Four years, eleven months and six days. That's how long Mello had left me. Four years, eleven months and six days. That's how long I hurt. Four years, eleven months and six days.
That's how long it took him to call me.
I resented him, I really did. I hated him for all the pain he caused me; for pretending to be friends with me, and knocking it all down just because it wasn't convenient for him anymore. Just like my parents had.
But that moment, when I heard his voice again, so frail and lifeless, I couldn't help but let it all go.
"Matt…" he had rasped into the phone. Four years, eleven months and six days, and all he had to say to me was one syllable that had no meaning to me. It wasn't even my real name.
Nonetheless, I went to him. I tracked his call and drove like a madman to where he was. Maybe I am mad, wanting friendship from a guy like him.
Upon arriving at the ruined site, my insides hyperventilated in a flurry of panic and fear.
Mello. Mello. Oh god, Mello.
I had searched everywhere for him that day. Just like I did the day he left. And the more I couldn't find him, the more anxiety tore up my mind.
And this time, if I couldn't find him, there wouldn't be a next time.
Smoke and dust egged on my tears, and I finally let them go when I found him.
He was badly burnt on his left side, leaving a mangled map across his face and arm, and his angel hair singed and black. He was wearing leather. Or remains of what was leather anyways.
When he saw me, he smiled a weak smile. "You're late."
Four years, eleven months and six days. That's how long it took me to realize that I couldn't ever hate Mello, no matter what he would say or do to me. Four years, eleven months and six days. That's how long it took me to realize that I cared.