Friday Evening
This time his bike was totaled. As in, there was no way that he could fix it. After a few choice words and a few phone calls, Matt was able to get a ride from none other than his dear old friend, Linda.
"Whatcha do this time?" she giggled as she leaned out of the window of her 1971 Ford Mustang.
Looking down at the bandages and stitches before glancing back up, he shot her a dirty look and hobbled his way to her car. "Shut up, Linda."
"Hey, I'm giving you a ride, man; don't give me shit."
Falling heavily on his seat and rubbing his bruised forehead, the brunette shook his bangs out of his eyes. "Sorry. I'm just tired."
A sympathetic look crossed the girl's face. "It's okay. Is that a concussion you got?"
"Probably. Wait a sec, why aren't you shouting my damn ear off?"
Giggling, Linda straightened up in her seat causing her blouse to tighten more revealingly across her midsection. "It's the doctors' orders. They said that my blood pressure was too high."
"Who the hell knocked you up?"
"No one you know. Anyway, it's been a while, hasn't it? What have you been up to these past few years? The last time I saw you was after I gave you that picture of you and that cutie blond kissing."
Matt's countenance darkened and he turned to face the scenery as it blew by. "I'm tired, Linda. We can talk later."
Matt had tried to forget that weekend with all of his heart. After he broke up with that stuck-up, whiny, clingy German, things just fell apart. He and L had gotten into a heated argument about what happened, with L saying that Matt was at fault for not letting Mello defend himself and for jumping to conclusions. The argument ended with L getting a black eye from an infuriated Matt, and Matt receiving a broken nose courtesy of B. Needless to say, they never talked again. Misa-Misa would be nice anytime they met up, but where B and L were, there was Kira, so Misa-Misa never had much time to chat when she had a boyfriend to keep up with.
On top of losing very dear friends, Matt seemed to have also lost his way in life. It was strange to him, a dark new world that he didn't like at all. For Buddha's sake, he had been living on the road since he was thirteen years old! If there was any point in his life that he should have felt lost, it was then! Not now, not when he had everything going for him. It became harder for him to just follow the wind; anytime he finally got a feel for where it was going, the winds would change directions and send him right back. Always back to that place.
And oh, how he avoided that place.
Linda drove in silence and pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex. All the lights seemed to be on and music roared out of the open windows. Shadows danced across the draperies, as the people inside danced and drank merrily. "Come on, let's go inside."
Getting up stiffly, Matt wondered if Linda was still drinking alcohol. Wasn't that stuff bad for babies? Not that it was any of his concern. Once inside the complex, Linda took him up several flights of stairs, down the hall and into one of the quieter apartments. Walking past the young men and women who were shooting up, Matt was led into a small overly packed bedroom. Pictures hung from every inch of the walls that weren't covered behind piles of boxes and piles of clothes. A small television was propped up in the corner by a cardboard box, the antennae looking like odd rabbit ears.
"Can I sleep here?" Matt found himself asking as he looked longingly at the bed draped in wrinkled sheets that smelled suspiciously of more sex and more drugs.
"Yeah. I'll come in with you after a few hours. You're not going to try to molest a pregnant lady are you?"
"Ew. Don't even say that."
Linda sighed when she realized that her question didn't even bring a smile to Matt's lips. He was simply out of it. In fact, she had heard rumors that Matt had been acting strange for the past few years. It had been obvious to her when she delivered the developed photograph of him and that blond that he hadn't been doing well.
"Alright, Matt. Try to get some rest. Is there anything that I need to get you because of that concussion?"
But Matt wasn't listening anymore. He fell onto the well-worn sheets with a pained groan before closing his eyes. Linda looked over the beaten young man's figure with a frown. If only there was something that she could do to bring him back to the free-spirited devil-may-care brat he had been. Shaking her head, she turned off the light and headed out to get something to eat and drink.
As soon as he was certain that Linda was gone, Matt dared to crack an eye open. At the same time, he stuffed his hand into his fur-lined vest's pocket and pulled out a worn and crumpled picture. How many times had he tried to throw it away? How many times had he screamed in fury to no one in particular as he flung that worthless scrap of paper away, only to run after it and dust it off?
