Seven Hours of Incompetence and Top Ramen

It had been approximately three dominating rounds of Call of Duty, one Redbull, and two cigarette breaks before Matt realized that a certain blonde haired psychopath was no longer in the vicinity, and the redhead reacted just as anyone would expect him to.

He completely lost his mind.

8:13 P.M.

It's not like he intends on making his best friend angry. Really, he doesn't. But a happy Mello is a dormant apocalypse, a foreboding sign of destruction, an explosion waiting to happen. When the blond slams the door, bringing on a white hail of stucco from the ceiling of their shitty L.A. flat, Matt doesn't even look up from the flashing television screen. The sound of artillery fire is nothing new, the stagnant and choking air of the flat isn't new, Mello's bitch fits are certainly nothing new.

And so he plays.

What Matt Can't Help But Think

'X, X, X... c'mon, stupid fucker… why won't you die?'

'Persistent zombie Nazi fucker. Lag. Damn it.'

'Stubborn as hell.'

'Why is it when I chase you, you are able to run away so fucking quickly, but when you chase me, I can never fucking get away?'

(He isn't sure whether he's thinking about the game or not, after a while.)

11:48 P.M.

He gamer realizes that the necessity of having to pee outweighs the need to unlock more Xbox achievements sometime after the fifteenth timed round- if not only by a little. His goggles feel tight, suctioning around his eyes uncomfortably, so he removes them and throws them aimlessly on the beaten, off-white couch. He stretches and heads towards the bathroom in an almost daze, bare feet dragging against dirty carpet.

-Three Things Matt Notices on His Way to the Bathroom-

1. An overdue rent notice sitting on the kitchen counter.

2. He's starving.

3. Mello's favorite jacket is still hanging on the knob of the bedroom door.

-Three Things Matt has Noticed Throughout the Years-

1. The rent never got paid on time- well, until Mello moved ("forcibly invited himself") in.

2. Mello never left enough real food in the house, but there were always a considerable amount of Hershey's Kisses everywhere, mostly in pockets and between the couch cushions.

3. Mello could take care of himself. That didn't stop Matt from worrying.

12:55 A.M.

Almost five hours into solitude, Matt is a fucking mess. He realizes he doesn't know how to make Top Ramen the hard way, and now his burnt Need for Speed 'boost' finger is resting on a wet sock, because fuck it if he doesn't own a proper washcloth. The back of his mind nags at him, tells him to get off his sorry ass and call his best friend. But what the fuck was there to say?

-What Matt Considers Saying-

"Hey Mels- It's Mattie.

I just called to tell you I was a jerk. Baby, I was wrong. I love you so much, Smushie-kins, and baby, why don't you just come home? You are the light of my life and the stars in my sky, and I need you like I need air in my lungs. And as much of a domineering asshole as you may be, I still want said 'ass' in my bed tonight.

And since you're on your way home to me, bring back some cigarettes and a new Mortal Combat game, because the one you threw at the wall is scratched now, you bitch.

….Love you."

(He figures the phone call could be a tad counter-productive.)

1:19 A.M.

The last cheap cigarette smoked, Matt now had two options. Look below to see which one he chose.

-Matt's Choices—

(a) Freak the fuck out.

(b) Freak the fuck out.

2:32 A.M.

It's 2:32 in the fucking morning when Matt stops shooting zombie Nazis long enough to realize that he's about two seconds away from filing a missing person's report for a criminal. His eyes nervously dart back and forth from the flashing screen to the door, and he's confirmed his life isn't Amnesia: The Dark Descent, but damn it if his sanity isn't going from just sitting, alone and in the dark.

-A Slightly Disturbed Matt's Train of Thought-

"Screw it. If Mels doesn't get back here in five minutes, I'm calling the fucking cops."

"…Okay, ten minutes."

"He's running late. I need to calm the fuck down. He's probably getting chocolate. Or he has telepathy- I always knew, that crazy bastard- and he's buying my fucking cigarettes."

"Shit. He's getting raped, isn't he?"

"What if they stole his chocolate, took my cigarettes, and raped him?"

"ZOMBIE NAZI FUCKERS, TOUCHING MY MELLO AND TAKING MY FUCKING CIGARETTES!"

"…He's not coming back. He's not coming back…"

"How the hell am I ever going to learn how to make Top Ramen?"

