that's just the way it is [closed & finished - aim log]
WHO: Mello (virucide) & Dexter Morgan (gettingawaywith).
WHAT: A spin-off and a meeting. (See this.)
WHERE: Outside Ancora Una Volta, and then Dexter's place.
WHEN: Day 71, late at night.
Dexter found himself relieved to be breathing in the outside air in place of the one of a sweaty, alcohol-stained pub that had the stink of fighting and ...blood. He had a very angry blond man in his grip, one hand on each arm with a hold that may be hard enough to leave bruises. As soon as they were outside, Dexter turned his eyes to the man he had pulled out of the bar, his voice harsh, louder than it usually was. "Calm down. I didn't mean to hit anyone, just got punched in the face and lost my balance, got it?" And he half shook the young man to make his point, with no room for nonsense in his tone.
-
Mello was...stunned, for lack of a better term. One moment he'd had the unnamed, interfering bastard within his clutches -- and the next he was being forcefully dragged outside, the night air warm against his damp skin. The strength that whoever was handling him possessed left no room for bodily comment, so he had to sit tight until they made it out there. Angry, the blond tried jerking away, growling several obscenities that fell like poison from his tongue. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed, but the words were covered by someone else's voice, and he could do nothing but listen. Momentarily quelled, Mello leveled a flat glare, thin lips twisted into an unhappy line of contempt. "Why the hell are we out here? Who are you?"
-
"My name is Dexter. We're out here because you took the bait of a drunk man and helped him start a brawl," Dexter answered, flatly. "You were obviously a main contributor, and I wasn't interested in getting another punch in the face from you because you'd lost your temper and thought I'd hit that woman on purpose." The man kept him in his grip, shaking him again, and when he spoke, he sounded much more calm, himself. "Get a hold of your anger. You have control if you want it."
-
Those who had the opportunity to spend a fair amount of time around Mello that knew how unleashed his anger could get, how reckless he could become, control like a distant dream on the horizon. He listened stubbornly, jarred by the shaking, vision blurring out to black for a flash of a second. Blood still painting his lips a bright red, he growled back, "Shut the fuck up," and lifted his arms to wrench himself away from the man, Dexter. "Just shut the fuck up." While his pulse slowed, everything caught up to him at an alarming rate - including the pain. Oh, god, the pain. It nearly blindsided him. Mello's head rolled to the side, eyelashes fluttering.
-
Dexter fought the urge to drop him where he was. Dexter Morgan (or at least he world's perception of him) was, after all, a Good Citizen. And he had to act like one any time that anyone was ever around, half-concscious or in completely good health. The man realized what was happening to the young man, gritted his teeth, and then actually lifted him, having an easier time bringing him to his car now that there was no struggling involved. In minutes, he'd deposited the blond into the passenger seat, started his car, and started off for his apartment. It didn't take long to actually get there, and Dexter set the blond down in a reclined position on his couch after laying a towel down under him. He kept a First Aid kit around, and seldom used it, so it was fully stocked with supplies that he'd be using for this particular situation. The kid was an absolute mess, and Dexter set to work on him silently.
-
The sudden change of scenery stunned him into silence; Mello didn't say another word the whole drive to...wherever they were going, although part of him wanted to be enraged, wanted to lash out and demand to be taken to his own apartment. He wasn't the kind of person who'd let himself be whisked off to whatever place, least of all by someone he didn't know. But he was in more pain than he could really deny, so he couldn't do a thing, eventually allowing himself to be laid down flat once they arrived. Mello winced when he did so, the injury from smashing into the bar making itself known the second it grazed the couch underneath him. He breathed in sharp, bleary, narrowed eyes on the man who was treating him. "Why are you doing this?" he muttered, but the words already had less bite to them than he'd probably intended.
