This is completely :iconBlusparkles: fault. Just saying. And since I've recently fallen in love with the band Icon For Hire, it seemed more than appropriate to use one of my favorite songs of theirs here. But yeah. Her fault. If you cry, go complain to her. She caused this to be born.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. I also don't own the song The Grey by Icon For Hire; I do own this plot bunny though.
Snow floated down from the steel clouds overcastting the sky, trailing along the feather soft breeze as it wisped between the marble tombs and made their gifted roses rustle, a few petals coming loose and falling onto the mound of earth that was freshly turned, though already covered in a healthy blanket of silvery white, a mere shade off of grey. The petals rested there, blood red on snow, resembling droplets of blood dripped from a mortal wound. At least, that was how they saw it. Midori green eyes, clear and bright in a world that seemed fuzzy and grey to their owner. He was gazing at the grave, as cold as the stone that marked its head, though clear of the snow that seemed to never endingly fall from the heavens.
"….." lifting his hand, the one once known as Mail Jeevas ghosted his hand over the tombstone. His only remaining tie to him. The one who'd befriended him all those years ago, drew him out of the shell he'd so stubbornly clung to to in hopes of protecting himself from the world and its pain. It was his friend who'd brought light into his life, shattering the shell like it was glass and invading without a qualm. Like a blind man finally freed from the trappings of his dark, lonely world, he'd been made to see life and its colors for the first time. Matt had been overwhelmed, and he'd fallen in love with it all. With the experience. With the colors. With him. But to love is to risk loss, and his friend abandoned him later. The colors didn't go away though. That would be too simple. They remained, taunted him, and Matt discovered that the broken glass remains were long scattered into dust. He couldn't be as he once was. Grey, dull. Safe. So he moved on, searched, done a lot of things he really wasn't proud of. Condemning himself. For what was a life of beauty and such teasing hues if he had no one to share it with?
It was misery, that's what it was. And he'd known misery. Unable to go back to the way things were, but barred from any future, Matt waited. Listened. Prayed for the day when things could be normal. For a long while, they never were. Then he returned. Mello returned. And he'd needed him. Finally, Matt saw his life grow bright before his eyes! They could be together! It could be just like old times. The dynamic duo, causing chaos and mayhem wherever they go, a formidable force to any opponent who dared to challenge them. Yes, they could be together, whether it be as friends, companions, or something more. …until death do them part.
Death was a vicious, manipulative prick. He came in the form of a man with golden flesh and cruel, hateful eyes, who saw the world not as Matt did, in brilliant hues, but in red. Blinding, despicable red. Everything coated in this awful color had to be punished, wiped clean. Made pure, unchallenged white, because in death's twisted vision of a utopia where he could rule unchallenged, his word law and ideas worshipped as some strange form of gospel, red was forbidden. To death, red was sinful, the color of bloodshed and murder. Matt had enough of the red on his hands to earn his punishment, but even he knew he simply got lost in the crossfire. Mello was the tainted one, according to death. He was a force opposing death's pure design, and so he came to Matt's door in the form of a quest. Mello's quest. Take down the gospel's speaker, contain her and prevent the hateful slur from corrupting any more. For death didn't do things by the book. He tricked, coerced. Used anything and everything as his pawn, marring it all with his disgusting code and tarnishing the world's true beauty. To Matt, this was Mello. Both dark and light, but oh so colorful. He was the light of his life, and death wanted to take him down.
…..and he did. He succeeded, where the weaker had failed.
Matt clenched his fist, and the rose petals stirred on the grave. Two of them, as dark as the rosary beads that had once swung so religiously from Mello's neck. Once, but no more. Death had stolen them just like he had the blond's life, purging his spirit in the fires of hate. The hate was enough to reduce Mello to dust, for no remains had been found. Nothing. This was an empty grave; just a marker to show the world that there had once been a fighter against death's design, purchased by yet another of his opponents. Matt smiled, but there was no life behind it. No…color. Just grey, unlike the pristine white of death's second foe. Near. He wanted to thank him for thinking of Mello in the end, even if he had placed this polished slab of marble in the place that had birthed his new beginning. The place where he'd met Mello, and his fragile glass barrier against the world was irreparably broken, awakening his eyes to the things life had to offer. Things he could no longer enjoy.
"….who knew there was a cemetery here," he muttered, looking around. The headstones and tombs looked unwelcoming in the stormy light of today, and positively chilling, half buried in snow. Only the dead could dwell here; anything living would surely not be for long, sapped of their life and cast to the ground in misery from the stupefying sense of nothing. Because there was nothing. No life, no sound. No beauty, born in the rich shades Mello had made him love. Anything birthed would die, just as anything brought would be overcome by death's design. Looking at the roses and their fallen petals, Matt sank down on one knee, drifting his hand over the blossoms. These looked so lovely. So red. How long until they too rotted, turned to ash and eventually dust?
