[Summary: AU. Kira was dead. Near was L. Mello was in jail. And Matt has but a song to say goodbye [ONESHOT].]
[A/N: Wow. I can't believe I'm doing a one-shot. It feels so foreign, but also fun. So. Ze story. The idea came to me and I was like, Hm. Okay xD ß Epic thought process, right? So, yeah, it's really AU, because, despite the mad-angst of Fallen Angels, I want Mells and Matty to be happy! And this was the result. I don't write happy well, as you can see xD;; And here it is, the bittersweet goodbye of M&M. Also, if you no get the title, it bez explained at the end.]
[Disclaimer : Death Note and all it's plots, characters, concepts, images, etc. belong to Takeshi Obata, Tsugmi Ohba, MADHOUSE, Viz, etc. It is does not belong to me and I, in no way, benefit financially from the franchise. However, I do take credit for any original characters and concepts. Please don't steal! ^^]
[Inspirations: "I Guess You're Right" by The Posies; "Song to Say Goodbye" by Placebo; "All the Same" by Sick Puppies.]
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I Guess You're Right
A Death Note Fan-Fiction
By Heather The Villain
"I guess you're right
And there's nothing I would say to you this time
You told me just what I had to live for
And there's no flight in my fight
And more than that it's so all right, it's so all right. . ."
~"I Guess You're Right" by The Posies.
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They had won.
Sort of.
Well, if the definition of winning was losing everything, they had succeed with bright, shiny colors.
That was how Matt saw it, at least.
Near was just fine, of course. Everything had turned out exactly as the little cream puff had planned. Light Yagami AKA Kira was dead and buried, rotting six feet beneath the dirt in a very ungodly fashion. His family was oblivious. The Taskforce was horrified. Wammy's House was in party mode now that their beloved L was avenged and a new, true L was in business, with a begrudging Roger at the helm. Happy endings and smiles for everyone, right?
No.
Fuck. No.
Somehow, Matt and Mello weren't dead. Beyond all laws and conceptions of the insane world they inhabited, they had survived. It was through some genius trick of Mello's, but Matt didn't know how or what or why, nor did he really care. Tricks were for kids--and crazy blonde chocoholics. Since the start of this mission, Matt had been content to sit back, relax, and let Mello take the wheel. It was a monument of how much he trusted his blonde, even to lead him into death. In truth, that was the ending they had both been planning for. And maybe in a way, it was better; at least they could have gone out together. Like rock stars. Instead, their bond had been splintered by the laws of the world, permanently broken.
Matt had been planning to break Mello out of jail since the moment Gevanni had slipped the handcuffs around the blonde's skinny wrists.
Well, maybe after Mello had made the rather obvious comment that only he was allowed to do the handcuffing, which sent Matt into a very inappropriate fit of hysterical laughter.
Dozens of schemes, made different by only the slightest of tweaks, passed through his mind. For days, he was so consumed by his plots that he didn't bother to eat or sleep. Or, even worse, smoke or game. Circles that would rival even L's lined his green eyes, smothered by his goggles and somehow, though Matt wouldn't have thought it possible, his lank frame seemed even thinner. All this brought back foul memories of the years they had been separated for, especially those first few months that had all but killed Matt.
The apartment they had shared together was a testament to this. Matt had left everything the way they had placed it; it was as if it had been transformed into a memorial of their relationship. Chocolate wrappers and wires and the occasional pair of leather pants were strewn about haphazardly and their arrangement made Matt smile faintly; Mello had always been a clean-freak, and only thoughts of Kira and sex had swayed his attention elsewhere.
Matt couldn't even bring himself to the bedroom; though it was always annoying before, he supposed it was lucky now that Mello had outlawed all of Matt's equipment in there. It would be too painful; everything still reeked of the scent and feel of their love-making. Déjà vu struck Matt when he first realized this: another night of passion to wake and see its object gone.
It took about a week for the truth to sink it, for Matt to finally understand that Mello was, for all intents and purposes, gone, forever out of his touch. And for a while, it felt as if they had died. Both of them, for they were so intertwined that you could not mourn one without grieving for the other. Matt had built a whole life around Mello and once again it was torn away. He had barely survived it the first time; it seemed impossible he would live through the second round.
