HILLS HAVE EYES.

location — his place

tw injury, blood

The knock at Mateo’s door isn’t loud.

It’s not frantic either—just three sharp raps, steady despite the blood trailing down her wrist, soaking into the cuff of her jacket. Sonny leans against the doorframe with her uninjured shoulder, breathing through gritted teeth, her knuckles white where they grip the edge of the wood.

She doesn’t look up when the door swings open. Doesn’t have to. She knows it’s him. Even after all this time. She can feel it in the shift of the air, the heaviness of silence that follows. “Before you say anything,” she mutters, voice rough, “you should see the other guy.”

Only then does she glance up—half a smirk on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her face is pale beneath the blood and grime. Her bottom lip is split. There’s a gash above her brow that’s still leaking, slow but steady. Her breathing’s shallow and ragged, and it’s clear she’s holding herself upright through sheer force of will alone.

But she’s here. After everything. She’s here.

And when she speaks again, her voice cracks beneath the weight of what she’s not saying. “One of Dad’s dogs came sniffing around. Said he had a message to deliver. Something about consequences and staying in my lane.” She drags in a breath, swaying slightly on her feet. “Guess poking around where I wasn’t wanted pissed him off.” Her eyes flicker to Mateo’s, something flickering behind them—half apology, half defiance. “Didn’t think he’d send someone from his inner circle though. Figured he was still too proud to admit I’m a threat.”

She swallows hard, grimacing. “Turns out, I underestimated just how pissed off he really is. Again.” A beat passes. Then two. The wind shifts outside, cool and rustling through the trees like it’s trying to eavesdrop.

Finally, Sonny lets her weight drop fully against the doorframe, a soft hiss escaping her teeth. Her pride’s bleeding out faster than her shoulder now, but she doesn’t ask for help. She just looks at Mateo like she used to—when they were younger, when things were less poisoned, when they were still just two kids surviving the same war. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I'm sorry.” And maybe that’s a lie. Maybe she has other safehouses, other contacts. But they’re not him. And that matters more than she’s willing to say out loud.

For a moment, Mateo just stares, the sight of her bloodied in his doorway stealing the ground from beneath him. He didn't know whether to be furious, to go and give whoever tried one on her a piece of his fucking mind, or to comfort and protect her. Then his hand comes up, firm at her elbow, steadying her when her legs threaten to give. "Dios mio, Sonny," he breathes, the sharp edge of anger threading through his voice.. but not at her. Never at he. He pulls her inside, the influx of feelings still at war within.

Once the door clicks shut, he lingers there momentarily, like he still can't decide whether to comfort her or punch a hole in the wall. "Elio shouldn't have.." He cuts himself off, swallowing hard, but the word still burn through his teeth. "Sending someone after you.. his own blood.." Why was he shocked? Elio had preached blood, preached loyalty since he was born.. he had his father's words ringing in his mind constantly. But somehow, it was okay for his father to break his own rules. To break everything he had instilled in his children, when it suited him. At first he thought it was punishment for being out of line but.. this? This was beyond. His voice breaks now, a little quieter than before, furious in a way he rarely lets himself be. "He doesn't get to do that."

Guiding her down to the couch, he crouches in front of her, the air thick and heavy with everything he doesn't say, but really fucking wants to. His loyalty to their father is a chain he's carried his entire life, but watching her bleed because of it? But right now it felt less like duty and more like betrayal. Mateo finally meets Sonny's eyes, and for a flicker of a moment, his mask slips. "You shouldn't've come here," he says, though his voice betrays him.. it's softer, not quite matching those words. Until.. "But I'm glad you did."

She tried once more to climb higher, being more careful with her footing and hand placement, but despite her ability to swing a sledge hammer at a wall and roll a keg across the bar (yes, roll— not carry) she couldn't lift her own body weight. "Don't want a dead body near your balcony? Think I'd bring the property values down?" She mused, looking at his hand for a moment, debating on trusting him to pull her up, before deciding it was her best option and placing her palm into his. "If you drop me and I die, I'm haunting you and Pudding."

"A marvel you definitely are," a smirk tugged at Mateo's lips before he reacted instinctively to her yelp, muscles tensing. She’s going to get herself killed, he thought, fingers reaching out before she could slip further. "Hey, tuna's a good source of protein," he retorted, mock offended. Pudding flicked her tail from where she was perched, glancing between them like she was judging the situation.. and he couldn't help but grin in response to the cat's disapproving stare. "Well, this strange man doesn't have to help you if you don't want to," he rested his chin on his hand as he leaned against the railing. "You're welcome to coax Pudding down yourself. I'll just sit back and be strange and watch with amusement. And hold up—Pudding isn't your cat? Colour me confused but why are you trying to save a cat that's not yours?"