-
"You say that as if I were getting ready to kill you," he replied, softly. The man's face was turned away, so that it couldn't be seen. Whatever expression passed over Dexter's face was hidden from the blond in the delivery of that sentence, but when he turned to the injured person on his couch, a rather comforting smile was on his face. "I'm just making sure you get home, wherever that is." As he checked the visible wounds, Dexter went about the task of looking for any injuries that he might have had under his shirt. The way he did it was deliberate, and his movements lacked the tiniest bit of bad intention--he was obviously just doing this as a task, nothing else. "With enough time, you might've passed out in the middle of that fight." Dexter looked at him sideways as he picked up a bottle of iodine for the wound on the young blond's back, turning him over. "No matter how mad you were." He swabbed the wound, and covered it with a bandage that looked like a sticker. "Don't take this off. It's waterproof and it'll fall off on its own, once the scrape's healed enough."
-
Mello's body tensed during the treatment, movements stiff and reluctant. The dig at his physical capability drew another nasty frown to his bruised lips, but he made no further comment until the bandage was stuck in place and Dexter's instruction clearly stated. After a moment of hesitation, the blond tucked his head against the curve of his bare arm, rubbing his closed eyes furiously against the back of his left wrist. Everything slowly caught up to him, and adrenaline steadily sunk into exhaustion. "So you're just a helpful citizen tending to a wounded casualty," he seethed sarcastically through clenched teeth, whole body aching. "I don't get it," came a moment later, even quieter. A pause, then: "Dexter, was it? Dexter. What possessed you? You didn't have to give a shit, you know. No one in this city fucking gives a shit about anyone else. Didn't you realize that already?" That Mello was still conscious to form words was probably a good sign, no matter how kind those words were.
-
"It's not an insult," Dexter clarified. He was very good at reading people--he'd been doing it his entire life. Making the kid even more angry wasn't going to help the situation at all, and when the blond began spitting words at him, he lifted his eyebrows, giving him a bland look. "You don't have to get it, and not everyone in this place is the same." Dexter met each angry sentence with a neutral one, and finally, he pulled out a bottle of painkillers that consisted of acetaminophen and codeine mixed together. In their time, it was legal to sell that mix over-the-counter, and Dexter showed the young man the unbroken seal, handing him an (also sealed) unopened bottle of water. He sit them down within the blond's reach, but didn't force them on him. "I'm just...Dexter." Yes, Dexter. Dexter the monster, playing Let's Be Friends. Patching the blond up better than he probably had been in his life.
-
Naturally suspicious, Mello watched the unfamiliar man from the corners of his eyes, expression collapsing into one of aggravated exasperation. "Whatever." The retort was soft but still held a remnant of that viciousness displayed earlier, and he grabbed the water bottle between trembling hands after propping himself up on his elbows, fumbling to pop the lid and swallowing down a messy gulp. The next swallow came after he'd gotten two painkillers on his tongue, and the water certainly made him feel better than he was feeling seconds ago. "Not everyone?" he rasped quietly, shifting around on the couch to get into a more comfortable position, carefully tracking the man with his eyes. "Really. And why the hell should I trust you?" Even if he was just trying to get the upper hand, feeling mildly defenseless like this, it was noticeable that Mello had already given himself over to the situation. He was only prodding, testing.
-
And Dexter watched him, strongly reminded of his own temper in gradeschool, early university years. He wasn't provoked by the viciousness, and once the blond had swallowed the painkillers, he looked satisfied and stood briefly to grab a blanket. He didn't necessarily drape it over the young man, but dropped it on top of him so that he was mostly covered and didn't have to move around to grab a hold of it. Dexter had the habit of keeping his apartment pretty cool all year round. "You don't have to trust me. You have everything you need within reach, and the bathroom's around the corner if you get sick." He lifted an eyebrow, as if he felt the blond's distrust and suspicion were completely flying into the outfield. "What's your name?"