But he had. Against all odds, Matt lived. Moment to moment, day by day, his existence, though it wavered, didn't disappear. He forced himself to eat, though most of the time he ended up retching most of his meals. He forced himself to breathe, even when every gasp tightened the knot in his chest. He forced himself to live when all he wanted to do was die. And, about a month after Mello's incarceration, Matt pulled himself together to do the one thing he could not live without. . .
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Cosette Jeevas had died a pitiful death, choking on her own alcohol-soaked vomit after yet another drunken rampage. Locked away in her apartment was her son, Mail, who was covered in the typical cuts and bruises, along with the tears from his fearful sobs. Mail had never been loved, never been cared for. And, sick as it sounded, now that his mother was dead, the poor boy was finally free. Grabbing the few possessions he had been granted, the redheaded child fled the house and scampered onto the streets. Of course, life did not get much better. He was cold, he was tired, he was injured. And he was hungry. Starved. Famished. So he stole. Most of the time he got away with it; the rest of the time, people pitied him enough to let him get away with it. But one day, he was caught.
That was the first Matt had been inside a jail.
The second was visiting his boyfriend in prison.
Oh, how the times had changed. . .
Matt was amazed that Near had even allowed the meeting. His white majesty had placed Mello inside a maximum security prison he had custom made in London (the irony was surely not lost on any of Wammy's Children), no doubt because he feared Matt would do exactly what he had planning to: set Mello free.
Still, Near didn't exactly make Matt promise good behavior on his visit. Matt had suspected that, when it came to people, Near had a sort of sixth sense; he always read them better than they read themselves. Perhaps he took them apart piece by piece, just like his beloved puzzles. Or maybe his own void of emotions allowed him a window into this around him. Mello and Matt had always been easy (and frequent) targets of Near's inner eyes, which was probably why he believed Matt when the gamer swore to keep his interests personal rather than professional.
The facility reminded him of the SPK building, a place he knew only from the schematics he hacked and the stories Mello told him. Walls were bleached pure white and his reflection shined back at him in dizzy patterns. Following the tile, Matt almost felt as if he were walking to his death, as the road never ended. Finally, after what felt like years, he reached the last cell, indicated by the metal folding chair placed in front of it. Inside, the room was as neat and vacant as the chambers' of a monk. A slender mattress stood at the back with a lank, leather-clad frame draped over it. Matt's voice twisted into a knot in his throat, punching him in the stomach. Without thinking, he pressed a hand to the glass, tracing the curve of Mello's body as if he were running his fingers down the back that was faced to him.
"I was beginning to think I wouldn't see you again," said a quiet voice, yanking Matt from his solemn trace.
The redhead cleared his throat and the sound was rough. Painful. "Technically, you haven't," he commented; it had always been a habit of his to resort to humor when he was nervous. Silence consumed them before Matt tried again. "How are you?"
"Matt, I am in jail," the blonde replied. His tone was too controlled, too calm--that was a sign that Mello was truly angry. Whether it was at Near or Matt or the world was anyone's guess at the moment. "How do you think I am?"
The hacker sighed. "Do you really want to fight with me, Mello? Here? Now?" He asked in a soft tone of voice. Without words, he had told Mello the truth: this is the end, my friend.
There was a pause before Mello asked, voice almost seeming timid, "You won't come back?"
"I can't," Matt whispered, tone cracking. It had taken everything he had to hold it together this long; it was impossible for him to imagine lasting anymore.
"Yeah. Makes sense," the blonde agreed begrudgingly. At that voice, familiar to him since he was a child, Matt couldn't help but smile faintly. Mello would never change. And Matt would never stop loving him. That dual knowledge was as comforting as it was painful, sometimes.
"So," Matt began again, tone a tad stronger. "Let's try again--how are you?"
Slim shoulders shrugged, faking apathy. "I've been worse places; I'll manage. You?" The question tried to sound easy, light, but real worry was clear in Mello's tone. He knew how much he had fucked Matt up when he left the first time. He also knew that he hadn't come home back to a fully-formed person. Like Matt, Mello wasn't sure the kid could survive yet another heartache.
