Just a short story revolving around Mello and Matt's death. Emotional. You'll need tissues! (I hope.) Enjoy!

Time passed slowly, swiftly, deceivingly.

Slowly, the ragged and bloodied wounds began to heal. As hard as he might, with reluctant teal-coloured eyes, he couldn't let go.

Matt, he let out a soft moan. Why?

Sudden terror and sorrow consumed him from the inside, threatening to rid him of his existence. Yes, he was smiling on the outside. But it was nothing more than just a weak, translucent façade- drifting ever so slightly, away from reality. Nothing changed in his blank and composed mind. All he could ever think of was him.

"It was my fault," he gasped as he clutched the bottle of wine in his pale and lifeless hand. "I could…somehow stop him…" he trailed off as the pounding in his head grew stronger and faster. His blonde and messy hair swayed in the wind, sending strands of wild, untamed hair flying about.

Slouching on the three-seated couch, his gaze was fixed on nothingness. Much as he tried to, he couldn't forget Matt. The thought haunted him like what horror fantasy characters did to children.

You…idiot... Mello buried his face into the soft leather fabric, squeezing out moist and free-flowing tears. They landed themselves onto his tongue, causing him to swallow instinctively.

Feeling the salt in his mouth, he ignored it, trying to remember his face once again. Any memory, any recurring dream…they drifted through his head, ever so slowly. For the first time in his life, he had never missed something so dearly. He felt like a piece of his heart had been stabbed into ever since he saw the dreaded news on the small television set.

Red, soft hair. Loose goggles. A beautiful, perfect frame. A smooth, well-edged jawline.

It was all but just a fleeting dream.

As more fresh tears flowed out of his eyelids, he let out a soft gag. His throat was choked full of sorrow and disbelief. He picked at his hair mindlessly, holding back his tears. He had to accept Matt's sudden passing.

Just as he was in the middle of his self-comforting, a voice interrupted his fragile thoughts.

"Mello," the voice purred monotonously.

He looked up. Near, he thought, a look of disgust spread on his face. He felt like taking out his anger on the small, insolent child. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself with much effort.

"What do you want," Mello spat, wiping away tears of evidence with his free arm. It wasn't a question.

Near sighed amusedly, and approached the blonde-haired man with light footsteps. "You were crying again." He smirked to himself.

Mello's heart rate increased rapidly. "Get lost, Near," he replied in a low voice. "If not, I won't hesitate to chop your stupid little head off."

The tension between the two detectives became worse. Near sniffed the air and grinned devilishly, as if in a trance. Slowly and steadily, he advanced towards Mello and sat down on the plush sofa, right beside him.

Mello let out a deep growl. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Near replied simply, placing a finger on Mello's exposed neck. He shuddered at the touch, feeling the heat of Near's finger on his skin.

Near snickered loudly. "You still can't forget Matt," he assumed, tracing the scar on Mello's neck with his finger. "…Am I right?"

Mello stiffened and remained still, uncertain. "W…what?" he was taken by surprise.

"What do you mean by 'what'?" Near grabbed his arm forcefully and touched the surface of his skin. He raised his hand and placed it in front of Mello's tired eyes. "It's moist," he added, a serious look on his face.

Mello rolled his eyes and snatched his arm away from Near's grasp. "No."

"Yes."

"…" The sudden mention of Matt's name saddened Mello. He remained silent, something he seldom did, and turned around.

"What are you doing?" Near asked curiously as Mello rummaged through a big, wooden box.

A few seconds later, he emerged with a flute, and placed the tip into his mouth without a word.

First it started out high, and then it became more low-pitched like, as if someone was in mourning. The song that was being played out steadily grew more monotonous, and soon Near found himself being immersed into the deadly composition. Mello played fluently without any trace of disturbance in his music, letting his unshed tears flow through his flute.

When the song was over, Mello settled down his flute onto his lap quietly, resisting the urge to scream.

Near swallowed hard. He could not recognise this unfamiliar side of Mello- was he always this good at playing the flute? He could hardly comprehend the sudden change in his unpredictable behaviour and attitude. Where had the rough and tough-speaking Mello gone?

"M-Mello," he breathed, stunned beyond words. What was he supposed to say? Standing upright, Near scrutinized the blonde-haired mafia with wide eyes. It's decided, he thought to himself. It was then he truly understood what was lying beneath Mello's shallow heart core.

"Matt…" Salty and bland tears dripped from Mello's lifeless eyes. Turning around, he refused to acknowledge his existence-his very being, for he could not take it any longer. He felt sick to his stomach. Sweeping strands of his untamed hair swiftly to the side, he felt his eyelids get heavy, and his vision; it was as if he was thrown into a void full of nothingness.

I had loved you once before.

Oh my. There are tears in my eyes now as I type this Author's note. It was really emotional, both for me and maybe…you, the reader? I would love to hear your thoughts and how I can improve on the story. No mean insults, please! R&R C: