nana.
"You went grocery shopping?"
Incredulously, Matt stared as Mello re-entered the apartment with a few plastic bags.
"I figured you wouldn't be doing it for awhile," the blonde commented, retreating from the refrigerator and returning to the room. A fresh bar of chocolate was clutched in one hand, and he appeared quite unconcerned.
"No shit," Matt answered, continuing to regard Mello with apprehension before grabbing the bag and pulling out the newly purchased bandages. He set them aside and untied his shirt, gingerly pulling it away from his wound with a wince.
"I got some microwave dinners and shit like that. Oh, and a pack of cigarettes." There was a pause. "Mostly because I found your stash and threw it away." Merciful Mello was a rare thing, but he figured he could spare some because of the recent events. If Matt wanted to kill himself to feel better, that was his problem.
"... What?" the addict questioned, sounding completely abashed. "Mello, dude, that's not gonna last me very long!" he sounded vaguely panicked.
Mello narrowed his eyes at the other, then brushed off the exclamation by striding up to the other to hover in case he needed assistance. "You're just lucky I bought you any at all," he said, with a satisfactory note in his voice. "If it wasn't for guilt, your ass would be cigarette deprived." There was a sigh, and he sat next to the gamer to go through the bag of medicinal things.
"Guilt?"
Mello relatively ignored the comment. "When you get better, you can go buy your own. That's not what I'm here for." And it was true. There was a five minutes' time of thought before he had actually bought the putrid things, because he figured he needed to weigh the pros and cons of buying them. He still had no idea on how the pros outnumbered the cons.
"Haven't I always?" The redhead pulled out a box of antibacterial wipes, tossing aside his wound shirt and looking at the hole in his chest properly. He grimaced and nearly swooned on the spot-- Matt had never had a stomach for bloody stuff. Matt had yet to ask Mello for help, even when he was reduced to using two fingers and wearing a face of mild disturbance.
There was a moment when the blonde merely watched Matt tend to himself, knowing exactly the sentiment of self-worth. After awhile, he reached out a hand to help, keeping it aloft in a gesture of offering. "If you need my help, all you have to do is ask," he said, not quite forcing his help upon the other unless he aptly needed or asked for it. The male was not as disconcerted by the gore, as he had seen it before. As was expected of him, who had killed and maimed to get where he was. And for what? A spot on the couch in the asshole of an apartment of his friend.
Matt finally grunted and resigned a new cloth to Mello's hand, looking paler in the face than he had been. Video game gore, fine by him. Real life gore, keep it far enough away that he couldn't smell it. Real life gore on him—god bless him and not let him get shot again.
"Fine," he resented, although the word wasn't as harsh as it was ordinarily intended to be. It was just that Matt was too stubborn to actually ask Mello to help him out. He glanced to Mello, his eyes flickering to the injury the blonde had inflicted before averting his gaze to the window. He wanted to look neither way right then.
Mello wasn't too familiar with empathy, but he knew enough about himself to know that it was a feat indeed to allow someone else to help you. He had almost allowed himself to die rather than permit Matt to assist him the first time, when he had first received his burns. It was a thing of pride and foolishness, and the elder had been beaten too many times to give up so easily. Snickering inwardly at the other's expression and the way he turned away, he began to clean away the blood, actually relieved to see that the wound was healing somewhat, if not at a fast pace. The caked blood only made it look worse than it was.
"You're laughing at me, I can tell," Matt stated testily with a scowl. After years of growing up with the other, he could see when Mello was amused. When the other had cleared away enough blood for his liking, Matt glanced back to the bullet wound in his chest, bidding his features to remain carefully blank. Matt had always been the first one to get up when he was knocked down-- if he wasn't feeling too lazy about it. His body, however, seemed to realize that infection lurking around the corner was a good motivation to act fast.