-
After weighing the pros and cons of sharing something as vital as his name (although it wasn't his real name, of course; barely anyone knew that anymore), the blond made an imperceptible movement -- probably a shrug. "Mello," he relented tonelessly, turning his gaze away from the other man for what felt like the first time since they'd arrived here. His body already felt better, and he knew he'd be able to bounce back from this encounter sooner rather than later. But he didn't linger on that. "You're going to let me sleep here?" Mello asked just to verify it, tone low. He was still bugged by this man's hospitality, but he was in no shape to refuse. "I don't see why you'd bother. You could take me home now, and I'd be off your back, quick and easy."
-
"You need to sleep before you do anything else. You can tell me when you want to go home.." Dexter wasn't patronizing him with the reply, really. He merely looked him over, and echoed his name, quietly. "...Mello." He gestured at the water, as if telling him that drinking more of it would be better rather than worse, his curiosity mildly peaked but not quite raging enough to inspire any more personal questions, as Mello obviously had found it difficult to share his name. The kid had a definite edge, and reminded Dexter of a wasp. A very angry, wounded wasp with black leather clothes and sharpness all over. He vaguely wondered to himself how to quell that anger without snapping his neck.
-
Silently accepting those terms while outwardly remaining unresponsive, he glanced to the bottle of water he held, thoughtful. He considered everything that had happened up until this point, all the blows that had been thrown, and suddenly regretted letting himself be dragged out of there. He didn't know what would happen to Lulu, if someone would go after her next -- though the green-haired man's presence eased some of that doubt. It was enough to log the concern away until he could do something about it. Breathing in, Mello glanced at his host once more as he took another swallow of water. Throat clear, he said, "Fine. I guess I owe you a thank you, huh." It was bitter, almost amused.
-
"Don't lose sleep over it." Dexter was sure that Mello wouldn't, and his voice was the tiniest bit dry at the end of the phrase. He moved toward the kitchen as he stomach growled, loud enough to startle a normal bystander in the silent apartment. "Remote's on the table. Want a sandwich?" He was making one for himself, he might as well make two, something to go along with the medication in the blond's stomach.
-
Mello almost rolled his eyes, but decided it wasn't worth the effort, eventually turning his attention back to the remote resting on the table before him. He deliberated for a moment before tossing the idea and settling back into the seat. "Do you have any chocolate?" the blond said, the exhaustion showing through his tone completely for the first time since arrival. He shifted again, gaze drilling into the ceiling above, studying its every boring feature. Chocolate would do nicely right now, especially since he'd abandoned the one he'd been eating back at the bar.
-
Chocolate was something that Dexter most certainly had in his apartment. He kept his kitchen well stocked, because with such a high metabolism, he was almost always hungry for large amounts of protein, sugar, you name it. When the man returned to find Mello staring at the ceiling, he recalled vaguely that he'd seen the young man taking bites out of a chocolate bar at the place they'd just left (well, technically, he was the one that had left, he'd just ...taken Mello with him). Dexter reached down with three different kinds, all of them rather good quality. He liked chocolate, and liked having a variety of it on hand. There was one bar of milk chocolate, but the other two were somewhat dark, a high percentage of cacao.
-
He asserted each individual chocolate bar in silence, eventually deciding on one of the two darker bars, extending his hand to grasp it before settling back against the couch. The wrapper peeled away like wet paper, fingertips moving with practiced fluidity. Knowing Mello and his steadfast addiction, he'd probably unwrapped over a thousand chocolate bars in his lifetime -- maybe more. Attention swinging toward his host, he arched a brow. "I'm surprised you have good quality chocolate like this," the blond joked humorlessly, snapping a row of the dark sweet off and sucking on it voraciously. "I don't feel like kicking you in the stomach and running out of here anymore." Thin lips twisted into a wicked smirk; at least Mello was steadily returning to his normal self, sarcastic sharpness and all.
