Ok, a little scene taking place after the explosion in the mafia headquarters. I imagined that it was Matt who picked Mello up after that. This scene takes place in Matt’s apartment. With Mello being in a bad shape after such incident, Matt is trying figure out, how to help him to recover. Hopefully you’ll enjoy. (There’s about to be a second chapter as well, be ready for that as well!)

--

I’m right here

Chapter I: About a bucket

Matt blinked behind his goggles in a slow, tired manner. Those very ones which painted his view into the colors of shining, rubbery orange, as he watched upon a sight so miserable it was hard to believe to be true. And even if the young man would have been to close his eyes behind those goggles, the echoes of the sight he saw would have remained under the thick smell of smoke and a silent drape, covering the ever so tiny room. Curtains pulled in front of those tiny windows, the room was also left dark and a slight chill lingered about. And upon that chill there was some grey strings of faint smoke - and a sound someone gasping and grunting. Those very sounds, agonized and rather randomly pushed out, came from the other end of the tiny room.

Mello.

Matt looked at him from his chair while he let his fingers climb to the ashtray left on the table. And just some steps away lay that poor sight, left badly burned and scarred - Mello. Matt had picked him up and suspected that Mello himself was not likely to remember anything from that incident. The only things Matt had been able to gather from his confused being back then had been just a couple of sloppy words behind all that painful whine and growl. Only a couple of words. Nothing more. Not that Matt would have expected anything more. But the truth to be told, he had been rather shocked about the condition Mello had been left in. And now that he gazed upon this poor, painful sight, he felt sorry for Mello - who, wrapped into a dirty blanket, hadn't come to, since put on the couch he lay on. He just kept on turning and whining in his ever so messed up state of body. Matt had even noticed that he also cried silently, bursting into a rare couple of painful tears every now and then - so badly he had hurt himself. So badly had he burned.

And it had been two days now, Matt gathered, while he took a drag from the cigarette, the one hanging between his long, gloved fingers. He had brought some chocolate on the coffee table in case Mello was to wake up. It had been such a long time, but the young man had a strong belief that he had still remembered the favorite brand of his childhood friend. The one, who kept on whining in his sleep - his muscles growing tense every now and then as a stronger stroke of pain rushed trough his veins.

But to Matt's surprise, the first thing for Mello to desire from him was not chocolate.

It was a bucket.

During the quickly passing hour between light and darkness, a rare, faint beam of slowly dying dusk crept into the room, drawing a little stripe across Mello's scarred face, beaded with some sparkling drops of his own, cold sweat. And during that very hour, his breathing grew even heavier than before. Matt felt his muscles tensing up and his heart made an extra beat as he put out his cigarette and rose from the chair he had brought there from the kitchen - just from the other side of the badly painted wall on his left. Taking a couple of careful steps nearer, Mello's tortured figure drew clearer lines into to the backs of his goggle covered eyes.

An ambulance dashed by just some blocks away. Its screaming whistle echoed from the streets which surrendered into the beginning darkness of the night that was to follow the gloomy face of dusk. The one which drew its faint lines across the dusty little room. And during that very dusk, Mello seemed to be finally coming to trough all the painful clouds circling in his head. At least so it seemed, as Matt stood up, stepping closer. He could see, even from such a distance, that Mello slightly opened those narrow, fox like eyes of his. Their teal colored hue was weak but it seemed that the owner of that very hue was in a rush. He begun to move his naked arms stiffly, taking support from the soft structures of the sofa, as he slowly turned to his healthy side and tried to lift his torso up under the blanket. The piece of cheap cloth swept across his naked upper body, grabbing those sparkling beads of his cold sweat running on it.

The golden hair had lost its glossy spark, Matt noticed.

Only things remaining was dirt, sweat, dried blood and it even seemed that something was rotting.

