Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.
A/N: This is Mello. He swears, especially when he's mad, which he is in this fic for quite a while. Not for people who dislike the word 'asshole.' Just a warning. ^_^
Picture this Mello as the post-scar version, when he's standing in that big black coat. :D
I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.
Why the hell am I such an asshole?
Was I born that way? Can someone be born an asshole? I don't think it's possible, honestly. I mean, I seriously take it to a whole new level. I'm the standard. On the asshole scale, there's flowers, then puppies, then math teachers, then lawyers, then people who don't like chocolate, then cancer, then Hitler, then Near, and then there's me. I am the king of the assholes. No one is, ever has been, or ever will be as much of an asshole as I am every day of my asshole life.
And in case I haven't made my point clear, I'll say it one more time: asshole.
Okay, so I've always known this. I mean, I didn't know I was worse than Hitler until today, but I was always aware that I had some problems playing nicely with others. Or, as Wammy's was so, so fond of putting on my every report card, I "have difficulty interacting peacefully with other students." I hated all of them, it wasn't my fault. They were just all so stupid, that or just plain old boring. To be fair, I didn't like the one that was smarterthan me, either.
But there was one person I didn't hate. Unfortunately for my peers, it was only that one. Matt.
I think the thing is, he's really, really smart, but he's also lazy as hell, so while I can have an actual conversation with the man, I don't feel threatened by him. He's so non-confrontation and non-competitive that I never have to worry that he's gonna suddenly unleash his smartness and knock me down to peg three, where he got without trying. And he's anything but boring.
And, as an added bonus, he seems to be able to put up quite easily with the unwavering truth that I am, in fact, an asshole. He seems to actually like it, at least when it's not directed at him. If you're gonna be around me, you're gonna get assholed at sooner rather than later, but for some reason he seems to believe it's worth it. Which is something I've never been able to figure out. Which makes him, despite all his gaming and lazing and smoking, far from boring. Because there's no one I can't figure out.
But of course I, in my supreme understanding and mastery of all that is asshole, have officially managed to piss him off. Matt. You know, Matt, the one who's completely impossible to upset. But, oh ho, not for Mello, because I have special asshole skills. I, Mihael Kheel, have pissed off Matt, calmcoolandcollected extraordinaire. And I'm telling you, it wasn't easy. I had to treat him like absolute crap for years, throwing in moments of kindness to keep him hoping that there's something nice a little deeper down.
And, and to top off the whole deal, I didn't even do it on fucking purpose.
That's the secret magic of my craft, locked away in some dusty tome somewhere in the desert, right next to the Dead Sea Scrolls but even better hidden. The perfect crime. The only one who can stop me isn't even usually aware that he's doing it. It's perfect!
Except I fucking hate myself for it!
I treated him so bad for so long that he actually yelled at me. Oh no, he didn't leave. Not Matt. I could beat him to a pulp and he wouldn't leave me. But I've never even hit him. See? I can control my actions. It's my words. My fucking words!
I thought I was genuinely apologizing about something. I meant to. But somewhere in there I must have accused him or implied that it was his fault too. I didn't mean to! I was trying to be nice, and it still came out as an insult or something because he just stood up and started screaming at me! This is Matt! The one with the goggles and the stripes and stuff! That same Matt! What must I have said?!?
It's horribly depressing that I can't even figure out what I said. That means it's just so ingrained in the asshole mainframe of my brain that I don't even notice it and in fact don't even know I've done it unless someone starts shouting at me. Honest. I'm not even lying. I had no idea I was treating him badly, or that I ever had treated him badly, until he yelled at me loudly enough to break windows. I've made him cry before, but I didn't even make the connection then. I thought it was just some uke thing or something. I mean, I pretty much just have 'angry.' That's about all I do and about as deep as I go. Yeah, I have my moments, and I've broken down a few times in front of him, but my empathy skills are next to zero. It's amazing, actually. I should get myself studied for future generations.
So now I'm angry at myself for making him angry. Pathetic that it's all I can really understand, is anger.
Except sometimes when I'm around him and when I'm apparently not being an asshole. You wouldn't believe how sweet that guy kisses. Better than chocolate, which is practically blasphemy in my book. And that smile. Sex is nice (really nice), but I could make do with just those kisses and that smile. And those eyes.
Okay, so I guess I have anger and love.
However, that is absolutely impossible to explain to someone who actually has an emotional range greater than that of a particularly cold-hearted ice cube. Unlike me. I don't think, even if I explained it, he would ever really get that I just don't... feel like normal people do. I think I did once. Maybe he would get it if I got a shrink to diagnose me as a sociopath. I might be able to pull that off. And it might even be true. It would sure explain a lot.
ANYWAY, despite the fact that I'm the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth, I need to find some way of making it up to him that doesn't make him even angrier. And since I can't control my words, and I can control my actions...
Fucking him senseless, as hard as this may be to believe, isn't going to help this particular situation. We'll probably be doing that tonight regardless. Okay, so that's no good. But it still needs to be an action. I'm a very smart asshole, I'll come up with something. Maybe letting him top? But again, sex probably isn't the answer here. The goal is to show him that I don't mean to be what I am to him. Because I love him.
I could like... write a poem.
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
I'd have my men blow up something important
if it meant getting closer to you.
Woo! I'm an artist! Ha. Better than anything Near's ever written, I'm willing to bet.
Funny thought, huh?
Okay, so the poem is out. Maybe I could just write out a big, long, rambling prose about how I really feel about him and give it to him. Or I could just buy him the new DS game he wants. Or maybe the DSi. Wait, he already has it.
I'm losing ground, here.