-
Dexter found himself strangely impressed with the practiced motion of the way Mello massacred the chocolate bar's wrapper. It barely flickered over his face before he watched the blond's reaction to the chocolate and took in the lightness of his reply coupled with the sharpness of his tongue. Dexter shrugged, and smiled slightly, down at the wasp-like Mello. "I like chocolate." Dexter was not surprised that Mello had picked one of the more bitter ones, and he unwrapped the other dark one, not quite in the mood for something overly sweet at the moment. He wasn't as skilled in the...ah, "art" of unwrapping, but he'd opened enough chocolate bars in his lifetime. As he took a bite and sat down, he tilted his head, thoughtfully, at what Mello said about kicking him in the stomach and running away. "Don't know what I would've done if you'd left. Things've been kind of lonely around here." Deadpan, Dexter turned his eyes to the blond. It was a joke. And if Mello had any sense of humor at all, he'd catch on to it.
-
Liked chocolate? Mello glanced over at the statement, watching the older man consideringly. The chocolate tasted good on his tongue and even revived some of his lively spirit, distracting him from the dull ache that had begun to seep into his body. It wouldn't be bad by morning, thankfully. After all, the fight at the bar wasn't anything serious; recovery wouldn't handicap him for very long. And so he let himself enjoy the chocolate at his lips, and the strange company he found himself in. The only response he offered to the comment was another disarming smile, before: "You really want to rely on me to keep you from getting lonely? Not sure if that's such a good idea." That shark-like grin was back. It was pretty incredible how easily the blond could bounce back to his usual self. Or maybe this was just another face, like all the ones he possessed to fool the world around him. Maybe it would work on Dexter, maybe it wouldn't.
-
Dexter's smile stretched on one side of his mouth, resulting in a wry look as he finished off the chocolate at a relatively good pace. "You'd do, for a night." The jokes were coming easily, and he found the pace at which Mello operated to be an entertaining one. Most people usually just assumed that Dexter was serious, which always killed the fun for him (or created more, it depended on the situation). The grin on Mello's face along with the shifting expressions meant to put Dexter at ease--they might have worked at some point, but Dexter had been faking humanity and charm since he was born. He sidestepped the effect, and in turn, his eyes drilled a tiny hole through that mask of a maneater-smile on Mello's face. Slowly, but surely, right into the spot between the blond's eyes, and Dexter lifted his eyebrows, returning his own friendly little grin in answer. "Feeling better, I'm guessing."
-
This guy wasn't a pushover, he realized pretty quickly. Mello passed him a bemused glance, wondering vaguely if he'd underestimated his host. There were different kinds of people in the world: some interesting, most boring, and a few absolutely fascinating. Most were morons, some were average, and the rare few were brilliant. There were patterns and ways to root out the worthy from the unworthy, the challenging from the wastes of time. Mello often assumed the majority of the population couldn't live up to his capability, unless they proved otherwise themselves. And at least, from what he was seeing, this Dexter Morgan wouldn't fall into a majority. He hoped.
"That's right," the blond replied, eyes flashing with sharp attention. It was good he hadn't been dragged off by some nobody who'd try to leech off of his presence; this man felt way too independent for that kind of thing. Mello smiled again, all teeth. "You know. I think I'm tired, after all." He licked the end of his chocolate, savoring what remained and sucking on a square until it melted on his tongue. "See you in the morning?"
-
Dexter watched Mello's movements carefully, as still as a lizard watching an insect. He was too smart to attack, and right now, had no interest in doing it--he didn't have proof or a reason, after all. There were plenty of bad people in Reggio Calabria to take out, and Dexter was in no hurry to lash out and snatch up the blond, tuck him away into the darkness of the alleys, the ocean.
The blond was smart. It showed in the keen way he looked back at Dexter, the intelligence live and running like a current behind the blue of his eyes.
Dexter moved to stand, and picked up the wrappers as he went. “In the morning.” A tiny little smile was riding on his mouth, piggybacking on whatever other expression was hiding behind his human mask.