: "And if I am?" Mello inquired, lifting his head to cock an eyebrow before deeming the wound successfully clean--well, clean enough--and drawing out a jug of disinfectant that he figured would be a lot stronger than just antibacterial wipes. He unscrewed the cap and drew a fresh rag from the bag, ripping off the tag from the cloth and soaking it in the stuff. This time he covered the wound again, merely applying pressure so that the medicine on the rag could spread effectively over the area. "Later you need to take a shower to rinse of all this shit," he said. "And you probably need one anyway."
Matt nearly flinched at the sight of the disinfectant, but he had a little more composure than that. Instead, he just leaned back against the couch and let Mello tend to him, eyeing the cloth warily and twitching when it made contact with his newly exposed flesh. His faith was not rewarded. It stung. He wasn't sure whether or not he was exactly comforted to know that the usual, ever-present pain of being shot hurt more than just stinging, but he found enough truth in the matter that he didn't react any more. "And the sheets need to be changed and the floor needs to be cleaned," he pointed out blandly, although he knew that neither of them would get to that any time soon. "Lotsa things need to be done." Including case work, which he would do. Really.
"Fuck if I'm cleaning the floors any time soon," he said pointedly, voicing the ideation that was probably lingering in both of their minds. "You can do that when you get better."
"But you might change the sheets?" Matt insinuated hopefully. He didn't really want to sleep on dried blood, nor did he actually want to change the sheets-- but both he and Mello knew that he would if Mello didn't.
The elder shook his head at the mention of the sheets, a smirk playing at the creases of his lips. Mello removed the cloth after awhile reached in to the bag once more to withdraw a long winding of ace bandages. He untwisted the roll and poised over the other. "Sit up straight and lift your arms as best you can," he instructed in a monotone.
Matt grimaced at the notion that the other wasn't going to change the sheets but did as instructed, managing to get his right arm maybe halfway to shoulder level, which was all right, although his left didn't seem to want to cooperate all that well. He moved it far enough away from his body that Mello's hand could pass through there with a bit of brushing-- and he seemed to be content with that, because he didn't make an effort to move anymore. It hurt too damn much, even with the pain killers. "Y'know, Mello, how many people have you shot and then bandaged, hm? You act like you've done this before, but I can't see you mothering any mafia guy."
Even if he had, there was no way he was going to talk about it flippantly with Matt. Each wrap was pulled tighter than the previous, ensuring that it kept a tight hold on the injury in the case that it opened up again. Though this was unlikely, anything could happen, and he worked too damn hard for the red head to suddenly die despite their efforts.
"Yeah, yeah," he said in response to the second remark. He looked straight up at Matt with an unfathomable expression. "Usually when I shoot people, I make sure they stay dead."
"There's a first time for everything," he recited, knowing the expression from all the times it had been tossed back at him for his excuses of not knowing how to do something to get out of doing some new task. "Done yet?" he questioned, not so much impatient, but his left arm was just plain sore and was begging to be put down again.
Mello tightened the wrappings a final time for good measure and fastened them with the clasps provided in the package. "Yes, I'm done," he affirmed, drawing away from the other and standing up.
"Now get a goddamn shirt on."
He grinned and stood up, picking back up his chocolate to nurse at it with his mouth, keeping it suspended there for awhile as he paced around putting things away. Once that task was done, the blonde took the bag of treatments into the kitchen and dropped it lazily on the counter. If luck favoured them, they wouldn't have to use it much more. If it didn't, it would be exactly where he left it.
Matt had a lot of cleaning to do. He wasn't exactly a neat freak, but what with all his electronics lying around... He liked to keep fairly organized, just in case. Grumbling, he wandered back to the room to pull on a fresh shirt. Surprisingly, this one was just plain, solid black rather than his usual bi-coloured stripes. Somehow, though, it seemed to suit for the situation.
As the newly-clothed gamer reentered the room, he asked, "What was it that I said that pissed you off?" Sitting down on the floor with a short grunt of effort, he returned to his laptops. "I either wanna save it as a trump card or never say it again." He cracked something of a smirk-- it was hard to tell which he actually meant, or even if he was being serious at all
"Don't you have work to do?" On the other hand lounging, Mello took the liberty of taking the other's cell phone and flipping through his contacts list. He had a right to be nosy; after all, he was living with him. If the gamer had a girlfriend, Mello was more than apt to know.
