[Paris] We are children that need to be loved [Open]

His vision was blurry, and his head ached, more than usual. It'd been months since he'd gone this hard. He had wanted to feel young again, feel his age again. He thought going out and doing what "normal" wizards his age were doing on a Saturday night would do the trick. Boy, was he wrong; he felt even older, out-classed and out-manned. He stumbled out onto the busy street, cars and buses whizzing by in front of him, whilst about him were throngs of the young, rich, and beautiful people coursing through the veins of this City of Light. The sun had long set, the dark violets and indigo of the night sky serving as the perfect backdrop to the sparkling skyline above him. To others, they were like twinkling lights of hope and harmony in defiance of the darkness that surrounded it. When Mateo looked at them, all he saw was garish extravagance and showy flash. He wondered why he even chose to live in Paris in the first place, the city was made up of the things he couldn't get as a child: Clothes, food, fun, and love.

He turned a corner, wobbling on his feet as he did so, probably only a kilometer from his house at this point. He knew better than to try to apparate home, he'd seen the aftermath of one too many splinchings gone wrong. His stomach was churning, upset at the fact it'd been forced to endure a thorough beating. His head felt like the knight bus had run it over at top speed, twice. He'd been drunk before, but somehow this felt different, the throbbing pang of nausea and just pain seemed to seeped through his body, making his muscles ache, and his muscles slow. Before he knew what was happening, he'd collapsed beside a statuette on the outskirts of the park that separated him from his apartment.

He was breathing heavily, unsure of what to do. He wanted to use his wand, but unfortunately he knew the repercussions of using his wand. He didn't know anyone anywhere close that would be able to help him. In the first time in his life, the twenty-four year old yelled out, wearily to anyone around him to help him. The Obliviator clawed against the statue to right himself, but failed and slid back down to rest, his body uncomfortably leaning against the stone base.

Here it was, the City of Love, Lust, and Avarice getting back at him. The city he said hated, the city that he cursed daily. the city that seemed to not be able to go a day without any incidents. It was getting it's choke-hold over him, and it was winning, and when Mateo's eyes closed he wished that they never opened again. What could be worth opening his eyes to anymore? No one would miss him, no one would care. His eyes grew heavy with the weight that felt like sleep, but in reality was dreamless nothingness. Before he fully lost consciousness though, he thought he could hear footsteps, then his vision went black.

Logan didn't plan on coming anywhere near the place he lived in Paris, while he was on run from Aurors. The place held too many memories he wasn't sure he wanted to churn up. He had visited France only because of workshop he was interested in. Somehow, though...he still ended up here. On the exactly same street where he lived with Mateo. He looked a bit out of place as he walked under the light of lamps, dressed in black and leather. High boots, cigarette between his lips, dark eyes scanning his surroundings. In a City of Love, Logan was the beast. The predator. Beautiful yet dangerous. The illness that would spread through the whole body, corrupting a heart and then leave like a shadow, a mere memory.

He could feel people who were passing him, stare and look over their shoulder, curious and cautious. The charm lured in but his presence warned. His head turned and lips curled into a sharp smirk. He entered a park, walking lazily along the path. He would have passed the statue without a second look, trying to get away from this familiar place, if he haven't heard a voice calling...

For a second, he considered leaving and not bother looking but the feeling of familiarity made him do the exact opposite. He stopped and turned, catching a glimpse of a figure leaning against the statue. Against himself he walked closer and as the stranger's face in the light of lamp emerged, he felt his eyes widen slightly. "Mateo?" His voice was a whisper and his step became slightly cautious. He stalked closer to the French-man, to make sure it was really him. It was upon the closer look, when he noticed the other's eyes were closed and that he was either sleeping or unconscious. Logan guessed it was probably the latter. Mateo wasn't really the type to decide he wanted to sleep outside on the ground. What was he thinking?

As Logan hunkered down, he tipped the lit cigarette and frowned. His tattooed hand reached out and briefly touched the side of Mateo's face. He didn't think the man would be still here. Logan would have guessed he moved away, moved away with his life after he disappeared. He looked fragile, slumped against the cold stone. Vulnerable even, though Logan knew better. He knew the strength of that body with his own hands, knew the beauty in front of him. However, this was something he was hesitating to do. He left his past behind, he didn't take steps back, didn't look over his shoulder but instead left his past where it belonged. Behind him. And this man was past. A sweet memory in his darker days. Something that shouldn't be revived, shouldn't be brought back.

Logan stood and turned around, his mind telling him to go. Leave. Forget. He took a step forward only to take two more back to the man with a long sigh. He couldn't do it. Mateo wasn't like Mishka. He wasn't like others he never had any problems leaving behind. He was a corrupted innocence at his hands. Hidden beauty. Logan never cut off the string from his heart. 

Mateo was different, completely out of Logan's world which was exactly why the Basilisk killer couldn't resist him. He bent down, gathering the younger male into his arms carefully. This close he could smell a slight odor of alcohol from him, which made Logan  grip the other tighter. He carried him to the entrance to his apartment, managing to get inside somehow even with his hands full. He was surprised the apartment didn't really change since his department. What more, he still recognized some of his things he left behind and that left him feeling weird. What was he doing?

He laid Mateo down, then went to kitchen for a glass of water, asking the same question over again. Maybe he could leave before Mateo woke up? He thought it was a good idea but didn't move as he watched the man from the opened door frame, leaning against it. He sighed.

@Jared  @Mateo Galván