Thanks for the faves and follows! Here's chapter 3, enjoy ^-^. R&R! xo
Chapter 3: Field Day
Matt's face lights up when Mello unexpectedly pulls a bottle of clear liquor from under his bed. Well, he hadn't been expecting that from someone like him. Maybe he hadn't judged him entirely correctly.
Matt doesn't know what type it is, but he's curious nonetheless. He grins. "Awesome," he says. "You totally just levelled up."
Mello chuckles and pours them both a little. The vodka is expensive and he only had the one bottle. Besides it's strong enough that not much is needed. Mello liked a buzz on some evenings but had never gotten drunk. The school is too important to him to risk it with something stupid.
Holding his own glass Mello carries the other over to Matt. "Cheers," he says and makes a toasting motion before taking a sip.
Matt takes the glass and imitates Mello's gesture. "Cheers," he repeats, taking a strange delight in the occasion.
He brings the glass to his mouth and takes a healthy sip. The liquor burns and he swallows quickly before coughing at the unexpected flavour and sensation. "Oh, wow," is all he manages as he coughs some more, tears springing forth from the burn. He removes his goggles and swipes at his face before putting them back on.
"That's...good," he says. Powerful. He's glad Mello only poured a little.
Smirking, Mello watches all this in some amusement before returning to his side of the room and sitting down at his desk. He chuckles when Matt says good. "Was that your first word choice?" he questions. He takes one more small sip and sets the glass down to get his things out. A little more homework then he'll relax on his bed with a book.
Mello thinks of something else he'd been wanting to ask. "What's with the goggles anyway? Odd fashion statement. Or are they some sort of glasses you need?" Opening his notebook he continues where he'd left off at dinner.
Matt pauses, then grins. "My first word choice was JFC, actually." He takes a second smaller sip, prepared this time, and only grimaces a little. "It's different."
He shakes his head at the glasses comment. "You know, if someone really wanted to, they could hack into your webcam and find out who you are without it even being turned on," he says. "Doing what I do, I guess it started to hide my face, but now I just think they're kinda cool." He grins. "It kind of works with this whole secret identity thing, don't you think? Though my name sucks." He shrugs. "But I guess yours isn't so great either."
Mello's pen stops moving for a second then he snorts and shrugs. "I don't really care. I'm here to be the next L. After that my name won't matter. Or even if I'm not 'L' exactly it'll be shortened to 'M' probably. Besides I don't know why you're complaining. I would think Matt is an improvement over 'Mail'."
Mello says his real name a little carefully. It's the first time he's been able to find the real name of another student. He realizes something that gives him real pause at that point. Undoubtedly people would trace things back to Matt. It hadn't taken Mello any time at all or much skill to uncover that information. If Matt went back into the technological underworld and Mello became L...would they face off one day? That's an odd thought to him somehow.
Matt freezes, completely shocked. He sets the drink down. "How did you find out?" He asks, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He never used his real name anywhere online, and it hadn't been published in the papers when he was arrested. Did Mello have access to police records or something?
Matt stares at the other boy, trying to regain control of the situation. "And it's pronounced "Mile," not "Male."" He tries to keep himself casual, but he's suddenly very nervous.
"It was on the website I read," Mello replies with a shrug. "I think it was one of those journalists that just refuses to be silenced. He did the research into police records to find your name when the crime was committed. Then when he noticed it was being hushed up, he wrote the article and put some decent protection on the website. On such a large scale thing as that it's bound to happen. Too many people know for it to be hushed up."
He takes another sip of the vodka. "Sorry. Didn't mean to freak you out. And I took down the website after I read it," he adds.
The thought of some rookie journalist going through his criminal record made Matt shudder. He didn't want his real name on the net; it wouldn't be hard for his hacker friends online to trace it back to d1g1t. He'd have to make sure to never admit to the crime under his handle now. So much for bragging rights.
But this was an unexpected kindness from Mello. "Thanks," he says, and he means it. He'd definitely misjudged this kid. Who knows, maybe they'd even be real-life friends one day. He hadn't had those in a long time.
"Hey so what's YOUR real name?" Matt asks with a mischievous tone. "Let's make it even." He could always hack the school files later but that would take work, and he was beginning to develop a strange floating sensation.
Mello notices the slight flush in Matt's face and raises an eyebrow. "I might tell you one day," he says with a slight smirk. "But it certainly won't be the day we met." He closes his notebook with a snap, finishes the little bit of the vodka that's left in his glass and flops down on his bed with his book.