Actually, from the looks of the phone, Matt had several girlfriends. Female name upon female name zipped through the phone listing-- but if Mello bothered to check, those same names were all over Matt's missed calls, but no where near his outgoing ones. Actually, the only contact that had been outgoing in the past forever was Mello. "I'm doing it," Matt assured Mello, leaning over his work with a newly lit cigarette in hand. He had his elbow propped against his knee to minimize the movement he had to make to feed his dependency. "And besides-- don't you?"
The only work Mello had to do at the moment was analyze anything Matt happened to find, before putting his plan to seek out the new L into motion. Then, and only then, would things grow serious. He tore his eyes away from the cell phone's miniature screen long enough to sigh and contempt and scoot over to Matt and flip through the numbers again and bring up the one from Near. "Hey...look up this area code for me," he said, dangling the electronic in front of the other's face before jerking it away and offering it.
Matt waved the phone off-- he already had the number on his computer and was soon enough running a check on it. "Osaka."
"I need to contact the task force in Japan, now," he said. "Find any number you can."
"Every number, already done." Matt pulled last night's spoils. Aside from L's number, the other task force members were there. Hopefully, that was all of them. There had been one unattainable number in the system that he'd scoured through to get these numbers, but he figured that one was the second L's and it was no surprise. "Touta Matsuda, Kanzo Mogi, Shuichi Aizawa, Hideki Ide. Take your pick," Matt offered, swiveling the screen around for the blonde to see.
Mello bit his lip, figuring that it wouldn't matter whose number he chose, as long as that person had a connection to the second L in some way, which all of them seemingly did. He mentally decided against Shuichi Aizawa, knowing that he was already in contact with Near and would probably have no use to them. Furrowing a brow, the blonde pointed. "Kanzo Mogi," he mouthed allowed, adding the number listed to Matt's phonebook. He started to turn away, then decided against it and added each other number in succession. You could never be too prepared.
Matt peered over to make sure the other was finished before he moved windows, scanning through the databases with a strange speed that could only be acquired through masterful talent and experience. Near and L's ability to watch multiple screens at one time could almost be equated to Matt's ability to search databases at a striking rate of accuracy. Nothing seemed to really jump at him, though. Silence reigned momentarily. "We didn't really do shit, but… I'm tired. Let's sleep."
Mello glanced up from the phone, vaguely put off by Matt's up-front manner of expressing his unwillingness to do any other work. Sighing, he decided to excuse it this once due to the fact that he didn't want any chances of letting that bullet wound get to the other. "Fine." After a moment, he added on a grumble. "Lazy ass…"
Matt grinned.
"I know."
--
Though reasonably graceful in most of his movements, a sleeping Mello was quite a sight to see. He lay sprawled across the couch, one leg and one arm draped across the back of the furniture, while the rest of his body slumped over the cushions, threatening to tip him over at any time. And yet, he maintained his precarious posture the entire night, even up until morning when the sun began to pool against the bloodstained carpet (that had yet to be cleaned) and up onto his still leather-clad body. Blonde hair clung to his face, which was sticky with sweat conjured by the heat of the night and the sudden arrival of morning. He murmured slightly in his sleep and rolled over, disturbing his awkward position only to toss the hair from his face.
Mornings like this reminded him of those days back in Wammy's. Those days where he'd poke Mello and see how many times it took for the other to wake up... Or... See how aggravated Mello would get before he would come back to the world of the waking. Tempted to try out some old time traditions, and seeing that there was nothing he'd missed because there was nothing to be gained, Matt snuck across the room and carefully, oh so carefully, prodded Mello in the leather-clad side.
Immediately, Mello curled up into a ball with a tiny, very uncharacteristic squeak, eyes fluttering open angrily to blink up at the offender with as much venom as he could muster. The elder unfurled and sat up, aiming a punch to Matt's shoulder that wouldn't spur too much pain from his healing injury, but would still send the message that it was never an intelligent idea to poke a sleeping Mello.
