Well, here's some drabble that I wrote because I wanted to use the quotey thingey at the start.
I've attempted a new writing style here, so tell me if it's better, worse, the same? Or just tell me if it's good or bad =P
I'd also like to say, I'm so sorry for my lack of updating on Expectancy! I'm trying, really... And I'll give you my excuse when I finally get the next chapter up.
One last thing before you read this, I stronly suggest listening to 'Over My Head (Cable Car)' By The Fray as you read.
Not only is it a good song, but it also suits the story so well.
Please, enjoy~! That is why I write, after all. ^^
It's hard to lose something you love, but it's harder to let it go.
That was the way it went in the world, and Mello was reminded of that every morning when he opened his eyes. He'd reach out to touch the gamer on the shoulder- shaking him awake if need be- to find that there was nobody there. Every morning he would sit up with a start, look around, and then remember. He was alone.
It had been a year since he had left Matt and still he sometimes forgot he was not in Wammys anymore, and that he was alone in this world, with only the cold and unforgiving mafia to fulfil his social needs.
It had been a year and he still constantly battled with himself so that he would not pick up the phone and call the red-head, so that he would not turn around and sprint back to England, so that he would not go back.
It had been a fucking year and every moment that he breathed in ached through his being, because he wanted- needed, even- Matt. His Matt.
Mello never knew how much it burned inside for Matt.
Sometimes he wished that Matt had just died from the shock of hearing about L's death (but of course, L never meant as much to the gamer as he did to Mello).
Sometimes he wished that the teenager had pleaded and pleaded. That he had gotten down on his knees and begged Mello to stay. If he had done that, he wouldn't have ever left. He would never have been able to turn his back on the gates of where he grew up. If only, if only.
Sometimes he wished with all his heart and soul that Matt had grabbed his bags when he saw the blonde packing. He still remembered the red-head sitting there, playing his Gameboy as clothes were shoved roughly over a pile of possessions stuffed into a bag. He hadn't even looked up.
Mello never knew that Matt's game was paused the entire time, and it was only there to hide his tears.
He had waited when he got to America, somewhere deep inside him pleading with God. Asking him to send Matt looking for him. He almost included it in his prayers that night. Almost.
He had waited as he listened to the song blasting through the speakers- 'And I almost had you, but I guess that doesn't cut it.' He counted the amount of seconds it took him before he shot the radio to pieces. He managed two and a half.
He really had waited by the bus stop for about five minutes. Eventually he turned and walked back to the mafia. Luckily the bus was late that day, or he would have caught it all the way back to the airport. And that plane would have taken him back, back to Matt. Later he looked back on that day, and thanked God that the bus was late. He was meant to be strong. Matt was meant to come to him. So where was he?
Mello never knew the amount of times Matt had driven to the airport before turning around and driving away.
So many times had he written letters, only to throw them into the bin after ripping them to shreds and glancing around to make sure that there was nobody there to question him on why he had maimed the paper so.
So many times had there been a call on his cell. Mello had jolted, about to hurry to its side every time, but he had refrained, as he had pride did he not? Instead he would strut up to it, hips swaying like they always did, and answer it in (what he hoped) was a very dignified voice. Of course, it was never who he hoped.
So many times- had he not counted them all?- had he wished on a shooting star. It was a ridiculous thing to do, really, as it was a thing that lovesick teenagers did. He most certainly did not fit into that category! It had been years now; that was something he hadn't counted, the years since he left. Tonight he wished on a star (the final star, he had told himself) before going back inside and curling up under his covers for another night.
Mello did not know- but, oh, he would find out so very soon- that Matt was sitting in a plane, heading straight to Mello.
It may be harder to let something go than it is to lose it, but if you let it go it will always, always come back to you in the end.