Title The Domino Effect
Rating R-15
Warnings for swearing and minor violence/abuse
Category Death Note
Pairing/s –
Summary His life has been like one domino falling after the other. And at the end of it, all that he's left with is nothing.
Author's Note I think this was my first Death Note fiction ( my gawd it doesn't have Near in it, what's wrong with me ). I wrote for it off and on at the beginning of the year- the thunder storm scene in here gave me the idea for Ligyrophobia so I left this fic to sort of rot after that lol so this is a sequel to Ligyro but you shouldn't be to confused if you haven't read that fiction before this one.
Oh right. Just accept that the boy's are aware of each other's real names xD I think I used this plot hole in Contingency too xp and the pov changes are pretty erratic too.
Anyway I decided to make an effort to form a coherent plot and finish the dern thing cus I now have a Matt of my own. Yah! What started out as a humour fic quickly turned into a pot of angst. Eh. I tried. This probably wasn't what you were expecting Matt T___T sooorrrrryyyy.
The Domino Effect – term in which one bad thing happens that causes a chain reaction of equally bad things to happen until there is nothing left. Seen in Shakespearean plays.
Please review before you fav. I appreciate reviews so much more.
Disclaimer I don't own Death Note
DedicationTo my lovely Matt.
Gods, why does Japanese traffic have to be such a headache?
British traffic is so much, well, faster at any rate. People there set their own speed. The black car- it's brand name foreign to him - crawls at a pace even a snail would have laughed at. Mello is not laughing. Instead, he's slumped in the back seat, premature frown lines and all. His gloved fingers twitch irritably- mourning the absence of a slab of chocolate. The remains of his last one is a crumpled up tinfoil ball on the priceless mink carpet at his feet.
If he doesn't do something with his hands soon, Mello swears to god the car will suffer dearly. Grumbling, Mello leans forward and raps hard on bullet proof sheet of glass that separates him from the driver. The electronics purr, and the glass is eaten up by the grate it lives in.
"Yo Boss?"
Probably the only thing that will drag Matt away from his shiny games, is a shiny, shiny car to ride and press his foot down.
"How much longer is this going to take?"
"Mm," Matt peers at the navigator screen. Not necessary, but saves the poor man from turning and getting the full blow of that glare.
"I'm not asking where we are, Matt. I'm asking how much longer."
"Awah! Glare any harder and my head will be flying. ."
Mello makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat, and let's himself flop back down on the leather seats. At last the lights flicker to green. The car rumbles for a few metres, then halts again, nose brushing the bumper of the car infront. From Matt's dodging, it's clear he will be in the car for quite a while.
Lacking anything better to do, Mello turns his head and looks out the tinted windows. People rush by, busy as bees, collars turned up to stop the howl of wind and splatters of oncoming rain. The buildings match the overcast sky.
Really. . . who on earth owns a car in Japan? A complete waste of time. Mello decides to use the motorcycle next time. And the lead they were following? Also a complete waste of time. Mello is quite certain Near must be having him on that Amane is even remotely related to the Kira case. He's spent an entire day watching her and that body guard buying shoes for Christ sake. Yeah- he's been following misleading bread crumbs for about a month now thanks to the bratty young detective. Matt is the only useful thing he's given to him thus far.
Beneath him, the seat cover vibrates as the engine is kicked into life again. Finally! Matt puts his foot down harder, and the second before Mello rolls his black eyes away from the window, a blur of white snags them back. What th-
"Brakes!"
"Gah!"
Thinking danger and fuck Matt slams the brakes on, cigarette in danger of burning a hole right through his jeans. A hundred horns and curses blare into life as Mello flings the door open and runs out into oncoming traffic. He thinks that Matt yells something too. As he splashes on to the curb, ill cut blonde strands plastered to his cheeks, Mello starts to think he might have imagined it. . until he looks down into the grills of the sewer system.
And there, in a disintegrating box being gently pushed further into the gutter by the swirling water, is a snow white puppy. ". . ah." For a second. . hn. Sadly, it gazes up at Mello, downy fur clumped together and dripping. And Mello. . his heartstrings are not pulled. . or so he tells himself. Then it starts to whimper.
