This can absolutely be read as Matt/Mello because I am trash.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note
It was pouring, of course it was, and he was soaked.
However, it felt nice on his face. The cold chill of the rain seeped into his burned and ruined skin, not to mention it numbed the edges where it was hurting the most. Not like he was a sissy or anything, he could handle pain, but damn it, it hurt.
He continued trudging along, his one functioning eye scanning the deserted streets for a telephone booth, or even a place to sit. His own cellphone had been lost in the fire and he hadn't exactly been aiming to go back and rummage through the wreckage. Not when there were police and task force members crawling all over the place.
Besides, it was more than likely a melted hunk of metal and plastic anyways.
His boot connected with an unlucky can and sent it skittering down the sidewalk, clinging against a lamp post.
Eventually, after thirty two minutes, he found a phone booth.
He'd toyed with the idea of calling Matt before, he'd had one of the men dig up any and all information on the red head. Mello was sure that he'd run from Wammy's as well, coming to the states was the likely option. When he'd found that Matt was in California, that he was a car ride away, he'd almost jumped onto his bike to go get him.
But that little bit of rational he had left told him that he didn't want to drag Matt into whatever it was he was trying to do.
Mello sighed and dialed the number he'd memorized the day he got it, holding the heavy club to his ear. His free hand kept his hood in place, tugging it forward to hide his face should there be any street cameras.
"Please pick up, Matty," he whispered to the empty streets and pouring rain.
Several miles away, Matt sat alone, lounging on the floor of his small apartment.
Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he blew the smoke up to the ceiling fan, watching it disperse. The smell of tobacco had long since seeped into the walls, his clothes, probably his hair to. His game was paused, the controller half way across the room. He'd already beaten the game four times over and it was still as boring and easy as ever.
The startling tone from his phone made him jump. Scowling, he pushed himself up, muttering to himself about wanting peace. He found his phone beneath the couch cushions and flipped it open as it was about to hang up.
"Who the hell is this?" he growled, dropping back to the floor, energy already spent.
"Matty?" a raspy voice asked on the other end.
His blood ran cold and he could have sworn that his heart stopped momentarily. Matt would know that voice anywhere.
There was no way.
No fucking way was he back.
"Where are you?" he asked quickly. That name, that name was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"Not sure, 'm near a train station and some law firm," he said quietly.
There was something different. He was raspy but there was something else, he sounded pained.
Oh god, was he hurt?
"There's a record store too, I'm at a phone booth if that tells you anything."
Matt nodded before realizing that he was talking on the phone.
"Right, I think I know where you are, don't move, I'll come get you."
"Okay, Matty."
There was a click and Matt dropped his phone. He threw on his boots and grabbed his keys from the hook, running outside without a jacket and slamming the door behind him.
His baby was hidden from the rain and he jumped in, for once not caring that he was getting seats wet. It seemed to take forever to start the car, he kept fumbling the keys, dropping them twice. When the engine finally did turn over, his hands were shaking too bad to move the wheel.
Matt considered himself a good driver, but combined with his rush and the rain, he saw death every time he turned a corner and left skid marks in his wake.
He almost missed it, the dark figure leaning against the brick wall outside the train station.
Matt didn't bother parking his car, he jumped out, ripping the keys from the ignition, and ran.
He skidded to a stop, just a few feet from the figure.
His best friend stood there, cloaked in a dark jacket, a hood pulled low over his face, hands buried in his pockets. Matt could make out a single golden strand of hair poking out from beneath the hood.
"Mells?"
The boy looked up suddenly, reminding Matt of a corner animal.
"Finally hit puberty, I almost didn't recognize your voice over the phone."
Matt stared in disbelief and cautiously moved closer. Was this really his Mells? It had to be, right? His Mells was a little shorter, but it had been a few years, and he certainly didn't wear such over the top jackets.
When he was a heart space away, he slowly reached a hand to pull away the hood.
Mello's hand closed around his wrist just as his fingers brushed the soft hood.
Those were not Mello's hands. Mello's hands were immaculate and dainty, not blistered and cut and scarred.
"Not now," he whispered.
Matt nodded and stepped even closer, shaking free of Mello's grip. He wrapped his arms around the shivering blond, squeezing tighter than he should but Mello didn't stop him, just returned the action, leaning into Matt.
"You're back," Matt nearly sobbed.
"No, 'm a ghost."
Mello may have had the strength to make unfunny jokes but his knees buckled and he sagged against Matt, gripping him tighter.
"Let's go, Mells," Matt shifted so he could support Mello better.
"Not yet, not ready to go anywhere yet, the rain is nice."
"I know, Mells, but come on, you'll get pneumonia."
"'M not gonna get pneumonia," Mello mumbled into Matt's neck, "The rain jus' feels nice on my face is all."
That's when Matt moved the hood.
"Oh, Mells."
"Battle scar," Mello said nonchalantly, turning further into Matt's body to hide the scar a little bit. He seemed to grow heavier and his grip loosened.
It took a moment for Matt to realize that Mello had just fallen asleep. He managed to get the blond into his car, laying him down in the front seat. He found himself constantly looking over to him.
"What am I gonna do with you, Mells? I leave you alone and you get yourself hurt."
The drive back to his apartment wasn't as rushed, Matt kept his hand on Mello's, gently squeezing it from time to time.
It was going to be okay. He was going to make it okay. Mello was with him and things would be okay.