After a moment he eyes the glass Matt still has. "Not sure if you should drink much more. You don't look like you're..." He falls silent, realizing that if he suggests Matt can't handle it well it'll probably just make things worse. So he trails off and opens his book instead.
Matt sighs loudly and tilts his head back to the ceiling. "You're such a pain," he complains, not really minding at all. He didn't think the other would tell him anyways.
He glares at Mello's implication. He downs the remaining vodka in one gulp before sliding the glass across the floor back to Mello. "Thanks for the drink," he says in a challenging tone.
Of course he had made it worse. Keep your mouth closed, Mello, he rebukes himself. Mello picks up the glass, opens the window and rinses both glasses using a water bottle before stowing them and the vodka back under his bed.
Matt supposes he ought to play the good student for a little and do at least some of the assigned homework. He flops down on his stomach and puts his headphones on, blaring music as he cracks open the algebra on his bed. Even in this tipsy state it's not much challenge. He doesn't go for that 'showing your work' shit, so he just scribbles down the answer to each, trying to finish as quickly as possible.
He takes a look at the forensics and, growing bored, scribbles down a half-assed answer before pushing the materials off his bed to the floor, letting them clatter. He rolls to his back and goes back to Mortal Kombat.
Mello looks over at the homework Matt had let fall. Whatever. If he gets behind it's not his problem. He's certainly not going to lecture him. He lies back down and reads for an hour. Outside there's some raised voices. Some of the boys are by the fire pit in the garden. Despite the ban on speaking of it, alcohol is pretty common among the students, especially the older ones.
Mello ignores the noise, glancing at the time. Almost. He's pushing things with this meeting, with curfew and all. At ten o'clock, half an hour before lights out, he gets to his feet and puts on his shoes. He walks over and waves a hand between Matt and his screen to get his attention for sure. "I'm going out. When the bell rings turn off the lights or you'll get in trouble." And if a prefect comes in to rebuke Matt they'll notice Mello isn't in the room.
Matt's wrapped up in the game when he notices a sudden hand in his face. He doesn't hear what Mello tells him with the music but doesn't much care; he's not hungry or anything. He shrugs in reply and waits for Mello to leave before he does anything.
He waits a full minute then pauses his game, drawing his two laptops to him. He has to work fast; good thing he'd plotted all out earlier. He sets to cracking the school's security system, typing with lightning speed and with the skill of a professional hacker decades beyond his time. It takes him a bit, but he succeeds. Once he's in, he blocks the two laptops off the school's signal so their activities can't be traced. He leaves the desktop for now; it might look suspicious if they couldn't connect any computers to him. And he's not sure how much time he has, so he pulls out without leaving a trace, putting the two laptops away and going back to his game before his roommate returns.
The meeting is quick, thankfully. The college student from the town doesn't make a fuss over Mello asking another student to be watched. It costs him more but he's willing to pay. To keep it from being traced the students only got a cash allowance so he had to pay in person, but the young man had demanded payment in advance. "We're not doing this again," Mello tells him irritably. They're in the garden, hidden in an alcove. "We'll meet in town like we used to."
When that's wrapped up and the man slips away he considers his options. He could wait and try the challenge of sneaking in after lights out...but he decides against it. It had been a long day and the martial arts classes are the next day.
He goes back to the room and without a word to Matt, flops down and goes back to his book. Five minutes later the bell rings and he gets up and turns off the lights.
Matt sees Mello return about two minutes after he put away the laptops; good thing he hadn't pushed it. A short while later, Mello turns out the lights, but he's used to the dark, and it's certainly never stopped him.
His headphones are still on, so there's no sound as he plays. He yawns; he's dead-tired from jetlag and all the turmoil, but he's not ready to sleep yet. He's found a really good opponent, and he was having a good time.
The bell rings at 8 am the next morning. Breakfast is at 8:15 and the first class at 9:00. Three classes that day: track, swimming, and martial arts.
Mello rises with the bell though he doesn't look happy about it. He disappears into their shared bathroom for a few minutes then comes out, dressed but looking a little more awake. He sits down and puts his laptop in the bag to take to breakfast. He doesn't look at Matt. He's not a morning person.
Matt hadn't gone to bed until well into the night, and even when he did, he had slept fitfully, his body not used to the time difference. But he's fast asleep when the bell rings, and doesn't wake up. Even Mello's walking about doesn't stir him. Matt always slept with the blankets completely over his head, so even the light didn't affect him. One bare foot sticks out from underneath the sheets.