But when she finally placed her hand in his, Mateo visibly relaxed, though the muscles in his arms flexed as he prepared himself to hoist her up. A chuckle escaped him over her property values comment, amusement colouring his features for probably the first time all day. "Guess we'd better find out," he said, before adding, "Hold on tight, okay?" Planting his feet firmly against the balcony floor, his hands gripped hers with careful precision. With a smooth, practiced motion, he leaned back and gave a measured tug, lifting her just enough to free her from the railing. Her knees brushed over the edge of the balcony, and he adjusted instantly, sliding one hand around her waist while the other stayed locked with hers, keeping her steady and balanced until she was firmly on the ground. Mateo straightened, chest rising with a slow breath, letting her land safely while his smirk lingered, eyes glinting with both relief and amusement. “See? No dead bodies, no ruined property values."

She's impressed that he's willing to admit that about his seventeen-year-old self, tilting her head slightly as she shares a look of reassurance. "Your seventeen-year-old self was not wrong," she assures him. "Pain tolerance is very sexy." Vanna doesn't mention that she had a penchant for being weak in the knees for someone with a back tattoo, but the tone of her voice dances on the line of her words, having more than one meaning. "He set you up well," she jokes, leaning back.

"Flaws and all," she echoes him simply, allowing the silence to fill in what more could have been said. Her smirk matches his just before he reveals his name. Vanna nods as she presents her hand in a delicate manner in return. "Vanna," she replies, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mateo." Her tone is soft and honeyed as she nods in his direction after a moment. "What do you do?" she asks candidly, resting her chin on her palm as she looks at him directly, her foot dangling excitedly.

Mateo’s smirk deepened as he took her hand in a firm, casual shake, amusement soon colouring his features. “Vanna,” he repeated, testing the name against his lips. “Yeah… that suits you. —Pleasure to meet you, too.” His grin softened just slightly, playful but genuine. Leaning back in his chair, one arm draped over the back rest, he angled himself to face her a little, radiating that usual effortless confidence. "What do I do?" he echoed, tapping a finger against the chair as if the answer deserved some thought. "Depends on the day. Sometimes I fix things," he said with a shrug. "Other days I break things." He tried to be coy, but seriousness soon took over. "I'm a tattoo artist, and I also work part time at Kelly's." He tilted his head towards her, eyes glinting with amusement and curiousity. Sometimes a friendly chat was just that.. but he was genuinely curious about the woman next to him. "What do you do?"

Her brow quirked upwards at his comment about not wanting to forget so much anymore. He was just handsome enough for the line to not be too cheesy, but it still elicited her signature smirk. She couldn't let him get off that easy. "Is that so?" she asked, a teasing grin on her lips. "If sitting in silence across from a stranger makes you want to remember, we might need to think about adjusting your nightly activities, hot neighbor guy." The briefest hint of innuendo laced her tone, just enough to show two could play that game.

She watched him as he began to speak about his bike, an actual smile coming to his features, instead one of the smirks she'd already come to appreciate. Clearly, he was just as obsessed as she was. Just listening to him talk about riding had her missing her own bike. It had been in the shop for far too long and she ached to get out on the open road again. Suddenly an idea came to her of how she might get out there even if she couldn't get her bike back.

Alara leaned her hip against the railing, eyes glittering with something between mischief and challenge. “Mmm,” she hummed noncommittally, dragging the sound out as she watched the way the moonlight carved shadows across his face. “I mean… I’ve been on a bike before.” Her tone was carefully vague, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to smirk.

She glanced away like she was shy—though she wasn’t—and casually picked at the edge of her sleeve. “But I don’t know. I spent more time worried the guy I was riding with was going to loose control than enjoying the therapeutic benefits.”

Mateo snorted a laugh, amusement colouring his features as he looked over at her. "So that's what's been keepin' you up, huh? Damn, I didn't know I was responsible for your beauty sleep, Alara." The way their conversation was going, he didn’t mind staying up all night to chat to her. After all, there were worse ways to waste the dark hours than leaning on a railing with a cigarette and a view of the most distracting neighbor he’d ever had. When she threw the line about adjusting his nightly activities, his eyes narrowed with a spark of mischief. "Sounds like you're volunteering?"

