A/N: Yeah...it's awfully short by my standards. But in my defense, there isn't much of a plot. .__.
It starts with a random flashback, so don't think the whole thing is in italics. That would suck.
Warnings: yaoi and spoilers up to episode whatever and chapter something-or-other.
Reviews make me spaz out in happy fits. :)
"You could have died."
Roger's voice is faint. The words are getting easier to understand, though, as the heavy footsteps get nearer.
Mello closes his eyes and listens. There is a second set of footsteps, he hears, very much out of sync with his own fragmented thoughts. The blond can't seem to bring himself to care very much about the alarming words he has overheard.
It's just that...Matt...he never came back. He never came back inside.
"What were you thinking?" Closer, now. "For Christ's sake! Did you not notice the others coming inside? Didn't you hear the storm warning?"
Mello's eyes widen when rampant thoughts of Matt and what Roger's saying click together.
"You're smarter than this, Matt!"
He chokes on the air he's currently inhaling. Yes, yes, it is. It is Matt.
A sigh. "Are you sure you don't need anything? A warm drink? Maybe a blanket? Hot compress?"
"I'm fine, Roger." Matt says in a neutral tone, and Mello, for some reason, forgot how mature-sounding his friend has gotten. They're getting older—both of them, and that hasn't really sunken in until now. What does this mean? How many more winters will there be?
And then Mello decides to just close his eyes and stop thinking because everything is okay now, and Matt's voice is so much more important.
But Matt isn't talking anymore. All that can be heard, aside from the pelting of fat snowflakes against the window above Mello, is someone's retreating footsteps. He knows they're not Matt's.
Though he's not sure why, he decides to keep his eyes closed and feign sleep when he hears the gentle clicking of the doorknob as it's opened. But it's harder than he thought it would be. The knot rising in Mello's throat is alarming and it takes everything he has to keep his face expressionless when the knob clicks again, because he knows Matt is in here now. And he swears he's being watched as a few moments crawl by.
And then time starts moving again. Matt is getting undressed, presumably to get some dry clothes on, and this only serves to make Mello feel trapped and uncomfortable. He knows he can't open his eyes now. The redhead is only doing this because he thinks his roommate is asleep, and if he were to figure out otherwise...well, that would just be incredibly awkward, and it would raise a bunch of questions Mello has absolutely no interest in answering.
He tries to keep his thoughts away from what's happening, but he can't, and it's making his face hot. He hopes Matt isn't looking at him.
The rustling of fabric finally ceases, and Mello feels like he can breathe again. He wishes he could just bury himself in the comforter and ignore everything for several hours, for the sake of his sanity more than anything else. He hasn't worried so much since before coming to Wammy's House. He forgot how damn exhausting it can be.
...Why can't he hear Matt getting into his own bed? Shouldn't he want to, after being in that storm? What a stupid thing to do, by the way. He can't imagine what business Matt would have out there, all alone. He just doesn't think—
"Mello..." Matt suddenly breathes, sounding way too close than the blond thinks he should. He tries to keep from shuddering, and he really can't help the goosebumps forming on his skin. There's just...something in Matt's voice...
It's...well, Mello really isn't sure what it is.
There's a cool, feather-light touch on his forehead. He feels Matt gently sweeping the stringy hair out of his face that he hadn't bothered to fix up after coming back inside. He isn't exactly angry with this invasion of his personal space, just very confused and a little bothered that his friend is acting so out of character. Mello isn't sure what he thinks of this. He can't ever remember being touched like how he's being touched right now. If he has ever experienced something like this, he must have been too young to remember. He has been beyond missing affection for awhile now. But above all, more than anything, he just wants to know what motivated Matt to do this.
He feels the bed sink a little. The redhead has obviously sat down, but Matt's hand hasn't moved from his face yet, and he's beginning to feel insane from the barrage of thoughts firing in his head. How long does he plan to stay here? Can he feel how hot my face is? Should I mind this? Why don't I mind this? I don't understand...
