Disclaimer: Death Note's not mine. Quote's not mine. Idea isn't even mine.
Warnings: canon-following character death, super-natural/spiritual.
A/N: Because most series are set in the past or without a date - I can mourn Fred Weasley and Remus Lupin for ever, but they will always be remembrance dates. Today, though - today was a day of sorrow, a day of truth, a day of remembering everything that these two played a role in and just why they came to such an untimely demise. For the first time rather than a prior. Rest in peace.
"Life is a series of rooms, and who we get stuck in those rooms with, adds up to what our lives are."
--from this day forward until death do us part--
Beautiful hues of the setting sun illuminated the sky, streaking across it with the most brilliant oranges and pinks and lavender shades higher up where the sun's light had essentially disappeared. A large hole in the concrete wall, jagged and rough, let the fading light and myriad of colors filter in, truly a sight to behold. Matt sat, knees tucked to his chest.
He didn't know how or why he'd appeared in the old warehouse.
He'd never seen it before, and he'd never been there either. The place didn't even look vaguely familiar, so it wasn't like he'd been transported on a memory or anything.
Yet there he was, mind and soul tucked away in this obscure yet lovely place.
Looking around, Matt sighed. The air was cool and sweet, a touch of something earthy but indescribable, yet sitting here wasn't enough to be content. With another, more forlorn, emanation he reached into the pocket of his jeans and procured a cigarette. Matt lit up, watching the thin cloud of smoke waft up and away in the light warm breeze. Slowly he scooted towards the hole in the wall, not standing up, the whorls of smoke drifting with him.
He wasn't sure how long he sat on the edge between beauty and desolation, but somewhere along the way silent feet made their way over and a figure clad in black sat down, none of the usual harshness surrounding him.
"Sorry 'bout all that," the usually harsh man said. Though they did not face, both men felt the shock of - not the current situation, but – Mello's softer tone permeate them.
"It was going to happen eventually." Though Matt's comment and voice were nonchalant enough, there was a tint of regret regardless.
Chocolate? It wasn't a spoken inquiry, but Matt got the message all the same when Mello procured a bar of the treat and, peeling back the foil, offered the corner. Matt dropped his cigarette, ash flying to his left as he snapped a piece off.
The pair sat there in solitude for a while, the sun sinking far slower than Matt had ever witnessed in real life. He wasn't sure whether it was moving slower than normal or if time was simply moving slower, but the shades lingered longer than normal with bright bands of hundreds of hues that were littered with bright specks of hope.
"'Least it's quiet," Matt commented after a long while. "Can't seem to find my freakin' PSP, though." He patted his pockets once more as if to make certain that it wasn't present, before dropping his hands to his sides. Mello shrugged. The pair lapsed back into silence.
"No pain, though? Now?" Mello wasn't blunt about it as usual, but he had never possessed the most tact at broaching sensitive subjects and even now he was a bit off saying it.
"Nah." Matt did not make eye contact when he spoke. "Everything seems all patched and right. Good, I guess, since spending the afterlife in, well, pain would suck." Mello chuckled, a bitter, grating sound, and it sent rough shivers down Matt's spine.
"I suppose not." The comment was wistful, anything but normal for Mello. Without reason, Matt looked over toward him, perturbed. The expression was softer than Matt was used to, though the features were the same, and instead of pride there was…
There was regret.
Instinctively, Matt moved closer. It was just a few inches right, but then he was close enough to comfortably lay his head on Mello's shoulder. He wasn't sure what possessed him to, the skin there still as marred as during Mello's life, but he did all the same.
"It was going to happen eventually." The words repeated, slipping from Matt's tongue like both an apology and an accusation he could not properly make, and though he was not crying – could not cry – the emotions of the day's final events are heavy and present.
"Eventually," Mello repeated, then again and again: a one-worded mantra that fell with empty meaning about a serious subject.
"Eventually," Matt summed with a finality Mello lacked. The blonde stiffened, but then his shoulders sagged in obscure understanding. Matt gave a nod, barely a tilt of his head, and though no question was posed, the unasked – can you ever forgive me? – was answered.
Though it did not heal the wounds, it was everything Mello needed to know.
Because even in Death, they had not parted.
Owari