A.N: I wrote this at five in the morning. I couldn't sleep and this idea had been bugging me for fucking MONTHS.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, mello, Matt but I DO own the song Matt sings. :P I wrote it myself. I iz proud.
Warning: swearing, slight yaoi though it could be seen as plutonic, angst, all around Mattness.
Mail jeevas was always quiet. Calm and some would say awkward. Mail Jeevas almost never spoke.
Every day the redhead would be sitting at his usual desk in maths class, the boring drone of a teacher filling the small room. No one sat near him, except his deskmmate, roommate and all around mate Mello.
Mello was second at Whammy's house, always striving to beat the little albino boy called Near.
Mello was a genius, he understood problems, maths, science, foreign languages, and emotions. He understood people, but his head was always hurried too far into a book to see those around him. No notice them, to acknowledge them and to understand he knew he could.
Matt was third at wbammys house orphanage, never putting in any effort at all, always staying silent and blending into the background. Mail Jeevas understood many, many things. How things worked, maths, sciences, medicine, people, emotions. He was truly smart, but never git to his full potential, for he was crushed down by fear. Fear that if he suddenly proved be was truly smarter than everyone else, thay he would lose the only person he had ever cared for.
He always lived in fear. Always. But it wasn't just that he would lose his best friend, he would lose time.
He absolutely despised time. Time was what had killed his mother and father, younger sister and twin brother. Time, was what had made him learn that life was not fair. That people where cruel, and if he wasn't careful, would be crushed under the boots id a giant, using other's pain to relieve himself from his own turmoil.
Time taught him many things. Love, hate, anger, depression, justice and crime.
The young gamer never really cared fir what was right or wrong in society. The worked was fvcked up and he knew it. People, where fucked up. Warped and molded into things they did not wish ti be at first. Blinded by ambition and power.
Matt was equally as fucked up as everyone else, he would admit. Though never allowed. No one except his family, the caretaker Roger Ruvie, Mello and Mr. Whammy himself had ever even heard his voice.
He had learner to keep his silence,that the world did not wish fir his opinion because they where different. Unnatural.
But it wasn't as if he did not care fr theirs, or as if he had ever hurt them. No, he would never hurt a soul if he had the choice, but everyone hated him anyway. Everyone, Mello, would yell at him. Call him an idiot, shut out his opinions and leave him alone in a dark corner to contemplate things.
He would sit in a corner and just think, for hours and hours about many things. Some simple, others complex, nothing unworthy of his attention. The hacker was cu4ious by nature, always wondering, never letting his mind rest. Matt had to keep himself busy, or he would hear things. Voices, voices coming from inside his head, yelling at him, whispering to him. They would say things, nonsense things and other times, insult him.
Mail jeevas was a truly peculiar child, always secretive, always quiet.
He wire goggles to protect his eyes. Not from the suns rays, but from the ugly if the world around him. And to mask himself, to hide the depression and fear. To keep his true emotions from leaking out. As if anyone would care enough to look at the strange boy anyway. The only person who ever looked at him was Mello.
But Mello had to, it was either the redhead or a beige wall as they satin their room, day in and day out.
Matt never thought of himself as interesting or worthy of attention from anyone or anything,si when he found out he had been requested as a roommate by the hurricane known as Mello, he had been shocked out of his wits.
Matt was known for his wits, quick and logical,masked behind layers of secrets, lies and truths. He used these to live. Living on the street for years required a certain amount of skill and intelligence and the freckled, goggle-wearing boy had them.
We are getting off topic though.
Mail jeevas wears goggles to protect his eyes from the ugly world around him. He wears the saffron tinted lenses to mask the hatred filled world with something...different.
He plays video games to go to a different place, a world that has less or more hatred depending on his mood.
He absolutely despised the emotion called hate, fir he had been the subject of it for many, many years. The direct object of an emotion with no real value except chaos to many people. This included himself at times.
So he played his games, read and wrote his books to escape the world around him. He wore his goggles to mask the ugliness when he had ti gaze upon it and stayed silent, afraid something might hurt him and it would all get worse.
Worse was a word he despised so deeply it burned and set his stomach to churning. He knew everything could get worse and lived with caution because of that fact. If he could make something better, he could make something worse twice as easily.
he messed up many things, either from his imminent stupidity Wycherley was the subject of so many insults and beatings it had to be true, or because he simply did not try.
He did not have to try of course, the intelligence, skill and logic he possessed allowing him the freedom to try or to simply sit there like a statue until something happened.
sadly, the genius chose the latter every single day of his life. He wouldnt succeed anyway,so why try? He would ask himself.
Why try? Why try? What is the use if not trying? If people did jot try man would still be living in huts! He remembered Mello yelling at him once after voicing the fact that trying was irrelevant to him.
The redhead shook his head and walked away, sown the long corridors and into an empty music room that day.
This would soon become a habit, mail would feel upset about something or other and come here.
He would sit at one if the many pianos and press on the ivory keys, a sad tune filling the air.
Every night, it was the same. Matt would find himself sitting at a piano, playing a song with a fast rhythm, fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard.
Matt never played something happy, for when he played, he felt more upset than ever. It was known he seemed like an emotionless drone, but that was nit true.
He always felt something, but hid it behind a mask of indifference.
His true emotions where hidden away, locked up in a safe and the key thrown out.
Only one person couldn't ever at any moment though, break into it.
That person, was his mother.
But now, she was gone. Had been for a long time.
One other, Mello, could do the same thing. Bring emotion out f the lock box that was Mail Jeevas.
