fox gloves [drabble]

foxgloves

As he was approached, Mello knew instantly by the smell of smoke reaching towards him it was Matt who had come forth.

A pleased smile made it's way onto his face.

Matt had left some time earlier, an hour, perhaps? quite odd of him to have been out for such a long time. his cigarettes were still in full stock, there was no room in the fridge for any more energy drinks (though most space was taken up by Mello's liqour), so Mello was left to wonder just what had lured Matt outside of the safety brought by their apartment?

It took a mere moment to notice the fistfull of foxgloves in the others hands. Mello's mouth formed a small 'O', a silent questioning of what he was presented with.

It wasn't the courtesy of the flowers or the affection all other types pertained.

It was simply the meaning.

You are not really in love.

His face flickered for a moment, his smile fading quickly as he eyed the bouquet.

Oh, of course Matt would feel that way- unloved, unwanted. though it wasn't the truth. Mello cared for Matt deeply- some form of love.

It could never be admitted, not with the constant threat of being only second, third, or even last in Matt's eyes.

A man such as he, with such a fear of inadequacy, could only dream of pursuing a relationship with the boy- the man he'd fallen for.

The thought of verbal confirmation made Mello's head spin, coming out to Matt to tell him ,

'Matt, I need your affection. you're arms are the one I want to embrace me. Your eyes are the ones I see in my most beautiful dreams, your lips the ones I ache to taste. tell me, are they of a smoky flavor, or that of your infinite cans of redbull?'

He never reached for the flowers. he instead tore his eyes from Matt's form, with a subtle, humorless chuckle.

"You really are oblivious."