#this’ll be the the first published fanfiction I’ve ever made so

[alabasterpickles]

Have a little doodle I did about two weeks ago 🫣

I struggle posting thing individually, but I am working on fixing it

[some-dr-writings]

Mod Gundham and Gundham Friendship headcannons

·       He had heard it so many time it had become but white noise to the man. The sound of running water in the bathroom at four in the morning. It used to serve as an alarm clock or sorts before he had gotten used to the sound, rising instead but an hour or so later when the sun would do so as well. When he did actually awaken he’d first set about getting dressed before tending to his companions, making sure their dens were clean and they had water.

·       After he’d tend to his own needs of nourishment. He was stopped in his tracks though, confused to hear the light tapping of keys. This was odd. They always adhered to a strict schedule in all things, so to be writing instead of heading to work was quite the oddity. Their door was open though. “Mod? Do your duties not call you this day?” The man held up a hand, the other continuing to type. Slowly, but steadily their fingers counted down, till it was a fist, the typing abruptly stopping as they lowered their hand. “Library is closed. Told you last night.” Their tone was monotone with little inflection, how it usually was. “Ah, I would inquire why such a state had befallen your domain, but that information is not pertinent I assume.” “Yeah. Don’t matter why it’s closed, only the consequence that I’m here.” Gundham’s housemate was a hermit of sorts, living extremely minimalistic even in speech and information giving. There were very few things that earned the extravagance of getting more than what was necessary. “I’ll leave you to sewing your words then.” “No, just had a brainstorm in the shower. Original writing, not fanfiction so this’ll take longer.” They began typing again, turning back to the dull screen. “I’ll be free in a moment if you want to play a video game.”

·       Not long after Gundham had prepared himself a meal he spotted his companion trotting into the living room. “Hen break?” “Hen break.” Opening the den two guineapigs came charging out hopping straight into Mod’s lap. Mod sat there, hugging and petting the little creatures to their heart’s content before placing them back in and returning to their room. Though this person was ever so strict to sticking to their schedule, always eating lunch and dinner at specific times, down to the second, they never ate breakfast, except for that granola bar they had a breaktime during work. There were times where this worried Gundham, but he always let it go, knowing they kept a tight upkeep in their health in all other places, so surely they had a reason to do so. Not a reason they’d ever tell, unless they ever found it necessary though.

·       Not all friendships were formed through speaking. That was most certainly the case for those particular two extreme introverts. As Gundham set about his work, Mod sat near by, playing some videogame with their headphones in. Even with those on they could hear everything and were still aware of their surroundings so they’d always get out of Gundham’s way as he worked. Merely being together was enough, conversation was not needed. On occasion Mod would show Gundham something in the game they knew he’d like and Gundham would coax his animal companions into drawing near to the keeper of stories allowing them to pet them.

·       Silent communication was how they connected most of the time, but they still made time for one another. “Weaver of tales, it’s been many moons since you’ve last left either of your domains. Come! Let us traverse this world!” “… Give me a sec to put on my shoes.” Walks usually lasted for hours, bursts of silence and boisterous chatter. Gundham would always begin speaking, his voice growing louder and louder, much to Mod’s distress, constantly asking him to quiet down, getting so extremely uncomfortable by the people who began to look their way. Should Gundham not grow loud they’d both eagerly speak, going on and on, a rarity for Mod who only felt comfortable to do so with friends. With all others they’d keep silent and only listen, never engage. “Gundham. Single player game, good story. You play, I be your Navi, cool?” Gundham rather enjoyed these moments of playing video games with them. They always became so passionate, talking about regional or translation differences. Often they’d end up going on rants about how they believed video games were truly the best form for storytelling, giving the player control automatically making them invested, visual, and auditory telling and so many other reasons. If it wouldn’t lead to spoilers, or if they were playing the game for the first time with Gundham they’d do characters analyses as they went on, studying them coming naturally, the writer finding characters to be one of the most important elements of every story with very, very few exceptions.

