Birthday present for the amazing Michelle (CenatonObsession). She rocks, go read her fics and—be jealous.

Songfic, and "A Lack Of Color" by Death Cab For Cutie, I don't own it and I don't own WWE but I'd love to own Cody Rhodes. The bold lines are Matt's, the italics are John's and the bold and italics are the lyrics of "A Lack Of Color".

A Lack Of Color
Rated: T – angst; use of drugs; dark
Summary: Songfic. Matt's the canvas. John's the paint. Matt has a lack of color; John scrapes his name out in Matt's heart, painted red with heartbreak, bleeding. John Cena/Matt Hardy. LONG one-shot.
Genre: Romance/Angst

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'Make me beautiful.'

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It's the only thing that runs through his head; it's like acid, slick, smooth, burning into the core of his brain, threatening to erase all of his memories, all of his existence—burning, burning, burning—a fire inside of Matt's exploding head and he knows that's all he really wants.

Jeff's scent's almost vanished from his house from the last visit, when they were loving brothers and his cast's still wrapped around his injured arms and memories of the past are imprinted on his cast and everything and everyone's a stranger and all that's left of his memories are broken hearts and shattered love and he doesn't know who he is anymore and staring down at the floor, the Jeff scent strengthens.

When he looks up, he sees the dark eyes of his brother and there's this dark demon inside of him, condensing, hardened, vicious and snarling demon inside of him and Matt knows that his brother's a stranger and he's done this to him and Matt just feels the guilt attack him as hard as ever as he feels his heart burst and his blood pour and his mind explode.

The scent of Jeff—mixed with something too unlike him…too like Matt…too unwelcome in Matt's house.

"What are you doing here?" Matt's voice is a mixture of spitting out his words and whispering his words, they're hard and they're soft, they're just a mixture of emotions that slur and burn together.

"Well, Matthew Moore Hardy, I tend you know that I'm the WWE Heavyweight Champion right now, right?" he spits out, and the acid stirs through his voice, the acid that's burning in Matt's head right now, and Matt can only close his eyes and let his face turn rigid before Matt nods his head, with his eyes still pressed closed, shut tight together.

"Yeah, I know," Matt snaps back and his voice's more confident and certain and sure than before, 'Jeff…I—"

"What? You're sorry?" Jeff cuts in the middle of Matt's sentence, making him flinch slightly as Matt's eyes slowly open and he nods his head and there's sorrow in his eyes and Jeff just ignores it, spiteful and angry just break me. Finish me off. There are the pieces of my damned heart. Just step on it, go ahead, Jeffy. Just step on them! "After all I've done to try and make you my other Hardy half, you're sorry now?"

Matt only nods his head, his head down and his eyes are looking at Jeff, his Jeff's scent, it's not Jeff anymore, it's just Matt's scent and he wants it to stop suffocating him, there's just too much of his scent right now, too strong, flowing into Matt's nose, burning inside of him and the person in Jeff's eyes, isn't either of them. It's a horrid monster that's ripped inside of his brother and had resided there. And Matt feels Jeff steps onto the little tore up pieces of his heart. Step harder. I deserve to bleed harder.

"You know what I came here for?"

Matt arches an eyebrow and looks straight into Jeff's eyes. "What?" he can smell the alcohol and the after scent of painkillers and cigarettes, mixtures of deadly potion in Jeff's mouth, it just makes Matt dizzy smelling the mixture and it makes him want to lie down and he already forgives Jeff for whatever he's going to do and he grabs onto Matt's shoulder and Jeff shoves his hand into his pocket to pull out a handful of painkillers that make Matt's heart beat faster and his face pale and before he could react, Jeff shoves more than ten painkillers down Matt's throat and h-h-harder, Jeff…kill me…

He lets Matt fall onto the floor, completely forgetting about his brother's cast as Matt lands onto the cast and Matt's face turns so pale that he looks like a ghost and bile rises up Matt's throat and he ends up throwing up, hard and harsh and Jeff realizes the seriousness of the scene in front of him as he leans down to support his brother, helping him up but as Matt's dizziness goes harder—

White.

Jeff.

Flash of white.

Jeff's eyes.

Flash of white.

Burning acid in his throat.

Flash of white.

Facing the floor.

Swirling his stomach.

Harder. Harder. By each second that passes.

