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Matt had never been a particularly heavy sleeper. There were plenty of contributing factors to his insomnia. Sleepless nights in a broken home. The deafening silence of Wammy’s. Underage binge drinking. Drug use. Matt really didn’t think about it much. He slept when he slept. And when something woke him up, he just rolled with it.
So, when he felt something land on the other side of his bed with a grunt, jostling him out of an already restless sleep, he didn’t even bother rolling over to see who it was.
Maybe another reason Matt didn’t sleep so well was that Mello was constantly rousing him in the middle of the night by jumping into his bed.
Usually, Mello passed out before Matt could even attempt to go back to sleep, so he attempted to ignore him. He felt Mello shift a few times behind him, but when he stilled, Matt focused on counting sheep or daydreaming or relaxing his limbs one by one, or whatever other methods he’d tricked himself into thinking helped him sleep.
But then Mello shifted again, then jolted, then made a highly uncharacteristic groaning noise, and Matt knew something was not quite right. In the nearly pitch-black dark, he rolled over.
“Mells, everything good?”
A beat. Some heavy breathing. “Yeah,” Mello’s extremely strained voice finally emerged. “Roll over. Go to sleep.”
Matt rolled his eyes despite knowing Mello couldn’t see them.
“Matt.”
Groaning, Matt scrubbed a hand over his face and reached over to turn on the light. Fighting off his exhaustion, he scooted up to sit in bed and look over at his bedmate.
Mello’s face effectively shocked him all the way out of sleep.
“Mello, what the fuck?”
“It’s not that bad,” Mello grumbled from where he was still laying.
Matt couldn’t even dignify that understatement of the year with a response. Mello’s face — or, rather, what was left of it — was littered with scrapes and cuts and wounds. It was also artfully decorated with smeared, half-dried blood that was now painted on his pillowcase and sheets.
He looked like he got in a fight with a blender and lost.
Rather than argue with Mello regarding the severity of his wounds, he threw the covers back. Mello objected weakly, but Matt was pleased to see after a cursory glance that the damage was contained to his face. He’d stolen one of Matt’s oversized old shirts, but he wasn’t soaking it with his bodily fluids. Maybe that’s what Mello’s definition of “not that bad” was.
“Jesus Christ, Mello.” Matt finally said. “What was your plan? To hope that my dirty sheets would stop the bleeding in your sleep? I couldn’t tell you the last time I washed these. Who knows what you’ve already contracted by exposing open wounds to my gunk.”
“I’ll throw some rubbing alcohol on them in the morning. I’m fucking exhausted.” Still bleeding on Matt’s pillow, he rolled over with a poorly contained grunt of pain. “Go back to sleep.”
“Fuck off,” Matt grumbled, climbing out of bed. “You woke me up, I might as well patch you up. Again.” He glanced behind him at the back of Mello’s tangled, blonde head. No blood there, either. Thank god. “You want a beer?”
Mello lay still long enough that Matt worried he might have passed out. But, just as he was about to call Mello’s name, he rolled on his back and glanced over at him with glassy eyes. “Sure.”
Confident that Mello would be alive if he left him alone for a few minutes, Matt snatched his crumpled pack of cigarettes and headed for the kitchen. He stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips and went on the hunt for a lighter, two beers, and the first aid kit, in that order. Despite being a habitual chain smoker, a lighter was bound to be trickier to locate than the first aid kit. Fortunately — unfortunately? — he knew exactly where the kit was due to its frequent use.
Lighter located and cigarette lit, he felt slightly less unhinged a few drags later. Normally, he’d ask Mello if he minded him smoking inside around him, but tonight he absolutely could not give a fuck. He had a feeling he’d be doing more than dabbing neosporin and sticking a bandaid on him tonight once he’d gotten a better look at the damage.
He walked back into the bedroom, beers and first aid kit in hand, and was relieved to see Mello upright, sitting with his back against the wall. As Matt kicked the door behind him, he noticed that Mello’s head was lolling forward and his eyes were unfocused.