·       It was rarer but sometimes connections were formed by one other method. It was evening, four o’ five exactly as always when the man had returned. Gundham was confused fining they hadn’t gone straight to their bedroom. “Gundham?” “You have my attention.” “… It’s… it’s been a long time since I’ve last felt human touch, and today was… something. May I have a hug, I think it might help.” Neither ever really liked human touch, it was something they both mutually shyed away from, simply not liking it most times, but sometimes, only sometimes, it was wanted. It usually started out stiff and awkward, but soon they’d relax and melt into it.

·       Both were rather awkward in social situations, preferring the company of animals or none other than themselves alone. That was likely why of all people Mod chose Gundham to help them with publishing their work as a figure head of sorts. Someone similar but distinctly louder and willing to be in the gaze of others instead of hiding away. The pair were almost inseparable in away. Even at a distance they could connect and keep up their friendship. In this hypothetical world where they could met at least, instead of being separated in the confines of separate universes.

[knockaroundguysmattaylor]

Belonging, Matty/Taylor Knockaround Guys Fanfiction

Movies » Knockaround Guys »

Belonging

Author: FanFickleJoke

Rated: T - English - Crime/Romance - Published: 01-31-19 - Updated: 01-31-19id:13194475

Author's Comments: Got a new story for ya. If you read it, please take the time to review. I'd love to know what you think.

Matty stepped out of the building, Gianda's Catering Hole, his father's restaurant, after having delivered the bag of money to the man and telling him that he was done with all of it. Though this would seem to be relieving, and Matty did feel partly relieved, he also felt a a deep and horrible sadness. Not once in his entire life had he said anything like that to his father. He'd always sought out Benny Chains' approval and the talk he'd had with the older man just minutes ago was, for Matty, a sort of cutting of ties. It was the end of the relationship they'd always had where Matty would take whatever it was his father threw at him; it was the end of Matty trying to be what the other man wanted him to be. He was done trying to be a mobster. Matty could deny it no longer; he never was and never could be like his old man.

What hurt Matty more than any of it, though, was that as soon as his father saw him - as soon as Matty returned to New York with the bag of money, all his dad did was say "this'll finally get me out of the shit that Teddy put me into".

He didn't hug his son. He didn't show how thankful he was that he'd survived; that he was alright and made it back alive. He didn't apologize for the death of his friends, he didn't try to comfort him what-so-ever. His father was instead focused on the money, focused on how everything had worked out... for him.

Matty didn't want to be like that.

"There's no one that wouldn't hurt you... if it helped them," Matty heard Taylor's voice in his head, remembering that moment they sat upon the roof of the ice cream shack in Montana. Taylor helped Matty realize that there were very few people you could trust and that most people were greedy and self-centered.

Matty remembered what had driven him to the point where he became determined to join his pop in the first place; to work for his underboss of a father as a legitimate knockaround guy. He had been so eager to belong; eager to feel that he was a part of something. For so many years he hadn't felt that he was worth anything.

It began around 1982, when Matty was eight years old; it was the year his mother Linda passed away. She had been battling cancer for years and it was a horrific and traumatizing experience. He watched her slowly deteriorate as the years passed, watched her fight and fight until she could fight no longer and the illness took her. She had been the only person in his life that cherished him and showed him real and true, sincere love.

Then in 1986 when Matty was twelve, he and his father had planned to go hunting early in the morning but instead of being woken up by his dad, he was woken up by the OC Task Force, the Feds and the NYPD as they came and busted down the door to take his pop away; to jail.

Only a few months later and Teddy had lead Matty down into the basement with Bobby Boulevard. He lost Bobby Boulevard that night; he had been like an uncle to Matty. He'd taught him how to play handball, had taken him fishing and to baseball games. One good memory that stood out was that the guy gave him a bundle of Hustlers one time so that he could sell them to the kids at Aquinas Prep and make a good buck.

He'd lost everyone outside of uncle Teddy and his father, and for years they didn't make him feel as if he belonged; in fact, his father, Teddy, and the mafia soldiers all mocked Matty for having not been able to kill Bobby Boulevard that night. They called him "Matty Dimes" and "Phone Calls" because after apologizing for being unable to kill the man, Teddy threw him a dime and told him to make a phone call.

Neither his father nor Teddy or any of them looked at him as if he were a man; he was considered an outcast even to his own family.