Fuck.
Somehow the pathetic puppy ends up in his arms. Only to put it in a dryer spot Mello firmly tells himself, conscious of the little shivers and tiny squeaks it admits. As the soggy remains of the box trickle down the gutter, the words "PUPPIES. 2 A GOOD HOME" is revealed briefly. Someone must have left a box of the critters on the side of the road, not realising it would start raining.
The "dryer spot" turns out to be the back seat of his car.
". . . Mello?"
The damage is done. It's useless to attempt to hide the new passenger and his quickly flushing face. Then the puppy shudders its body in his lap, showering water all over Mello, the patters on his leather like the rain outside. Matt quickly swivels in his seat, trying to veil his bemused grin. He knows to savour ever second of this, because it will never happen again. "So-"
"Shut up and drive."
"Right."
The first thing the puppy does when it's inside the apartment is waddle over to the sofa, squat down and- well, does what all good unhouse trained puppies do. Mello almost uses the puppy like a furry football, but luckily Matt grabs him before that can be accomplished.
"Mello, Mello, calm down, he's only being a dog," the red head tries to sooth the less than amused man who thrashes about in his arms. It falls on Matt's shoulders to play mother to all. He cleans up the puppy's mess, fetches a box for foreseeable future accidents, grabs a bowl of milk for its hunger needs and remembers to throw Mello a block of chocolate to keep him happy too. He then announces he shall be in the other room- incommunicado.
This leaves Mello and the puppy quite alone. Grouchily- why did he think for a second taking the rat with fur was a good idea?- the exganster slumps into the couch, taking a savage bite out of the chocolate block and swallowing without tasting. The puppy cocks its head at him, black nose wriggling. The nose is the only blemish on its otherwise perfectly white fur. It eyes are a dark grey. Watching with interest.
When Mello doesn't do anything but glare back, the puppy sets to the task of snuffling about, little tail wiggling excitedly. Mello can't help but follow it curiously with his bottomless eyes. He's never been an animal lover. . so why the sudden desire to pick up a stray?
It goes under the couch.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Mello demands, tilting off the couch to peer after him, then sighs at himself- gods, he talking to a dog. A little pink tongue slobbers up his lip and nose. With a squeal of disgust, Mello sits up at once, rubbing furiously at his face. Bashfully, the puppy slinks out, realising he has once again done something wrong.
Mello rearranges his death glare into something a little softer. No point losing his temper over a brainless mutt. In a way of apologising, Mello scoops up the puppy. It's no bigger than his hands, heart fluttering against his fingers like a caged bird. Mello catches himself marvelling at how such a small creature can feel so alive in his hands. It begins to struggle, trying to lick at his face again.
"What's wrong with you?" Mello grumbles, holding the puppy away as if he is touching a piece of garbage. It's grey eyes dart down towards the chocolate discarded on his knee. Oh. That would explain the lick on his mouth then. "Well too bad for you. The chocolate is off limits."
The puppy yaps at him.
Mello is so startled at the sound- like he's forgotten dog's bark- that he drops the precious bundle. This time there is a yelp of pain. It sits up from the floor, head woozy. Mello bites his bottom lip, either to stop laughing or from feeling a little guilty, he's not too sure. He settles on tapping the top of the little guy's head. It starts to wrestle with his fingers.
"Ugh, don't you ever stay still?" Mello finds another problem to moan about. Removing his puppy slobbered gloves out of the eager little mouth, Mello shifts on the couch so he lying down, not noticing the muffle thump of his chocolate bar hitting the carpet.
Should he name the puppy? He chews the idea over. If he names it, he might get attached to it. Mello smirks. "Think I'll call you Nate."
As he closes his eyes to catch up on his much needed sleep, newly named Nate investigates the most alluring chocolate bar on the floor.
