“ i’ve got your back, okay? ” for mello....
some talk this is. frustration / anger / exasperation bid him to clench his jaw . . . & it makes the freshly burned flesh on his cheek feel just a little more tight than it did a moment prior.
mello leans forward in his seat, knits his fingers together. he hates to admit that he can feel the furrow of his brow as he forces himself to think. the timeline quickens, the plot thickens. things are coming to a close, & mello swears he can hear the rhythm of the second hand quicken its march.
& he hates to show up like this. confidence is his game, his performance, the way he’s marketed himself these past few years. but to show up with failure marked into his skin makes him irritable. the pain makes him irritable, too. mello unclasps his hands, waves a dismissive hand towards matt. yeah. he knows. he knowsthat matt will grant him aid - or else he wouldn’t have showed up.
certainty is more than a preference for him. it’s more like a craving.
his rosary dangles from his neck, & blue eyes flicker down to follow the circles that the crucifix traces into the air.
‘ right, ‘ he finishes. lamely. ‘ you make yourself useful with that, & i’ll do the same. ‘ mello tsks & finds himself unsatisfied with his own reply. so he straightens & tosses a sidelong smirk towards the other. ‘ prove it. ‘
MISC | @surveilant