Placing it under the single stream of yellowed light, he stared at the image that haunted and seduced him.
Saturday Morning
"No. Bloody motherfucking no."
"Matt, be reasonable! I've gotten you a motherfucking bike! Be grateful and take it!"
"I'm not going back there," he declared as he dabbed alcohol over his road-rashed arm.
"Oh, come on, it's just a camp site! It's not like he's going to be there!"
Blue eyes glared at the short ornery woman. "I just don't want to go there. That's all."
"Well, I don't give a damn! I'm not hauling your fucking ass all around the damn country when you feel like it! You're going to get the fucking bike and then you can go wherever the hell you want!"
"Didn't the doctors say to quit yelling so much, Linda?"
"Damn it!"
If he wasn't so pissed off, Matt might have actually been amused with Linda's reactions. But he had to draw a line. Fuck, he'd rather walk for the rest of his life than go back to that place. Four years. It had been four years since he had gone to that particular camp, four years since he broke it off with that asshole, and four years since he gave up the notion of falling in love.
"How the hell would you know if he's there or not? And, I mean, what the hell does it matter if he's there or not? I'm not fucking worried."
Taking a few deep calming breaths, Linda cocked her hip and tilted her chin. "Don't you dare think that you can fuck with me. I'm not some idiot bimbo. I saw that chemistry, I saw that you were in-"
"Shut the fuck up!" Matt yelled, his electric blue eyes flashing dangerously. "You don't know anything, so just shut the fuck up." Swallowing thickly, Matt glanced at his muddied boots. He had to be realistic whether he wanted to or not, and Linda was right. She wasn't going to take care of him forever. In fact, she probably wouldn't take care of him for the next week. He had to get a new bike, and soon. She had managed to pull the strings of her network and gotten him a free motorcycle, so why was he complaining? Why was he making such a big deal out of that place? It meant nothing. But, the ride would mean freedom. "Okay. Fine. I'll go there, Linda."
"Well, then," she replied with a happy little smile. "I can take you there. If we head out now, we can make it in time for the big evening cookout. There's some rich group of hippies who dodged the draft and they brought a bunch of stuff. How about it?"
Tossing the options around in his head, Matt shrugged. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could leave and be back to his life on the road. "Sure, let's go."
Saturday Evening
It was different from how he remembered it. Trees had been cut down to allow for more people, giant cement blocks had been mortared together to form permanent bonfire pits. There were lines painted onto the grass to mark out parking spaces, and newer models of cars in bolder, brighter colors. More people who worshipped the more glamorous and marketed lifestyle of hippies. They didn't believe in the true way. Most of them didn't really believe in anything other than carnal pleasure. How very different from those nights he had spent staring at the stars through the leafy boughs of the trees, communing with his faith. And now, there were gravel paths dug out of the black earth, and bottles strewn across the abused, flattened grass.
But the drugs and alcohol were free and in ample supply, so he could let the substances do their work. He could still dance and talk and drink with the swarm of people. He could still savor the cool night's air thrumming with activity and with carnal cries, freedom of expression. It was good, and he could throw himself into the chaos with abandon. He could choke back the memories and bury them under an avalanche of sensations. Looking around, Matt decided that he needed to get laid. None of the men in his current company were even remotely attractive, so he would have to go hunting.
Before he had a chance to stand and begin his search, a man to his right thrusted out his bearded chin and snarled. "Look who's shown up to the party." The derision was dripping from his beer-soaked words.
Keeping an uninterested expression on his face, Matt glanced up to see army-issued boots that were almost completely worn out, 7-pocket jungle fatigues, and an M65 field jacket. Everything looked worn down and frayed, even the person wearing the clothes. His hair was poorly cut and it hung down past his hunched shoulders. The shadows and the shaggy hair covered most of the soldier's face, but what was showing was typical for soldiers fresh out of Vietnam. Hollow eyes, reflecting nothing and no one, pallid skin, and the ghostly walk of a living dead. A thin duffle bag hung over his right shoulder and Matt barely noticed the fact that this soldier didn't seem to move his left side much at all. He sat and watched as men spat at the passing soldier, throwing out insults and fighting words. But the man just ghosted along, almost as if he wasn't even conscious of his current plane of existence.
