A short MelloxMatt one-shot that popped into my head this morning, after a small thunderstorm.

Written from Matt's point-of-view.

.Beautiful.

- - -

It had just rained, but now the sun had come up, and now that fresh smell of ozone blanketed our bedroom; we had left the windows open during the short storm. The smell was compelling me to go outside, which was odd, considering the fact that I rarely step a foot outdoors. Though, it had been a while since I'd done that, and I thought it would be nice to spend a few minutes outside with Mello, but I had to ask him. I spared a moment, first saving my progress on my video game handheld before I lifted my head in Mello's direction. My lips started to move agape, but I stopped. He was neither looking at me, nor were his eyes remotely in my direction; in fact, his stare was focused in the opposite direction, somewhere beyond the windowpane. He looked so serene, sitting there. The sun cast such gentle rays of light over his golden blonde hair, illuminating him, creating a silhouette over his form. I only stared at him for a moment, as though in a trance by his beauty, and then I set my hand on his. He looked at me.

I smiled a little, and looked past him. "…It's nice out, huh'."

He watched me. He watched me with that electrifying stare of his, with those ice-blue eyes that too gorgeously accompanied that mane of golden blonde hair, that handsome face. I held his hand a little tighter when a warm breeze blew in and caused his hair to sway; my own red locks became tussled over my goggles. I ignored them and waited for him to say something, but he looked back to the window instead. He was always looking out of that window, probably thinking.

I scooted a little closer. "Let's go outside."

This made him laugh. "Since when do you want to go outside?"

He still looked out the window. I shrugged. "I 'unno. There's something about the weather today," I told him softly. "It's nicer than the other days."

I knew I was right. The weather for the past week had been shitty.

Still, there was something about Mello's hesitance to answer me and how he was so silent, so idle, sitting there on the mattress without a care towards the wind causing his hair to sway in the golden sunlight; there was something about him, and it told me that he was not yet convinced – for some reason, he did not want to go outside.

Again, he did not answer me, so I resorted to coaxing it out of him. I lifted my hand to the side of his face, to peel back the locks of blonde hair that veiled his ear and cheek, to kiss his earlobe and whisper, "Hm? Talk to me." My bluish eyes tried to find his. "What is it?"

I could tell he was trying to look at me. I felt his eyes in my direction.

He looked down. "…I look like shit."

That hurt me. I pulled back. "What? No – No, you don't. Look at me."

He did, and he was wrong. He did not look the slightest bit like a piece of shit; in my eyes, he was not any less handsome as he was a couple months ago; he had always been a handsome person to me, but if I told him this, he would, most likely, brush it off and tell me to cut the bullshit. But, I meant it. I meant it when I called him beautiful. Even if he did have this scar covering half of his face, even if the wound did stretch to the lower portion of his torso, I found him to be, still, beautiful. Besides, the scar looked fine on him. It gave him a sort of edge, I thought. When I told him that before, he thought it was bullshit.

I took his face in my hands. "You look beautiful, Mello. You always have been, and always will be beautiful. How many times have I told you that?"

He jerked his face from my hold. "…I can't fucking go outside looking like this," he muttered, all in a sigh. "No one wants to see me."

I stared at him, partially in sympathy, partially in discontent.

It was true; he hadn't stepped a foot outside since he got the scar.

Many people wouldn't think Mello would act like this.

I took his hand again. "At least come outside for a few minutes. Let me have a smoke, and you can sit next to me. Just for a change of scenery, at least. It won't take long."

"No," the retort, just as I finished my last word. "Matt, nothing you will say will convince me to go outside. It just won't." He looked at me, then down again. "I'd rather stay here."

That angered me. My face moved closer to his. "You would rather stay here and look out the goddamned window," I uttered lowly. "You can't keep refusing to take a step outside, Mello. Hell, I hate the outdoors, but at least I'm going to give it a chance today. One day you'll have to come outside. You're going to have that thing all your life."

I knew I shouldn't have called his scar a thing, but it was too late to take it back.

His ice-blue eyes lifted; they were callous. But, he kept holding my hand.

"Fuck – I know, damnit," the words broke from him, as he flicked his eyes aside. "God damnit, I don't need you to remind me. Go have your cigarette."

I really didn't want to smoke all by myself, but I would anyway.

I held his hand with both of mine and leaned in to kiss him. I kissed him for almost a minute, as though I wanted to devour each ounce of those damn insecurities he had; as though I wanted him to know how much I loved him, and that he was so inexplicably handsome to me; as though this were my last, and my failed, attempt at convincing him to come outside with me, and accompany me while I had a cigarette. But, when I pulled away and looked into his face – looked at his scar and his smile-less lips – I frowned, because I knew he had already made up his mind. He would stay up here in our room, on this bed, looking out the window unmovingly, probably catching wafts of nicotine while I smoked alone.

I hated that. Just the thought of him all alone up here sickened me.

I kissed him one more time, quickly, and murmured, "You're beautiful, Mel'." He didn't do so much as to even grunt in reply, so I stared at him.

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I know," and he told me again, "Go have your cigarette."

I gave his hand a final squeeze before I got up to leave him.

The whole time I could feel his eyes on me; sorrowful, ice-blue eyes.

It was like he was wishing he could be in my place.

He wanted to rid himself of this scar, so he would be able to join me.

I hated that too.

I looked over my shoulder to give him a smile.

The one he flashed back was subtle.

"You're beautiful, God damnit," I wanted to tell him. "Mello, you're god damned beautiful."

But, I knew he would regard that as bullshit.

So I left him. I took out my cigarette and closed the door behind me.

And I left him – alone.

Reviews are welcome!

L'Adore.