Author's Note: I somewhat got the idea for this story after seeing a bunch of fan art that featured Mello with an eyepatch. Matt appears notoriously briefly, so I'm using what's seen of him to construct his personality.
WARNING: Use of their real names, from Volume 9 of the manga onward.
Full Summary: After the explosion at the Mafia hideout, Mello flees back to what he may call home to Matt, with serious injuries. It will take time to heal and recover. Until his next plan, until he is ready to make his next move, he'll have to wait while in the care of his best friend.
This is probably going to be a relatively short story, maybe only 2 or 3 chapters, but let's see where it goes..
Oh, and that warning is there because I'm sick of people casually using the real names of those with aliases, because I'm sure not everyone finished the series, or got volume 13 "How to Read", and don't want the spoiler.
Night had already passed, it was long into the hours of the early morning. Most of the surrounding world around was still quiet. The sky was dark and silent with sleep, not even a moon pierced this pure solitude. Stars refused to show themselves tonight.
In a run-down housing building, one of the apartments still glowed with activity. The sizeable living room, the first thing stepped into upon entering, was lit mainly by a dim lamp hanging from the ceiling, a humble mockery of a chandelier; 6 small bulbs cast a translucent yellow-white shadow over the room.
Walls, the color of red sand, slid over three of the sides of the room. A couch, a deep navy, sat alongside the same wall where the front door faced about 5 feet away; opposite, an off-white ran along the wall and penetrated the ones unseen, continuing to the other rooms.
In the large, plush couch, a young man sat with his games. Appreciating the sanctity of the very comfortable couch, he had long unwound from the activities of the day. He was enjoying the self that enjoyed privacy at home, and was now more concerned with being comfortable. Goggles pulled down around his neck, thick vest lined and patterned with streams of fur discarded lazily over one arm of the couch. High, black leather boots still adorned his feet, but the side was pulled open halfway down in a display of casual relaxation.
Several laptops crowded the table in front of him; some screens were dark, good only for dully reflecting the light; others were still alive, numerous displays with different purposes.
Matt sighed, his striped shirt expanding and withdrawing with his chest. Lightly chewing the end of the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he set down his game for one moment to yank off his gloves, and tossed them across the room. One landed on the intended surface, a worn down wooden desk, and the other hung off the side before giving in and flopping onto the dusty floor.
Not caring, he picked his game back up off his lap and resumed, and music, beeps, hums, and other sound effects buzzed in the air.
Leaning over and shifting to lie on his neck, Matt pulled his feet up onto the couch, not caring about his boots dirtying the dark blue of the fabric, and his back tipped up against the arm of the furniture piece.
Somewhat lazily, he leaned over at the digital clock, neon green sticks forming the rigid figure of 3:46 AM.
He would have gone to bed a while ago, he figured. Although who knows, he might have been up now anyway. His sleeping pattern was never all that solid; he simply woke and slept when the mood struck him. However, since recently he had very little to do anyway, his sleeping habits had become even more erratic.
It was because of a text message that he was still purposely awake. The innocent thing was on the table amidst the computers, located near the edge for easy access. About two hours ago, he had received:
STAY UP. COMING BACK.
Not that he hadn't even bothered to look at the number; there was only one person it could have been.
Mello had been away for quite some time; having gotten caught up in the Mafia for the sake of his own goals, he had somewhat left Matt to his own devices. They maintained an apartment, something of a 'home', and stayed together by themselves while Mello plotted and Matt idly played his games and waited to be of service.
After leaving to take up residence with the crime syndicate, Mello had only instructed him to keep himself available, and to stay in the two bedroom apartment. Matt didn't care, and without inquiring, accepted the order. Reliably, Mello sent back money for the rent and plenty for everyday expenses. Somewhat excessive, the funds were likely meant for things such as food and electric bills and whatnot.
Matt wasn't about to confess to Mello that he used quite a bit of it on games. Not having much to do and having a simple passion, he squandered a heavy sum on consoles, games, online game subscriptions, and whatever other device to keep himself occupied. With the money Mello regularly sent, he didn't even need a job, and he was grateful he didn't have to bother. Someone else might have questioned under what means all this money came from, but someone like Mello affiliated with th Mafia had to make an impressive amount of money. Matt didn't care where it came from, because it did what it needed to do, and Mello obviously wasn't wasting his time there. Predictably, he had plans and goals. And if the Mafia was what Mello needed to achieve them, then...by all means.
Finally, Matt curled up on the couch. Spine curling and flexible legs pulling his knees to his chest, he reached forward with his free hand, and pulled off his boot, dropping it onto the floor beside him, and repeated this process with the other, before settling back comfortably on the cushions, now leaning flat on his back, knees bent and heels resting on the arm of the couch.
Disgruntled, Matt ran through his reasoning for the 32nd time. If Mello was coming back so unexpectedly, that meant something had gone wrong. His friend hadn't specified where the hideout was, but had explained it was about an hour's drive. Chances were Mello had access to a car or vehicle, so he should be arriving soon.
Why, what could go wrong while being in the Mafia. Matt thought bitterly to himself.
For once, he put down his game, and flexed his somewhat stiff fingers. Accustomed to the position of holding the handheld console, it took a minute or so to reassert proper function of his fingers. Lighting his cigarette, he took a long drag from the white paper-wrapped tube. He didn't think about what was going into his lungs, and he didn't much care.
Several minutes went by, and he enjoyed his break from video games, having already gotten halfway through that particular game, which he had only gotten yesterday. Small puffs of smoke emerged from his lips, and drifted noiselessly to the ceiling, small ghosts that gathered in the air. Staring up at them, an ominous feeling slowly drifted over him, and after one last, long inhale, he put it out in an ashtray on the floor by his foot, then bringing it up to set on the table. Several times before, Mello had either stepped in, or tripped on, the little tray, and after a flurry of curses directed at Matt, proceeded to either kick the thing across the room, or toss it out the window. His friend had looked up from the screen of his game long enough to silently witness the spectacle, ignore the nasty words attached to his name, stare at the angry Mello a moment in private amusement, and go back to his game.
Slightly tickled by the fond memories, a small smile crept at his lips. No, he probably should take care not to provoke anger from Mello. Who knows, after being in the Mafia for over half a year, he might even get violent with him.
With a scoff, he stood, feeling hunger poke at his stomach. Mello would never get violent with him.
All he could do right now was wait for his friend, and finish off that pizza in the fridge.
–End Chapter 1
Ending Note: I cut it a little shorter than I meant to. It occurred to me maybe I write too much per chapter. So it's a small experiment to see if more people will read all of it and..I dunno. Review?