#matt 003

 It was fucking dehumanizing to walk around set, everyone looking at her like that, because they knew, because things got around fast in such a fucking dog eat dog town. It made Holland miss New York. No one gave a fuck about anyone’s business in New York. Here, gossip was traded as currency and everyone -- every person who passed her by, it seemed -- had their hand in the pot.

But it was the people who actually mattered to Holland on set -- Aspen, Matthew, not the crew comfortable enough to side-eye her -- it was their reactions that had her most concerned. She’d managed to go without seeing them for a majority of the day, thanks to the stack of work she had to catch up on after her ‘awful, terrible flu’, but Holland knew her luck would only stretch so far. 

Until about four o’clock, apparently.

Holland had tucked herself away amongst the trailers, sitting on the metal stairs of her big white box, hoping to have a private moment just long enough to chew through a granola bar. All she needed was two minutes, two minutes of peace, where she could be still, without looking over her shoulder, worrying about who was looking. For half of the bar, Holland was sure she’d found that. She thought she was alone, but she wasn’t. Of course not. Just a few trailers down, the door swung open. Matthew stepped out. 

Holland paled. She thought he was still in rehearsals. She thought he was on the other side of the lot, with Aspen. That’s why she’d chosen her hiding place. Now she couldn’t hide, couldn’t avoid it, couldn’t avoid him, or her absence, or whatever he might now know about her. She couldn’t finish her granola bar.

Here they were again, having a really fucking awkward conversation.

Mello holds the bag of peas to his eye, a grimace on his face. The woman at the grocery store had looked stunned at his split lip and black eye, and the way he winced as he moved didn’t exactly help to make her stop staring. Though his pride was wounded he was too focused on the sharp pain in his side to care that much.

Dying had sucked, getting the shit beaten out of you almost sucked more. Maybe it’s because he had to face the humiliation afterwards, at least Takada had spared him from that.

Feeling both hungry and irritated he made his way out of the store with intent to go home, the peas doing barely anything to stop the swelling. His mouth was set in a hard line: today had really blown. It had blew more than his fight with Matt, more than getting stuck in this stupid city. 

He’s so irritated by the whole situation that he almost doesn’t notice that his best friend is smoking right outside. Mello feels something like regret coiling in his stomach, and he presses the makeshift ice pack against his eye more. He clears his throat and tries to look as formidable as one could in this state, though it hurts to make too many facial expressions.