Mello notices but at 8:15 goes out to eat. Some students chose to skip breakfast or just come in and grab something at the last minute. Breakfast is even more informal than the other meals. The food is set on the table and students take as much as they want. Fruit, toast or muffins, and some sort of meat. Today it's sausage. After he eats Mello makes a sandwich out of a piece of toast and some sausage and goes back to the room. It's 8:45 now.
He jerks the blankets off Matt. "Wake up. Class in fifteen minutes." He opens the curtains over Matt's window and walks off, leaving the food on his bedside table. "Feel like a fucking mom," he grumbles.
Matt startles when Mello comes in and wakes him so promptly. It takes him a minute to gather his surroundings, blinking at the harshness of the light, before he remembers where he is. He groans and covers his face with his arm, reaching for his goggles. "But it's so early," he complains, putting the goggles over his eyes and making the morning light more manageable.
After a few more minutes of lying there grumpily, he rolls himself off the bed and trudges to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and throws on some clothes, already rumpled from their new home on the floor of his closet. His hair is sticking in every direction, so he puts on a loose-fitting fabric hat, not caring enough to try and fix it.
He's not really hungry, but tries to eat anyways. What he could really go for is coffee and a cigarette - oh my God, a cigarette - but neither seemed to be on hand. "It's too early," he complains again, wondering if he could try and skip out on the first class.
"If you had come to breakfast you could've had coffee," Mello replies. He's changed into looser clothes for the PE class. "Just be glad I brought you back some breakfast. Last semester a new student collapsed during track who'd skipped it."
He takes off the cross he always wears and puts it on his desk. He doesn't like it bouncing against his chest during track and the chlorine in the pool isn't good for it. Which reminds him. He grabs his swim trunks out of the closet and stuffs them in his bag.
Great, so Matt had missed the opportunity for coffee and - wait, what?! "Track?! You're not serious," he says incredulously. He thought this was a smart kid school, not some jockstrap academy.
Matt reaches for the bag of Cheetos from last night and grabs a handful, munching on them. He watches Mello get ready - swim trunks too? He blinks in disbelief, a new fear creeping into him. "Why are you bringing swim shorts to track?" He asks, suddenly rigid.
"PE today," Mello tells him. "Track, swimming and martial arts." He sits down on his bed and puts on some socks and tennis shoes. "Or tennis," he adds. "We're expected to stay in shape and learn self defense."
He notices how tense Matt is. "What's wrong? It's no big deal. We're not expected to be athletes."
The entire day?! Matt suppresses a groan and throws himself backwards on the bed. "Ugh, this is the worst," he declares, drawing the blanket back over himself. "I'm not going," he declares. "I don't do that jock stuff."
Matt frowns at the other boy, not wanting to admit his real fear. "All that stuff is stupid," he says dismissively, pulling out his console and retreating under the covers.
"What happened to that threat you made yesterday? Going 'Konami' on my ass?" Mello retorts. "It's not jock stuff; it's real-world, since we're being taught to be detectives. Some detective any of us would make if a suspect can knock us on our asses." He shrugs, picks up his bag and goes to the door. "Whatever. A teacher will come drag you to class just like yesterday."
"That's different," Matt explains. "Konami Code makes you near invincible but I haven't figured out how to activate it IRL yet. But when I do, watch out." He tunes the rest of what Mello says out. "Konami Code is wicked. Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, select, start. Why don't they teach that?" He has no intention of going anywhere.
Ten minutes into track Matt shows up once again being dragged by a teacher. He doesn't argue this time, he just looks incredibly pissed. He pockets his console for now.
By then Mello is a quarter of the way down the track so he doesn't see Matt get there. Looking amused, the teacher nods to the track. "Get jogging," he tells Matt. "If you get winded you can slow to a walk. There's water at the far end. You're not allowed to stop for more than ten minutes though." He crosses his arms and waits, watching the boys that are already out jogging.
He frowns at the teacher's positive attitude, then does what he's told - but just barely. He swears under his breath in the teacher's direction, jogging at an extremely slow speed. While he jogs - if it can be called that - he thinks of creative things to do to the teachers here who surely had it out for him. Maybe pull a Reptile: pour acid down their throats then rip out their hearts. The thought makes him laugh out loud. He thinks of all the better ways he could be spending his time - and trips. He releases a slew of profanities as he regains his balance, his fists bunched up in his pockets in frustration.
