A/N: Hello all! I hope you've had a good week. I've had a lot of late nights and early mornings, so I hope this A/N isn't too incoherent.
I'm...not exactly sure how I feel about this chapter. It took me quite a few edits until I got it going in a direction I liked. If it sucks, please tell me. Constructive criticism is fantastic.
So, I suppose I'll start by saying my thank you's for the people who reviewed: twentyfiveraven, FanaticFics, Living in a fantasy, phollie., Kyon Haruko, thinlimitation, Demon Hiei's Girl, NothingFromNowhereImNoOneAtAll, and of course, mrsjeevas (whom I still thank wholeheartedly for her review, despite the fact that I have yet to reply to it. lol) I hope you can all forgive my long breaks. Believe me, I'd much rather be writing than learning precalc all over again. Still, I gotta make the most out of my scholarship. lol.
This chapter was inspired by the song Girls Like Status by The Hold Steady from the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Movie soundtrack.
As a special treat for you all, the songs for each chapter are now available for download on my livejournal. To get the songs, simply go to my profile, click on the "Homepage" link, and they'll be in the entries tagged "Intangible".
By the way, TTB is making lots of progress now. No promises...but chapter 3 should be finished soon.
Everyone have a good week and enjoy!
Read and review! Pretty please?
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. It belongs to Ohba and Obata.
Chapter 2 - Bruises
The sights and sounds of the park at 11 at night only brought back unpleasant memories for Mello, though he knew Matt, draped over the park bench and only metaphorical inches from slumber, saw it differently. The sound of pills rattling in bottles and the chirp of crickets and the way the dim street lamp overhead flickered with the swaying of branches beneath it were the recollections of "better" times, of days when the redhead was usually drugged up and absolutely wasted, running around with different people every night, waking up with a stranger in his bed.
Mello knew Matt was a whore. He kept saying he didn't care who he fucked, but by the time the scars around Matt's wrists from the handcuffs were so deep that they would never disappear, Matt stopped seeing them, stayed at home, made brownies when he was bored and watched as Mello licked the batter out of the bowl.
The blond planted himself on the ground, fingers tracing through the dirt, searching for the novelty, wishing he understood what it was like to be a child.
It just frustrated him.
This was just plain stupid.
Kids were stupid.
And Matt watched wordlessly, head turned to the side as he lay on his stomach, feeling cool dew gathered on the metal bars seep into his jeans and his hair. Mello sat on the edge of his vision, head bowed and shoulders hunched, waiting for something to be said.
"I told you I wasn't going anymore," he mumbled, voice slurring slightly as his mouth was compressed awkwardly against the bench. "I don't want to go to those damn parties. I'm fine with you."
Mello paused, remembering the bruises on Matt's arms and back and ankles. They weren't all from parties, but most of them were. The ones that Mello didn't leave himself turned up on returning from a concert or a rave or some violent fuck-fest that both of them preferred not talking about.
"You said you wanted to disappear," the blond said, his voice quiet, yet firm. It implied tenderness on the surface, but there was a chilling warning beneath it. "Is that why you did it?"
Matt frowned irritably, reaching out a hand lazily as if he could scoop the leather clad figure in his palm and tuck him away into his pocket, before his arm flopped down uselessly. "Sometimes it's nice, to just pretend that you don't exist, that the world doesn't exist." He caught a flash of green from the shade of Mello's face as the branches creaked back, exposing them both to the dirty orange lamplight for a few seconds. "Being there, instead of really being there...that's what I wanted. Like...if I were outside of my own body."
"For someone who's supposed to be gifted," the older man cut in. "You're not being very eloquent."
At heart, he was still a child. The genius had been lost amidst the euphoria and confusion of years of reckless fun and veiled suicidal tendencies.
Mello only allowed him a few more minutes before he yanked the redhead to his feet and they walked back to the car in silence.
The red Mustang sat alone in the small lot across the street, a prime target for theft. Even if it was stolen, they would get a new one. Mello was always bringing back fancy cars and wads of cash and new games.
Matt never thought to ask why, why he got a red Mustang, why he spent his money on gifts for the gamer, why he did anything at all.
"Mello, you don't-"
The blond shoved him roughly with a ferocious snarl and he fell heavily onto the hood of the car.
Mello was brimming with loathing, contempt, anger. And it was all hot as hell. He was practically on top of the redhead now, leather against stripes, the zipper of his vest catching on the fabric and digging into the redhead's skin, bodies arched awkwardly over the front of the Mustang.
Matt wobbled uncertainly as a leather-clad knee forced it's way between his legs, upsetting his balance. His chocolate-brown eyes were wide in surprise and fear behind the goggles. A gloved finger traced lightly down the side of his face and back up, pausing at his temple.
Those goggles. Those damn goggles.
They were for kids, they were irritating, they were mocking him. It was a symbol of those times when Matt was astray in a world that didn't give a damn about him, a time when, most days, he had to hide the fact that he was too stoned to even function.
"Ah, Mello! Stop it!" he protested as the blond reached up and yanked the goggles from his eyes. He tried to swat the offending hands away and found his wrist pinned above his head. He let out a slight whine as the lenses passed over his head and were tossed out into the darkness. He heard them clatter against the pavement in the shadows.
"You don't need those anymore," Mello murmured. He leaned down to try and kiss the redhead, but Matt turned his head away with a sniffle, trying to hide the tears forcing it's way to the surface.
He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to miss something that couldn't miss him back.
But he didn't want to do without them. He felt naked, too vulnerable, too bare.
When had they become a part of him? When had he grown too attached to let go?