So for years he searched for something to belong to outside of them; he tried various companies, mostly related to sports. It wasn't that he needed the money, what with his relation to his father; but Matty just wanted to feel he fit in somewhere. Every single one of them had turned him down due to his relation to Benny Chains since everyone knew the guy was an underboss. They all assumed Matty was just manipulating them and wanted a piece of their business.

This was ultimately what lead Matty to want to go in with his pop; he felt that he had no other option. Society didn't accept him or trust him and he felt that he had more a chance being accepted by family than being accepted by those outside of it. It was a last resort and he was desperate.

If Benny Chains had accepted Matty from the get-go and made him feel he belonged, whether he was mob-material or not, none of it would have happened. His need for belonging stemmed from the fact that his pop never made him feel he did. He'd felt incomplete and was seeking approval.

All of this lead to what happened in Montana.

All of it lead to the death of Marbles and Scarpa.

A deep, emotional pain began to well up inside Matty; he felt an ache and a tightness radiate from his stomach and travel up around his bruised ribs and chest. Memories of what happened in Wibaux, Montana were vivid and painful and made the pale, dark-haired man both anxious and nauseous.

He saw Johnny Marbles in his mind's eye; his short klutz of a friend. He'd always made Matty laugh; he had always been such an odd and spastic guy. Sure, he had been irritating at times but in the way a little brother could be. He never hated or even disliked Marbles; even though he'd lost the bag in the first place, Matty didn't blame him. Before he blamed Johnny, he blamed himself. He felt he was the reason that any of it happened in the first place; Marbles only retrieved the bag of money because Matty asked him to.

Images flashed before Matty's eyes; he saw Scarpa getting shot after having returned to help them. He and Taylor had thought the man left, bailed on them, and while he originally had intended to, he couldn't; he came back, for them. For Matty. Matty remembered all the times he'd hung around with Scarpa; they'd played golf and basketball, went bowling together. He had always been closer to Scarpa than Marbles but they were his friends all the same.

Marbles and Scarpa had been two out of the three of his only friends. They'd always been there for him and had even put themselves at risk to help him...

Only so they could be shot down by uncle Teddy and his men.

Matty remembered growing up with Teddy, remembered how his uncle had deliberately brought him down to the basement with Bobby Boulevard at twelve years old in an attempt to break him. He remembered all the times Teddy had acted as a father to him while Benny was away; he thought of how all of it had been faked.

"Ever since you were a little kid, you've been nails. Tough as fucking nails..." Matty remembered he'd said to him that night before leading him to Bobby; tied to the chair. Before he'd cut the man's tongue off in front of him and tried to get Matty to shoot him as he sat there with blood dripping down his chin, pleading for mercy.

"I've got shoes older than you, kid. And tougher, too..." Matty heard his uncle say, proving to him that Teddy had been lying to him his entire life. This was how he truly felt; he never had thought that Matty was strong. He thought he was weak; weaker than the shoes on his feet. Matty thought of how his uncle then turned around and prepared to shoot him for the second time that night but he wasn't able to because Matty did as Taylor told him; he didn't think, he just acted and he shot Teddy again and again and again until the man fell back onto the cold cement floor. Dead.

Matty was horrified by all that had happened. He wished that he could unsee what he'd seen, that he could go back in time and relive his life knowing what he knew know but he was fully aware of the impossibility and that he had to accept the truth and face the facts.

He'd never hear their voices again. He'd never hear Chris going on about women again; he'd never hear Johnny going on about Star Wars. He'd never see the smile on either of their faces when he showed up. There would be no more going out for drinks or hanging around...

Marbles and Scarpa were dead.

They were dead; his friends were dead. They were always going to be dead.

There was no turning back; they were gone. Forever.

Uncle Teddy was dead too. Everything he'd ever said to Matty had been a lie. All of his words of comfort, they'd been fake. He was never anything more than a greedy and selfish manipulator.

His pop hardly cared about him. He only ever belittled him and made him feel as if he wasn't good enough.

Matty couldn't trust anyone outside of his family. Matty couldn't even trust his own family. Marbles and Scarpa, he could trust them... but they were dead.

