Chapter Text
The sound of a car alarm going off rips Matt from his half-subconscious state and into the pitch darkness of his bedroom. He takes a breath, then tentatively stretches his arm over the space beside him. When his hand connects with the cool bedsheets he pretends not to care. It lasts all of three seconds before he flops over and buries his face into the pillow beside him. It still smells like leather and expensive cologne, so he burrows closer and tries to fight the disappointment already weighing on his chest. He stays like that for a few moments and tries to figure out exactly how Mello managed to sneak out without him noticing. He supposes he should be getting used to it by now, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. His finger smooths over the edge of the pillowcase and finds a lone blonde strand of hair tucked under a fold. He toys with it as he wallows, feeling entirely pathetic but too exhausted to care.
He must have just left. It’s his first coherent thought as he lifts his chin and stares blankly at the red numbers on the alarm clock. It’s four in the morning which means Matt couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour. He really wishes Mello would have warned him that he was leaving. But that’s not exactly his style anymore. This new version of Mello does what he wants and keeps his cards close to his stupid, sexy leather vests.
Matt really misses the days when he used to tell him everything.
Now that he’s left, Matt knows that he’ll spend the majority of his time wondering when he’ll be coming back, if he’ll be coming back. That thought alone is strong enough to twist Matt’s stomach; the painful nausea and anxiety cutting through his insides is all too familiar. He’ll be back. He tries to reassure himself, but it doesn’t have any effect. Those words did little to comfort him now given the fact that he’d held on to them for longer than he’d ever care to admit back when Mello first left. Because the sad truth was that after Mello ran away from the orphanage, there was an embarrassingly long period of time where Matt really had believed he would come back for him.
He supposes that’s the root of all of this moodiness he feels the second Mello leaves his side. Rationality is thrown out the window and all he can think about is how long he’ll be gone for, or if he’s left him for good again. He also pathetically wonders if Mello misses him, but he knows pulling on that thread will fuck him up even more. Because the truth of it all is, he can lay around and mope all day, but it won’t change a goddamn thing.
Mello’s busy. Mello’s important. He’s got a lot going on right now, thanks to Kira, and he can’t be bothered to laze around with him all day no matter how much Matt wants that. Mello leaves, sometimes for days, but so far he’s come back every time. His patterns are unpredictable, and he keeps his plans a secret. All of it drives Matt completely crazy and leaves him on edge far more than he’d ever care to admit. Sometimes he’ll wake up hyperventilating, certain that Mello has left him behind yet again and all at once he’s paralyzed by the terrible weight of abandonment.
He tries not to think about it, about how it felt when Mello ran away. Thinking about it makes him feel too many things he’d much rather forget about, so he does his best to push it all far away. Besides, since they’ve been living together again he’s always come back, so Matt should really quit picking at old wounds.
Matt groans then rolls out of bed, grabbing a pack of smokes from the bedside table. He pops one in his mouth as he pokes around for a lighter but gives up once he remembers he left one on the kitchen counter last night. His brain stalls for a moment as the memory of Mello pressed against that counter writhing against him crashes through his mind like a flash bang. He feels his face flush and brings his hands up to rub against the hot skin. As he wills his heart rate to return to normal, he scans the room and tries to find where his shirt ended up. When he can’t find it, he takes a frustrated drag from his cigarette and realizes that he still hasn’t lit the damn thing. Without another thought, he stomps out of the bedroom and makes a beeline for the kitchen. The lighter is right where he left it and within seconds he’s taking a long inhale to finally soothe his nerves.
“What the fuck did I say about smoking in the apartment?”
Matt whips around to see an angry-looking Mello sitting on the couch. He supposes the blonde’s glare would have been very intimidating if he weren’t wearing Matt’s striped shirt and drinking tea from his chipped Pikachu mug. Matt stares at him dumbly for a few seconds as the butterflies in his stomach crawl up his throat and settle in his brain.
“Hi.”
It’s all he can manage as a response. Mello must pick up on his genuine surprise because he drops the glare and frowns at him instead. Matt shuffles around awkwardly, then turns to open the nearest window. He feels Mello staring at him as he takes a few more drags before chucking the half-smoked cigarette onto the fire escape below. The night air is cool on his bare skin and makes him shiver as he pulls the window shut.
“Did you manage to get some sleep? I could have sworn you were knocked out when I got out of bed.”
“A little.”
He feels like a complete idiot for moping around in bed for the last hour when Mello was just in the next room. For a second, he wonders why Mello always waits for him to fall asleep before leaving, and almost works up the courage to ask him, but immediately decides against it. The blonde’s still staring at him intently and it’s unnerving enough to make him shiver again. He pulls his arms tight to his chest and finally meets his friend’s gaze, feeling completely naked without his shirt and goggles.
Mello’s expression is softer, illuminated only by the low lighting coming from the kitchen’s dull ceiling lamp. There’s a laptop open by his feet with a bunch of loose notes scattered on the couch and coffee table. It gives Matt an odd feeling of déjà vu seeing the papers arranged around him like that; it’s the exact same way he used to study at Wammy’s. Fragmented memories of a younger Mello hunched over a sea of notes in the middle of their old bedroom flash by. Matt briefly remembers how he’d sit across from him and watch the cute way his nose would scrunch up when he was really concentrating.
Mello’s shoulder shifts slightly and brings him back to the present, entirely captivated by the way his shirt loosely hangs beneath the blonde’s collarbones. The bare skin makes him ache, and he digs his fingernails into the skin of his wrist to prevent himself from crossing the room and touching him. Even though Mello’s made no move to signal that he’s going anywhere, Matt’s still terrified of doing something to make him leave. He’s hyper-aware of himself and feels like a loser for just standing there silently, but his brain has abandoned him in favor of appreciating the way Mello’s sharp features stick out against the shadows. He’s entirely embarrassed that the only thoughts he can manage to conjure up are wow and beautiful.
Eventually, Mello breaks their shared gaze and directs his attention back to the laptop. Matt silently mourns his pretty blue eyes and consoles himself by fixating on the curve of his pierced ear, visible only because of the way Mello’s hair is tucked behind it.
He knows he should probably quit staring before Mello gets fed up and shoos him away, but he’s paralyzed by the comforting sensation he feels from being close to him. It’s like a balm, instantly soothing his anxiety and healing his harmful thoughts. Matt has spent hours, days, weeks in agony while they’re apart, but the second Mello steps back into his life it’s like none of it ever happened.
He spares a glance out the window again, unsure of what to do with himself. The dark sky is just beginning to pale on the horizon, announcing the imminent beginnings of sunrise. He debates going back to bed again in hopes of getting a few more hours of sleep but knows it’d be futile. Piss poor sleeping habits aside, he knows he wouldn’t be able to rest knowing that Mello could walk out the door at any moment.
Shaking his head, he slowly makes his way over to the stove and grabs a mostly clean pot. The sensation of being watched creeps over him as he runs through the motions of boiling water for his tea. When he turns to reach for a mug in the cabinet beside him, he sees a slight movement out of the corner of his eye as Mello tilts his head back down into his laptop. More butterflies awaken deep in his gut and Matt tries to stifle them as he focuses on the task at hand.
Once the water finishes boiling he pours it into his mug, breathing in the calming aroma of the English breakfast blend he’s selected. He spares another glance over his shoulder before deciding to take a chance and join Mello on the couch. Along with his mug, he brings the pot containing the remaining boiling water intending to top off Mello’s tea as well. But once he’s close enough his nose wrinkles at the strong scent of instant black coffee.
“Ugh, I can’t believe you drink that crap,” he mutters in the blonde’s direction as he puts the pot back on the stove. “Filthy American.”
“They drink coffee in England and pretty much everywhere else in the world, moron,” Mello snaps back without looking up. “You just have the palate of a five-year-old.”
“Ouch. It’s not my fault I was orphaned young and brought up on bland food like a proper British lad.”
Matt sits down beside him on the couch, being careful to avoid disturbing the piles of notes surrounding them. He’s too focused on the papers that he doesn’t realize how close he is to Mello until their shoulders brush together delicately. He starts for a split second, hoping Mello isn’t put off by Matt nudging his way into his personal space. But the blonde doesn’t pay him any mind and continues typing away at whatever he’s working on.
“Proper British lad my-“ Mello’s words are cut off by an abrupt squawking noise from the window behind them. They both jump, leaning into each other briefly before Mello whips around and begins cursing at the fleeting shadow of an impressively large seagull. Matt stifles a laugh at the blonde’s fury, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.
“I swear to Christ, the next time I catch that fucking bird lurking on our windowsill I’m shooting his fat feathered ass back to the Pacific.”
Matt does laugh at that and hides his fond smile beneath the rim of his mug.
“Maybe we should get a cat,” he murmurs, half to himself. “To scare the fucker off.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? I’d be a great cat dad.”
Mello’s look of exasperation is one Matt’s very familiar with. It’s his ‘Matt don’t be an idiot’ look, which at this moment could probably be translated to a ‘we’re on the cusp of catching a mass murderer and you’re thinking about cats?’ look.
He does have a point, Matt supposes. Though he’s still in the dark about most of the details, he knows enough to understand Mello is plotting something big. He intends to force Kira’s hand in a move that will undoubtedly be as spectacular as it is risky. Matt can tell how much is riding on this based on how laser-focused Mello has been for the past few months; hardly slowing down long enough to eat or sleep.