"Mattie?" Jeff almost chokes out as his brother throws up again, harder, and as Jeff notices the blood rolling out of his mouth, Jeff's heart threatens to burst out of his chest and Jeff presses Matt's head to his chest and all that Matt can hear was a pounding heart, fast, accelerating—

HARDER! KILL ME!

"Oh my God…Matt, can you hear me?"

Matt simply swallows the blood that's rising up in his throat and pants as oxygen descends from his lungs and blood increases, harder, thicker, in his throat and Matt only nods his head, "I—I can-"his voice's strained and he's just suffocating under his own words and he doesn't know what to do.

Matt falls down onto the floor and his face's rigid and pale and he just shakes his head. "I'm okay! I'm okay… just get out of here, Jeff."

Matt doesn't want Jeff to break and sweat and work to mend his heart back and Jeff wants to protest but seeing it as his brother's wish as Matt glares, Jeff steps outside and Matt falls down onto the ground again, completely drained and lacking his energy and he lets the painkillers sink in and he feels all numb, and it's as if no one can really hurt him and his heart's pieces onto the floor and the thick sweet liquid rising up in his throat. Sweet, thick, and perfect.

He feels as if he's somewhere else, flying to Heaven, flying high, clouds gathering around, fluffy clouds shaped as hearts and perfection and love and life—beauty sparks, perfection burns, flawlessness sinks deep from his thick skin to his heart and he wants to keep this feel—of being beautiful in him all the time but slowly, as time passes…

He feels the pain.

It bursts and explodes and burns through him, hard, and he feels it bang him so violently that he's onto the floor and panting and he thinks that he's dying as he feels it bang inside of his heart, and it feels like a heart attack and his thoughts are dissolving into nothingness and he feels like he's dissolving into nothingness…

I didn't mean it literally, Jeff…I didn't mean for you to kill me…I…I…I don't think I can breathe anymore.

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And when I see you

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The blood is seeping from his wrists.

Blood.

Horrifying blood.

It's falling out of his blood, arteries are restricting blood flow and his veins are dilating and his mouth's soft and pink and his eyes are hard brown ones that hold only pain and he doesn't know why he's held the knife to his wrist.

Two minutes ago, he let a dozen painkillers run down his throat.

Now, he's letting the knife cut through his wrist because he guesses if the pain's like hell afterwards then he'll die and everyone wants him dead and everyone hates his guts and he doesn't know how to make anyone like him after all he's done and he just wants to be loved but no one will ever love someone as scarred as horrible as horrid as he is.

He lets the blood fall.

And he takes it between his fingers.

Drawing onto his body—Jeff's tattoos, done with his artistic hands, infusing with his blood and he falls down onto the floor, staring at the ceiling with dead eyes, sniffing and paining, smelling only alcohol that's threatening to choke him to death on the inside.

If Jeff's like him…

Then is he like Jeff?

He's just so confused as he falls onto the pool of blood, smelling the strong scent of blood, feeling blackness crawl at the back of his head, attack with pain, attack all of his brain with pain and agony and desolation.

"Help me…"

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I really see you upside down

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The world's just upside down now.

Jeff's image at the back of his head—all upside down…

The piece of glass is cutting through the numbed boy's hand, making a broken, tattered, bloodied heart and he's just returned to face Jeff and as John walks inside of the locker room, Matt cuts his hand with a stained glass, letting the glass scrape a line through his heart, a broken heart and John Cena's eyes widen as he walks towards Matt and looks at his hand, examining it as the blood drips, harshly, pulsing pain through his veins and arteries, pulsing horror—

"What are you doing here?" Matt snaps, cutting through John's horrified and terrified thoughts, so violently, so very violently.

"I came here for a bottle of water but I caught a suicide attempt," John says, still appalled, and still shocked, and still so very disgusted. "What the hell were you thinking, Hardy?"

Matt stares at him and he's just so very hurt inside and so very broken that he tries to speak and his mouth's so open but nothing really comes out of his mouth, then his thick voice, so filled with annoyance and fragileness, "it was not a suicide attempt."

"Why were you cutting yourself then? What? For show that you're just as a loser as your brother?" John asks, and his voice's more filled with concerned than it is with rage and shock and as he notices the brokenness, the absolute brokenness, on Matt's trying to be angry and annoyed face, his voice cracks on the inside.

"It's a picture," he says, showing his broken heart cut on his hand, "you know, art, Cena? The subject you failed in high school?"