"I don't. Manage, I mean," the gamer answered honestly; Mello always knew when he was lying. Faintly, Mello flinched at the brutal honesty. "I still can't believe Near actually arrested you," he added, switching the subject for the comfort of them both.
The indignation Mello had felt at his arrest had faded and tapered off over the last month or so. His sentence had nothing to do with the fact that he was, after Kira's clean-sweep, the worse criminal in the world. And, if Near had let him go, it wouldn't be because the two of them had worked together for justice. No, Near wasn't capable of warm, fuzzy feelings like that. Near had arrested Mello simply because, as L, he could. It was the last and sweetest victory over the runner-up that had always annoyed him.
"You know how Near is," Mello muttered. It seemed pointless to attempt conversation. What he wanted was to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. That way, they could both move on, maybe even heal a little. There would always be scars, sure, but at least there wouldn't be gaping wounds bleeding emotional baggage everywhere. That was what he told himself, anyway--it was the only way he could evade the guilt he felt pressing down on him.
"Are you even going to look at me?" Matt asked, sucking in a nervous breath. Both answers seemed equally upsetting.
Without responding, Mello pulled himself off the bed and walked over, standing less than a foot from the glass. Teal eyes held Matt's gaze the entire time and the hacker truly thought he might be sick. He remembered all the times back at Wammy's House when he would think of Mello, think that the blonde's image in his head was perfect, exact, and would be completely disproved whenever Mello found his way back to their room. Now, a lifetime of Almost-But-Not-Quite-Mellos was all he had left to look forward to, along with pixels and nicotine.
It was the last straw. Matt couldn't hold back any longer. Tears leaked out from the eyelids that had been securely holding them back. They pooled in his goggles, blurring his vision, and he tugged them off furiously. Only twice before had Matt cried in front of Mello, though were plenty of times that Matt had cried over Mello, times the blonde hadn't seen and would never know about. The first time was when Mello, angry over Matt out-scoring him for once, slapped him; it was then the boy shared his past about his mother and her beatings. To this day, Mello still felt guilty for hitting Matt. The second time was when they both consecutively lost their virginity, the pain of Mello's thrusts making Matt bleed and cry in burning agony. And today made three. If Matt were more rational, he would have been mortified that Near was watching this, but he was much too wrapped in the moment to care.
Embarrassment and fever colored the redhead's pale cheeks and he wiped at the tears with his striped sleeves. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling extremely awkward as he avoided Mello's piercing gaze. "I remember when we were kids, you always yelled at the kids who cried."
"Crying makes me uncomfortable."
"You never yelled at me," Matt pointed out.
"That's because everything about you makes me feel uncomfortable," Mello answered flatly.
At that, Matt couldn't help but smile, blinking away the remainder of his tears. It always amazed people how Mello could be so soft, so subtle at times. But never Matt, for they had spent an entire lifetime together filled with the quiet times and peaceful moments. Roger had once said that Matt saw in Mello what he wanted to, but the truth was that Matt was probably the only person who would ever see Mello for exactly what he was, the good, the bad, and the scar tissue. That truth was a shared secret between them, one that ran even deeper than the mystery of Kira or their feelings for one another. And Matt would take all three to his grave.
That brought about another thought for Matt. "Near didn't give you the death penalty," he stated, just remembering.
"Not physically, no. Emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, yes," Mello replied coldly.
"At least you're alive."
Mello eyed him for a moment, his gaze nostalgic. "There are things worse than dying," he murmured, making Matt's stomach fall out once more at the familiar words.
"Mello. . ." He croaked out before his voice wrenched up and away from him.
Mello sighed. "Oh, Jesus. Not again," he muttered with false annoyance,
"Shut up!" The hacker snapped, pounding his gloved fist against the wall between them in frustration. He winced slightly at the pain, drawing his hand to his chest protectively.
"Nice," Mello said with a smirk before rapping on the wall with a bare knuckle. "Plexiglas, genius."
"If it wasn't Plexiglas, you'd have even less face, asshole," Matt spat back, flexing his aching fingers.
