February 7, 2010

Present

Here was his huge secret: Matt had never outgrown his childhood fears and Kira, his biggest boogeyman. The unseen punisher had always haunted his dreams. While the average little boy was reverent of the idea of an invisible superhero, he had become Matt's personal Satan. At night, he would yank the covers over his head, even during the hottest of days when it was impossible to breathe, as if he could shield himself from Kira's gaze. Although, perhaps calling it a fear of Kira was being much too generous to the murderer. No, Matt's self-preservation instincts ran strong. Death was the scary ominous dip into the unknown, a blade that hung over his head like an oppressive guillotine, and the idea that there were phantom eyes on him—watching to make certain he did no wrong—heightened his nervousness surrounding his mortality.

His big secret was that Mello had indeed broken his little heart but also that Matt did not want to die, and he'd come to associate being the best with dying. It wasn't hidden information; on day one, they were all made to understand. Matt had always been privy to it, even when he had been too young to fully grasp all the implications of being enrolled in a competition for the honor of being L's heir. Every child from Wammy's Orphanage had to have received some clue about it very early on in life—if not because they had been orphaned by Death, then because of their new life's purpose thrust upon them by Mr. Wammy: L wasn't going to be around forever.

And, like any old house, the Orphanage also had its horror stories.

See, there was a reason Roger learned to check up on all of his old students the first years they were out on their own. The old man had learned the hard way. It was not because Roger cared about their self-sufficiency or even about them. He likely didn't want to see 'murder spree' blasted across every page in the newspapers again and have to fear it was one of them. All things considered, Matt felt he turned out pretty swell, and of all people, the most well-adjusted. As soon as Roger had stopped with the routine wellness visits ( his final check-up had been around Christmas), Matt dropped the job he'd been keeping as a façade to prove to the old man that he was a 'fully functional, productive member of society.' For the first time in his life, he was really, truly alone. There was nobody around to bother him and no coworkers giving him shit on the daily; now, not even Roger was going to be knocking at his door to see if he'd been on his best behavior or whatever the fuck.

What young adult didn't dream of that?

"Damn it," He mumbled half-heartedly after being shot in the back in an online game. It was friendly fire, probably because he was dragging the whole team down. He was going to get his revenge once he was feeling in a better mood enough to play a real game. He let the controller fall from his hands and to the ground. Pulling his legs up onto the couch, he curled up with his head on the armrest, eyes fluttering shut.

He should have been happy the old man had finally made himself absent. The gradual increase in trust should have been rewarding. It meant he successfully passed all the checks; there was nothing to outwardly suggest he was going to become a crazed maniac, a murderer, a rotten psychopath, or whatever Roger presumed. Matt was officially in the clear. Certified sane! Those visits made him feel like he was a parolee and not a newly graduated student—like Roger was still waiting for the day he would lose it. Like– Like–

Like Beyond Birthday.

He couldn't remember much about B, or Backup as he was also called, because Matt had been brought to the Orphanage at a very young age. Mentally, it wasn't easy going back to when he was a little over six years old. Even if he could, there wasn't much of Beyond to remember. B had been a reclusive boy, who roomed in the attic of all places, and he didn't stick around long enough for anyone to know him. Matt probably would have forgotten him completely had it not been for the careful notes Mello had kept during his first meeting with L.

It had been the best day of his best friend's life. To Matt, it had been the end of days.

When they were thirteen, Mello finally received his chance to meet his lifelong hero—a reward for ranking second place in their class. Incidentally, around the same time, criminals had also started dying of heart attacks. Back then, common knowledge was limited, so there was no information about Kira needing a name and face to kill someone. Matt had been scared shitless, so terrified to close his eyes because he was unsure if it would be the last time he ever did. Was he going to die because he dared to illegally torrent a film? What was going to be the final straw that brought Kira's judgment down on him?

So, Matt hadn't been sleeping well, and for that reason, it had been hard paying much attention to Mello. He did not share his friend's fanatic enthusiasm as he went over all his notes, retelling the stories L had shared with him. Matt was happy for him, really he was, but his brain was also cloudy from sleep deprivation. He was only able to pick up on half of the details, stitching the pieces to create a mental image of a lanky boy with wildly curly hair...

Beyond Birthday.

"You're not paying attention to me!" His friend clonked him on the head with his leather journal. The sharp spike of pain yanked him from the grips of sleepiness, an angry throbbing beginning in his skull.

"The fuck?" He hissed, leaning away from Mello. His hands dropped his Gameboy Advance to rub at his scalp. "I am listening, Mels. Jesus, I don't use my eyes to listen!"

"What did I just say then?"

"Uh, you were talking about some boy." Matt's mind scrambled to remember the last word Mello had said since he had been selectively lending his ear to whatever sounded mildly interesting. "A. One of the first kids who lived here. He killed himself because he couldn't handle the pressure of being the next L."

Fun stuff, Mello. The problem was, Mello's stories were starting to make him feel nauseous. Matt couldn't have given a shit about someone who was long dead when the possibility of his own death was very real and breathing him in the face.

"That was the very beginning!"

"It was?"

He had gone on about that part for, like, an hour.

Mello was growing increasingly irritated by his inattentiveness. His jaw flexed, teeth gritting together to bite back that explosive temper of his. As sick as it was, Matt found him rather pretty when he was pissed off—the way Mello's brows pinched, features contorting into a vicious scowl. Then, all at once, he suddenly deflated. The little gleam of enthusiasm was lost from his eyes, understanding that Matt did not care as much about the subject as he did. Belatedly, Matt realized he had been staring at Mello a little too closely since he was noticing the finer details of his attractive face. His sleep-addled mind failed to give him the heads up through common sense that looking at someone for such a long, uninterrupted stretch of time was freak behavior.