Matt dropped the first aid kit and his lighter on the bedside table, but hesitated handing Mello one of the beers.
“Mells?” He called, a little louder than his normal indoor mumble. “Bud, you doing alright?”
“Huh?” Mello snapped his head up, banging it against the wall. “Fuck! What? Yeah. I’m fine.” His speech had a lilt to it that Matt found familiar, and he tried to decide if he was dealing with a concussion as Mello leaned forward to rub the sore spot on his head.
“You been drinking tonight?”
Mello glared at him from across the bed. “What are you, my long-lost mother?”
“Fuck off, Mello,” Matt said, placing one of the beers on top of the first aid kit. He twisted the cap off the other and took a long drink. Necessary. “I don’t give a fuck if you drink. I’m trying to figure out if I’m treating a concussion tonight or not. Again.” He puffed on his cigarette then squared Mello with a more adamant look. “Did you drink a shit ton, or did you hit your head?” A beat. “Or is it both?”
Mello rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, gently this time. He closed his eyes like Matt was the most exhausting person he’d ever met. “Got in a knife fight. Had a couple drinks to celebrate.” Mello finally admitted. “No head injuries, scout’s honor.” He opened his eyes to glance at Matt through his lashes, “Now can I have my beer?”
Matt handed Mello the beer without a word, choosing not to dignify his diatribe with a response. He was already drunk. Maybe another beer would make him a little less indignant when it came time to deal with his face. Mello seemed almost unaware of the state of his injuries, far more interested in bitching and drinking than the possibility of scars and infection.
“You know,” Matt said, turning his back on his friend to grab the first aid kit, “for someone so obsessed with his pretty face, you seem pretty at ease with the possibility of fucking it up.”
“It’s not going to fuck my face up, quit being a fucking drama queen,” Mello snapped back over the lip of his beer bottle. He took a long pull from the bottle before lolling his head in Matt’s direction. “It’s just a couple scrapes and bruises. Nothing a little arnica gel can’t fix.”
Matt turned to him with a frown, kneeling on the bed to get closer to him. He finally got a good look at Mello’s face, and it definitely was more than “a couple scrapes and bruises.”
“Mello, did you by chance take a fucking look at yourself?” Matt flipped open the lid of the kit and started hunting for something to wipe his face down with. He narrowed his eyes as he realized the tiny alcohol wipes would likely not be up to the job. He looked back up at Mello. “You are actively bleeding. You might need fucking stitches. Why didn’t you go to the ER?”
“Stupid question.” Mello did not elaborate on that one.
Matt rolled his eyes and puffed on his cigarette before dropping it in the ashtray on his bedside table. Scrambling off the bed, he headed for the bathroom in search of a hand towel to which he wasn’t particularly attached. When he returned with a wet washcloth in hand, Mello had finished his beer and was helping himself to Matt’s.
Whatever. As long as he was quiet.
He clambered back up onto the bed and plucked his still-smoldering cigarette from the ashtray, replacing it between his lips. He approached Mello cautiously, like one would a rabid dog or screeching cat, but was pleased to only receive a grunt in return.
“You gonna let me clean this shit off your face?”
Mello shrugged, taking another drink from his — Matt’s — beer before putting it on the table on the other side of the bed. Matt scooted forward and considered Mello’s face, trying to decide where to begin.
“You know,” Mello mumbled, “probably isn’t great for my cuts and bruises that you’re blowing secondhand smoke in them.”
“Yeah, well,” Matt said, mumbling with the cigarette hanging from his lips. He decided to start with a cut above Mello’s brow. “If you didn’t want booze and smoke in the doctor’s office, you should have gone to the fucking hospital.” He dabbed at the cut, impressed when Mello barely flinched.
“Fair enough, I’ll remember that for next time.”
