A/N: Well, I finally finished chapter 2! Firstly, I want to say thank you theminion2001, Demon Hiei's Girl, narni4eva, and SyberiaWinx for their reviews and Implied Slash and MelRose19 for adding my story to their favorites list, and finally Rim Greaper for adding this story to their alert list. I appreciate all your input and feedback. It was very encouraging. I dedicate this chapter to all of you and everyone who read the first part.
Secondly, I wanted to announce that this two parter is now a three parter. I got nearly halfway through this chapter and realized that it would be too long to be just one part. So, this is not the end! There might be a bit of a delay in finishing the next part. I've just started writing a piece of original fiction and I'm working hard on it along side this fanfiction. But I promise not to postpone it for too long.Finally, I want to tell you all thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter. Reviews really do keep me going, they're a great confidence boost. So please, read and review!
I really hope this chapter lives up to the first one. I was nervous when I wrote this part, because I wanted to make sure I lived up to the standards I set for myself in the first one. I think I've done a pretty good job, though I'd love to hear what you think!
Now, without further delay, part 2.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, I am not making money from this fic, and I do not claim any of these characters as my own. Please don't sue the poor college student.
Part II - Vices
A shiver rolled over the thin limbs sprawled haphazardly over the bed sheets as Matt blew cool air over the spot he had just been licking on Mello's neck.
"Let's go do something," the gamer murmured.
Half-lidded azure eyes kept watch on the ceiling. It had suddenly become so fascinating. Had he really lived here for an entire month and never noticed the large water stain that looked like a cat riding atop a turtle? Maybe he was just crazy.
Yeah, it was more likely that he was crazy.
The head of red hair lifted from his shoulder. "Hey, did you hear me?" Chocolate brown eyes stared down at him, just as hazy and serene as Mello's were.
The blond nodded wordlessly, reaching up and placing his hands on the back of Matt's head, urging him downwards. "In a minute," he muttered.
In a minute, I'll get out of bed. It was what Matt had said yesterday morning.
It suddenly seemed so far away.
But, in a way, it was. Yesterday they had been alive, had been breathing. Life was, indeed, quite far away from them now.
Honestly, it was a scary thought. He suddenly felt like a zombie, the walking dead. Or a ghost. Or...something unnatural. Something that made that disgusting scar look downright cute by comparison.
Matt's cigarettes went untouched for a full week and a half after Mello came back. For the first few days, when Mello's burns were so painful that he could barely even chew, Matt agreed to give them up while he healed, since the blond couldn't eat chocolate either. At least, that was how it started. When Mello was a little better, Matt began using his lighter to heat up chocolate bars, softening them up so Mello could devour them at his normal rate without any pain. He'd make hot chocolate, chocolate milk, whatever he could manage to put chocolate in. Anything chocolate from ice cream to soda, it would be in Mello's hands within an hour of requesting it.
The redhead should have still felt like a dog.
But really, to him, he was now the owner.
"What the fuck do you mean?" Mello snapped when he'd confided this to him. "You don't own me."
Matt laughed, handing over the chocolate pudding cup. "No, I just meant that...I dunno, I kind of feel like I'm taking care of a pet. You know, like in those movies that Disney makes, where the kitten gets orphaned in a storm and some girl saves him and nurses him back to health."
The look Mello gave him told him that the sentiment was not mutual.
They couldn't afford to get the mattress cleaned, so they threw it out. Mello slept on the couch and Matt slept on the floor, or whatever chair he happened to be curled up on. Matt would still watch him as he slept. That was the only thing that had never changed between them.
Matt was always last to bed, last to rise.
He would always be awake to watch the way that Mello's face, normally tense and rigid in discomfort, would suddenly relax as his mind drifted elsewhere, away from the searing pain in his skin and the heavy burden on his shoulders. The redhead vaguely wondered where it was that Mello's thoughts would wander as he sat in the dark apartment, when the only light in the room was the ghostly glow from his Gameboy, resting limply in his lap. He would wonder as he began to drift away himself, his eyes practically shut as his finger clumsily switched the portable game system off and a gentle breeze would come in through the open window, brushing away the worries and the anxiety from their chests and blanketing them in peaceful slumber.
