WHO: Marcello Palla & Matías Hernandez Rodriguez WHEN: This afternoon (7/12) WHERE: Marcello’s place SUMMARY: Mat swears he’s just here to drop off a present. HONEST. WARNINGS: Poor life choices. (So many poor life choices) Light talk of setting people on fire and eating them. Cello. STATUS: Complete!
The ruby pin was safely tucked into his pocket as he walked up the familiar walkway, shoes leaving light imprints in the dirt. He used to write stupid messages in the path for Marcello to find once upon a time, silly things like the wicked witch was here and cartoonish dragons. For a moment, he was tempted to draw something, just for nostalgia’s sake.
Smiling, he used the tip of his shoe to draw a Charmander - or an approximation of one - and wrote portrait of cello by mhr beneath it. Marcello would probably roll his eyes at him when he noticed it (if he did; Mat rather figured Cello was no longer in the habit of scouring his walkway for Matías’ scribbles), but there was a chance it would also coax a small smile from him, and Mat had always liked Cello’s smile.
Masterpiece complete, he finished the walk up to the porch and rapped his knuckles against the door, other hand stuffed in his pocket, fingers wrapped around the pin.
Marcello was nesting today, which meant the shifting of gaudy antiques from one side of the room to the other in an attempt to please his eye more. It meant being cold, keeping his home dark and spending most of the day curled up in bed. It was not the preferred day for Mat to see him, but wasn't that how life worked anyway. When he opened the door, there was nothing but surprise on his features for a moment.
“Matias…” The surprise shifted to a note pleased expression. “Come in. Mind the new lamps…” He pointed to several ornate lamps on the floor lining the entry way.
Careful to not knock over the lamps - this side of Cello was one he'd never understood, even knowing who he was - Mat walked into the living room, looking around to see what had changed since he'd last been there.
“You said I could come by anytime,” he pointed out preemptively. He let his eyes rake over Marcello, a small smile on his lips. “You look good, Cello.”
The furniture was the same, the knick knacks were different. Marcello followed his gaze for only a moment, not quite sure what Mat was doing.
“I meant it,” he replied. “But this still leaves me quite open to surprise, of course.” Marcello smiled, biting back his usual ‘of course I look good’ for a more grateful, “Thank you. You do as well, as always.”
The compliments hung in the air for a moment. “How are you, Mat?”
Mat shrugged. “I can't complain. I've been keeping myself busy.” No different, really. As much as he often complained about the busyness of his life, he preferred it that way. It afforded him less time to think about whatever personal drama he was going through. It had helped immensely in the weeks after his and Marcello’s break up.
“How about you? I see you're reorganizing. You know the pin is small, right?” His tone was teasing, but his smile was warm.
“As you are known to do,” Marcello commented. There was a bit of a bite in his words, but nothing malicious so much as fuelled by a memory of one of their small disagreements. It wasn’t as if Marcello was not a busy man himself, when it came to think for the sanctuary. Other than that, he prefered nothing but leisure -- his half-paved pathway was a testament to that. A project of his own undertaking, and yet it had been under construction for five years.
He waved Mat into the living room where they could sit on the sofa. The gesture was in part an attempt to ease what still felt like tension between them, though he knew there was probably very little that could ease this particular feeling.
“Oh please,” he fussed at Mat’s comment. “I’m rearranging for a new piece. It will go right there, along the wall near the fireplace. And I will move the sword display over there, by the window.” He reached out, indicating the spots as he explained his always-vague master plan.
Mat followed obediently, shaking his head at the mess. It would be clean and rearranged to Marcello’s vision eventually, but whether that was in hours or days, he couldn’t guess. He couldn’t guess even when they’d been dating.
The sofa was familiar and comforting, and Mat immediately sat where he always used to, waiting for Cello to join him. There were so many echoes of their time together here; it was one of the reasons he had found excuses to not drop by in the past, but he couldn’t deny that, despite the ever-present tension, the familiarity was soothing. Mat could relax here, with Marcello.
What that meant, he didn’t know, but like so many things in his life, he chose not to question it.
“I’m offended that my present isn’t worth a prime spot in your decor,” he said jokingly, kicking off his flip flops and tucking one leg beneath him. “I’ve half a mind to keep it for myself now.”
