A/N: I wrote this for SerenaXiyade.

I'm afraid it's not anything gigantic or special, babe, but I did have you in mind while I was working on it. I figured that since I'm going to cosplay Mello to your Matt this year, I had better get into Mello's head. Eheh heh, I'm always in Matt's….

I used a song to help me write this one, too, which I don't often do. It's Jack's Mannequin, "Made For Each Other, Part 2 — You Can Breathe." While I only used the second part of the song, I like the first part as well. If you don't have it or I haven't sent it to you, maybe you can look for both parts of MFEO online, or remind me to email it.

Enjoy. :)


You waited for me in the rain in the parking lot

Cold hands, lips blue, clothes stuck to you

I still remember the time you soaked the passenger side of my car.

It was raining. You stood between the rows of white lines until I showed up, because you didn't want to piss me off by letting me know that you'd gotten there early. Your lips were colored like a bruise; a cigarette lolled tucked between them for the subtle illusion of warmth. It was too damp to light up for a real drag, though. Your stripes were soggy. Your goggles were fogged, and you took them off with a spray of chill droplets as you climbed into the car. Soaking my seat. Making me look at you twice.

That was the first time I ever ached with something more than curiosity.

You could have phoned me for a ride; it's a mess out there

You said the rain's the rain and some air would be good for you

I told you that you should have called, but you looked at me from underneath dripping bangs with a face that said, "Whatever, man." Dark auburn strands clumped together over your eyes, pixelated and chunky like you hailed from one of your video games. Then you grinned, and my stomach lost its anchorage. I swallowed — prayed you didn't notice — and I moved my gaze to the pouring rain.

"Relax. It's no big deal," you shrugged, still grinning, water trickling from every inch of you and darkening the seat of my car. I frowned when the words fell from your lips, because you should have been bitching me out, but you weren't. You told me that the elements weren't going to kill you.

You can breathe, you can breathe now

You can breathe, but the air is running out

You forgave me every time, Matt. Part of me hates you for it, because I know you deserved someone different. Someone that actually apologized when they did something to hurt you. But you stuck around, and damn it, I was always afraid that one day it would pile up and become too much.

I didn't want to see you crumble like that, knowing that I was the one that caused it.

You get in my car where it's warm; you cannot forget

Skin new, hands true — my hands all over you

I knew you remembered what happened two nights before. Without your goggles on, I could tell you were looking at me from the corner of your eye in the car, wondering if I'd try it again now that we were finally alone. It was your fucking fault in the first place, Matt. You're the one that took out the shot glasses. "To celebrate Near's latest fuck-up," you said, even though you knew damn well that Near's never fucked up at anything, ever. But you wanted to cheer me up. And it was you that dimmed the lights six shots later and started kissing me.

You can't blame me for reacting. When we woke up that next morning, we could have worked it out. Instead you took off. "I'm going to get some more dirt on Amane," you said. I knew that was bullshit.

Then when you finally had your head on, you contacted me on that rainy evening from the parking lot. And you got my seat all wet, because you were too stubborn to call me sooner. We've been through so much hell, Matt, that I don't know why you thought you had dignity you needed to recover.

It's all the same to me.

After we drove for a while, I pulled over on the side of the highway. You'd been stealing glances at me for three or four exits by then; you must have known that pretty soon I'd do something. I think you were expecting me to launch into a yelling fit. You always did think it was a hoot to see me riled up.

I think you thought some sort of joke would make our foolish, drunken encounter less real. But you kissed me, Matt. And weren't you the one to say to me, back at Wammy's, that alcohol made people truthful?

You stirred something in my blood, Matt. I wasn't going to ignore that. So when you damn near brushed things aside, I pulled over. But it wasn't because I was angry.

So what's another night? The seats rolled back, we can't see through

The rain's the rain; some air would be good for you

I had suddenly found that I wanted you. You shifted in your seat while the engine idled, waiting. So sure that I was about to yell at you for staring at me while I was driving, for getting my interior all damp with rainwater.