"Ow." Matt reacted noncommittally; glad that the shoulder Mello had punched was the one opposite to the side that he'd gotten shot in. The more he thought about it though, it wouldn't matter if he got punched on his left side or not. Seeing Mello curl up and squeak, just like he had back in the old days, made up for it all. Hell, Mello didn't pull a gun on him again and that was all that Matt cared about.
"Sleep well?" he questioned the elder, just as he had done back in the orphanage. In fact, Matt had taken the comical liberty of resting his chin against the edge of the couch like the little kid he used to be. "You squeal like a girl."
He stood, shoving Matt again just for good measure and strolling into the kitchen. From there, the male made a scene of watching the refrigerator for a moment before rummaging through it to retrieve a morning chocolate bar. A fair eyebrow rose at the other, and he peeled back the wrappers before deeming the gamer's comments worthy of a response. "Yeah, good morning to you, too," he said gruffly, leaning against the counter.
Matt smiled wanly. When they were kids, this was the time they'd race down to the cafeteria for breakfast. Being a smart one, Matt had always let Mello win-- hell, he wasn't sure if he'd be bothered to race properly anyway. It all seemed like so much work to him. "I should try waking you up more often and see how long you still say that to me."
"Live for it, do you?" he asked with a slight snort, striding in to the living room after his fascination with the kitchen had fizzled to naught. Mello couldn't have cared less about his past, since he had done well to forget it. The past never served him before, and all it brought was painful memories, not to mention regrets.
The blonde lingered in the middle of the room for awhile, concentrating on one spot on the carpet before collapsing against the skirt of the couch, placing his ass on the floor with a satisfied "wumphh".
"Of course." Matt answered, lying back against the couch too, and producing his custom-made handheld video game system. He bleeped away at the game that was on the screen, carefully guiding his little monster through a maze filled with various hazards. "So what's the agenda?" he questioned, feeling as though he had to raise the question. Mello wasn't talking about Near, nor was he talking about Kira, or the case in general... He was being oddly quiet, actually. Maybe Matt's previous concerns of a couple days ago were true-- maybe Mello was getting sick. He hadn't, after all, really been taking care of himself.
For a long while, Mello didn't answer. He just sat there, head against the couch, thinking and wondering, nearly falling asleep again before he did answer.
"I don't know," he said, his voice shallow. To be honest, he had a lot of things whirling around in his mind, and a half-baked idea about getting closer to Kira using Hal Lidner. But for now, he wasn't in the mood to talk about plans, or agendas.
Matt looked over to Mello, seriously concerned about him for a second. It really wasn't like Mello to just sit there and do nothing. Granted, he didn't blame the other-- maybe his mannerisms had rubbed off, but still... Deciding to be brash, Matt reached over and pressed the back of his hand against the blonde's forehead, slipping under his bangs to feel the half-marred, half-flawless skin there. "No fever," he announced, seeming to talk to himself more than he was to Mello. He, however, did attempt to catch Mello's eye and give him something of a smirk.
"Oh, shut the fuck up," hissed Mello, shoving the other away and shoving the bar of chocolate into his mouth to break off a piece and chew it with obvious malcontent. "Just because I don't tell you my ideas doesn't mean I have a fever." That was his excuse when he didn't feel like expressing his ideas, even if he didn't honestly have them. "Maybe if I were Near, I'd be flushed with inspiration. I'd have money and resources out my ass." There went his second weapon: blame it on Near, evem if he didn't have anything to do with the situation.
Matt peeled away, making sure that he didn't get roughed up too badly in Mello's discontentment. "You could be sick," Matt pointed out, seeing the reason in this. He wasn't about to explain it to Mello, though, he didn't think that was any good. Even so, Mello continued on and included Near in the conversation, which shut Matt up pretty quickly. The red-head wrinkled his nose in distaste, moving a hand to adjust his goggles using the bridge piece.
"Fuck Near," Matt answered, his voice oddly calm. "I told you, I'll get you as much money as you want. I'll operate as many fucking computers as Near's got going. You make the connections, I'll get everything else going," he stressed to the other, subtly pointing out that he had long since accepted that he was willing to be a tool in Mello's operations.