A thunk arouses Mello from his doze. Damnit. Still tired, and now his back sore from the awkward bed substitute called the couch, Mello forces himself to his feet, hearing a crinkle from under foot. Glancing down, he notices an empty chocolate bar wrapper. That's odd. He doesn't remember having finished it.
Another thunk. It comes from the poky little area he and Matt have christened the kitchen. It has cupboards and a groaning refrigerator that barely works, a broken mirror and not much else. As he enters, his eyes are immediately drawn to the one cupboard door that is slightly ajar. A little alarm bell rings in his head. This is the door to where the boxes of chocolate bars are stored.
"Matt, you better not have. . . argh!" horror is revealed as he nudges the door wide. Scraps of tinfoil and brightly coloured bits of paper are strewn everywhere, empty chocolate wrappers and half munched on ones everywhere like dead bodies. The littletrouble maker behind it all is lying in one of the chewed open boxes, groaning mournfully as his stomach lurches painfully. Chocolate does not agree with poor puppy tummies.
"NATE! You little shit, I'm going to kill you!!"
Danger overrides his upset stomach. Nate flees as Mello pounces. Mello ends up in cupboard, puppy is flying out of the room.
"GET BACK HERE."
Nate is smart enough to seek safety in Matt's room. "Whoa. Hello, ever heard of knocking, I could have been doing anything in here."
Mello demands that Matt gives up the little toe rag. Or else does not have to be said.
"Aw, the little guy's sick. Don't be too hard on him, Mello."
The blonde takes in a sharp breath, realising his cheeks are burning scarlet. Calm it down. But. . anybody who just breathes over his sweets is sacrilegious, damnit.
"And did I hear you yelling out Near's name before? Have you named him after your rival?" Matt tilts his head in wonder, eyes asking should I be disturbed now.
"It annoys me. I can yell at it. It fits Near's socks rather well, wouldn't you say?"
His sleeping patterns lately have been a nightmare. Mello tries to tell himself it's the caffeinated chocolate, not the dreams he has of explosions and fire all around, melting his face and falling bricks pining him helplessly to the ground until- right.
He also tells himself it's Nate's cold little nose that jerks him away, and not the crack and snarl of the thunder outside. "Jesus Christ!" in answer, his crucifix- the only time he takes it off is in bed for fear of strangulation- clatters off his side table and under his bed. There is a yelp, oops he's kicked Nate in an automatic reflex, then a mournful howl that makes Mello's arm hair stand on end. "Stop it, fucking hell stop it," he mumbles, covering up Nate's muzzle with his hand and drags the puppy under the covers.
The slow drizzle of the day has turned into a pounding squall, his windows spasm ominously, already cracked and broken in places, and there is a draft coming from the wooden slates above him. He's never known rain to sound so powerful.
Another boom of thunder, and both man and puppy cover down lower, Mello thinking of spitting fire and detonators; Nate just thinking of swirls of intangible blackness.
Sleep is but a fantasy now.
Despite his own fears, Nate notices his masters- or at least he believes Mello to be his master- discomfort, and his fluffy head dislodges from the blankets, deeming it safe to breathe fresh air again. There is a pause between thunder claps, at least thirty seconds worth of it.
Whimpering, Nate noses at Mello's blonde hair, his face turned towards the pillow. He gives the waxy strands a tentative lick. They shift, and a human ear is revealed. He starts to chew thoughtfully on it. Mello squirms, sitting up and picking up the puppy, sheets slipping off his shoulders and folding at his legs. He opens his mouth to growl at Nate, but an echoing boom stops him. The entire room white washes and Mello springs out of the bed, eyes wide and black and fearful. Nate is trapped in a tight bear hug.
There is a soft knock on his bedroom door. Nate gives another howl of lament. "Hey. Are you okay?" Matt opens the door before Mello can say a word. A chunky set of headphones are around his neck; still wearing his day clothes. Up playing his games no doubt. Recognising him as someone who gives comfort, Nate wriggles out of Mello's grasp and scampers over to press against Matt.
"What the fuck, Matt?"