Matt made a triumphant noise, head disappeared behind the bed as he fished in his jacket pocket. There were fading scars crisscrossing his back.
Mello couldn't help but smile at the noise.
It helped him forget the troubles that had already begun to creep back into his mind. Even in death, he couldn't escape it...
He couldn't escape the fact that he had given Near the win. He had given up the one thing he worked all of his years to achieve.
In one fell swoop, he had lost his hopes, his dreams, his aspirations, and his life.
He suddenly felt vulnerable, and not just because he was still naked under the bed sheets.
Matt finally reappeared, smiling broadly. Nothing could beat that smile here. The moment Mello laid eyes upon it, he forgot about Near, at least for now. The redhead was holding up a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. With a grateful moan, he lit one and took a long drag. "I was afraid they'd have disappeared or something," he exhaled, playfully tickling Mello's feet through the sheets. "Your God is pretty merciful, Mello."
The blond jerked his feet away, though not out of anger. It was impossible to be angry with that face right now, even if he was smoking. "Not my God, Matt," he corrected, plucking the cigarette from the nimble fingers. "The God."
Those eyes begged Mello not to toss the cigarette out the window, which was what normally happened when Matt decided to smoke in bed. "We don't know that for sure," Matt said, a hint of pleading to his voice. "I prefer to think that the God is Dievas."
Mello kept the cigarette out of the gamer's reach. "Dievas? You mean Lithuanian mythology?"
"Or Latvian, whatever you like. The Baltics are great," he snapped sarcastically. "Now can you give that back? Don't make me show you my bullet hole again." He gave a lopsided grin.
Mello glared before putting the cigarette to his lips and inhaling. "There, you can have it back now." He released a cloud of grey fog.
Matt stared at him incredulously, as if Mello had just eaten his own face. "What the hell? You never smoke."
Scarred shouders shrugged, turning away and looking out the window. It was still quite bright out. Maybe time was slower, but it seemed as if only a few minutes had passed since they came back home. It must have been a few hours at least. The blond grimaced, the feeling of smoke in his lungs turning unpleasant. He suddenly felt like he was being strangled. "Now I remember why," he said.
"Come on," the redhead laughed, standing up from the bed. "Let's get out of here." He held his hand out to the blond who was slowly trying to untangle himself from the sheets.
Matt managed to go without smoking for a full two weeks. Honestly, he'd strongly considered quitting all together, but he hadn't told Mello yet.
Then, out of the blue, the blond wanted to go to New York. He wasn't completely healed yet, but there was nothing Matt could say to change his mind. The wall had sprung back up again. Mello didn't smile anymore, he didn't hold any casual conversations with the redhead. He was all business, pain, and sadism again.
Two days after they got there, Mello left. He texted Matt to be there at the end of the week, that he'd come back then.
'Fuck that,' Matt thought.
It only took one day in the empty apartment for Matt's resolve to deteriorate. He smoked pack after pack, planted in front of the television with bad reception and screwed-up color, his mind off in a world where all that mattered was high scores and new levels.
Matt wasn't there at the end of the week. He went out to drink instead. He figured he'd give Mello a taste of his own medicine.
They were still children, no matter how grown up they acted. They treated each other with frigid immaturity.
When Mello started beating the shit out of him the next evening, Matt decided it was time the two of them grew up.
Even with his head in a fog of pain, it hadn't been too difficult to overpower Mello. Truthfully, it could have been sheer luck; Mello was not one known for underestimating people, especially not his "pets." A single miscalculation could get a man in Mello's position killed. He had acted submissive until the moment the blond let his guard down. At that moment, he seized the opportunity to pin Mello to the bedroom wall and steal the handcuffs away.
The threats that Mello began to scream were enough to make even the most heinous criminal's blood run cold.
Matt had heard them all before.
No one tried to stop them as he dragged Mello to the car, his hands cuffed behind his back, thrashing about like an epileptic. He supposed their appearance alone was enough to warn against getting in their way.
"Where the fuck are we going?"
Matt licked at his split lip in irritation. It had only stopped bleeding a little while ago. He gave a quiet sigh as Mello continued to grumble and kick in the back seat. He'd been doing it from the moment he got him in the car. His breath fogged in the air.
