Minion's Note: Soooo… all in favor of a Matt-centric chapter say "AYE!" Ahem. Anyway, hallo. So sorry for the long wait. I made a second valiant attempt at waiting for my laptop to be fixed and… turns out it won't be. Ever. It's apparently not even worth saving, so I'll have to buy a new one. But, it sounds like the hard drive is salvageable, so keep your fingers crossed! Anyway, here ya go, a cure for all your cliffhager-induced ills!
Oh, and I have to do some pimping!
There's a new music vid… though it's Light/L, but it's still good! Promise!
www youtube com/watch?vdJtc3PJknA
And Abi (aka Therkin) got an account, and posted a fic called Wammy'd! …which is basically a collection of all our random drabbles/stuff we get distracted with while brainstorming for this fic. (Le sigh)
www fanfiction net/s/4162225/1/Wammyd
'kay. Moving on!
Disclaimer (Since I forgot it last chapter. Heh.) : Don'townitdidn'tdoityoucan'tproveanything'kaybye.
.IX.
"You guys can't do this!" Matt shouted, pounding his fist furiously against the wall of the corridor, "He's my friend, you can't keep me from making sure he's okay!"
Madame Weir, the small, motherly resident nurse of Wammy's House, stood in the doorway, her arms braced against either side of the doorframe, firmly blocking his way into the infirmary. Roger and Mr. Wammy had taken up position several steps behind her, flanking the matron in the unlikely event that the fuming redhead should make it past her.
"Matt," Roger said firmly, taking a deep breath in an impressive effort to keep his temper and frazzled nerves in check, "we have been more than fair. You have missed two full days of classes—you've barely eaten, barely slept, and God knows you haven't bathed—" He wrinkled his nose in disdain, ignoring Mr. Wammy's sidelong look of reprimand. "Mello is in very good care. He's made it this long, it won't kill him if you are gone for a couple of hours to properly care for yourself."
"Worrying yourself to death will hardly hasten his recovery, Matt," Mr. Wammy agreed, favoring the eleven-year-old with a gentle, compassionate smile, "Go. Take a shower, relax, attend to your studies, sleep in your own bed. He will still be here when you get back."
Matt deflated, his wide, bloodshot cerulean eyes pleading as they darted from face to unyielding face. "But…" His shoulders slumped and he licked his lips desperately, "but… what if he wakes up…" He glanced anxiously through the miniscule gap between Madame Weir's severe figure and Roger's, searching out the small, pale form lying motionless in the stark white bed in the back corner of the little infirmary. "and I'm not there?"
Mr. Wammy pursed his lips sadly, and even Roger seemed a little taken aback by the pure desperation shining in the boy's face, but Madame Weir was not to be moved. "Then he will just have to wait for you to be allowed to see him."
The young boy's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"There will always be someone by Mello's side, Matt." L shuffled to the doorway, peering around the corner over Madame Weir's fraying bun. "I promise. Now really, I must insist that you do as Roger and Watari say. You may come back tomorrow morning before your classes."
Matt's eyes drifted closed wearily, and he sighed, relenting at last as the infirmary door shut him out with a soft click.
An irate pounding echoed from the direction of the locked door, accompanied by a muffled, rather annoyed sounding yell, but Matt ignored it. So he'd—for all intents and purposes—taken over the second floor boys' washroom; so what? A guy was allowed a little space and hot water while in the midst of a possible emotional and mental breakdown, thank you very much. They could just mosey their sorry arses down the stairs and use the first floor. Bloody whiney gits.
Matt allowed his head to loll forward with a sigh, resting his chin against his collarbone as the near-scalding water attempted to pound the kinks in his neck into submission. He slumped forward, propping his arms against the tile wall of the shower stall as the grime of the last several days swirled down the drain at his feet.
Exhausted sapphire eyes blinked open slowly, staring at sopping locks of russet hair sightlessly.
"He didn't lose as much blood as we initially thought," Madame Weir murmured tiredly, blinking in the early-morning sunlight finally beginning to glint through the infirmary window, "However, there are other things to worry about; his left wrist is broken and he has fractured his sternum…."
L nodded, his soul-searching gaze wandering across the small form laid out motionless on the sterile white sheets of the Infirmary bed. At the bedside, Matt straddled a chair he had dragged noisily into the ward, wide eyes red-rimmed and exhausted as he gently smoothed stray strands of Mello's hair into meticulous order across the pillow.
