A/N: Pictures of you, pictures of me, remind us all of what we could have been, could have been...

This one-shot was inspired by a picture of Matt and Mello laughing together, looking really damn happy.

i'll be writing a Mello/Matt story soon, so I guess you can think of this as a preview? xD


The redhead exhaled slowly, smoothing his former friend's hair absent-mindedly as he gazed at his face. Mello's beautiful face was harsh from pain, and Matt's eyes strayed to the bandages he had laid over the burn on his face. With his free hand, he reached out and stroked it, remembering what Mello was like, before all that shit happened.

They used to be happy. So damn happy. Back in Wammy's House, Mello's only worry was to beat Near, and Matt's was to beat the latest game. They had been so carefree.

Then L—L, their sort-of mentor, their fucking idol, the best damn detective in the history of forever—was killed during the goddamn Kira Case, and they were so angry. Mello had left soon after, telling Matt not to follow him, and though he was concerned, he didn't. He respected Mello, and because of that, he let Mello desert him.

A few years later, his memories of Mello were fading.

And then Mello called.

"M-Matt," he had rasped.

"Mello?" Matt had exclaimed in surprise that quickly became anxiety when his friend's only reply was a sharp inhale. "Mello, what's wrong!?"

There had been a long silence, during which Matt began stuffing his shit into bags, ready to find him, and then Mello spoke, his voice strained. "Help me."

The line went dead.

Matt was able to trace the call, and, unable to believe his luck, found the blond's location quickly. The building was burning. Trees were lit. Other houses began to catch fire. Matt knew Mello was inside, so he forced his way in, and looked everywhere for him. He finally found him in the basement, barely breathing, with angry red burns on his face and arm.

Matt had carried Mello back to his place. His medical knowledge was limited, but he did the best he could. He could only wait and see what became of his best friend.

Matt bowed his head, feeling his eyes go hot as tears started to come. He wanted to go back to the happy times.

How did it come to this?

His tears streamed down his face, down to his chin, and from there, they dripped down onto the blanket covering Mello. He didn't bother wiping the liquid off his face; why bother? He didn't know if the bane of his existence would live or not. He sure as hell had a good reason for crying. He wasn't a goddamn sissy for doing it.

He lifted his hand off Mello's face, and instead gripped his friend's hand, squeezing it lightly.

Mello, don't die.

Weeks later, when Mello finally stirred, Matt was right beside him.

When Mello opened his blue eyes blearily, Matt laughed breathlessly, almost hysterically, and whispered, "Welcome back, Mel."