"This is true. So, when do you plan on breaking me out of here?" The blonde asked cheerfully.
Matt gave him a weak smile. "Rain check?" He asked sheepishly.
"You're useless," Mello said with a reluctant grin, softening into a faint smile. "Most of the time, anyway," he corrected.
"Thanks?"
"It is the closest to a compliment that you'll ever get from me."
"Really? 'Cause I remember a bunch of other things you said about me that--"
"Matt!"
"Fine, fine. I'm keeping my mouth shut," he agreed, falling out of the ease of their banter. It seemed impossible that this was the end, that never again would they argue about the grocery shopping or lie in each arms at sunrise or even just be with each other. The irrational, panic-fueled thoughts of the weeks before came flooding furiously back. "I could, though. Get you out of here." As he spoke, Matt's fingers tracing random swirls on the glass, eyes avoiding Mello's. "I could hack Near's computer, break the system, let you out. We could leave, go somewhere on the edge of the Earth where no one would ever find us. No Kira, no L, no Near. Nothing. Just us. It wouldn't be so bad, I don't think," he concluded, lost in his impossible fantasy.
"No, it wouldn't," Mello agreed. His tone was strained, baring managing to remain neutral. "But it's not gonna happen," he added in a careful tone.
"But it could--"
"But it won't," he finished in a firm voice. He had ruined Matt's life twice already and wouldn't allow it to happen a third and final time. Nor would he allow the boy to take any risks for him. Matt would pick up the shards of his shattered life and he would live for as long as God's grace granted him. That was all Mello could ask for.
"Do you not want--" Matt began before Mello cut him off.
"You know that isn't true." By this point, they were both speaking in broken whispered and hoarse murmurs, slipping into their own private world. "If I had my way, nothing would have been like this, Matt. Nothing."
"I know," Matt admitted weakly, sniffling slightly, forehead pressing against the glass; it felt cool on his flushed skin. There was a part of him that wanted to lash out at Mello, to blame him for everything. But his words returned to him and he held his tongue; he would not turn their last goodbye into a slugfest. "I just wish--"
"I know," the blonde cut him off again; if Matt finished a sentence, it would makes things real, final, and Mello wanted his fantasy for a just a few more moments, as many as he could get. "I do, too."
"You do?" For the first time, teary green eyes meet Mello's. All his life, Matt had been holding back his feelings for his best friend; even when they made love, even when he told Mello he loved him, Matt never truly let go. He was always scared, the fear of losing Mello or having the blonde cast him aside poisoning his affections. But now Mello was gone. Everything was gone. There was nothing left to lose.
"Of course, idiot," Mello responded, rolling his eyes in slight aggravation. "The case was something I needed to do. But--"
"You wanted to do me?" Matt asked, smirking despite himself.
The blonde grinned. "Exactly." After a moment, his expression faded slightly. "I'm in here for a reason, Matt. You know that. It's for the best. Besides, we fought for a world without Kira and that means a world where criminals go to jail."
"But it's different," Matt argued, composing himself. "You did all those things for a reason."
"So do most people. Kids deal drugs and whore themselves out just to survive," he pointed out.
"But you're not a bad person."
"Few people are completely and totally evil."
"Why are you defending this?" He demanded, jabbing his finger at the space between them.
"Because it's fair," Mello replied, tone gentle. It was one of the few times when their typical roles reversed. When it was actually Mello talking his companion down from the brink of insanity.
"How?!" Matt cried, angry tears clinging to his eyelashes. "How is any of this 'fair'?! We're all we have!" The boy paused to control himself before asking, "What's left for us? We're not L, we're not together--what the hell else do we exist for?"
"I don't know." Those were not words Mello enjoyed saying, nor were they ones he was entirely familiar with.
"Nothing," Matt answered in a broken tone, heaving a shuddered breath. "There's nothing. We're. . . nothing. It's like we were never even alive. We went through hell together and we've got nothing to show for it except scars and memories."
Mello just stared at him, jaw tight with a numb sort of sadness. He didn't try to correct Matt, for the boy wasn't wrong. Absently, his finger trailed along Matt's palm shoved up against the glass.
