go.

Matt was, at this point, back to his old self. It was relieving, to say the least; it made him think that Matt had gotten over the whole 'on the brink of dying thing'. Which he probably was.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "It's just...I didn't mean to shoot you, okay? It would've been..." It would've been what? Devastating? Devastating if the gamer had died? Of course he wasn't going to say that. Instead, he let himself trail off into another train of thought.

"Do you need anything?"

Even with the wound in his chest throbbing and burning and biting and all around demanding his attention, Matt was still drifting off. It was obvious, though, that he wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon.

"Hmn?"

He arched a brow and peered at the other, taking a moment to register his words. It would have been what…? Matt brushed the thought off for the new question—he could go for a smoke but didn't really want to deal with the effort. A violent stab of pain ran through his chest as he shifted again. Deciding what he wanted, he stated blandly: "A pain killer would be nice."

"Oh, okay," he said, using monosyllables to their full extent. Mello rifled through the first aid kit, finding the best thing he could: Tylenol samples. He popped out at least three of them, and went to the kitchen for water. Shit. There wasn't any, besides the tap water, and the tap in the city was...less than favorable. Hissing, the male searched the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of juice that hadn't quite expired and poured the glass half-way full.

The blonde returned to the room and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Do you need help taking this?" he asked weakly.

Matt mentally chided himself for not keeping something stronger around—but then again, he hadn't ever really expected to get shot. He groaned quietly in Mello's absence, exhaling slowly. This hurt. This really fucking hurt. He wasn't going to say anything, though—not as much as he would have liked, anyway. He knew it would make Mello feel worse, and knowing the blonde, Matt figured that he was beating himself up over shooting his friend. Matt wasn't going deny it though—Mello seriously needed to learn to control his temper a little bit more. Matt shook his head at the other's weak offer of help. This was awkward enough already, he wasn't going to make it any worse.

"I'm fine…thanks."

"If you need anything..."

His voice was probably the most devoid of emotion it had ever been, mostly because if he did reflect everything that was going on inside, he would probably end up either screaming or laughing insanely. Opposite ends of the spectrum, indeed. He handed over the cup and the pills. He frowned, leaning back and pacing away again. A thought struck him.

"Should I go and get you some more painkillers?" he asked. Mello hated going out for things like that, things that would expose him...although usually he didn't care. Now, he felt like he was mortal again. Seeing Matt like this, it just made him realize how it was so easy for him to just die. It kind of scared him, but he wouldn't let the redhead just sit here in pain.

Matt nodded, taking the pills and cup from Mello and quickly downing them and setting the cup onto the bedside table. The small actions took a little more effort that he really would have liked to think, and the motion of his left arm hurt like a bitch, but he merely pursed his lips together. He shook his head at Mello's offer of going out to get something stronger—as much as he didn't want to sit there with his chest throbbing like hell, he didn't want Mello to leave him. It was sort of childish, but he really, really didn't want the blonde to go. He didn't really want to be alone, either.

"Just...sit with me?" he requested finally, seeming rather strange about it all.

Mello simply watched his face for a minute. This was new. He figured the other wouldn't want him around after what he did, but then again, it never was really pleasant to sit in pain by yourself.

"Sure," he said.

The older didn't touch the bed. In his state, touching the bed would be near a sin. So, he sat against the nightstand next to the bed, gaping at the wall opposite him. He figured he didn't deserve to look at Matt anymore, so he watched whatever else he could: the wall, the floor, his own gloved hands. Even he was getting tired, but if he fell asleep now, it would be like abandon. Guilt wouldn't allow him to do that.

Matt had meant the bed, but he didn't say anything about it. He figured that if Mello was sitting somewhere other than that, he had a good reason. The red head felt a little awkward though—more so than ordinarily—sitting at a higher vantage point than Mello. It wasn't like Mello to put himself at a lower position than anyone, literally or figuratively. He sat there in silence for a while, fidgeting with his fingers before reaching up with a wince and taking his goggles off. He set them aside on the table next to the cup, looking as strange now as he felt. He was sitting on a bloodstained bed in ruined jeans, caked blood on his skin, with a shirt wound against his upper torso. Yeah. This was a strange occurrence.

"Mello?"

Finally, Mello looked up. Yes, he had placed himself below him. It was the honest to god first self-inflicted shame he had ever experienced, and it felt worse even than when he had lived through that explosion at his late hideout. It was an emotional sort of thing; much different, and it lingered longer.

"Yeah?" he asked, threading his slender fingers together experimentally and taking them apart again. He felt sick. It wasn't like shooting the people he used to. The constant string of murder that kept him on top. This was vastly different.

Mello's friend looked down at him uncomfortably for a second before he turned his gaze up to the ceiling again, tipping his head back against the wall. He didn't like looking down at Mello. It wasn't anything he was used to, nor anything did he want to get used to.

"What're you thinking?" He questioned after inhaling shallowly and letting the breath out. It seemed like quite the random question, but it was something that Matt was honestly curious about. Mello was being...he was acting far from his normal behavior, and Matt was...concerned.