"And…?" the detective finally prompted when the nurse failed to elaborate.
She sighed, reaching back to straighten her frazzled bun. "The concussion," she continued in a more subdued whisper, pitying hazel eyes darting to Matt's bowed head worriedly, "There's no telling how long he was unconscious—out in the snow, with no protection, he's lapsed into the second stages of hypothermia, and…" She took hold of the sleeve of L's baggy sweater, drawing him quietly away from the two boys. "L, I don't know when he's going to wake up—"
"—if he does at all," the young man finished monotonously. At her hesitant nod, his shoulders tensed imperceptibly, his thumb jumping automatically to his teeth as he glanced once more at the prostrate twelve-year-old on the bed.
"L, I'll do everything I can. But if—"
"I must have Roger inform the staff," L interrupted firmly, shuffling decisively away from the matron, "The children will be asking questions, they must be told before a panic sets in…" He paused in his musings, his still-booted feet digging restlessly into the carpet as he came to a halt beside Matt's chair.
"He's so cold," the redhead murmured disbelievingly, not even bothering to glance up at his mentor, his gaze glued firmly to the pale, bruised hand cradled gently between his own.
L was silent for a moment, ink black eyes focused on the doorway out of the room intently, though he made no move toward it. A short eternity passed, before one spidery hand rose, almost of its own accord, to gently brush tussled crimson bangs back from a distraught brow.
Matt remained silent, though his frantic trembling did seem to calm somewhat, and L continued out the door.
He grit his teeth violently.
Two full days… two days and Mello had barely even stirred, let alone open those glinting emerald eyes Matt was desperate to catch sight of. Honestly, he was terrified. The little, niggling voice in the back of his mind whispering that Mello was never going to leave that bed conscious was getting louder by the hour.
'What if he never wakes up…?' He whimpered weakly, slumping bonelessly against the slick tile wall of the shower and sliding into a soaking, quivering mess on the floor. 'And… what if he does… but he's not really Mello anymore?' An uncomfortable prickle of tears assaulted his eyes at this thought. 'What if the head trauma's so bad… he's just… gone?'
Well, not gone… physically, at least. But the little things… the brilliant, vicious mind, proud smirk, and overwhelming desire to be the best that made him who he was. What if that terrifying genius was lost?
It would be his fault.
He gnawed at his lip desperately, yanking his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them tightly. 'This is all my fault. Mel's never really cared about birthdays… it was me that made him go out… me that wasn't there to help him. I… I've failed him. Mel… I'm so sorry….'
The choked sob that he had been biting back all day wrenched itself free with a strangled gasp as Matt hugged his knees closer, burying his face in his thighs.
'What have I done…?'
Sniffling lightly, he peeked cautiously around the doorjamb, quickly searching the infirmary for the forbidding figures of Roger, Madame Weir, or even kindly old Mr. Wammy before stepping through.
The adults who had banished him from Mello's side had been replaced by three new visitors. Anya hovered at the bedside, gently smoothing sheets and fluffing pillows, humming softly as she tenderly brushed Mello's bangs into order; across the bed, Abigail was meticulously arranging cards, chocolates, and other various presents on the table and windowsill, every so often casting a hopeful glance at the blond's still face; and Justin had taken over Matt's abandoned chair, sitting at the foot of the bed with a battered copy of the Divine Comedy lying, untouched, in his lap.
"Matt." Abigail paused as she noticed him watching them from across the room, twisting the almost-empty plastic bag in her hands while the other two turned to level steady gazes on him as well.
"What're you guys doing here?" Matt asked, a slight hint of accusation tinting his voice—what right did they have to replace him at Mello's bedside? He was Mello's best friend! That was his chair, and he should be the only one rearranging linens and pillows, damnit!
"He's our friend, too, Matt," Anya murmured quietly, almost as though she had read his mind, "Madame Weir only just now let us see him. You've been the only one allowed so far."
Matt had the good grace to look slightly abashed at her first words, guiltily averting his eyes to Justin as the ebony-haired boy adjusted his glasses habitually.
"Ah, right…" The redhead scratched at his cheek awkwardly. "So… wh-what's with all the…" he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the overflowing bedside table beside Abigail.