Matt still resorted to music though. He didn't like to speak, but he loved to sing. He hadn't sang since his mother funeral. Hadn't spoken since the seventh anniversary of her death crossed on his twelfth birthday.
Aft was thirteen now as he sat in the music room, moon shining through the windows. It was Fourth December, at midnight, the same exact time his mother took her last breath.
Matt took a breath and began to play the instrument in front of him. The tune was one he heard quite often, beloved by dax johnsin.
his eyes where closed as he played it through perfectly. It was bis mothers favorite song.
Towards the end of the piece, Matt heard a small thud, like a footstep. He stopped and turned to see Mello standing in the doorway.
Matt blushed in embarrassment as the blond boy began ti clap.
"That was amazing...i didn't know you could do that..." said blond muttered and stepped closer, sad smile on his face. He knew the significance if that song and the date and time.
Matt shrugged.
"Mail, speak to me..." mello whispered softly, moments later before taking Matt's chin in his hand. He stared into Matt's uncovered forest green eyes.
Matt shook his head no. Mello sighed and looked away sadly, releasing the other face.
He truly missed the sound of Matt's voice. It reminded him of a warm summer breeze, warm and soft, breathy and reassuring. It reminded him of the soft silk of the curtains in the dining room, smooth and soft.
It had been a year since he had heard Matt speak, but he did jot forget the sound of his voice.
Matt gulped and turned back to the piano. He placed his fingers on the keys and played a slow, sad sounding piece, never heard before. It was minor key, sad sounding, but the little accidentals givings it light, happier undertones.
Then matt did something unexpected. He began to sing.
"Slow and quiet, the music fills the air. A saddening sound to the untrained ear. It is a sad story, the one of a boy. The story, of the boy and the old piano." He sang, voice warm and powerful.
Matt always denied his talent in singing, but now...he had to admit that he was at least a little good at it.
He had written the song himself during his mute like state if the past year.
"The boy, only fie years old, watched his mother die. The little, fragile boy, only five years old, never shed a single tear. Brave and silent the boy hid it all, too afraid to speak, to cry, to live." The redheaded continued, the music quickening slightly.
"The boy and the old piano, sitting in the orphanage at midnight. The day is mournful, sorrowful as he sings his song. A sad tune filling the air, the boy and the old piano. A single tear runs down his face and lands on the ivory key bellow. This is the story, of the boy and the old piano."
Mello was sitting beside him on the bench now, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sound of his friends voice. It had been so long since he heard it, and he missed it greatly. The blond boy knew the song would end, but settled for enjoying the sound of the redhead's voice as he sang.
"Its the middle of the night and the boy sits alone. Hes in his room, books all around him. Alone at midnight, he refuses to sleep. Hasn't slept for days and he doesn't give a damn, this is the boy with the old piano."
matt continued,unsure if he would be punished or made fun of for the song.
Mello stayed silent, swaying slightly to the flow of the music.
"The boy and the old piano, sitting in the orphanage at midnight. The day is mournful, sorrowful as he sings his song. A sad tune filling the air, the boy and the old piano. A single tear runs down his and lands on the ivory key bellow. This, is the story, if the boy, and the old piano." This time, a tear rolled down Matt's cheek, remembering what had caused him ti write this song.
He stopped for a moment, playing a complicated scale and arpeggiopattern before transitioning to a different melody.
"Now tonight, the boy is not alone. He sits with his friend, a piano between them. Only the piano, which the boy plays softly. Hes singing his song, the boy and the old piano. Years have passed since he wrote that song. Hes visiting that old orphanage with a wedding ring on. Yeah, the boy with the old piano has grown up now, but he still remembers that old song from years ago."
Mello opens his eyes and glances at Matt when he sings the next verse,smiling softly at the other. Matt truly was wonderful at writing songs, how had he never realised?
"The boy and the old pianos, sitting in the orphanage at midnight. The day is mournfully, sorrowful as he sings his song. A sad tune filling the air, the boy and the old piano. A single tear rolls diwn his cheek and lands on the ivory key bellow, the boy and the old piano." Matt finished with a chorus, his simple song coming to an end.
He removed his hands from the keys and foot from the pedal as he turned ti look at Mello, smiling genuinely fir the first time in years.
"...wow..." was all the other could say, slightly shocked that Matt, quiet, odd little Matt,Mello's Matt, could write something like that. The third verse jumped d out at him, wondering if matt made that up on the sot or if it had been part if the song all along.
Matt laughed softly, breathily. His voice was slightly hoarse from trying to sing after a year if never speaking.
"I take it it was good then...?" He asked softly, eyes sparkling with something Mello couldn't quite put his finger on.
Before Matt knew what happened though, Mello had lunged at him and was now being clung to seemingly for dear life by his best friend.
"I'm so sorry Mail..." Mello whispered into the others neck.
Matt only shook his head and hugged Mello back, now laying on the piano bench.
"Dont be. You did nothing wrong and i do not wish for sympathy..." where the last words out of his mouth before the two fell asleep, wrapped in each other in the cold, dark music room.
_
The next morning in the dining room, Matt and mello sat together, smiling softly every now and then.
The memory if rut night before was theirs and theirs alone.
That night, no longer belonged to sorrow. It belonged to happiness, friendship, budding love and most if all...
The boys and the old piano.
This is freaking SIX pages long. Holy. Bujeezus. This was my first serious fic ever and I think I did a good job, but…BE NICE. Please review, if you want me to continue I WILL.