John looks at the hand and his finger traces through the heart, leaving the line that makes it broken the last, and then he looks up at Matt, "so you turning into a punk too? Turning into one of those guys who thinks that cutting is cool, Matt? Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Why do you wear a hat? Why do you wear faded jeans? It's just like that, okay? It's just like that," he tries to convince him and John shakes his head, violently and objecting it.

"Wearing a hat doesn't kill you and wearing faded jeans doesn't either. This is serious. This can kill you." He explains with his thickened voice and there's seriousness all burning up in his voice.

Matt looks up at him and his shoulders shake and he throws the knife to the ground, "I am not trying to kill myself, okay?! It can kill me but I'm smart enough to know how to operate a knife. I'm not an idiot, you know?"

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But my brain knows better

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Matt feels as if he's disconnected with the world.

He's known his way around.

He knows how to get home, he knows the roads that it takes to get there and now, he's just swerved off the road and changed the directions and now that he's lost in his own blood, he doesn't know if anyone can find him as he drowns in his own blood—

He's just so very lost.

Who am I?

He just doesn't know who Matt Hardy is anymore.

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It picks you up and turns you around

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The scent's stronger than ever.

The scent of Matt.

Jeff's entered inside of the room and he grabs onto Matt's intact arm and his eyes are begging for forgiveness and it's sweet and it burns softly, infusing two emotions together, sorrow and pain, and Matt doesn't think he can look at Jeff anymore because it's Matt who's supposed to beg for forgiveness after all he's done to his brother, after it's all his fault and Matt knows it better than anyone and as Jeff's hand sweeps against Matt's cheek.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mattie."

"Jeff…" Matt wants to tell him countless 'I love you's and 'please, come back' and 'I want the Hardyz back' but all that's coming out of his mouth is a soft angered truth, "You turned me into a drug addict."

The image of the upside down Jeff turns vertical again and goes back upside and becomes vertical again—

He doesn't know how his brother really looks anymore.

Matt doesn't know what he looks like anymore.

But he bets his face is as broken as cracked as his heart.

He's so dizzy that he doesn't think that he can register how he looks like when he looks inside of the mirror…

Just so very dizzy…

"I…I want…I…"

He doesn't know how to form a sentence when he looks into the mirror again.

"Someone save me…"

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Turns you around, turns you around

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Suspended.

He's just like his brother.

Suspended for doing drugs.

Just like his brother.

Jeffy, do you like me now?

You like yourself, don't you?

And I'm so like you…

Please like me, Jeffy.

Please, say that I'm beautiful.

Suspended.

From trying to kill himself.

No one wants me to escape this world.

And they don't want me to stay in it either.

They like watching me suffer.

Why do they hate me so much?

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If you feel discouraged

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Matt doesn't think that there's anything left for him anymore.

Death's in his mind.

He only wants to be released from this world, all always, he doesn't know who he is and no one else does and he's been labeled as a 'jerk' and he doesn't think that anyone will shake that label off soon and he just wants to be alone and he just wants to die alone.

No one would want to be with me anyways.

They'll all love it when he dies.

Jeff will laugh and sing a song of joy in honor of his brother's death and probably a duet with John Cena, that'll work out, and they'll end up, kissing each other, on the floor, perfection filling both of them, they're both perfect and they're both so flawless that they can be together.

No one would want to be with someone as tattered as he is.

He knows it.

Jeff hates me.

Jeff…I need you…

John…just let me die…

And he presses the razor to his flesh, feeling it, sharp and smooth, ready to cut, deep, so very deep and watch the blood flow.

So very destructively.

Then there's a sound.

There's a color painted in Matt's head.

Memories.

It's painted red.

It's painted heartbreak.

It's John's scent as he runs inside and stares at him, as he just rips the razor out of Matt's hands, "you crazy? You just got suspended for drugs and you're back to this again?"

Matt doesn't say anything.

"You want to kill yourself, Hardy?"

Matt simply nods his lifeless head.

He looks so dead already.

Matt's the canvas.

John's the paint.

Matt has a lack of color.

John scrapes his name out in Matt's heart.

Painted red with heartbreak.

Bleeding.

Dying inside.

"Hardy, why?"

"No one likes me…no one would care…everyone wants me dead," and his voice's so thick and so very laced with emotion that John leans towards Matt's body and touches his cheek.