He leaned heavier into the railing, one arm sprawled across the metal as he angled himself toward her balcony. "Hmm, so you've been on a bike, but not with someone who actually knew what the hell they were doin'." He shook his head, chuckling. "That's not riding, that's baby sitting. And lucky for you, I don't do babysitting.. and I sure as hell don't lose control." Then came that look — her lashes low, the kind of deliberate glance someone couldn’t mistake if he tried. Damn, she was dangerous. Mateo stilled for half a beat, lips twitching before a slow grin spread across his face. “Nice to meet you, too. And for the record, I like my name better when you say it.”

Silence stretched as he deliberated his next move, a grin soon tugging at his lips. "So here's the deal," he began, his grin sly and daring now. "Sometime, I'll take you out.. show you what it feels like when you're on the back of a bike with someone who knows what the hell they're doin'." Mateo straightened up, adding, "Maybe I'll even teach you to ride." Had he really just said that aloud? Offered his literal baby to someone else? Shit.

But she didn’t move away when his arm brushed hers. If anything, she leaned into it just a little, letting that quiet touch ground her in the moment. Letting it remind her why she came here in the first place—why it was always him she turned to, even when she swore she wouldn’t.

His words—No sé si tú seas la que necesita que la salven—lingered longer than she wanted to admit, curling into the cracks of her calm like heat under skin. She didn’t respond to that one. Not with words. Just a flick of her gaze toward him, something unreadable sparking behind her eyes.

“Mm.” Her fingers curled around the bottle he’d handed her, the cool glass a sharp contrast to the warmth that pooled beneath her skin. “You want a kiss on the cheek like I’m sweet on you,” she said, feigning contemplation. “That’s bold, Mateo.”

A slow sip. A half step forward.

“But alright,” she added, eyes catching his with something close to a challenge. “You earn it, and we’ll talk.”

When he turned toward the bike, she followed, a comfortable few steps behind. Her voice chased after him with a hint of smugness. “And for the record? If I were planning to get stranded, I’d pick somewhere a lot more interesting than your garage.”

She paused, letting the silence settle, then added, quieter—

“But if it had to be somewhere…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Just let it hang there between them, charged and open-ended.

Like everything else they never said.

Mateo's brows kicked up at her echo, the ghost of a grin threatening his lips as he twisted the rag between his hands. "Sounds like you're looking to test me, princess." He didn't move when she leaned in; if anything, the shift in her weight ignited subtle tension through his shoulders, the kind that came when she was close. Her silence at his words wasn't lost on him, and neither was the look in her eyes.

At her crack about him wanting a kiss, he gave a short, quiet laugh dark eyes flicking over her features like he was taking in every beat of her expression. "Bold's kind of my thing," he said in a lowered voice, almost an admission. She stepped forward, closing the gap just a touch, and when she threw down the condition for him to earn it, his grin only sharpened. “Challenge accepted.”

Turning back to the bike — and damn, it was a good one — he let her follow at her own pace. It was time to focus; there weren’t many things he enjoyed more than working on a bike or a car. But that last line from Elena, if it had to be said somewhere, made him pause. His gaze flicked sideways, catching hers. Something unguarded sparked in his eyes before it melted away beneath an easy smirk.

Mateo flicked the ash from his cigarette, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he watched her try to reason with Pudding again. "I wouldn't say crazy, no. Definitely entertaining." He exhaled a plume of smoke and glanced back at the cat lounging like royalty. "Most people don't spend 2AM negotiating peace treaties with a feline dictator." He took a step inside, glancing toward the kitchen before turning back to her with a raised brow. "Tuna, strawberries, banana.. you're starting to make it sound like a grocery list. I just ran out of tuna today.." He paused, smirking like he had a secret weapon. “But,” he added, “I’ve got American cheese. Not exactly gourmet, but it’s got a reputation.” He crouched down beside the table where Pudding lounged like she owned the place. "Okay, ouch. Are you saying I'm a strange man? —How about we think about the fact that your cat is currently chilling out with me and running away from you." Something of a smirk tugged at his lips, shaking his head as he straightened up, only to witness the woman attempt to start climbing up. “Let's not test that theory, okay?” He let out a soft sigh, flicked the cigarette butt into the ashtray, bending over the balcony and holding out a hand. “Here—let me help you up."

