best things to wear.

Or the smoking jacket.

Or the wrinkled striped t shirt.

“You did really good.”

“Thanks,” Mello mutters, and he’s watching his parents, who in turn, are watching Matt.

His father’s mad all over again.

Who wouldn’t be, looking at him?

He’s just dyed his hair electric blue, and he’s positive that he missed a spot on the back of head, showing streaks of dark brown and red that look black against the rest of his hair.

“Yeah. Uh…yeah, no problem. Uh, uhm, you were cool up there. Like…really cool. You’re amazing,” Matt’s sputtering, and the hands fall from Mello’s torso to his sides, relaxed. “Woah, you’re so pretty,” he’s whispering, and Mello’s face burns while his father’s shoulders relax ever so slightly.

Hell, his ears are burning, his face is burning, and he’s rustling through the bag while Mello’s watching, sitting on the stage with his hands crossed over his chest.

“And…uh….uh…I got you some stuff. Uhm, some bandages and stuff, because my buddy told me that dancing hurts your feet. Uh, chocolate, oh, and this flower. Do you like roses? Uh, I should have asked beforehand, you—“

“Hey, Matt, you didn’t have to do all this,” Mello’s murmuring, hands resting on either side of the redhead’s neck.

“Yeah, but you were working so hard, staying in the practice rooms all day and stuff. You did a really good job, and it means a lot to you, so I wanted to help a little bit if I could.”

Mello kisses him on the cheek, then on the lips, wide grin stretching across his face. “Hey,” he’s murmuring running a hand through Matt’s hair. “I love you.”

Matt’s heart is swelling behind his ribcage, and he’s stumbling over his words all over again. “Uh…oh. Yeah, uh, yeah, I love you, too.”

~

Mello, a few months later, tries one meal a day.

That ends with his back on the ground, body aching after a fall down a flight of stairs he hadn’t even remembered approaching, and a trip to the emergency room.

“You’re burning too much energy to do that,” Matt chastises, but his fingers are laced tight with Mello’s, lips brushing against his knuckles.

Mello shrugs.

They sit in silence, until Matt’s fretting again, tapping his foot against the ground and brushing strands of hair out of Mello’s face. “You don’t…make yourself puke, do you?”

“That’s gross.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought of it.”

“No, I don’t.”

They discharge him with a list of recommendations and nutritionists in the area. Mello throws it out at the front door and follows Matt back to his apartment.

He asks Mello to eat a little more, and Mello snaps back at him to cut himself a little less, voice dripping with malice and stubbornness.

Matt kicks him out, and they don’t talk for two weeks.

~

“What?” Mello sneers, jerking away from Matt’s touch. They’re the only ones left at school for the night, and he’s sure that Matt’s been waiting around for him.

Knowledge that only makes him more angry.

“I’m sorry,” Matt mumbles, so quietly that the blond almost misses it.

Mello sighs, and takes another step back. “I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“Mel, come on, I’m really sorry,” he’s apologizing again, and the blond can tell that he’s getting frantic, nervous, stumbling over his words and knotting his fingers with each other.

“I don’t care,” Mello snaps.
“Are you going to break up with me?” Matt whispers, and something about him slouches more than usual, eyes going from Mello’s face to the ground. “Like, if you really want me to leave you alone, I’ll leave you alone.”

It’s a full apology, really. No part of him’s willing to argue, and all Mello can do in response to that is roll his eyes, running fingers up the silver marks on Matt’s arm.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Mello—“

“I’m not breaking up with you, don’t be stupid.”

Matt lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in, and kisses Mello with both hands cupping his face.

It’s not the first or the last time they’ll fight, but no one’s perfect, and they’re just making due with what they’ve got.

~~

Yeah, he lets Matt fuck him, but in the practice rooms, whenever he’s in public, Matt sees a different side of him.

The blond’s fucking vicious. There’s an aggression that he sets about his work with, a need to be on top, to dominate.

He’ll do anything to win.

Matt gives into that on a night that Mello comes to his apartment nothing short of fuming, throwing his backpack onto the ground and yelling something about this girl named Josephine, and that somehow, this bitch managed to score higher than him in their performance exam.

It started with kisses, but then there was a hand up Matt’s shirt and a thigh in between his legs, pressed to his crotch. Breathless, he lets Mello tear his clothes off, kissing him with an open mouth and a force that he’s sure is bruising his lips.

Fingers pry his jeans open and then off, and there’s a hand down his pants, stroking, grabbing, forcing out moans and curses that sound like Mello’s name.

Sure, Mello’s on his knees in front of the redhead, but Matt knows better than to move an inch right now. He gasps when the blond goes down on him a little too deep and fingers run over the small of his back, lower, lower.

“You wanna fuck me?” Matt offers, and Mello’s tearing through the redhead’s desk drawer for a bottle of lube, face red and hands trembling.

He must’ve never done this before.

Two slicked up fingers are pushing into him, and fuck, it kind of hurts, but at least Mello’s trying to be gentle.

When they fuck, it’s the type of hot that makes his head spin and his vision flash white. Mello’s an aggressive guy, a dominant guy, and Matt’s more than willing to give into that lust for control.

It’s stinging, then it’s just blunt force, then, when Mello rolls his hips and hits him just right, it’s tingling heat in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh.”

He’s against the wall, legs dangling around the blond’s waist. He clings hard to his tank top, head tilted back, exposing his neck.

Mello takes that as an invitation. Teeth against his jugular, he leaves angry red marks down to his collarbone, and at first, Matt winces, then he moans, unbearably hard, unbearably close to that edge.

Daringly, cautiously, his hand slip down Mello’s back to the curve of his ass.

