December 5, 2004
Roger's cell phone blinked and, with fear in his eyes, he stared at the number the text message was sent from. Although not saved in his contacts, he would recognize that number, that series of seven digits, anywhere. This could only mean one thing.
With dread in his heart and a light trembling in his fingers, he opened the message. The words took a long moment to sink into his brain, but when they finally did, they seemed to echo, over and over, in his mind.
L is dead. L is dead. L is dead.
It was a strange Sunday morning, the day a piece of him died, Mello would later muse. A winter day that was warm? He wasn't sure why this was, but he knew that on 12/5/2004, he was in a mood. Mello had many moods, most of which usually ended with somebody's bloody nose or fat lip, but this one was particularly dark.
He had woken up grouchy, noticing Matt was doing a creepy staring thing at him again—Matt was sitting up in his own bed across the room from Mello's, not playing video games, not even daydreaming but openly staring at Mello's sleeping face. The instant the blue eyes fluttered open, the red-head hastily looked away, but too late; he had been caught. At Mello's aggravated questioning, he responded only with a shrug.
Mello hated Matt when he was like this. Hated when, for a moment, those green eyes became soft when he looked at Mello. When his hands lingered a little too long on Mello's shoulders, or when he gave a gentle smile Mello had never seen him use for anybody else. Mello didn't want things to change, but if Matt's increasingly obvious feelings continued to manifest themselves, Mello knew he'd eventually have to respond, one way… or another.
Mello disapproved of love. Love made you weak. It was altogether a better idea to ignore it, even on those occasions when Matt's little smiles gave him a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, as if he were about to pee his own pants. Damn Matt.
The contrary feeling had lasted throughout the day. Though he tended to ignore Near (he felt if he were to be "mature", he had to ignore the kid), today was not a day for mature. He had pestered and taunted the little albino brat, growing more and more agitated when he failed to elicit a response until, irritated by Mello's bad behavior, Aqua had shooed him outside, claiming the room wasn't large enough for Mello and all of his hormones.
Starting up another informal soccer skirmish with Cosmo, even the handsome older boy had to admit that Mello was being too rough. Finally the boy snuck back inside, intent on finding something to do (preferably involving Near and Mello's fists making a connection) but before he was able to reach his target, a familiar voice called his name.
Looking up (and pushing at an annoying kid trying to cut in front of him), he saw Roger, looking most decidedly un-Roger-like. The old man gently took Mello's wrist, guiding him to his office. Roger called for Near over his shoulder and Mello started, surprised; he hadn't even known Near was behind him.
It was a perfectly ordinary day, one like any other day, or month, or year of Near's life. For him, few things changed and the days stacked up as evenly and identically as a tower of blue legos. As far as Near was concerned, few things in life really stuck out.
Slowly but methodically assembling a puzzle, he crouched on the tile floor beside the kitchen, listening to the familiar swish of Aqua's long skirts as she assembled breakfast. He vaguely recalled being invited to play by Linda, but had brushed the invitation off, as he always did.
Mello approached him, his beautiful face in a twisted scowl, and began to harangue Near with questions such as "Why the hell are you so damn short?" and with comments along the line of "You're not really an albino or your eyes would be red. Just go outside for once and… stop being so pale!" but Near brushed them all off, each word nothing more than a feather he mentally blew away; Mello's words had never been able to touch him if he chose not to let them.
He felt, but never bothered to look around and see, Mello eventually leave, but didn't put much stock into this; maybe he had just gotten bored. When the final piece in his puzzle was correctly in place, he stood to fetch another one.
On his way to his bedroom, a hand landed on his head, gently steering him towards Roger's office. The old man was also leading Mello by his wrist, and Near wordlessly stepped into the room, crouching on the floor to begin his puzzle once again.
"What is it, Roger?" curiosity had driven every ounce of hostility straight out of Mello's voice. The old man sat behind his desk with his head bowed, grief etched on every line of his thin face. Mello felt his heart thudding painfully against his breastbone; he honestly could not remember ever seeing such pain in the man's eyes before.
There was a long pause before Roger collected himself enough to speak without his voice trembling.
"L is dead."
Near felt his body stiffen, his black eyes shoot open to twice their normal size, but otherwise he made no outward reaction and instead remained in his crouch on the floor. This was not true for Mello, whose mouth dropped open wide enough to catch flies.
There was a long silence in the rooms, and then Mello's voice, high and shrill, pierced the air.
"What?"
He didn't wait for a response and instead began to pace in huge steps throughout the room, setting each foot down with so much force that Near scooted himself and his puzzle pieces to the nearest corner to avoid being stepped on.