"Get well presents, of course," the brunette replied amiably, finally setting the last card on top of the stack, before irritably brushing a stray lock of chin-length hair behind her ear, "Everyone was talking when he wasn't in class yesterday, and Roger made the announcement last night at dinner. Everyone's really worried. Wh…" She paused, casting surreptitious glances at her twin and Justin before barreling on. "Matt, what happened to him?"
Matt's face contorted with a mixture of sorrow and guilt at the question. 'My fault… all mine….' He averted his gaze quickly, biting his lip viciously to stem off the tears threatening to reclaim his eyes.
"—I mean, he seemed okay when I talked to him before he left… he was a little pissy with Near, I s'pose… but that's not that unusu—"
"Abbie," Anya hissed, glaring at her sister angrily as the redhead practically folded in on himself under the weight of his self-loathing.
Before anyone could make another move, the silent figure in the chair rose abruptly, tucking his book under his arm as he cleared his throat. "Come on, Matt," Justin murmured kindly, one slender hand settling itself on the younger boy's shoulder, the henna-colored fingers a stark contrast to the pale skin of Matt's neck, "Let's get you back to your room, yeah?"
Matt shook his head insistently, and Justin sighed. "Matt, I know you're worried. We all are. But L said you weren't allowed to spend the night in that chair again. He told us to make sure you slept in your own bed. You haven't even changed clothes, have you?"
Matt blinked, slightly disconcerted by the suddenness of the question, giving his shirt an uncertain sniff where his chin was buried in his chest, before grimacing in distaste and raising pathetic, vulnerable eyes to stare up at Justin through a fringe of fiery bangs.
The older boy sighed, partly out of affectionate exasperation, partly from a very genuine sense of overwhelming helplessness at the situation. "Matt," he murmured, leaning down so he could meet his friend gaze for gaze, liquid amber staring into terrified azure blue, "there's nothing you can do. We're all scared for him, but we're worried about you, too. You're going to push yourself to exhaustion at this rate, and then what good will you be to him?"
"I… I know," Matt whispered, his eyes sliding to stare at the taller boy's shoulder in shame, "but… I need to be with him. I need to… he has to wake up…"
"He will."
The redhead blinked, his brow furrowing in surprise at the pure conviction in Justin's voice.
"Mello's a tough little brat. Something like this isn't going to stop him—delay him for a while, maybe, but he'll be up and fighting tooth and nail for first place again before you know it." Justin flashed an uncharacteristically charming smile, squeezing Matt's shoulder reassuringly. "Now. How about some sleep?" It was more order than suggestion, and Matt was helpless to stop him as the older boy guided him firmly out of the room and down the hall.
Justin didn't vanquish his firm grip on Matt's shoulder until he had steered the younger boy all the way back to his own room. "I'll be back to check on you later," Justin was saying as he pushed the door open, "and Roger or someone will be by at lights out, so don't even think about sneaking off to the infirmary again—"
"Ah, Matt. You've finally returned."
Matt blinked in surprise at the pale, hunched figure balled up on the floor in front of the window, a toy tank in one hand. "Near…" His brow furrowed at the sight of his friend—there was… something… something he should know, something important.
"Near, please, you gotta do me a favor. Tell… please tell Mel—"
"Ms. Bourgh gave me a detention and I—I didn't even get to tell him… but Ne—"
"—he seemed okay when I talked to him before he left… he was a little pissy with Near, I s'pose…"
Cobalt eyes widened in shock and disbelief as that something finally clicked. He hadn't been able to tell Mello himself that he'd gotten a detention, but he'd asked Near to let him know, so that he wouldn't think that Matt had purposely abandoned him. Mello had obviously never been told, or else he wouldn't have even gone outside, let alone actually leave the Wammy's property, and yet… Abigail said that she'd seen Near and Mello together right before the blond left.
Near never told Mello. Mello had left the House, and now…
It took the redhead approximately five seconds to process this onslaught of evidence and the resulting conclusions, just long enough for his supposed best friend to cock his head inquiringly at Matt's thunderstruck gaping.
"Y—it was you…"
Near's eyelids slid to half-mast at the accusation, pewter eyes going cold and blank as he pegged the older boy with a lazy stare. Justin, forgotten in the doorway, glanced back and forth between the two in confusion.
"Y-you let Mello leave the orphanage alone," Matt's breathing hitched for a second, his eyes wide as he tried to wrap his head around the idea of Near indirectly, but purposely, sending Mello to the infirmary, "I asked you to tell him and you—"
"It must have slipped my mind," the smaller boy replied almost nonchalantly, one pale finger sliding up to bury itself in a lock of wild silvery hair.
