Mello leaned against the wall, arms wrapped around himself to keep as warm as he could, though his gun was still in his hand and tucked close, out of sight but ready. His breaths fogged in the freezing air as he looked up and down the street every once in a while, listening for footsteps. Fuck, it was cold. And after more than a year of living in Los Angeles, snow wasn't all that welcome.

But the cold seemed the least of his problems, and Mello stared down the street with a hard set to his jaw, tense despite the way he appeared to be leaning casually against one of the dilapidated buildings. He still didn't know where he was or who had brought him here. And Matt... the strange way he was acting was really bothering him. Matt had been angry with him plenty of times before, but this seemed different, and completely unwarranted. Last he'd seen his friend, they'd had a mostly pleasant dinner, Matt had beaten some new game, and they'd gone to bed on normal terms, to his knowledge. Now, his words made no sense. None of this made any sense. The pieces didn't fit, didn't even have a place to fit into. And who the fuck was this 'friend' of Matt's anyway? Mello was still suspicious of him.

Glaring into nothing, Mello shivered and cursed softly, pressing himself against the wall to keep out of the wind as much as he could.