Matt rolled his eyes, wiping away the blood to find that the cut above his eyebrow was not nearly as nasty as he thought. No stitches needed. Yet. “Next time. Right.” He finished up with his forehead and moved to his cheek, where the majority of the caked-on blood was dried. This time, Mello closed his eyes when Matt rubbed at the wound, and he heard him suck in a discreet breath between his teeth.
Matt pulled back, looking at Mello’s closed eyes. “You good?”
“Yeah, it’s not that bad,” Mello replied haltingly. “Just, uh, hurry up.”
Matt chuckled and leaned forward. “You got it, champ.” He brushed away the flaking blood, then wiped the wound gently until it was mostly clean. This cut was definitely more serious than its brother on Mello’s forehead, but he wasn’t sure if stitches would be necessary. He’d make a game-time decision when he disinfected it.
He pulled away to go rinse the rag out so he could start fresh and definitely heard Mello let out a shaky breath when his back was turned. He smirked where he knew Mello couldn’t see it. Big tough guy who has his childhood best friend kiss his boo-boos. If only the guys who knifed him could see it.
When Matt returned, Mello was sipping on his beer and chowing down on a chocolate bar, looking slightly more alert than before. He crawled back on the bed and grabbed Mello’s chin to examine his face more thoroughly. Mello surprised him with a stupid-looking lazy smile at the close proximity.
“Easy there, tiger,” Matt said, releasing his hold on him. “You’re still fucking bleeding.”
Mello kept on grinning, but backed off and replaced his beer on the side table. “And yet here I sit, alive.”
Drunk Mello was fucking annoying sometimes. Especially when Matt was (mostly) stone-cold sober. “You’re an asshole. Sit still.” He leaned in to wipe at the rest of his face. “Looks like these two cuts are the only really bad ones. How did you only get knifed on your fucking face?”
Mello closed his eyes against the wet washcloth, humming gently in pleasure. Matt chose to ignore the way that noise made him feel. For now. “I didn’t.” He finally answered, eyes still closed as Matt wiped his opposite cheek, then cleaned a scrape on his nose. “You haven’t seen the clothes I wore here. Leather is surprisingly effective against pig stickers, in addition to looking cool as hell.”
“Yes, yes,” Matt said, wiping the dried blood from his hairline where it was dyeing his blonde hair orange. “You’re extremely cool.”
“Fuck you,” Mello chuckled. “Like you wouldn’t look hot as hell in a leather jacket, too.”
Matt’s face burned. He tossed the soiled rag across the room towards the general direction of some dirty laundry, then reached across Mello to snatch back his beer. “Yeah, but I don’t need protection against knives.” He downed the beer in the foolish hope that he could catch up to Mello.
Mello finally opened his eyes, immediately zeroing in on Matt’s lips, wrapped around the beer bottle. Matt pointedly looked away, putting the stub of his cigarette to his lips to finish that as well before climbing back out of the bed and away from the leering boy in his bed.
“Still gotta disinfect and bandage. And I need another beer.” He dropped his cigarette in the ashtray and headed for the door, purposefully not asking Mello if he wanted one.
Either Mello didn’t notice or he didn’t care. “Get me one, too. Those alcohol wipes hurt like a bitch.”
It wasn’t a request or a question, and Matt knew that. Just like he knew that he’d be coming back with two beers, even though Mello had probably had plenty. He really didn’t care if Mello was smashed — outside of it thinning his blood and probably making him soak through his bandages by morning. Matt mostly didn’t want to be relatively sober to Mello’s absolutely wasted.
He was tempted to slam a shot (or two) when he grabbed the beers but decided that was probably a better call for after he was performing first aid on his best friend.
He returned to find Mello dicking around on his phone with a chocolate bar dangling from his mouth, but he tossed both on the table next to him when Matt closed the door behind him. Matt handed him the bottle and then climbed back on his bed, opening his own beer. With it in one hand, he dug in the first aid kid with the other for alcohol wipes and a box of band-aids.
