Maddy Chandler was as pretty as they came. He bore the looks of an angel, silky blond hair that was styled to perfection and baby blues that had a way of stealing the hearts of all those that met him. His face was soft and cherubic, holding a softness that deceived.

A lot of people looked at Maddy and mistook his beauty for innocence.

Stryker Odello was not one of those people. He looked at Maddy and saw him for nothing less than what he truly was; a walking, talking headache.

He spoke too much, and more often than not the nonsense that flowed from his lips was nothing more than second-hand gossip or fashion related.

It was too early in the morning to deal with him. At least that was how he justified topping up the whisky glass in his hands, the dark liquid rising to a halfway point before he placed the bottle back on the wooden decking of his front porch. The deck chair squeaked beneath the movement, a loud whine splintering the early summer morning.

"Really, Stryker?" Maddy said as he approached, his slim frame swaying with untamed seduction. He used his body the way that a warrior used a sword: with deadly intent. Men and women flocked at his feet, drawn to him and his magnetic personality. "It's not even noon. A little early to be getting shit faced, no?"

Stryker answered by taking a slow, unhindered sip. The taste burnt his mouth, offering him a soothing sense of peace that he knew would be disrupted as soon as the other man opened his mouth again.

It was early and the world was bathed in a golden cast, reflecting off the bonnet of both cars that were parked in the gravel pathway: Stryker's battered old golf and Maddy's shiny red convertible. The green grass that spread beyond, opening out into acres of untended land, seemed to gleam as though the stars themselves were buried in the blades.

It was beautiful. It was just a shame that Maddy and his insufferable presence had come to ruin it.

"I swear," Maddy grumbled, eyeing the bottle at Stryker's feet with mild disgust. "For your birthday present, I'm sending you to rehab."

Stryker took another sip, heaving out a sigh as his eyes rolled over to where his – and he used the term very lightly- friend stood on the porch steps. "Can't be worse than you gift last year," he said at last.

Maddy frowned, his head tilting. "What did I get you last year?"

"Your company."

"Ha-ha," Maddy said dryly, making a face as he sat on the top step, eyeing the other man.

Stryker knew what he was seeing; he had seen it in the mirror after he had woken. Messy brown hair that was in dire need of a cut, sticking up from peculiar angles, and bloodshot green eyes. Two days’ worth of stubble sprinkled his jaw and his clothes had been pulled up from the bedroom floor.

"What do you want, Maddy?" he asked when a small stint of silence broke out between them. "You're interrupting my wallowing in self-pity moment. It's a limited time slot. It has to be done before ten-thirty or else I simply won't be able to make room for it."

"When was the last time you showered?" Maddy asked, ignoring Stryker's question.

Stryker had a retort. It was rude and unpleasant, but for fear of Maddy's lack of brain cells being unable to process the insult, he necked back the rest of the whisky in his glass instead.

"Why are you here?"

"I can't visit a friend?" Maddy asked innocently. Stryker cast him a wary look. He knew that tone only too well; it meant that he wanted something and that he wouldn't be leaving without it. "We have so much to catch up on."

The laugh that burst past Stryker's lips was short, bitter and curt. "I really don't give a shit about whatever colour Cindy-Mae has dyed her hair."

"No," Maddy scowled, shaking his head. "This isn't about Cin... wait, what colour has she dyed it? I hope it isn't that awful shade of pink again. With her skin tone, she really shouldn't."

It was both annoying and amusing how quickly his attention derailed. Stryker had once made it a game of how many times he could redirect the conversation, but he had given up playing it when he realized that he could never really be a winner in that game; all he had resulted in was forcing himself to endure Maddy's company for even longer.

"Why are you here, Maddy?" Stryker repeated tiredly. His plans for the day had consisted of sitting on the deck, drinking until the sun faded beneath the inevitability of dusk, and drinking until he couldn't even remember why he was drinking.

"I missed you?"

"Was that a question?"

Maddy snorted. "Well, it wasn't a fact, was it? Really though, Stryk. Shower. Maybe brush your teeth. Clean clothes, too, if you're feeling really adventurous."

"Really, though, Maddy," Stryker mocked. "Leave. Don't come back. Ever."

They had fought last time they had been together. It hadn't been a big fight. More sniping and bitching than anything else, but it had put a longer time frame between seeing one another than usual.

Stryker wasn't complaining. The less frequent Maddy was around him, the less his brain cells withered and died.

"I'm here for Kernal. If it were up to me, you'd still be getting the silent treatment."

"Silent treatment?" Stryker mock gasped, reaching for the bottle at his feet for a top up. It was snatched away before he got a chance. He threw the blond a filthy look. "You mean that you're capable of being silent? Where has this knowledge been all my life?"

"Do you want to know what Kernal wants or not?" Maddy sassed, eyeing the bottle he had stolen before launching it down the drive. It shattered, along with any naïve hope that Stryker still held towards a peaceful day.

Stryker didn't answer straight away. He could have lived without hearing Maddy's mindless babble; all it would have done was rot his brain, anyway. Kernal was not that simple.

Stryker didn't have many friends. Something about him had a way of winding most people up the wrong way. Maddy didn't count on the grounds that if Stryker could have found a pesticide strong enough he would have rid himself of the talking migraine in an instance. Kernal was his only real friend. His best friend and one of the few people in the world that Stryker still trusted.