A knot of boys pass him, casting curious looks over the words he's muttering. They accept it though. Most new students find the PE day takes some getting used to. Mello is taking a break on the far end. He glances over as Matt comes up but doesn't say anything.
Matt notices the others passing him, but he honestly doesn't care. He's just going through the motions until he has permission to stop. That doesn't halt his grumbling though, and when the instructor isn't looking, he flips him off.
He notices Mello and uses this as an excuse to stop jogging when he gets to where he is. Even from his slow pace he feels out of breath, though he tries to hide it; he was not an athlete, never had been, never would be. "The worst," is all he says to the other boy.
Mello smirks. "You'll get used to it." He takes out a piece of chocolate and stuffs the wrapper in the cup he's holding before throwing both away. "We can walk," he tells Matt. "At least a little ways. Though the coach will yell if you get out your game, I'm sure." Putting his hands in his pockets he starts walking down the track.
"Like hell I will," Matt huffs, crossing his arms. "The coach is a total dickwad." He joins Mello, walking and grumbling beside him, kicking stones as they pass them.
"What's so great about being outside anyways?" He complains. "It's just a bunch of rocks and birds, and it's too bright. You can't even see your screens properly with the glare."
Mello ignores all the grumbling, his mind wandering to the forensic problem he'd stopped on the night before. A puzzling case there. While he walks he goes through the details, analyzing it and trying to think of different angles that might be possible.
When the coach shouts at them he speeds up into a jog for a while. At the end of an hour they're allowed a thirty minute break before they have to be at the pool. Mello finds a bench in the shade of a tree and sits down, getting out his notebook and writing down a few theories in answer to the question.
Matt continues kicking stones and pouting for the remaining of the time. When the coach yells at them he makes an ugly face and picks up his pace, though only minimally, allowing Mello to pass him by rather quickly.
When they're finally allowed a break he's exhausted. He collapses under the tree near Mello's bench, lying on the ground and shielding his eyes from the sun. "I think they're trying to kill me," he declares sorrowfully.
He lies there for a few minutes, when he remembers there's other activities for the day too, and that this isn't the end. This is so not fair, he thinks bitterly to himself. He glances over at Mello from his position on the ground. "So what's next?"
Mello snorts and doesn't dignify this claim with a reply, finishing up the problem and putting his notebook away again. "Next is swimming, to cool down," he tells Matt. "Then lunch, then martial arts and we're done for the day." He taps his knee thoughtfully, looking over the gardens.
Matt freezes again at the mention of the dreaded sport: swimming. Well, at least he knew what was coming next, though it was with a dread that hit the pit of his stomach.
"Hm. I'm not feeling so well, maybe I'll skip swimming and come back for martial arts," he suggests, wondering what a guy had to do to pull off an illness around here. Maybe he could make himself puke.
Mello glances at Matt and away again. "You could choose tennis over track or swimming, if you want," he tells him. He makes a face. "Swimming is so much cooler than tennis though. We're not allowed to shower until after martial arts so the pool is a nice break between track and fighting."
Matt perks up at this new option. "Really?... Just a sec." And he darts over to the teacher, faster than he'd moved the entire lesson. After a few moments of talking to him and some uncomfortable explaining, Matt returns, feeling considerably lighter.
He plunks down in the grass again, smiling victoriously. "Looks like I'll be doing tennis instead of swimming. Too bad." He doesn't sound disappointed at all, though.
The blonde shrugs. "Whatever you'd prefer." He glances down and decides the grass looks more comfortable than the bench so he moves down beside Matt. "Sit downwind of me at lunch though. I'll smell of chlorine but it's better than sweat." He lies back and stares at the sky, glad for a chance to relax.
Matt smirks at the blonde, feeling thoroughly self-satisfied, and whips out his game. In the shade of the tree, the glare isn't so bad. "I'll smell like victory, and you like a drowned rat," he says. Physical education sucked, but at least he wasn't going to drown today. Like he'd ever openly admit to Mello that he couldn't swim. It was hard enough on his pride just admitting it to the instructor.
Mello snorts and rolls his eyes. "Like I said. Whatever." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. But his mind is still going and he soon opens his eyes again and gets out his notebook, too restless to just lie there.
He finishes his forensics homework then gets up. "The bell's going to ring in a few minutes. I need to go change into my swim trunks. The tennis courts are on the far side of the pool." He picks up his bag and walks off down the path.
Matt isn't in any particular rush to get to tennis; he'd rather stay under the tree, destroying this particularly tough boss. So he waves Mello off and stays exactly where he is. He hears the bell, then notices the others walking by. None of them seem to be smoking; damn.