Matt grit his teeth, clenching the rough denim of his jeans in both hands. He shook his head disbelievingly, a humorless chuckle breaking past his lips as he met Near's level gaze. "Like I'm going to believe that," he whispered raggedly, "You never forget anything. You saw him, you talked to him, and you just let him walk off without a word." He licked his lips uncertainly. "Near… he—he might die! Or worse… he might never wake up, and—"
Near's calculating gaze slipped over Matt's shoulder to Justin as comprehension began to dawn in the ebony-haired boy's wide eyes.
"It was never my intention fo—"
"No, of course not. It's just an added bonus, isn't it!?" Matt yelled, taking a furious half step toward the boy on the floor. "Fuck, Near! You two—god damnit! I know you two never got along, but—"
"Mello was my rival," Near said simply, as though it explained everything, eerily calm as he rose slowly to his feet and stood staring up into Matt's fuming face.
"Is your rival!" the older boy shrieked, "Is! He's not dead! He's not! He's not going to die!" He lurched at his old friend in a blind fury, jolted to a halt by Justin's vice-like hands clamping around his arms. "That's sick, Near! You tried to off him because he was a threat!? What's next? Me? Anya, Justin!?"
"I did not 'try to off' Mello. And even if that had been my intention, it would not continue on to the rest of you, as you are not in any position to stand between me and my goal," he stated bluntly, barely taking notice of Justin's visible flinch at the barb, "In any case, it was not in the matter of L's succession where Mello was a true threat."
There was a short pause, crackling with tension as Matt took a second to work out these words. His mouth dropped open in shock. "Me!? You—I—you did this because of me!?"
Near narrowed his eyes in thought, focusing his hard stare on Matt's shoulder. "Had Mello felt that you were 'standing him up,' he would have been enraged and taken it as an insult. There is a seventy percent chance that he would have severed all ties with you in retaliation."
The other boy mouthed wordlessly, shaking his head. "I—what was I? Just another plane of competition for you!? 'Whoever gets Matt wins!?' I thought I was your friend!"
Near made no move to respond immediately, simply staring at the redhead as he absently twirled a strand of hair around his forefinger. "It is not possible for Mello and me to share. You said that you weren't going to choose between us."
Matt's lip curled in disgust as he took a step away from Near. "I didn't," he hissed, "You made the choice for me." He turned his back decisively, then, marching over to the closet on the opposite side of the room from where Near stood and yanking out a new change of clothes.
In the doorway, Justin shifted uncomfortably. "Matt—"
"I'm not staying here, Justin."
"But—"
"I'll go sleep in Mello's room. There's still an extra bed in there from the time Roger tried to assign him a roommate. That's all you want me to do, right? Sleep?" The eyes he turned to look at Justin were so riddled with turmoil that the older boy didn't dare dispute him; he sighed, casting one last glance at the small figure of Near, still standing motionless in his place in front of the window, before stepping aside and gesturing Matt out the door.
The redhead stormed out, not even pausing to collect his handheld. Justin followed Matt's retreating form with pitying tawny eyes, before turning hesitantly back to the room's sole occupant. "You know I have to tell Roger."
Near was silent, not even glancing at the older boy as he settled back on the floor and reached for his tank with only the barest, miniscule hint of a tremble.
The door eased shut with a barely audible click and Matt collapsed back to rest against it as he stared sightlessly around the warmly lit room.
Vague blue eyes absently traced the neatly ordered desk, flanked by stacks of textbooks on either side; the unmade bed, crowned with a hastily thrown bookbag and several abandoned sweaters, the well-worn rosary beads glinting crimson where they were draped over the bedpost; the small, battered boombox—a present from Matt on the blond's eleventh birthday, pilfered from the waste bin and carefully restored to working order—and short stack of secondhand CDs, mostly classical, scattered over the bedside table; the small bin in the corner, overflowing with chocolate wrappers….
Matt stumbled forward, barely making it to the unoccupied bed in the opposite corner of the room before he collapsed. He carelessly tossed his bundle of clean clothes in the general direction of the floor before burrowing himself into the crisp, unused sheets, desperate to slip away from the nightmarish reality slowly blanketing his world.