Gazing at this view in the hold of a gentle shock, Matt didn't even realize that his friend, despite his condition, was trying to make his way up from the couch. And as, after a short while of empty amazement, Matt then realized this, he quickly came closer, making his way right to Mello's side in case there was something he could do for this poor, fragile figure.

"Mello..!" he whispered, keeping his voice down so he wouldn't scare his friend who, without a doubt wasn't fully aware of his own whereabouts right now.

No answer was spoken.

Only the chain of heavy breaths drawn followed, before Mello's weak voice said:

"A bucket..,"

"A bucket...fast...!" he gasped between those heavy breaths he drew.

And without too many moments of hesitation, Matt dashed into the kitchen. At the moment he wasn't entirely sure what the bucket was needed for, but as he found the desired object right under the sink, he heard a sound, which determined the use of the bucket. Or better put, the possibly could-have-been use for the bucket, since as he made his way back to the living room, Mello hung his head low, just over the edge of the couch and inhaled loudly, after spreading a stomachful of puke on the dusty carpet.

Sudden chills of disgust ran down Matt’s spine as he looked at this view, but he soon gathered himself and brought the bucket beside the couch - just in case. After doing so, he slowly sat down, keeping his sight on the back of Mello’s honey haired head. He tried to move with caution; since he still remembered how rapidly Mello could act if he was scared, startled or ambushed into a desperate situation – this most likely being one of those. But as Matt gazed upon him, he could only see a pale, sickly figure. Shaking pair of slightly muscular arms tried to hold the naked torso up. And it occurred to Matt that collapsing was only a matter of minutes now, so, by slowly gesturing, he brought his gloved fingers to Mello’s aid, supporting his figure as the breath grew heavier by the moment. The gasping pushed against the dying dusk. There was only silence besides it. Only calmness, as Matt viewed upon this sight. He felt the warmth of Mello’s pale skin trough the leather of his gloves.

“You just let it all out, pal,” Matt then whispered in a calm, emotionless manner.

It wasn’t likely that Mello heard him trough all the sound coming from himself – up to the point when he suddenly leant forward and hurled again. Matt escorted his sight elsewhere as a second series of chills was sent down his spine. Though this time Mello could even hit the bucket, the stench was foul and unpleasant. Maybe due to the fact that Mello had taken his breath from so many poisonous gasses before Matt had found him on the scene just a couple of days ago. And now that he thought of it, smoking in the apartment hadn’t been exactly helpful, either. He almost felt bad about it for a second before he was forced to take his concentration back onto Mello, who suddenly went completely limb in his arms. A slight startle reached trough Matt’s body as he quickly took a better hold of his friend who kept on whining within the silence.

“OK, big guy, I guess that was it, huh?”

The question slipped away from Matt’s mouth almost by accident.

He didn’t think Mello was listening at that point – at least judging by that smudgy face and the expression of agony carved into his ever so pale features. Though, his breathing had settled some, it still remained relatively heavy, Matt noticed, as he gently laid the pale body back against the couch. His body was warm and light to hold, yet Matt recognized how Mello’s temperature was going down by the minute. It was no wonder, really. The only thing that echoed of heat was the burn mark carved onto the left side of his face – like fire would have still danced on the dead skin somehow. Such a painful sight to look at, Matt thought within his head and withdrew his shadow from Mello’s features.

Fragile darkness crept its way across the room as the dusk gave in to the rising night, only remaining as a blood colored hue in the far away edges of the Earth. No such hue could stretch into the apartment, though, as the late hour painted the room cold and gray. Realizing this, Matt then stood up in a slow manner, listening to the crippled melody of Mello’s broken breath. It has settled some. The agonizing gasps still occurred but they poured from his from between his lips with a greater delay than before. Encouraged by this Matt then turned on his heels and made his way to kitchen. Artificial light glowed from there, giving some distant color to the darkness of the living room. He didn’t make much sound, Matt, as he poured some water to a smudgy glass and turned back to slip back to the living room. He wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Mello could hold anything in right now, but judging by his looks, Matt wanted to play it safe and make him drink something. And so he slowly made his way back to the couch and sat down with gestures so light and soft they could have been cut in half by something as soft as a kiss. Gazing down at Mello’s figure, listening how he desperately dragged air into his lungs, Matt then brought his hand to sweep that honey colored hair of Mello’s. It felt dirty and messy as Matt then lifted the heavy head of his friend’s and brought the glass of water to those dry, dirty pair of pale lips.

