Mello slowly became aware of a strange sensation. Something was brushing against his face, just outside of the still-raw scar that covered his left cheek. It took him a moment to realize that it was fingers that were touching him. He had to stop himself from jumping to his own defense. When he remembered that he wasn't with the mafia anymore, he became even more confused.
But there was something oddly comforting, satisfying, about the gentle touches. He found himself quickly falling back to sleep. Forcing his eyes open, he felt them quiver a little, but he was too comfortable to care.
The first thing that came into focus – however blurred – was a mess of deep red. Then came orange-tinted green eyes, pale skin, and faint freckles.
Mello gave a small sigh. He was with Matt.
It suddenly dawned on him, the position he must have been in. In order for him to be looking up at Matt the way he was, his head must have been resting in his lap. Sleepy amusement tugged at the corner of his lips as he absently wondered how on earth he had come to fall asleep in such an arrangement. But he didn't get a chance to ask, because Matt's fingers just kept stroking, and soon Mello was lost in their silent lullaby.