His entire life consisted of loss. The loss of his mother. The loss of his father, both literally and figuratively. Of Bobby Boulevard. The loss of countless job opportunities. The loss of Marbles, Scarpa, Teddy.

He didn't have anyone.

Anyone but Taylor.

Matty stepped down the steps of Gianda's Catering hole and walked over to his friend who was leaning against his Cadillac while smoking a cigarette.

Taylor; a glimmer of hope. The only light in his otherwise dark existence. Memories of his best friend were the only pleasant memories he had. Taylor was the only good thing left in his life and Matty couldn't have been more grateful for the man.

Matty thought of how Taylor had ran over to him, pushing him out of the way, using his very own body to shield Matty from Teddy's bullets. The unselfish and heroic act helped to keep the misery in Matty from consuming him.

Taylor's eyes scanned over Matty as the man stood before him. He felt slight anxiety as he flicked the ash off his cigarette. He wanted to be sure that Matty was done trying to get into the mobster business with his pop; that he hadn't changed his mind and decided not to go through with it.

Ever since they met, Taylor had always been protective of Matty and selfless where he was concerned. Teddy had introduced them soon after he'd taken Matty into the basement with Bobby Boulevard, as he had been friends with Taylor's father before the man was killed. According to Teddy, Taylor was the opposite of Matty; he was someone who could get the job done, even as a little kid. Taylor had always had a temper; he'd always been vengeful and full of rage. The murder of his dad coerced him into being that way. There was a disconnect in Taylor that Matty had never been able to replicate, as hard as he tried.

Taylor could be nice to those who were deserving of it, but he never really opened himself up to anyone on an emotional level. It wasn't deliberate on Taylor's part; he just subconsciously realized that the more people he opened himself up to, the more he was risking. Not only that but Taylor simply didn't trust people as he'd been betrayed on more occasions than not.

There were only two exceptions; his mother, which was a given...

And Matty.

"You told him?" Taylor asked, looking at Matty with concern as he waited for an answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did," Matty confirmed.

"Good. Good, you're finally done with it," Taylor responded, relieved. He leaned forward and gently wrapped his hand around Matty's forearm in encouragement as he looked tenderly into his friend's blue eyes. He knew that all of this was difficult for Matty and he wanted to show him that he was supported and that he'd done the right thing. He showed Matty that letting go of his father was not going to mean he was alone; Taylor felt Matty had to have known by now, especially after he'd risked his life for Matty, that he would always be there for him.

Since they were young, Taylor had felt this deep connection with him. He was just about the only friend he'd had growing up; and though he may have had opportunities for other friendships, the other kids just didn't really understand or accept him. But Matty did. He and Matty could relate to one another; Taylor saw Matty struggle with the exact things he'd struggled with after having lost their fathers. Matty's dad had gone to jail and his had been murdered. That, and both of them were raised around mobsters and were pressurized into being 'tough guys'.

Taylor also saw in Matty a side of him that he'd lost; there was an innocence and naivety in him. Matty didn't like hurting people; he wasn't a fighter like Taylor. Matty was the type that preferred to talk things out rather than get physical; and he certainly couldn't kill a person, not unless he absolutely had to, and Taylor wanted to preserve that side of Matty. He wanted to keep Matty from losing that side of himself the way he had.

Matty had always been the person who gave Taylor hope in humanity. Matty was selfless, kind, caring; Matty could be trusted. Matty wasn't like the mobsters Taylor grew up around or the kids he'd hear whispering behind his back in school. Kids that Taylor pounded to the ground and got suspended over. No, Matty was a truly decent person, even at 12 years old.

As they aged, Taylor took it upon himself to be Matty's source of comfort, his informer, his care-taker. He wanted to give to Matty all that he himself was missing; he wanted to give to Matty the care and love and protection that he'd never been given. Not only because he saw himself in Matty but because he felt that Matty both needed and deserved it.

"Done with this, too," Matty continued, taking the keys to his Cadillac out of his pocket and throwing them through the window and onto the seat. His father had gotten him the car a few years ago and he was making a statement. He was showing his father that he was truly done. He remembered the way his father had mocked him for wanting a job. "What are you complainin' about? You drive a Cadillac!"