"It would be so much easier if we just died," Matt snapped. Maybe a year ago, Mello would have been offended by that sentiment, but now he was forced to agree.
"Well, we wouldn't be together that way, either," the blonde said dryly.
Matt scoffed, muttering rather blasphemous comments about God as if he were trying to change the truth of Mello's statement.
"Nothing can be changed, Matt," Mello reminded him.
"That another lesson from your precious God?" Matt asked in a snarl.
The blonde sighed. "It's just a fact. I'm in here and you're out there."
"This is impossible," Matt spat. "How am I supposed to live without you?"
"You did it once before," his partner reminded him.
"That wasn't living, Mel. That was waking up every morning and wishing you didn't."
"Don't say that--"
"Why?" Matt demanded. "It's the truth."
"I know that, all right? I do. There's no need to remind me every five fucking seconds how painfully co-dependent you are," Mello snarled before giving a frustrated sigh; it was amazing how, even under these most unpleasant of circumstances, they had to force themselves not to fight. Like they were always fighting, constantly wounding and tearing each other to shreds in ways that would make people doubt they even liked one another, let alone were in love. But they were. Somehow, despite all the odds of their world and themselves, they had found each other. Clung to one another and were never able to let go. Until now and certainly not by choice.
"Someone is in a severe state of PMS," Matt commented dryly, a smirk on his face despite himself.
"Feh." After a pause, Mello asked, uncharacteristically cautious, "What will you do?"
The smile on Matt's face hitched ever so slightly and only Mello knew him enough to ever notice the change; it was a fact equal parts reassuring and predatory, given Mello's. . . well, being Mello. "Haven't really gotten that far yet. Might go buy a lifetime of smokes with L's inheritance, might drive my car into the Atlantic. Who knows? I'm spontaneous like that."
"I know," Mello replied coolly.
"Oh, hush. It's part of my charm."
"I can't believe you'd make the car pay for your despair. You love that thing." It was true. After one of their more volatile fights, Mello had been kicked out of their apartment, and then, a day later, returned with the beaten, rusted ruby Mustang. In his eyes, it was a greasy piece of shit, but he knew from experience that Matt would adore it. The redhead had always been about projects and Mello suspected that was part of why Matt had always been so enamored of him. Just as he suspected, Matt began a love affair with the aging vehicle, even ignoring that it was a total bribe (although, fortunately, there was make-up sex involved). Many days of sweat and oil, along with nearly thousands of dollars, had been put into "Monica," as Matt had bequeathed "her," a process Mello had watched with mixed frustration and amused affection. When the idea of using the car for Takada's kidnapping came up, Matt had all but burst into tears. And now how he spoke so easily of destroying it. The morose symbolism was not lost on Mello. Not one bit.
"I love you more," Matt admitted in a soft tone of voice, eyes never leaving Mello's.
Mello sighed slightly. "I'm sorry, Matt. I really am."
"No need to be. I knew the situation, the consequences. And I followed you anyway. And I'd do it again, even if I knew that it would end like this. My life is yours, no matter what."
It shouldn't have been so painful to hear that. But it was like a knife to the heart. Still, he decided to be as productive as possible with his pain. "Fine, then. If that's the case, I order you not to end it."
Green eyes narrowed in slight fury. "Manipulative bastard. "
"Is that a 'yes?'"
With a sigh, the redhead mumbled, "Yeah, whatever. I'll live long and prosper. Happy?"
"Of course not. But it's about the best we're gonna get, me thinks."
"I really can't believe it's ending like this. All this time I thought we were going to get some tragically romantic death as heroes and now--" Matt broke off, shaking his red head in confusion.
Mello's lips curved slightly at his companion's naiveté. "How many times did I tell you, Matt? We were never the good guys in this."
"Then who was? I mean, it can't be that bleak, that we were all just a bunch of assholes scampering around to outwit each other."
Mello pursed his lips, leaning against the wall between them. It felt like stone, hard and cold and impossible beside his skin. "I dunno," he said gently. "Not L. Not Near or me. Certainly not Yagami the Second," he added with a bitter scoff. "Maybe no one."