"That's not the point, Matt."
"Then what is?" Matt shot back, his demeanor an undoubted cool. He took a breath off his cigarette, procuring a fresh one and lighting it.
"The point is is that I'll probably kill myself trying to catch Kira and that snide bastard will still win." He knew that the other would be more than willing to do whatever Mello wanted, but that just wasn't good enough in the blonde's eyes. Unquestioning loyalty was all fine and dandy, but he wanted that feeling of being on top. As of yet, his efforts had yielded fruitless, and he could find no upper hand.
Matt exhaled a stream of smoke down to the floor, thinking rather seriously it seemed. He gave Mello fucking everything, and Mello just threw it aside because it wasn't good enough. Unless somehow Matt could conquer the world and give it to Mello, it wouldn't be good enough. Then again, Mello might just want to conquer the world for himself. Matt laughed hollowly at the thought.
Mello continued over the other's hidden, cynical thoughts. "You know what? Through it all, he'll be wearing that cool, nonchalant expression. Like he doesn't care. It drives me fucking insane." The chocolate in Mello's mouth suddenly lost its flavour, and he threw it onto his lap with disdain. Of course, he'd pick it up a few minutes later to seek the console of his sweet, but for now he was sick of everything.
Typical, misanthrope Mello.
Matt scowled. Mello's fears and his fears were pretty much the same. Mello had told him that the line between throwing his life into the way of peril and simply risking his life was non-existent; but quite frankly, Matt didn't think that was possible. Maybe Mello might be so determined that it seemed that way, but Matt disagreed.
"Do you really have to fucking kill yourself, Mello? What're you going to have then? There's got to be a way to do this without dying, because Near's gonna think of it." Matt pointed out scathingly, turning to look at the disdainful one beside him.
"Of course Near's going to think of it first!" Mello cried, picking up his chocolate to occupy his hands, which were fixing to curl into fists and punch out his companion because of the sheer magnitude of the conversation. "Perfect Near will always think of it first. No matter how hard I try, he'll succeed and I'll either be dead or second place."
"So why don't you get there first? Then that won't happen." The thing that Matt hated about Mello and how heated he got about his goals was that he often got so wrapped up in them that he was blinder than Matt in seeing what was right in front of him. In this case, right beside him. Matt had tried to accept that he wouldn't amount to much more than a kind of friend and a partner to Mello, but it was one of those things that he just couldn't do. He gave himself wholesomely to the other, and yet Mello very rarely stopped to realize he was there. Hell, Matt had to get shot by Mello's hand in order for that to happen.
Maybe, in the very core of things, Mello appreciated Matt more than anything. But he usually was caught up in what was right at the forefront of his mind, which was usually his blinding hatred for Near and his want to be first for once.
"Maybe if you quit that fucking attitude, it won't be that way." Matt suggested, his intent boiling, but his voice staying completely cool.
"Maybe if you would shut the fuck up, you wouldn't have to listen to my attitude," Mello said, rather mildly, but the simmering anger was still there. It was true that he was blind to some things, but he wanted to do something meaningful. He wanted to prove that he was good for something, that he wasn't just another empty life in the world, only created to expedite the success of someone else. He wouldn't be--couldn't be--satisfied with that kind of life.
"What if I don't care?" Matt challenged, because he didn't. He put up with Mello long enough that the other's attitude didn't really faze him anymore. It was just the small things that got to him that pissed him off, but that you couldn't blame him for. Because, as things were, Matt didn't see Mello as appreciating him. Hell, he had to really try to hold onto the fact that Mello cared about him. Most of the time, though, Matt felt himself feeling like that good dog on the leash that got shucked aside for new, fancier things. "What if you've been bitching to me for too long?"
"So what are you going to do about it?" Mello questioned, rising to the challenge. "Bitch back at me?"
"Maybe I should."
The gamer was currently torn between punching Mello in the face and hoping to knock some sense into that head of his-- or indeed, bitching him back.