Matty knew he didn't have to ask Taylor for a ride, especially after all that had happened. He knew Taylor would be more than willing.

"What now?" Taylor asked, as he and Matty headed for his van.

"Now? Now we get the hell outta here," Matty responded. There was more enthusiasm in his voice, which Taylor picked up on; Matty was ready to start fresh. To put everything behind him. Matty was ready to take Taylor's advice and move on. He was ready to try again to get a regular job; to make a deal with the city and work as a citizen.

Things would be better this time... Things were different.

Matty was accepted. Matty belonged.

And he had faith that he'd never lose Taylor.

It had been three days since Matty and Taylor returned to New York. Matty sat on an old dock across the Brooklyn bridge, letting his feet hang over. It was a place he and Bobby Boulevard used to fish when he was growing up. He'd go there alone every once in a while when he needed to think and wanted to escape the hustle and bustle of the city. The water was choppy and the air was somewhat cold but it didn't bother him. He had other things on his mind.

Matty looked nothing other than miserable. His pink lips were tugged downward in a frown and his brows were lowered over his blue eyes. He clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting and turning. He kept replaying in his mind what had happened that morning with Taylor...

He and Taylor sat on the couch in Matty's living room, watching the sports channel and drinking a couple beers when suddenly Taylor's cell phone rang. The man stood up from the couch and took the flip phone out of his pocket before answering. Matty couldn't hear anything but muffled voiced on the other end.

"Be there soon," said Taylor before hanging up.

"Who was that?" Matty asked, curiously, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Family friend. They need me for a job," Taylor responded, putting his phone back in his pocket as he turned toward Matty.

Matty's lips parted and he looked up at Taylor in confusion; family was never a good thing when it came to Taylor. Family meant, someone in the business. Matty met Taylor's gaze and then he looked away, off to the side. He clenched his jaw as anxiety and stress came back to hit him like a freight train. Images of Scarpa getting shot flashed before his eyes; images of Teddy shooting at him; images of Taylor's getting shot. Images of Sheriff Decker and Deputy Ward lying dead on the cement floor, as well as Brucker and Teddy and all the mafia soldiers.

"Family friend, huh? And what kinda job is this?" he asked softly, still not looking up at Taylor. Observing Matty's expression, or lack of one, Taylor realized that Matty knew exactly what he was off to do. And that he wasn't happy about it.

"Don't worry," Taylor responded, his voice soft. Matty looked at Taylor, standing up from the couch.

"What're you gonna do?" Matty asked, searching through Taylor's brown eyes.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be back," Taylor responded, grasping Matty's bicep reassuringly. He didn't want to give his friend the details; he didn't want Matty to have to be associated with that life in any sense what-so-ever.

There no was no question in Matty's mind at that point what kind of job it was that Taylor was going to do. Matty bowed his head and shook it back and forth.

"Don't worry about it. Yeah. Taylor, there's no not worryin' about it... Shit, I can't believe this. You serious right now?" Matty said, looking at Taylor with furrowed brows and a frown. He looked angry but Taylor knew it wasn't anger so much as worry.

"Matty, it's an easy job. Quick. I won't be gone longer than a couple of hours," Taylor responded. He gave Matty's arm one last squeeze before he turned past his friend and walked over to the door. He put his boots back on and took his jacket off the rack beside the door, putting it on.

Matty looked at Taylor as he put the jacket on. His eyes began to shine and he just about looked ready to give up; the deep and aching sadness that he felt then would have been apparent to anyone who saw him. He lost everyone else, he couldn't lose Taylor too. All he could see in his mind was Taylor dying. All he could imagine was his own loneliness if Taylor did. Not only did he lose everyone else in his life, not only was Taylor all that he had left... but Taylor was also his best friend and the person he loved more than anyone else. Especially after what had happened in Montana when the man made it clear just how much Matty meant to him.

Matty stood still for a moment, just looking at his friend; not saying a word or moving a muscle. He was somewhat frozen, feeling defeated. But just as Taylor went and took the door knob into his hand, Matty spoke. Before the incident in Montana, Matty would let Taylor do as he wanted; he never tried to control him. But this was different. Matty couldn't let him leave, not without a fight.