A few minutes later, he supposes he ought to make an appearance; if he doesn't show up they might force him to take swim class, and then he'd really be screwed. So he shows up for tennis just a few minutes late.
It's already mid-semester, so all of the other students have more experience than Matt. He doesn't even know the rules of the game besides 'hit the ball'; it has to be explained. And even when he does know the rules, he's pitifully bad. It's not his fault he's hardly done a day of physical activity in his life. His world was behind screens, not in the sweaty, bright, uncomfortable outdoors.
He's worried if he's really bad they'll kick him out though, so he does actually put in some effort. That doesn't prevent him from missing the ball half the time when he's serving it himself, though, let alone hitting it when it comes back to him. By the end of the class he's sweaty, red-faced and utterly embarrassed, sure that none of the other students will want to play tennis with him again.
The teachers, being the conferring creatures that they are, had watched Matt during this and after the class the swim coach approaches him. "You know," he comments, meeting Matt's goggles, "if you want private swimming lessons we can arrange that. There's an indoor pool that's closed right now. I could send you in there with one of the life guards during this period."
He pauses and tilts his head. "It's only once a week," he adds. "And none of the other students would be told."
Matt's surprised that the swim coach would go out of his way to speak with him; he flushes at the suggestion. Just the thought of being near a pool terrified him; but at the same time, tennis was bad today. Really bad.
He rubs the back of his head, unsure of what to do. "Ah...Er..." The privacy might be nice, but how humiliating would it be if he had to be rescued by a teacher or life guard? He stares at the ground, fidgeting. It was either this or tennis. He had to make a decision.
"Uh...Okay...I guess," he trails off, almost immediately regretting his words, but not knowing how to take them back. "Thanks," he blurts out before taking off, away from the situation, back towards the main building.
Mello is already in the dining hall when Matt arrives. He's sitting at a different table than the day before; one right by the window, his chair closest to the open air. True to his word, he's sitting upwind from everyone else. He hates lunch time on Tuesdays. Winters are even worse. The lunch is burgers and fries today. Not as healthy as what they're usually served but the cooks are willing to let it slide on a day when they're getting so much exercise.
He glances up from his laptop when Matt sits down. "Do you smell like victory?" He asks, moving a towel away from his hair. It's almost dry now.
Matt is totally run ragged from the morning, and he's still a bit sweaty by the time he gets to the lunch room. He's not used to this feeling; achy, wet and overall gross. This is the most physical activity he's done in a long time. He does perk up minutely, however, over their lunch. Burgers; score. Too bad they won't let him take two.
He gets an ugly look on his face from Mello's comment. "I smell and feel like something that crawled out of a gutter and died," he says grumpily. "I can't take much more of this." He takes a big bite of the burger; he's famished. He smells the air. "You smell like you fell into a tub of bleach," he comments with his mouth full.
"You look like something that crawled out of a gutter and died," Mello agrees with a slight smirk. "And close enough. They have to keep the pool heavily chlorinated with so many people going in it all the time."
Mello's playing a card game on his laptop and he falls silent, focusing on it since it's his turn. He scribbles in his notebook for a few seconds, biting his lip, making his move and hitting send.
Matt snorts at the slight; he probably did, after all. He continues shovelling down his lunch with fervour and takes out his console. He's looking at Mello, though. He looks thoroughly absorbed in something, and he doesn't think it's school work.
His curiosity is peaked, so he shoves the remaining hamburger in his mouth and crawls up on the lunch table, crouching across and leaning over Mello's screen with his head upside-down. "Whatcha doin'?"
If Matt had done this during any meal on any other day it would've caused a problem. But with it being PE day and pretty nice outside a good portion of the students have taken their lunches and gone to eat elsewhere. There's a few boys on the other side of the table but they simply glance at Matt and return their attention to their own laptops.
"Blackjack," Mello replies distractedly. He's counting what cards have been played and what's left in the deck. He watches as it goes around the other plays and counts their numbers. Then it's back to him. Fifteen. "Not close enough," he mutters. All the other players are closer. But if he gets higher than a six card... He calculates the chances of that quickly. He has more money than he should riding on this game and it's making him a little tense.
Matt is oblivious to the do's and dont's of Wammy's, nor would he care much even if he did know. He remains in the same position, watching the game for a moment. Blackjack wasn't an overly complicated card game, if you knew the odds. He hadn't been watching prior, but that still doesn't stop him from putting his two cents in.