Like tonight. Though he did part from his work long enough to goad Matt into fucking him, not that it took much convincing. Matt flushes and shakes his head slightly. Mello’s still staring at him, but his exasperation has shifted to something entirely unreadable. Matt blinks, then turns his head to squint at the pages of a tattered notebook resting beside his knee.
“How’s the case coming along?” He asks, despite knowing he won’t get a straightforward answer.
Mello’s silence doesn’t come as a surprise, so Matt takes the hint and begins to rise from the couch. As he reaches over to take Mello’s now empty mug from the table, he hears the blonde sigh.
“I’m not working on that at the moment.”
Matt’s head whips around to face him and doesn’t even attempt to hide his surprise. In the few months since their reunion, he can’t think of a single instance where Mello’s attention was directed towards anything other than Kira. Slowly, he settles back against the couch and their eyes meet again. Mello’s the one to break it this time as he bends down to flip through the notebook Matt had been looking at moments ago. Without a word, Mello lifts the worn pages to reveal careful lines of notes, much like the ones he used to keep back at Wammy’s. The top of the page is headed with Mello’s distinctively bold handwriting, which forms the words LA BB MURDER CASE. Matt raises an eyebrow at him once he notes the date scrawled in the corner.
“This is…” he begins, not entirely sure where this conversation will lead, “these are your notes from the night L spoke with you.” About B’s death, he almost adds but thinks better of it.
He briefly thinks back to that morning and is instantly filled with an inexplicable sense of longing. What he remembers of that day isn’t relevant to the conversation at hand, but he fixates on the fleeting memories regardless; the weight and warmth of Mello’s body tucked tightly against his own, the careful secrets he whispered against his collar bone, the kisses they shared in the delicate morning light.
Matt moves his attention from the notebook to Mello’s face. He’s half hoping he’ll be able to see a hint of these cherished memories reflected through his friend’s expression, or maybe a knowing look of some kind. He’d do just about anything to see Mello give the tiniest acknowledgment of what they used to be. Instead, he’s met with the same unreadable expression and feels his heart sink a bit.
“I’m writing a book.”
“Oh,” he replies dumbly, trying to regain control over his frayed nerves.
Mello lowers the notebook and holds up four fingers.
“Only four people know the full story of the LA BB Murder Case,” Mello begins, staring at him with enough intensity to make Matt shiver again.
“B.” He lowers his index finger.
“L.” The next finger falls.
“Naomi Misora.” His ring finger goes down to join the rest.
“And me.” He holds his pinky up and waves it in Matt’s direction. The implication of the demonstration is not lost on Matt, and it sends a sickening stab of anxiety through his heart.
“Mel-“
“Let me finish,” Mello snaps at him, then adds softly, “please.”
Matt nods slowly but does a poor job of masking his distress. Fear must be written all over his face because Mello takes another breath and runs a hand over his face, then reclines until their shoulders meet again.
“I’m the only one left who knows what really happened. Sure, there are police records and a handful of news reports, but none of them even scratch the surface of the full story.”
Matt nods. He expected as much; most of the details in L’s cases were watered down to some degree as a precautionary measure. Revealing too much would chip away at the ironclad anonymity he’d depended on to keep his identity completely hidden.
“But there’s something else, something I’ve kept from you,” Mello pauses for a moment and Matt braces himself for the worst.
“That morning, when I told you B was dead…” Mello trails off and Matt’s heart flutters at the acknowledgment. But the seriousness of his tone indicates that he isn’t about to start reminiscing about morning cuddles and puppy love.
“I told you that Roger pulled me away from my studies to receive a phone call from L. Do you remember that?”
Matt nods. He remembers everything.
“Well, I lied. When Roger told me I was to go to his office to speak with L, I had assumed it would be over the phone. But when I walked through the doors, there he was, in the flesh.”
Matt feels his jaw fall open and Mello nods, recognizing how shocking this revelation is.
“L visited you? At the House? But Mel, he was knee deep in the Kira case by that point-“
“I know that. That’s exactly the point I’m trying to get at. Why would L leave Japan and fly all the way to the House just to tell me about three of his past cases? It certainly didn’t make any sense to me in the moment, but I obviously didn’t question him about it. Back then I thought it was some kind of test to see if I was worthy of being his successor, and seeing as how he died a few months later without making that decision, I’d assumed I’d failed in some way. But now…”
Mello trails off for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts threatening to spew out of his mouth.
“L took time away from the Kira investigation to tell me everything about this particular case, as well as two others. For years I wondered why he would do such a thing. Yes, I was close with B, so one may assume it was L’s bizarre way of providing me with some form of closure. But does that realistically sound like something L would do? He wasn’t sentimental in the slightest, nor did he enjoy rehashing his past cases unless it was absolutely necessary. So, if it wasn’t out of pity for me, or to help determine my worthiness of being his successor, then I think there’s only one other logical explanation.”