"Wait a second. Wait..." Matty said, walking over to Taylor.

Taylor turned around and looked at Matty. His friend looked so despondent, so hopeless. It tore him up inside to see Matty like that.

"Look... I don't ask for much," Matty continued, looking almost sheepish. "But this... this, I gotta ask for. Don't keep doin' this. You're on parole as it is. Take your own advice and get out before it's too late."

Taylor hesitated for a moment, his own brows creasing as he realized how much this was affecting Matty. He hated to cause Matty any pain; he'd already been through enough, Taylor thought. But at the same time, Taylor didn't feel he was able to get out of this life. It was all he ever knew.

"I can't," Taylor responded.

Matty's lips again parted and his eyes darted across the room, slightly panicked. His started breathing faster and heavier as his heart pounded.

"Come on, Taylor, even after everything that's happened, you're gonna stick? You said it yourself, all this gets you is a bullet to the head or life in jail. And you were right, we saw it, we saw all of it, clear as fuckin' day in that terminal," Matty said. Taylor's chest began to ache as he heard the disappointment in Matty's voice and saw it on his face. He wished that things were different, that he could do as Matty said, if only to comfort the other man.

"It's how things gotta be for me," Taylor replied, quietly.

Matty saw the guilt on Taylor's face as he stepped closer, so they were only a foot apart. He wanted Taylor to SEE him, to FEEL him, to become aware of how badly he didn't want this.

"No, it's not. I left it, so can you. Think about it, man. We can change our last names, we can find regular jobs, be regular guys. You don't need this," Matty said.

"Matty..." Taylor began, watching as his lean friend clenched his jaw and swallowed nervously. "You got a chance at bein' a regular guy..."

"Yeah, well, you got just as much of a shot as I do," Matty replied, looking Taylor up and down, his voice taking on an angry tone.

Taylor's phone made a beeping noise and he pressed his lips together sympathetically as he looked at Matty. He bowed his head, pained that he was hurting the other man.

"It's not the same for me..." he said, in his rumbling voice.

Matty didn't blink as he stared at Taylor, pure agony written all over his face. He nodded in disbelief, unable to say anything.

"I'll be back soon. Don't worry," Taylor said one more time before turning around and gripping the door knob. He turned it and held the door open before he turned his head to the side, looking at Matty out of the corner of his eye and then leaving the house.

After Taylor left, Matty's anxiety skyrocketed. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He tried to push it down, to ignore it, but memories came flooding back to him as if a dam just broke in his head. Blood. Guns. Cops. Montana. Scarpa. Marbles. Teddy. Death.

Death. Blood. Gun shots. Marbles. Scarpa. Taylor.

Death. Taylor.

Unbearable loneliness.

About an hour of this and Matty decided he needed to get out and get some fresh air, to escape the four walls of his house, and he decided he'd go and sit on the dock at his favorite alone spot. He put on his jacket and shoes then left the building and got into his new car - a 2000 black Hyundai Sonata - before driving off.

Taylor drove in his van to the location, a broken down warehouse on the outskirts of the city. That day, it was Taylor's job to go into this warehouse, beat some sense into the guy tied up to the chair and get some answers. Taylor was helping his family friend find a particular boss who had betrayed the family and owed them money.

As he drove, using one hand since his right arm was aching and throbbing what with the bullet wounds, he thought of Matty. He thought of what his blue-eyed friend had said. He knew Matty was worried about him dying, especially after all that had happened in Montana at the beef terminal.

Taylor did wish he wasn't that person and that circumstances were different; but he didn't think he could live a normal life. He didn't feel he was redeemable. There was no going back for Taylor. He was cold, he didn't feel much. It'd been this way since he was a kid; he shut his emotions off so he could do what he had to do.

In fact, Taylor hardly felt anything about Marbles and Scarpa dying. Not that he didn't feel bad. He did, especially for Matty, but he also knew that this sort of thing happened when you lived that life. He was able to move on from it.

He wasn't sure he would know how to live any other way. He'd tried being a regular guy and failed miserably, more than once. He always ended up in fights and was unable to control himself, especially when someone treated him or others unfairly.

Which happened very often in New York.