“It’s scary how adept at this you’ve gotten,” Mello said around his bottle. He was eyeing Matt in a way that both made his skin crawl and spine tingle.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Matt grumbled, tossing the alcohol wipes on his dirty sheets before taking one last long drink from his beer. Turning to the bedside table to stow the bottle, he continued, “Never thought all the first aid and CPR we learned at Wammy’s would apply so soon.” He plucked a cigarette from his pack and lit up before turning back to Mello. “Definitely never thought I’d be using it on you.”
“Well, then you weren’t paying attention.” He stole Matt’s cigarette and took a pilfered drag.
Matt narrowed his eyes at him, trying not to stare at Mello’s black-smudged lips wrapped around his cigarette. After failing to avert his eyes, he glanced back up to meet Mello’s gaze. The blond had an amused, all-knowing look on his face, and Matt growled, snatching his cigarette back and taking an annoyed drag. He pointedly blew his smoke right into Mello’s smug, horny face.
“Drink your beer and shut up, or I won’t be gentle with the rubbing alcohol.” He mumbled through his cigarette. He took another long drag while Mello chuckled through his beer bottle, then dropped the half-finished cigarette into the ashtray beside its brother.
“Yes, sir.” Mello took another long drink and then put his beer down, looking at Matt all too expectantly.
Matt let out a long-suffering sigh, all too aware of the fact that it was well past midnight and by all accounts too fucking late to be dealing with Mello’s intricate, genius-level mind games. It also didn’t help that Mello was so adept at fucking with him and pushing his buttons. Even when he was wasted and Matt was toeing the line of buzzed.
Whatever.
He pressed on. Scooting closer, he took a second to inspect the now mostly-cleaned cuts, which admittedly looked a lot less alarming now. The cheek one might scar, but everything else would probably heal up nicely with proper care. And he definitely could count on Mello to take care of his precious face.
They continued in silence, with Matt gingerly dabbing the alcohol pads against Mello’s wounds and Mello observing him with suspicious obedience. He swiped a pad against the cheek cut, and Mello winced minutely.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” Mello grumbled. He held up a hand to halt Matt so he could throw back some of his beer. “Told you those hurt like a bitch.”
“That’s how you know they’re working!” Matt replied with false cheeriness. He plucked his cigarette from his mouth to smile sunnily at Mello, who snorted in response.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” Mello finished off his beer and replaced the bottle on the table beside him.
“And yet you trust me with your pretty mug,” Matt said, turning his focus to the wound on Mello’s eyebrow. “So I must be doing something right.”
Mello merely chuckled, falling silent as Matt continued to work. Maybe it was the two beers or the lack of sleep, but he couldn’t help but notice. Mello’s face really was pretty. Especially now, when he was relaxed, not scowling or saying something brilliant and snotty, and Matt could appreciate how good-looking he really was. Maybe that contributed to the sense of urgency he had with fixing his face up.
Matt sat back eventually, feeling content in his remedial first aid skills. Theoretically, he did know how to put in stitches, but he’d never actually done it on a real person before. He was incredibly thankful that he didn’t have to test out his incredibly rusty skills on his best friend this evening. Morning.
“I’m extremely pleased to tell you that I purchased these just for you.” He snatched the box of band-aids from the top of the first aid kit. “I know how much you love Pokémon.”
Mello leveled him with an annoyed death glare. “Those are not going on my fucking face.”
“If you wanted big boy bandages, you should have gone to the ER,” Matt said, opening the box and selecting a couple at random. “But you chose Matt, M.D., and at my office, we use fun band-aids. Now, which do you want?” Matt held out his selection in the palm of his hand. “Bulbasaur? Pikachu?”
“Matt.”
“If you don’t pick, I’ll pick for you.” Matt threatened, challenging Mello with his own steadfast stare.
