Sketch
A Death Note Fanfiction by Raayy. (AKA: ToysAndChocolate)
I DON'T own Death Note.
Matt's centred, Mello's PoV. NON-YAOI.
Beta-read again by Threshie! Thank you so much!
He smiled, but it wasn't a true smile.
He didn't know it, but I knew.
He didn't know because he didn't want to know.
We weren't friends. He worked for me and that's all. But I think I knew him better than anyone else.
#
His hair had the smell and stink of blood. Not because he actually killed someone, but because he stank of blood. Blood red.
His past had the smell of blood, too, and it showed in his red hair.
#
His eyes were green. He always hid them behind the goggles, but I know they were green. I saw just once, enough to remember it was a beautiful green. Not like emerald, or water green, but beautiful. He didn't care, and hid them behind his goggles.
His eyes didn't smile with his mouth, and he knew it and hid them to hide how fake his smile was. But he didn't even know that it was fake.
#
He wore a striped shirt. Horizontal stripes fatten people, but he didn't look like he cared. He didn't care, either, if his vest was a bit strange, or if the boots that went over his pants' legs were, or the gloves, or the goggles. He never cared about himself.
Fat, thin, pretty or ugly. He looked like he didn't care, maybe he really didn't after all.
#
And the smile. Fake like him. It was a large smile, full of white teeth, and would have been really beautiful if it was true.
It wasn't, though. It was fake.
Fake like him.
But he didn't know, because he never once stopped to think about himself.
#
He never said to me what he thought of Kira. I said I needed help, and he accepted. Didn't ask what with, didn't complain, didn't make a comment.
He accepted without even know what we were going to do.
Sometimes I'd ask myself if he even cared if he died.
Sometimes I thought that he didn't care. Sometimes, even, I thought that was what he wanted.
#
The noise of the games was annoying, but I never told him to turn it down.
He played with a glow in the eyes that I–and nobody else–could see, pressing more than four buttons at the same time. Making those annoying noises come out of that box of plastic with a lot of metal inside.
That was the one time that he really dedicated himself to something. It was like in those hours, he was alive.
#
I told him of the kidnapping plan and he knew that we had a big chance of dying, but all he did was smile –that fake smile–and say it was okay.
I asked myself if he was suicidal, masochistic, or anything else.
But the only answer that came to my mind was that he didn't care. Didn't care about death.
He didn't care about dying any more than he cared about life.
#
I see it on the news. He's dead. Dozens of bullets in him--and in his car--and I still notice the cigarette in his mouth, dropping.
The cigarette is a little detail, but it's an important one. He knew that it was unhealthy, he was the third-smartest at Wammy's and knew what was smart and what was dumb, but he didn't care.
I think that he really wanted to die.
I say I'm sorry, but I ask myself if I really am. He looked like he wanted it so badly that it feels wrong to say it.
Maybe he'll even thank me.
Well, I'll find out in a moment.
In forty seconds.
Sketches, sketches, sketches.
A/N:
So, the title and the end was a homage to a fanfic Mello's centre by Nanase Kei. It's Matt's POV, too, and when I read it I was just like: "Wow... I felt inspired now... I want to do the same thing as she did, but the oposite! Matt's centred and Mello's POV!"
So this born. Original in portuguese and take a little time to me traduce for english, many thanks to Threshie who beta-read it. I feel like I cant trust her revise, so I like to ask her. XD
Feel free to coment and check the original if you understand portuguese.