Turning his head, the redhead sighed, slipping his eyes closed. Nothing was immune. Everything died. The colors would seep from their forms, turn into the mottled grey of oblivion. Heartbeats failed, breath grew cold, and what souls were possessed would return to the womb that had gifted them with life. It could be light, or dark. Heaven, or hell. Matt didn't know. He'd never believed in any of it. Mello had. Was that why he was gone? Death had murdered him, but his soul couldn't die. No. It was simply gone. Ascended? Descended? The answers weren't his to know. Not while he remained here, bleached of his life and only a shell of his former self But wasn't that the truth of things? There was never simple black and white. In between, there was the third. Another. The grey. A land for those who didn't believe, or simply chose not to. And here, things endured, just shadows of the worlds beyond. Matt knew it well. Death had taken him here, after setting upon him his own personal brand of justice. Twenty six fiery shots of agony, making bright red spill down his clothes, coat his skin. The red was the last thing he'd seen, before his eyes had been forcefully glazed. Not in the black of the abyss, or the white of ascension. With nothing. Shadows. Clouds. He glanced at the ground, then at the sky. With grey.
"…..I wish I could see you, Mello." Matt started to touch the headstone, then changed his mind, instead lifting his palm towards the sky. Snow continued to come down and glisten like diamonds, and he watched as one gem fell into his grip. But it didn't rest there, glisten wetly on his gloves. It sank through his hand like it wasn't even there, falling to the ground and adding to the pile that lay undisturbed beneath his feet. Like he wasn't even there. Like he hadn't walked through the gravesite's fearsome black gates, illuminated by the stained glass windows casting the ground with holy reflections. There was….no sign of him. The snow was clean of any footsteps, the gravestones free of fingerprints, admiring caresses. He couldn't claim the roses, as they'd been resting upon Mello's graze when he arrived. Truly, he was a silent visitor here, unseen and unknown. A being lost within the snow.
Resigned, he let his arm go slack. Of course there were no signs of his presence. He was merely a visitor here, peeking through death's tattered veil and glimpsing the things beyond. He could walk the world like this, if he wanted, but never again would he see its real beauty. There were no colors, where he was. No joy, no life. There was nothing he could do that would cause an effect, or change what he saw.
When you were dead, nothing could truly be done to distress the world.
The sky grew darker, making the church's rainbow images fade into the shadows. It was growing late. Matt had no real sense of time anymore, but he still recognized the approaching blackness for what it was. Silent, he glanced toward the arching black gates that stood in the distance, hesitant to approach them and leave the site. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't want to leave. Not yet. He was cold to the grave and its macabre beauty, and the ethereal glow of the snow and pearly tombs. They were all just vestiges of his former life, a world he could never truly experience again. Try as he might, the fast fading midori orbs would never again see the black earth as anything but grey, or the holy windows in anything but mere shades. So why…?
A rustle of wind swept the two petals off the grave, catching his eyes. Matt watched them fly away into the sky above, leaving the rose behind. Alone. A feeling he knew well, perhaps better than anyone. There was nothing he could do to alter fate though. Those two petals would turn colorless without life to sustain them, and because they were a mere part of a whole, the host would suffer the same. The rose would die, rotting atop Mello's grave, becoming the ashy grey every form seemed to eventually share.
…..much like himself.
Matt let his body fall to the ground, spine flat against the cold snow. He knew it was cold; he just didn't feel it. Some would consider that a blessing, to be spared from the biting chill. Once upon a time, he might've agreed with them. Now…he envied it. Longed for it. Longed to see the rose in its true, vibrant beauty. Would it be red, like Mello's rosary, or the soft pink of a blush? Had his tombstone been carved of black marble, as Mello surely would've wanted, or was it another color entirely? Matt blinked, because he could, and watched snow drift towards his body and sink through to the ground beneath. He questioned all this, because he didn't know. Everything was grey to him. Everything. There was no sensation that wasn't a ghost to him, no form of life that he didn't covet. Yet here he wanted to stay, resting upon the grave of the one who'd abandoned him twice. Why?
He knew why. Didn't even have to ask. The entire world rested beneath his feet, and he could journey it all, if he desired. Time, space; they were nothing to him. A barrier that parted like mist, allowing him free passage. All at the price of no true admiration. Matt didn't care about that though. He never had. What had been privileged to him in life seemed worthy of mock after death, because throughout both, there was only one thing he'd ever wanted. The bringer of color, life itself. Mello. And just like before, those many years ago, he found himself in a state where he couldn't enjoy or suffer anything without the presence of his other. His friend, the only one who made things worth it. The only one who could break the grey.