"They'll like you. You know they will."

"I'm not a big baby anymore, Matt!" Matt suddenly screams out and he knows those words, they're his brother's words and not his and Matt stands up and runs off and—I really don't know—and his head's spinning—who I am anymore.

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That there's a lack of color here

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"Jeff?"

"John Cena, why in hell's name are you calling me?"

"Matt just told me 'I'm not a big baby anymore, Matt', what the hell?"

"Those are my words."

"When'd you say then?"

"When he found out that I was doing drugs…"

"Dammit. I'm scared for Matt. What if he seriously kills himself?!"

"Matt can't do that! He's not that type!"

"He tried to. Twice."

"Matt did what?!"

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Please don't worry lover

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Matt's body lies onto the roof of his house.

He just wants to be alone.

They want me to suffer?!

Why do they want me to suffer…?

John…

Save me…

His head's onto the roof.

No, Matt! You can…

His head's spinning.

I…I…

He just falls asleep onto the roof.

He's just so confused and so hurt and so pained that he falls asleep right there, on the cold hard roof, feeling more alone inside than ever, more empty and more numb, and he just wants to be filled again.

He can't be.

Why doesn't anyone like me?

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It's really bursting at the seams

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For absorbing everything

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"Where is he, Cena?"

"Matt?"

"Where the hell is Matt, Cena?!"

"He's—Miz said that he mumbled about going home."

"…"

"Jeff? You there?"

"I left my firecrackers at his house."

"What? Why?!"

"I forgot, okay?! I just remembered!"

"You left firecrackers at his house?! YOU LEFT A SMOKER IN A HOUSE FILLED WITH FIRECRACKERS?!"

"I…Cena, we have to get there. Now."

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The spectrum's a to z

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The scale starts from A to Z.

A for agony.

Matt's eyes catch something wrapped in tin foil, something that sparks pink and he doesn't know what the hell is going on as he taps his cigarette but his mind's registering that he has to get away as soon as he sees sparks and sparks of fluttering yellow escape from the pink object.

His hands move to his exposed chest and the agony's there, burning inside of him and as he looks down at his new 'art', scraped on his chest, he pulls his shirt on just in case of protection and looks back at the pink object as it sparks and he steps back from his roof, ready to get out of here, suddenly, fear burns inside of him, staring at the igniting pink object that ignites yellow embers.

B for believe.

He believes that he'll die.

He believes that he deserves to die.

He just doesn't know why he's so afraid of dying when it's all he ever wants—it's almost as if a part of him doesn't want to die but that part also doesn't know what to live for.

C for coffin.

He wants to lie in a coffin.

Because it's what everyone wants.

And he wants everyone to love him and they want to like him and they don't want him alive and no one wants him alive so why should he?

D for dead.

It's calling him.

Death.

He feels all painted black on the inside. And as he's ready to jump from the room, he sees the embers.

E for Embers.

They ignite.

They start a fire.

And now, the firecracker explodes.

Matt falls down.

Pain. Darkness. Hate. Love. Agony.

It's all filling him. It's burning inside of him. It's exploding a fire inside of him as the pieces and bits of flames burn inside of his thick body.

"N…no…"

It hurts like Hell.

F for Fire.

The fire just burns.

He screams.

He doesn't know how anyone can handle this pain. He doesn't know how anyone can feel this hurt. He doesn't know how anyone can breathe.

"JOHN! JEFF! PLEASE!"

G for Grave.

He believes that he's dying.

And he suddenly doesn't want to be alone.

"Please…"

It's all exploding in him. Bits and ignited pieces. There's nothing left of him. There's nothing inside of him at all.

"It hurts…"

H for Hello.

It's the last time he'll hear a "hello".

All he remembers is John Cena.

Beautiful, thick voice.

He's been in denial for what seems like forever but he thinks that John just might be his savior.

But he's not around here anymore.

All because he's chased him off.

You just hate everyone, don't you?

No wonder why no one likes you!

I for Imaginary.

His imagination can't believe that there could be so much pain.

Sparks of black and blue burn inside of him.

Red all over.

Blood all over.

John Cena all over.

J for Jam.

It's so pretty.

Twirling in Matt's mouth.

The aftertaste of his lunch.

It just happened so unexpectedly.

His memories are all over the floor.

His memories are gone.

His house's gone.