Damn heater was broken.
When the redhead remained silent, Mello kicked the back of his seat sharply. "I swear I'm going to fucking kill you when I get out of these things." The handcuffs rattled menacingly.
Matt winced as the kick knocked his head against the headrest. His headache came back, full force, pain spreading from the swelling lump on the side of his head where Mello had pistol whipped him.
Mello continued to kick and scream and bitch as Matt drove as far away from New York and the bright city lights as he could. The road was empty and dark. There was no one around for miles.
Perfect.
He pulled over, tires crunching in the thick snow.
The moment the engine went silent, Mello's protests suddenly stopped, frozen, hovering uncertainly in the air. His handgun was resting ominously in the passenger seat beside Matt.
The gamer didn't reach for the gun. Instead, he lit a cigarette and sighed heavily.
The quiet felt so rich, so thick and soft. It calmed the craving in Matt's belly that the nicotine couldn't appease.
He got out of the car, feeling the snow compressing beneath his boots. He opened Mello's door, looking down at the blond, his expression unreadable. "Get out," he said simply.
Mello kept himself far away, pressed against the opposite side of the car. He wouldn't look at Matt. "Piss off," he snapped.
Matt stared at him for awhile. He was tempted to drag Mello from the car and throw him down into the snow. He could see it playing through his mind, fingers pressing into Mello's forearms as he wrenched him out of the back seat, causing a line of flowering bruises. He could see the snow smeared with red from the cut on Mello's temple where his head had hit the apartment wall.
He resisted the urge, watching as Mello's sharp breaths created clouds before his face, quickly dissipating as they rose. There, gone, there, gone, there...
His cigarette fizzled as he plucked it from between his lips and tossed it into the snow. "Fine, stay in here, I don't give a fuck."
Matt grinned at the blond, eyes bright through orange goggles, standing behind the empty swing. "Well? Get on!"
Mello raised an eyebrow. How long had it been since he'd been on a swing set? Why the hell were they here at a playground anyway? "This is what you wanted to do? Play around at a park?"
With a pout, the gamer shook the swing impatiently. "Yeah, what of it? Now get on before I have to tie you down to it!"
Mello hesitantly approached and sat down slowly on the swing. He yelped in surprise and clung for dear life when Matt began pushing without warning.
He heard the redhead chuckle. "Been a while?"
"Only about 10 years."
He felt Matt's hands on his lower back before pushing off. Mello swung higher, delighting in the slight breeze as he ascended to the sky before falling back down to earth and into Matt's dependable hands.
He suddenly felt like he was only 7 years old again. The wind in his nose was crisp and light, the smell of England was rich and sweet. The grass was vibrant green instead of muddy brown. The snow was gone, the years were gone, he was a child again, back at the orphanage, where the days of responsibility, misery, and fear were worlds away.
He laughed gently, pumping slightly with his legs. Japan fell away from him, death and the afterlife fell away, slid away like water on glass, like cool water cascading down his back and face and hair.
He kept on swinging, higher and higher. The sun on his face came and went, the blinding light flashing in and out. His heart, his breaths, his body drifted into the rhythm of the creaking of the swing set. He wanted to jump, something inside of him was telling him to. But there was something else inside of him that held him back, something grown up and stuffy and scared.
"Just do it!" Matt yelled to him, smiling widely.
His feet hit the ground, causing the swing to come to a skidding halt.
Matt walked around in front of him. Mello kept his head down, staring at the dirt beneath his boots. "What's wrong? Too scared?" He wasn't mocking him. His tone was quite genuine.
Mello shook his head. Matt squatted down, ruffling the blond hair. "What is it?"
"I don't need to jump," he said quietly, thoughtfully. "I get enough of a rush with you."
There was an awkward moment of silence between them and Mello blushed violently, realizing how stupid his statement sounded. He was thankful that no one but Matt would ever hear it.
All of a sudden, Matt was hugging him, twining his fingers in the blond hair. "You haven't changed a bit."
Matt flopped down in the thick snow, arms and legs spread wide. He smiled bitterly for a moment, watching the stars winking down at him.
