CROSS MY HEART
A.N. Yay for quick updates after finishing a story! However, this is no more than a one-shot. Mixed romance, humor and a bit of sadness at the end.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, Matt, Mello, or the song that inspired this. That song is "Cross my Heart" by Mariana's Trench.
"Promise?" the blonde asked.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," the brunette replied.
The two boys were only seven and eight at the time, and had no idea how important that promise would be to them in 12 years.
It was still early, and yet someone had the guts to try and wake me up.
Opening my eyes slightly, I looked at my alarm clock, only to see "3:00am" glaring at me in bright red.
Groaning, I sat up to meet the cold glare of a certain blonde.
"What the hell do you want, Mels?" I asked.
"You," he replied. "On the couch. You're taking up nearly all of the bed, so you can go spend the rest of the night on the couch."
"Why do I have to be the one who has to sleep on the couch?" I asked. "Wouldn't it be easier for you to just go out to the couch yourself?"
"You're sleeping on the couch because I fucking said so, dammit," he growled, grabbing for the gun I know he kept under his pillow.
Having no intention to get shot, I quickly scrambled out of bed. The cold floor of our bedroom touching my feet told me I wasn't going to be falling back asleep once I got out to the couch.
Even so, I grabbed my pillow and left the bedroom.
Out in the living room, it was just as cold as the bedroom was, if not colder.
I tossed my pillow onto one end of the couch and laid down, pulling the old blanket off the back over myself.
For a while (a.k.a. about 10 minutes), I tried to fall asleep before giving up and grabbing my DS off the coffee table.
*2 hours of Mario Kart later*
"You really are an asshole, you know."
"Aww c'mon! What did I do this time?"
"I kicked you out of bed so I could get some goddamn sleep, not so you coud keep me -not to mention most if not all the other people in this building- awake with your yelling at that fucking game!"
"You probably make it so they're too scared to fall asleep at night," I retorted.
Mello didn't say anything, opting to try and find some food in our nearly-empty kitchen.
I opted to mourn the loss of my DS.
The bullet had forced to top to break in half then fall off before becoming buried in the couch about an inch away from my leg.
Yes, Mello shot my DS. That was the third one this month, too.
If he starts bitching about a lack of food, I'm not getting groceries.
A few seconds later, he walked back into the living room, cursing everything. I'm pretty sure he mentioned Near in there a couple times.
"What's your problem now?"
"There's no fucking food in this place."
"Well when the stores open you can go get groceries."
"What the fuck makes you think I'm doing it?"
"You're the one that has a problem with surviving on take-out," I reminded, "and you shot my DS. Since you're the one bitching about not having any food, then you can be the one to go get some."
Mello growled before storming off; most likely to our bedroom.
I smirked, grabbing the tv remote and Xbox controller off the floor.
I'm one of the few people that can put up with Mello.
But there's more to it than my being able to simply put up with him.
I remember the day he showed up at Wammy's and was assigned as my roommate. I made a joke about our names both starting with the letter M and things just snowballed from there.
Within a week we were best friends; inseparatable.
Within a week of my 14th birthday, we were... "lovers" seemed like an appropriate term to use here.
That was fun trying to hide from everyone, especially Roger.
And then when L died, Mello left. I remembered the promise I made, and left with him.
Why?
Because I love him. I did then, and I still do to this very day.
As I stand here, allowing myself to get shot by these men, I know that my acting as a diversion gives Mello a better chance of success.
I knew that I was going to die; there was no hope of survival for me.
Mello always called me a little puppy because of how I would do anything for him; at this moment, I realized that he was right.
The last thought that went through my head was of that old promise from 12 years ago.
"Will you ever leave me?" the blonde boy asked.
"Of course not," his brown-haired roommate replied.
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die."