"Well, you know. Just thought you two might be bothered by the storm. Hey little guy," the gamer greets Nate who is starting to whimper at his feet. Matt picks him up and holds him under one arm like he might a suitcase. Thinking it a game, the puppy worms about happily.
"What do you mean by that?" Mello bristles like an arching cat. His companion glances at the ground with a look of knowing he's trodden on something he should have walked around.
"Near just said-"
"Yeah, well Near talks a lot of bull," Mello snarls angrily, advancing on Matt who quickly backs away and out into the corridor. "Keep your nose out and leave me alone," his hand winds up curled on the edge of the door, Matt opens his mouth to rebuke him, but Mello slams the door on his words.
Matt apologises the next day, always being the good guy in situations like these. He's simply to kind for his own good. Mello just grunts, much too prideful to admit the only person who should be apologising here, is him.
"Are you just going to sit here all day?"
Matt has found Mello sprawled over the leather couch- half tempted to put his hands on his hips and really act like an angry house wife. Instead he takes a deep drag from his smoke. Nate is lying under the window frame, looking just as lazy as his master. Mello doesn't answer, eyes closes as if in deep thought. Not fucking likely, Matt thinks.
"Mello, are you hearing me?" now pissed off at the unresponsive man, the red head leans over Mello, gloved hand gripping the back of the couch, other planted next to Mello's head, careful of his glowing ashes and letting second hand smoke pour from his mouth and nose.
Mello swats at him.
"Fuck off."
"Hey!"
Nate perks up from the floor, ears up and alert.
"Oh I see. You're just going to let Near bet you?" Matt says at length, knowing this is the lowest thing he can say to the blonde. In answer, Mello shifts his head, thick hair falling onto one shoulder as he narrows his now open eyes in warning. "Well that's fine by me. Everyone always knew you couldn't bet the kid, you really are a second rate loser, Mello. I didn't realise you'd become such a bloody push over all of a sudd- oof!"
Cigarette falling from his lips, Matt jerks as the detective knees him hard in the stomach. He just stops himself from collapsing on top of his assaulter.
Mello picks up the still burning smoke, lifting it high and snubbing it cruelly against Matt's exposed neck. "Ahh! What the hell!!" Feeling his eyes tear up at the sudden, searing, pain, the red head slaps Mello's hand away, covering up the burn mark with his cooling gloves. So thankful he's wearing his goggles down.
"What was that, Matt? Did you want to take something back?" Mello asks, smirking and rolling the smoking cigarette over and over between forefinger and thumb.
He's already apologized once this week, like hell he's going to do it again. Stubbornly, he presses his lips together, fingers rubbing at his inflamed skin.
"Well that's unfortunate," Mello's face says the opposite. He knows it coming and struggles to get away, but Mello grabs his wrist, hauling Matt back down, pressing the cigarette to his throat, just above his Adam's apple. Crying out, Matt can do little more than pull back like a tethered horse until Mello sees fit to release him from the burning white stick.
"Ah, ah, stop it! Ow, it hurts, damnit, Mello!"
"Yeah? Good. I'll keep going until you learn your lesson," Mello sneers, never letting go of Matt's wrist, never letting go of his weapon of choice. It's almost out, cinders glowing feebly. The blonde picks up on the glimmer of hope behind the goggles. "Oh Matt, I'm exactly like you. We're both addicts. Can't go too far without your nicotine fix."
On his person is always a spare block of chocolate. On Matt's, it's a packet of cigarettes.
He flicks the burnt out stub onto the floor, which Nate sniffs at with detached interest. Mello reaches behind Matt with his now free hand, feeling down the curve of his spine until he reaches the belt loops of his jeans. He slips a hand inside his back pocket, grabbing the packet and knowing the lighter is in the opposite.
Both men are ridiculously stubborn. Neither backing down.
Feeling sweat run down his back, Matt watches as Mello holds the pre rolled cigarette between his teeth, lighting it up with practised ease. There must be something incredibly wrong with him, letting Mello get away with this, not stopping him from using him like a fucking human ash tray. This is wrong. This is sick. Fuck!
"Nrrrg!"