"Hit," he says, before crawling back to his side of the table, resuming his game. He sticks his pen in his mouth and chews it furiously; it would have to do for now. He hits the controls of his console with increasing force.
Mello glances at him, his mind still going quickly through the odds. He takes a deep breath and gets out a piece of chocolate to de-stress a bit.
Then he takes Matt's advice. A six card appears on the screen and all the tension drains out of his body. The dealer takes his turn as do the other players but Mello doesn't pay attention beyond the dealer. He turns to his food; swimming always made him ravenous. When it comes around he puts the cards down and cashes in. He gets off the site, feeling satisfied with time well spent and finishes eating his food while reading his book.
The end of lunch bell rings a short while later and Mello puts everything away, getting to his feet. He glances at Matt. "C'mon. You get to go take your frustrations out on something other than the buttons now."
Matt's not surprised when he notices Mello relax; must have taken his advice. He continues chewing on the pen and working the buttons until the end of the period, and by then he's nearly chewed through the pen. It's a wonder the ink cartridge hasn't exploded in his mouth.
He rises from the lunch table with some stiffness, his legs aching. He keeps his focus on the game as he follows Mello to the final frontier. He was grumpy from physical exertion, grumpy from withdrawal, grumpy from tiredness and grumpy from the fact that he hadn't even touched his computers yet today. "Once this is over with I'm done," he says determinedly. Like hell anyone would make him do more beyond that. He'll lock himself inside their room if necessary, not coming out until he was well and ready to.
Mello says nothing to this since it's true enough. Last class of the day and then they'll be done, until next week anyway. Once in the gym they split off into groups. Matt is placed with the new students but after putting the others to work, sparring with each other or practicing things they needed to improve on, the teacher instructs Matt personally, showing him basic kicks and punches and then small tricks to incapacitate an attacker.
Mello spends the class sparring with others so by the time the bell rings again, he's truly ready for a shower. He wipes his forehead and heads for the door with the other students. He's in a good mood now. Besides the money he'd won at lunch, martial arts was one of his favorite classes. It helped him vent the week's frustrations. The fact that it's the reason he was able to punch a hole through the closet door is an unfortunate side effect. He gets back to the room first and claims the bathroom to shower.
Matt does the best he can, but after the morning, he's already beat. His attempts at following the lesson are half-hearted at best, and all he can do is count down the minutes until it's over. By that time his legs are jelly, and it's all he can manage to trudge back to their dorm without falling over.
He sits on his bed, staring at the wall. He wants to shower, but it seems Mello was quicker than him; no surprise there. He wants to sleep, but his brain is too wired for that from the day. He wants to get his laptop, but that requires moving. So he just sits there quietly, staring at the paused screen of his console. He lets himself fall over sideways on his bed and lies there quietly.
Upon coming out of the shower Mello looks down at the figure on the other side of the room. No computer. Not even the game. He'd quickly come to expect these things from the other boy.
"Are you dead?" He asks. He doesn't sound concerned. "If you're dead I'm keeping your stuff." He flops down on his bed and opens his book.
Matt stares at the wall as he lies there, hardly noticing when Mello comes out from the bathroom. He glances up at him briefly when he talks to him, but doesn't move otherwise.
"I've taken a critical hit and don't think I can recover enough HP to pull through," he says faintly, grasping his console. "And like you know how to use half my stuff. If you touch any of it I'll come back as a ghost and kill you."
Matt pries himself off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom, where he cranks the water as hot as it will go. Once he's convinced he's burned the top layer of his skin off, and all the sweat with it, he throws on some pajamas even though it's not even dinner yet, and lies back down on his bed. The shower has made him feel slightly better, and also sleepier. He pulls over his laptops and lazily scrolls through his message boards, finally taking a look at that private email from a client he had noticed yesterday.
"Uh huh," Mello replies absently, managing to convey skepticism at the comment. He reads the whole time Matt is in the shower. He'd thought about getting up and going through the other's stuff but in the end he hadn't bothered. He knows he won't find anything worth it. And any of the computers would take more time to get into then he has, he's sure. Besides he already knows his name. That might've been an accident but he's observed enough to realize that, skills aside, this boy is no rival for him. The homework Matt had pushed onto the floor the night before is still there and is enough testament to that.
Matt settles into the cushions on his bed, scanning the email he's received. A smile plays on his lips. Perfect; an easy unwinder to a shitty day. He types a quick message, then gets to work.
