Mello's warm breath. Soft lips sliding against his. Golden hair tickling his face, that reassuring weight above him, touching, laughing, melting together. Bliss.

That was the dream. Matt was brought out of it by a touch on his shoulder. He sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. The dream collapsed, shattered into a thousand pieces by reality. The world hit him like a punch to the gut and he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Real life was this gray dimness, cold air, half of a twin mattress, dirty blanket. Katie.

They were both in his mind now, his past life and this life, so easy to compare. It was agonizing. He remembered what it was like to be held, to feel his whole being meld with someone else's, that dizzying spiral of ecstasy that had devoured his whole being. He remembered the bright, vibrant colors of his time with Mello, the vivid scarlet of whispering deep secrets into each others' ears, the dazzling sun-gilded yellow of exploring each others' bodies, the deep green of following him contentedly through the hallways and listening to him talk. They highlighted the grays of his current existence in stark, exquisite detail, forcing him to see it for what it was. Katie, whose touch felt like a distant ghost of a copy of Mello's. His day-to-day existence, unchanging and monotonous and bleak, living only to live to the next day. It tasted like ashes in his mouth. His life was nothing, empty, pointless, and promised only more of the same in the future.

"Fuck!" He never thought about those old memories, they were sealed off, but today the dream had blown the protective casing around them wide open. They poured forth against his wishes, beyond his control. They were his happiest memories, the best moments of his life, but somehow they had transformed into daggers that sliced him open, shredded him. He couldn't face them, couldn't. He gasped at the pain, and a part of himself that had fragmented off stared in numb surprise at the rest of him, marveling at how much agony he was feeling. Then it arced through him again, white-hot acid down his spine, the pernicious burn of his own thoughts eating him from within, and he jerked into a ball and buried his hands in his hair. "Fuck, fuck!" he moaned. It wasn't going away, he couldn't force that door shut again. His eyes flew wide open and he tightened his fingers in his hair so hard it pulled painfully on either side of his head.

"Matt, what's wrong? Matt!" Katie had been talking, but he'd been ignoring her. Now she was touching him and he couldn't ignore her anymore. Her hand up and down his back, the other one on his upper arm. "What is it?"

"Leave me alone, Katie!" Panic rising. He couldn't make it go away, couldn't stop the blood that was gushing in the ruins of his mind. Breath shortening.

Her hands tighter now. "What's a 'Mello?' You said it in your sleep."

The name, she had said it out loud, and it was intolerable in her mouth. She couldn't know about Mello, those two worlds could never cross. Even the idea of it made him want to scream in defiance. It raced through him, the urge to elbow her in the gut and kick at her until she fell off the bed and left him alone.

No. Not okay to hit his own girlfriend, ever.

Narrowly averted. Matt rolled off the bed and began kicking off the sheet tangled around his legs.

"Matt—"

"I said, leave me the fuck alone!" It came out as a shout, nearly a scream at the end. He scrambled to his feet and ran out, not even slowing when he bashed his shoulder on the doorframe. He dove into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, locked it.

Katie was close behind him. He'd barely sunk to the floor by the time she was slamming her palm against it and talking again. "Matt! You're a basket case, you know that? Let me in! Don't do—don't do anything weird in there!"

He ignored her, the carnage happening in his mind being much more important. He dug his nails into his scalp, drew blood, but there was no relief. His mind flashed an image of himself grabbing the memories and throttling them, tearing away chunks of his brain to shut them up. He needed them out, out, what would make them go away?

Panic ebbed long enough for a sensible thought to get through. Memories weren't a physical thing, he couldn't make them go away by any physical process short of a lobotomy. He scrambled to his hands and knees and tore the cabinet doors open. Spoon, needle, tourniquet, there they were, but they were useless to him now. No time to find a vein, and his hands were shaking. He threw them aside and fumbled through empty liquor bottles and trash and termite sawdust, but found nothing. He swore savagely and scrambled to his feet to jerk the medicine cabinet open.

There it was. His savior, the bottle of Xanax. He fumbled it open and ate one.

Katie was still pounding at the door. Sudden fury—why did he have to listen to that? "Shut the fuck up!"He whirled and kicked the door as hard as he could. That seemed to get through to her, finally there was a moment of blessed silence.

Anger meant he needed more. He ate a second one. The memories were still splitting him open like a katana through a melon. Three. That should shut them up. He waited, and his mind filled with thoughts of carving deep lines into his own flesh, blood flooding out. Would that pain overwhelm what was happening in his head right now? He needed it out! Why wasn't he getting any effect from the pills? Panic threatening again. Four. Five. Six.

Katie's voice had taken a different tone now. "Matt…please let me in. Tell me what's wrong, babe, okay? At least tell me what you're doing in there. Matt, it's going to be okay."

Yes it would. Seven eight and nine, in one swallow. That was bound to do the trick.

And finally, finally! The skull-splitting agony receded slightly, the colors dulled so they didn't cut quite so deeply. He rested his hands on the side of the cracked old tub and leaned against it, trying to calm his breathing as he waited for the pills to take full effect. They were working now, numbing him, making golden-blonde and butterfly stomachs and sweet firsts go back into the tightly-sealed vault where they belonged, never to see the light of day.

He stayed there, not moving or thinking, just savoring the glorious lack of pain, until his arms gave way. He toppled into the tub head first, tried to catch himself, but his face bounced off the side. It seemed forceful so he was surprised that it didn't hurt. He wriggled around so that he fit the shape of the tub better. It was comfortable enough. Gray porcelain in a gray world made an okay place to lie down.

Katie's voice again. "Matt? Matt? Talk to me, please? Just talk? Say anything."

The world had returned to the muted colors it should be. Comforting grays surrounded him on all sides. He closed his eyes.

Liquid, the taste of blood. Oh yeah, his face. He lifted a hand to assess the damage but it never made it there, it just floated in midair a million miles away, not really a part of him anymore. He remembered vaguely that he'd increased the speed of his pill-popping from start to finish, so they would hit him with increasing speed as well. He wouldn't be conscious for much longer. Perfect.

Then he remembered. Katie. She was still out there. He couldn't pass out in the bathroom with her locked out, she would think he was in serious trouble or dead and sit outside all night panicking. She might even get someone to bust the bathroom door down. Either way she'd be a nervous wreck by tomorrow. He clambered out of the tub and lurched across the bathroom to the door, which he managed to unlock on the third try.

"Matt?" Katie tried the knob one more time, found it cooperative and opened the door. Matt collapsed against her and the two of them went down, crashing against the floor and wall. It didn't hurt, but it probably hurt her. She didn't complain though, she never did. "Thank god," she said softly. She squirmed into a sitting position against the wall and grasped his shoulders, inspecting him. Katie's dismayed face. "Your lip!" She touched it and her eyes sought his. "Matt? What…"

He smiled at her. "It's okay now," he said. "I'm okay."

She put her arms around him and pulled him in close so that he was resting against her chest. "No you aren't," she said sadly. "You're fucked up, and I don't know what's wrong with you." She ran her fingers through his hair, and with no old memories to provide a measuring stick, it felt pretty good. Lots better than the cold embrace of the bath tub.

In a gray world, that was more than enough. Matt closed his eyes and let welcome darkness take him.