Mello… unconscious, wounded, and unresponsive…. Near… best friend turned cold and unremorseful, focused only on L, unable to see Matt as anything more than a possession—just one more thing to win. When the hell had everything turned upside down?
He squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper, rolling to bury his face in the cool pillow without even bothering to shut off the light.
Matt swiped sweaty bangs out of his eyes, staggering back to slide down the wall, eyeing his progress with satisfaction.
It had required skipping his afternoon classes, and would probably earn him a good talking-to—at the very least—from Roger, assuming the old man was still feeling charitable and didn't give him a detention… but it had been worth it, to avoid Near during the process.
The once bare, unoccupied half of the room was finally scattered with hints of life; his clothes were nestled messily in the previously empty closet--Mello had been perfectly content with the dresser--his shoes thrown carelessly under the bed… the desk parallel to Mello's strewn with game cartridges and his hibernating laptop, the drawers stuffed full to brimming with all of his tools, his backpack draped carelessly over the chair… his current project—the old, broken television set from the common room—set up in the middle of the floor… his prized Super Smash Bros. poster—a Christmas present from Mello—tacked up over the bed….
Yep. Well worth it.
He would have smirked as he pictured the shocked look on Near's face when the younger boy returned to their room to find all of his roommate's worldly possessions gone, the left side of the small room completely bare of any sign that Matt had ever existed—he would have smirked… if he hadn't been positive that the boy was now absolutely incapable of emotion, let alone expressing it.
With a contented sigh, he wandered over to the bed, sprawling out across the mattress and glancing around at his new home, firmly shoving all thoughts of his former best friend to the far corner of his mind—the dusty one, with no electricity and very hungry Rodents of Unusual Size waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce.
He bit his lip, rolling onto his side to check the clock on his bedside table—forty minutes until class got out, and forty-five before Madame Weir would let him in to see Mello without a fuss. He sighed, this one far less content, as his gaze slid past the clock face, focusing on the textbook still propped open on Mello's desk, a pen and a notebook covered in small, cramped handwriting abandoned at its side.
They had gone through approximately two and a half rotations of the arrangement that had unconsciously become routine in the small Wammy's infirmary.
When classes began, Roger would appear in the doorway with the morning newspaper, settle into the chair situated at the foot of Mello's bed, and read until lunchtime. When the elderly man had disappeared out into the hallway in the direction of his office, cucumber sandwiches, and his afternoon paperwork, Madame Weir would putter over, fussing over Mello's temperature, pulse, and other various ailments before standing motionless at the beside for a good while, staring worriedly down into the pale, bruised face. Exactly five minutes after the bell rang for classes to end, there would be a flash of crimson at the door and then Matt would be hovering anxiously over Mello's prone figure, firing off questions about his condition, coloring, and whether or not his eyelids had just fluttered. Madame Weir would resume her silent vigil for exactly fifty minutes after forcing the eleven-year-old out of the door to go to dinner, before he was back again, this time accompanied by the Locke twins and Justin, and the four would station themselves around the bed for the next several hours. At 10:15, Anya would rise from her seat on the floor, close her book, and beckon for Abigail to do the same, before the two would gently, but firmly accompany a very irate Matt in the direction of his room and bed. Then, only Justin would remain calmly in the chair at the foot of the bed, eyes tranquilly scanning the page of whatever epic he had chosen for the night, until the door creaked quietly back on its hinges and L shuffled in, laptop in hand, to silently trade places with his protégé as the boy bid a soft goodnight and headed off to sleep, leaving the detective to watch over the infirmary's motionless ward until the process could start over again in the morning.
The room was silent, and victorious Achilles had just lashed Hector's corpse to the back of his chariot when there came a soft, barely audible shifting from the direction of the bed.
Justin glanced up swiftly, shaking obsidian bangs out of his eyes as the movement came again, this time stronger and slightly more assured. He glanced about the shadowy infirmary uncertainly—the others were long gone and L was still a while in coming. Setting The Illiad in the chair as he rose slowly to his feet, he stepped around to the side of the bed, kneeling so that he was nearly face to face with the pale boy lying beneath the sheets.
"Mello?" he murmured uncertainly, his hand stretching out to hover hesitantly over tussled golden bangs.
A soft moan broke the apprehensive silence, before eyelids flickered weakly, and bleary emerald eyes opened slowly, blinking up at him in confusion.