Then, he began to move his arms and legs back and forth, feeling the snow melting into his shirt and his pants. It was freezing.
He really didn't care.
He wanted to freeze all the impurities and let them crumble and melt away.
"What are you doing?" Mello barked from the car.
"I'm making snow angels."
Mello glowered. "You don't believe in angels."
"Fine, then," the gamer replied tersely. "Snow people."
Eventually, he could hear the telltale footfalls of Mello approaching him. "You're soaking wet," he stated, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.
Matt shrugged. "I don't care." He grabbed a handful of snow, feeling his fingers go numb as he packed it into a solid ball of ice. He put it to the lump on his head and gave a heavy sigh of relief, his eyes fluttering shut. A few moments passed. Neither of them moved.
Opening one eye, Matt looked up at his partner. He was staring out into the distance, a look of intense concentration on his face. He could see the cogs turning in Mello's mind, constantly moving, constantly overheating, constantly jamming and creating unimaginable frustration.
The gears needed to cool. They needed to rest.
He grabbed the blond by the ankle, his grip a little more desperate than he'd like to admit. "Come on, sit with me. I'll take the handcuffs off."
Mello opened his mouth, ready to make a remark that the snow would ruin his leather pants. Like he didn't have at least ten other pairs back at the apartment. These weren't even his favorite pair. So, face still set in a rigid glare, he sat down awkwardly next to the redhead. As he agreed, Matt fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs.
"You know, you're making it awfully easy for me to kick the shit out of you," the former mob boss remarked as Matt held the silver rings back to him, hanging on one gloved finger.
"I think the fact you should focus on is that I'm trusting you not to."
For the first time in months, their eyes really met. Both of them froze, brown and green equal in intensity and honesty. The wall had finally been lifted, torn apart in a fit of joy after years of cold isolation.
Mello made a choked noise and threw himself onto his back to avoid Matt's gaze. He lay beside the redhead, tense and rigid.
"Welcome back," Matt said quietly, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.
At first, there was nothing. The quiet of the evening hung over them.
Then, a soft sniffle.
A choke.
A whimper.
Sobs.
Matt reached an arm out and allowed Mello to roll heavily onto him, his face pressed into his shoulder, the slender body jumping and jerking with unrestrained crying. Mello's hands were gripping his arms and shoulders so tightly it hurt. He stroked the blond hair with one hand as the other arm curled around his waist.
The tears didn't bother Matt. He was happy to see them. The ice was slowly melting away, leaving trails down Mello's cheeks and neck.
"Fuck, Matt," he gasped. "I...I hated it." He didn't need to say anymore for his friend to understand.
The Mafia could do some serious shit to a teenager's psyche.
The first weekend he came to see Matt, he was sick to his stomach. He had yet to really see his first death. Sure, he had killed that rival boss, but that had been an act of self-defense. No, his first week, he'd gotten to hear his first death.
The screams he heard there...that was the sound of bloodlust, the sound of agony, the sound of Hell.
The noises haunted him. He wandered about their apartment that weekend, jumping at the smallest noises, twitching when Matt would touch him. He was angry, he was scared, he was crumbling. More than anything, he just wanted to crawl into a hole, close his eyes, and press the sounds out of his head with the force of a bullet.
He couldn't stand to look at Matt, so he just stayed away. He didn't want to look at Matt and see the blood cascading down slit throats, brain matter splattered against a stained concrete wall, the spasms and squirms of their suffocating bodies behind his eyes. He wouldn't be able to stand listening to Matt's voice, accompanied by their screams and gasps and chokes in his head. It would have been too much.
It would have sullied the only pure thing left in his God forsaken life.
And so, he forced himself to grow up. He left his boyhood behind, turned their deaths into his nourishment, turned their suffering into his life. He became the only thing he could, the only type of adult he'd ever known.
It was addicting.
Everywhere he went, he was starving for the violence, desperate for the sight of blood. It was his only source of sustenance.
So, he forced it from Matt, forced his screams, forced his struggle, forced their bond of friendship to the very brink of defilement.
