Disclaimer: Don't own DN. Lyrics lines are Red Letter Day by The Get Up Kids. Prompts from lj comm.
Note: just some drabbles to fill time when I'm stressing like mad. Trying to get something sorted for my WtW entry and failing. so, this, instead. yes, they're all exactly 100 words. enjoy xxx
we're loyal, like brothers
just us versus all the others
you the one, are you the one for me?
The Space Between Us
"I guess it'll have to be me." And Mello puts down the phone.
Matt watches him. He's more aware of Mello these days, of each glance of his limbs, of the darkening of his eyes and the meaning of each curl of his lips. It's new and strange and sort of incredible, except for times like this, where Mello looks afraid.
Without even really knowing why, Matt says, "If it's you, it's me too, you know."
Mello looks up, reluctance and grief and some strange fire behind his eyes. Just like that, Matt knows he'll follow him anywhere.
Mello lies as still as the grave and studies the ceiling. Across the room, he can hear Matt tossing and turning. The shitty mattress creaks and squeaks with every shift of his body, and after about half an hour Mello's nearly ready to knock the bastard out to keep things quiet.
Shit, what's he doing with his life? Tomorrow is – fuck. He should be looking at stars. He should be living what life he's got left. He should be with Matt.
Matt gets up, quieter now, and leaves the room. Mello lies still and wishes the morning would never end.
Their apartment is almost unbearable to live in. That, Matt thinks, is one good thing that'll come from tomorrow. At least he won't have to drag his sorry arse back to this shithole.
He smiles a little, wry and sad, around his cigarette.
It's technically his flat, signed to his (admittedly fake) name. But Mello has, from day one, acted as if it's only by the goodness of his heart that Matt has a roof over his head at all.
Tosser. He'll never change. So possessive.
But, Matt thinks, smiling again, it's okay, because Mello is possessive of him, too.
Along The Moonlit Bay
Matt drops, exhausted, at four, maybe five AM. Silent as the shadows he can feel pulling him in, Mello slips out and into the welcoming rush of wind and the road.
He speeds along the coast, the moon glinting, the water like a sheet of diamonds.
Tonight he's running any risk he likes. He feels the air bite at his neck and it spurs him faster. It's like coming to life, and he thinks really he doesn't have that much time left if he's going to ever tell Matt that this is how he makes him feel every single day.
The Road Back To You
Matt wakes up sometime around six and Mello is nowhere to be found. There's this horrible moment where he thinks Mello's gone and decided to be fucking noble, and left. To keep him out of it. To save his life.
Fuck's sake, Matt doesn't want his life saved. He wants to be wherever Mello is for the rest of his life and if that's ten hours then that's ten hours, because way, way back, he set eyes on a kid with blond hair and a raggedy black shirt and eyes like fire.
And, well some things are just that simple.
Hidden From The World
"I thought you'd left."
Mello turns. Matt is standing in the garage doorway, slouched a little, arms crossed, loose, against his chest. He looks every one of his nineteen years and not a single day more.
"I should have."
"I'd never have forgiven you."
There's a peace in Matt's eyes, and a resigned kind of understanding. Matt's ready for this, more ready than he is, because he's got something Mello can't work out driving him on.
"Let's go inside."
He steers Matt to the flat by his elbow, and just maybe his grip is a little more tender than usual.
Don't Be Afraid
There is a sweep of some kind of twisted elegance in the smile Mello gives Matt as the sun rises on the last dawn of their life. There is, Matt supposes, some kind of twisted elegance about Mello himself. He's all sharp edges and smooth lines, knife blades spun from the purest gold. He's sunlight and shadows and power and all of a hundred things that no boy of twenty should be. He is...
He is everything that shouldn't be dying like a dog today.
But he isn't afraid. He is never afraid.
And because of that, Matt isn't, either.
The first and last time Matt takes Mello's hand is the last time they say goodbye.
Mello's turned and is ready to go. He's closing his fingers around the curved edge of his helmet when he feels warm fingers curl against the black leather of his glove.
He turns, and there he is, a breath behind him, with earnest and unshielded eyes. His hair's a mess and his stupid goggles rest on his forehead, and Mello, he thinks maybe he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
He doesn't say it.
In the end, he doesn't need to.
His hands tighten around the leather of the wheel. He spins it to the left, skidding around the tight corner, and –
– emerging into a ring of blinding lights and hostile stares.
He clenches his fists around the wheel. A curl of smoke winds into his lungs and nicotine stains his lips. His fingertips touch, each swirl of his prints, each jagged edge of nail. A curl of smoke winds into his lungs and nicotine stains his lips.
Everything is real, and he is going to die.
He smiles a wry, soft smile, and gets out of the car.
Matt's death crackles across the crapbox television set in the cab of the truck. There's a second, somewhere in the middle of it all, where Mello wants to stop. He wants to do nothing more than simply cease. He wants nothing to do with Kira or with Takada or glory or L or any of it. In that moment, he doesn't care.
He wants Matt not to be dead, and he wants to stop.
And then it passes. Then, the rumble of the engine drowns out the drone of the television. Then, he carries on.
Oblivion and Matt are waiting.