Their absurd spaghetti western standoff lasted a few seconds before Mello snatched a band-aid from Matt’s hand. “Here,” he held it by its corner like it offended him. “Just hurry up.”
Matt smirked, “Of course, of course.” He leaned forward to finish the job. In truth, the band-aids were ill-suited for the serious knife wounds on Mello’s face, and he had to use half the box to cover them properly. However, he couldn’t help snickering the entire time, and it seemed to rub off on Mello. By the time Matt was done, Mello seemed to be biting back his own smile.
Matt sat back to admire his handiwork. He grinned at Mello, who was desperately trying to hide his growing smile behind a frown. “You look cute, Mello.”
Mello’s smile broke through and he chuckled. “You’re a prick.”
“Yeah,” Matt replied as he packed up his first aid kit and turned from Mello to drop it on the nightstand. He plucked his half-finished cigarette from the ashtray and slipped it between his lips. “But you love me.”
Matt turned to a still-smiling Mello as he lit his cigarette. “Says you,” Mello sneered before crunching down on the second half of his chocolate bar.
“‘Thanks for fixing my fucked up face, Matt!’” Matt mocked in a poor impression of Mello’s voice. “‘I love you soooooo much!’”
“I’m going to make you eat that fucking cigarette if you do that again.” Mello was still grinning, so Matt didn’t take the threat very seriously. Still, he decided to not test his luck.
“I need another drink. You?” Matt asked, despite already knowing the answer.
He was at the door when Mello grunted in response. He had finished his chocolate bar and seemed at a loss when Matt turned to confirm. He sighed.
“Two beers, one chocolate bar.” Mello looked up and tilted his head when Matt spoke. Shit. Maybe he was a little drunker than Matt thought. “Anything else?”
Mello merely shook his head curtly, then sunk against the headboard in what Matt could only assume was exhaustion. He figured he should probably hurry if he didn’t want to find him fast asleep when he got back. Matt wasted no time in shuffling to the kitchen, deciding at the moment to grab one beer, one water, and one of his stash of first aid chocolate bars from the fridge. By the time he got back, his cigarette was finished, so he dropped his haul on the bed next to a half-awake Mello before stubbing it out in the ashtray.
“This is not two beers and one chocolate bar,” Mello mumbled from behind his half-lidded eyes as if Matt didn’t realize. Still, he leaned forward and grabbed the chocolate bar, unwrapping it immediately.
“We can share. You need water.” Matt said, climbing back into bed, this time squirming under the covers. He was officially off his shift as Mello’s personal physician. He grabbed the two remaining items and shoved the water bottle into Mello’s stomach. “Drink it. At least half. Then you can have some of my beer.”
Surprisingly, Mello did not protest. The two sat in relatively contented silence as he screwed off the top of the water bottle and began gulping it down. Matt sighed a breath of exhausted relief and twisted off the cap to his beer, taking a well-deserved chug or two as he mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.
Matt glanced over at Mello, who had a mile-long stare on his face as he chased bites of his chocolate bar with water. This time, however, it looked less like a concussion or drunkenness, and more like introspection
“What happened, Mello?” Matt asked suddenly, softly. He passed Mello his beer as if this might convince him to give him a detail or two.
Mello looked over at Matt, then down at the beer in his hand, then accepted the beer and brought it to his lips for a long, slow drink. Matt watched him carefully, his eyes tracking his languid, wearied movements. It was rare to see Mello so delicate, so vulnerable and open. Matt knew without a doubt he was the only one to see him this way.
Mello handed Matt his beer back without a word, and for a moment he thought he might not get an answer. It wasn’t unlike Mello to not even dignify prying questions with a rejection, and Matt wouldn’t be surprised if he sunk down into the sheets and rolled over to sleep instead.
But Mello surprised him by taking in a deep, long-suffering sigh, hanging his head, and finally speaking. “You can’t trust anyone.” His voice rasped, barely a whisper. If Matt didn’t know him better, he might say he was about to cry. “Arms deal gone wrong. Again.”