Holly tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips as she spoke. “Relax, Romeo. I don’t exactly sit my brothers down to walk them through my sex life.” She raised a brow at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “But I’m also not a ninja. You think Wes didn’t notice me stumbling in at sunrise in my clothes from the night before? Please. I’m pretty sure Shane assumed I was hooking up with a bartender or something. They don’t know it was you.”

At the mention of Nate, she allowed Mateo to sit in his jealousy for a moment, pretending not to notice the way he fidgeted with the ring on his finger. He was the last person who should have cared what went on in her love life, and yet Holly couldn't have been more satisfied by the result. “As for the ex...” She shrugged, her tone casual though laced with enough suggestion to twist the knife a bit deeper. “I'm pretty sure he's back for good. We’ve been... reconnecting.” Holly let her eyes linger on Mateo’s face, watching for the reaction he didn’t want to give her. “It’s probably nothing serious. But he definitely knows how to keep a girl on her toes.”

Mateo's mouth curved into something halfway between a smirk and a wince at the Romeo jab. "Subtlety's never been your strong suit, querida." He leaned back a little, folding his arms across his chest like the topic didn't bother him in the slightest. The faint twitch of his jaw said otherwise. If only she knew just who he was, but also.. what her eldest brother was once part of. He didn't know if she was aware but given their time together, and how they ended, he assumed she wasn't. "Still, not easy going up against three older brothers." As if that ever would've bothered him.. but he had to find some sort of excuse, right?

The moment Holly mentioned reconnecting, something sharp slid right under his skin, something very uncomfortable. So much so he shifted in his chair, almost like he physically felt the pain. His gaze dipped briefly to the sand at their feet, his tongue pressing into his cheek. "Good for you," he murmured, a little too flat to be entirely convincing. "Guy knows how to keep a girl on her toes.. sounds exhausting, but hey — your call." A few beats passed, long enough for it to seem like he was moving on and completely unbothered, before he glanced back at her, clearly unable to help himself. "So, uh.. when you say reconnecting, we talking like.. catching up over coffee, or you're, you know.. thinking about getting back together?" His brow arched, mock-curious, though the way his fingers drummed once against his arm betrayed him again.

Vanna winced, but she appreciated that he was willing to lend his body to a friend who wanted to practice tattooing. There might have been one or two occasions when she could have said yes, but as carefree as she was, Vanna wasn't that loose when it came to permanent ink. When he leaned back and lifted his shirt to reveal a tattoo near his hip bone, her brows shot up at the unexpected sight. She couldn't help but chuckle, leaning in with a curious grin to get a better look. "A hip bone tattoo at seventeen is pretty risqué," she joked, leaning back as she took a sip of her drink.

When he asked about her own tattoo regrets, Vanna paused for a moment to reflect and then shook her head. "None that involve ink," she said with a grin. "Maybe I regret how a few of them turned out," she continued, giving her arms a quick once-over. "But you end up adopting them, flaws and all." After a brief pause, she nodded at him. "What's your name?"

When she admitted she had no ink regrets, at least not serious ones, he gave a small nod of respect. “Adopting them, huh? Flaws and all,” he echoed, more to himself than to her. That sat with him. He liked it, really. He'd never really thought about it that way but, it was powerful. He tapped his fingers absently against the side of the chair, mulling it over until she asked him a question. The casual honesty in the way she asked brought yet another smirk to his features; she was refreshing, he'd decided. "Mateo. What's yours?"

Enzo sat with the steady hum of the needle vibrating through his skin, but it was Mateo’s words that sunk in deeper than any ink. “Yeah,” Enzo murmured, voice roughened with quiet understanding. “I know what it’s like to feel cursed by your own upbringing, even if we come from different backgrounds. It's easy to wonder if you’re ever gonna be more than the worst parts of your past.” The damage had shaped who he was, stitched into every line of loyalty and resentment he walked with. “But that thing you’re scared of?” he added, looking up at Mateo now. “The fact that you’re even worried about becoming like him... That’s what proves you’re not.”

He tipped his head back against the leather chair, allowing the weight of the moment settle. “I’ve been careful. But careful doesn’t always mean safe, and I’m not naïve either. I know what kind of man your father is. I've stopped pretending I can ever walk away clean.” His gaze dropped to the half-finished ink, a subtle symbol of how deep they had both fallen into this. “If I go down, I’m just making damn sure it’s for the right reasons.”

