A/N: Okay, this is definitely a WTF BBQ?!? moment for me. I got this idea while in the shower, which NEVER happens to me. I was thinking about how all my barriers come down when I'm sick; it's really when I act the most myself, because I just can't be bothered to appease people.
Annnnnnnnnd yeah. I also had the first line of the section where Matt's POV starts in my head, and managed to incoroporate it here. Yays!! Cause I like that line. :)
OH, did I mention it's in the present tense? Cause it is, and that is extremely unusual for me.
Despite all of this, I really like how it turned out.
Also, I'm feeling a bit better, which hopefully means I get to go to "The Burren" tomorrow, which is this nifty, flowery part of Ireland. *crosses fingers* I'm tired of sitting in my room being sick. SORRY FOR THE LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE. :D Read, Review, Repeat.
Deathbed Revelations
Are we different people when we're sick, or are our bodies simply too exhausted to maintain the façade of indifference and commonality? When you're too tired to try anymore, do your words ring that much more true? At that moment when you know, without a doubt, that nothing can save you, does impending death breed sincerity?
Mello doesn't know the answer, but as he lies dying, he can't bring himself to care. There are more important things to regret never knowing, like what Matt's eyes would look like had Mello ever banished his fear and pride and told the truth; "I love you". Or how mouths flavored with cocoa and nicotine would taste when melded as one. These are the things running through Mihael Keehl's mind as the hot leather of his half-ripped clothing melts with the skin on his left side.
He wishes Matt would have been faster getting here; just a little faster. Mello doesn't want to live at this point, but his heart aches knowing that Matt will never know how much he was loved. His eyes make one last movement, casting themselves towards the smoking cell phone where Mello can hear Matt's panicked voice screaming at him to say something, to hold on. It's bittersweet that Mello wasted his last smoke-free breath to tell Matt where he was dying, and not who he would be watching from heaven.
Mello resigns himself to death, and is strangely calm as his eyelids give up the battle and slide down. The last thing he sees before blacking out is a blur of black, white, and red burst through the ruined doorway, and he finds it unfortunately unpoetic that his last thought is, "Damn fucking hell!"
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The next time Mello is aware of his own consciousness, he discovers that irony still holds in death; he is indeed in Hell. Perhaps his last coherent string of words should have been less sacrilegious. Because, fuck, his body still feels like it's on fire, and he's had enough of that for more than one existence.
Then again, maybe he's only in purgatory; he's slipping back into the cool, unfeeling blackness. Some God somewhere must know he's not all murderous intentions and revengeful actions, and Mello offers up a silent, humble prayer.
Some unknown quantity of time later, Mello's skin is touched by a healing angel. The being's hands are cool, soft, and gentle, and Mello tries to turn his head into that touch, but the motion brings the blackness back like quicksilver.
The next wave of conscious thought brings sound along with the pain, and it is the noise that convinces Mello he's in Hell, because where else could he hear Matt's voice and yet not be able to tell him he loves him?
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Matt has never been surprised by Mello's vanity; only that it took him so long to acquire it. Even as a child, Mello was beautiful: blond and deceivingly angelic in appearance. But it wasn't until his mid-teens that Mello himself realized how attractive he was, and not until his late teens did he recognize the kind of power that came with. When Mello turns on the charm, he knows that virtually no one, besides perhaps Near, is going to deny him anything. Matt is no exception.
It isn't Mello's beauty that entrances Matt; not entirely, at least. It's more his enigma, his aura. The way he moves through a crowded room like everyone else is standing still. Mello is like running water, like sunlight sifting through a canopy of leaves; he's always had a sense of fleeting beauty, of something you can't quite catch. And he's damn proud of it; because that's one thing he's the best at.
That's why, after Matt pulls Mello out of the fiery wreckage and carries him on the motorcycle to the nearest emergency room (no small feat, balancing another body like that and driving), the first thing he worries about, after it's confirmed that Mello will live, is how the boy will cope with no longer being the most unflawed, singularly jaw-dropping being wherever he goes.
Matt knows that Mello's appeal runs so much deeper than his now-ruined skin, but Mello himself has always placed the value of his appearance on par with that of a good chocolate bar.
Personally, now that a week has passed and Mello's skin is no longer swollen and red, Matt almost finds the scars running along his face, down his neck and onto his chest to be unapologetically sexy.
But that's before he remembers digging Mello out of the burning debris, and how his best friend's body hung limply in his arms, barely clinging to life. Before he remembers the blinding devastation when the doctors thought Mello wasn't going to pull through, and when he watched them peel the melted leather away from Mello's face, somehow miraculously saving his left eye.
Tears run down Matt's face unnoticed; it's such a common occurrence as of late that it's hardly worth acknowledging. He reaches out and traces the raised pattern of burnt skin across Mello's cheek, skin that had to be grafted on from other parts of his body. Where the doctors found any extra skin on Mello, Matt doesn't want to know, nor does he care.
His fingertips just barely graze the surface, but it's enough to make Mello squirm. It's a little ritual Matt has concocted to reassure him that Mello is still among the living. Just that little twitching frown on Mello's face as he turns his head is enough to quell the fearful butterflies in Matt's stomach when he can't quite make out Mello's pulse.
There's another ritual he has, one that sends his tear ducts into over-drive every time. When Mello twitches as Matt's hand passes over his face, Matt leans down right next to his ear, whispering "I love you, Mihael", so that if Mello is any stage of consciousness, he'll know what Matt never told him before life suddenly seemed so fragile.
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After what seems like an eternity, the blackness recedes entirely, and Mello finds himself awake, and realizes that he is alive. It is not an entirely pleasant sensation. His eyes register a white vaulted ceiling and a saline drip suspended from a pole next to his bed.
He vaguely recognizes that he is in a hospital, and tries to call for Matt, or someone who can bring Matt to him, only to find that his throat is too shredded to speak. Fortunately, he doesn't need to.
Matt's face appears over his, and the look in his eyes, one of grief mixed with hope, joy, and apprehension makes salty tears sting Mello's still healing wounds. He tries to tell Matt with his eyes how much he loves him, and knows the other man understands when he buries his face in the crook of Mello's neck, carefully avoiding his scarred side. He knows Matt loves him, too, when the redhead pulls back just far enough to fix Mello with the most intense gaze he's ever seen, whispers "I love you Mihael", and presses his lips to Mello's chapped ones with all the gentleness he can afford.
Mello's face is stinging again, and Matt pulls away just long enough for Mello to rasp out, "I love you, too, Mail". He knows as soon as he says it that it will cost him months of recovery time, and maybe even damage his vocal chords permanently. But it's all worth it for the way Matt looks at him, and how Matt can't quite restrain himself from kissing Mello hard enough and with enough desperation and love to make his delicate skin crack open and bleed. To Mello, it's the best feeling in the world.
Review? Maybe? *puppy dog eyes*