He thinks his soul's gone too.

K for Killer.

He thinks that he should've died by a killer.

This is just too slow. Too painful.

He just doesn't think he can handle it.

L for Life.

His life's flashing in his eyes.

He misses his brother.

He misses his savior.

Everyone leaves me.

O for Oreo.

It's the thing that brings Jeff and Matt closer.

Times they spend, eating and biting on them, it's the thing that Matt wishes is an aftertaste. The thing that pulls him and Jeff closer. Jam is something that Jeff hates the most.

He's got to live with the aftertaste of what Jeff hates the most.

M for Misery.

It's the misery.

It's still in him.

He still doesn't know who he is. He still doesn't know why he's still alive when everyone's hated him so badly.

N for Numb.

He just doesn't want to be numb.

Or he didn't.

Now, all can feel is pain.

And all he wants is to feel numb.

P for Plea.

He wants to slur a plea.

He wants to say that he's sorry, for hurting the ones he loves.

Q for Quinn.

It's the name of his first girlfriend.

He found out that she was cheating on him after a week. The memory burns. And it hurts. Hard.

R for Rescue.

It's the sound that makes Matt feel like there's still a handful of hope.

"MATT!?"

It's his brother's. It's John's.

Mixture of beauty, mixture of music, perfection.

At least he'd be dead, listening to the music of the reason of his life.

S for Sharp.

Everything seems to be pricking he

The pink flames are so close that he feels as if he'll explode with them.

T for Thorn.

They're all like thorns digging into him.

U for umbrella.

Like those times he holds an umbrella, he feels all abandoned.

V for Victory.

It's like the scent of victory.

Jeff and John run towards him.

Hold him. Squeeze him. It's like dying in peace.

"Matt?"

W for Whisper.

Matt's voice is barely a whisper, "I…I'm sorry." For all the things he's said.

X for Unknown.

He doesn't know if he'll live or die.

Y for Yours.

Matt's John's. Matt's Jeff's. He knows it.

Z for Zone.

He's in his comfort zone again.

They're taking him out. He feels as if he's going to live but he feels as he's still lost his soul there. He's lost his memories, all burned into nothing…all nothing…

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This is fact not fiction

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He's on his hospital bed.

He's all wrapped in bandages and John makes his way to him, leaning down to him, running his fingers through his hair oh so beautiful so very broken and John kisses Matt's forehead.

His face pales. His shoulders tense. His heart's thudding so loud in his chest. "Hardy, you okay?"

Matt simply nods his head and looks down. "I'm just like Jeff…"

The art. The drugs. The electric colored band that's always on his wrist. The explosion of his house. It's all Jeff.

"I don't know who I am anymore," Matt whispers, his voice's so weak and so very strained with pain.

"You're Matt Hardy," John tries to convince him.

Matt only shakes his head. "I don't know who he is either."

"You're just making this stuff up, Matt," John attempts once again to convince the boy.

"No," Matt snaps, his voice's so hurt and so very strained that John's heart breaks oh so quickly at the sound. "I'm not making this stuff up. These are facts. I just opened my eyes to them. I saw my whole life flashing by me when I thought I was dying, these are facts. I'm been living in make believe all along."

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For the first time in years

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The hotel room—champagne, beige in color, two white beds, all soothing colors that seem to make Matt's stress level increase.

Matt lies on his bed and looks around, his bandages are removed after they say that no real damage has been done and he has a few burns, here and there, but nothing too serious and Matt doesn't know if he's relieved or if he's just scared that the fire is now a marked scar on his body and he just wants to get rid of those memories, not the happy memories that were destroyed along with his soul in that house.

John finally confesses.

"Matt? You know you when you were suspended for doing drugs?"

"Yeah, Jeff told on—"

John shakes his head, "I told on you."

"W-what in hell's name were you thinking? Why?" Matt's voice is stronger now but shock has never left his face, "why Cena?"

"You need help."

"Don't you think I know that?!" Matt slams his head down the bed and John simply turns off the light without another word coming from each other's mouths and in about two hours, Matt had calmed down, but he can't sleep.

He thinks he's lost his ability to sleep in the fire, too.

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All the girls in every girlie magazine

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Matt's eyes stare through his girls in the magazine cover.

His girls.

They seem like strangers now.

He feels like a stranger now.

To just everyone.

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Can't make me feel any less alone

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He's just so alone.

