A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know, it's Friday, but I'm really kinda bored, and an early update's good, right? XD
Ugh, I'm tired. Here in the UK, we have a constant exam season and it's wiping me out...three science exams immediately followed by a week-long Physics coursework, French written assessment, eight-week Art exam prep, History coursework, German spoken assessment prep and...something else. Uh...no, that's it! I hope... O_O Anyways, yeah, I'm dying. BUT I'LL GET THROUGH! I go on study leave in May, so I just need to hang on 'til then...
So, there wasn't an enormous great rush of people singing my praises for the first chapter (lol, like there ever is), but I wasn't expecting it, because in my experience, this fandom is slow to review. :P But I did get a decent amount of reviews and alerts and faves and stuff, so THANK YOU TO:
MoonLawliet
Rainbow Fruit Loop
VampirePrinssess
isHannahish
and Wish Daughter! *cheers* I hope you lot like this chapter too! Mello and Matt...wait for it...SPEAK TO EACH OTHER! Le gasp.
Disclainer: I do not own Death Note or any of its characters. All credit goes to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata and stuff...but the (awful) plot's mine!
Chapter 2: Déjà Vu
The next morning, Matt woke up on the couch extremely disorientated. It took a couple of seconds before he could remember why he was there.
Then, of course, he had to force himself to get up at only nine o'clock in the morning because there was a patient in his actual bed who needed his bandages changed. Life was hard.
Staggering into his bedroom only half-lucid, Matt collapsed on the chair he'd placed next to bed the night before. He then slapped himself sharply to wake himself up.
Only then did he trust himself to look at the mattress in front of him, upon which his mysterious guest was lying. He was almost anxious that they wouldn't look as spectacular as he'd thought them to be at first.
His fears were unfounded.
Yet again, he embarrassingly found himself short of breath (that, or he just forgot to breathe) at the sight of the man's face. He was completely gorgeous, for lack of a better word – though Matt was sure even the most stupendous expression wouldn't cut it either.
Slapping his face again to snap himself out of his stunned state, Matt started to unwrap his patient's bandages.
The oh-so-manly squeak he let out when blue eyes snapped open and a strong hand trapped his wrist in an iron grip almost made Matt want to hit himself again.
"What the hell are you doing?" the man asked, fury and caution apparent in his frigid glare.
His voice sounded incredible too, Matt noted, even when it was scaring the redhead to the point of pissing himself.
Matt squeaked yet again, to his mortification, before he cleared his throat and spoke fairly normally, "I was trying to treat your wound. It's not good to leave the same bandages on for ages."
The blond stared at him like he was a retard. "I know that, idiot. What I meant was: who are you, why am I here, where is here, and why are you bandaging up my own damn shot wound?"
"Uh..." was Matt's intelligent answer. He'd already forgotten all the questions.
The blond angel (though taking into account recent observations, demon was a more accurate description) crushed his wrist tighter. Matt suddenly remembered the questions.
"Uh, um, I saw you get kicked onto the street and I saw your injury and, uh, I thought I'd take you to my place to fix it cos otherwise you'd die cos I can't take you to hospital cos, um, well, my job isn't entirely legal and it doesn't look like yours is either but no offence or anything, that's just what I thought and, er, I – I bandaged you up, obviously, and you're at my place, which is – uh, well, it's kinda secret so I probably shouldn't tell you exactly where it is and...and I'm Matt." Matt finally realised he was rambling and shut up.
The guy was looking at him like he was imploring whatever God was up there to please, please get him away from this scary insane person.
"...Right," he finally acknowledged.
Matt mentally slapped himself, as he couldn't do it properly without looking like he needed help. He probably should get help, actually, for all this self-harm. At least he wasn't shooting himself through the foot every time he did something wrong. Yet. Why did this person make him feel so mentally challenged all the time?
After a few minutes, Matt decided the silence was much too awkward to continue existing. "So..." he said, inwardly cursing himself for not thinking what to say before he started, "Um...what's your name, then?"
There was the you're-such-a-moron look again.
Matt waited.
The blond raised a disparaging eyebrow.
Matt finally got the hint. "You know what? Never mind!" The guy was obviously a gang member. He wasn't going to go around giving his name to whichever random stalker asked.
Matt had to actually clench his fists to stop his further abusing his already bright red cheek when he remembered he himself should really have the same maxim.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," the blond said, finally releasing Matt's wrist. The redhead immediately checked for breakages.
The dazzling-but-demonic being hoisted himself into a sitting position with his good arm. "I'll be going, then," he announced. "Now," he emphasised when Matt made to protest.
"But your shoulder –"
"Piss off, I'll be fine. I take care of things like this every other day," the stranger told him, belying his own 'reassurance' by wincing when he tried to don his ridiculous leather vest again.
Matt abruptly shoved at his chest, forcing him to lie down again. "I can't let you leave until you're wound's at least half healed," he insisted.
The blond produced a gun out of nowhere (which may have been the front of his pants, but Matt definitely hadn't been looking) and pressed it against Matt's temple. "I think you can," he said decisively, struggling to sit up again. Luckily for Matt, the invalid's shoulder severely impaired his upper body strength.
Though he was more than terrified by the firearm, Matt stubbornly held on to his vow. "No. Sorry, I just can't let you out like this with a clear conscience."
"I don't give a fuck about your conscience, let me go!" the man yelled, drawing the gun back for a split second before cracking the handle violently across Matt's face.
Matt staggered back, clutching his jaw and fighting the tears smarting in his eyes.
His former prisoner jumped up and ran out without another word, clutching his shoulder.
He never looked back once.
Matt stayed curled up on his ratty old carpet until he heard his front door slam. Only then did he relax, unfurling his taunt body and rolling to press his forehead against the wall.
He'd been abused and left behind.
Again.
With a derisive snort, Matt remembered the fact that only added insult to injury.
The blond knew where he bloody lived now. Brilliant.
To be truthful, Matt had expected the sting of rejection and humiliation to fade away fairly quickly, long before the pain of his actual damage had healed.
However, as always, it seemed the angelic-looking bastard was different. Hell, he'd barely even known the guy; it shouldn't have hurt this much that he'd just up and left, especially after so many days. After all, it had happened plenty of times before.
Again, though: it was different this time.
Matt listlessly poked at his bowl of instant noodles. They were his favourite flavour (chicken), but for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to eat more than a few mouthfuls.
Inwardly, he mocked himself for being so weak and pathetic, to be this depressed about one guy after he'd been through so much more before. But, as was his bad habit, Matt had hoped, and been let down. That was always the hardest part: the realising that all the dreams you'd wished for had never been in reach, since long before the instant you thought of them. He'd foolishly hoped he'd finally found something to spend his extra cash on, something to ward off the suffocating loneliness, if only for a while.
So much for that.
Giving up on his lukewarm meal, Matt got up, ready to tip the bowl's contents down the drain. However, as he was about to reach for the noodles, he was surprised by the doorbell. Meaning it rang.
It never rang.
Matt hesitantly walked to the door, wondering who it could possibly be. Then he remembered there was only one person who knew which house was his.
Briskly striding to the threshold and wrenching the door open, Matt readied himself to give the blond outside a well-deserved punch in the face.
He stopped in surprise, though, when he was instead met by an unfamiliar, swarthy man and his gun.
The guy smiled nastily. "Boo."
A/N: Sorry for the shortness, but CLIFFHANGER! I barely ever do those, and I'm pretty proud of that one. (Please don't tell me it's crap: let me have my minute of happiness) XD
The chapters are gonna get very long quite soon, so if you like massive (for my standards, so 5k) chapters, then yay! If not, enjoy the brevity while you can. :)