Honestly, this idea came to me when giant porcupines ate my brain. YAY! Um... So, anyway... Read.
Matt x Mello. Starts in Wammy era, progresses on through WHO KNOWS WHEN?! xD
Warning! There WILL be lemon. Definitely. Later on. Also, there is death and blood. Violence. (Come on, we all know Mello's in the mafia. Srsly.)
I do not own any elements of Death Note, or the various video games Matt plays.
The N64 is hooked up to the TV in the common room, and I'm busy trying to sneak past a Chain Chomp when Ralen speaks up. He (like everyone else) seems to have an obsession with poking fun at Mello, for various reasons.
"So, Mello, I heard you're gay." You know, for what Wammy's House claims to be--an institution for the mentally gifted--most of the kids here are ridiculously stupid.
My best friend doesn't even look up from his homework. "You heard wrong."
"Then why is it you always hang out with Matt?"
Oh, sure. Bring me into this. (The Chain Chomp barks angrily, and I--meaning Mario--fall off a cliff. Waaaaugh!)
"Matt and I happen to be friends," Mello says, much like a babysitter annoyed with an incessant question-asking toddler.
As Mario is thrown out backwards from the painting (Mama Mia!), I pull my orange-tinted goggles down over my eyes. My pulse races. I'm pretty sure it's not just from my constant death on this level.
"Why don't you have any other friends, then?" Ralen presses. What is this, an interrogation?
Mello scoffs. "Psh. Yeah, like I'm gonna associate with any intellectually deviant children. Which is about 95 percent of the Wammy's House population." I can hear the glare, the slight curl of his lip, just in his voice. Behind mirrored lenses that cover a lot of my face, I feel my cheeks heating up. Something... hurts, deep inside me.
And I know why. It's Mello. He's my best and only friend in the world--No, that's not quite right. Without Mello, there is no world. He's the only person who's ever been kind to me. And apparently I'm the only kid here that he hasn't expressed a serious aversion to. He's actually nice to me. It baffles the caretakers. We're inseparable. We're bestest friends.
And that's all. Just friends, nothing more.
Why do I love Mello? Simple. No one else is like him. Nobody in this world is so tough, so caustic, so frightening, all without even trying. Mello can scare the shit out of a kid just by looking at him. It's amazing. Nobody else snaps off hunks of chocolate bars so violently, or speaks acidic words that ooze with hatred, only to turn around and laugh with the only person he considers valuable.
I want to kiss those toxic lips and taste my immunity to that deadly poison...
God, listen to me. I sound like a depressed little emo kid.
I have no idea how I managed to get past that Chain Chomp. Wow. Spacing out apparently does wonders for my gaming ability.
"You know God hates gays, right?" Ralen mutters.
"You seem mighty interested in me. Perhaps you'd like to finish my Calculus homework." Mello shoves it over in Ralen's direction. "By the way, if any of those answers are wrong, I'll fracture your leg in seven places."
"Do it," Mello growls. He never uses that voice to me. Never. That's one of the reasons why I love him, actually.
Shit. Ralen's right, though. God does hate gays. And Mello's a devout Catholic. What am I thinking? There's no way he'll ever love me. That's just stupid thinking on my part.
Night falls. And, as I've discovered, bad feelings only get worse at night.
... I haven't cried so hard in years. It's physically painful. My chest is tight; I feel like my heart's being torn out. I wish it was. This pain only reminds me of how much I want Mello, how much I literally ache for him, how amazingly good he is at making me laugh when I need it the most.
I pull myself to my feet. The small mirror on my desk seems to taunt me. I'm a mess. My face is beet red, my nose is dripping, my eyes are completely bloodshot. Shit. I hate me. I fucking hate Mail Jeevas. I swipe blindly at him, at my reflection, and the mirror falls to the floor with a soft crash. I gaze at the glittering shards for a moment before picking one up. My wrist cries for it.
A tiny bulb of red wells up where I press the sharp edge to my skin. As I drag the glass across my arm, the tension seems to fade. My breath steadies. I feel... cleansed. It still hurts, but not as badly.
About a month or so passes, and nobody notices the red lines on my arm. I attribute this to the fact that I wear long sleeves all the time. No one seems to suspect anything.
A knock at my door startles me from my evening routine. I hastily pull my sleeve down and go to answer it. My heart simultaneously jumps and sinks: it's Mello.
"Um... Hey." Nice going, me. Way to sound like a retard.
"Matt, show me your arm," Mello demands, wasting no time in getting to the point. I make no move to comply, so he takes a step forward. "Come on. Show me. I saw you scratching your wrist like crazy earlier today. Show me your fucking arm."
"It's nothing," I lie. He grabs my arm with his cheetah reflexes, and pulls the sleeve up to reveal the scars I've inflicted: three in the process of healing, one fresh from tonight. His hands are soft, his touch gentle. I almost swoon. Mello, I so belong to you.
"Why?" he whispers. "Matt... why?"
I expected him to be angry. Furious, even. But as I force myself to meet his gaze, I realize he's more sad than anything. He looks worried, even a little hurt. I turn away.
"Matt, please." He follows me in, closing the door after us. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Why not? Matt, did somebody hurt you?! I swear, if someone put their hands on you, I'll--"
"No." I feel like my lungs are going to explode. "Mell, I... I'm in love."
In love? Seriously? Aw. Bless his little heart, Matty's growing up.
"Why are you so depressed over that? You should be happy! Love is a wonderful thing!" Sometimes.
"My feelings aren't reciprocated," he murmurs.
Now that's stupid. Who in the world can't love Matt? I mean, seriously! He's so adorable! I think I should go find this girl and beat some sense into her thick skull. Love him, damn you! Make my little Matty happy, bitch!
"What, is she blind, or is she just stupid?"
"... he," Matt whispers.
Oh. Okay. So it's a guy. Um... yeah. I feel awkward now. Matt likes a guy. Presumably not me. I think I just felt my ego deflate.
Matt smiles a little. So cute. "I don't think he's blind or stupid... Just... straight."
Ah, I see. "Straight man ruining your fun, huh? They're all like that. Narrow-minded bastards."
My friend's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "Wait... you? But you said... Ralen... He said... you're not...? I'm confused!"
I can't help laughing. "There's a whole spectrum to this, you know. 'Straight' and 'gay' are just the extremes. There's all this grey area in the middle."
There's not a lot going on upstairs, but... God, he's cute when he's confused.
"So you... you do like guys," he murmurs.
I shrug a little. "Not all of them. A select few."
"Just not me."
... Oh. OH. Oh, no. Oh Lord, no. Don't tell me I'M the reason he's depressed.
"Matt..." My mouth is dry. "You're not... talking about me, are you...?"
"Yeah, I am, okay?" He's suddenly kind of angry. "I'm totally in love with you, and I have been for I don't even know how long..."
I reach towards his back and place my hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me." I turn him around and take his hand, clasping it tightly. "Listen closely, Matt, because I don't know if I'm going to be able to say this again..." I bring his wrist to my lips and kiss his scars gently, tasting the metallic essence of blood. I love it. I love the way he melts into my touch as I curl my hand over his jaw. I love the way his breath hitches when I touch his cheek. I love the way his hazel eyes flutter open and stare into my fucking soul. I love how all of these tiny things he does make me fall for him. Not that I hadn't already.
Oh, Matt... the things you do to me...
Sexy cliffhanger is sexy! Yay! Next, chapter two! I love this fic, by the way. It's fun to write. Especially once funny stuff starts to happen. I'm being so vague... So. Reviews? Please? Thank you!
By the way, FF's editor squishes words together. It's not my fault.