Taylor didn't think he was like Matty. They did have similarities but Taylor could shut his feelings off and do whatever needed to be done. He could kill a man without much regret, where as Matty could not. Matty was an empathetic and warmhearted man who just wanted to be accepted. He had an innocence to him that Taylor didn't have.

It was why Taylor loved him more than anyone or anything and why he was willing to risk his life for his friend.

Taylor returned to Matty's house after having gotten a pizza from Matty's favorite pizza place. When he stepped inside, he found Matty sitting in his comfortable black chair in the corner, reading a book while smoking a cigarette. There was a newly bought bottle of liquor beside the chair and a clear glass on his table. Taylor realized there was about a third of the alcohol missing from the bottle. Taylor's heart sank as he looked at the ash tray on the table in front of him. There were what looked to be 10 cigarette butts. Matty was drinking and smoking a lot more than usual.

"Brought pizza," Taylor said. Matty looked up at him, tiredly. He didn't say anything, only observed Taylor and the pizza box before he turned away and took another drag of his cigarette.

"You eat today?" Taylor asked as he walked further into the house and placed everything on the coffee table in front of the couch a few feet into the living room.

"Nah, I'm all set," Matty responded, very quietly; keeping his eyes on the book. His voice was soft and sounded hurt. Taylor looked at his friend with concern. He went into Matty's kitchen and got a couple plates then returned to the living room and placed a piece of pizza on each plate. He took one and walked it over to Matty, handing it to him.

Matty looked at it and clenched his jaw. He wasn't even remotely hungry. He looked away and continued trying to read his book.

"Come on, it's Capizzi's," Taylor said, trying to push Matty into eating. Matty sighed and put his cigarette out then took the plate from Taylor and stood up with it. He couldn't turn down Taylor's care and kindness. He knew the man wasn't trying to hurt him, deliberately.

"Thanks," Matty said. He and Taylor walked over to the couch and sat on it, the TV still on the sports' channel. Matty ate the entire piece of pizza despite his lack of hunger and he watched as Taylor took another piece from the box and bit into it. Matty waited for him to finish eating before he began talking.

"There's just one thing I don't get," he said as he kept his eyes on the TV, watching as a fisherman reeled in a large-mouthed bass.

"What's that?" Taylor asked. He had a feeling that what Matty was going to bring up didn't have to do with the show they were watching.

"What makes you think you're different?" Matty replied, turning his head to look at Taylor. "Why don't you think you deserve to get away from all of this as much as I do?"

Taylor looked at Matty only briefly before turning his head away; silent.

"I'm serious, man," Matty said, looking Taylor up and down. He wanted an answer, he needed to know what was going on in Taylor's head and why he wouldn't leave the mob deal behind. It was the only way he could try and convince Taylor to leave.

Taylor clenched his jaw and appeared to be uneasy with what Matty was saying. Matty felt Taylor wasn't going to answer him and so he kept talking, kept prodding.

"You think you're too far gone?" he asked, more concern in his voice this time as he leaned closer to Taylor.

Taylor still wouldn't look at Matty.

"I'm not like you," he finally said.

"And what am I, huh?" Matty asked.

"Your head's in the right place," Taylor responded.

"And yours isn't?" questioned Matty. Taylor hesitated before he answered.

"Nah," he said.

"Says the guy who risked his life for me," Matty said.

"That's different," Taylor replied.

"How's it different? I mean, if you're willin' to risk your life to save a guy, you're not as bad as you think. Nobody else woulda done for me what you did," Matty stated.

"It's different, 'cause you're different. You're you," Taylor said.

Matty paused as he absorbed the information given to him. Taylor was saying that he only risked his life for him, because he was him. Because he was Matty. It was almost like a proclamation of love for Matty and his heart swelled with emotion and a feeling of tenderness. He was also uncomfortable with it; he'd never liked feeling vulnerable or weak and in that moment, it was exactly how he felt. Taylor often made him feel this way and it was at times unsettling for a man who was raised to believe that emotions were a crime. Especially when they were caused by another man.

Matty looked away from Taylor and back at the TV due to his embarrassment.

"It doesn't matter who you did it for," he began before turning back to Taylor. "The fact's that you did it. You're not this stone-cold killer, Taylor, you're... you're the most trust-worthy person I know and anybody would be lucky to have you around."

