A/N-I am so sorry for my ridiculously long hiatus! Enjoy this (slightly unedited) chapter and feel free to check out the prologue of my newest fiction. Please review if you feel so inclined. I love you, my loyal readers! :)

The incandescent light was burning quite brightly above.

It was cold, white, and indescribably beautiful.

When it touched him the sin that once lurked inside seemed to grow wings and take flight like a holy dove; leaving him naked with purity.

He was cleansed, washed permanently clean; free of all his past inaccuracies.

He knew that this was surely mercy; this was surely heaven.

But was this clemency life or death?

Mail Jeevas sat rigidly at his geometric desk, feeling like he was willingly imprisoned.

He robotically typed line after line of neon data codes onto the onyx screen of his computer.

Breathing deeply, he tried to imagine that his racing thoughts were gaudy colorful swirls and that the monotone work was morphing them into plain gray blocks that were stacked in neat little rows.

He punched in the one and zero coding at lightning speed in a desperate attempt to calm his racing pulse.

1010001

1000100

0000101

0010000

He'd spent an hour crying on the bench outside the diner, until he'd been forced to catch the bus to get to work.

He had even borrowed a pair of pants and a pinstriped shirt from a coworker so it wouldn't look like he'd spent the night out.

Now, his mind was pained with worry and thoughts of the blond man that he'd walked out on earlier.

A thread of pain thrummed under his ribcage. Mail swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. He had a terrible, overwhelming feeling of paranoia that refused to leave him.

Something

was

not

right.

He promptly decided that it was time for a break and he headed for the company lounge room. As he walked down the hallway he thought to himself that he had to be losing it; why did he feel this way?

He'd had a sense of doom since he had left the diner, but his head told him that he was being ridiculously paranoid.

Mello was fine.

Mello was fine.

Mello was fine.

Finally reaching the break room, Mail grabbed a cup of steaming coffee; which he hoped would help him focus on the task at hand.

He heard the white noise of the news and glanced over blankly at the small screen.

It flashed from a professional looking female reporter in a suit to a heavily bordered image of a missing person.

Mail felt his throat constrict as he scanned the blond hair, the piercing eyes, and the sharp facial angles.

The woman's droning voice started again.

"The search has just begun for the attackers of Mihael Keehl. He was found in critical condition in an abandoned drug warehouse. His perceived cause of illness is poison laced illegal substance consumption. It is suspected that the twenty three year old was involved in criminal activity but nothing has been confirmed."

Mail's coffee cup absently slipped from his hand; scalding his upper thigh and staining his work slacks a deep brown color.

"Mihael is suffering from internal bleeding and heart failure. He additionally suffered a brutal fall that bruised his entire body. Doctors are working their hardest to save him and he is being housed at St. Joseph's General hospital. He is currently stable, but he has not regained consciousness yet. Let's hope that his young heart can hold out-"

Mail found himself instantly drifting out of the room as if he'd been inflated by air.

He could not believe, or accept what was happening. He sat weakly in his cubicle chair and stared at the black screen in front of him. His leg stung faintly and his heart beat at a ridiculous rate.

Mello was hurt, just like he'd feared…he was…

But no, this couldn't be real; he had to be dreaming.

The person he liked most in the world couldn't be suffering like this…he just couldn't be!

Mail gazed again at the blinking monitor in front of him.

When he ran his eyes over the scramble of numbers he felt fury suddenly rising in his chest.

Here was just sitting here like a mouse in a cage, when he could've done something; anything to help Mello.

Because he'd known in his heart that the blond needed him.

In an uncharacteristic act of violence, Mail found himself punching his fists into his keyboard.

"Fuck!"

Mail swore loudly and threw stacks of documents of his desk in flurries of paper snow.

He kicked the fragile walls of his cubicle until the whole frame shook and collapsed; exposing him to his startled fellow cubicle mates who recoiled in fearful surprise.

Hot blood spurted freely from his knuckles and tiny plastic shells popped off erratically as he continued to mercilessly beat his computer with his bare hands.

More relieving pain shot up his wrists, but he didn't stop. Mail lifted, and then threw his swiveling chair into his wooden desk.

He could hear a woman scream softly, and some disapproving murmurs from others but he didn't care.

The only person that mattered to him was hurt and it was his fault and-

He felt a feather light tap on his back, and his blazing eyes met familiar gray globes.

"…"

"…"

"Mail Jeevas, please stop this behavior at once."