The blond grabs him by the wrist, slamming his limb back against the wall. “At least touch me, then,” Matt teases, and Mello’s brushing fingers across his cheek, his neck, then his collarbone.

Matt arches his back, and Mello lets his fingers drop, tracing down his torso.

The redhead comes with Mello’s hand around his length and two fingers in his mouth.

The sudden tightness sense Mello over the edge, pushing deeper into the redhead with a groan on his lips.

“Fuck. Fuck,” Mello’s breathing out, letting Matt down and pulling him into a deep, sloppy kiss. He’s the most stunning man the blond’s seen in his entire life.

Fingers run collarbones and along muscles until Matt’s pushing him away, telling him that “Hey, Mel, we’ve got plenty of time to do this stuff later,” and murmuring “Hey, Mel, why don’t we take it easy and watch a movie?”

Mello gives him another kiss and tugs him towards the couch.
~~

“No, Matt.”

“Come on, I don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

“Mel, it’s gotta hurt.”

Mello’s clicking his tongue in distaste, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s fine.”

“There was blood in your flats last night!”

“The fuck’re you looking in my flats for?” Mello retorts, and Matt’s just about to give up, because sometimes the blond is impossible. Sometimes, he’s so stubborn that no one would be able to make him so much as budge. “It’s fine.”

“Just let me take a look!”

“Why?’
“I”m just curious, come on, I won’t freak out!”

“For the last time, Matt, no.”

~~

He gives in two days later when it hurts too much to ignore, and Matt’s already got one finger inching into his sock, legs pulled onto his lap. “Read or something, it won’t be so bad,” Matt offers, but Mello’s got his eyes fixated on Matt’s hands as he’s pulling the socks off, waiting for a reaction that he figures is only a matter of time.

After all, he’s been told that eighty year old men have better feet than he does.

Comes with the job.

Mello hisses as thumbs press into the arch of his foot, rolling, massaging. He expects it to hurt, but the pads of Matt’s fingers press in just enough, rub just enough to do their job, but not enough to make him jerk away his limb in pain.

Matt’s fingers run over Mello’s foot, dodging broken blisters, cuts, purpling flesh and black toenails.

He presses the pads of his thumbs back into the arch of Mello’s foot, rubbing, kneading, taking note of Mello’s every movement, every change of expression. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Mello murmurs, the reply barely passing through his lips, barely reaching Matt’s ears.

What does make him freak, though, is when the redhead lifts his foot to his face, lips pressing to the jutted out bone of his ankle.

“Matt, that’s disgusting,” Mello’s sputtering, trying to jerk back, hands pushing against the redhead’s thigh as if it’ll do something.

“Nothing about you is disgusting.”

He’s rolling his eyes, trying to pull his foot away, but Matt’s grip tightens, trapping him in place. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not,” Matt hums, and kisses from his ankle down the top of his foot, stopping just above his toes. “Relax, it’s fine.”

“They look like hell.”

Matt frowns, and goes back to massaging. “What do you expect? You spend the equivalent of a full time job in those practice rooms.”

Mello shrugs.

“Not all of you has to be pretty,” Matt murmurs. “I like you the same.”

“How noble,” Mello sneers with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m serious!”

“I don’t care.”

“Of course.”

It becomes something of a routine. Not on a schedule, but sporadically, they’ll end up on the couch, Mello's feet on Matt’s lap. Sometimes, they’re doing homework, sometimes Matt’s singing, sometimes they’re watching a movie, and sometimes they’re sitting in silence.

Mello still doesn’t ditch the socks around his apartment, but he at least walks around with ease, with a comfort that Matt knew hadn’t been there before.

~~

After class, someone bumps Mello in the street and asks if he likes getting fucked like a girl.

Matt’s never started a fistfight in his life.

Better late than never, right?

~~

“That wasn’t exactly impressive, Matt,” Mello chastises, pressing a cool cloth to the swollen flesh around the redhead’s eye.

“Impressive wasn’t the point.”

“Yeah?”

Matt’s tonguing at his split lip, fingers brushing over bruised knuckles. Worth it? Yeah, definitely.

Okay, maybe.

He started a fight that he didn’t exactly win, and Mello ended up finishing them off, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

“No one’s gonna talk to you like that,” Matt grumbles.

“It happens.”

“The hell it does.”

Mello sighs, changing from leggings and his practice top to a loose t shirt and boxers. The bed’s cool, comforting beneath his fingertips. “Don’t be an idiot,” he tuts. “And don’t start a fight you can’t fucking win.”

~~

The last day of the semester, the two of them go to see a movie. They’re too tired for a party, but too awake to stay at home.

Mello drags him up to the back of the theatre—not that it mattered, the movie had been out for months already—and lifts up the arm rest between them. He looks at Matt’s face, features dulled by the dull lighting in the room, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

He adores him.

By the end of the movie, Matt can’t say what exactly it was about, because Mello had his face buried in the redhead’s lap for almost half of the movie, sucking him off with  tantalizingly slow strokes of his tongue, keeping him teetering on the edge of an orgasm until he goes down a little too deep, and Matt’s fisting his hair, pushing him down and bucking his hips up, coming into the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” Mello’s gasping out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I guess you liked that, huh?”

Matt kisses the blond and palms at the front of his jeans in reply. “You’re awful,” he breathes out, and Mello smiles, tucking his head into the crevice between the redhead’s neck and shoulder. 

“You love me.”

“Yeah,” Matt whispers in that raspy voice as they try, unsuccessfully, to settle back into their movie.

Love’s pretty fucking cool.

Mello’s really fucking cool, anyway.