Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or anything else in this fic that I don't own. ^-^
A/N: Um... hi! :D Enjoy! And please review. :3
Warnings: Some language, it's Mello.
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I sat in the bedroom of the little hellhole Matt and I dared to call an apartment, the heels of my hands pressed so hard against my ears that the suction was giving me a headache, my elbows clenched into me. I was shaking but doing my best to stop, curled up on the corner of the bed that was against the walls. I wanted the curtains closed to block out some of the lightning, but I was too warm and relatively safe-feeling in my corner to go close them. I wanted the comforter, too, and ideally my mother would wrap it around me to my delighted giggles of 'Tuck me in like a worm!' I mean, she was dead, so I knew the chances of that happening were slim, but that was beside the point.
Maybe someone could bring me chocolate, too. I'm high-maintenance when I'm scared.
I mean, more high-maintenance than usual.
A huge clap of thunder rattled the windows and I stifled a whimper. I mean, I fully controlled the expression of a voluntary sound of manful unease. My eyes couldn't possibly be closed any tighter. It wasn't physically possible.
Yeah, I'm scared of storms, okay? Next time you join the Mafia and blow yourself up, come and call me a coward. Until then, just sit there and shut the fuck up.
See, the thing is, everything bad that happens to me happens because of a storm. Consistently. First, my older brother Raphael (our parents liked angels) died in a fire caused by lightening. Then my father got struckby lightening. No lie. Then my mother died in a car accident because a sudden storm had flash-flooded the road she was on and sent her hydroplaning into, get this, the car that had my aunt and uncle in it, my only other family, killing everyone involved. It was even storming when I found out L died, although I accept that the storm can't be blamed for that.
Besides, they're really fucking loud, and if it's not the kind of loud made by people- shouting, fighting, laughing- I hate it. All my guns have silencers.
So storms and Mello do not mix will.
And to top it off, I had no clue where Matt was.
I don't do 'alone' well on the best of days, but alone, during a storm, on the anniversary of my mother, aunt, and uncle dying, I couldn't see how it could get much worse.
Unless... Godiva forbid... something happened to Matt, in which case I'd promptly go postal. Haha. Postal. Mail. Matt.
...
Shut up! I'm scared shitless, okay?!
Anyway! Alone, there's nothing to distract me from me.
I knew how cliché it was, but things become cliché for a reason.
And when you're me? There's a lot to think about. A lot to hate.
My subconscious always liked to remind me that I was a murderer, for one thing. His name was Rustlen, just one of my minions, but he was my first kill. I still dream about him.
Anyway, alone is bad.
But, like storms, 'alone' happens from time to time. Matt does his best to be around me constantly, or at least to make sure someone is, but it's unavoidable.
If Matt realizes that it's storming, he's probably employing breakneck speed to get to me.
I've never told him about any of these complexes, of course. He just figured them out with that perceptiveness that got him into Wammy's. It doesn't take L to figure out that me being reduced to hysterical tears indicates an aversion to storms, but he somehow figured out why. Maybe he hacked into something. I doubt it.
All this is, of course, assuming that he didn't walk out on me. Maybe he realized that he deserved better than me.
That's another thing about storms. They turn me into an emo. And an idiot. Because, seriously. Someone would have to be really fucking stupid to believe that Matt would ever actually leave me.
He might if I asked him to and meant it, but even then it was unlikely. He knows how much I need him, and he's the most loyal person I've ever seen. And he loves me as much as I love him which, let me tell you, is pretty fuckin hard to do.
I don't deserve him, but I have him, and me leaving him would kill us both. And while most days (especially days like today) I'm okay with the idea of me dying, there can be absolutely no Matt dying. Unacceptable.
Although I guess me dying would be like killing him, just like how killing him would kill me.
I realize more and more every day how much I love him.
Storms make me sappy, too.
I jumped a mile straight into the air when the door opened in perfect time with an obnoxious flash of lightening. For a moment, I was completely convinced that it was the police officer that had come to tell me of my remaining family's demise, back to tell me that Matt was dead. Another flare confirmed what my heart already knew- stripes.
His name escaped my throat in an undignified little sobbing gasp. "Matt..."
That was all it took, and then he was running for me full-tilt, wrenching the curtains closed just as I had mentally ordered them to be a while back, his arms out in front of him as he threw himself on our bed, his back hitting the wall hard as he grabbed me and drew me to him, all in one amazing blur of motion.
He clutched me tightly, ferociously against him, allowing no space between us. He was drenched from the rain and gasping for breath. He even still had his boots on. So he had run to get to me. I was wet now, and so was the bed, but I couldn't have cared less. He somehow knew, as he always did, exactly what I needed. And right then I needed him, doing exactly what he was doing.
I found the longed-for comforter around us a moment later. He didn't let go of me; I dunno how he got it.