Matt raises an eyebrow as he waits for Mello to reach his point. He does this a lot, speaks in circles, or reiterates his point to the absolute clearest and maddening degree. Matt used to think Mello spoke like this simply because he enjoyed hearing himself talk, but now he recognizes it as Mello’s way of verbalizing his thought process. His mind is always working at full tilt; thinking in loops, and analyzing every little detail at a speed Matt would never be able to comprehend. It’s hard for him to filter out the unnecessary information because, in his mind, all of it is important to convey the weight of whatever it is he's trying to explain. So, despite his rising uneasiness, Matt listens.
“Legacy. He told me about these cases so his legacy as L would live on. The LA BB Murder case was the first time he ever used the Ryuzaki pseudonym, and the Kira investigation was the last. He knew he wasn’t going to survive the Kira case. Perhaps he didn’t know he’d die within the year, but he had enough foresight to understand he was losing. I didn’t see it back then, but I understand it now. Now that I’ve spent these past few years clawing my way to get to Kira. Now that I’m so far deep in this maddening web of deceit and death. Now that I’ve accepted I may not make it out alive…”
Matt flinches hard enough that he pulls away from Mello entirely. The blonde reaches out for him, but Matt recoils again. His heart is in his throat and blood is roaring in his ears, but he forces himself to look at Mello. The blonde opens his mouth to speak, but Matt cuts him off, unwilling to hear anything else he has to say regarding this topic.
“Fine.” The bitterness in his voice startles him, but he continues regardless. “Write your book. Avenge B, glorify L and the legacy he so desperately wanted to live on. Live for them, remember them, but I’ll be damned if I just sit around and let you die for them.”
“Matt-“
“I don’t give a fuck about B, or L, or Kira, you know that. I hated the House and everything it stood for, everything it tried to force us to be, everything it put you through.
“Just because you don’t care about anything doesn’t mea-“
“I care about you!”
It’s Mello’s turn to flinch. Whether it’s due to the rare intensity of his tone, or the words themselves, Matt isn’t sure. His outburst freezes them in place and they both regard each other in a tensely charged silence. They’re fringing on uncharted territory. Not once, in all of their time as friends have they ever acknowledged their feelings so explicitly. As kids, they’d always been on the same page, there had never been any need for clarifications or declarations; they simply were.
Until they weren’t. Until Mello left him behind and shattered every sense of clarity and security Matt had depended on.
Now here they were, in this endless cycle of miscommunication and hurt, of fighting and fucking and ignoring everything they once were, only to weaponize it and throw it back in each other’s faces. Matt’s sick of it all, but he’s not sick of Mello. He knows that no matter what happens between them, he’ll always love him. And as much as Mello wanted to go on ignoring that fact, it would always remain true. If Mello was prepared to die, then Matt was prepared to break through this rotting foundation they were teetering on and confess the extent of his love.
They stare at each other for what seems like hours, agonizing and feeding off of one another’s presence. To anyone else, Mello would appear to be cold or hostile, but Matt sees right through it. As he opens his mouth to speak, Mello’s face shatters and he grabs both of Matt’s hands.
“Don’t,” his voice is quiet and delicate in a way Matt is completely unfamiliar with.
Mello pulls him closer until their foreheads meet, and Matt can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. Finally, Mello lets out a raspy breath and whispers into the scant space between their lips.
“Please, don’t say it.”
Matt closes his eyes and feels a tear fall onto their clasped hands. He wants to tell him how he feels, he wants it more than he’s wanted anything in his entire life. But Mello’s trembling before him; pleading with him not to say something that can’t be unsaid. Matt exhales and turns to kiss the space between Mello’s nose and cheekbone.
“I go where you go.”
Mello gasps as if Matt’s said something shocking, but they both know he’s said it countless times before. Matt kisses him again, then pulls away to meet his eyes.
“I go where you go. I always have, and I always will. No matter where you go, I will follow. Remember that.”
Matt stands up, but he doesn’t make it past the couch. Mello’s hand locks around his forearm and pulls him until they’re face to face again. His eyes are wet with fresh tears when he leans forward and lowers his head to rest in the crook of Matt’s neck.
Slowly, Matt wraps his arms around him and buries his face into blonde hair that’s just beginning to turn golden in the rising morning light. They settle together, and Matt loses himself in the sound of ragged breathing and the feel of their desperate embrace. Even after everything that’s been said and done, Matt knows this is the only place on the planet he’ll ever feel secure and happy. But he also knows it won’t last long. Mello’s only priority is killing Kira, no matter the consequences or cost; he knows that for certain now, and knows there’s nothing he can do to change it.
So, as Matt stands watching the pale light bathe his love in gold and shadows, he holds him tighter and silently vows to protect him for as long as he lives, however short that may be.