He doesn't know what to do. Though they're limited, he does have options. He's shocked to find that he would probably feel something akin to guilt if he were to "wake up" and tell his unusually touchy-feely friend to keep his fucking hands to himself. So perhaps the best course of action would be to do nothing. Matt isn't really doing anything wrong, after all. Just...bizarre.
Mello's confusion heightens to astronomical levels when he smells the faint oder of nicotine, accompanied by Matt's nearing body warmth, and this doesn't bother him as much as it probably should. He thinks about his friend's earlier tone of voice, and what that means for what Matt is doing right now. It's a dangerous direction his thoughts are going in, Mello knows, but it's so hard to think of anything else right now.
It's really peculiar, how his racing thoughts suddenly come to a complete stop when he feels Matt press his lips to Mello's temple so lightly, it's hardly even a kiss. But to Mello, it is. It definitely is. The realization that this is the first incident of physical affection since coming here is startling. He hadn't wanted it. He'd never consciously craved it, had never really wanted to be wanted. But he can't say that now, not anymore. He's not sure what he can say about himself anymore. Or Matt, for that matter.
He can't keep from reacting when the other boy whispers his name again, in that same tone he used before, which Mello couldn't identify until now. It's too much. It's just too much. He really, really can't stop himself from tensing, from gasping, from opening his eyes to see the boy that has so much more to give than he has let on.
Mello can't blame him.
The first thing he notices is the absence of his friend's signature goggles, which leads to his zeroing in on the widening of Matt's eyes, and have they always been that green?
"M-Mello...!" he sputters, jerking his hand back, and the blond has a rampant thought that he likes the way Matt said his name before a lot more than now. "I'm..."
"Stupid," Mello finishes for him reflexively. He can do this. He can control the conversation, and it will be easy to talk, like normal. "Why did you stay outside?"
It's a safer subject. Mello knows it's the right thing to do, bringing it up, when his Matt's shoulders sag in relief.
"Because..." he starts reluctantly, looking uncomfortable again. Mello has a sneaking suspicion that some cosmic forces must be working against them tonight. He has never felt this awkward around Matt. "You know, it doesn't matter. I mean, I'm here now. That's really all that matters, right?"
Mello can't find it in himself to get irritated. Matt is actually making some sense, because yes, really, that's all that matters. And he certainly isn't taking that for granted.
He won't lose anyone else. He won't stand for it.
But Matt's answer does absolutely nothing to satiate Mello's curiosity. And doesn't he know how his only friend was feeling? Does he even care? Is he that selfish? No, no, of course not. That isn't in Matt's nature.
"I guess," Mello answers, trying and failing to sound casual about it. He grimaces to himself. "But I still want to know why."
He hates the emotion coloring his tone—this is why you'll never be L!—and he knows Matt notices by the widening of his eyes. Mello is momentarily distracted by them, those eyes, because there isn't a thin piece of orange plastic (infernal goggles) clouding the lucid meaning of that green, for once.
"I..." he starts, those eyes darting to his lap. Mello reminds himself to be patient. "I lost them. My goggles. I lost them outside. I was looking...I was just—I really needed to find them."
He watches Matt scratch the back of his head awkwardly, and feels like he can understand. He felt that way earlier, when he'd been unconsciously gripping the crucifix hanging loosely around his neck, murmuring fragments of prayers he very dimly remembers his mother reciting to lull him to sleep.
"...You are mine...I will be with you...because you are precious in my eyes and glorious, and because I love you."
Things start to feel sort of surreal as the string of words flow through some unrepentant part of himself, like a planetary ring that hovers around him, hugging a jaded mirror image of Mello that followed his hesitant journey to Wammy's.
He hums thoughtfully in light of his senseless thoughts, eyes meeting Matt's reluctant stare.
Mello decides not to mention anything else. The atmosphere is settling into something very close to tranquility, which is so odd, it's almost hard to believe. But he isn't willing to shatter this...whatever this is. Honestly, he doesn't even care much about finding out what it is.
He does care enough, however, to allow Matt to stay here, to allow the awkward twining of their fingers.
They don't sleep. They just pretend they can watch the storm outside even though it's too dark to see, and Mello's thoughts slow to almost nothing as the moments slow and bleed into their unspoken words.
