AN - Yes, I'm alive. Yes, this is short. Ok, now that's out of the way. Oh my god, I haven't written anything in forever, so I'm posting this. It's a oneshot, so no, I won't be writing more. It follows the life that I see Matt leading, and is basically like a thought process, looking back over his life. Kind of. I dunno if it's any good, since I've been so inspirationless, but this was brought upon by the song Liquid Confidence, by YouMeAtSix. Tis a nice song.. :D So um... One with the story! Reviews would be lovely, because I won't ask for them at the end, so here it is now. Hope it's good, and I can't know if you don't tell me, right? Right. Then read on! Oh. It's sort of sad. And contains spoilers. No flames please. Now you can read (:
Doors were slamming as a scared red head hid beneath the bed, waiting for the man to come after him. He barely noticed the kind face leaning in front of him, trying to coax him out of his unresponsive state, hardly felt as he was picked up and carefully placed in a car and strapped in.
He did notice as they arrived.
His eyes grew wide as he saw the massive building towering over his tiny frame. He felt very lost, and very alone. An orphan. No-one loved him anymore. Not since his parents had been killed. He had heard their screams. He had barely escaped himself. Had he not fled from the room in fear, he wouldn't be here. Not at this… Place.
This orphanage. The place he would be kept in from now on. The place he would be confined to. And he had to share his room. He hadn't heard the man say who. He had been focusing on the goggles clutched in his tiny hands, too busy staring at the way the strap had been stained, too busy crying.
The boy he was rooming with hadn't seemed so bad at first. It turned worse though. As the scared and scarred child cried himself to sleep, the other boy told him to be quiet. Eventually he was moved to a different room.
A room with a very expressive child. He wasn't the same as the last one. He wasn't rude, but he didn't talk to him. At all.
It took a few weeks before the blond boy would even look at him. He heard from a girl in the corridor that it was all because of the boy he had originally roomed with. It was all too ridiculous for him to comprehend. His child-like mind questioned the point of such hatred. He had never thought of himself as intelligent, but his thought processes were probably beyond what they should be.
His younger years fell away, but his nightmares did not. Constantly, he woke screaming in fear, but the blond would always come and comfort him. Not like the other boy. He hadn't cared. He wouldn't have tried to help.
Midnight.
There were no words needed as the usually loud, older boy gently rocked his new-found friend, singing quietly in a foreign tongue that he had no knowledge of. He knew it was a sweet lullaby though. It was for him. Was he loved?
Maybe not. Maybe so. He did know that he had a friend. Friend was close enough for the child. He was not a solitary creature by nature. He was gentle, but everyone looked upon him as a freak for the goggles he kept around his neck, just like the blond had his rosary.
Both were relics of a family long deceased, but never forgotten.
Their older years brought them closer. But still the crimson haired youth found calm sleep impossible. His blond counterpart stayed with him throughout the night, brushing hair off his face and singing quietly. He was tired, but he would always do it.
The competition that his friend seemed to feel was not the same as how the gamer-to-be felt. He didn't care. He was here because he had no-where else, not because he wanted to be the best.
The blond would always be tired, but still perform brilliantly. The strange, entirely pure white child was always better though.
It aggravated the young boy to see his closest and only friend treated as so; always working to make everything fine, always keeping his eyes open for his own benefit, and yet falling behind this cold child. Surely the blond boy, who's heart was so much more feeling and loving and compassionate, surely he should succeed.
But in life, good would not always prevail.
Mail Jeevas could see this as the brilliant child left the orphanage, not turning since his goodbye to the boy. It hurt. But of course, if had to happen.
He was torn. He found no solace anywhere. His night's grew restless once again. He didn't sleep. He distracted himself with everything he could. Cigarettes. Games. Hacking.
He refused to allow himself to fall. He built himself an exterior. A calm, collected, lonesome exterior, that repelled people the same as his younger self had done. He distanced himself. He didn't work harder, or less so than before. Just averaged himself, to himself.
He braced himself. He would never see the boy who had calmed him so many times again. Of that he was sure. The boy was just as gone as his parents, as his family were. He had been his only family. His only friend. The only person that cared for his welfare, or his feelings.
He refused to cry unless he was alone.
He refused to allow anyone else to live in the room that Mihael belonged in.
He refused to be spoken to.
Until he returned. A mature man, or close to it, so different from who the turned-gamer had known, and yet exactly the same as he welcomed the slim, striped frame into his arms.
He had never betrayed trust, or twisted the truth. The smoker wanted to cry. But he kept his exterior, leaving with his only friend. Ready to die if necessary. Ready to fight. Ready to live again.
And ready to leave this world.