It was one of those days. The kind when every cliché seemed to be sparkling, brilliant.. the kind where you feel alive, like you just woke up from sleeping too long. Which was fitting, since he really had slept late. When he rolled to his side and saw the sunlight ribboning through his window, he slipped out of bed quietly. It sounded like everyone else in Wammy's House was sleeping too. Perfect.
His shoes dangling delicately from his hands, and a chocolate bar firmly in place between his teeth, he walked softly down the hall to his best friend's room. The door opened with a whine, and he froze. When no one grabbed him and sent him back to his room, he sighed with relief and continued into the room. The same sunlight had coaxed its way past the dark shades and lay gently over the room and caused a tuft of copper hair to shimmer; Mello grinned. Curled up under a pile of blankets, with a DS still clasped in his hands, Matt would have no idea what hit him.
Years of playing soccer against the stronger, older boys had left Mello with a lean, muscular look and a wry agility. It also allowed him to vault onto Matt's sleeping figure without making much noise.
Matt groaned and rolled over, huddling further under the blankets. Mello ripped them off and started shaking his sleepy friend. Matt opened his mouth, but Mello covered it with his hand as he crawled off the bed and made a hushing noise. Matt rolled his eyes and shrugged. After changing and turning off his DS, he closed his door quietly and walked to where Mello was impatiently waiting for him near the stairs. Together, the boys made it out of the house and easily scaled the fence.
Once they were away from the orphanage, they broke into a run, chasing eachother and racing.
"Why'd you wake me up so early, Mel? I was having a great dream and I was all warm and now I'm outside," Matt pouted and faked a shudder as he tried to catch up with Mello.
Slowing down and looking over his shoulder, Mello laughed.
That was all the answer Matt needed. For some reason, God knows why, Mello had chosen him, Matt, as his friend. Neither of them knew when it had started, but it was undeniable. And Matt didn't take it lightly. Of all the people in Wammy's House, he was the only one who could make Mello forget his feud with Near. He was the only one who would listen to Mello rant and cuss and threaten without telling him to stop. He was the only one that would take all the punches and kicks and abuse without so much as slapping Mello back. No matter how many times Mello told Matt to leave, that he didn't need him, Matt wouldn't go. He didn't even consider it anymore. Didn't have to ask himself why he put up with such a painful relationship. It was embedded in his mind. He could never, ever forget. He would die with the thought on his mind and the sound in his ears.
Matt could make Mello laugh. And not the fake laugh, the sadistic laugh, the bitter laugh. No, Mello giggled. Blissfully, carelessly. Which made Matt laugh too, always. Like now.
As they ran, they laughed. It felt like it could go on forever and ever. It almost did.
Then Mello stopped running at a tiny park. Panting, Matt caught up with him. Mello smiled and put his arm around his friend. Surprised, Matt turned to look at him. Mello never showed emotion like that. Anger, yes. Hate, yes. But this was different. The fire in Mello's eyes was still there, Matt saw, but there was something else, too. Sadness. Deep, deep sadness. The kind no amount of laughter could cure. So it was true. Matt opened his mouth again, but Mello laid a finger on it.
"Let's swing, Matt," he said simply. And, to Matt, it was the most logical thing in the world.
As they soared through the sky on the creaky, rubber swings, the entire earth seemed to change around them. The happiness and excitement of the morning was gone. Matt kept glancing at Mello, hoping that what he had found out was wrong. If Mello's eyes, no his whole being, was the answer, then the answer was that Matt was right. Mello was leaving. Soon. He furiously moved his legs, pushing the swing higher and higher, his long, golden hair getting in his eyes.
Matt watched him for a while, wishing that he didn't know. That he hadn't hacked into Roger's database. Suddenly, Mello jumped off the swing. Landing seamlessly, he turned to face Matt.
"I'm.. I'm leaving," he said, his voice cracking.
Matt jumped off his swing, too. He landed on his face, and Mello helped him up.
"I know," he whispered, "but I can.."
"No, Matt, no, you can't," Mello turned away from him, "I.. you. I don't want you to."
Matt felt like his face had been cut open. No words formed, not even in his head.
"You'll make me weak. Make me human. Make me care. You," Mello snarled, "always do. And I can't afford it. So please, don't follow me." The words were monsters, but Mello's eyes betrayed him. They were glassy: begging Matt to stay, yes, but only so that he would be safe.
"Don't you dare fucking follow me, Mail Jeevas."
And Matt sat back on the swing, watching his best friend run away, a black smear, tearing across the horizon.