Alright. Come on. This can't be too hard. What do guys usually do when they screw up?
I almost smack myself. It's so obvious. And it's so, so easy that I can't believe it is actually expected to work. But it will. I know Matt, and it will.
All it takes is a trip to a grocery store and a little creative thinking. I glare down the store clerk who tries to help me. I can pick out my own apology gift for my boyfriend, thank-you-very-much, man-who-is-probably-straight.
So anyway, I made it back home without being shot at or anything. Which for me is quite an accomplishment.
I catch myself humming as I arrange Matt's gift on our tiny 'dining room' table that also serves as the coffee table in front of the couch. What had I been humming?
I run it over in my head, trying to figure out what song it was. "I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, if I put down in words... how wonderful life is, when you're in the world." Fuck I was singing Elton John. That can't be a good sign. Although I do have a beautiful singing voice, if I do say so myself. Matt thinks I do too.
Which sparked a genius idea in my asshole mind.
The door slammed open and Matt stormed in without looking at me once. I know he noticed me standing here: I'm kind of hard to miss in my all black leather coat, looming here like I like to do.
Plus, our apartment is approximately the size of an Altoids tin. It's impossible to do anything unnoticed. I've tried.
"Matt," I called out softly. He whipped around to look at me, finally, face tense and eyes hard. I've never seen his eyes so hard.
"What do you want?" he says calmly, coldly. Besides the initial explosion, his anger is cold. If I'm fire, he's ice, at least at the moment.
At his expression, I almost reconsider. But I'm Mello. I don't reconsider. And I act completely on impulse. Which is what this was. Which was how I knew I was going to do it, even though I was going to look- and feel- like a complete idiot.
When I'm sure his attention is focused completely on me, I start to sing. "It's a little bit funny this feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can easily hide. I don't have much money but boy if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live. If I was a sculptor, but then again, no. Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show. I know it's not much but it's the best I can do. My gift is my song and this one's for you. So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do, you see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue. Anyway, the thing is what I really mean... yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words... How wonderful life is while you're in the world."
Really. Honestly and truly, I just sang to him. He doesn't know the song, so I figured it was okay to get creative and cut some of it out. I didn't get on a knee to do it, but yes, I just serenaded him.
It's a great song though. If you don't know it, go look it up. Elton John, and the song is called Your Song. You won't regret it.
His eyes were huge by the time I finished. He just stared at me, probably as confused as I was that I had just done that. He opened his mouth to speak and failed.
I took a step to the side, so he could see what I had arranged on the small table for him.
His eyes went even wider and his mouth opened even more. Because I had bought him a dozen red roses. Which was, incidentally, eleven more than we could afford. It was going to have to come out of either the cigarette or the chocolate budget. Since I was currently striving to not be an asshole, it was probably going to have to be the chocolate budget.
I sighed inwardly at the idea of less chocolate, but when he smiled it was suddenly all completely worth it. It was that beautiful smile, the one he used rarely, only around me. It was perfect bliss and, I was realizing now, love. Was that what I looked like when I smiled at him?
I tried it. His smile got bigger, so I guess it was. "Mello," he choked out, before rushing into me and grabbing me around the waist and pulling me close to him. I enveloped him with my arms. I could tell he wanted to say more, but I could also tell he was too busy trying not to burst into tears.
I took him by the shoulders and pushed him back gently so that I could look at him. "I'm an asshole," I said carefully. When he only looked at me, I nodded, once, earnestly. "Okay?" I was proceeding with extreme caution. One slip of the tongue and flowers and a nice song weren't going to be enough. "I don't... try to be. But I am. All the time. And I don't... ever try to hurt you, but it keeps happening. I dunno if you're-" HALT! FREEZE! STOP! CEASE AND DESIST! IMPEDE! OBSTRUCT! DISCONTINUE! TERMINATE! I almost did it again! I was about to say '-if you're like more sensitive or something.' That's not nice! Bad Mello! I recovered nicely with barely a pause, saying instead, "-going to believe me, but I've never tried to say something mean to you. It just always comes out mean. And I don't ever mean it mean. I'm just an asshole, and I can't help it."
I looked at him carefully to make sure I hadn't screwed up somewhere. He didn't look murderous, so I figured I was okay. It was an awkward speech, but it was the truest thing I've ever said and he needed to hear it.
"So we... have to communicate, Matt," I continued, still very slowly. I sounded a little bit retarded but I had already sung to him so at this point I wasn't really embarrassed about anything. "I honestly can't tell when I've just said something mean. So you have to tell me. Don't just take it, tell me. I promise I don't mean it the way it came out... if it came out mean, I mean. Do you know what I mean?"
I needed a synonym for 'mean.' I was getting tired of that word.
He nodded and smiled at me again.
"I love you, Matt," I said, finally. "I think I only ever say it when we're f-, I mean, when we're having sex, so I just want you to know that it's true. I love you more than anything. And I never want to hurt you, and I swear to you, I'll never do it on purpose."
He was staring into my eyes, so I stared right back into his.
But I had one more thing I had to say.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I said, but I know I said something stupid or mean, and I'm sorry I made you cry, yet again."
Matt curled my hair behind my ear with a long, thin, but unusually strong finger, and then hugged me again and put his head on my shoulder, cheek to cheek with me. "It's okay now," he whispered to me. "I love you too, Mello."
I sighed and nuzzled into his obnoxiously colorful hair. "I'm sorry the one you love is an asshole," I mumbled to him.
He squeezed me a little tighter and I felt a small chuckle run through him. "Yeah, me too. But hey, it's one of the things I love about him."
Maybe being an asshole isn't so bad.