"If you're never fucking good enough, why don't you understand that no matter what I fucking do, I'm never good enough for you? It's always fucking Near this, Kira that, go shove them up your ass, Mello," Matt answered, sucking a deep breath from his cigarette in order to placate his fiery nerves.
There was a silence.
And then, "When have I ever said that?" he said, almost accusingly. "When have you ever heard me say anything that even remotely resembled me thinking you're not good enough?"
Matt shut up at that, gritting his teeth.
"I need to do something with my life, even if it's a failure," Mello continued, "I have to prove that I'm worth more than that, or I'll never let myself forget it. Kira is my only chance to not only prove myself to me, but also to Near. I have to show him that I'm not useless."
"That's just it, damn it. Do I have to keep getting shot for you to listen to me?" His cigarette quaked in between his fingers. "Why do you have to prove anything to Near? Why Near? Does his opinion matter so much more than mine?" Matt stabbed, jabbing at the truth of his situation here. He hated that Mello seemed to shirk his word even when Matt very well knew that the hot-headed, crass thing in front of him was worth his fucking life. But all it seemed to him, though, was that Mello's future was only worth Near's satisfaction.
"You haven't been kicking my ass for years."
Mello's chocolate was gone. Thankful for a chance to get up and away from the red head who was currently pushing too many buttons, he stood and retreated into the kitchen. Eventually, he decided against getting any more and sat down against the refrigerator, turning to watch Matt fiercely. But there was no way he was going back into that damned room with him. Mello didn't want to do anything he would regret.
Matt gritted his teeth. That couldn't be it. He would refuse to believe that Mello's sense of inferiority just came back full circle and bit him in the ass. No way. That reasoning was the only reason why Matt's opinion-- Matt's whole fucking drive was shucked aside? Great. Real great.
Getting up, he put out his cigarette in a shot glass that sat by the beaten lamp, staring at the half-smoked thing before proceeding to the kitchen. Matt knew very well that he was pushing Mello's buttons-- he was always pushing Mello's damn buttons. One, there was amusement to be had-- two, it was a stupid reason to get under Mello's skin and spark something in him that wasn't just an impassive order. He didn't seem to have any regrets, though, as he staggered forward his last couple of steps and slammed his right fist into Mello's cheek.
"How about kicking your ass now?"
He wasn't expecting anything like that from Matt, who he always viewed to be impassive and openly receptive to anything Mello could dish out, and so, he fell to the side, collapsing on the cold linoleum floor with a wide-eyed look. His resilience, though, was remarkable; the blonde got back on his feet almost immediately and lunged himself at the other, being damned if he was going to take anything like that without putting up a good fight. He may not have been able to win against Near, but he wasn't going to let Matt beat the hell out of him.
Mello took the gamer by the collar and attempted to shove him roughly against the refrigerator, not giving a shit if he angered the gunshot wound.
It seemed like Matt's tables had flipped on him-- although suddenly, he had a flaring temper, he had nothing else. All his anger looked drained away-- his tire, his annoyance, shreds of kindness-- all of it gone. Mello's fist dug into his newly abused flesh, but all he did was respond with a twitch that flared from his reacting nerves. It hurt like Jesus burning on the cross, but he didn't show it.
Fuck it. Fuck it all. "Goddammit, Matt," the blonde swore.
"'Goddamnit Matt' what?"
Silence.
"Why I ever moved in with you is beyond me," hissed Mello. No matter how much animosity he held for the other, he didn't want to fight with him until they killed each other, which they eventually would if Matt kept pushing him closer to the edge. He stomped toward the living room, fingers twitching in the absence of his chocolate.
"Because you either needed or wanted my help. Or maybe you missed me." He sounded scathing.
"Hell no. I'd be better off leaving." Mello shoved Matt back against the fridge and let go.
"Go ahead," Matt answered, straightening and gingerly touching a couple fingers to his chest. Through his black shirt, he couldn't tell how bad the damage was, but he could feel a thin layer of slick coating between his fingertips as he rubbed them together. He'd be fine. "Why don't you take whatever you want, too?" he suggested, gesturing to the array of electronics lying out in the other room. "I'm yours to use until the very end." It was a taunt, and nothing more.