We're going to die tomorrow; I've seen it in Mello's face.
I'm not sure what we should be doing right now. Celebrating our last day, maybe? Well, excuse me if I don't feel like partying. I've avoided thinking of death since...well, since I can remember, really. I don't think anyone is ever really comfortable with the subject, but it has always especially scared the shit out of me. That's why I'm surprised I'm not hyperventilating right now. I'm a little depressed, but not panicked, like I would expect.
Mello, well...I can't tell how he's doing. I never know what he's feeling unless he tells me.
It's an unusually cloudy day in Los Angeles. Our last day on earth feels like a normal day did back at Wammy's, where it was far from uncommon to have overcast weather. It was Winchester, after all. Not the sunniest place on the planet.
I can hear him sigh quietly, shifting on the cheap, springy sofa, making absolutely no more noise for a few more moments. As I exhale, the smoke from my cigarette clouds the window, and I can't see outside anymore. Whatever. I don't even care for this city. Or maybe I'm just homesick.
I straighten, abandoning the leisurely position against the wall, to see the little that is going on around me.
I turn around to see that he's looking at me. It's mildly surprising, seeing how he's hiding nothing in his expression. He looks vaguely bewildered. That's really strange, since he's always so sure about everything. Confident. Never second-guesses himself. But I have a feeling that's exactly what he's doing right now. Doing that while looking at me, which is even stranger. I don't have time to think about this, what Mello is thinking. This is only the beginning of the last day. One more day. That's it. Guess I should make the best of it.
I snuff my cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray nearby and stride toward the blond hellion on the couch with more confidence than is usual for me. But I figure I have nothing to lose. Still, it's a little unnerving, feeling those steely blue eyes follow my every movement. It makes me paranoid out of my mind. I wonder if Mello knows he's one of the biggest reasons I'm a neurotic freak. Most likely. The fucker's probably proud, too.
I loom over the couch for a few moments. He's just gazing at me expectantly, and for some reason, that makes me more uncomfortable than his usual glaring does. He hasn't looked like this since Wammy's.
There's no going back now, I figure, so I move his crossed legs out of the way briefly to sit down. I can hear him make an incredulous noise in the back of his throat as my ass meets the pathetic excuse for a couch cushion.
A few tense seconds pass by, during which my face starts to feel hot. I don't think I want to look at him yet.
"Comfortable?" he asks, his neutral tone betraying nothing.
I don't move.
"Not really."
"Hm," he mutters, taking in my strangled voice with a tinge of amusement in his tone. I relax a little bit at that. When I finally find it in myself to look at him, I'm startled to see that his expression is clear of anything...Mello, really. It reminds me of Mihael, the boy I was friends with at Wammy's, that grew angry at me for staying in the storm too long to be safe.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in when he brings his legs back up, seeking refuge on my lap. My eyes widen, darting from his socked feet to his face, which is now turned up to the ceiling, eyes closed.
He suddenly breaks the silence. He's speaking so quietly, his mouth is hardly moving. I can't stop staring.
"Matt..."
I bite my lip as he pauses. His eyebrows are furrowing slightly, troubled expression now apparent. I'm starting to think I'm dreaming this.
Hey. It's happened before, you know.
"I don't think...I don't think I want you to do this. Tomorrow, I mean. I can have someone else—"
"Mello."
His eyes snap open as I cut in sharply. My heart is pounding abnormally fast and I think this is as close to death as I'll ever get, tomorrow included.
"I said I would do it. I'm not going to pussy out at the last minute."
But that isn't it. It isn't about the pride or bravery for me, or even keeping my word. It's about Mello. That's it.
He glares at me weakly. I'm surprised his eyes aren't rousing a tsunami from the Styx River, like they usually do. And it's actually something I'm worried about. This isn't Mello. It used to be, but it isn't anymore.
"No, Matt," he growls. I suppress a shiver. "I don't care what you said. I know you're smart enough to notice that the plan is fucked up in more ways than you could probably care to imagine. It's reckless. And..."