"What the fuck do you think I'm thinking?" he asked, not sharply, not even angrily. It was just there. He thought he could act pissy and worried at the same time, even if it all didn't really make sense. "I'm thinking about you, dumbass."

Cussing hardened the intent of the words. He didn't like people thinking he was capable of anything like empathy, which he was in some cases. He had beaten himself up senseless when L had died, even though he knew there was really nothing he could do about it. It was Kira's fault, and Near's fault. Near took the blame for Matt, and Kira for L. That was the sensible mentality.

"What about me?" Matt continued, sounding unfazed by the fact that Mello was actually expressing some amount of empathy for him. It registered in his face, where it didn't in his voice. He looked honestly surprised and somewhat humbled...although, that wasn't quite right. He was more pleasantly caught off-guard than anything.

He dared to venture a glance down to Mello, gazing at the top of the other's blonde head before breathing a soft exhale and closing his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall once more. Those damn Tylenol samples better kick in soon.

Mello had never liked the way L and Near sat. If it wasn't with one leg propped up against their chests, it was both legs, like a mini fortress. Maybe that was why they were so hard to crack, and why they kept themselves so reserved. No matter how much the blonde hated the seating position and the two others' mild superiority over him, he still admired that. He could never master it, no matter what.

But now, he had scrunched his legs up, creaking the leather as he did so, and pressed his thighs against himself. He looked fourteen again, from before he left Wammy's House; he looked younger.

"I could have killed you," he muttered hollowly. "It beats the shit out of me. I could have killed you." He emphasized that first, blinking. Jesus H. Christ.

Matt found himself looking at Mello again, observing his defensive position, and how many years younger it made the other look. Hell, they weren't even that old, but...they were dealing with a lot more shit than most people twice their age dealt with. They had such qualms, and strangely, Matt realized, most of them were mirror twins of childish behaviors. Mello's desire to be the best; Matt's utter laziness and unstable moods.

"I'm not dead now, though," he pointed out immediately before reflecting for a long moment. Finally, he sat up and scooted forward, sliding off the bed and sitting in front of Mello with some amount of difficulty. Admittedly, Mello really could have killed him, and maybe he ought to feel guilty, or remorseful... But Matt wasn't going to look down on him for it. He was silent for a long while, save for his laboured breathing, which soon evened out.

"So...it's okay, right?" It was just like Matt to brush something like this off. Matt never wanted to deal with anything.

"It's not, though," Mello insisted, gaze hardening as he looked at Matt. It kind of surprising how he had come down to his level. Alright, maybe not that surprising...it was just like him to do something like that, and was odder still that the older one would even recognize it.

"And hey, you get back on the bed, you sonovabitch. Relax." He frowned, brow creasing.

The blonde glared at the other, cocking his head somewhat. Again, he found himself wondering what he wanted from the other, besides loyalty. It had to be friendship, something he wouldn't get from anyone else. Mello didn't even deserve it; that was the trip.

Matt blinked back at the other, wanting to question why it wasn't okay, but he already knew the answer. So he merely shut up and leaned against the side of the bed, feeling fully awake now that he had gotten up and moved a little.

"I am relaxed," he responded quickly. And besides, he didn't really want to get back up.

Matt eyed Mello momentarily as the elder glared at him, noting that it wasn't just pure glare. There was some amount of question in that. "What?" He queried, wondering what on earth Mello could be thinking now.

"Why do you put up with me?" he asked—no, demanded, and then reclined against the uncomfortable contours of the bedside table. He figured that was the best way to phrase his delicate question, even if it was a simple one. Every time before, he would be told that he could just leave, or that the other didn't know. It pissed him off, because he knew there was more to it than just that.

The male closed his eyes. It blocked out the sight of Matt, which was something guilty in itself, and it helped to calm his mind, which was ragged from lack of sleep.

He was taken back by the other's words—he wasn't really accustomed to receiving a question in return to his questions, and this one...well, this one was particularly difficult. He fell silent, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and soon coming to the realization that it was a notion easier said than done.

"I guess...I don't...know…I..."

He paused in his uncertainty, shrugging and ignoring the pain that followed.

"I like you, I guess," he admitted, attempting to put that in the mildest way possible. He did like Mello. Even with the other's boisterous nature, Matt enjoyed the other's company. Mostly, the conversation was bad, but…friends were friends, and there was some sort of pull in that relationship that Matt felt.

Mello smiled.

It was a genuine smile, too; one that you didn't find often on those scowling lips. It made him glad to be told that, even [admittedly if it was untrue. A kind of assurance like that made him feel like his efforts weren't only for himself.

"You're pretty cool yourself, believe it or not," he said, the smile fading. Ugh. He wasn't supposed to say things like that. He didn't want...to let anyone know that he had emotions in that way, even if it was true. He was irritated all the time, everyone knew that, and sometimes he let his opinions get overruled by his better logic, but this was different. He was Mello. He didn't get close to anyone.