The albino's soft voice seemed to cut the sizzling tension in the air. Mail deflated like a thin inflatable and he crouched down brokenly until he was under his cracked desk.

He was at work for fuck's sale,

and this was his boss

and shit he was screwed…

"I-I'm sorry Near, I…I…"

Near adjusted his white tie and looked down at the red haired boy in concern.

He took in Mail's dark circles, his throbbing throat, his blood spotted hands, and the steady tears that were now pouring silently down his streaked cheeks.

His small frame bent to join the redhead and he took one of Mail's bloody hands into his baby smooth palm; holding it firmly.

"Mail."

"Y-yes?"

Mail's voice was croaking and fragmented. He started slightly as Near leaned quite far into his personal space, almost getting into his lap.

This close, he could tell that his boss smelled of vanilla and soapy powder-which was a world away from Mello's more masculine musk but not entirely unpleasant.

White curls tickled his hairline as the tiny man brought his face closer and closer in the dark space that they shared.

Mail was positive that he was blushing, but he was honestly too hurt to care at this point.

He closed his eyes as Near chastely kissed his sweaty forehead with understanding.

His whisper was inaudible enough that only Mail could hear it.

"Mail, you are fired."

Mail started to choke on another fresh batch of tears, when Near clasped his hand again.

"Hush."

"Near, please-"

Fragile hands swiped pools of saltwater from under his eyes. Concerned gray eyes moved left to right as they surveyed his rather pitiful state.

"He needs you. You need him. When everything is settled and well, I will certainly hire you again. You are the best programmer here and I do not want to lose you forever."

"B-but, I-"

"Love is very rare, Mail. I have only seen it a few times. Do not let it escape you."

"Near-"

"You must go to the hospital."

"How did you know-"

The small brow rose in mild irritation. The right side of Near's mouth quirked.

"Mail, do not bother me with trivial questions. Mello needs you, and you know it. Now I am ordering you to get out of my office. You are no longer an employee here."

With that bold declaration, Near abruptly untangled himself from the still trembling redhead.

He reached to his left to grab a worn brown briefcase and then passed it over to Mail.

He brushed some plaster from fiery locks before standing up completely and stoically emerging from underneath the desk.

Smoothing the wrinkles out of his button down, he met his employees' curious gazes with subdued yet commanding authority.

Mail timidly stepped out from his mangled cubicle and made his way quietly down the hallway.

He could barely breathe, but somehow his feet knew the way.

Near was right, he didn't want to be here anymore.

He needed to see Mello; needed to visit the hospital as soon as possible.

But he was scared…terrified to see Mello in such a condition…

Mail kept his reddened face down in a mixture of shock and shame until he was safely in the elevator and far away from the prying looks and disapproving mumbles.

As the metal doors closed, he caught Near's eye and the albino winked at him before resuming his iron façade.

His sharp tone echoed in Mail's ears as the elevator closed completely.

"There is nothing to see here. Now, get back to your stations."

About half an hour later, Mail fervently boosted himself out of a thickly crowed city bus and skidded up the stairs of the central hospital.

The ride had been absolutely suffocating, not because of the unwashed public packed in like sardines, but because of his frantically pumping nerves.

But now he was here and it didn't matter how scared he was.

Mello needed him.

The elevated medical building looked very much like a church with pure plaster walls and graceful arches.

The stairs were quite steep and the railings were plated in silver.

Small bunches of clipped bushes and flowers surrounded the facility with the intention of promoting cheer.

Instead, they made Mail feel surreally sick.

With shaking hands, he pushed the glass doors of the facility open and stepped into the crisp lobby.

The iced air stung his burning cheeks and he gulped it into his sore lungs.

The entrance was virtually empty and Mail rapidly advanced towards the receptionist.

"Excuse m-me, I would like to visit Mihael Keehl."

The woman pursed her lips in annoyance and eyed his disheveled form in distaste.

"Are you immediate family?"

What a bitch.

Mail's lip curled and he rudely rested his elbows on the counter.

His voice came out a bit more forcefully than he intended.

"Yeah, I'm his stepbrother."

She rolled her eyes, but still pressed the release button for the door.

"Very well, down the hallway to the left."

Mail's head spun as he practically sprinted down the never ending tiled passageways.

Nurses in pastel colors flitted around from room to room like butterflies.

Monitors beeped eerily and he could hear the scattered chatter of medical staff.

"Isn't…much improvement…yesterday…"

"His…broken…two centimeters…"

"Have to…let…know…lost her…"

"Brutal…blood…so much…broken…"

"Waiting…results could…negative…"

"I'll tell...family...mother...failed..."