Mateo didn't speak for a moment, the machine in his hand falling silent again as he studied the tattoo he was working on. One more line, and it was complete.. Enzo's words, however, landed somewhere heavy in his chest — somewhere quiet, and buried. He let them sit there, letting the honesty of them wrap around the part of him that always felt part wild, part.. lost. "You're.. you're not wrong," he glanced up, meeting Enzo's gaze now. "It's the not knowing that fucks with you. The thinking you'e in control, and then one day you're staring in the mirror and.. maybe, for just a fraction. of a second, he's looking back at you. That shit fucks you up." And maybe it was the one thing that made him question his own loyalty. His throat worked around something he didn’t name, and he busied his hands again—buzz of the needle filling the silence as he worked on the final line, wiped it clean. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe the fear keeps us honest."

He sat back slightly, stretching out his hand to let the skin settle. "You know, my hold man always said it didn't matter how far you rain if the devil had your blood. I used to think he meant I'd never escape him." He let out a breath, dry and humourless. "But lately I wonder if he was warning me about myself." The weight of what Enzo said lingered, and Mateo’s expression shifted somewhat, honesty spilling from his lips.. the same way it always did when Enzo was around. There was just something so trustworthy about the guy, Mateo couldn't explain it. He just felt it. "If you're going down for the right reasons, make sure they're your reasons. Not someone else's. Not mine, not my father's, not my sisters. Yours."

James Valdez + 

Mateo let out a quiet laugh, the sound low as he tapped the edge of his glass against Raj’s in return, letting the whiskey slosh gently. “Man, you’d be surprised how many problems a new set of tires and a good tattoo can solve,” he joked, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. At least, it solved his problems. He took another slow sip, letting the burn settle before he spoke again. "Never too late. First one's always hardest to pick, but after that.." He clicked his tongue, letting the implication hang in the air, knowing full well how addictive getting tattoos were. "So, you gotta be sure. If you ever are, you know where to find me." His gaze softened slightly as Raj mentioned the car, a quiet huff of laughter slipping out. “Yeah, sounds about right. They’ve got a mind of their own, huh?” He set his glass down, drumming his fingers lightly against the wood before adding, “Bring it by sometime. I’ll take a look at it for you, make sure it stops trying to drain your wallet.”

But something about all the nights they’d quietly shared this view, the way he was always out there too when she needed an escape, stripped away the urge to pretend. Maybe they weren’t so different. Maybe they were both running from the same ghosts.

She glanced over, catching the faint glow of his cigarette in the dark, and gave a small nod.

“Even when I’m off shift, the adrenaline from just one too many brutal calls can keep me wired for hours,” she murmured. Then, after a beat—her voice a little quieter, but no less certain—“But mostly… it’s the shitty choices I’ve made.”

A breath slipped from her, half sigh, half laugh, as she leaned back into her chair, swirling the wine in her glass. One bare leg crossed over the other, her voice low and laced with a teasing warmth.

“Alara,” she answered, letting the name settle between them. “But hey—if hot balcony girl is working for you, I won’t argue.”

She angled her body toward him, just enough for the moonlight to catch on her cheekbone. There was boldness in her gaze now—like maybe she was done hiding.

“Hey, I lived here first,” she said, a teasing glint in her eyes as her gaze lingered on the red ember glowing between his fingers. “So if anyone’s making it less lonely out here, it’s you—not me.”

Her lips curved as she added, “You smoke like a man trying to forget something.” Then, with a sly smile, “And that bike downstairs? Kinda hard to miss. Hard to ignore a guy with good taste… and questionable coping mechanisms.”

Alara lifted her glass, resting the cool rim near her chin as she looked over at him. “So,” she said, voice soft but bold, “do I get a name? Or am I just out here drinking wine with a mysterious silhouette who calls me hot?”

Mateo let out a quiet huff of a laugh, low and rough in his chest as the ember of his cigarette flared in the dark. "Alara," he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue, slow.. like he was testing how it felt. "I like it." He shifted his weight against the railing, one boot scuffing against the concrete as he turned to face her a bit more. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, one she probably couldn't see given their distance, and, well.. the time of night it was. "Gonna be real with you, though— hot balcony girl's still got a nice ring to it," he teased.

"You're not wrong, by the way," he admitted suddenly, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. "I do smoke like a man trying to forget shit." He paused, his mouth twitching slightly as he continued, "But I don't know, lately.. I find myself hoping I don't forget everything," he said, his gaze steady on her, letting it hand there for a moment. "Not these nights, anyway." Slow down tiger.. laying it on thick.