Marcello made his way over only shortly after, also finding his same general area on the couch, though he wasn’t sitting as close as he used to. In a way, their distance said everything -- he was still so near to Mat, but just far enough away for it to be of noticeable difference.
“Nonsense, I have not yet seen this pin. How may I clear a space for it?” Of course, he trusted Mat’s taste enough to know it wasn’t something worthless. And he trusted Mat to know his taste well enough to determine if he’d like it.
“And that would be cruel, to come all the way here and not even give it to me.” Marcello paused, did some mental math, and then the tiniest flicker of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Unless you only wanted an excuse to see me.”
Mat laughed, squelching the urge to scoot closer to Marcello; it seemed wrong, space between the two of them. But that had been his choice, hadn’t it?
The pin was pulled from his pocket and he held out his hand, palm up, the little dragon pin resting on it. It was gold with little rubies set into the eyes and the ornate flames that came out of the dragon’s mouth. When his mother had first showed it to him, he’d immediately thought of Marcello and had known, as soon as he’d taken it, that it would be a gift to his ex.
“I don’t need an excuse to see you, remember?” he pointed out lightly, eyes not leaving Marcello’s face. “But maybe it’s a little bit of an excuse to see you.”
Marcello tried not to stare too hard; he was like a child sometimes, wanting to pretend not to be as interested in something as he was. Like he was above it, or too cool for it. Still, he wanted it, and so despite his ~air of flippancy~, he reached out and plucked the pin from Mat’s hand, examining it in a better angle with the natural light pouring in through the window behind them.
“It’s lovely,” he said, and interestingly enough, their angles were just so that the pin and Mat’s face behind it lined up perfectly. Marcello looked at the both of them simultaneously, face breaking out into a wide smile. He was pleased with it, and with Mat. Currently, at least.
“Thank you.” The smile turned slightly more devious now. “Now what’s this about wanting to see me…” He trailed off, clearly inviting Mat to speak more about the desire.
That smile was part of the reason Mat had fallen head over heels for Marcello a few years back and there was a small part of him that was glad he could still be the cause for such a grin. He shrugged at the question, not quite sure how to voice why he’d wanted to see Cello that wasn’t the truth, which was that he missed Marcello.
In the end, though, that was the only answer he had. “I miss you.” His gaze dropped from Cello’s face to the pin.
“You won't look at me while you say it,” Marcello noted, now an observation than a critique. He wondered why, that maybe Mat was ashamed or didn't want to live up to the admittance.
He reached out and brushed a thumb over Mat's cheek, a gesture that had long since grown rare in the years between their break up, but Marcello’s touch did not longer, nor did his thoughts.
“The pin will go in my room so that it may be near me.”
Mat laughed and looked up, eyes on Marcello’s, pushing away memories of when that touch would have lingered. “You know how I am about emotions.” They had always been hard for him to express. “I miss you, Cello.” Easier to say now that it had already been said.
“I’m touched. And here I’d thought it would go in a box with some other shiny things you’ve managed to collect.” Teasing. Less complicated ground to stand on. “Where’s Mittens? He’ll scold me if I don’t at least say hello.” The border collie was one of a handful of dogs that Mat didn’t actively loathe; it helped that Mittens had a ridiculous name and the personality to match.
Marcello didn't say he missed Mat too, even if the words were written all over his face and it was completely true. Honestly, he didn't know if it was worth it to say such things. If it would bring Mat back … Did he even want Mat back? Sure, some part of him did, but the other part was still bitter and hurt and wary. “Yes,” he finally spoke. “I do know.”
The tease worked; he frowned, looking offended. “I wouldn't bury this, I'd show it proudly.” Funny, considering he did not do the same of his own dragon tendencies.
“Mittens is out playing with the dog of a volunteer. Last I saw, they were chasing each other very far out, but maybe they will get tired and return before you leave.”
“You always were more considerate with gifts,” Mat said, smiling. He thought of the trinkets that he had managed to keep when they’d split - Cello had demanded them all back, but he had refused to return a few of them.
It hadn’t been an understatement that they’d practically had to work out a custody agreement - after all, who demanded a gift back? In a fit of pique, he’d once told Marcello he kept them in a box somewhere. In truth, he wore the bracelet most days (was even wearing it now, easily visible against his wrist), and the others were placed carefully around his apartment, with one of them - a little porcelain figurine - on his nightstand beside his alarm clock.