His tone softens just a bit. I inhale sharply and try to focus on his words rather than the way he's saying them.
"And it's not too late to save your ass. I wouldn't hold it against you. It's just...I thought this would be more concrete. But this is going to blow up in my face tomorrow; I know it."
"Mello," I cut in, trying to control myself. "I'm doing this."
His expression is unreadable. He does nothing for a few moments, and rather than calm me, that puts me in a space of fear that almost strikes me deeper than the prospect of death.
Mello is a force to be reckoned with.
I flinch when he sits up suddenly. If the circumstances were different, I would probably be spazzing out for another reason entirely as he very nearly places himself on my lap. He's straddling me, thighs juxtaposed with mine.
I hold back a shudder. No, no, no. This is not the time.
"You're a fucking idiot, Matt." he breathes raggedly, eyes wild. His voice doesn't hold any maliciousness as he says this, but the meaning is far from being lost. I swallow thickly and hold his tortured gaze with more difficulty than I'd like to admit.
"I know."
And I mean it. I am an idiot. Not only am I risking my life—no, giving it up, I'm willing to bet—but I'm doing it for the wrong reasons. This isn't because I'm after Kira. This isn't for Kira. This is for Mello.
The reason L got to where he was, the top, is because he didn't let emotions cloud his judgment. I know I'm making a mistake, being controlled by what I feel rather than logic. But L fell, anyway, even though I'm sure he was probably even more objective than Near, which is really saying something.
Sometimes I wonder if that's exactly why he died. He let himself feel, just once, just to know what it's like to be human, and he died for it.
Not that I know. I just wonder...wonder if it was worth it.
I know it would be for me.
"Let me do this." I tell him, quieter than intended. "I need to. Something's going to happen tomorrow that shouldn't. I know it, and I know you know it, too. And if I do what you're telling me to do...if I hear about an unidentified man on the news known only as another victim at Kira's hands, and I'm just sitting on this fucking couch, knowing it's you, then...that...that would be more unbearable than dying with you, Mello."
He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, eyes shutting tightly. I can feel him shaking.
"Matt..."
"Let me do this." I repeat. I hear the emotion thickening my voice, but I don't care. All I have is today. I am not going to act like the emotionally numb super brain every Wammy kid was trained to be. Not today. Not now.
"If the shit hits the fan, then so be it. At least I'll be dying for something—" Someone "I believe in."
He groans softly and finally opens his eyes. Immediately, I can see why they were closed in the first place. There's moisture gathering there, making his gaze shimmer like something I've only seen in my dreams.
He has never once cried in front of me. I probably have quite a few times, but never him. He's...he's Mello. Mello doesn't cry. When he gets frustrated, he gets mad. He doesn't cry. And I'm glad he never does, because I've just realized how painful it is to see.
"I'm sorry," I apologize sincerely, voice wavering. I watch as my ungloved hand approaches his face, and do nothing to stop myself. "I'm sorry, Mello. I'm...I'm sorry—"
"Please stop." he interrupts. Shocked, my hand freezes just near his face. I absorb the uncharacteristic desperation in his voice, seeing my fingers tremble slightly, as if reaching to touch...
He grasps my hand firmly, fingers cold against mine, and helps me do what I couldn't on my own. He guides my hand to his face, the scarred side, and unblinkingly stares at me. I know he's trying to see what I think when I feel him, the damaged part.
I'm willing to accept every part of him, flawed or not. I already have. It's part of who he is and it isn't any less perfect than the rest of him.
When his gaze softens, I feel safe enough to pull him closer. I'm just praying to the God I've never really believed in that Mello won't push me away in a fit of rage for blatantly invading his personal space. But he doesn't do that. I can feel him tense almost imperceptibly, but he makes no other reaction.
He doesn't even know about the last time I touched him without invitation (not that I've ever gotten one) when he was asleep, just weeks before news of L's untimely death reached us. I used to shudder at the very idea of him ever finding out about that, but...not so much anymore. Not when it feels like he's just now learning how to relax for the first time in his life while I bury my face in his neck. He smells like leather and blood and a few other unfamiliar things. I would be a little bothered if not for the hint of Mello underneath everything else.
