This is my first Fanfic, and this isn't my usual writing style (I typically do third person without the whole reminiscing letter thing), so bear with me. Please. I just thought of this while listening to Broken by Seether with Amy Lee, and decided what the hell? I'll do something unheard of—I'll try a different writing style! *gasp* Scandalous, I know.
Well, enough blabbing. Here you are!
Matt, do you remember how we met? I was nine, and you eight. Roger dropped you in my room without warning which really sort of pissed me of (not your fault, of course). I'm sure I gave you hell that first week, adding to the collection of scars and bruises you had arrived with. You didn't mind, though, and I couldn't fathom why. All my other roommates had moved out within an hour of knowing me, and to be honest, it hurt every single time. Of course, after the third one left, I was used to it and had condemned myself to being alone and friendless forever. On the outside I was tough. I had an armor of steel equipped with violence, hostility, and the face of a determined warrior. On the inside, I was broken. Beaten down, useless, functioning like a robot. I went through every day as a chore, just waiting for something. Waiting for you.
You quickly got over my outbreaks, took the beatings, even going so far as telling me you were going to be my best friend, and I had no choice about that matter. I scoffed at your blind declaration, but there was that one part of me that you touched. Could it be true? Could this redheaded, be-goggled, awkward little kid truly be my friend?
The answer is absolutely.
By the end of the month, we were joined at the hip. One was never seen without the other, and I was finally content—happy even. And then the unthinkable happened for the second time in my life. L died, and it sent me reeling. You remember that day, don't you? I don't know how you couldn't; it probably wrecked you just as much as me. I burst through our door, slamming it against the wall so hard that the plaster cracked under the force of the protruding doorknob. You were planted at your desk playing one of your computer games and jumped at the sudden, disastrous noise. You gave me a worried look and asked what was going on; you probably figured Near had done something again. I didn't answer and instead began throwing belongings into my black duffel. Now you knew something was up. I wouldn't talk. I couldn't talk. Not around the giant lump that had formed in my throat. You continued pestering me to the point that I couldn't take it. Before I knew what I was doing my fist had connected with your jaw and sent you reeling back. God, Matt, the look you gave me broke me. I couldn't stay, and so I left without an apology or a goodbye.
It's been three years since then. I went out to begin my work on the Kira case. In the beginning I was lost, hungry, and terrified. You have no idea how much I wanted to turn back before I had even walked out of those stupid, overly ornate gates that divided Wammy's from the world. But I couldn't, Lord knows why. I've found a place with the mafia now. I can't tell you where we are, and it doesn't matter anyway. I'm sure we'll never meet again despite my wishing otherwise. I pray against fate anyway. Every day I pray I'll see those stripes and that flaming red hair; and I'll have my best friend back; and we can go back to being those two stupid little kids at Wammy's; and over all, I pray you will make me whole again.
I need you, Matt, because without you, I'm broken.
Well, what do you think? I'm pretty proud of it actually. I finished it on my first go and under an hour when normally something like this could go on for days. I know it's short, but it's sort of like a tester. If I get any reviews I'll be encouraged to write more and maybe add a few multi-chaptered fics that have been loitering in the recesses of my mind. R&R and maybe you'll get a special chocolate bar!