A Story About The Day When Matt Wasn't Dead
Author's Note: WTF.
Mello smiled idly. It wasn't something he was prone to doing, but the sun was shining, he had just bought half of his own body weight in chocolate, and he didn't have anything to do. No catching serial killers, no needing to come up with ways to annoy Near, nothing. Right now, not even a job, but that didn't really matter. He was learning quickly to exploit the American justice system, suing everyone and anyone to pass the time and earn him some money.
Some had a 9-to-5, some had an eBay account, but he had a lawyer who recovered all costs from the opposition.
So Mello smiled.
Even the fact that he was wearing skin-tight leather on a hot day didn't bother him. A breeze was blowing; even nature itself deciding that Mihael Keehl deserved a good day.
Something caught his eye, the unmistakable sight of unnaturally coloured hair and stripes lying on the ground.
Mello blinked and headed for Matt.
That was a really…uncomfortable way he was lying. His cigarette was falling out of his hand. There was a darkish stain on his back.
Fuck, Matt. He couldn't be dead.
Mello started to run. "Matt!" he called.
Matt didn't move.
"Fuck you, Jeevas," Mello growled. "If you're dead, I'll kill you."
He couldn't be dead. Who would kill Matt? He was the most non-threatening person in the world, with his videogames and his goggles and his not-leaving-the-flat-for-three-weeks-solidly.
He'd been shot at before, but that was the Kira case. It'd have been suspicious if he hadn't been shot at. Come on, Mello had caught fire. More than once.
Almost falling over himself, Mello dropped to his knees next to Matt. "Matt, get up," he commanded, rolling him over so he could look at his face.
"Fnffh?" Matt responded blearily.
"Are you dead?" Mello asked, then tried to look at his mouth in horror at the stupidity that had just left it.
"I was asleep, you giant prick," Matt told him drowsily.
Mello attempted to calm the frantic feeling by cramming a whole bar of chocolate, foil and all, into his mouth. "Arghgh," he grumbled, remembering that it was best not to eat the wrapper. "I thought you'd been shot. Again," he added as an afterthought. Matt gave him a look, which meant 'have they put drugs in your chocolate again? Because really, that shouldn't happen more than once'. "You looked like you'd been shot," Mello told him.
"Why?"
Mello nudged his side, ineffectually trying to indicate his back. "It looked like blood."
Matt's eyes flew wide open under the goggles and he wriggled out of his jacket, looking somewhat like a fish. "What the –" he poked the stain. "Fucking kids," he growled.
"Also," Mello added helpfully, "your cigarette's going out." Said cigarette then took the opportunity to reach and burn Matt's fingers.
As Matt dropped his coat and the butt to the floor to stick his burned fingers in his mouth, Mello looked again at the stain. Dark mud, as splattered by bikes. That was going to be a real joy to get out.
"You realise you were asleep in a park, don't you?" Mello asked.
Matt nodded.
"And your DS?" Mello wasn't concerned about the gaming system, in fact he was sick of the music that played through its inferior speakers. He was more…intrigued.
"It's ok," Matt reassured him, standing up and brushing himself down. "I keep it in my underwear." He looked at Mello, who was still sitting on the floor with an expression on his face that is generally known as 'oo'.
"I really didn't need to know that," Mello said. But I'm glad you told me, I'll use gloves if I ever need to pick it up in the future, his mind added.
"No," Matt agreed cheerfully, helping Mello stand and taking his coat back. "You probably didn't. Should we go?"
"Yes. To the dry cleaners. About your coat." Mello pointed out.
Matt smiled brightly. "Let's go then."
So they did.
