It was just that, a silver, gas-filled lighter. It's unreasonable to get used to such a thing. And yet I did, more than anybody before me. I wasn't a smoker then, at the age of 5 I didn't even have the idea of what smoking was. The memories fades with Wammy's refusing me my identity, and because of that the only trait of my past was the fire-breathing item. I cherished it, although I had no idea why. With a single flick of orange, I could do whatever you wanted me to.
What he wanted me to.
I didn't know why he took it with him, seeing as it was definitely labeled "mine". One day, the lighter was gone and so was he. Later I learnt that it was because L got killed and that Mello was going to succeed him. Unofficially, that is.
I wasn't sad when he left, maybe a little empty.
Maybe very empty.
Maybe empty to such an extend that tears couldn't help and I sought other things, sought adrenaline.
It all started with a flick of orange.
I learnt to cherish the smoke escaping my throat, my nostrils, leaving me soaked in the dull aroma. Learnt to treasure it over food and sometimes even over electricity.
And I never lost track of him.
When the bomb torn his hideout to pieces, I was under a shower. Mumbling something I can't even remember, scrubbing off the weak's worth of sweat, I was too late to answer his phone. The red dot on my map disappeared and that is when panic nearly strangled me.
I wanted to dissolve into darkness.
He found me four days later, slumped on the couch in my shithole of a flat, needles on the floor mixed with shattered glass. I'll never forget the look of disgust he gave me, a look that covered other things. Fear, pain, bitterness.
And protectiveness.
He helped me up the same way I helped him, shook me when I needed it like he needed it in Wammy's.
I want to say I can't remember how we ended up with limbs tangled together on my narrow bed but I can recall it very clearly. It started with a flick of orange, too. I looked up at him to find my lighter shoved into my face, the glow hiding his smirk. I took it silently, saving it for later. He was on me in seconds, his fingernails scraping my nape and his forehead touching mine.
"Let me spark a fire in you"
And this time, his smile was genuine.
It breaks my heart, tears me apart to know how little time we have left. We won't back down because that's how Mello works, and that's how I work. I am his companion, and he's there for me. I'm his backup and he is my safe place when we stare at bloody-red sunsets, eating take-outs on the hood of my Camaro. We're the other's great escape.
And it all ends with a flick of orange.
A/N: Dedicated to the guys that keep me alive, that I can go back to when everything seems too bad. To my sources of hope and inspiration.
MxMS, 08.07.14 - Matt x Mello Day 2014