It was all pouring out of his mouth now, as the snow soaked into his clothing and turned his toes and fingers numb, all being released to the empty winter air, touching on Matt's ears and mind before drifting away into the night. The blond had dissolved into incoherent sobs before he could finish.
Matt was crying too, hands fisting in the fur-lined coat, face pressed as close as it could get to the scarred cheek. Apologies fell from their lips in stumbling gasps.
The leather was rigid and uninviting against Matt, but beneath it, Mello's body was soft and warm and searching for emotional release.
"Why did you do it?" he asked. Matt was reaching down for his hands to peel away his leather gloves. He could tell the redhead was desperate to just feel Mello's hands on him for once, out in the open, away from their private, intimate hideaways.
"Don't ask me that," Matt said, his voice unusually cold. He set the gloves aside, on his knees now in front of the older man sitting atop the swing.
Mello bristled slightly. "Why not?" he said, an irritated tone edging his voice. He snatched his hands away from Matt, who was bringing them to his lips to kiss the delicate pads of his fingers.
The redhead gave a tired sigh and reached out, sliding his arms around Mello's waist.
Somehow, they ended up on the ground. There was some hugging, clinging, kissing, a few brief tears. Mostly, there was a lot of wrestling. It started out serious until Mello tickled Matt into submission. Now he was kneeling over the lanky gamer, pinning him to the ground with his own body.
"Come on, you bastard," Mello ordered, getting a little more than irritated now. Matt was still gasping for air, trying to regain his breath after the vicious tickling attack. "Tell me! Why the hell-" Mello cut off. He hadn't realized he was crying until Matt reached up and brushed away a stray tear from his jaw with his thumb. The hole through the center of his palm stared up at the blond like a violent accusation. He caught Matt's wrist roughly. "This!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger frantically at the hole. "Why the hell did you let this - I mean, what were you thinking when you -" He was beginning to get really pissed off that Matt was fucking smiling at him. He looked downright amused. "Was it fucking worth it?!"
Slowly, as if worried that Mello would grab his other wrist as well, Matt reached up and removed his goggles from his eyes, this time letting them hang around his neck. "Hey, can you tell me something?" he asked nonchalantly.
Mello snarled. "Answer my question," he said, voice tight and quiet.
Matt reached up and began to twist the blond hair around his finger. "What was the last thing you thought of? Before you died, I mean."
Mello blushed. What had he thought of? He'd thought of auburn locks, messy and oily from the sweating and ruffling of an active night. He'd thought of an ashtray on the nightstand, overflowing with cigarette butts. He'd thought of the rhythmic clicking of video game buttons, the sound of a brewing pot of coffee.
"Y...you..." the blond admitted quietly. He looked down and saw he was still clutching at Matt's wrist. "B-but that doesn't answer my question!"
"Yes, it does." Matt's expression was stern now. His smile had disappeared. "If you have to ask me, then you really don't deserve to be number one."
"You shut up," Mello warned icily. His body tensed, infuriated adrenaline beginning to course through him.
Matt let his arms fall back down, spreading them wide, looking away from the blue-green eyes that were glinting dangerously down at him. It was a sign of submission, a silent gesture of surrender. It was a remnant of their days in the orphanage. "Sure, it was worth it. I mean, I don't really mind it all. Nothing we can do about it now, right?"
"You don't mind?!" he yelled, shaking Matt by his shoulders. "You don't mind that I treated you like shit?! That I hit you and kicked you and fucking raped you just to keep myself going?! You don't mind that I asked you to fucking die for me?!" He stopped, gasping for air. His knuckles were white against those stripes. The sun was beginning to set, the orange glow turning the gamer's skin almost bronze. He still lay limply beneath Mello, arms out, leaving him vulnerable, open, defenseless.
"Not a single bit," Matt whispered.
They were still shivering violently when they stumbled through the front door. Golden hair was plastered to leathery scars and lips that were beginning to purple. Their jackets fell haphazardly to the floor, soaking wet and dripping. The goggles that had been keeping Matt's hair out of his face followed shortly after. Mello grabbed the redhead and pressed close to him, desperate for warmth, though a far greater desperation suddenly blossomed between them.