Mello’s eyes remained closed, even though, just some minutes ago, he had been awake. And it felt like he still was, despite the fact that in his state, it was hardly to be called wake when he was drifting on the illusive edge of his consciousness, Matt thought while he tried to get his friend to drink up. Accordingly, the first effort was a failure and a narrow drop of water just escaped Mello’s motionless lips. The clean fluid drew a sparkling line on the dirty skin and got him to open his eyes slightly. It was truly some kind of a miracle that both of those teal colored orbs still remained after such events that had taken place just some 70 hours ago, or so. But the hue in Mello’s eyes was rather weak, Matt noticed. It was like he would have been unconscious but awake at the same time – he lay somewhere in between.

And within this state both body and mind, Mello’s shaking hands crept to the water glass offered. Matt didn’t let go of it, as he gazed upon Mello’s eyes, hardly even open – hardly even looking. Those clouded drops of tropical sea didn’t look at anything. They just lay in their sockets, tired, clouded and somewhat even gray, as their owner greedily gulped the water down, drawing it in with such speed that some of the water escaped him, pouring down across his pale chin. And here Matt had thought he would most likely deny the offered glass. As it quickly emptied, Mello’s tensed up hands fell down on the both sides of his body, which, for some reason, was now breathing in much steadier manner.

A light, glassy knock was heard when Matt lifted the glass away, putting it on the coffee table.

Swiping Mello’s sharply shaped chin dry, he said:

“Now try to hold that in for a while, will you?”

No answer was to be heard, even if Mello’s clouded eyes still remained partly open.

His lips parted and a slight expression of pain crept back to his pale face. Yet, his breathing remained quite silent and subtle. Matt thought that Mello had escaped consciousness again and after coming to such conclusion he made an effort to stand up. There would be a pile of puke to clean in the living room after all, and he should get started – the sooner, the better. The foul smell of ash and half digested chocolate bars disgusted the shit out of him. But before he could transform the thought into action, a weak grip was placed around three of his fingers. Matt’s face turned quickly, just to come across Mello’s eyes, which looked like they would’ve been made of thick, dirty glass. Only a weak shade of teal glowed trough.

“M-Matt..,” Mello’s silent whine formed.

And as Matt let his sight rest upon this view, he gave up the idea of standing up from the couch. He remained sitting there, meeting the distracted, cloudy sight of Mello’s. His grip wasn’t to be called a strong one, but it wasn’t Matt’s physical form which was affected by it. He didn’t wish to leave if Mello wanted him to stay - even if Mello wasn’t even fully conscious with his presence drifting nearer and further every other minute.

“It’s OK,” Matt then replied, whispering the words in a gentle, calm manner and leant slightly towards Mello whose eyes seemed be looking right pass Matt’s figure – like he wasn’t looking at anything, really.

Matt wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Mello could actually see any more than smudgy shapes at the moment. But then again, Mello had recognized him. Or maybe he was just mumbling on the brink of the abyss of a dream – who knew? But still, without caring about the detail that much, Matt let his gloved hand lightly rest itself on slightly shaking back of Mello’s palm. His fingers were cold – Matt could feel it trough the leather of the gloves.

“I’m right here,” he then added after a short silence, fallen upon the darkness of the room.

Only Mello’s settled breathing could be heard in all its faintness. Maybe the worst had just passed; Matt figured and kept on holding Mello’s hand with a touch that was one of gentleness. He wanted Mello to know that he was there, that there was no need reason be frightened.