"Leave him alone," Matt found himself muttering, not loud enough to actually be heard. For some reason, the black dirt under his feet became quite fascinating. A shadow was cast over his figure and when he looked up, Matt was surprised to see the soldier standing in front of him.
"Are you Matt?" the raspy voice croaked out.
Still surprised, Matt noticed that it was like he was being spoken at, not spoken to. A man to the left spat on the soldier's frayed field jacket, but those eyes never flickered to life. There was no emotion, no nothing. "Yeah," the brunette found himself replying. "I'm Matt. What's it to you?"
Never moving his left arm, the stranger slid the duffel bag off of his shoulder and set it in front of the confused young man. "This is yours."
"Mine? What the fuck are you talking about, man? I haven't been to the war. That's not mine."
"The letters inside are yours."
Letters? Leaning forward, Matt found himself unzipping the wrinkled bag. Why did he care anyway? And yet, as hard as he tried, the brunette couldn't keep the horrible cold lump from swelling up inside of his stomach. There was only one person that he knew who had gone to the war, but there was no reason for that person to have written letters to him. No reason at all.
But…there they were. Staring up at him, wrinkled and worn, yellowed and torn, stained and smeared. Hundreds and hundreds of them. All of the color must have drained from his face, because someone next to him was saying something and shaking his shoulder, but Matt shook the hand off and swallowed thickly.
From: Mello
To: Matt
Struggling to keep breathing evenly, Matt reached out with a trembling hand and pulled up an envelope from the top. "H-how did…where did you get these?" he managed to choke out.
"In Vietnam," the soldier replied heavily. "I had promised to deliver his mail should that day come. See, he couldn't send any of them, because he said that this Matt didn't live anywhere in particular. Well, you're that Matt." The man's lips were trembling, even as he worked so hard to keep his voice level and emotionless. "I guess that I'll be leaving now, seeing as I delivered them."
Before he had a chance to move away, Matt's hand caught a hold of his scuffed jacket sleeve. "Why d-don't you sit for a minute, okay? Just…" Swallowing down the painful lump in his throat, Matt released the man's sleeve and peeled open the letter. It looked as if it had been dumped in water and then set out to dry, but the penned words were still as clear as the starry-night sky.
Dear Matt,
Every day, I wonder why I do this to myself. Why do I keep cutting this wound, deeper and deeper until I almost can't stand it anymore? Why do I spend precious moments of rest on writing these letters? They'll never make it to you anyway. In a way, I hope they don't. Maybe it's because I'm scared that you'll just throw them away, that you'll never forgive me. Or maybe I'm afraid of burdening you and holding you back from your life of following the winds.
I don't have an answer. In all likelihood, I never will…
The sound of paper tearing and crinkling echoed in Matt's ears, just like that golden voice once did.
Dear Matt,
I smoked my first cigarette today. I couldn't help but think of you as I did it. You always made it look so easy…
Dear Matt,
Vietnam is pretty hot, and if the army let me keep my old hair style, my hair would have been a giant frizzy mess. Maybe crew cuts aren't such a bad idea? You know, I'm sure that your messy hair would never fit under our helmets…
Dear Matt,
Don't be alarmed by the blood on this page. I'd get a fresh piece of paper, but it's too much of a luxury right now, so I'll have to make due. The only injury I've managed to sustain during these months of grueling warfare is a branch slap to the face. If you can't guess, the branch won…
Dried up tear stains made some of them near impossible to read.
Dear M_,
I c_n't stop shaking. It's l_ke the wo_d just flipped on its side one day. He die_ next to me, right f_king next to me…
Fuck_g hell,
I c_n't take it anymore. I _nt to go home, I want to _ee you. I can barely wr_e anything. They had me in the tunnels h_re. Darkness, pitch blackn_. Som_times Charlie puts sna_es to kill us, and ev_y time I go d_n, I think about that. Thinking that death is there in the shadows, waiting for me t_ crawl along…
Some were long.
