This has been taking up space in my writing folder for a few months, and while I still remember where I was going with it, I decided that I like it enough as it is to post it. It's short, which is different for me, but I hope the meaning behind it is clear. And, fyi, the inspiration for this little drabble was my - at the time - feelings of loss for my grandmother who passed away five years ago this coming February. I'm hoping that the lyrics make as much sense to you guys as they do to me, or perhaps it's a bit more personal than I originally intended. I don't know.
Enjoy, or something.
"I still can't believe you're gone.
Give anything to hear half your breath,
I know you're still living your life after death."
- I'll be Missing You, P. Diddy.
A sickening silence washed over the room, drowning out soft whimpers. Sunlight attacked the room, hinting towards twilight as the sun and the moon fought over the sky. At least, he figured it was twilight as the room became increasingly darker. Truth be told, he couldn't even begin to tell you when one day ended and the next one started-- they were blurred together, and they had been for a long while.
It had been days, weeks or possibly even months since he last stepped out of his bedroom. He had found solace in the small confine, curled up against the wall and cuddling a trademark leather vest to his chest. The fabric was worn and smelt of blood, a price paid while working in the mafia, but that didn't stop him from holding onto it for dear life. It was, after all, the only thing he left of his best friend...
... his lover.
He had moved from his previous apartment in the midst of a small Japanese town, effectively leaving the majority of his belongings behind to uproot and relocate half way across the world. That place held too many memories, caused him many sleepless nights and brought him to tears-- wet crystals that he swore to never shed. He couldn't cry, or so he thought, as he hadn't done so since he was forcefully taken from his parents when he was a child. No, crying wasn't something he did. It was something he couldn't do because he was Matt.
Correction; he was Mail, bad ass tech of the mafia under Mello's reign, and third in line for the title of L. However, before either of those, he was Mello's best friend. No, scratch that, he was Mihael's lover.
Matt, the living partner of his dead counterpart, had holed himself up in his room in a quaint flat not far from the orphanage. It had taken all he was not to return to Whammy's House, as he was sure that it was still under the same management and they would welcome him with open arms. Then again, he wondered if it had been completely overrun by new minds that could very easily rival his own.
In any case, it held too many memories; one in particular he didn't want to relive. So, with the refusal to return to the place that had taken him in and raised him, Matt had decided on living near by. It was close enough that he could catch a glimpse of the building when he was riding towards town, if he ever actually went anywhere aside from the bathroom and kitchen. Or his room.
It was there, in that small bedroom, that Matt realized he would never get over Mello; as if his dedication to finding the man when he'd left him back at Whammy's the first go around wasn't enough to prove his loyalty and love for Mello. He never got over the blond when they were teens and he wouldn't now.
An underlying feeling that he should have died instead constantly reminded him of the night Mello died, alone and burning in the truck he'd used to kidnap Takada. The feeling wouldn't let him forget the pain that shot through his chest when he'd found out about Mello's death, some three days later as he lay in a private hospital room. Near had been the one to break the ice, and Matt immediately wished that the bullets had punctured a vital organ.
However, the redhead knew that it was a win or lose situation, but he wasn't expecting it take Mello away from him. The worst that could have - should have - happened would've been Near's success in defeating Kira; not Mello being trapped in an exploding truck.
Why hadn't he been more persistent when he decided to sit Mello down and talk things over with him? Why didn't he fight more? Why had he allowed the rivalry been Near and Mello to come between them? It had taken the only thing Matt ever cared about away from him, and in the process, it had taken his heart.
Matt knew it was a game, their childish rivalry, and that's all it had ever been-- all hearts aside.
It was a game; a chance to see which brilliant mind could be the first to track down the person L had suspected the entire time. A game. And Mello, stubborn as ever, had played 'til his death; the ultimate loss.
Yes? No?
This song depresses me.