Giving Mello a ride home would doubtlessly be an interesting thing to deal with, first thing in the morning.
WHAT: A spin-off and a meeting. (See this.)
WHERE: Outside Ancora Una Volta, and then Dexter's place.
WHEN: Day 71, late at night.
Dexter found himself relieved to be breathing in the outside air in place of the one of a sweaty, alcohol-stained pub that had the stink of fighting and ...blood. He had a very angry blond man in his grip, one hand on each arm with a hold that may be hard enough to leave bruises. As soon as they were outside, Dexter turned his eyes to the man he had pulled out of the bar, his voice harsh, louder than it usually was. "Calm down. I didn't mean to hit anyone, just got punched in the face and lost my balance, got it?" And he half shook the young man to make his point, with no room for nonsense in his tone.
-
Mello was...stunned, for lack of a better term. One moment he'd had the unnamed, interfering bastard within his clutches -- and the next he was being forcefully dragged outside, the night air warm against his damp skin. The strength that whoever was handling him possessed left no room for bodily comment, so he had to sit tight until they made it out there. Angry, the blond tried jerking away, growling several obscenities that fell like poison from his tongue. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hissed, but the words were covered by someone else's voice, and he could do nothing but listen. Momentarily quelled, Mello leveled a flat glare, thin lips twisted into an unhappy line of contempt. "Why the hell are we out here? Who are you?"
-
"My name is Dexter. We're out here because you took the bait of a drunk man and helped him start a brawl," Dexter answered, flatly. "You were obviously a main contributor, and I wasn't interested in getting another punch in the face from you because you'd lost your temper and thought I'd hit that woman on purpose." The man kept him in his grip, shaking him again, and when he spoke, he sounded much more calm, himself. "Get a hold of your anger. You have control if you want it."
-
Those who had the opportunity to spend a fair amount of time around Mello that knew how unleashed his anger could get, how reckless he could become, control like a distant dream on the horizon. He listened stubbornly, jarred by the shaking, vision blurring out to black for a flash of a second. Blood still painting his lips a bright red, he growled back, "Shut the fuck up," and lifted his arms to wrench himself away from the man, Dexter. "Just shut the fuck up." While his pulse slowed, everything caught up to him at an alarming rate - including the pain. Oh, god, the pain. It nearly blindsided him. Mello's head rolled to the side, eyelashes fluttering.
-
Dexter fought the urge to drop him where he was. Dexter Morgan (or at least he world's perception of him) was, after all, a Good Citizen. And he had to act like one any time that anyone was ever around, half-concscious or in completely good health. The man realized what was happening to the young man, gritted his teeth, and then actually lifted him, having an easier time bringing him to his car now that there was no struggling involved. In minutes, he'd deposited the blond into the passenger seat, started his car, and started off for his apartment. It didn't take long to actually get there, and Dexter set the blond down in a reclined position on his couch after laying a towel down under him. He kept a First Aid kit around, and seldom used it, so it was fully stocked with supplies that he'd be using for this particular situation. The kid was an absolute mess, and Dexter set to work on him silently.
-
The sudden change of scenery stunned him into silence; Mello didn't say another word the whole drive to...wherever they were going, although part of him wanted to be enraged, wanted to lash out and demand to be taken to his own apartment. He wasn't the kind of person who'd let himself be whisked off to whatever place, least of all by someone he didn't know. But he was in more pain than he could really deny, so he couldn't do a thing, eventually allowing himself to be laid down flat once they arrived. Mello winced when he did so, the injury from smashing into the bar making itself known the second it grazed the couch underneath him. He breathed in sharp, bleary, narrowed eyes on the man who was treating him. "Why are you doing this?" he muttered, but the words already had less bite to them than he'd probably intended.