'War-torn lovers,' Matt thought as Mello fisted a shaking hand in his hair. The gamer pressed his face into Mello's bare shoulder, panting hotly against the skin under the guise of trying to keep him warm.
The war of Kira had torn them apart, the war of who would rise to be the new L, a war waged by the cruelty of the world, a cruelty that had urgently tried to keep them apart.
Even now, it was keeping them apart. They were still behaving as if they were searching for warmth in each other's arms. A deep fear that had been carved into them from childhood kept them from moving forward, a fear of rejection, abandonment, loss.
They should have showered, should have washed off the ice caught in their hair and the snow chilling them to the bone, but they didn't make it that far. They were pressed against the bedroom door when Matt finally kissed those chapped, frigid lips.
"S-stop," the blond stuttered, hands pushing half-heartedly against the broad shoulders. His lips were all too responsive though, betraying his words as Matt kept laying soft, short kisses on them, hands fumbling unsuccessfully with the door knob. "Matt, please...stop, Matt..."
Had his mind not been lost to the little sighs and mewls that Mello began making as he moved his kisses across his jaw and to his ear, Matt would have laughed. It was a rare occurrence to see the blond making such a weak attempt at protest.
Mello was a utilitarian at heart. Sure, he wore flashy clothes and practically lived for dramatic effect when it came to intimidation. But when it came to emotion, he was strictly practical. If it wasn't worth it, if it wasn't useful, then it didn't merit his time or attention. There was no such thing as weakness, no such thing as half-heartedness to Mello.
It was all or nothing for him.
Maybe that was why he suddenly shut up when Matt finally gave up with the door knob and pulled the blond away from the door, hands gripping the thin forearms, before leading him to the couch and pushing him back down onto it.
They were panting now as Matt crawled over Mello, who was still shaking and clinging to the redhead, but their breaths were so ragged and shuddering, it sounded like something grotesquely different.
When Matt leaned down to kiss him again though, the blond's hands pushing on Matt's chest were much firmer. "Matt...please," he whispered. "Can't we just..." He closed his eyes as if the words were too much for him. "Just...lie here? Please?"
And so they did, shivering and shaking, hands clinging, caressing, holding in ways that betrayed the strong front they put up each day. The hard-working space heater in the center of the room was enough to keep them from teetering over the brink and into hypothermia.
In the back of his mind, Matt reasoned that he wouldn't care if he died of the cold right here.
Mello abandoned him for a hot shower and a change of clothes an hour or so later. But Matt could tell by the way he kept rambling and trailing off and stalling before finally getting up and moving into the bedroom, that he was reluctant to leave Matt's arms, leave the safety of his company.
That was enough to keep Matt from needing another cigarette, at least for the night.
They left the park when the first streetlights began to flicker on in the dying sunlight. They didn't head back towards the apartment. Mello doubted they'd be heading back there at all. He told Matt that he wanted to go somewhere.
Normally, he wouldn't take Matt along with him, but he suddenly felt tired. He wanted someone there with him, if only to lean on for a moment. The blond felt a prickle of irritation at the placid expression on Matt's face. It never seemed to leave his features, always calm, always strong.
When had it turned into this? When had Matt become the pillar of support and Mello, the crumbling foundation?
No, Matt was just as weak. He was unmotivated. He had never had the same drive as Mello or Near. It earned him a few enemies at Wammy's, children who were quite jealous of his amazing achievements that he never seemed to work hard for, that he always seemed to pass off with a modesty that bordered on inconsiderate. It definitely earned him Mello's ire at every possible moment.
Vacant brown eyes stared down at empty palms where a Gameboy Advance had rested only seconds before. Slowly, as if caught in a lethargic daze, though the frantic tapping of game buttons moments before belied this assumption, his head turned and looked over at the electronic system in the corner. The screen flickered pitifully, like the last little movements of a dying animal. A spidery crack spread across the plastic covering from the impact it made on the bedroom wall.
"What are you going to do now? Huh?"
Again, just as slowly, he turned back to the boy who had just thrown his game against the wall towering over him. A sock covered foot tapped against the wooden floor impatiently. The tapping sped up as those eyes, that were still caught between hazel and brown in the indecisiveness of youth, moved up the foreboding figure in a methodical and meticulous pattern.
