If someone didn't turn off those damn lights, Mello might just shoot them out.
Mello's eyes cracked open at the flashing red and blue lights that stood sentry outside the convenient store across the street that some jackass in a pickup truck had just slammed into, drunk. Between the lights and the sirens, he was an inch away from inserting a searing bullet hole into each and everyone and everything down there just to shut them up so he could sleep.
Before he could even picture his hand reaching down for his Beretta, his side glance revealed the clock. It was 4:57, only three minutes before the alarm would go off so he could bust his ass on this case. His face may have been completely burned to a crisp still, but that didn't impair him too much from computer work and research. Besides, he had Matt on his side now; He could access absolutely anything he wanted now with his help.
Trying his best to block out the sirens, Mello whipped back the blankets of his full-sized bed and dropped his feet to the floor. He took a deep breath, only barely holding himself back from rubbing his stinging face. He yawned, dropping his sleep pants to get dressed.
Pants, vest, rosary—wait.
"Matt, where the fuck are my gloves?!"
His door slammed into the wall, door knob fitting snugly into the hole that was already made in the drywall. Mello's childhood best friend and resident slacker sat sideways on the couch, button smashing some game he didn't care to find out the name of. Matt lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, muttering, "I 'unno."
"Bullshit, you don't know." He wedged his foot into the crack of the cushion beneath him and pulled one of the two out from under the lethargic redhead before he could put his controller down and get up. The blonde pointed at the couch, ordering him to "start searching."
Mello circled the room, kicking cushions from the rest of the couch and various chairs left and right, until they littered the floor like land mines. He hopped over them, eyes scrutinizing every surface for his signature leather gloves, slightly worn and wrist-long.
Matt mumbled, hand sliding through the couch, "Why the hell aren't you digging through the couch?" He ignored him, slipping through the archway into the kitchen. He chose to pretend Matt couldn't see him through the cutout. He watched him steadily through goggled eyes as he searched. His hands didn't touch a thing; he held them fisted behind him, never crossing even his line of sight.
The gamer straightened, sliding his hand into the pocket of his vest. The cold December air had gotten the better of him from his last night on the couch, until they could procure a bed for the empty room for him to take over. His hands brushed leather, and he clenched his teeth together. "Why are you so attached to those gloves, anyway?"
"Keep fucking looking!" was his only reply.
Matt growled under his breath and meandered over to the cutout, leaning on it with both arms, watching Mello duck under the table. "They're not out here. Just get a new pair if you can't find 'em; money's definitely not an issue. Borrow mine if you want," He motioned to take off his gloves, but the blonde shook his head.
Mello could only leave the kitchen, pushing by Matt and rush into his room again. "I don't want another pair, or yours."
The redhead followed him in, noting again that he wasn't using his hands to tear the blankets and sheet off the bed. He leaned up against the doorframe. "You don't get sentimental over things like this. What the hell is up with those gloves?"
Mello whipped around, eye-to-eye with Matt. "You want to know what's up?" He hissed in his face, digging his fingernails into his palms. Matt stood, stony, staring at Mello evenly. "These things on the end of my arms you call hands—they're nothing more than two overactive murder machines, okay?!" He paused, panting from his frantic search, before falling away, letting his bare feet lead him away from Matt. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to hear another word.
"I'm sure they're not all that bad—"
He whipped around again, long blonde hair following, slightly stinging the still raw bits of his face. "But you're wrong. Do you know how many people's blood is on these hands?" He held them out in front of him, trembling. "You don't get it. I can't look at them anymore,"He dropped his palms, fisting them again by his sides. "I can't look at my own fucking palms. All I see is blood splatters and gunshot wounds and slit throats and broken necks…" His voice trailed off as he tried to push by Matt again, but he wouldn't let up. Matt had wedged his foot in the doorframe and wouldn't let up under the Mafia boss's weight.
Only when Matt shoved Mello back with both palms did the blonde realize what was in his hand. Matt dropped the old pair of gloves into his hand and, with a sigh of relief, Mello stuffed his fingers inside the leather and pulled them on. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that?"
"I was going to get you a new pair. Those things are almost nonexistent, they were so thin. But if you don't want a new pair…?" Matt shrugged.
Mello clenched his fists once more, reveling in the familiar material, eyes closed. His grimaced as he asked, confusion rippling through his face, "Why the hell would you buy me new gloves, anyway?"
"Well," Matt glanced at the ground, kicking at the transition from the hard-floored living room to the carpeted bedroom. "It's not every day someone turns twenty."
"Oh. Right." Mello just kind of stood there. He had completely forgotten that December thirteenth had any significance to him. "Thanks, Matt." He uncurled and curled his fingers, admiring the resistance of the leather.
"…So do you still want new gloves?"
"…yeah."
A/N: So, I know that this is a couple months early, but I was thinking about birthdays today, considering it happens to be mine. :3 I've been meaning to do something like this for a while, so I'm glad I finally managed to finish it!
Today's sixteen doesn't feel any different than yesterday's fifteen, though.
Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot! :D Reviews will always and forever make my days~!