Searing pain at the base of his skull. He can smell burnt hair.
"If it hurts, you know how to stop it," Mello says patiently, running the cigarette across Matt's shoulder blades, the man desperately arching his shoulders down to avoid the scorch- white hot like a burning poker stick. It's almost enough to put him off smoking. Almost.
"Ah. . hah," panting now, out of agony and slight fear- a natural reaction when knowing you will be subjected to pain - Matt jerks his head left to right. "M-maybe, but it makes you feel better, doesn't it?"
Is this why he's doing it? Because- because he knows . . .
Mello stares at him blankly.
"I know what it's like always being second. I was your best friend at Wammy's, but you were obsessed with Near to really give me the time of day. You were cast out too, underappreciated, nobody wants the problem child. So here I am," it. . it sounded better in his head. He's- not as smart as Mello, nowhere at Near's level, simply ranking third at Wammy's- his words stumble out like a shoddy love confession.
Matt closes his clear blue eyes in frustration. Why does this have to be so hard to explain? Mello doesn't help at all, sucking on the cigarette and cheekily puffing smoke into his face.
Simply put, he can see himself in Mello.
Number three and number two.
Matt was the kind of child that naturally attracted others. Relaxed, never taking his studies seriously, he simply wasn't bothered that he didn't perform as brilliant as his best friend. Maybe if Mello had taken that stance on life into account, he wouldn't be so bitter today. Matt has firsthand experience of seeing Mello suffer. Much of his suffering was self put upon to be sure, the man made life difficult for himself for fuck's sake, but the unhealthy environment polluted young Mello until he was as black as the tar streaked across the roads.
Of course he can relate. He was as down trodden as Mello was. Every kid at Wammy's suffered. Wammy's was like a screwed up version of the Batcave, taking in orphans and training them to be detectives- Roger might as well have been Alfred.
Mello doesn't know affection. Doesn't know when someone is being kind. Trust issues. In that sense, he is almost as desensitised as Near.
And Matt wants to. . fix that.
"Aaah!"
Another hot jab, this time caught unawares, burn mark behind his ear.
"Pay attention."
Fuckin' hell. What was is that people say? You have to suffer greatly until you can get what you want? Or something.
"I said; you're exactly like a dog," he doesn't remember hearing that. He would remember an insult like that. Matt can feel his cheeks heat up in humiliation. That's not true, it's not it's not! He might follow Mello's orders but- oh gods- Mello is calling Nate over. "Watch," he murmurs, giving the puppy a quick stroke, head to tail, before lifting his hand and smacking him across the back. Hard. Nate barks in alarm scooting away - confused. Then Mello offers his hand again. Nate's eyes it blankly, tail fluttering nervously, then creeps forwards and licks his bare hand. Forgiven.
No matter how many times you hit a dog, they always comes crawling back.
"Yeah his brains the size of a pea, like that proves anythin- uuun, fuck! Would you cut that out for Christ's sake, I'm trying to talk," the gamer stops Mello's attacking hand at last. The blonde blinks lazily up at him, licking his lips.
"I think it proves my point exactly. You're not trying very hard to stop me, in fact you seem to be asking for it, and just before you even admitted I 'needed this' and want me to continue until I'm satisfied. If you could get any more submissive you'd be on your back with your legs wide open."
It takes all of Matt's self control not to deform Mello's face anymore than it is now.
He's not sure who he's more mad at. Mello, or himself.
Nate starts to walk with a waddle.
"Mello, have you taken the dog out. Ever?"
"Why the hell would I want to do that?" Mello asks. "I don't have time for it," half true. He's hooked up to a police radio, ear bud in one air and tuning it with expert fingers. A racket of Japanese pop music cries out briefly, before the air waves sizzle and is replaced by a girl's voice. He probably should stop following Near's advice. "Anyway, I think it's more fitting that the dog takes the dog for a walk."
On his portable game, Matt's character falls off a cliff.
"Mello. . . have you considered how degrading that 'pet' name is?" Matt says, tone touching on scathing. The corners of Mello's lips move upwards, as if amused that Matt believes he'll suddenly develop some empathy towards him.
