Mello was disappointed, though not at all surprised, when he awoke in a sea of red and gold flames. All his Hail Mary's and good intentions couldn't counteract the fact that he was a sinner of the worst degree, a murderer, and so he had prepared himself for fire and brimstone long before his heart beat its last. Hell would inevitably be painful, but it was also predictable, and so he knew he could endure it, perhaps even conquer it someday and escape…
Yet, as his senses sharpened, he realized he wasn't burning at all; he was lying in a field of flowers. Vermilion, crimson, caramel — every shade swirled together like flickering fire, and he recognized this place, though he had never been here before… déjà vu? No, he remembered now. It was that painting Matt kept in his bedroom. Once, in the idle afterglow of sex, Mello asked about it, and it was with a sly smile that Matt said it was Linda's interpretation of their relationship. He hadn't bothered to analyze the painting, writing the comment off as another one of Matt's jokes, but now the artwork had come to life all around him, and he was being forced to analyze it. Seeing those twisted yet beautiful paint blossoms sprawled out endlessly in every direction, swaying though he felt no breeze over his skin, made his stomach clench and his eyes burn. He had indeed underestimated Hell, if he was doomed to spend an eternity alone in this place.
But then, as if to mock the notion that he was alone, he heard a voice. It was a mere murmur, the words indiscernible, yet it resounded in the oppressively silent field.
"…Matt?" he hardly dared to whisper, scanning hopelessly for a glimpse of red hair amidst red petals, for oppositional movement amidst the repetitious back-and-forth flower dance. Clenching his sweaty palms, he called for Matt a bit louder, though he was terrified of whom or what he might summon with the name, even if it really was Matt — no, especially if it was Matt. He as good as put the bullets in Matt's chest, but Matt would still greet him with a smile, and he would love Matt for it and hate himself.
Finally, he received an answer from the voice, soft and unreadable as before. This time, however, he anticipated the sound, and so he was able to discern its origin. Swiveling around, he peered over the heads of the flowers and was shocked to see that the flora thinned out nearby, giving way to a misty lake. Had that been there before? Was that even in the original painting? He could only remember the vibrant colors of the flowers, the fire…
Suspiciously, Mello moved toward the lake's edge, slowing considerably when the fog suddenly became so dense he could barely see; but despite his cautiousness, he tripped mere moments later, his fall cushioned by something soft and warm.
"Ow." Matt blinked up at him, bleary from sleep, for a long moment of mutual bemusement, before his face softened into that smile Mello had both longed for and feared. "Mello. God, I missed you. I missed you, I missed you."
Claustrophobia settled in as fingers brushed through his hair and gentle words tickled his ear, and he struggled and squirmed until Matt reluctantly released him from his affectionate cage.
"We've only been apart for a couple hours," Mello groused, scowling to mask his anxiety, and Matt's smile faltered.
"I've been here for months — years — I don't even know. I've been waiting and waiting, hoping I could see you again someday… and finally, you're here." Then, he smiled again; but Mello frowned, profoundly disturbed by Matt's words and the possibilities they presented. Were they experiencing different timelines? Was this… not the real Matt? It didn't make sense on any level, and he needed answers.
"Prove that you're really Matt," he threatened, reflecting smoke and fire and Matt's face struck by words, words again and again and never his hands, on the canvas of his slitted black eyes.
"Of course I'm…" Matt's voice cracked. "Remember… remember the time you told me to jump down the stairs, and I sprained my ankle? You were always testing me…" An unsteady burst of laughter escaped from his lips. "Why can't you just trust me for once? We've known each other our whole lives, and you won't even let me hug you."
"…Sorry," Mello responded flatly, not sounding particularly apologetic, but he let his muscles relax, sliding gracefully from his crouched position into his typical open-legged sprawl and hunching over with his forearms on his thighs. The composite image of dangling red rosary beads and Matt's tousled hair, strewn across the ground, kept him staring in fixated silence until the living portrait moved, Matt mouthing words Mello's lagging brain couldn't interpret for a few moments: 'It's okay'? "Actually, Matt, it's not okay. It's a far fuck from okay. I got us both killed, our sense of time is skewed, and this place gives me the creeps…"
"You don't like it here?" Matt asked, pulling his goggles over his eyes, but the protective layer of plastic couldn't conceal his offended tone. This gesture had been part of their lives ever since Matt wore goggles and Mello spoke sharply, yet the routine act felt out of context and left Mello more confused than ever.