In turn, Mello's eyes began searching him for god knew what.

"You look like crap, Matty." He observed, pink lips falling into a frown at the deep circles under the boy's eyes, which might not have been unusual for other occupants of the House but was for him. Matt was a well-rested boy.

"Sorry, I just have other stuff on my mind. I'm tired. Suicide is the last thing I want to hear right now. Talk about bleak as hell."

"What makes a lazy jackass like you so tired?"

Matt shrugged, playing dumb. "School I guess?"

"Right," Mello agreed sarcastically. "Because you're up all night just studying away. Cut the bullshit, and tell me what your problem is. It better be good since you're ignoring me over it."

Matt shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes. He couldn't explain it any better than 'Mello, I'm scared. I'm so scared that I don't know what to do. I don't want to die yet. ' He couldn't even confess his anxieties to Roger because it would be revealing all the crimes Matt had done under the cloak of cyberspace. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve to die because of the insignificant little bullshit he did out of boredom rather than malice. He wasn't ready to go. There were so many things he hadn't done yet.

His gaze hung on the curve of Mello's lips.

He had never even been kissed before…

Matt's eyes snapped open.

The Wammy's House nightmare vanished; Mello and his story about a boy's tragic suicide disappeared along with it. The ceiling of his home stared back down at him. The living room was dim, his only source of light emitting from the television. GAME OVER repeatedly flashed red on the screen, blinking, bathing the room and his skin in violent crimson.

It was his cell phone that had woken him from where it vibrated on his coffee table. Why was it always some late-night call cutting off his precious sleep? Matt let it vibrate, turning onto his side on the couch, away from the too-bright TV.

His hand crept over his mouth, touching his lips wonderingly.

And what if he had kissed Mello that day?

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

His phone continued to sound off, not letting him entertain that thought. Maybe that was for the best.

Matt pulled his hand away from his face, annoyed, pushing himself up. He grabbed the remote and shut off the TV, flooding the room with pitch-black darkness.

Licking the dryness from his lips, he picked up the phone and cleared the sleep out of his throat. "Hello?"

"Matt, I've been attempting to reach you all day. It's Roger."

No, Roger. Clearly not, since this was the first time Matt was hearing it.

Perplexed, he lifted his phone away from his face and realized he did have five missed calls. Whoops. This new information and the old man's voice plucked at Matt's heartstrings, chords he didn't even know existed. It was so goddamn embarrassing that he felt like a little kid, but since nobody was around to care or judge him for it, he let himself privately feel the pains of affection. He sighed, cringing at the shaky sound of his breath. Even if Roger was a lousy bastard who hated him, there was a bubble of warmth that swelled in Matt's chest, spreading until he could feel the heat prickle in his eyes.

All because Roger was calling him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This was so stupid. This guy wasn't daddy calling to wish him a good night.

"Sorry, but I'm just a busy guy." Matt chuckled thickly into the phone, trying to keep his voice steady. "The hell do you want? I thought I was finally a free man?"

"It wasn't as if you lived in a prison, you ungrateful brat."

"To-may-toe, To-mah-toe."

Roger sighed on his end of the line. Matt could picture the wrinkles on his face growing more pronounced in displeasure, but he could also easily imagine him running a hand down his face. Matt had been the recipient of so many 'annoyed Roger' looks that he knew them all pretty well. In the beginning, he had never genuinely intended to test the man's nerves. It was like the bastard just naturally despised children; merely breathing in his presence earned him his ire. Eventually, he just stopped caring what Roger found offensive.

"I'm afraid I'm not calling for friendly banter, Matt—"

"Friendly?"

"—I have some information I need to speak with you about, but it's something that would be better discussed in person rather than over the phone."

He wanted Matt to come all the way back to Wammy's? Just for a talk? Uh, no! Because… well… because…

"I dunno." Matt was going to decline, gearing up for it too, rolling his shoulders to remain strong. "Like I said, I'm pretty busy lately."

Yeah, busy getting his ass handed to him at Call of Duty and watching infomercials well into the dead of night while nursing a hangover. Really, really busy Roger.

"Why can't you just tell me over the phone?" Matt asked with mild irritation. And let me fuck off without dragging things out longer than they have to be? I'm not going postal.

Isn't that what he was going to be expected to do anyway, right? Just fuck right off so that Roger wouldn't have to deal with him anymore? One visit and a conversation later, then Matt would be returned to this… this emptiness, which was difficult to learn to live with if people were going to keep popping back up to remind him of his dispensability.

"It is a delicate matter. I would rather not announce it to you like this."

"Why? Are you just saying that because you miss having me around?"

'Say yes.'

"Matt," Roger said in that gentle cadence adults adopted when they were going to say something he wouldn't like. Sympathy. Suddenly, Matt was newly orphaned and five again, listening to grown-up voices speaking.

His eyes hardened.

"Just spit it out, Roger. You're not getting any younger."

"I'm calling to inform you because you're the… closest thing to next of kin," Roger finally told him. "You were the one in their peer group who knew them best. While in Japan investigating the Kira case, Near was murdered. Mello is presumed dead as well."

Oh.

Was that all?

The phone slipped from Matt's hands, clattering to the ground.