A/N: Hello, and welcome to a new MxM AU! This will be called What I Mean To You, inspired by the song Volcano by Damian Rice. It's a great song, you should go listen to it. But every chapter will be inspired by a different song, all of them songs I love and all of them suit MxM. This just the start, and I have a vague idea of where this story will go. Plans will come! I'll ask some of my friends to beta it, they're really good authors, they're just all too shy to come on here XD
~Hushabye
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or the characters
What I Mean To You: Chapter 1- Oblivion
"When oblivion is calling out your name,
You always take it further than I ever can." -Bastille.
Why does he spend so much time in front of the mirror? I never understand. Before, he was so concerned about his appearance, and that was a valid excuse. But now, he spends his time standing there, just... looking sadly at his reflection, as if he looks hard enough, the scar will disappear.
I tell him it's getting unhealthy, the amount of time he spends there. His eyes used to be bright. Now they're dim, darkened by grief and pain, and they're getting duller everyday.
I don't understand Mello. I mean, I love him, but he is a vast, complex puzzle. If I had... if I was in his circumstances, I would avoid mirrors. So I would never have to look at my... burns.
He thinks he's ugly. I tell him every day he's not, that he's beautiful, but does he listen? Well, that's certainly one thing that hasn't changed.
Even chocolate will not draw him away from the mirror. I have tried everything I can think of. Sometimes, from sheer exhaustion, he lets me feed him or take him to bed, but not very often.
He hasn't allowed me to get him outside yet; I think he doesn't want people to stare. To be honest, I don't blame him. Everyone stares. Everyone stared at us anyway; to be openly gay in such a homophobic community is like saying, in front of the entire town, that you want to be exiled from the community.
Luckily, our friends are loyal. One sixth of them isn't quick to judge at all, two sixths of them secretly drool over 'yaoi' (yes, they are the girls) and the remaining few are actually gay themselves. They just don't have the balls to come out to the entire town the way we did.
Not that we meant to.
It was my damn sister's fault.
I walk forward and wrap my arms around Mello, gently brushing a kiss on the right side of his face, where the scar isn't.
His eyes close, shutting me out.
I need to talk to him. That almost worked last time.
"Hey, Mels?" I ask, resting my head carefully on his shoulder.
He doesn't respond. He just continues staring into the mirror, fingers fiddling with his crucifix absently.
"Remember when we met?" I try and continue.
This time, my words reach him. His eyes open, and he smiles.
"It was raining." he murmurs. An icy hand clutches at my heart. I remember that, too.
Sitting in the rain, waiting for a mother who would never come. Eventually giving up and walking home, kicking the puddles up in front of me. Letting the water soak me, pretending the water on my face was the rain. And then, something moved in the pouring sheets of water: a light. Or, at least, that's what it looked like, with my eyes blurring from the tears and the heavy rain. I soon realised it was a mop of blond hair, just as soaked as mine was, pelting straight for me. The hair belonged to a boy, running with his head down to protect him from the rain. Head down, so he didn't see me. So he ran into me.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Watch where you're going, idiot!" The boy looked up, and I realised his face was just as stained with tears as mine was. We were standing under a lamp post. His hair looked gold, slicked down with water, and lit with the soft hue of the streetlight.
The boy's eyes went from scared, hunted to furious in a matter of seconds.
"You shouldn't have been in my way!" he snarled. Something in those eyes, something feral, made me back away. I mumbled an apology. The boy snorted, and looked away, then strolled up the road to the nearest bench. I found myself following him. "What do you want?" he hissed, hostile, when I sat down next to him.
"I just want somewhere to stay until the rain stops." I almost whispered the reply. He was... scary, but kind of impressive, despite the fact that he didn't look older than me.
The boy snorted again, and extended a hand almost courteously. "I'm Miheal."
Surprised, I shook it. It felt strange, like we were playing at being adults. "I'm Mail."
It then occurred to me that we were both ignoring the tears on one another's faces.
I was going to ask something about the tears, but he beat me there. "Why are you out here in the rain?"
I didn't want to answer, not really, not to a complete stranger, but there was something about him that made me feel... comfortable about baring my soul to him. So I answered. "It's my birthday. My mum promised she'd come and get me before my little sister, but she didn't. I waited and waited and just decided to walk home." I tried to ignore the lump at the back of my throat, but it wasn't going away. I just let the tears fall. "She promised! Why would she forget? I-I don't understand..."
The boy, Miheal, looked at me, and said the two best words anyone had said to me. "Happy birthday."
Out of all the things I had just said, he had picked up on the fact that it was my birthday. It made me happy.
"What are you doing out here?" I asked cautiously.
"Running." was the answer. I didn't ask anymore.
We sat in silence for a few moments, before he turned to me."I've decided I like you." And then, he smiled. And for some reason, my heart melted.
"Oh?" I was getting cocky, more comfortable. I raised an eyebrow mockingly. "And why is that?"
He laughed, then stopped, and then smiled again. "There, see? You're the first person to make me laugh in three weeks."
And then came the questions.
"Miheal's a funny name. Can I call you Michael?"
"What? No! How would you like it if I called you..." he was obviously trying to find some way to say 'Mail' funnily. So I helped him.
"It's spelled mail. I'm a postbox." That caused him to toss back his head and laugh hysterically. I decided to ask him something else. "What's your favourite colour?"
He eyed me. "What has that got to do with anything?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Black, or leather."
It was my turn to laugh, now. "Leather isn't a colour!"
"Yes, it is! It's an... umm..."
And, you know that you're going to be best friends with someone for life when, within five minutes of meeting one another at the age of seven, you are discussing whether or not leather is a colour.
Ever since that day, he waited for me at the school gates, so I wouldn't have to wait for my mother.
He got me my beloved goggles the day after, saying they were a late birthday present. I was so touched; they were just goggles, but at that moment, they meant more to me than any other present I had received that year, even more than the DS my parents had bought me. I swear, I've never taken them off since. Not even in bed or the shower.
The day after that, I bought him a bar of chocolate. He tore into it like an animal; I was amazed.
"Sorry." he mumbled through a mouthful. "Haven't had chocolate in weeks."
Every day after that, I bought him a bar of chocolate.
I'm still buying him chocolate, and I'm still wearing the goggles. I guess the lost, lonely little child is still inside me somewhere. But the real question is this: where is the child in Mello?