"Who would?"
"We can move into the light if you want…"
"That's not the problem." Sighing, Mello traced the crucifix on his rosary up to the crimson blood beads. "Matt, we're in Hell."
"I don't think so." The remark, an attempt at his typical offhandedness, was stained with conviction at the edges. Mello honed in on the slip up expectantly.
"What makes you say that?" he urged.
"I've been here a long time, Mello," Matt said slowly. "I figured out some stuff."
Patience worn thin, he snapped, "Yeah, and I'm asking you what you figured out!"
"I'll tell you if you promise not to get mad. Just don't get mad, okay?" Matt was gnawing at his lower lip, upturning soil with the heel of his boot, and acting generally jittery as he spoke, which alarmed Mello in turn. Usually, Matt at least attempted to appear calm and collected in tense situations, so to completely lose control like this… it was serious.
"Matt… what is it?" he spoke so softly, almost gently, that they were both surprised, Matt into tumbles of speech and Mello into tremulous silence.
"The truth is, this is Heaven, and you're technically not supposed to be here… but your soul was in limbo, and I couldn't just leave you there to be damned, you know? I had to find a way to save you, and I did, eventually. I just had to concentrate really hard and align our wave patterns, and… and, um, that probably doesn't make much sense, but that's what I was doing when you first ran into me. Um…" Pausing in his rambling, Matt's fingers grasped for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there, and he heaved a sigh. "Are you mad?"
Mello opened his mouth to speak but found that he couldn't, so he shook his head, no, no, no… not anger… but there was shock, guilt, gratitude; and above all, fear. This was a dangerous game Matt was playing, gambling with God, and he would inevitably lose; he would sacrifice himself all over again, unless Mello made his move.
"I can't stay here," he said, grabbing hold of Matt's goggles and pulling them away even as Matt flinched and fought to avert his gaze. Mello tipped his chin upward and forcefully locked their eyes, repeating, "I can't stay here."
"Mello, please…" Matt murmured, horrorstruck, heartbroken.
"Send me back."
"I could never—"
"Then I'll find my own way out. Goodbye, Matt." Smiling somewhat forlornly, he absolved Matt's warm flesh and took cold holy sculpture in hand with a prayer on his lips: "It's for the best."
I can open your eyes.
I can change your mind.
"Mello, wait!"
The voice resounded around him, suppressed and nearly silenced by November rain, yet it was still clearly panicked, yet it was not soft enough that he could bring himself to ignore its presence. He found himself stopping to stare somberly as Matt sprinted through the downpour and collapsed on the other side of the gates, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the bars in agitation, heaving almost to the point where he looked like he was going to throw up.
"Mel…lo…" There was only the sound of the rain for a few moments as Matt strained to regain control of his vocal chords; then he implored, "Take me with you."
"No," Mello said bluntly.
"I'm third. I'm not… useless…" A note of desperation was evident in the curve of his words, in the defeated slump of his body, and Mello almost felt sorry.
"Goodbye, Matt. It's for the best."
I can repaint your walls
blue or black or white or purple… red.
"Goodbye, Matt. It's for the best."
On the verge of closing his eyes and losing himself to prayer, Mello was brought back to reality with a stinging slap to the face. Two pairs of eyes locked onto each other, both wide and bewildered with what had taken place, a strange sort of mirror image but for one detail.
"What the hell? Why are you crying?" Mello demanded. He looked on in what felt like a state of suspended animation as Matt's features crumpled further and the tears began to fall in earnest.
"Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me," begged the broken doll on infinite repeat, clinging close to him even as the paint began to crumble and flake all around them, and finally darkness crashed down and Matt could neither be heard nor seen nor felt anymore.
A/N: I'll give you a hint about the next chapter: it's called Seven Deadly Sins. Heh heh heh. Lyrics between the scenes were not written by me; they're from BleacH (English Unplugged Version) by SNoW, though I edited them a bit. C&C?