"Well? Are you mute or just stupid?" the figure barked again.
The boy crouching at his feet deduced that his antagonist didn't like being analyzed. He didn't blame him.
"I'm not stupid," the younger boy murmured. He began to move to his hands and knees to crawl over and retrieve his damaged game system.
"Yeah, well you're an annoying little pain!" The socked foot kicked him roughly in the shoulder. He watched unsympathetically as the boy fell to the floor on his side, making only the minimal expression of pain as his bony hip knocked sharply against the wood. "Do you think you're better than me? Do you? Think you're too good for us?"
He looked up briefly at the blond boy as he sat back on his heels, but refused to meet his gaze. He could see a few of the other children peering into the room. They were eager to see a fight. "If you're going to beat me up," he said, his voice cold and firm now. "Then just get it over with." He began staring daggers up at the boy. For the first time since he'd stormed in, the blond actually looked bewildered, but only for a split second. He caught the redhead's gaze staring at the doorway behind him. He turned to see what he was looking at.
"What do you want?! A show?!" He stomped over to the door and slammed it in the children's faces.
A wave of relief passed over the redhead's features until he heard the clicking of the lock. He scurried away into the corner with his Gameboy when he was sure the other child wasn't looking. It wasn't long before he felt a furious scowl burning into the back of his head. He kept staring at the corner, rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet. He was trying to stop his hands from shaking as he clutched his broken Gameboy. The room was closing in around him.
Arms crossed over his chest, the blond could find no sympathy for the cowering figure in the corner. Their latest computer project had been one of the hardest he'd ever had. Even Near failed to come out on top this time. He could still remember how overjoyed Roger had been with the top student of the activity.
It had been this pitiful newcomer.
'What a waste,' Mello had thought bitterly and he was sure he wasn't the only one. The arrogant little prick didn't even acknowledge Roger's praise. He just sat there, staring out into space. The only indication that he gave that he had even heard Roger was a quick nod before gluing his eyes to that goddamn Gameboy again.
Hell, even Near had said 'thank you' after his ranking exams. At least Near had the decency to look other people in the eye, instead of avoiding everyone. At least he recognized other people's existence.
"So, what's your problem?" the blond snapped, taking furious strides towards the boy. "You're never outside, you never talk to people." He nudged the boy in the center of his back forcefully with his heel. "What, you think you're going to get out of here anytime soon? Well, I've got news for you. You're never leaving. Want to know why?" He leaned down with a malicious smirk. "It's because no one wants you," he hissed in the boys ear.
The next thing Mello knew, he was on his back with the redhead standing over him, hands balled into fists, eyes filled with tears and blazing with rage. Mello hadn't even comprehended that the other boy had hit him across the face with his forearm until he was being yelled at, the pain slowly rising in his jaw. "Good!" he shouted, taking a threatening step forward. Mello even jerked away until he realized that if the redhead lashed out again, the blond could easily overpower him. "I don't care if no one wants me! I don't ever want to leave here! I'd rather rot here than go back to my parents!" Mello caught the thin wrist as it reached down to grab his shirt collar. This didn't faze the smaller boy; he kept shouting, his voice cracking and ragged. "You're just like them! So, go ahead, hit me! Do what you want! I'll hide! And you'll never be able to find me! You'll never be able to hit me again! My parents will die in prison and they'll never, EVER, EVER FIND ME!" He wrenched his wrist out of Mello's vice-like grip and yanked his shirt over his head. The blond froze at the large welts, scars, and bruises covering the young boy's body. Some of them were still red and raw; one of the longer ones near his neck had some dried blood crusted over it. "Go ahead! Try and make your mark! Because I'll never be able to tell which one is yours! You're just another scar! Yours are no different from theirs!" He stopped, shaking in fury. He threw his arms out, planting his feet wide apart. "Well?!" He snarled when the blond backed away from him, pale as a sheet. "What is it?!"
Mello couldn't stand it anymore. He looked away, down at his hands, tight and shaking against the floor. "M-my parents didn't want me either, you know..." The moment the words left his mouth he realized how stupid and selfish it sounded.