Dear Stranger,
Sometimes I get bored of calling you Matt. Kira said that we all shed our names and took new ones, so I find myself wondering about your birth name. Would you have ever told me? I even dream about riding on the back of your motorcycle, throwing my hands out and taking deep breaths of the cold air rushing past. We would drive from sunrise to sunset, and then we would park on the side of the road somewhere and make crazy passionate love until we physically couldn't anymore. Don't hate me for my fantasies; they're all that I have out here.
Reality is a bullet to the head, a grenade to the body, a knife in the back from dear old Charlie. I'd much rather live away from all of this. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll start to forget. The heat from the bonfires, the warmth of your skin, your smell surrounding me. Actually, I have a few small scars on my butt from that stupid tree…
Dear Matt,
Do you ever think about me as I think about you? Or was I just another fuck, another notch on your belt? You were my first ever, and still my only one. That has to mean something. Even if I couldn't have the same from you, you were my everything.
What if Lieutenant Rester reads this? I think that they would throw me out in the front line, or drown me in the river that keeps those mosquitoes breeding. Of course, I'd like to think that all of us soldiers have grown close, almost like brothers, but that line only goes so far. Fags aren't tolerated at all, and I have no doubt that any and all support would be pulled away from me. And yet, I keep writing. Oh, there is one person, who will remain nameless, that has promised to deliver these should I die. He's really the one who forced me into the promise; I was just going to burn these letters…
Dear Matt,
Three years, and I keep going. People in the states won't come and help us out, so I keep doing this. And what do I have back home? My mother? My father? I'm doing what they wanted me to do, I'm serving my country, I'm erasing the shame my family carried all the way back from Germany. There's nothing there for me. If I go home, my parents will undoubtedly send me off somewhere so that I can do more to erase the dishonor on our name. It will never end. So, if I don't have a family to go back to after this and I don't have you, where the hell should I go?
It's obvious. I just stay here. I'll fight and fight until either one of two things happen. The war will end or I'll be sent back in a wooden box. At least, if I die, I won't have to worry about things back in the states. I guess I'm hoping that this war doesn't end anytime soon.
Oh, and there's this little girl who comes to our camp all the time. She's really cute and even though she's missing some teeth, she smiles all the time. Her name is Phan, and both she and her little brother come on over all the time. I think that they like our chocolate candy more than they like us, ha ha. I've picked up a little of the local language from her. It's not as difficult as I thought it would be…
Some were short.
Dear Matt,
I wish that I would die already.
Dear Matt,
Come take me home.
Ma_t,
I love you. H_re in hell, I know more than ever. I l_ve you.
He was crying; all those tears that he held back for four years were now running down his cheeks. Looking over at the thin, silent soldier, Matt had to ask. "H-how did it happen?"
"Napalm." The single word was spoken with a sort of heaviness that sinks hearts, and it sent a shudder straight through Matt's. He had heard horror stories about what napalm would do in the jungles. "It was an accident, fratricide. Some soldiers were smoking a little too close to the napalm shipment. Mihael went to warn them off, and there was the explosion."
Tugging his own hair painfully, Matt let his eyes blur over as he stared at the four years worth of letters. "Was it quick? Painless?"
This time, there wasn't a quick answer. Haunted eyes danced with firelight. "Napal burns at somewhere between 1,500℉ and 2,200℉ degrees. It feels like hellfire licking at your flesh until suddenly it stops. That's when you get scared, because that's when you know that it's burned clear through two layers of skin. Your bones could be charring, and you wouldn't even know it."
Looking up slowly, Matt felt his breath hitch. The hair was a little dark, but shadows and a lack of washing could account for that. The flesh was drawn over the bones too tightly, but lack of a decent meal could account for that. Lifting his hand to the soldier's face, Matt gently brushed aside the shaggy curtain of hair. Warped flesh met his strangely calm gaze, wrapping around the left eye, down the left side of the straight nose until it trailed down the sharp chin and disappeared on its race down the otherwise pale neck. It was almost as if the flesh itself had been melted under an uneven flame.
Even as grotesque as the sight was, Matt found that he wasn't disturbed one bit. The only thing that bothered him was the thin white scar that made it's indented home on the soldiers lip. "I can't believe it scarred."
