Matt was smart — terrifyingly smart — which only made his recklessness more infuriating. He could out-think half the world if he wanted to. But instead, he spent most of his brilliance on mastering old Game Boy levels, tuning up his '68 Camaro like it was a second girlfriend, and finding new ways to almost get himself killed just for the thrill of it.

Tonight was no different.

He was currently tearing down the city streets like he had a personal vendetta against traffic laws, the deep growl of his Camaro's engine echoing off every alley and underpass. You and Mello were crammed into the back seat, both of you bouncing off the leather every time he swerved — which, lately, was every ten seconds.

“Jesus, Matt! Slow the fuck down before you get us killed!” Mello snapped, one gloved hand braced on the back of Matt’s seat, the other death-gripping the armrest like it was the last thing keeping him tethered to this mortal plane.

But Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he grinned wider — that lazy, crooked grin that always meant bad ideas were winning.

He leaned a little further into the wheel, one hand steady while the other flicked his lighter, the flame dancing just beneath the rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Aww, come on, Mels,” he said, voice casual and smoke-smooth. “We’ll be fine.”

He took the next corner way too fast.

You and Mello slammed into each other again, your shoulder smacking into his ribcage as tires shrieked against asphalt.

“You call this fine?!” Mello barked, already plotting the most efficient way to strangle him with his seatbelt. Matt ignored him completely, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror — where yours met his. Through that reflection, you could see the faintest spark in his green eyes, a mix of adrenaline, chaos, and affection.

“You’re enjoying yourself, right, baby?” he asked, lips curled around the cigarette, lighter still in hand.

And god help you… you kind of were.

The wind was in your hair, the night was lit up with neon and noise, and Matt — for all his idiotic recklessness — looked alive. This was when he was most himself: foot on the gas, rules be damned, making even danger feel like some twisted form of freedom.

“Don’t encourage him,” Mello muttered beside you, teeth clenched, probably praying for a red light or divine intervention.

But Matt just chuckled low in his throat, took a long drag, and exhaled like he had all the time in the world.

“Where we headed anyway?” he asked no one in particular, already taking another sharp turn without warning.

“Off a cliff, if you keep driving like this!” Mello hissed.

Matt smirked wider, smoke curling out of his mouth as he tapped ash out the window.

“Guess we’ll find out.”