He lies back down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling.

What did he do to deserve this?

It's just too harsh.

It's just too unbelievable.

It hurts too much.

Why does everyone hate me so much?

John rolls to his side and his eyes pop open and Matt sits up and looks back at him. "I do need help," he finally confesses because he doesn't want to feel alone anymore. "I need a lot of help."

"What changed your mind?" John's voice's strained with thickness.

"It's still there. I know I've done art before on my body but it's still there," Matt's voice is horrified.

"Calm down. What's still there?" John watches as Matt lifts his shirt off and there, on his chest, he's written his brother's name, carved by thick glass, Jeff Hardy, and John leans down to see the now scarred words, imprinted on the perfect skin of his chest. "Man, I didn't think that you'd ever do that…"

Matt just nods his head. "I…I want people to like me. Like they like Jeff. No one ever cares about me. I'm nothing compared to Jeff. Everyone knows that. Everyone breathes those words."

"Oh, Matt, it's never like that," John caresses the boy's hair, running his fingers through black hair.

"It's always been like that."

Matt steps out of the room and takes his belongings with them. "I'm leaving this shit hole. I'm going to Europe or something and I don't think I will be back. Nobody needs me around here. Nobody even wants me around here."

John doesn't think he's serious.

Two days later, he sees Jeff down in the dumps as he walks towards him and asks for what's the problem; Jeff only looks at him with a paled face. "My brother's in Italy."

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I'm reaching for the phone

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Two days turned into two months.

John reaches for the phone and presses it to his ear and part of his brain believes that Matt's dead and part of his brain believes that Matt's never even existed and his body's onto his bed.

He looks out into the morning sky.

Everything's so happy and sweet and perky.

It's the opposite of what John's feeling inside.

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To call at 7:03 [and] on your machine I slur a plea for you to come home

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"You've reached Matt Hardy. Please, leave a message."

John's mouth twitches into a smile.

It's his voice. It's just so beautiful. So very smooth and sweet. It's like a taste of Heaven while living in Hell.

"Matt, please, come back home. We all need you. We miss you like Hell. It's not the same without you, man."

And after his message, he calls again.

Just to hear his voice.

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But I know it's too late

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In the middle of his repeated calling, Matt picks up the phone. "Cena? What the hell do you want?" His voice's miserable I'm miserable I'm miserable.

"You have to come back home."

"My home's burned down!"

"Matt, we can buy you a new house…"

"You just don't get it, do you?"

"No, I don't get it. You've got to fucking Italy for no real reason!"

"No…"

"Then what's your reason?"

"I'm haunted there. Everything's there. My messed up life is there. I want to get away from reality, okay? I want to live in make believe…where I have friends…"

"I'm your friend."

"Liar."

"Come back home, Matt…"

"I. Have. No. Home."

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I should have given you a reason to stay

__

It's the dreaded dial tone.

He thinks he's lost his chance.

"For the first time, Cena, you've lost something you actually want," he spits out to himself, looking down.

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Given you a reason to stay

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Matt lies down in his hotel room. Wanting to be at home. The scent of suffocating, the Matt and Jeff and horror scent still lingers.

Home's gone.

He's still so very alone.

Either way, you are.

No one likes you, Matt.

Don't try to change it.

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Given you a reason to stay

Given you a reason to stay

__

Matt hears the ring again.

He picks it up. "What the hell do you want, Cena?"

"Just tell me one thing…"

Matt's silent.

"If I tell you that I'd do anything for you, what'd you say?"

"You're a liar."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Open the door."

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This is fact not fiction

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Matt opens the door and instantly, he's crashed down to bed, kisses, hard and sharp ones, deep and passionate ones, Matt feels like his eyes are going to roll back in his head from disbelief.

"John…"

"Matt," he scoops him up in his arms, and looks at Matt straight in the eyes, "I love you."

"You sure that's not just make believe?"

"It's the only thing in my life that's more real than me."

And the scent of Matt and Jeff together are gone.

It's just the scent of Matt and John and love and fading loneliness.

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For the first time in years

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That's like six chapters put together or something for me!

Ted: It's the truth.

It's so long...

Oh well, Mischa's worth it. Oh, and you noticed, happy ending instead of a sad one? That's a new twist.

Review or I'll kill you. I didn't spend like forever writing this. You WILL REVIEW.

;) Sam