"Apologise and I'll drop it."
He is seriously- gods he's still on that. It been a good few weeks now at the very least and he's still bitching about the Near jab. His burns are just healing over.
"And while you're out, go fetch me some chocolate."
He swears to god, Mello is the most insufferable person to live with.
The water goes cold after ten minutes of standing under it. After another five he's shivering all over. The rusted pipes squeak themselves closed as Mello twists the water pressure off, stepping out of the shower and reaching for a rat chewed towel. Fluffing up his hair, he uses the towel to brush a patch of fogged up mirror clean. Frankenstein monster scars glow white against his scrubbed skin. He notices his badly over grown hair. Hm.
Slipping into his pants, Mello slings the towel across his shoulders, nudging open the bathroom door and calls down the corridor. "Matt! Come here for a sec."
After a pause, a thump and a grumble, the gamer appears. "What is it no-. . . uh, Mello," his goggles are down, Mello not realising he had been looking anywhere but at his face. Looking awkward, Matt gestures to his thigh.
"What ar- Jesus fucking Christ!"
A jagged gash runs up the leather of his inner thigh, like a ladder to a stocking, and this material is not fucking cheap- he notices tiny bite marks punctured unevenly around the rip. "I think he's teething," Matt unhelpfully says. Mello is about to spit venom. "You have plenty others to replace it with."
"That's not the point-"
"Then what is."
Mello swallows, realising he's making a big deal out of nothing. "Fine. I'll deal with the stupid mutt afterwards. I was going to ask if you could cut my hair for me."
"Oh," sounding surprised by the request, Matt simply nods in consent.
Rummaging through the medicine cabinet, Mello hands over a pair of scissors. A spider leaps off them during the transfer, onto Mello's hand, which he casually crushes. Standing behind Mello, Matt starts his work. His blonde strands are choppy and ill layers, his hair having suffered from the explosion. There's little he can do to fix it. Taking the longer strands at the back of his neck, Matt lets water droplets run over his fingers before he starts to cut.
"Do you remember when you first cut my hair?" Mello says, stiffly reaching again for the cabinet and pulling out nail varnish and black polish. The thick fumes fill the air as he unscrews the lids.
"How could I forget?" Matt mutters, concentrating on not cutting off Mello's ear as he moves the scissors around it. "I cut out a huge chuck from the side, making it uneven. So I had to give you a bob cut to fix the mistake. I think you cried for a week."
"I didn't cry," Mello says, sounding scandalised, looking up from painting his nails and glaring at Matt through the mirror.
"Pretty sure you did. You were shit scared all the kids would make fun of you because only girls had bob cut styles back then. I don't really know why you were worried, whenever someone picked on you, you just bet them up," he sighs, moving in front of Mello to carefully trim his overhanging fringe. His onyx eyes stare hard at him.
"You're lying," he pouts, trying to deny he's ever cried over something so childish. Oh the irony. Careful of his wet nails, he leaves the containers in the sink.
"Oh come on. You were just a kid. I think it's cute."
Feeling warmth spread over his cheeks, Mello closes his eyes as strands of hair get caught in his lashes. The snipping stops. "All done. Oh wait," watchful of his eyes, Matt brushes his fingertips across his eyelids and cheeks, removing the tickling off cuts, pausing his fingers lightly on his cheekbones. "Mello."
"I think you should buy some chew toys."
". . huh?"
He wriggles out of his soft grip. "For the dog."
"Oh. . okay."
He leaves before Matt can ask any more.
Puddles spread the further he treks into the apartment, sliding from his hair, trailing down his neck and splashing off his leather jacket to the wooden floor boards below. The rain thunders outside. Mello kicks off his boots, flaps out his jacket before hanging it up to drip dry.
"How bad is it?" Matt asks as he walks into the lounge, propped up on the carpet and waving a ball tied to a rope at Nate. Beady eyes fixed hard, the puppy springs and tries to bite with his newly formed teeth. Matt pulls back with a chuckle, letting Nate sprawl on the ground. With an upset bark, Nate jumps on Matt, biting his hair, and rolling on his fluffy back in an attempt to wrestle with the too short hair strands.