Taylor looked over at Matty, his forehead wrinkling and his heart pounding. Matty always had a way of making him feel more than he'd ever felt and it was, at times, overwhelming. He and Matty's eyes met and they felt that all-too-familiar feeling, a sort of connection, that they felt whenever their eyes met. It was like all of a sudden, the two of them were one and could read one another's thoughts and feel one another's feelings. It was a unity that couldn't be replaced nor replicated. It was all-consuming and powerful and just about the only thing that either of them needed more than anything.

It was a feeling of belonging.

Matty and Taylor ended up falling asleep on the couch while watching TV. They'd fallen asleep with their sides touching, from their shoulders down to their socked feet. And as time passed, Matty titled closer to Taylor and his head winded up resting on Taylor's right shoulder. He was out cold after all the stress since Montana and all the alcohol and lack of a good sleep.

At one point, Taylor woke up, feeling Matty's warmth as he lean against him. He could hear Matty breathing slowly and softly. His pink and full lips were slightly parted as he drew in breath after steady breath. Taylor could feel Matty's ribs inflate and deflate. He felt the pale man's hand flinch as it rest between them, against Taylor's outer thigh.

Taylor turned his head to look at his friend. He felt Matty's black hair brush against his chin and his cheek. He could smell Matty; he smelled good. Partly like cigarette and alcohol but also fresh laundry, slightly peppery cologne and mint. He was wearing dark gray pants with a t-shirt of the same color.

A feeling of love made it's way from Taylor's stomach up to his chest. To have Matty beside him, alive, was more than he could have asked for.

Taylor began to think. What if he did end up dying, doing what he did? He knew there was definitely a good chance he would be killed in one way or another. Things never ended well for mobsters. Taylor knew that better than anybody.

It was one thing to die saving Matty. He would make that same choice over and over and over again.

But to risk his life for a job? To risk leaving Matty for a job? To miss out on having more moments like these? To hurt his best friend, the man he loved, for a fucking job?

Taylor realized that was the most stupid idea he'd ever had.

Matty woke early in the morning, realizing sheepishly that he'd fallen asleep on Taylor. Matty slowly got up and looked at Taylor, watching as the other man slept. His brows were lowered and he looked disturbed.

Matty clenched his jaw and looked at him with worry in his eyes before he stood up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. He used the toilet, took a shower, brushed his teeth and put mousse in his hair. He wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom, stepping into the living room.

Taylor was awake at this point and was smoking a cigarette as he sat on the couch and looked at the TV. Once Matty left the bathroom, Taylor looked up at him.

"Hey Taylor," Matty said, kindly.

"Mornin'," Taylor replied, looking Matty up and down; taking in the sight of his pale and smooth skin, his pink nipples. With rage and anger Taylor also took in the sight of the bruises along Matty's ribs, given to him by Sheriff Decker.

"How's it feelin'?" he asked, concerned.

"Huh? Oh, it's- it's nothin', I'm alright," Matty replied, looking from the left to the right in slight embarrassment. "How you doin'?" he then asked.

"Good," Taylor said. Matty nodded his head.

"Yeah? Good," he said as he stepped over to his bedroom and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

Matty came out moments later wearing a black shirt and black slacks. Taylor was standing by the window, looking outside, and once Matty came back out he turned around and began to spin the ring around in finger; somewhat nervous.

"Matty..." he began, stepping closer to his thin friend. Matty looked at Taylor, eyes scanning over the other man's face.

"Yeah?" he asked, curiously.

"I'm done with it," Taylor said; quick and to the point.

For a moment, Matty stood there, frozen.

"You're out?" the blue-eyed man then asked, a softness in his voice as he looked Taylor up and down.

"Yeah," Taylor replied.

A huge weight felt as if it had been lifted from Matty's shoulders. He let out a breath of relief as he bowed his head.

Serenity.

"What changed your mind?" Matty asked, looking back up into Taylor's eyes.

"You," Taylor responded. He slowly raised a hand to Matty's face, wrapped it around the back of his head and pulled him in; lips meeting in their first kiss.

The End.