After navigating the twisted pristine rooms for what seemed like ages, he reached yet another circular reception table.

The young woman behind this desk looked much friendlier, and Mail noticed she was patiently trying to soothe another girl who had long red hair.

"NO! He can't be…why did this have to happen to him?"

"Miss, please try and calm down…there are patients here trying to-"

"I can't! I can't! You don't understand…"

Bursting into sobs, she buried her face in her hands.

Mail approached tentatively, not wanting to startle her.

But when she heard his footsteps she lifted her tear stained face and Mail watched it morph into an expression of slight relief.

"Oh my God, M-Mail!"

The trail of red locks flexed and spun as Cherry threw herself into his weakly waiting arms.

He held her tightly, feeling her body wobble against his.

It made his heart ache a little less to know that there was someone who cared about Mello as much as he did.

Cherry was wearing much more clothing this time, and he could see that the sleeves of her corduroy jacket were wet with rubbed tears.

Her mascara was running terribly and the corners of her eyes were horribly reddened.

She was quivering hysterically, which scared him. He gently pulled her off of him to look into her face.

Without makeup, she looked like a young teen and her vulnerable appearance made him want to cry too.

Her mouth moved but no sound came out, just more tears.

Mail tried very hard to suppress his impatience.

"Cherry-please, where is he?"

She gasped in fragments of air and looked down at the tile.

"It is-is it bad?"

Finally, her mild voice tickled his cheek.

"He's-he's-not…good…"

She struggled to get the words out through her choking sobs.

Mail felt the accustomed, disturbing ache rise inside his stomach.

"Which…room?"

She closed her eyes in another attempt to collect herself.

When they opened, Mail could see her pupils shrinking inside her deeply flecked irises as she calmed down.

"R-Room 670…"

Her manicured nail unsteadily pointed to a door on the right.

"I-I have to go but you'll look after him won't you, Mail?"

Her eyes gleamed with concern.

Mail reassuringly squeezed her other hand.

"I will."

She nodded and disappeared quickly down a hallway, clutching her purse protectively to her small chest.

She seemed so nervous to be there, but why?

He had the sinking feeling that the situation of Cherry visiting Mello was not as straightforward as it seemed.

Mail genuinely hoped she was going to be alright.

But he was here for Mello, and anyone or anything else was secondary.

As he finally turned away from her and the rest of reality, Mail could feel the outer world melting away in a steady haze.

He had to put his fears aside...

Under a heavy curtain of darkness, Mihael could hear the padding noise of footsteps getting steadily closer.

He wondered in the back of his mind if it was one of the females that had been caring for him.

Their voices were soft, and they touched him as if he would break.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if they were nurses or angels.

As he was able to hear the steps better though, he thought they sounded too firm to be women's footsteps.

They were certainly male.

Mihael's eyes were caked shut with what he could only assume was his own blood.

He hadn't seen physical light in what felt like an eternity, and the pain around his eyes was excruciating enough that he wasn't sure if he would be able to anymore.

But if the footsteps belonged to who he hoped they belonged to, then any amount of pain was worth it.

So with that positive thought, Mihael sluggishly began the agonizing task of opening his eyelids.

Mail, please…please let it be you…

I'm not ready to die without seeing your face…

Time concentrated into slow snippets and the padded hospital room entered Mail's field of vision.

The first thing he saw was the bed; raised high and bleached and covered in sharp cornered sheets.

The second thing he saw was a collection of intimidating health related screens; which were blinking and flashing at him in a threatening manner.

The final thing he saw was the long figure curled up in the middle of a narrow mattress and tightly swathed in blood stained bed sheets.

The figure moved with great difficulty, but eventually a disheveled blond head appeared from the peaks of white cotton.

Blinking cloudy blue orbs seemed to try desperately to focus on him.

A bruised hand reached up a tentatively rubbed the left corner of a dripping eye.

Looking into Mello's foggy gaze, Mail's heart became momentarily immobilized as he felt a horrendous sense of déjà vu.

It was that first day in the snow again.

The man was striking, with golden hair like a halo.

He was bruised, crippled, and bent up in sheer agony.

There were silver bullets in the snow.

Red blood everywhere, staining the white…

"G-inger?"

Mello's voice was a grating groan; his throat sounded as if it was scraped raw.

But the sheer sound of it snapped Mail back to sanity instantly and he found himself rushing over to Mello's side; crouching on his knees so he could see the other's face.