-
"You say that as if I were getting ready to kill you," he replied, softly. The man's face was turned away, so that it couldn't be seen. Whatever expression passed over Dexter's face was hidden from the blond in the delivery of that sentence, but when he turned to the injured person on his couch, a rather comforting smile was on his face. "I'm just making sure you get home, wherever that is." As he checked the visible wounds, Dexter went about the task of looking for any injuries that he might have had under his shirt. The way he did it was deliberate, and his movements lacked the tiniest bit of bad intention--he was obviously just doing this as a task, nothing else. "With enough time, you might've passed out in the middle of that fight." Dexter looked at him sideways as he picked up a bottle of iodine for the wound on the young blond's back, turning him over. "No matter how mad you were." He swabbed the wound, and covered it with a bandage that looked like a sticker. "Don't take this off. It's waterproof and it'll fall off on its own, once the scrape's healed enough."
-
Mello's body tensed during the treatment, movements stiff and reluctant. The dig at his physical capability drew another nasty frown to his bruised lips, but he made no further comment until the bandage was stuck in place and Dexter's instruction clearly stated. After a moment of hesitation, the blond tucked his head against the curve of his bare arm, rubbing his closed eyes furiously against the back of his left wrist. Everything slowly caught up to him, and adrenaline steadily sunk into exhaustion. "So you're just a helpful citizen tending to a wounded casualty," he seethed sarcastically through clenched teeth, whole body aching. "I don't get it," came a moment later, even quieter. A pause, then: "Dexter, was it? Dexter. What possessed you? You didn't have to give a shit, you know. No one in this city fucking gives a shit about anyone else. Didn't you realize that already?" That Mello was still conscious to form words was probably a good sign, no matter how kind those words were.
-
"It's not an insult," Dexter clarified. He was very good at reading people--he'd been doing it his entire life. Making the kid even more angry wasn't going to help the situation at all, and when the blond began spitting words at him, he lifted his eyebrows, giving him a bland look. "You don't have to get it, and not everyone in this place is the same." Dexter met each angry sentence with a neutral one, and finally, he pulled out a bottle of painkillers that consisted of acetaminophen and codeine mixed together. In their time, it was legal to sell that mix over-the-counter, and Dexter showed the young man the unbroken seal, handing him an (also sealed) unopened bottle of water. He sit them down within the blond's reach, but didn't force them on him. "I'm just...Dexter." Yes, Dexter. Dexter the monster, playing Let's Be Friends. Patching the blond up better than he probably had been in his life.
-
Naturally suspicious, Mello watched the unfamiliar man from the corners of his eyes, expression collapsing into one of aggravated exasperation. "Whatever." The retort was soft but still held a remnant of that viciousness displayed earlier, and he grabbed the water bottle between trembling hands after propping himself up on his elbows, fumbling to pop the lid and swallowing down a messy gulp. The next swallow came after he'd gotten two painkillers on his tongue, and the water certainly made him feel better than he was feeling seconds ago. "Not everyone?" he rasped quietly, shifting around on the couch to get into a more comfortable position, carefully tracking the man with his eyes. "Really. And why the hell should I trust you?" Even if he was just trying to get the upper hand, feeling mildly defenseless like this, it was noticeable that Mello had already given himself over to the situation. He was only prodding, testing.
-
And Dexter watched him, strongly reminded of his own temper in gradeschool, early university years. He wasn't provoked by the viciousness, and once the blond had swallowed the painkillers, he looked satisfied and stood briefly to grab a blanket. He didn't necessarily drape it over the young man, but dropped it on top of him so that he was mostly covered and didn't have to move around to grab a hold of it. Dexter had the habit of keeping his apartment pretty cool all year round. "You don't have to trust me. You have everything you need within reach, and the bathroom's around the corner if you get sick." He lifted an eyebrow, as if he felt the blond's distrust and suspicion were completely flying into the outfield. "What's your name?"