To be continued.
Pseudo-cliffhanger'd! Haha, sorry. Not as bad as the last one, right? Anyway, yeah. There you go. An entire chapter practically without Mello. Woot…? Is that good or bad? lol. Anyway, tell me what you think. I'm kind of uncertain as to Matt's actions throughout a lot of it. I've never been faced with the possibility of losing my best friend, but I'm sure if I did I would manage a level of hysteria far more impressive than even Matty's… but lemme know if you think it was too much. I'm not too sure about it. Also, I really wish Justin was Jessamine's real name so I could call him Jessamine all the time. I love it so much… and forget and have to proofread a lot. Blegh. Anyway! Promised I'd get back into the reviews this chapter, so:
Pint of Stella: Hey, thanks, I'm so glad you liked it! And, as you see, only Chapter 8 v.1.0 is lost in limbo! Behold v.2.0! Heh. Thanks for the review! siriusly delusional: Thanks for your review! I'm glad you like it and hope you continue to read! aya: Well, hallo, glad to virtually see ya! And poor Mello, indeed. Hope you enjoyed the aaaaaangst. Trinny Dream: …I hate Near. Can you tell? He's the perfect antagonist. I love making him a bastard. Heh. Anyhoo, glad you liked it! Hope this one was worth the wait, too. CorpsexBride: Well predicted! Heh. Though we didn't really get to see Mel's reaction to the whole thing. More of a groggy, "The hell? She wrote a whole chapter without me speaking? WTF?" lol. Thanks for the review! Never.To.Late: I'm sorry! Don't cry! Here, have more! …Anyhoo, thanks for the review! Morninggreen: Thanks. I hope I didn't disappoint you! Hair-Noodles: It really is, isn't it? Granted, I loved it, but honestly there are some fics on here that I think would make just as good cannon prequels and such… but that's just me… did ya finish it? And oh yeah, thanks for the review! I really appreciate it! Hope you liked this chappie, too! axenator: Yo! Glad you beat the system, 'cause I gotta tell ya, the gazelle comment made me spit my white raspberry tea. It was brilliant, though I'm none-too-happy 'bout my lost tea. (Scowl) But, I agree with the graceful part… the fact that he's mastered Capoeira and looks so awesomely badass doing it points to some serious grace. LOVE. Anyway! Ramble over. Thanks for sticking with it! Hope you liked this chapter! Aclatis: …dude, my thumb still hurts, and it's been two days since the Wammy Soul Calibur party. mystic: lol! Thanks! If you ever do end up being late, don't tell them it was me'r else I'll be getting angry administrative emails! Not as planned! Thanks for reading… but please don't take Mello's chocolate. He's so irritable without it…. Kusuri: Mm. I'll be taking all three of those, thank you. lol. Though I'll keep my arms… y'know, so I don't have to type with a stick in my mouth or somethin'… haha! Anyhoo, thanks! I'm so glad you like it! Fool4Sasuke33: I'm a fool for banter… and fluff… and angst. Heh. (High fives back) Near-haters FTW! Stupid li'l Toad. Blegh. Glad you liked it, hope you continue to! momijikk: lol. I think that's the fastest L would ever move in his life. …he'd have to beat out the fangirls, after all. LOL! I hate homework, too. Ew. Homework. (Shudder) Anyhoo… how would the story progress if I told you!? Besides, Light is still in the process of choosing the brand… he's finally narrowed it down, and is torn between Godiva an—oh. Not what you wanted! thinlimitation: There is more! …not so soon, though. (Hangs head in shame) Sorry. Hope you liked it, though. And thanks for the review! The life of a teenage racoon: lol, your name makes me giggle. Hee. Thanks for the review! Sorry 'bout the cliffie. They're the bane of fandoms everywhere, but a necessary evil! Le sigh. Hope you keep reading! The Chaos Apple: (Wide eyed) Dude. That's creepy. lol. Just threw the name in at random! Anyway! It's cause it makes people angry, and angry people tend to review more than content people. …(Shifty eyes) I dunno. Lawl. It sounds good, though. Yeah, even though the name thing is supposedly uncannon, now, I still like it and won't change it! Bwaha! Thanks so much for reading! I actually read your review right before sitting down to finish it, so congrats on being the one to actually spur me into writing! LOL! Thanks!
…hooooooly CRAP. You guys're awesome. Thanks!
Bwoff.