"Mello, Mello…what happened?"

Mello's face twisted at a somewhat unnatural angle.

Mail swallowed his nausea at the sight of the dried plasma around blond's translucent eyelashes.

He wanted to be angry at the blond for doing this to himself, doing this to him…but he just couldn't.

Not when Mello looked so pitiful and wounded for the second time...

"I had an unfortunate episode during a drug raid…it's no big deal. I'm fine, see?"

Mello waved his gauze covered hand, which caused the monitors to beep loudly in warning.

"Mello, how could you say that? You're not fine…not at all…"

Without thinking, Mail's fingertips traced Mello's bruised cheek with feather light touches and he nestled his head in the crook of the blond's bandaged shoulder.

"Ahhh, be careful Ginger…I'm injured, you know…"

Mello scolded him halfheartedly, but the redhead could see the blond's telltale smirk rising from underneath the broken blood vessels.

"Sorry…"

With an effort, Mail began to move his body away from Mello's but smooth cotton gauze brushed his arm.

"No-f-fuck-don't leave me Mail…you can bruise me all you want but don't go anywhere…promise me."

For some reason, the blond calling him by his first name combined with the vulnerability of the his tone brought on another wave of tears.

"P-promise."

"Good. Let's not talk about this shit too much, okay?"

Mail started to protest but Mello's lip quivering stopped him.

"Just…stay…please?"

Mello's face was still harsh, but his tone was pleading.

His eyes glittered with teardrops that refused to fall.

Please Mail; don't ask me anymore about my wretched life.

I know I made a mistake; I always do.

You're too good for this, too good for me…

But still, I just need you to stay.

Mail understood intuitively that the blond just needed his presence-not any questions, or accusations, or pity.

He sighed, and then brushed a loose strand of air away from Mello's face.

"Alright. Come here; I'll hold you as long as you like."

As he buried his head in the redhead's shoulder, Mello hoped that Mail couldn't see the streaks of saltwater that were beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes.

Breathing softly and clinging to each other, the two became lost in a world that was purely Mail and Mihael.

It could have been minutes or hours, but Mail didn't know or care.

Mello was breathing, alive, in his arms, and that was all that mattered to him.

Looking down, he realized that the blond had fallen asleep.

He smiled; it warmed his heart to know that Mello felt safe enough to let his guard down around him.

He got the feeling that in Mello's world there weren't many people that the blond could trust.

Surveying the room, Mail's was saddened to see that there was only one bouquet of white roses from Cherry.

Mail thought to himself that the room could use a bit of cheer. Whenever he was sick he wanted flowers and cards. Mello probably wanted chocolate, too...

He knew that Mello didn't have any parents to care for him and aside from Cherry and himself, his "friends" were questionable.

Mail decided that he was going to buy Mello several beautiful bouquets and some chocolate.

That way, when the blond woke up he would feel cared for and a little more at home.

Even though Mello didn't strike him as the warm and fuzzy type, Mail had a feeling he would appreciate the effort.

He pressed a kiss to the blond's forehead and tucked the blankets around him again before tip-toeing carefully into the entranceway.

He was mildly stunned to see that the friendly receptionist was gone, but he figured that she was probably on her dinner break.

The extended care unit seemed far less intimidating during the after-hours, and Mail was pleased to find that his heart was beginning to beat at a normal rate.

Looking out the window he could see that the sun was just beginning to set and the sky was pulsing orange.

Watching the golden sky he felt an overwhelming sense of reprieve.

He knew that things were going to be alright; he was going to get Mello out of this hospital, away from his tragic life, somewhere safe where he could be genuinely happy.

Mail wanted to Make Mello happy more than anything in the world.

He visualized Mello laughing uncontrollably, the two of them sharing an ice cream cone at the beach, taking rides on the blond's motorcycle, planting a garden, doing romantic, intimate, loving things together all the time…

The mental pictures made a smile stretch involuntarily onto his face.

They had a wonderful future together, he was sure of it.

He was so distracted by the lovely sunset and his optimistic thoughts that he didn't hear the sound of heavy boots thudding or sense the meaty hand that moved toward him until it was clasped forcefully around his throat.

The voice that ferociously penetrated the air was dense and drenched with mockery.

"Hello, Ginger."

Mail met the unblinking, destructive stare with alarmed fright and confusion.

He cringed as his attacker lifted him with ease and shoved him forcefully against the nearest wall.

His impaired voice came out high pitched and squeaky due to lack of oxygen.

"R-R-Rod?!"