Intoxication Interrogation

Mello had been at it all night—slowly easing Matt into an interrogation fueled by intoxication. That's right, the clever blonde figured that with enough alcohol his stubborn, oblivious lover would be loosened enough to indulge him with the three words he had sought after for an eternity, it now seemed. A dirty way to play (and really, did you expect any better?), but Mello's hope was diminishing. His chances were sparse. This was a desperate matter. Okay, maybe that last reason was the alcohol talking. Because let's face it, Mello was drinking pretty heavily, too.

After a few hours…

Matt slumped in the chair across the table from him, his eyes bleary. His head was lulling downwards, but his arm extended for more scotch from the bottle Mello was holding. The blonde obliged, but not without throwing a question at him. "Why do you think we're together?" Mello asked, eyeing Matt carefully.

"We're always together!" Came the loopy and ecstatic response.

"Why's that, huh?"

"You let me live with you!"

"Yeah?" Mello poured more into Matt's glass, urging him on.

The redhead gulped it all down, wincing as it burned his throat. "…And all my stuff's here. And all your stuff's here." He made vast arm motions. "I don't wanna move it." His arms fell to the table, and he pouted. "'M too lazy."

"So you'd leave me if you could? You're just too lazy to?"

"I leave you all the time—someone has to do the grocery shopping!"

Mello banged his head against the table. "Yeah, but Matt—"

"What about you?" He suddenly asked. "Why do you think we're together?"

"'Cause I don't wanna be apart." Mello picked his head up to slug down some more scotch himself. "It would kill me." He rasped.

"You know what kills people?" His companion voiced matter-of-factly. "Scurvy, toasters, and trees that move." Matt's eyes grew wide as Mello gave him a doubtful look. "It's true!" He exclaimed, then shook his head slowly. "And, besides, you're being silly. We're not apart!" Matt latched onto Mello's arm and hugged it against his stomach. "Look, see! We're linked together now, and nothing's…gonna…break…that chain…except a thunderstorm. Maybe." Matt pushed his glass towards Mello, motioning for more.

"That's it. There isn't anymore. You drank it all."

Matt slammed his glass hard on the table. "Hit me with your best shot, Donkey Kong!"

"You've had enough, Milton Hershey!" Mello shot back.

Some minutes pass, the excessive alcohol beginning to shut them down …

"Whoa," the gamer touched his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm tired."

"Same here."

"I want to go to bed now." Matt's head seemed like it was gravitating towards to the table, slowly drooping until it made contact. With his face turned towards the refrigerator, he asked Mello, "Do you think it will come out of our room and in here so I don't have to move? The bed, I mean."

"Won't fit through the door."

"Oh, yes it will."

"How?" Mello said, his head lowering to the table too.

"My telepathy."

"You've got telepathy?"

"Mmhmm."

"What color am I thinking of?"

"Is it purple?"

Time seems to be wasting away in this blurry, insensible reality…

"Matt…"

"Hmm?"

"You're not falling asleep, are you?"

"Mm-mmm."

"'Cause I gotta tell you something…" Mello murmured, the blackness on the top and bottom of his vision overcoming the dim light of the kitchen.

"Hmm?"

His eyes were slowly slipping closed—he could hardly fight it anymore. He feared Matt was slipping away as well. But he had to get this out. "'S important…"

"Mmhmm."

"…I gotta tell you that…that I love you…"

"…"

"Matt…? Did you hear me? Are you still awake?"

It was past noon by the time Matt had stirred to find Mello hovering over him, hand posed over the phone. Matt had been passed out so long he had been ready to call the nearest hospital. Mello, who had woke up earlier and had more time to recover, helped him sit up and passed a piece of toast to the redhead.

"What happened?" Matt asked when his eyes finally focused. "I don't remember a thing."

"You drained an entire keg of beer yourself and belted a French opera from the rooftop." Mello said matter-of-factly.

Matt rubbed his eyes with a striped sleeve. "Sounds hardcore." He yawned.

Mello kept his mouth in a straight line, but Matt still caught the knowing glean in his cerulean gaze. "It was."