Written randomly for no reason. Just felt like it.
Everything
Matt let his eyes slide closed again, breathed in the scents of everything. There was nicotine, drifting through the room, clinging to surfaces, a constant tease. There was the smell of chocolate, light and airy, difficult to sift out of the thick musk in the shabby apartment. Matt sighed, leaning onto his knees, resting his elbows on their bony joints, weaving his fingers through his hair, looking into the heels of his palms, seeing red through the digits entwined in the coppery strands falling from around his head in wrinkles and knots. There was the smell of leather too, from the gloves pulled over Matt's forearms, the ones he had bought for that precise reason. It was Mello who smelled of leather, more than anyone, more than anything. It was something crisp, tangy, as addicting as the cigarettes sitting lined up in their box, politely waiting for Matt to realize how much he needed them, like how he had realized he needed Mello so many years ago, when they had first locked gazes, when Matt still believe in happily ever afters, when he still tried to catch the wind with the innocence of a child. The cigarettes were for when those beliefs ended.
It was the leather, the musk, the chocolate, the smoke of yesterday, it was all those things; things cloaked in nostalgia, yearning for a time when a cigarette sat sandwiched between a young gamer's lips, when a sleek blonde stood leaning against a countertop, gloved fingers tapping across laminate, body arched, eyes flashing with promise. It was all those things that pulled an aggravated groan from Matt, that made him reach out for the pack of cigarettes and sweep them off the coffee table in front of him with enough force to send them flying into the kitchen, where they rested, dejected. His fingers itched, his legs jumped in anxiousness, but he ignored his cravings and fell foreward again, exhaling, pushing away the scents of everything that meant anything to him.
He knew he was burdenous, as he dragged a hand over his eyes, set a curtain over the view of the apartment, blocked out the door that hadn't opened in so long. He knew he was a pricey thing to keep around, an expensive play thing. He sighed, feeling the twists in his stomach that begged for food. They were worse, now that he'd stopped smoking, but it was worth it. Smokes were costly, food was also, and the less he took from Mello, the more he might be given. He shifted in his seat, listened to the hum of the fridge, tuned it out by humming a small song, one he used to listen to when he played his games. Time passed slowly without his handheld, but he knew how it annoyed Mello when he tapped away at it all night. He'd had to give it up along with his old two meals a day policy and his three packs a day routine. He would drop everything Mello didn't like, would heed all of those old warnings the blonde had given him.
Stop smoking, you asshole, it smells like shit!
Turn off your fucking games, Matt. Bloody hell.
You eat like a pig. Do you not remember who's supporting you?
Then Matt had laughed, had waved Mello's complaints aside, had taken another drag, continued to another level, pushed another plate into the microwave. Now he saw how serious Mello must have been, now that the blonde had left, had said he'd had enough of watching Matt gradually kill himself, slowly waste his life away. He had said he was tired of supporting someone so useless, things Mello had said many times. This time, though, cerulean eyes and golden hair and creaking leather had all disappeared through the door, and hadn't marched back in.
The smell of chocolate was fading.
Matt didn't really know why he was so concerned about Mello's absence, why he purposely quit smoking, why he pushed all of his game consoles into a cupboard, why he thought these things would bring Mello back, why he wanted him back in the first place. Maybe something inside him, some very dominant but previously dormant part of his brain, relied on Mello more than the basic necessities of his life. Maybe that part of him was willing to try just about anything to bring back that fading smell of chocolate.
So far it hadn't worked. Matt sat alone on the couch, slept on the couch, ate what he felt he could on the couch, stared blankly at the walls, all the while seated on the couch, but Mello never sensed all these sacrifices, hadn't pulled up in his roaring motorcycle, shaking his hair away from his helmet and smirking, glad to see how hard Matt was trying. How hard he would always try.
And the thoughts were the same as they always were, everyday, Matt running his mind over the same subjects, smiling sarcastically at the fading familiarity of the apartement, the way it's rooms became lonely and forbidding. And it was the same as every other time, even when the lock clicked, and Matt knew he was imagining the sound, knew it was a neighboring door, his own wishful thinking.
Even when the door swung open, Matt didn't look up, his hands over his ears, protecting them from further noises that made his heart jump with the little hope still crouching in it.
"Matt?" It was then the redhead looked up, blinked at Mello and gasped, because; honsetly, that part of him that loved the blonde had expected to die in the process of pleasing him, it was then Matt left the couch for a reason worth standing for.
"Damn quiet in here..." Mello mumbled, tossing his keys onto the stained carpet, stepping into the building with his shoulders drawn back and his eyes scrutinizing the boy in front of him. "The hell happened to you?"
Matt smiled, lifting his hands in surender, breathing deeply and catching the cocoa that trailed after Mello like a cape. "I made my being here a little easier." He sounded proud of himself, standing there, his eyes only half open.
Mello's brow furrowed, he stepped up to his friend, looked deeply, saw everything, using the analyzing skills he had learned at Wammy's to his advantage. The air seemed fresher than it had ever been, Matt seemed gaunter, paler, shaky. He wrinkled his nose, taking in a whiff of what he had thought he'd wanted, something close to a nicotine free atmosphere. It bothered him. "What do you mean?" He asked Matt, stepping closer, looking around at the tidy living room, suspicion rushing through his veins.
"I quite smoking, and my video games... and I..." Matt hesitated at the look Mello was giving him, something strange and contradictory, like he was surprised and angry that Matt had done what he'd been demanding he do for so long.
"The hell would you do that?" Mello asked resting an arm across his hips and leaning on one foot.
"I wanted to be worth your time." Matt muttered, the pride leaking out of his words and leaving them bare under Mello's glare.
The blonde stepped foreward one more time, leaned his head in, bumped Matt's forehead, his eyes as direct and intense as the redhead had remembered them, now so much closer than he had ever dared imagine them to ever be, flashing with so many emotions, making them indecipherable. It was Mello, suddenly overwhelming Matt's senses, all chocolate and leather, all feeling and strength, everything. "Loving you will always be worth it."
Everything was a nice smell, but it was a better taste.