This idea came to me, and I had no actual intention of creating a story out of it, but one thing led to another, and here it is. It makes me sad, and I wrote it. So be wary.
WARNING: May cause uncontrollable sobbing-- or at least make readers reach for a box of tissues.
Disclaimer: I don't own my poor, late Matt and Mello. Or Death Note. But the latter is less important to me, in my current Wammy-Boy-Fangirl state of mind. And the lyrics to Cemetery Drive (at the bottom) are owned by My Chemical Romance.
This is my first story in present tense, so don't be surprised if I slip into past once or twice on accident. I just feel like the story flows a little better in this tense. Also, let me know if I got any of my facts wrong.
Edit: Thanks so much to Near (Nea Vanille) for pointing out that homophone mistake... agh.
Matt's gentle fingers curling themselves into his hair is the first thing Mello feels when he wakes up. He can hear the gamer's once even breaths stop short, and then lengthen with a sigh as Matt realizes he's awake. In a few more seconds, Mello begins to realize where he is. He's snuggled into Matt's warm embrace, laying on his chest, on the couch, which lies, behind locked doors, in their room in the underground lodgings for Mello's personal mob.
He feels Matt pull free his hand and stretch, his arms behind his head, pulling the rest of his body straight with a groan, and then sinking back into the couch once more. Mello lets a yawn escape and does the same, feeling his hand brush against Matt's thin, striped shirt: the only thing between him and Matt's toned chest.
For a moment, Mello resolves to flip over and go back to sleep, and he proceeds to do so, curling deeper into Matt's surprised arms. As he gives all of his attention over to appreciating how nice it feels when Matt plays with his hair the way he's doing now, however, it finally occurs to him that something is wrong.
Oh, yeah. He's laying on a couch with his boyfriend of a year and a half when he should be stopping the bitch that is Kira, and showing Near, along with the rest of the vast, cruel world, that he could – would—come out on top. Without any help from anyone.
Well… maybe with a little help from Matt.
"What time is it?" Mello asks. His voice sounds hoarse and strained, an half asleep as the rest of his body feels.
"Late," Matt replies unhelpfully. With his index finger he tracks Mello's jaw line, and down his neck. He runs his whole hand down his broad chest and hip, and finally stops when he reaches Mello's hand, which he takes in his own. Enjoying his touch, Mello temporarily loses his train of thought, a shiver following the trail of Matt's fingers. But he can't afford to loose much time.
Against his better judgment, he unhooks his hand from Matt's and rolls off of him. His legs feel weak and unsteady as they make contact with the floor. It feels like they haven't been used in weeks. He wonders just how long he had been lying there with Matt.
"You should be gone," Mello informs him, looking at his watch. It's eight-thirty. They're half an hour behind schedule. "I gave you an assignment."
"Can't it wait?" Matt, still lying solo on the couch, reaches out and touches Mello's knee, and then traces his hand up his thigh, sending Mello's nerves and defenses into a weakened frenzy. "We were so comfortable."
Mello takes a step back. Matt's hand falls, dangling to the floor. Suddenly, it looks lifeless.
"No, it can't wait." Mello zips up his dark, sleeveless vest. "Don't you even care abut this at all?"
"No," Matt answers honestly.
"You could at least pretend you do," Mello snaps, not in the mood for another pointless argument.
"I wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea."
Mello takes from his pockets his two dark gloves, and pulls one on. He knows he should let the conversation fizzle out, but his stubborn displacement refuses that idea."Why?" he demands. "Don't you want to see this murderer put to a stop?"
"I do," Matt says. "But that's not what you want. All you want is for the world to acknowledge you."
Mello pulls his other glove on as he watches Matt stand up and run a hand through his already tousled hair. "Matt—"
"I don't need to hear it," Matt declines, pulling on his scuffed up converse and sitting down to tie them. "I already know what you're going to say. I've heard it enough times." The redhead flops back onto the couch. "Are you sure we can't reschedule?"
"Look, Matt, if you hate it so much here, then why don't you just—… Why don't you just leave?"
Matt sits up with a sigh, and looks at Mello, dead on. "You'd miss me if I left you," he challenges.
"Oh, yeah?" Mello's ever competitive nature wills him to demand. "Why's that?"
"Because you'd have no little henchman to pull your stupid heists off for you anymore!"
Mello crosses his arms, irritated. He opens his mouth to retort, but… he gets a good look at Matt's face. He looks confused, scorned, angry, ashamed, and… and serious. He closes his mouth briefly and then reopens it with a new response in mind. "You know you're more than a henchman to me— don't you?"