My hands were on you before you could wipe the smirk off your face. The look of surprise that usurped your smug supremacy was something I'll never forget. And then you were letting me touch you everywhere. Your clothes were sticking to you, still wet even though I'd turned the heat on inside the car, and you moaned my name when I traced my hands against your bare, clammy skin underneath.

There was steam creeping up the windows to block our view of the rain and the passing cars. I clambered over the center console to reach you uninhibited, and the seat went back. You let me pin you down with one hand.

Maybe both of us had needed it.

And you walked for miles down the shores of California to the coast of Mexico

Where you could hide and no one had to know

And now, Matt… now I can't stop asking myself what happened that time. Everything moved in such a blur. I took you again that night between the sheets when we got home. You scraped red ribbons down my back; I painted you with vibrant marks of pleasure across your collarbone. We tangled in a clash of desire, just like our world tangled around us as we lay panting and gasping, blocking out the rest of humanity to forget how we got there and why we had to fight.

You said that after I left Wammy's, you took a trip to the west coast of the States. You used to always dream of going there, seeing Hollywood, watching the sun glint off the other side of the Pacific. When we met up again, you told me that you had wandered.

"Or maybe it was more like running," you'd whispered a moment later.

I didn't care where you had been, Matt. I didn't care what you had done.

I didn't care about anything that night. Near and the SPK and Kira all could have gone to hell for all I cared. All I wanted was you. I didn't think it was possible for the world to look that way — so bright in the stormy weather.

You can breathe, you can breathe now

You can breathe, but the air is running out on you

Then reality came back, dark, and I didn't see you for three days. You were on surveillance; I was on the front lines trying to sort this Kira shit out because it was the only chance we had. And without your voice beside my ear, your lips against my neck… I couldn't convince myself that any of it was worth squat.

Damn it, I still want you here. Now. With me.

"I can't take this, Mello," you said, and your voice came out static over the phone. "We're getting too deep into this stuff with Kira. What if we can't get out?" I told you to shut up and keep tailing our targets, because I didn't want to think about what that would mean for the two of us.

I'd ask what you did to me, but I think I already know the answer.

It makes this even harder.

You can breathe, but the air is running out on you

Running out on you

It's like some sort of assault, and I'm weaker than I've ever been. I know you'd laugh at that, but I can hardly feel a thing with this vertigo that comes from wanting you. I can't control it. I feel so helpless, Matt, I'm on fire with it, and the fever is enough to floor me. It isn't treatable; it isn't stoppable…. I'm driving and clutching the wheel and I can't even breathe.

Oh god, Matt — this is tangible. I've never meant anything like I mean it now, when I'm telling you I need you.

I need you.

But this time you can't hear me.

Every time a hand of yours left those gloves so you could flick your lighter on, I could see your lifeline craggy across your palm, and I wanted to trace it with my fingertips. Too short — time is just too short and I'd give everything to have held on to you longer, pressing your palm to my cheek. Every time I met your eyes behind your goggles, I saw myself reflected back; I saw my soul being sucked into your gaze right in front of me. I saw you, and I never wanted that vision to dissipate.

You should have fucking walked away. I never asked you to give me everything. It would have been a bitch to get you out safely after you got involved, but I would have sacrificed whatever was necessary to make it happen if you had told me that you wanted to go.

Damn it, Matt, why didn't you just leave?

Well maybe we're made for each other

And maybe the world will look like this forever

You couldn't have the life you wanted. I can't either; it's only a matter of time until I'm toast. So stick around a while longer, if you don't already hate me for this.

Maybe we were made for each other.

Matt, I never thought you'd be killed…. Forgive me.

A/N: You know, SerenaXiyade, it's funny. I wasn't going to make this about death. The song didn't call for it at all. But it came out that way in the end. I bet you can guess why, if you think about when I wrote this as opposed to when I finished a certain other multi-chapter about these two…. You really are quite observant, and what you expressed to me before was spot on. Ah well. And don't worry — this is nothing like Tristan Chord, so reading the rest of it as it comes out should still be refreshing and different, and a deeper and more complicated sort of take. Augh, wow, you know… I am probably way more freaked out over what you'll think of my choice in writing this than I should be. Why is it so difficult?

Did this ease you back into reading my stuff a bit, at least, now that your viewpoint is different?