"If he doesn't show up right now, he's in a fuckton of trouble. Which is substantially larger than the shitload I was in before."

"WHYYYYY- "

-and somewhere in the middle of mentally cursing everyone from Near to the Queen of England, the door is slammed open, revealing a very angry blonde, wearing a scowl and holding two black grocery bags.

-If Matt's Life Were a Dating Sim, His Options Would Be…-

A. Kiss that fucker senseless. ("DON'T LEAVE ME AGAAAIN")

B. Play it cool. ("Miss you? Pssh, you were gone?")

C. Make Top Ramen. ("Get in the kitchen where you belong, bitch.")

D. Put it in.

As super!seme as option D was, and as badass as option B would make him, Matt was unfortunately not badass. (Or seme, for that matter.) Instead, his reaction was a bit of a retarded mash-up of both A and C resulting in a lunging glomp that screamed codependency, and the skinny blond ending up with an armful of desperate uke.

-What Matt Imagined the Long Awaited Reunion Would Be Like-

MATT: Mello! I thought you'd never come back to me! [CUE tears, a passionate hug is shared between lovers]

MELLO: Oh Matt! The hours have been long, and I have grown weary for your touch! Oh, kiss me, my beautiful lover!

[CUE kiss, MATT winks at the camera]

Unfortunately, the redhead never did seem to get what he wanted all that often.

-What Really Happened-

MATT: Mello! I thought you'd never come back to me! [CUE MATT's tears, his attack glomp misses and has MATT slightly bent over, arms straining to bring MELLO closer toward him]

MELLO: I live here, dumbfuck.

[CUE MELLO throwing MATT off, MATT desperately tries to wink]

MELLO: What the fuck? I'm still mad, dipshit. And what the hell is wrong with your eye?

…So much for that idea.

Now the blonde was visibly pissed, looking as though he'd like nothing better than to give Matt a black eye to compliment his red hair. Matt, however, was still recovering from the (apparently) paralyzing shock of abandonment.

"Where the hell did you go? I guess I thought…," the gamer trailed off, causing Mello to send him a dry look, one eyebrow raised in sarcastic inquiry.

-Stupid Shit Matt Does When He Can't Think of What to Say-

· Makes an ass of himself;

· Says the dumbest thing possible to ease the awkward tension;

· Plays the sympathy card.

(Sometimes he gets perfect situations, where all three are applicable.)

At a loss of words, Matt simply raised two raw, red fingers, wrapped in small pink Band-Aids. "I burnt myself." And Mello has known his best friend long enough to know that he's trying to lighten things up, but he's honestly still not in the mood for this shit.

"Yeah, on one of your damn cancer sticks, no doubt."

A shrug. "Fuck you, I was trying to make Top Ramen."

"…and here I thought you couldn't be more retarded, and you prove me wrong." If Matt hadn't been so used to such verbal abuse he have probably been affected by this, but thank god the Mafioso's 'dog' was more oblivious than anything.

Another shrug. "Stop being such an asshole and teach me how to make ramen, already."

He watches the blond take in a breath, heavy and deep, and reach for his pants pocket. For a split second, Matt thinks Mello is reaching for his gun, and that he's about to get a bullet to the face. He tenses up, bracing for the impact (great going, mattie, at least the burns won't hurt so bad if you've got a couple shot wounds to distract you), but he's always figured that's the way he'd go- if not by Mello, than certainly for Mello.

When the pain didn't come, the gamer squinted his eyes open just enough to peer though his goggles and see that the Mafioso had procured a chocolate bar from his pocket, and with an irritated glance at his best friend, began to tear at the wrapper.

"It's 2:30 in the fucking morning," he dead-panned. "…If we're gonna do this, shut up and get in the kitchen."

"It says add two cups of water."

"Yeah."

"…So what did you use? Your own piss? How exactly was this hard?"

"I used water!"

"Were there two cups of it? Did you weigh it on a fucking Wii Fit scale?"

"Well, we didn't have any clean cups, so I kind of estimated what would be two cups-"

"You didn't measure it."

"…Perhaps."

"Way. to. fucking. go."

Things Matt Wishes He Could Call Mello

Know-it-all bitch. Snarky asshole. Fifty cent Hooker. Fucking Helpful (sometimes).