"I scar easily."
"Is that so?" he whispered, this time letting his fingers trail along the damaged skin.
Those eyes turned away from the fire and focused on the brunette. "I wasn't playing you, Matt. I never intended to."
Feeling his gaze soften, Matt took in the sunken face. "Why did you come back here? What the hell were you looking to accomplish?"
There were still no signs of emotion save for the trembling lips. "Mihael died in Vietnam. Mello was just looking for a chance to live. Will you take me back?"
Matt pulled away for a moment to examine the soldier. "Mello, I lived seventeen years of my life without you. But you know something? I learned in four short years that I can't live another damn year without you. Motherfucking punk, you caught me." Smiling, Matt cradled Mello's face with his hands and pulled him in for a kiss. No one else existed for him at that moment. Not Linda, not the men he had been drinking with earlier. There was just Mello, whose sweet taste hadn't changed with the passing of time or the hardships of war. Pulling back away, Matt chuckled. "Will you take me back?"
For the first time that evening, a smile broke across those pale lips. "Only if you promise me something. Never let go."
For the first time in years, the emptiness was gone. There would be no letting go ever again.
Sunday Morning
"Mmmn, ngh, dammit. I don't want to get up."
"You don't have to."
Sweat slicked bodies entwined further as lips met feverishly.
"Babe, fuck knows I'd love to stay here all day with you…"
Lips clicked.
"…but what, Matt? Ngh, mmhph."
"B-but, uh yeah, mnnn, this isn't my car."
"Heh, nice."
Matt pulled away to admire his lover's sleepy green eyes. As much as they wanted to continue making up for the years needlessly spent apart, they would have to take a break sometime. And now was as good time as any. Besides, Linda was probably out looking for him.
"Let's get out of here before the owner shows up."
Nodding, Mello squirmed out of Matt's arms and began the hunt for his clothes. With a yawn, he popped his back loudly and took a hold of his field jacket. Matt was content to watch the blond get dressed with the first rays of the sun streaking across his war-chiseled body. It was hard to imagine that he had been in even better shape before the napalm accident had sent him to hospitals. Even now he could see the damage that had been drawn from four years of continuous warfare. Scars littered his body, but all of the marks were dwarfed by the havoc of the napalm accident; the scar raced down the blond's chest and twisted down to his hip before ending abruptly. Matt could easily see the limited mobility that Mello was left with as he struggled to put on the jacket. Seeing the brunette examining him, Mello frowned.
"Do I disgust you, Matt?"
Smiling, Matt shook his head. "Of course not. We all carry scars, Mello. Some are just more visible than others."
"I won't ever fully recover. In fact, I may never gain full mobility in my arm again."
"It was working just fine last night," Matt teased with a knowing grin. "I mean, seriously, what the hell would you need the other arm for? You can hold onto me with one arm as you ride on the back of my motorcycle just fine, and like I said, it didn't affect sex any. We'll still be able to make love from dusk 'till dawn."
A soft smile touched Mello's lips. "I'll only offer this one more time. If you don't back down this time, I'm going to stick to you like white on rice until one of us finally gives up the ghost. I can leave, right now, and you won't have any obligations. We'll just go our separate ways."
Matt didn't even have to think about it. "Fucking shit Mello, I think you got it backwards. You're stuck with me. Not the other way around. Besides, when was the last time you even fucking showered? Huh? Would I sleep with just any hobo that smelled like you do? I don't think so!"
Chuckling, Mello leaned over and kissed the brunette tenderly. "Yeah, I guess not."
The two stumbled out of the unfortunate vehicle. Looking around, Matt took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air as he hefted the worn duffle bag onto his shoulder. Slowly, he let the exhaled air wash over his lips before taking flight in a small puff of fog. Mello looked around the field of vehicles, his cold sharp eyes struggling to hide his discomfort. In the arms of his lover, he was safe and comfortable. However, being out in the open was anything but safe or even remotely comfortable. If he wasn't being persecuted for being a soldier, he would be harassed for being gay. A strong hand took hold of his own, and some of that worry eased away. He wasn't alone anymore.
