Something was wrong. He felt… he felt. He couldn't remember the last time he felt something that could possibly be called a body. But… he felt his fingers twitch. Fingers. He had fingers. Slowly, he shifted, feeling his legs move with him… he was lying down. He slowly began to shift his body, mentally checking off his list. Two legs? Check. All ten toes? Check. Arms? Che-
Mello froze as he heard something to his right rustle. That couldn't be possible – he was alone. Had been alone for so, so long in the darkness. In the silence. So what was the noise?
Mello swallowed hard and slowly began to force his eyes open. He groaned in pain, slamming his eyes shut once more as the light forced its way in. So bright. So many colors.
What the hell was going on?
"What's wrong with you, Mello? We're going to miss breakfast if you don't get your ass up."
Mello's eyes snapped open as he threw himself into a sitting position and stared at the person beside his bed, bed?, ignoring the pain in his eyes as he did so. "Matt?" he whispered when he was finally able to focus on the redhead.
The boy's eyebrows shot up as he mimicked Mello's incredulous tone, "Mello?"
Mello continued to stare with his mouth hanging open, not believing what his brain was trying to tell him. There was no way Matt could be standing in front of him. It wasn't possible. Matt was dead. Hell, Mello was dead. And Matt was nineteen when he died. The boy in front of him looked no more than thirteen. This wasn't possible.
"Mello? You're starting to scare me," Matt muttered, frowning, as he shifted from foot to foot and his hand came up to mess with the strap of his goggles. "What's wrong with you?"
Mello shook his head, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes as he did so. Feeling the panic rising in his chest, he scrambled out of his bed and ran toward bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and leaned back against it, trying to keep breathing normally. He had to focus. He didn't have time to break down right now. "Mello? Are you alright?" Matt called, frantically pounding on the door Mello was leaning against.
Mello didn't answer – he couldn't answer. Not when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Blond hair, bright blue eyes, clear skin. Clear skin, not a scar in sight. But that wasn't the biggest shock. No, the biggest shock was the fact that Mello looked as young as Matt. He was small and scrawny, wearing a long sleeve black t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants.
Mello continued to stare at his reflection, his hand shakily moving up to touch his unburned skin. Matt continued to bang on the door, sounding more and more worried. "Matt?" Mello finally called his voice cracking as he did so.
The banging stopped instantly, "Mello? What's going on? Are you alright?"
"Matt, what's the date?"
There was silence on the other side of the door. After a minute, Mello tore his eyes away from the mirror and turned to face the closed doorway, "Matt?"
"November 19th," Matt finally answered, his tone questioning. "Mello? Seriously, you're starting to freak me out."
"What year?" Mello demanded as he squeezed his eyes shut, "Matt, what year is it?"
There was silence once again before Matt let out a frustrated growl, "Okay, something is really wrong. Mello, what the hell is going on? Let me in!"
"Just answer the question!" Mello snapped, unlocking the door and throwing it open so he could glare up at his best friend. His living best friend.
"Not until you tell me what's going on!" Matt snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.
Mello growled in annoyance and pushed his way past the redhead before running out into the hall. He turned sharply at the corner and sprinted toward Roger's office. He needed L. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. He was halfway there when he turned a corner and slammed into a smaller body, sending the person to the floor as Mello skidded to a stop. In front of him was a boy. A boy who looked no older than eight but Mello knew was years older than that. His white hair hung in front of gray eyes, eyes that were currently staring up at Mello blankly.
"Mello shouldn't be running through the halls," the boy said, his voice showing no form of emotion.
Mello couldn't respond. He just stood frozen in the hall as his eyes remained locked on the boy in front of him. The boys' blank expression faltered for a moment, his grey eyes showing a moment of confusion before the usual blankness overtook them once more. "Is Mello feeling alright?"
Mello swallowed back a sharp retort. Maybe if he had tried to befriend him instead of throwing him to the ground. Maybe many things would have been different if that had happened. Mello flinched as the thought drifted through his head, the same thought he had in the darkness. Was that it? Did he somehow get a second chance?
He moved suddenly and reached down toward the younger boy. Near flinched as Mello's hand closed around his arm and Mello inwardly winced that the usually stoic boy shown emotion because just he was being nice to him. Mello just hauled Near to his feet and began walking toward Roger's office once again.
"What is wrong with Mello?" Near's quiet voice moved to Mello's ears.
Mello stopped walking for a moment and let out a deep breath. "What year is it?"
"Has Mello hit his head?" Near asked and Mello could swear he heard curiosity in the normally stoic voice. "It is 2003. Does Mello need to go to the nurse?"
Mello took off running down the hall once more, not bothering to respond to the younger boys question. The words were ringing through his head. 2003. 2003. 2003. What was that date Matt had said? November… November what? November 2003… what day?!
November 19th. Matt's voice echoed through his head. Oh, God. Four days. According to all his research, as well as the research left by L and that conducted by Near, said that Light Yagami found the Death Note on November 23, 2003. That gave Mello four days.
Four days to change everything.
Ignoring the looks he was getting from those that had begun to wander the halls, Mello finally made it to Rogers door and didn't hesitate as the slammed it open, looking at the man he hadn't seen in years. "I need to talk to L. Now."