Was the first thought that crossed Mello's mind when he woke up. He scratched his eyes open, only to be greeted by the over-exaggerated brightness of the room that almost blinded him every single morning.
It usually irritated Mello. Who would seriously want to wake up with the sunshine in their faces? The chocoholic hated the way the daylight from outside irradiated the yellow tone of the long, polyester-made curtains, painting the room in an eye-torturing hue… (He liked to describe it bitterly)
Mello wanted to slap the stupid idiot whom he left to pick out "decent" colors (which specifically meant anything dark enough to keep the glares of the sun from entering) ever since. Like he can never do whenever he felt like it, though; it's just that every morning was a little over the top –even for him.
But today, it didn't get to him as much. Mello didn't even glance at the hated drapes in hopes of burning it down with his murderous glare.
Because, today, that "stupid idiot" we call Matt was out on a videogame convention…. For [about] twenty-four hours.
That meant a happy Mello.
After having to put up with Matt's endless babbling about how, quote, "I'm so psyched, I think I'm going to jizz my pants" or "Holy shit. Two months… Holy shit…31 days… Holy shit 4 weeks…" and so on, it was all worth it. Mello had the apartment to himself.
No annoying 'pi-ing' noises that went on all day. No senseless talking to oneself (yeah, the gamer tended to talk to himself. Or at least, his game) about how the zombie should've died after the fifth shot. No complains of having to repeat a level. Mello took a moment to absorb in the goodness of the silence that was known as a "Matt-free" day.
And so, after a yawn and a nice backstretch, the chocoholic rolled off bed and headed to the bathroom to do his dailies –like washing his face. But something, other than the misplaced game console on top of the toilet tank that Matt must've left, again, caught his attention.
A yellow sticky note on the glass mirror hanging above the sink. "I was looking at a light bulb today, and it made me think of how you light up my world. Good morning :)" Mello read it aloud and raised one brow up. "P.s I brewed you coffee." He eyed the note sceptically, but dropped the scepticism and made his way to the kitchen.
To Mello's surprise, the redhead did brew him coffee. The scent of the hot caffeinated drink filled the air as he entered. "Something's up." He thought. Matt didn't do these things unless he needed something, or unless he did do something that was only atonable by doing such action.
Mello laughed at how weird that sounded in his head, sort of like a judge in court, and took his coffee mug out of the cupboard. When suddenly, the silliness on his face disappeared into a wtf-is-this-? expression.
"If you were Sprite, I'd obey my thirst." It said on another yellow sticky-note that covered the green Starbucks logo on his mug.
Mello shrugged this off at first. It should end soon enough.
And so he took out a new mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. When the sudden need to have milk with the drink occurred to him. Mello opened the fridge, only to find, guess what?
"They said milk is good for the body. But damn, how much did you drink?"
Blue eyes were wide as dinner plates. Mello's jaw dropped. "Seriously?" He trailed off and ignored the carton of milk, closing the refrigerator door. "Guess I'll be having my coffee black."
Shaking his head at how ridiculous things are getting, the slightly, just slightly, irritated blonde decided to get started on with his work, of course, the Kira case. He took a sip of his coffee and gave a disgusted look, then left the mug on the side to be forgotten.
Mello started the computer and as soon as he looked down to type the password to his account, right there on the keyboard, "If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together." His jaw dropped even lower, if that was virtually possible.
Just before Mello went ballistic, the doorbell rang, forcing him to drop the gun that he somehow grabbed from somewhere to answer the door.
"I'm looking for…Mello?" A guy, around his twenties in the kind of outfit you see a delivery guy would wear, asked.
"What do you want?" Mello hissed.
"S-sign here, p-please," the guy stuttered the moment he dared to make eye contact with the now very irritated blonde.
"What the f-? Flowers?" Mello said, puzzled, looking at the mixture of roses and violets of a bouquet the guy handed to him.
"Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet but nothing compared to you."
"Oh, so did he send a pack of sugar too?"
"Take it, I don't want it." Mello demanded as he shoved the bouquet back to the guy. "Well?"
"Ah-ah- y-yes sir!" the scared package delivering guy said. Mello could swear he saw liquid trails as he ran off.
Mello finally slammed the door shut. "That. Little. Asshole…" he said, venom dripping from every word. "Matt must've probably gone through all this trouble so he could freakin' annoy me. I swear, when he gets back…" Mello paused, then thought, why wait when he could simply break hell loose right then and there in the convention?
But just as he was about to get his keys, Mello's plan failed miserably.
"If I were a stop light, I'd turn red everytime you passed by, just so I could stare at you a bit longer."
Mello counted to ten, slowly backing away from the key holders, then breathed in. "Fuck it. Nevermind."
When he had successfully controlled his temper, Mello decided, just ignore all the damn notes. There couldn't be that much of them, right? He was so wrong. There were more notes. In different places. In various colors. Matt practically had the big book of cheesy quotes in his left hand and the rainbow on his right. Even when the gamer was out,
"How does he still manage to annoy the shit out of me?" Mello wanted to gun every single one, but that would end up destroying the apartment, and that'd be too inconvenient. "Oh my god. I give up."
Mello was back in the bedroom, throwing daggers at the hated drapes. He sprawled onto the bed, exhausted from all the pissing at the notes that went on the whole day. The chocoholic sighed in frustration. He managed to do absolutely nothing productive when he actually planned to work.
Just when he was about to take a rest, the door squeaked open, and inside went in an exhilarated redhead. "It was epic!"
"I bet…" Mello said, nonchalantly.
"So how was your day?"
"Oh nothing, you know the usual." Mello sat up by this time, preparing to assault Matt with threatening words. "I'm glad you had the time of your life though, y'know. While I was here, alone, with all your goddamn notes all over the place!"
"I brought you chocolate," Matt said, ignoring Mello, as he tossed a purple colored box towards him. This apparently shut him up. "I'm not sure if it's your type, though. It has this minty-ness to it. I tasted one, so don't freak when you see one spot empty."
Mello, for the first time in history, actually hesitated to open the box of chocolates before him. There couldn't be another-
And he slowly lifted the lid off.
"I'm sorry for leaving you for the day. I hope my notes made up for it :)"
Mello sighed, defeated by his own emotions. And his scrunched up brows and 'I'm-ready-to-sock-Matt-in-the-face-if-I-see-another-one-of-his-stupid-notes'expression were now relaxed. It was a note, but it surely wasn't a stupid one.
"So? How does it taste?" Matt asked, stripping the leather coat (that he borrowed from Mello to create the whole Dante from Devil May Cry look) and inner top to change into a more comfortable outfit.
Mello didn't reply. He simply pulled the redhead's waistband and drove him to the bed, then tossed a pillow to the door, shutting it close.
An update! *O* My creative juices were dried to a pulp for about four months. Now I'm back (and glad to be back!)
Happy Birthday Mello!