Mello watches the display with an annoyed scowl.
"What?"
"It's pissing down. There might be another storm tonight."
"Mello," voice playful, Matt dislodges Nate, putting him back on the ground. The white puppy goes to attack his fingers. He can tell when the detective is angry about something. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I just hate the rain. I'm wet and I want to lie down," he snaps grouchily, turning on his heel and heading to his room to do just that.
It's been a long time since he'd dreamed.
A firescape, burning bricks and spitting ash around him, he can feel the over welling heat on his face, feel his skin warp and melt out of shape like plastic.
Mello wakes with a sharp exhale, the smell of rain and ominous rumbles in the distance having rekindled his nightmares subconsciously. His duvet has fallen off in his tossing and turning, pillow somewhere he can't see.
"Damnit."
Bringing an arm up to rub at his face, he touches dampness, feeling more tears slide out from his black eyes. It's shaken him. The dream. The bed frame shudders as his skin crawls all over, ashened face and breathing out of tempo. It's been so long since his last panic attack, not since he was with Near.
It's okay.
But it's not. Never has been, really.
The white bed sheets gradually swim back into focus, and Mello gazes sharply on the plainness, the familiar sterile nature they have like his rival, who had subjected himself to putting him into strangle holds whenever he had a bad attack.
It doesn't work.
Getting up, Mello pulls the crumpled duvet off the floor, swinging it around himself like gathering protection. The corridor is black, no windows here, and the floor boards complain has he pads across them. The typical neon glow that emanates from under Matt's door is missing. Turning the handle, he discovers the television is off, game console dormant. Man himself is asleep on the couch in front of the electronics, mouth parted slightly to indicate how deep his sleep is. Nate snores on his stomach.
"Typical," voice hardly above his sigh, Mello shuts the door gently before coming up to Matt's side, giving him a forceful nudge. "Matt, wake up. You can't sleep like that; you'll throw your back out."
It takes another shove to get the red head motivated enough to stir. His goggles have slipped to rest around his neck during his slumber. "Mhmm?" slowly, his eyes blink to life, lifting a hand to rub at one. Nate whimpers in protest as he fidgets. ". . Mello? Why are you here? Is something wrong?" the sentence doesn't come out quite as coherent as that, but he gets the jist of it. The poor guy probably thinks they've been found out.
"No. It's just-" Mello stalls, realising he's yet to form a pathetic enough lie. ". . just checking up on you. Come on."
Guiding Matt up, Nate slides to the ground, quickly curling up on the carpet and falls instantly to sleep. Lucky for some.
Drawing back the covers for him, Matt crawls into bed without a sound, still half awake. Mello removes his goggles incase he does himself a mischief. "You're not really here to check up on me, are you?"
Mello looks down at the man, free hand stroking his red hair, anything to distract himself from the outside world. "Why do you say that?"
"Because you're selfish."
It doesn't annoy him as much as it should.
"I guess I am."
Breathing getting slower and deeper, the gamer drops back off to sleep.
Matt's face evens out, getting younger and smoother as his worry lines disappear as he relaxes into his pillow, Mello gently smoothing back his wild fringe, off his forehead and revealing the thick goggle imprints imbedded there.
There is something very childish about all the orphanages. L with his sweets and hunches over posture. Near with his toys. Matt with his games, and Mello with his chocolate- living out their child years in their adult lives, Wammy's never letting them live only follow rules, boundaries, entrapments, must be perfect all the time, always brilliant, if you failed a test you would do so in life- gods no wonder he was so fucked in the head.
He wonders why Near picked Matt. His relaxed nature, thinking he would be good for him? Not as angry, or as empty as they both of them were. Maybe he was the only normal one out of the lot.