Amusement coloured his features as he turned to stub out the cigarette on his ash tray, a final puff of smoke escaping his chest. All someone had to do was point out his pride and freakin' joy. "You noticed it, huh?" Now that was enough to elicit a smile from him. "She's my girl. Gets me out of my head.. cheaper than therapy, at least." His hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck, sheepish for half a second before he shot her a crooked grin. “I'll have you know that my coping mechanisms might be questionable, but my taste on the other hand, is impeccable.”

Mateo shifted, leaning forward into the railing, arms splayed out as he tilted his head, studying her across the glow of the streetlights. “Do you ride?” His tone was casual, but the curiosity in his eyes was anything but. Then, finally, his grin softened into something that felt almost intimate as he answered, “Mateo.” He let it settle in the night air, his gaze holding hers for a long moment before he added, with a playful tilt of his head, “Now you know who you’re drinking with, hot balcony girl.”

"Pudding!" Voice echoing down the quiet street as she ran, Sahra frantically chased her best friend's Ragdoll cat down the street. "Puddin' Pop! Come on!" The television personality turned bartender was out of breath, pausing as the white cat perched atop a garbage can and flicked her tail- as if she were daring Sahra to continue their 'game' and lunge for her once again.

After tossing and turning in her bed for what felt like hours, unable to grasp onto the sleep she not only wanted but needed, Sahra found herself in Lia's backyard- goggles on as she sanded down a piece of wood for a vanity she was building- her sander was, after all, the quietest piece of power equipment she owned. It was when she'd gone inside to grab herself a bottle of water that the feline had slipped through her legs and out the door, taking off into the night with Sahra, dressed in her pjs (an old oversized shirt and knee socks that had fallen to her ankles) with her safety goggles hanging around her neck, sprinting after her.

She'd been chasing the cat for a couple of blocks at this point, and while she'd initially tried to be quiet and considerate to those in the neighborhood considering the late hour, she was now frustrated and yelling.

As if in a classic western, Sahra stood, stance wide with her hands on her hips as she debated her next move- her blue eyes locked with the soulful eyes of Pudding Lozano. Her gaze narrowed and after a few silent moments, she lunged forward, hoping to catch the cat by surprise and use that to her own advantage and grab her, but Pudding was too quick. Instead of her hands finding fur they found the plastic of the garbage container Pudding had been perched on and went careening into them- causing a loud crash as Pudding leapt up onto a nearby balcony. "I know this is a cliche but you just wait until your mom hears about this young lady!"

Clambering out of the stack of garbage cans, Sahra righted herself and looked up, getting ready to try and climb up onto the stranger's balcony where Pudding sat regally on a table, when she noticed they had an audience. Shit.

"I'm not crazy." She said quickly, defending herself in a way that definitely made her sound, well, crazy. "My cat just got out. Well, not my cat per se but she likes me better. It doesn't seem like it right now since she's, you know, running from me. But she does. She's my best friend's cat. I live with them." She was rambling, she knew that, and yet she couldn't stop. "I'm just trying to get her home." She finished, letting out a breath. "I'm not crazy." She repeated for emphasis, hands coming up to once again rest on her hips.

Mateo had heard the crash long before he saw her, the metallic clatter slicing through the quiet, turning his attention from the low glow of his cigarette to the street below. He'd stepped out onto the balcony for air, or maybe to escape the damning silence of his apartment for a moment, only to find himself staring down at the girl in goggles and knee socks... arguing with a cat? His brow lifted, smoke curling lazily past his lips as he watched her, and watched the cat, too.. regal and unbothered, like it knew exactly how ridiculous the scene was. When she looked up and began explaining, Mateo didn't interrupt, quite enjoying her rambling actually. He just leaned his forearms against the balcony railing, cigarette balanced between his fingertips, dark eyes taking her in with the same unreadable calm that made people wonder what he was thinking. A beat of silence passed after she finished.. and then his mouth tugged at the corner, a crooked, amused sort of half-smile as he exhaled smoke into the warm late night air. "You're right," he agreed. "You don't look crazy at all." His eyes flicked to the cat who had just made itself at home on the table on his balcony, then back to her, that amused smile still lingering. "You want a hand, or you got it, Cat Whisperer?" He tipped his chin toward Pudding, eyes glinting under the balcony light. “’Cause she looks like she’s happy to make you work for it.”