"Did you get what you wanted?" The hacker questioned out suddenly, eyes analyzing Mello's face.
The blonde thought carefully and silently before answering. "No. Just what I needed, I guess."
Matt nodded, forever understanding the rusted cogs and broken gears of his partner's psyche. A soft rap of knuckles drew both sets of eyes to the figure of Gevanni, the SPK member who, at one point, had nearly shot Mello. Now his expression was somber, soft with sympathy. The pity made something thick and sharp twist in Matt's stomach. Eyes wandered back to Mello's face, which was lightened by the slightest of smirks.
"And the clock strikes midnight," he pronounced quietly.
"The end is Near," Matt agreed with a faint smile, his gaze tracing the familiar lines of the man he loved. Broad shoulders, slender frame. Soft lips, scarred skin. And the eyes, as cold and deep as the Artic that could burn with the most inhuman passion on this Earth. A lump lodged in his throat and he harshly pushed it down. "I'll come b--"
"Don't," Mello said suddenly, expression hardening. "You don't belong in a place like this." And it would hurt way too damn much, he added silently.
"Unlike some people," the redhead quipped, a tiny smile hovering around his lips; it felt so wrong and out of place it all but itched. "I feel like we're in one of those Westerns where the kid chases after John Wayne and says, 'It's not 'good-bye.' It's 'see you later.' But that really isn't the case, huh?"
"Not quite," Mello replied, tone strained. "I think this is sort of the end for us, you know?" Matt almost didn't believe the hesitation in Mello's voice; in all the time he'd known him, never once had Mello been one to think on his actions. It seemed he had grasped onto the delicate feeling of finality Matt had held and dreaded the entire visit. Avoiding Matt's inquiring gaze, the blonde asked, "Do you blame me? For. . . everything?
Matt smiled at him softly. "Not at all," he whispered, blinking back tears.
"Do you hate me?" Mello added, expression fearful.
"I always wanted to," the redhead admitted with both a sob and a chuckle. "But I never could."
Laughing, Mello let his eyes fall to the floor, pale lashes not quite hiding his own tears. "Well, I guess that's better than nothing."
"You're never fucking satisfied, are you?" The gamer demanded with a grin that quickly faded. After a long moment, Matt murmured. "Goodbye, Mello." Gloved fingers gently pounded against the glass before walking away, turning his back on his love. If he heard the blonde's last words, he knew he would fall apart.
Again.
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Matt had all but run out of the prison. It was bad enough Near and his team had seen him cry; it would be even more mortifying if they saw him vomit,
Hidden safely behind Monica, he coughed up a mixture of nerves, nicotine, and two day old pizza. It almost felt as if all the pain of the six years had been spewed up as well. His entire body shook for nearly an hour after his sickness, fingers trembling so painfully he drove with the utmost caution. It was probably foolish to drive at all, but a moment more at that place and he would truly lose it.
Whatever "it" was. Frankly, he didn't think he had anything else left to lose.
The sky blurred and blended above him as his car inhaled pavement. He had absolutely no idea where he was going; never had, really. All his life he let Mello lead, but now there was no Mello. He had the wheel of life in his hands for the first time. It should have felt freeing, maybe even exhilarating. But all Matt felt was suffocated, gasping beneath the weight of an uncertain future.
So he kept on driving. It was all he could really do. Though if there was one thing he knew, it was that his destination wouldn't be the ocean.
After all, Matt wasn't like Mello.
He kept his promises.
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Wammy's House was a terrible place; there wasn't a child among its population that would deny this--except maybe Near, who had turned the institution into his home and palace. But for some of its inhabitants, life wasn't always so bad. For these select few. there was days when the hell bled away and left only a shining sort of heaven.
That was the case for Mail Jeevas. All his life, the redhead had known nothing but sorrow, suffering, and life inside the aged Victorian mansion. had not been any more merciful. Still, the Fates had granted him the slightest of gifts, a prize that outweighed all the misery that had come before and would surely follow after.
