A/N: Oneshot is up!
Death Note all the way!
This takes place somewhere between a point in time—before Matt's and Mello's deaths.
Critiques are greatly appreciated
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN DEATH NOTE
Enjoy~
What is and What is Not
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When Mello first tells Matt of the plan, Matt's already expecting it, but he's terrified nonetheless.
It's like having the air sucked out of him and having his lungs being burned with the ashes of his nonexistent cigarette, but at the same time, Matt feels his hands starting to twitch and God knows where the Gameboy he was playing with is now. . .
He's out of cigarettes, is the first thought that explains the dry and stale feel in his mouth as Mello burns hot and bright, all leather and chains and crosses (which Matt thinks is ironic—because they're atheists) and he is made out of titanium and oiled steel and the fact that he stamps his foot down and calls this the plan—the official plan—sort of makes Matt wish greedily in the back of his mind that he'd gone out earlier and bought an extra pack of cigarettes.
"You in?" Mello asks, all blaze and jazz and sheens of anger a bit toned down for the fires to come, and Matt thinks that he is already a long, long way from home. This Mello in front of him is determined and cooled like no other before, invisible sparks flying like fireworks and heated water and the only thing that will have people probably remember the next big thing they are going to do is the fact that two boys tried to kidnap and kill Miss Takada.
And this is the point in time where Matt realizes he doesn't move an inch from his spot where the flames are just beginning to rage into the prelude and the ball drops low and there is no cigarette dangling from his lips, because this is the time where he just knows. Matt knows in the tiniest corner of his mind that they aren't immortal and this is the perfect example of fear that is keeping him on his toes with the ball dropping and the ashes falling. He knows in the tiniest and by far most quietest corner of his mind that the spotlight is all theirs tomorrow and shit just got real and Matt actually chants in his head, Don't back out now, Jeevas.
He knows he can still be saved, but he tells himself that he is beyond the point of no return.
But Mello, Gods, Mello is watching him now and ShitShitShit. The thoughts of blood and guns and bullets and noise rings loud and so terrifyingly acute in his head, it practically causes Matt's bones to tremble as he stands still with a practiced face, and he doesn't realize the fact that he stills for too long and just like that, Mello knows.
"You don't have to do this," he says.
Oh God fucking no. Matt says it right to the face of the sun and practically plants his foot down hard onto the floor.
"Who else is gonna be your wingman?" He swiftly quirks his mouth upwards into something that's lop-sided and painful as he slings an arm around his shoulders and feels his goggles grow into a giant blur.
Besides, he's spent most of his life with Mel, might as well end with Mel.
But in reality, he's terrified.
It is the day before the beginning of an outrageous plan involving killer notebooks and tests and even more things to comprehend, as it is also the day before the ending of another plan, another day, and a finality.
It is the last day of Matt's life, and this time he makes sure he's got an extra pack to get high off of.
In an old, dusty and abandoned apartment room filled with dirty mattresses and decomposing pizza boxes, is a disheveled boy leaning on the windowsill and just thinking—knowing that he's gonna die in just twenty-four hours.
Correction, twenty-three hours and forty-five minutes.
God, Matt lets loose a shaky breath. He is a fucking mess.
His mind runs its gears in a blurred haze, but hey, what's the rush? Matt practically swims in the nicotine that is trying to swallow him whole, but the current is so strong that he forces himself to bring his head out to the surface and actually think for a moment. He needs to fucking breathe. And still, even with the sweet scent of euphoric ashes gloriously eating away at him, Matt is still terrified for his life. Can't stop the sweat or the rough pounding of his heart or the world-crashing premonitions that is just absorbing him into the soil.
He can't be determined like Mello, can't be strong like Mello, can't be ambitious like Kira, can't be a fucking kid genius like Near, can't be a hero of justice like L, because he is just Matt. He is third-rate, a chain-smoker, a genius hacker, a divine slacker, and he is terrified for his life because the feeling sucks.
Fuck, he swears in his mind, and he swears even more, but the nicotine jumbles up everything so they're just a string of incoherent profanities that only Mello would understand.
Man, this situation really sucks, he says out loud. It echoes off of the roofs, the mattress, the kitchen floor tiles, and Matt realizes that this is the first time that his heart sinks and it's actually not from all the smoke that he's inhaling. He's dying, is the closest thing he can pass off as closure, and still, he believes that this shitty situation that he hasn't backed out from sucks. Because it's not Mello he's worried about—no, Mello will do just fine, maybe. He's always survived their batshit crazy plans, and Matt'll be damned if Mel doesn't survive this one. Matt, God, Matt on the other hand isn't anything special, nor will he ever be. He's dust and rubble and just a random passerby in all of this, and that's why he's gonna die—and the fact that he just knows what'll happen to him makes him sweat even more and start wasting away on the extra pack that he's bought himself.
By the time he sinks, he lets his thoughts take over and reality doesn't mean a damn thing where he is, but once he actually floats back up, it's the smoke that triggers everything and it sticks to his clothes like parasites, sucking away at his life until his twenty-three hours are up, and then poof. Like the extra pack of cigarettes that he so carefully spent good money on—gone.
Gone.
Yet again, Matt is too sweaty and blunted and just downright hazy to think beyond this point. As of now, only the fear of tomorrow and the string of loosely connected curses are motivating him to even stay half-conscious in reality.
But in the end, Matt thinks for too long, and by that time it's already morning and the sun is quiet, the birds are singing, and the trees are as green as it can be.
Nobody'll expect what's going to occur on this day, but Matt and Mello will know. After all, this was the plan.
So Matt finally sits up from his half-sitting position (he hadn't even realized that he assumed said position), puts on his white vest, and pads his pockets for some imaginary bulge that just might contain some white sticks of glorious nicotine-filled cigarettes. He finds nothing, and walks out the door.
Mello's already gone out. Tiny trails of fire line the imaginary path towards the infernos of blazing smoke and one Miss Takada.
The car smells like shit, and that does little to calm his nerves. He is still terrified as hell, sweaty hands and bloodshot eyes, but he swallows the bile back and wrenches his goggles over his misted eyes and steps on the pedal. The car roars to life and he could even pass off as a normal citizen of the world at this point—
Twenty minutes left.
He still has time to buy another pack.
A/N: So. . .yeah.
PM me or feel free to leave a review if I messed something up. Other than that, hope you guys enjoyed this fic!
Til next time~