Looking at the snowy tombstone that loomed above his head, Matt let his eyes drift closed. Things were different now. He didn't have colors to mock him, or sensations to tempt him, distract his mind and spirit from the eventual outcome. Here there was nothing. Nothing but solitude. Mere grey, and the world under his feet, residing as a torment to remind him of his folly. Something that could be seen, but never touched, enjoyed. Loathed, desired. This was a punishment, self inflicted. Because he knew that somehow, he'd brought this upon himself. Things weren't lifeless without question. Everything was born in light or dark, with changes and differences to be admired. There wasn't this blankness within. It had to be earned, desired. Created. He'd done it once before, when he created the barrier that locked his mind and body in a perpetual state of stoic retention. Wasn't this the same, merely on a larger scale? He'd succumbed to death's master plan, but instead of journeying to those mystical pearly gates he'd thought illogical in life, or the fiery pits of doom below, he was here. Lingering. No…..
A sad smile teased his lips. Waiting. He was waiting.
How long would he wait? Matt didn't know. Perhaps until he admitted that he was wrong, and Mello, with his religious views and prayer for redemption, had been right. That all his kneeling before the pews hadn't been hopeless, and the way he clutched those beautiful beads and cross wasn't a worthless act done in the hopes of some miracle forgiveness of his crimes. When he realized that his silent mockery was a true crime, that there was something casting judgment in a way death never could, things might have a chance at becoming different. Or maybe it would take even longer than that. Year after year, his suffering silent to the world. That would be fair. God punishing him for his disbelief, and the sins he had so witlessly born in life. Matt knew he deserved that much. All those years of just not caring, torturing his body with all the assailants and abuse he could handle. Most often more. Death hadn't been blinded when he glimpsed the blood on his hands. It was there, and it wouldn't wash clean. That was only something salvation could do. And his salvation was far away, a world beyond the veil that he couldn't reach. Matt accepted this knowledge, and he traced the carved letters within the marble above him. Mihael. Mello. The only one he'd ever believed in, viewing god pointless and replacing the desires of religion with the selfish need for love and companionship. Was that wrong? Did he receive punishment now because of it, at the hands of some greater being? Or was this all his doing, a spell to be broken at his own command?
…he just didn't know. Might not ever. It was a depressing thought, and the redhead sighed. The sound was barely a flicker in the night air, and only for his ears. No one else could hear it, would ever hear it. Something he understood all too well. Silence was his gift, the grey arms that would hold him while his body slept somewhere beneath the earth. This wasn't an end he would've chosen for himself, but there was naught to do except linger. Accept. The one thing he'd never been good at doing. "Mello…." Matt dropped his hand, wishing he could have felt the blond's true name on his fingertips as he'd touched the marble. Such simple wishes weren't his to desire though. Never would be again, unless a change came to pass. Change, which he would have to wait for. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I could've followed you…"
Snow was collecting on the rose, burying it in what resembled powdered soot in the night's bleakness. Death came so quickly; cold would kill the blossom before dawn, and then it would really become ash, waiting to be swept away on the wind's breath. Matt was the same. He would stay here, at his friend's grave, and he would let the nothingness bury him, corrupt his ghostly body and soul until there was nothing left but the mist and clouds that seemed to fog his vision, bleeding the green dry. Only then would a change maybe come. Whether it be redemption, misery eternal, or the blank slate that came after true destruction….Matt listened to the snow's chime, and exhaled. Didn't need to, but he did. When that time came, he would accept the end, and whatever fate came afterwards. He just hoped…no, he prayed that there would be someone waiting for him too. Someone with hair that he knew, even in this hopeless state, gleamed gold in the sun, and possessed irises that shone like icebergs in the sea. Someone who could cast the bleakness away, and give his gift once more.
Midori shifted, just a crack of green visible under the unforgiving steel resting all around. It flickered, faded around the edges, not that the redhead who owned them realized. He just knew. This place would haunt him, lock him in a state of unrest, even here upon the grave of the only one whose friendship he had valued more than his only life. His light in the dark, and the in between too. The one he'd loved more than anything. His last, remembered thought as the blood had poured from his wounds, which rested on his flesh now in the form of gaping holes, never to close. Mere memories, a ghost like himself. It was only him who could break his shield, cast the remains into the sky like flecks of dust and bring him back into the light, the dark, away from here. That someone could bring him color again, and take him away from this punishing grey.
Matt sighed, wisps of snow mimicking breath above his lips.
….Mello…