Matt has crossed the room, and is pulling on his furry overcoat vest. "You know, I used to think that. But lately, I'm not so sure, Mells."
"Matt—"
"You love yourself more than you could ever love anyone else, Mello."
"You don't—you can't—…"
Matt pulls his goggles onto his face, letting them snap onto his face as he pulls them off of his forehead and over his eyes. It's the only sound besides Mello's heavy breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. And then—
"All I want to do is—"
"I know, I know. 'Show the world who you are.' But Mello, you think every once in a while, you could show me who you are?" Matt pauses, and his eyes soften slightly. "Do we even know each other anymore?"
"D-don't be ridiculous, M-m-matty…"
Matt shakes his head and looks away.
I love you, Matt. I don't want to lose you. Mello wishes he could bring himself to say such things. Instead, he says, "If I'm not good enough for you, Matt, then one of us needs to get over himself."
Matt mumbles something. It sounds like, "I think we both know who."
Mello's eyes narrow. "You got something to say?"
"Yeah." Matt interrupts his own sentence to pull out a cigarette and lighter, and click it into life. He takes a long drag on the cancer stick before continuing. "I'm leaving."
Mello's heart stops. For a moment, his outer shell crumbles. His voice sounds small and afraid. "L-leaving?"
Matt glares at him. "Yeah! I'm going do my goddamn assignment!" he yells. "Like a good little henchman!"
Matt crosses the room in a matter of seconds. His smoke-tasting lips come crashing down on Mello's. It's a rough, unloving kiss; it's a goodbye kiss.
"Would you miss me if I left you?"
Mello's eyes glaze over. He stares at Matt, aghast by his question. "Yes!" He wants to scream. "I'd never forgive myself if I drove you away!" But something keeps him from saying it. He thinks it's called pride. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a few stammers.
Matt gives Mello a disappointed look, and then shakes his head, and walks out of the room, slamming the door in Mello's face.
37 MINUTES LATER
Damn, Matt curses inwardly, slamming on his brakes and jerking the old, rusty car's wheels into a turn simultaneously. The sound of the wheel's objecting screech was only satisfying due to Matt's bottled frustration.
--
Matt tips his head, a cocky expression on his face. "You aren't going to shoot—"
The first bullet silences him quickly, and several follow, one after another.
Mail "Matt" Jeevas uses his last breath to inhale his cigarettes warm, comforting smoke.
He uses his last thought to say a silent goodbye to his first and last love, Mello.
Mello watches as the last of Takada's guards disappear into the black horizon. If only he had the strength to reach for his gun...But, no, now all he feels like doing is holding his Matt... holding his sweet Matty.
He feels another sob rip from his chest as he wipes the last of the blood off of Matt's cold forehead. "There," he whispers. "Now I can see your… your beautiful face—" his voice cracks, and another sob breaks free. "Again."
He cradles his Matt's head in his feeble hands. Never again would he see his smile, or hear his voice. Never again would he feel Matt's arm, soft hands against his welcoming skin, or his fingers in his hair. Never again would he hear Matt's light, cheerful, tinkling laugh.
It would be so easy to take his gun out, and end it all. So easy.
But, no. Suicide was for weaklings.
Avengement… that was another story entirely. But that would have to wait. Mello still had yet to say goodbye.
Mello shakily leans over Matt's lifeless body, and buries his face into the cold crook of his neck. He smells like sweat, and blood, and cigarette smoke. He smells like Matt.
Of all the last things he could've said to Matt. It would've been so easy to have just said, "I love you," or, "Forgive me." Even if not. Even if it had been a commonplace conversation, everyday and trivial, it would've been better than what it truly was: a fight. And Mello's last words to Matt had been... they had been a silence.
"Yes," he whispers into the body's deaf ear.
"Yes, if you left me, I would miss you."
Mello's loud, unstoppable sobs are the only sound audible in the cruel, silent night.
Back home; off the run.
Singing songs that make you slit your wrists,
It isn't that much fun:
Staring down a loaded gun.
So I won't stop dying, won't stop lying.
If you want, I'll keep on crying.
Did you get what you deserve?
Is this what you always want me for?
I miss you, I miss you, so far.
And the collision of your kiss that made it so hard.
Way down, way down
Way down, way down
Way down.
Cemetery Drive by My Chemical Romance
Mail "Matt Jeevas and Miheal "Mello" Keehl, in pace requiescat.
Thanks for reading.