I hear him sigh almost sleepily. He doesn't feel tense anymore. His breathing is deep, relaxed, and mine is, too. And then he finally reciprocates by wrapping his arms loosely around my waist. I vaguely register that it's the most intimate thing he's ever done with me. But that doesn't mean as much as the actual feeling behind the embrace, something that would probably take me more than a day to figure out.
At this point, I don't even care that I probably don't have that long.
The soft puffs of air ghosting down my face smell of artificial saccharine sweetness. Chocolate. Familiar. I like it. Mihael...
Somewhere, in some remote part of my mind that's still working properly, I register the feeling of a light kiss being placed on my forehead. I'm starting to wonder if tomorrow has already happened and I'm dead, but I start caring less and less about that when he places several more kisses on my face, going lower and lower each time. His lips are soft against my warming skin. His touches becoming lingering, but still patient, mixing with my shuddering breath. My head feels light. I feel like my heart is beating hard enough to make up for a lifetime, and then that's when I realize what we're doing. We're making up for the time we're going to lose.
And then I know I'm going to need this if I'm going to walk out of this apartment for the last time tomorrow.
His mouth is hovering over mine. He's hesitating, and I know how hard that can be with the constant nagging reminder that we don't have a lot of time left. So I take the initiative, knowing this is the bravest thing I'm ever going to do.
I pull him closer and bring my lips to his, tasting. He jolts suddenly, and I feel regret beginning to claw at my insides, but he starts to relax again. I can't say I blame him. Orphans don't exactly get coddled often. We went without that. I suppose by choice, since we had each other, but...that was still too foreign. Too unknown. It still is. But I want to experience as much as I can with what little left of my life I have.
He hums lowly. My eyes flutter shut, holding onto the feeling of Mello and wondering if this means the same to him as it does to me.
I can feel a slim finger tracing my collarbone, then reverently making its way up my neck. He can feel my hammering pulse, feel everything, even as his touch drifts upwards to trace my jaw. The pleasure of those sensations is left reverberating wherever he touches me. I don't want it to stop. And suddenly, it feels like this moment could easily stretch on forever.
"Does it really matter..." I murmur softly between kisses. "if I lose my life tomorrow, rather than...nhn...y-years from now?"
My speech is broken by the growing desperation in his kisses, pressing them to my mouth longer and harder with every word I try to speak.
He pulls me closer, shaking.
"It does to me." he whispers quietly against my mouth. The sincerity in his tone leaves me floored. But he doesn't give me much time to process his answer. He's kissing me again, more fervently than before. His lips parted for tiny gasps I particularly take delight in.
But that doesn't fully distract me from the weight of his words.
There are tears escaping from my tightly shut eyes. I don't do anything to stop them, completely beyond caring at the moment. But I realize that my cheeks are already wet, even though fissures have only just begun to form in the not-so-stable wall I've put up. It's Mello, I know. And I'm not going to let go until things have stopped falling apart.
His lips finally part from mine slowly. He doesn't allow me to see his face, as he's hidden it in my neck before I can focus.
Our breathing gradually slows to normal. The feeling of his partially dried tears on my skin reminds me of the faint stickiness on my own face.
He shivers when I trace the rough outline of his scar carefully. I can't tell if that's a good thing or not, but I decide it's probably okay when he doesn't tell me to stop.
"Tomorrow," he starts, lifting his head to face me. "I'm going to do what I have to do."
I nod, though I'm not quite sure where he's going with this. I stare wonderingly at the gaze I thought was permanently hardened, desensitized from pain and death.
I'm so glad I was wrong.
"Follow me if you have to." he continues softly, but with more conviction than I've ever heard him use. I can tell by his tone that he hates the idea, but he means it. I don't think he has ever said anything to me that he didn't mean.
"I have to." I respond honestly. He inhales sharply, frowning, and says nothing else. He just pulls me closer and shifts so that he's more comfortable, doing all of this in shaky, nervous movements.
The silence is only broken a few bittersweet moments later by an unfamiliar, brokenly recited prayer.