"So, let's go find Linda, okay? I've got to thank her…"
Smiling up at Matt, Mello nodded.
A few months later…
"You'll live a fulfilling life," L mumbled as the bearded hippie nodded distractedly. He was more interested in the imaginary colors flying through the air courtesy of some new processed drug, but the raven-haired man could care less so long as he was getting paid. "Just don't drink and drive. Okay, next!"
B led the man away with a firm grip and watched as his brother slumped further into his seat. He didn't like to see his older brother down in the dumps, especially when it was caused by another man. Granted, Matt was more like a boy than a man, but the separation in their friendship still stung. He ruffled L's hair affectionately before leaning against their old Volkswagen. The sounds of heavy breathing and moaning scarcely made it to his ears, but it was still enough to make him shudder. Imagining Misa-Misa naked was pretty darn gross.
"Can I get my fortune read?" another young punk asked.
L didn't even bother to look at the young man's face. They all became a blur anyway. "Sure. Three dollars up front." The bills slid across the makeshift table before B's hands appeared in his plane of vision and snatched them away. Then the hand dropped in front of him. "You…have a nice looking life line. You'll grow to be old. Um, yes, you see that there? That's also a relationship line of fate. It's crossing along with the happiness line. So you'll be lucky in love."
"Tch, that's pretty vague, isn't it?"
Irritated that he managed to get a sober customer, L finally looked up to shoot a dirty glare at him. Smiling back at him was a wide white smile, a crooked freckled nose, blue eyes, and a messy head of brown hair. At first, L didn't want to believe his eyes. Matt smiling at him? What the-
"Hi, guys." Standing next to Matt was a certain blond that L had been sure he would never see again. His hair was a lot longer and shaggier than he remembered, his clothing was a little more in style, but most astonishing was the look of utter relaxation and contentment on his face. This was not the same boy he had met.
"Mello?"
The blond smiled widely, with some scarring tissue preventing the left side of his lips from pulling back completely. "Long time no see, L. B, it's good to see that you haven't completely forgotten the concept of modesty."
"What can I say?" B chuckled with a shrug. "Even though I have a gift and I'm not afraid to flaunt it, L made me wear pants today."
Jumping up from his curled position on the chair, L knocked over the crude table and gave Mello a large awkward hug. Matt just leaned back in his seat and watched in amusement as his lover was nearly molested to death by the overexcited man. He shared a smile with the much calmer brother and nodded towards the car. "Is Kira banging Misa-Misa?"
"Yup. In my vehicle, nonetheless."
"That sucks."
Both men nodded and then sat in silence as Mello and L began to catch up. Then Matt spoke up again. "I got a car."
"Really? What happened to you being a firm believer in nothing but the freedom of a motorcycle?"
A soft smile curled on his lips as he looked back over at the blond. "Ah, you know how it is. Two on a motorcycle for long periods of time just doesn't work so well. I got this sweet Mustang, a beautiful red one. The seats are pretty cozy; they make long nights a lot more comfortable."
B nodded in appreciation. "So you guys are all good again?"
"Yeah. More than good."
"Vietnam?"
"Yeah. He can't be drafted because of the injury."
"What happened?"
"Napalm."
"Ah."
Mello leaned his hip against Matt's chair and let his hand rest comfortably on his lover's shoulder. The brunette allowed his hand to stroke the pale fingers tenderly, and even joined in with L's conversation. Eventually, B joined in as well and it was like that weekend all those years ago never ended. There was no war, no fights.
Brothers laughed together.
Lovers held hands.
Hearts were healing and happiness was growing.
Friends shared the moment.
In a time or war, discontent, culture shifts, and rebellion, it was important to remind each other that everything was going to be okay. They had each other, they had their lives, and they had functioning vehicles.
~Fin~
Author's Notes: Um, I think that I'll die of sappiness overdose. X_X
Thanks for the super-awesome reviews last chapter!I haven't had a chance to reply to them, but I did read them and enjoyed them so very much. I hope that everyone enjoyed this conclusion, even if it's not what I'm known for... BTW, let me know if you totally saw this outcome coming. XD Maybe I was a little too cliche?