Mello. At first, the blonde tyrant had proved himself a harbinger of his own individual type of doom. The screams, the curses, even the death threats Matt could tolerate; after all, he had spent a whole childhood dodging the lashings of his mother's sharp tongue. It was the silence that killed him, the quiet moments that transpired between them which made Mello uncharacteristically hard to read. Anyone else would have appreciated any peace they could squeeze out of the volatile child, but Matt wasn't that type of creature. He always preferred the truth, no matter how gruesome or bitter it might turn out to be.
Exactly why he always pushed Mello.
He wanted to see the boy crack. And he wanted to nurse each and every piece that broke from him.
It was something of a sick desire, but Matt had abandoned all hopes of pure happiness at Wammy's Gates; he was like Dante, coasting through Hell with nothing but his desire and a flimsy excuse for a prayer. But unlike the infamous poet, Matt was more than content to let the flames of this Hell consume him; Matt wasn't a masochist--he was simply addicted to a very specific form of pain.
Strangely powerful thoughts for such a small child.
It was spring when Matt had arrived in England, just a month after his birthday. Now, the dew was fading, burnt away by the blazing heat of early summer. Only a few precious days remained before the House would close its stuffy windows to shelter the children it held within, freezing them over for many days to come.
At this thought, Matt heaved a small sigh, sinking his chin deeper in to the cup of his palm as he peered out the window. A faint tint of despair lint the emerald eyes as they drifted over the landscape. They watched the grass as it bled, turning a sickening yellow color; followed the dance of the moist air in dizzying patterns. It was all he had to occupy him. With his games confiscated by Roger after yet another day of cut classes and Mello (who wasn't quite his friend, but wasn't exactly his enemy) nose-deep in studying, amusements were few and far between.
It was then a soft, ruby twinkle caught his eye--and gave him a plan.
Smirking faintly, Matt pulled back from the window and shifted over the bed, gawking over Mello's shoulder where the boy sat on the floor.
Ocean-colored eyes peered up at his admirer, dark and serious. "Can I help you?" He asked in a flat tone; usually, Mello was more willing to play to Matt's whims, but all bets were off once competition bloomed on the horizon.
Reaching down, Matt took the rosary around Mello's neck in his hand. The smooth, ivory cross lay in his palm, just a few shades lighter and brighter than his own pale skin. Running a thumb over its carved edges, Matt looked up to Mello questioningly. "Why do you wear this?"
The curious expression on Mello's face quickly shifted to irritation as he yanked back his garnish. "What a stupid question to ask. You know I'm Catholic," he muttered, turning his eyes back to the book resting in his lap.
"Why?" Matt asked again, resting his chin on Mello's shoulder, feeling the hardness of his friend's thin, bony frame and the warmth of his skin. Along with breathing in his familiar scent of soap and chocolate.
"Because my parents were," Mello retorted in his growl, making a feeble attempt to shake Matt off; it made the gamer smile faintly, for it meant Mello didn't really care to move him.
"So you went to church and stuff?"
At this, Mello turned to face Matt, expression slightly wary. "Yeah. . ." He muttered, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Why are you asking me questions you already have answers to?"
It was true. More than once, the blonde has taken to lecturing his friend on the evils of the other's chosen, non-God-driven path, most of which he tried to drown out. That didn't mean he didn't listen to it; Matt listened to everything Mello said and could remember it without prompt. The truth was that he just wanted Mello to talk to him; it didn't matter what he was saying or how or why. Just that Matt could hear him. Because he lived in constant fear of losing everything lying behind the lull of that sweet soprano.
Pushing these thoughts away, Matt pasted a slick grin on his face. "'Cause I wasn't listening the first time. Care to re-educate me?"
Mello narrowed his eye skeptically before replying, "Of course they took me to church. Every Sunday."
"So you believe, then?"
"Well, duh," Mello said arrogantly, giving a snort. "'The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.'"
"L was an Atheist, y'know," Matt added with a smug smile.
"He was not!" His companion snapped, turning his attention back to his studies.
"Yeah, fine. Whatever," the redhead mumbled with a chuckle. His grin softened as he studied Mello's profile, tracing the proud lines and fair skin with his eyes. And before he knew it, he blurted out, "Do you believe in Hell?"