Matt stands next to the stove, really just watching Mello do all the work. The blond has given up on his friend entirely, whose "moronic" actions frustrated Mello into making the ramen himself. He's balancing a measuring cup and water bottle (because the tap water in the apartment is a lovely mixture of salmonella, AIDS, and hepatitis C. they're pretty damn sure about that one.) while trying to grab a pan out of the cabinet with the broken door. The chocolate bar Mello is eating is currently being held in his mouth due to having no free hands available, despite the fact that Matt could potentially reach over and help him out. Yeah, right.

The fact that Matt isn't touching anything seems to be working out by the time Mello places the dry square of noodles into the boiling water. He's simply watching Mello- noting the way his eyes are tired, but his face is still so concentrated, and memorizing the soft fall of his hair as he peers over into the pot. So far over, in fact, that his chocolate bar breaks in half in his mouth, and lands with a 'plop' into the bubbling ramen.

"SHIT!"

A Word of Wisdom From Matt

You don't want to be in the same room when one of Mello's chocolate bars goes MIA.

Consider yourself in the 'murder-zone.'

The awkward silence was… well, awkward.

"Hey, Mels. That ramen is kind of like our relationship." Oh yeah, and Matt was awkward too.

"What the fuck?" Mello's "I-am-not-amused face" was quickly turning into a "You're-so-stupid-I-don't-know-how-the-fuck-you're-alive face".

"You know, uh- ," Nice tension breaker, Mattie. You sure thought that one through. "You know. Chocolate noodles." Mello raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning the redhead's sanity.

"No, not like that!"

His eyebrows raised higher, urging an explanations.

"Ya know, like- it's this weird mix of shit, but in the end, I'm sure it's not as bad as you thought it would be. It's not exactly what you planned on, but I'm sure everything will turn out better than you thought it would, right?" Mello seemed a tad affronted, with a look of suspicion that openly wondered how Matt had managed to bullshit his way out of that, and in such a poetic-

"-and plus, there's noodles involved, and we both like putting those in our mouths. If you catch my drif-"

Fuck poetic. Suddenly, the younger man was pushed down against the cracking tile of the kitchen floor, pinned down by the weight of his companion. The blonde seized his lips with his, swift and rough, obviously trying to stop the gamer from sounding anymore impossibly idiotic than he already had within the past eight hours. He pulled away, leaving enough space between their lips to breathe. However, he was still close enough to send a warm ghost of breath across Matt's lips when he spoke, voice sounding tired, yet venomous all the same.

"Shut. Up."

And so his dog obeyed. Lips locked into another hungry kiss, the smell of chocolate, tobacco, and ramen seemed to permute within the small kitchen. They were dysfunctionally functional, a strange yet delicious combination.

"Hey Mels?" the gamer temporarily broke the kiss for air, running his hand down a scarred cheek. "What were we fighting about before you left?" For a split second, Mello seemed affronted, sending his best friend a patronizing look.

"The fact that you can't seem to do jack shit without me."

Oh yeah. And so, Matt looked around. He looked at the piles of laundry on the floor, the remnants of dry ramen on cracking tile, the laptop he had left work on, his xbox, the bills on the counter, mello's jacket hanging on the doorknob. Matt sat back up, staring earnestly at Mello.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right…" He gripped at Mello's shoulders, letting their lips brush as he spoke. "I'd go absolutely fucking crazy without you." Beneath his grip, Mello seemed to soften, before Matt crushed their lips together hard.

Mello's only reply was a mumbled "me too" between kisses.

One of the Many Reasons Matt Loves Mello

He wouldn't know what to do without him.

Literally.

-X-


A/N: YAAAAY. I actually finished something for once. Weird. I hope it made you smile- if not at the humor, then maybe at the psychotic-ness of it all? Yes? 8] And I really hope the format didn't make your eyes bleed. Seriously, dude. Sorry if it did. I'll get you Band-Aids for your eyes. Then you and Matt can bitch and moan to Mello, yes?

ANYWAY. I dedicate this fic to little-original-monster (who also has really awesome, crack-ish Matt & Mello shiz, you should go read it and then tell her that I sent you cuz I'm THAT. COOL.) because I always promise to write her shiz and then I never do, and cuz she's the Mello to my Matt (no homo, but major homo). Oh, and for being the inspiration for Matt calling Mello a fifty cent hooker, because that's what she is. ILY! :D

P.S. This fic uses the word fuck in many different variations, with a total of 22 times. Fuck yeah.

P. P. S. I like you. And reviews. Give me both.