“Well, his fault if he doesn’t see me, then. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome by staying until he tires himself out.” That could take hours, after all.
“It comes with the territory,” Marcello replied, softly. After all, if a dragon couldn’t spot a good gift or an object worth celebrating, what good was he?
The bracelet hadn’t gone unnoticed, and any other day, he might’ve made sure to bring it up. It was a gift he’d asked Mat to return, but looking at it now, resting on Mat’s wrist -- it seemed just where it belonged. Marcello doubted anyone could wear it so well, and if the object was being worn to it’s best potential, why change things. Mat seemed to be taking care of it, despite what he said.
“If he misses you, I will be sure to let him know. But I also don’t mind getting you all to myself.”
Mat ducked his head to hide the smile; he had always envied Marcello’s ability to be straightforward. Sometimes, he thought he’d been rash to end things, and this was one of them. After a moment, he looked back up. The smile was still there, but less pleased, more amused. “I’m only ever a call away if you want my company, you know.” Mat leaned forward to lightly brush fingertips along Marcello’s jaw, thumb sweeping against his cheek like Cello’s had done earlier, before pulling away.
“But since you have me now, what would you like to do that makes sharing with Mittens less preferable?”
Marcello was torn between shutting his eyes and relishing the touch or pulling away from it entirely. It seemed like this visit was veering into dangerously affectionate territory, but in truth, he didn’t mind.
“Nothing appropriate,” he answered, smiling, making sure to catch Mat’s gaze because he wanted to know exactly what thoughts might pass through his ex’s gaze. Mat tried to hide his emotions, but Marcello had learned how to read snippets here and there when Mat allowed him to.
He didn’t bother to hide the conflicting emotions that he was sure passed over his face. Wanting Marcello had never been the problem with them, and it certainly wasn’t one now. “There are many things that can fall under the umbrella of inappropriate, Cello,” he murmured. “For example, setting me on fire wouldn’t be appropriate.” A small smile accompanied the teasing tone.
“I can even be talked into some of them.” It would be a bad idea, if Marcello took him up on it. It was clear there were still strong emotions on both sides. But even though he knew this, he still moved a little closer, eyes steady on Cello’s.
At that, Marcello let out an incredulous laugh and it was obvious Mat’s point didn’t quite line up for him the way it should. “It would not be inappropriate. I am a dragon. What if I wanted to eat you?” Not that he made a habit of eating people, despite his occasional threats to do so to those that knew what he was.
Besides … Any devouring he wanted to do of Mat was not in a very literal sense. When Mat moved closer, Marcello took it as a cue. “Come here, Matias,” he ordered gently. Mat said he could be talked into things, but Marcello was quickly growing over talking.
Mat rolled his eyes. “If you wanted to eat me, I’d have to decline, tempting as the offer would be.”
His eyebrows raised at the commanding tone, but he slid closer until there was barely an inch of space between them. There were very few people who had this kind of effect on him - fluttering heart, dry mouth, an overwhelming fear of rejection hovering just beneath it all - and his relationships with both of them only seemed to get more complicated by the day. “You could say please, you know.” The chiding tone was nullified by the way he leaned into Marcello’s personal space.
“Mm,” Marcello was already beyond the thought of eating, especially as Mat obeyed the command and closed into his personal space. The sensation was intoxicating, being this close to him again.
He reached out, dragging his hand up Mat’s arm, voice lowering as he finally admitted, “I miss you too.” Marcello didn't say please, even when Mat suggested that he did. Instead, the hand that was on the other man's arm tightened its grip just enough to tug Mat closer into a kiss.
The familiar feeling of Marcello’s lips on his brought back so many memories that Mat had spent nearly a year trying to forget, but that didn’t stop him from curling his fingers into the front of Cello’s shirt, trying to pull him closer.
That this was a terrible idea crossed his mind, but only briefly. It had always been hard to think when Marcello kissed him. (Just like it was hard to think when Jaime kissed him, but that thought was pushed away quickly, but not before he felt a pang of guilt.) It was so much easier to just forget, to let himself fall into this. He could think later.