Then, finally exerting enough self-control to keep his body in one spot (though he still trembled so lightly it appeared that his body gave off a slight vibration), he dragged his eyes back to Roger's face. Feigning callousness, he asked the most important question, the one that determined the 'where to from here'.
"So, who did he choose? Is it me, or Near?" he didn't explain what he meant by this; he didn't have to.
Gnawing on his lip, Roger replied quietly "he made no choice; he died before it was decided. I think it would be best if the two of you…"
Near made a sound of agreement, as if working with Mello was something he'd like to do.
Understanding, and then fury burst in Mello's brain. L didn't BOTHER to choose? After a LIFETIME of WORKING my ass off, he doesn't even CHOOSE? He felt as if he could spit fire.
"No!" Seizing Roger's shirt in his fist, he dragged the man's face close to his own.
"I am not working with Near! I don't like him; I'll never like him… HE can be the next L; I'll find Kira on my own."
He released Roger's clothing and made quick strides towards the door.
"I'm leaving. I'm almost fifteen years old; I can take care of myself."
Hearing Roger cry his name behind him, he slammed the door behind himself.
"I'm leaving." Going through their shared closet, Mello slowly removed article after article of clothing, laying it on the floor at his feet, before bending down to move his shoes off the closet floor.
Matt, still lying on his bed at after ten in the morning, (terribly lazy, really, Mello thought, not without some affection,) rolled his eyes.
"Oh, really? Why; did Near get you into trouble again? You only bring it on yourself, you know."
His sarcastic reaction irritated Mello, who was now on his hands and knees, dragging his suitcase out from underneath his bed.
"Fine. Don't believe me," he responded bitterly. "I'm leaving just the same."
Matt watched as Mello began cramming his shoes into his suitcase, followed by clothes. Books were tossed in, as were several bars of chocolate.
After quite a few minutes of this had passed, Matt began feeling the beginnings of alarm prickle throughout his system. Mello had never gone this far in one of his tantrums… Not to mention, he was feeling some pretty sickening déjà vu; watching Mello pack with such a determined look on his face… it reminded Matt of a certain night, many years ago, with somebody else he loved.
Finally Matt spoke.
"Mells, what is it? Why are you so…" he struggled for the right word, but discovered that there was none for this situation.
Mello took forever to turn and look at Matt, and when he did, Matt felt his breath catch in his throat. Mello's expression was dark, blazing, furious, even, but still there were most definitely some unshed tears shining away in his remarkable eyes.
"L is dead." Mello's voice was harsh, as if he were struggling mightily to keep the sobs from escaping his lips. "L is dead and Near is the new L."
The words sunk like a rock into the pit of Matt's stomach and he gaped at Mello, wide-eyed.
"Oh, Mells…" he began, but was interrupted.
"So I'm leaving. I'm going to catch Kira myself."
Mello began rolling his stuffed suitcase towards the door, and Matt threw himself off of his own bed, unable to think or even consider the consequences of his actions, his arms were around Mello's neck and he was crushing the taller boy to his own body, practically squeezing him breathless.
"Don't go." His words were muffled in Mello's shirt. "Not without me."
Mello stood stiffly, eyes open wide, unsure how to react.
Matt pulled Mello's face down, brought his mouth up to the boy he loved the most. They had never kissed before, and Matt felt very clumsy, but his heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel Mello's own heart against his skin, and he just had to…
For just a second, Mello's mouth moved against Matt's, pressing back with more force than probably necessary, though his hands remained awkwardly by his sides. Then he was pushing Matt away.
He didn't say anything, though he knew his face was burning, as he turned to collect his suitcase and continue out the door. Matt's voice was hollow now, desperate.
"Come back for me?" the request was more of a plea, begging even. A dying request.
One tear, followed by another and, more rapidly, a third, dripped down the blonde's face, though when he spoke, his words were filled with a false bravado, a confidence he didn't feel. He refused to turn around; nobody would ever see Miheal Kheel cry.
"Maybe."
And then the door was closed.
He was gone.
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Woo! Is it just me, or is this story definitely sliding more towards the angst spectrum than the fluff spectrum? Not to worry; the next chapter definitely contains some fluff (AND it'll be posted tomorrow, so watch out for it!)
By the way, if the guy/guy kissing bothers you, don't worry—I don't plan on anything BUT kissing in this story. It'll probably happen one more time before this story is over, but I won't write any graphic sex or anything. ^^;
This was written in response to nikkijordan's request that "i think u shld do one for when m, m, and n find out that l died". Thank you for the request! If you or anybody else wishes to make a request, please do so! They help me out a ton!
I love reviews.