He was still fighting back the flood when they got home and Mello shoved him through the front door. He tripped over his own feet and slid painfully across the carpet.
The door slammed shut, accompanied by a tired groan from Matt, quavering as he attempted to choke back a sob. Mello watched at the gamer clawed at his own neck as if there were some sort of noose around it, searching vainly for his security blanket; patches of red, raw skin were appearing on his palms from the rug burn.
"Let me guess what you want for Christmas," the blond mocked, stepping forward to tower over his partner. "Damn junkie..."
Matt took a shuddering breath as he curled into the fetal position, face pressing into the carpet as he rasped weakly. "Arrogant fucker."
He was shaking, almost crying. He felt absolutely humiliated.
How stupid.
The sound of beads clattering against linoleum was enough to make the redhead glance up. Mello still stood above him, arms spread wide, a strange and almost frightening look in his eyes.
His rosary was gone. It lay a few feet away on the kitchen floor.
"Is this better now?" he asked, voice oddly tender.
Matt gave no answer and Mello could see that he was shaking. It was so slight and near imperceptible, but it was there nonetheless.
The fear, the insecurity, the lack of a purpose, the absence of an anchor.
"What the fuck did I do?" the redhead murmured softly as the older man knelt beside him, pulling his arms away from his face and holding them there.
He didn't like the look in Mello's eyes. It was as if he were fighting some demon inside of him, as if he were struggling to keep himself present, to prevent it from taking over.
It always seemed to happen this way. This moment of indecision and confusion, when Matt wasn't sure what was love and what was a power trip.
"I'm going to the top," the blond whispered, the demons quelled, at least for the moment, eyes deep and vivid and serious. He leaned down and finally acquired the kiss he had attempted at earlier. "Are you going with me?"
He only waited a moment for an answer, and even when he didn't get one, he didn't hesitate. He slowly crawled atop of Matt's figure and pulled him into a deep kiss, slow and loving, but the trace of hunger still loomed, the demons still hovering.
Matt had lost count of how many times this happened. How many times it seemed to transition so flawlessly from day to night, from yelling to whispers, from anger and frustration to pleasure and security.
They'd done this everywhere: the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the living room. No floor in the house ever seemed to be safe. They always ended up rolling around on the floor, struggling and fighting for something that neither could name.
Clothes were lost and Matt felt a burning in his hips and shoulder blades as his body edged across the carpet in time with Mello's movements. The air grew hot and Matt found he could do nothing but breathe and plead and ponder.
Somewhere, far away, in another world, another universe, another time, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, cigarette between his lips, watching the rosary swinging to and fro on the knob of the bathroom door.
Are you going with me?
Could he take this? Could he take this inexplicable punishment that seemed to run deeper than reason? Would it be enough?
Would it be too much?
Mello's lips were on his neck and he was murmuring something.
"We can make it through this, Matty."
Matt hated the sound of Mello's tone. It sounded too much like the last time he'd said that.
The last time they were going to make it through, Mello almost ended up dead.
A groan, a whimper, and the redhead was arching against his lover, urging for a faster pace, for Mello to fill him fully, to grip his hips harder, to hurt him and let him lift away.
Pleading to exist, for Mello to exist.
The rest of the world could go to Hell.
This...this was what his life should have felt like. Flesh and blood and warmth beneath his palms, shivers of white heat coursing through his nerves, the smell of sweat and chocolate and ash, the absence of God between them, seeing the world without the orange wash.
It was painful, as if each time their sweat soaked skin came together, it was like rubbing against an open wound.
Matt was still a masochist at heart, though, and the sensation kept propelling them both forward, harder and faster until he came with a shudder and a low moan. Mello followed shortly after, arching over him like a cresting wave, burying his face in the redhead's neck.
Are you going with me?
The question came back like a finger poking him sharply in the side and Mello raised himself up slightly when the redhead hissed in pain.
"Matt?"
Brown eyes, half hidden by auburn hair, moist and matted with perspiration, cracked open slightly. It was Mello's tone that surprised him, genuinely inquisitive and quiet, soft and searching.
Green eyes met his own and the hands on Matt's hips loosened, fingers slowly caressing the bruises beginning to flower along the pale skin.
"You still there?" he asked with a slight smile.
Matt was almost afraid. He couldn't recall the last time they had shared a tender moment.
But still, it had happened before. There had been some kind gestures, some compassionate words, an honest attempt at an elusive sense of affection. A goodbye kiss before particularly long trips, inexplicable hugs in the middle of the night, a glance that spoke more than words ever could...
Amidst Mello's contradictions and Matt's escapism, it was still able to bloom, just like the flower of a cactus, a vivid patch of color and life in a desert wasteland.
Was that what he wanted, miles and miles and miles of nothing but dust and emptiness for a few moments of color and beauty?
"I don't want you to disappear, Matty," Mello admitted quietly, cheeks tinged pink as one hand wandered to grasp the beads that weren't there.
It was childish, so selfish and needy and stupid.
But Matt smiled nonetheless, pulling Mello down to wrap his arms around him, because it was the child in Mello that he adored, that lone flower amidst the thorns of religion and danger and ambition.
"I already told you," he breathed against the blond's ear. "I'm fine with you, wherever you go."
Neither spoke for a long moment, laying in each other's arms in silence and Mello clung to Matt tightly, because it all didn't seem so stupid anymore.
It wasn't childish, it never had been. It was honest and loving and true.
It was proof that they existed.
Just like Matt's bruises, just like Mello's rosary, just like murmurs of "I love you" and whispered words of thanks.
The gamer awoke the next morning to find his goggles, lenses scratched and dusty, resting on the night stand.