"Fine," he snarled, sort of put out by this answer. What had he been expecting? Matt to beg him to stay? Unlikely, even for Matt. And yet, Mello couldn't believe it, but that's what he had been craving. He wanted the red head to want him, in a way. But hadn't he always? "I will leave. I'll leave you to your games and your nonexistent life. I'll leave you to your slow, painful death on your cigarettes. You're a hopeless cause, Matt." The male then began to stomp around, gathering what little clothes he had; he even snatched a laptop and a few cables to go with it, just to mock the offering he was given.
Matt fell silent, staying in the kitchen, against the refrigerator, not trusting his body to stay on his good side. He knew well enough that he was physically fine, but his mental stability worried him at the moment. He was sure that if he moved, his head would think that he was trying to stop Mello, mutiny, and send him plummeting to the ground. Instead, the red-head placidly watched Mello pack from where he was. He was only letting the elder go because he felt the need to wallow in his own self pity and hope that Mello would come back, just like all the other times.
Part of him, though, dearly begged him to get up despite the threat. Part of him didn't want this time to be like that one exception.
Mello stopped his incessant pacing only when he found that he couldn't find anything else to take in his rage. Well, there was one last thing, and he turned in a huff to the kitchen to fish out all the chocolate he had bought on that 'fateful' day when they went to the arcade. The candy store's emblem was emblazoned proudly across it, and he scowled at it, as though trying to explain.
I've had enough of his shit.
The blonde whirled back out of the kitchen and stomped to the door, each step slowing, perhaps giving Matt the chance to stop him. "I'm not coming back," he reminded, although he wasn't too sure of this himself. If he did, it would either hurt his pride or save his life. It was walking a fine line.
Matt moved now, inching towards the living room where the couch offered a refuge. He hadn't done much, but his body was repulsed with him at the moment. He ignored it. It wouldn't do now for him to do something stupid and petty like collapse in front of Mello. He didn't have anything to say to the other, but the steps that Mello were taking slower and slower seemed to draw Matt a little nearer. Eventually, he reached out and grabbed Mello by the wrist-- but it stopped there.
"... 'Course not."
He dropped Mello's wrist like it was scalding iron against his skin. Matt flexed his fingers and adjusted his goggles-- he wasn't debating with himself, but he hadn't made a decision either. His mind was impressively blank-- but for once, that wasn't a good thing. "Are you sure you're going?" he asked finally, unsure of anything else to do.
There. There it was. It wasn't a plea, like Mello had been hoping, but it was close enough. It was some semblance of a doubt, a question that hinted toward Matt wanting him to stay. Or...something like that. He drew his wrist toward himself, as though appalled at the touch, but had a contemplative expression on his face, as though he was seriously considering inquiry.
Which he wasn't.
The blonde glared heavily and then drew away from the door, dumping the mass in his hands onto the sofa. "Of fucking course I'm not," he said. "I can't just leave now without making plans in advance. I have a deal with Hal that I need to put through, and I need your help if it's going to work." He scowled. "Are you happy?"
Matt could swear that the fucking a-bomb dropped outside his window and he had survived. That was the extent of his relief. He moved back and sat down on the couch-- or rather, kind of half-fell, and half-lowered himself into it. He sat there for a little bit, blinking at Mello with an unreadable expression. "Sure," he answered finally, seeming to come to his senses again and go back to being the impassive self that Mello knew.
It was like someone had pressed an almighty button. The blonde could just feel things sink back into blissful normalcy, and he wondered vaguely whether that was a good or bad thing.
"Aren't you happy?"
"Happy as happiness gets," Mello answered, far more distracted than he was relaxed. Why am I so weak? He could have left, and honestly, he would have. But something made him stay, at least until he went through with his plans. At least.
Matt refrained from moving yet, watching his friend with some menial amount of interest. "I'm glad you didn't leave."
Mello looked up.
"Yeah. You should be."