Matt was vaguely surprised at seeing Mello smile, but it was nice to see. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen the blonde express something like that, and for once, change was welcomed. Even more unexpected were Mello's words, and Matt couldn't help himself but to laugh a little. He breathed in, speaking again. "It's hard to believe," he assured Mello, as though this would help the other put aside his qualms over showing emotions that weren't angry or annoyed.

"You know, maybe if you were...I don't know. Not so pissed all the time, you wouldn't...shoot random people..." Matt trailed off, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. He never, ever gave Mello advice. No one ever gave Mello advice. This, Matt would like to believe, was more opinion than anything else. At least, he hoped.

"Random people?" he spluttered, finding this annoying and slightly amusing. "I told you I was sorry. I can't help it. It was Near..."

Excellent tactic. When something goes wrong, blame Near. Mello was very good at it, after all, having done it since his days at Wammy's. Near did play a small contributing factor to the blonde's reoccurring rage. But that didn't mean that he had the privilege to shoot anyone he pleased. Okay, Matt was right in that respect, but he wouldn't say that. Not out loud. Mello didn't admit his shortcomings, even though they were quite abundant.

Matt smirked—he was quite used to this defensive maneuver. He'd been around since Wammy's, so of course, he'd heard this since its birth.

"Right," he noncommittally agreed with the other, tinkering with the end of his his bandaging shirt. It was soaked through with blood at this time, but he didn't think too much of it. He eyed the other for a second, considering his 'reasoning', before shaking his head and closing his eyes once more, a sudden tire washing over him with the simple action.

"Geeze. We should sleep," he muttered under his breath, taking slow, shallow breaths to help ease the pain in his chest. At least the pain killers were kind of doing their job now.

Mello stood. Now was as good a time as ever to go and get the painkillers. Something to occupy his time. He couldn't just sleep, it would make him feel like he wasn't doing anything useful. He was quite more than that, or at least he liked to assume.

"No, you should sleep," he said. "I'm going to go get you some pills. If you need help getting back on the bed, I could lift you or something." Even though Matt had probably let all of this go (mainly because the gamer never had been one to hold a grudge), Mello wouldn't until maybe a month after. Sure, he'd hide it, but it would always be there, spurring him to be moodier than usual. Moodier even than the other.

Holding a grudge took too much effort. Hating and being spiteful took way too much energy, and Matt wasn't about to waste his time and efforts doing it.

"Just give me a hand," he answered, holding out the opposite arm of his injured side. He wasn't going to object to Mello—he figured that Mello wasn't going to be able to sleep, and pretty soon, he was going to doze off and not be any sort of interesting company. Even with the thought of Mello leaving, matt found the idea of going to sleep extremely inviting now that his body realized that it shouldn't shut down on him the second he closed his eyes.

"Alright."

He reached down and clutched the other's hand to hoist him up, or at least attempt to help. It would help if the other got sleep anyway; Mello could sleep later. Maybe on the couch...even though it was probably all bloodstained now. Oh, well. He could just flip the cushions and steal a pillow from off the bed. Matt took precedence now, as much as it killed him to realize it. The older even considered changing. He felt dirty for some odd reason, though he figured it was because he had almost killed someone. It wasn't the concept of killing that had him upset; it was killing a friend. Then who would put up with his bullshit?

Matt worked with Mello to stand, staggering to his feet and pausing a second before sitting heavily on the bed again. He was struck by a moment of light-headedness before he lay down again. The new ease of circulation was something his heart was very much thankful for, and Matt cold feel sleep now threatening to take over. He yielded to it, his eyes slowly opening and closing behind a broken veil of his messed-up red hair.

"Don't stay out too late," he told Mello in something of a bleary mumble. "Y' need your sleep."

Mello went to the threshold after the deed was done, stopping only when he heard more words tumbling from Matt's mouth groggily. He drummed his fingers against the doorframe, debating on whether or not to answer that.

"Mmmm, okay," he said. "I'll be back eventually."

Yeah, eventually. That didn't allude to if that would be soon, or hours later. It most definitely wouldn't be days later, like when Mello usually left, but there was no guarantee that he would actually sleep. Leaving Matt like this would only eat away at his conscience, though, so he knew he'd come back sooner than intended.

The blonde thought to exit the room, but stopped to pick up the key on the counter. He didn't like the responsibility of keeping the key, but it was necessary now.

And with that, he left, closing the door gingerly behind him.

"Eventually," Matt repeated, as though he was holding Mello to this promise. Hell knew what he thought, maybe it had crossed his mind that Mello might leave him and never come back now that he knew that Matt wasn't going to die. He trusted the other enough to return, though, watching him go.

When the door quietly clicked shut, the red-head breathed a soft, exhausted sigh, letting his eyes completely close and stay that way. It took very little time for the pull of sleep to lull him into unconsciousness, slipping him into a dreamless sleep.