But he didn't have time to apologize, because the next moment, the redhead had fallen to his knees, bawling his eyes out. After a few moments, it became clear to Mello that he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. He reached over and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered.
He felt the heat rise in his face when the younger boy suddenly threw his arms around him, burying his face in his oversized shirt. Slowly, clumsily, he tried to hug him back, his elbows sticking out in an attempt to avoid pressing on any of the bruises or cuts. It took him a few moments to realize that the redhead was pleading with Mello not to hit him.
"I'm not going to hit you," he insisted as gently as he could for a seven-year-old. "Calm the hell down." The pleading stopped, the sobs disintegrated into sporadic sniffles. "What's your name, anyway?"
The hands clutching the front of Mello's shirt seemed so small, as if they would disappear and get lost in the folds of the black fabric. "My name?"
Mello nodded as the brown eyes looked inquisitively up at him, through ruffled strands of red hair. "Yeah, the name they gave you."
"Matt," he replied. Mello could tell that the name felt foreign on the boy's tongue. He would get used to it, as all the children did. "What about you?"
Mello grinned dangerously, secretly delighting in the slight apprehension he saw in Matt's eyes. "Name's Mello, and I'm going to be number one. I'm the next L."
The sun had finally set. The night was rapidly growing darker. Mello wondered which one of Matt's pockets his gloves were stashed in as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk. One of the redhead's fingers gently tapped against his knuckle. "Hey, where are we headed?"
Mello looked over out of the corner of his eye. Matt wasn't looking at him, he was staring up with vacant eyes, watching as a plane roared over their heads; it sounded like an odd kind of whisper. "You can go back if you want," he muttered. "I doubt you'll want to go." His grip loosened a bit, secretly hoping Matt's hand wouldn't follow suit.
It didn't. It squeezed the limp hand encouragingly. "We're in this together."
He should have thrown his hand away, he should have told him to go home and not to follow, but Mello kept his mouth shut. He winced internally; the guilt in his stomach manifested into physical sensation, like someone jabbing him in the side with a pin.
They were each other's support, they were each other's vices, more than chocolate and cigarettes. Mello knew they would probably be dead without one another.
No, they were dead, because of each other. Because of him.
His drive to get to the top was so intense, it was morbidly unhealthy. He was lucky that he had Matt to find him passed out on his bedroom floor back at Wammy's, starved and dehydrated from weeks of nonstop studying for the end of the year ranking exams. He would have died if no one had come up to check on him, which no one ever did. Matt was the only person who ever stepped foot in Mello's room for the simple purpose of friendly conversation.
Matt...well, Matt just didn't give a fuck. Mello saw the long, precise scars on his arms when they met up again in LA. He'd finally gotten Matt to come clean, gotten him to finally admit that when Mello had left, he took it a lot harder than he let on. He had to admit though, he was secretly swelling with pride when he got Matt to throw out all his razors and scissors. He checked the man's arms every week until the day he finally left to join the Mafia. Every week they were clean, no new scars, no blood, no fresh wounds. It was sad though. Matt's body was already so ruined, his arms had been the one thing left unblemished. Now, they were no different from the rest of him, his entire body was a canvas of pain and suffering.
Smoking was another story, but he'd been smoking long before Mello left Wammy's. The blond deemed it out of his right and resigned himself to nagging the gamer whenever he could. He sometimes wondered why Matt stayed by his side for all those years.
Mello squeezed the hand in his tighter, fleetingly frightened that the younger man might suddenly disappear. The thought made his heart race, made him break out in a brief cold sweat, made him anxious and nervous.
Classic signs of withdrawal.
They needed each other to survive.
Mello doubted they could have any greater vice than that.
Matt remained silent as they walked further and further away from the center of the city. The buildings were spaced farther apart, the roads deviated from their typical grid pattern. He never once asked again where they were going, never inquired about what they were going there for. The next time he spoke, they had come to a halt in front of Matt's biggest torment, the one thing that had caused him and his lover a great deal of agony, anguish, and angst through their short lives.
"Fuck, Mello," he grumbled sharply, shoving his free hand into his pocket, striking his classic sulking pose. "You had to bring me to a fucking church."