"Yes, Matt." There was a trace of exhaustion in his voice, something that often made itself known in their conversations.
"What do you think it's like? I mean, do you really buy into all that 'fire and brimstone and red devil dude with a butt-rape pitchfork' crud?"
Ignoring the complete and total blasphemy of Matt's question, Mello replied coolly, "It's not our place, as living human beings, to know what the afterlife is."
"I'm serious. Everyone thinks about what happens after you die."
"I don't."
Matt made a disapproving click with his tongue. "Liar."
"I don't," Mello insisted, though his eyes never left the path of the pages in front of him. "What's the point? Life is not about welcoming death and certainly not calling to it. Talking about death is just a bad omen." At this, Matt sighed before Mello added, "Why are we even discussing this? You don't even believe in. . . anything," he finished flatly.
I believe in you, Matt thought, but didn't dare say aloud. "Just because I'm not going to buy to cow doesn't mean I can't sample the milk."
"First of all, you fucked the saying up: it's 'nobody will buy the cow if the milk is for free.' Second, that is a metaphor about sex. I'd really rather not discuss being a tramp and being a Christian simultaneously."
"Fine," Matt huffed, rolling onto his back as Mello rolled his eyes back to the book. After a few moments of silence, the redhead spoke up again, "What do you think the worst thing in the world is?"
"Ugh, more questions?"
"They're not about religion or anything. It's just a question question," he added defensively. With Mello seemingly placated by that, he pushed his luck: "So?"
"I dunno, I've never thought about it." That, actually, Matt believed; Mello was always very much the type of person to live in the moment. Rarely did he give in to contemplation, hence why his faith surprised Matt so much. "Maybe dying?" He suggested, though his tone was unsure.
"Nah, no way," Matt piped up, flipping back onto his stomach and arranging his lanky body into a more business-like pose. "There's much worse stuff than dying."
"No, there isn't." Now that he had a position, there was no way in hell Matt could shake him from it.
"Yeah, there is," Matt replied stubbornly.
"You haven't seen what I've seen."
"And you don't know jack-shit about my life, either!"
Taken aback, Mello's expression softened slightly. "All right, smart-ass--let's hear your answer, then."
"Well," Matt began, tone formal with the kind of arrogance only a child could produce. "Don't you think it's way worse to be alone? Like, forever? And never see the people you love again?" For that, not even the blonde had a reply, jaw wired shut with a sort of shock.
At Mello's silence, he beamed, triumphant. "See, I told ya! Win for Matt!" He sang out, even giving an impromptu victory dance.
The slightest of smiles twisted Mello's soft lips. "Yeah, yeah. Live it up. And have fun failing our Physics exam tomorrow."
Matt snorted. "The day I fail a test is the day you give up chocolate."
"Heaven forbid," Mello muttered and Matt grinned at his brightened spirits. Before, he had spoke the truth: the Hell he imagined was just about anywhere and everywhere--if Mello wasn't right beside him. Frankly, nothing else mattered when he was with Mello. In this life, Matt cared for nothing but his friend--and, of course, his games. And even though Mello was, nine out of ten times, a miserable twat, Matt wouldn't have him any other way.
So maybe Mello was right; maybe it was stupid to think of death and hell and free milk. Life was for the living and somehow, they weren't dead. Yet.
Pushing his grim thoughts aside, Matt hooked an arm around Mello's neck and drooped his frame over his shoulder. "What's this test on again?"
A slightly suffocated chuckle escaped Mello's throat. "You're hopeless. . ."
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[A/N: -blows nose loudly- SO SAD! And yet, so beautiful. I love Little!Matt and Mello; they're adorably twisted and cute and such. But yush. This be my AU goodbye to my favorite couple of (almost) all time. If anyone didn't happen to get the title, well, I think I'll leave it to open interpretation on whether who agreed with whose idea of Hell ;D And despite the humor of it, the "you're hopeless" line just makes me sad. Poor Matty! TT_TT
Also, for any of you wondering about the next chapter of Fallen Angels, well, the third one whipped me, so it will take a while. But I will finish it, so don't worry!
Until next time, boys and girls!!]