A tool. Is what Mello sees as he watches him silently. And him, the user. It's what he's done all his life. Using people and bending them to his will. He's never considered it a wrong thing to do. And he knows, without a doubt, Matt will wind up dead just like the others he's trodden over. Clutching the blanket tightly to him, Mello leans forwards to murmur in Matt's exposed ear. "And I'm not sorry for it."
A cup of hot chocolate greets Matt at breakfast. Mello is busy scanning the morning paper, but Matt's about night percent sure this is an apology for the last few weeks. Matt shakes his head, thinking that Mello should know by now he hates chocolate.
Nate is hit by a car.
The young dog had run out of the front door, not looked at the road for signs of danger, and been killed on impact.
Matt buries him in the tiny backyard, Mello shutting himself away to drown himself in the case.
He calls Hal, definitely his security blanket in cases like these. Somehow the conversation turns to Near.
"He's going to kill himself, Mello."
"Mm," the setting sun blazes in through the apartment window, heating up his leather as it touches him. Methodically he licks at his chocolate bar, stimulating his thought process. "Of course he is. If he hasn't tested out the Note Book, the moron."
"Mello. . ." here it comes. "Can't you do something?"
Mello sighs, shifting the uncomfortable weight of the mobile phone in his hand. Outside, he can hear the thump thump thump of a shovel smacking into the dirt of a freshly turned grave. On the end of the line, Hal is silent. Getting up, Mello leans out the window. Back facing him, Matt leans over the tiny mound of dirt.
"Dig two more."
"What?"
"Do it."
Muttering to himself, Matt picks the dirt stained shovel back up and slices it into the ground.
"I know you care about him."
"Not fucking likely."
"Mello if he's gone, whose going to solve the Kira case?"
"Are you saying I can't do it on my own?" Mello snarls, slamming the window down and turns to glare at the opposite wall. He starts to pace, up down, up down, kicking empty beer cans and chocolate bar wrappers as he goes.
Hal is silent for at least a minute. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
It feels like she's shot him in the gut. Especially when he knows it's true. He can't do it without Near. It's like taking the training wheels off a bike. He'll slip and fall without something to fuel him on. All his motivation, rage, comes from always wanting to get one over his rival. If he dies. . what the hell is he supposed to do then?
He's not a detective like L. He doesn't care about the Kira case as much as they do. He's only got this far in life idolising a dead dream that's been born from bitter jealously and hate.
Hurt and angry, Mello lashes out at the wall, only stopping when he feels blood fall from his hair line.
His chocolate bar has smeared all over his glove.
". . . fine," in all his twenty one years, all he's been subjected to is humiliation and pain. He might as well go out that way too. "Guess I'll have to do it then."
"I'm sorry, Mello."
"No you're not," he hisses, narrowing his eyes spitefully as he rubs the crushed chocolate between his fingers. "Excuse me. I have to break the news that another dog will have to be put down today."
"Wh-"
He cuts the line.
"Mello."
He knows he looks a mess. Blood dripping off his nose, bump swelling on his forehead, and chocolate literally up his right arm. Matt doesn't finish his sentence. He just looks at Mello like he's seeing something for the first time. "Are you done?"
"Yeah."
Mello stares down into the depths of the graves. ". . I'll need a smoke grenade," he talks to himself really. Patiently Matt waits, knowing that when his companion is in deep thought, he shouldn't be stirred from it. The blonde looks up suddenly, dying light flashing off his hair until it shines gold. "Matt. How afraid are you of dying?"
The gamer peers at him, fumbling a hand in his pocket for a cigarette. Lighting it up, he takes a slow drag. "Very."
"Smoking kills, you know."
"Eating sweets gives you diabetes."
Chuckling, Mello kicks a clump of dirt into one of the graves. "You know what's going to happen, don't you? If you stay here with me."
"Nope. I'm a stupid dog, remember," Matt says, completely missing his eyes and letting out his held in smoke.
"Yeah. Stupid."
He closes his eyes against the heat of the horizon line, feeling the overbearing urge to sob out loud. This is it. Time to admit defeat. All his hard work, day in and day out. And what does he have to show for it at the end of it all?
Nothing.
END