The good thing about him being drenched was him not noticing the difference when I sobbed into his shirt. Um, I mean I... no, I just straight-out sobbed. And he barely left enough breath in my lungs for me to do it.
He didn't even have to ask what was wrong. He knew me well enough to know what would be wrong, to be right about it, and even to know what to do about the situation.
He didn't act uncomfortable or surprised, even at seeing this side of me. Granted, he saw it every time there was a thunderstorm, but it was such a stark contrast to my normal self that it always caught me off-guard that he wasn't, well, caught off-guard. Not that I'd rather he was, by any means.
But confident, loud, angry, impassioned, sexy, cocky Mello could turn into this?
Well, it always seemed fucked-up to me.
Maybe he could see this side of me in every day life, when even I thought it was tucked away. The weakness. The needy, desperate, frantic weakness.
At least he didn't find it disgusting.
My cheek was on his chest, my arms around his waist. I could feel him breathing, and his heartbeat. He had calmed down from his sprint, but his heart was still faster than normal. I knew, all ego aside, that it was because he was holding me.
His chin was on my head, he was curled over me protectively, one arm around my waist and one hand in my hair, in a fist that didn't hurt.
"I'm fine, Mel," he whispered to me. "And I'm here, and you're not alone."
This only made me cry harder, tears blurring my vision into wavy pools. I blinked to clear them but more followed instantly, stepping up to replace their fallen comrades.
I couldn't stop, couldn't stop.
He was humming badly out of tune, by the way- something, some song I remembered from our childhood together. We really had been together for a long time. We had been friends from the moment we met, best friends with a little more time, and then lovers years later. Whatever the case, we'd always meant something to each other. From the moment I met him, he was the most important thing.
My sobs slowed as the storm died gradually down a bit, in the small hours of the morning. It was only about an hour before the sun would rise and I was limp in his arms, exhausted by the emotion.
Almost as soon as I thought the words 'I'm tired,' he slid down in bed, taking me with him. There was still enough storm going on that I needed him, but it wasn't intense enough to make me sob uncontrollably anymore. In other words, sleep was conceivable. And with Matt around, it was even likely.
"Sorry," I murmured to him as he rearranged the blankets around us, kicking off his boots.
"Don't be," he responded calmly. "You put up with my days and weirdnesses. And it doesn't bother me, anyway. You need me to hold you, so I'll hold you. Forever, if necessary."
His 'days?' His 'days' only came three times a year: his birthday, the day his parents were shot, and the day his foster mother killed herself and tried to take him with her. And his reaction to those 'days' was just to be dead serious all day, and all he needed was an extra kiss and some personal space. Not nearly as dramatic as what I put him through, or as frequent. Although, when he mentioned it, he did have some "weirdnesses." Smoking, video games, stripes, goggles, yes. But he also tended to sleep under his pillow and he was inexplicably terrified of manholes/manhole covers. So... yeah, he had his quirks too, but I'd always found them fairly cute. I liked them because they were a part of him.
Did he like me when I was this way, then? It was possible.
I sighed wetly and shifted in his arms. "Thank you."
"Any time." He meant it literally.
My eyes were starting to droop, despite the storm.
He must have sensed this. "Goodnight, Mihael. I love you."
He whispered it in my ear, exactly as he did every night and as he had every night for years and years. You'd think that hearing something repeated every night would make it eventually lose its meaning. It never did.
It was the only time Matt- and, consequently, anyone- used my real name.
And Matt was the only person that was still alive that had ever told me they loved me.
It definitely never lost its meaning. He'd say it without fear to any of my moods: whether I was sobbing or boilingly furious with him. I think it was because he knew I would fall apart without it, and it was true. Especially tonight. Those five words kept me going some days when even my fallback motivation, hate, couldn't.
"Goodnight, Mail. I love you too," I said back, like always. I felt something in him relax, like maybe he needed to hear it every night just as badly as I did.
We're so dependant on each other that it's probably surpassed the healthy zone.
It hardly matters. Once this Kira case is done, I'll take him anywhere he wants to go, and we'll go there and live there together and we'll be as clinically co-dependant as we damn well please.
But until then, yes, this would more than do.
-
I woke up several times that night, my heart pounding, usually with a yelp. Matt just rubbed my back and held me close, stroking my hair, until I fell asleep again. I wondered if he stayed awake or if my exclamations woke him each time, but I didn't ask. I was pretty sure he stayed awake.
Matt, unquestionably the most beautiful human being on the planet, was holding me as he had hundreds of times, just because he knew I needed it. And I knew that tomorrow (or, rather, later today) he would act like nothing had happened, and he'd never mention it unless I brought it up. Matt, who was sharp as a knife, who would have been first at Wammy's if he wasn't so lazy, and who, when it came to me, was the gentlest, most loyal, and most incredibly patient person I'd ever met. Matt, who I loved more than anything, and who I loved more than I could ever hate Near, and who I always would love.
Forever, if necessary.