-
After weighing the pros and cons of sharing something as vital as his name (although it wasn't his real name, of course; barely anyone knew that anymore), the blond made an imperceptible movement -- probably a shrug. "Mello," he relented tonelessly, turning his gaze away from the other man for what felt like the first time since they'd arrived here. His body already felt better, and he knew he'd be able to bounce back from this encounter sooner rather than later. But he didn't linger on that. "You're going to let me sleep here?" Mello asked just to verify it, tone low. He was still bugged by this man's hospitality, but he was in no shape to refuse. "I don't see why you'd bother. You could take me home now, and I'd be off your back, quick and easy."
-
"You need to sleep before you do anything else. You can tell me when you want to go home.." Dexter wasn't patronizing him with the reply, really. He merely looked him over, and echoed his name, quietly. "...Mello." He gestured at the water, as if telling him that drinking more of it would be better rather than worse, his curiosity mildly peaked but not quite raging enough to inspire any more personal questions, as Mello obviously had found it difficult to share his name. The kid had a definite edge, and reminded Dexter of a wasp. A very angry, wounded wasp with black leather clothes and sharpness all over. He vaguely wondered to himself how to quell that anger without snapping his neck.
-
Silently accepting those terms while outwardly remaining unresponsive, he glanced to the bottle of water he held, thoughtful. He considered everything that had happened up until this point, all the blows that had been thrown, and suddenly regretted letting himself be dragged out of there. He didn't know what would happen to Lulu, if someone would go after her next -- though the green-haired man's presence eased some of that doubt. It was enough to log the concern away until he could do something about it. Breathing in, Mello glanced at his host once more as he took another swallow of water. Throat clear, he said, "Fine. I guess I owe you a thank you, huh." It was bitter, almost amused.
-
"Don't lose sleep over it." Dexter was sure that Mello wouldn't, and his voice was the tiniest bit dry at the end of the phrase. He moved toward the kitchen as he stomach growled, loud enough to startle a normal bystander in the silent apartment. "Remote's on the table. Want a sandwich?" He was making one for himself, he might as well make two, something to go along with the medication in the blond's stomach.
-
Mello almost rolled his eyes, but decided it wasn't worth the effort, eventually turning his attention back to the remote resting on the table before him. He deliberated for a moment before tossing the idea and settling back into the seat. "Do you have any chocolate?" the blond said, the exhaustion showing through his tone completely for the first time since arrival. He shifted again, gaze drilling into the ceiling above, studying its every boring feature. Chocolate would do nicely right now, especially since he'd abandoned the one he'd been eating back at the bar.
-
Chocolate was something that Dexter most certainly had in his apartment. He kept his kitchen well stocked, because with such a high metabolism, he was almost always hungry for large amounts of protein, sugar, you name it. When the man returned to find Mello staring at the ceiling, he recalled vaguely that he'd seen the young man taking bites out of a chocolate bar at the place they'd just left (well, technically, he was the one that had left, he'd just ...taken Mello with him). Dexter reached down with three different kinds, all of them rather good quality. He liked chocolate, and liked having a variety of it on hand. There was one bar of milk chocolate, but the other two were somewhat dark, a high percentage of cacao.
-
He asserted each individual chocolate bar in silence, eventually deciding on one of the two darker bars, extending his hand to grasp it before settling back against the couch. The wrapper peeled away like wet paper, fingertips moving with practiced fluidity. Knowing Mello and his steadfast addiction, he'd probably unwrapped over a thousand chocolate bars in his lifetime -- maybe more. Attention swinging toward his host, he arched a brow. "I'm surprised you have good quality chocolate like this," the blond joked humorlessly, snapping a row of the dark sweet off and sucking on it voraciously. "I don't feel like kicking you in the stomach and running out of here anymore." Thin lips twisted into a wicked smirk; at least Mello was steadily returning to his normal self, sarcastic sharpness and all.
-
Dexter found himself strangely impressed with the practiced motion of the way Mello massacred the chocolate bar's wrapper. It barely flickered over his face before he watched the blond's reaction to the chocolate and took in the lightness of his reply coupled with the sharpness of his tongue. Dexter shrugged, and smiled slightly, down at the wasp-like Mello. "I like chocolate." Dexter was not surprised that Mello had picked one of the more bitter ones, and he unwrapped the other dark one, not quite in the mood for something overly sweet at the moment. He wasn't as skilled in the...ah, "art" of unwrapping, but he'd opened enough chocolate bars in his lifetime. As he took a bite and sat down, he tilted his head, thoughtfully, at what Mello said about kicking him in the stomach and running away. "Don't know what I would've done if you'd left. Things've been kind of lonely around here." Deadpan, Dexter turned his eyes to the blond. It was a joke. And if Mello had any sense of humor at all, he'd catch on to it.
-
Liked chocolate? Mello glanced over at the statement, watching the older man consideringly. The chocolate tasted good on his tongue and even revived some of his lively spirit, distracting him from the dull ache that had begun to seep into his body. It wouldn't be bad by morning, thankfully. After all, the fight at the bar wasn't anything serious; recovery wouldn't handicap him for very long. And so he let himself enjoy the chocolate at his lips, and the strange company he found himself in. The only response he offered to the comment was another disarming smile, before: "You really want to rely on me to keep you from getting lonely? Not sure if that's such a good idea." That shark-like grin was back. It was pretty incredible how easily the blond could bounce back to his usual self. Or maybe this was just another face, like all the ones he possessed to fool the world around him. Maybe it would work on Dexter, maybe it wouldn't.
-
Dexter's smile stretched on one side of his mouth, resulting in a wry look as he finished off the chocolate at a relatively good pace. "You'd do, for a night." The jokes were coming easily, and he found the pace at which Mello operated to be an entertaining one. Most people usually just assumed that Dexter was serious, which always killed the fun for him (or created more, it depended on the situation). The grin on Mello's face along with the shifting expressions meant to put Dexter at ease--they might have worked at some point, but Dexter had been faking humanity and charm since he was born. He sidestepped the effect, and in turn, his eyes drilled a tiny hole through that mask of a maneater-smile on Mello's face. Slowly, but surely, right into the spot between the blond's eyes, and Dexter lifted his eyebrows, returning his own friendly little grin in answer. "Feeling better, I'm guessing."
-
This guy wasn't a pushover, he realized pretty quickly. Mello passed him a bemused glance, wondering vaguely if he'd underestimated his host. There were different kinds of people in the world: some interesting, most boring, and a few absolutely fascinating. Most were morons, some were average, and the rare few were brilliant. There were patterns and ways to root out the worthy from the unworthy, the challenging from the wastes of time. Mello often assumed the majority of the population couldn't live up to his capability, unless they proved otherwise themselves. And at least, from what he was seeing, this Dexter Morgan wouldn't fall into a majority. He hoped.
"That's right," the blond replied, eyes flashing with sharp attention. It was good he hadn't been dragged off by some nobody who'd try to leech off of his presence; this man felt way too independent for that kind of thing. Mello smiled again, all teeth. "You know. I think I'm tired, after all." He licked the end of his chocolate, savoring what remained and sucking on a square until it melted on his tongue. "See you in the morning?"
-
Dexter watched Mello's movements carefully, as still as a lizard watching an insect. He was too smart to attack, and right now, had no interest in doing it--he didn't have proof or a reason, after all. There were plenty of bad people in Reggio Calabria to take out, and Dexter was in no hurry to lash out and snatch up the blond, tuck him away into the darkness of the alleys, the ocean.
The blond was smart. It showed in the keen way he looked back at Dexter, the intelligence live and running like a current behind the blue of his eyes.
Dexter moved to stand, and picked up the wrappers as he went. “In the morning.” A tiny little smile was riding on his mouth, piggybacking on whatever other expression was hiding behind his human mask.
Giving Mello a ride home would doubtlessly be an interesting thing to deal with, first thing in the morning.