Matt tilted his head, trying not to show his surprise. Arms deal? He’d always assumed Mello was involved with something illegal or dangerous or both, but he’d assumed drugs. Considered sex work.
“Shoulda known something was up when my connection was late to the deal,” Mello continued, speaking a little louder. He paused to sip from his beer. “But it was just such a run-of-the-mill type deal. Thought I’d drop off the duffle, my partner would grab the cash. I’d be out of there and back home in no time.” Mello paused to stare down at his beer, consider his chocolate bar, but otherwise remained still.
“So,” Matt tried gently. “What happened?”
Mello heaved a sigh, then handed Matt his beer back. “Connect and my partner were planning behind our backs. Had no idea. They tried to take me out.” Mello looked over with a weak grin, “They did not succeed.”
Matt smiled sadly, reaching out with his free hand to trace a glittery Charmander band-aid. “Well, yeah.” He paused, cupping Mello’s cheek. “Who the fuck could, right?” He dropped his hand back into his own lap.
“Right,” Mello laughed, taking a bite out of his chocolate bar. “Anyway, I made it out with the guns and the money and managed to take out a rat. Turned out for the best, I’ve got real cred now.”
“Yeah, and some real sick-looking battle scars.” Matt joked, taking a sip from his beer before handing it off to Mello to finish.
He obliged. “I better fucking not,” Mello grumbled, running a thumb over his forehead.
“Don’t worry, Mells.” Matt scooted closer until he was pressed to Mello’s side, then rested his chin on Mello’s shoulder. “I’ll still think you’re pretty with a few cuts and bruises.” He squirmed even closer, invading Mello’s space as much as possible. “As long as you keep the leather, obviously.”
Mello snorted, reaching over briefly to drop his empty beer bottle and chocolate wrapper on the side table. He pulled back the covers then rolled over to intertwine himself with Matt before covering them both. Matt relocated his head on Mello’s shoulder, closing his eyes against the sensation of being close to him.
“The leather is non-negotiable, obviously,” Mello said playfully, turning his head towards Matt’s to place a kiss on the crown of his head.
What was it that two of them had? Companionship? Love? Co-dependence? All of the above? Matt couldn’t be sure. He’d leaned on Mello from the first day they met, and Mello leaned right back. Each of them had so much in this world, but they had nothing, too. Nothing but each other. Matt didn’t question what this was, what it meant that Mello relied on him for shoddy first aid, that he let Matt kiss and hold him, that Matt was the only one who knew him at all. He knew how fleeting reality was.
“I just wish,” Mello said suddenly, voice muffled somewhat by Matt’s hair. “I didn’t think it was going to be this hard. Or take this long on my own.”
Matt frowned. He wasn’t going to pretend he knew what that meant, or what “it” was. He had a vague idea of Mello’s obsession with Kira, and his need to beat Near. But outside of that, he was largely in the dark regarding the details. It didn’t matter. He understood the weight of Mello’s words regardless.
Scooting up, Matt abandoned his comfy spot under Mello’s chin so that he could look him in the eye. Mello quirked an eyebrow when Matt didn’t immediately speak, and for a moment they were just blearily staring at each other.
Suddenly, Matt closed his eyes and huffed out a breath. When he opened his eyes, Mello looked more confused than ever, so he pushed forward to kiss him.
In a matter of seconds, the tension leaked from Mello’s body. All at once, they were wrapped in one another, Mello’s tongue diving into Matt’s mouth with fervor. Matt could taste his frustration, his desperation, the need. So Matt let him take, take, take. Take what he needed with his mouth, with his hands.
When they pulled apart, Mello huffed a soft, little breath before collapsing on the pillow beside Matt, who fell on his own. He let Mello catch his breath, watching him carefully as he closed his eyes against the exhaustion and expectation.
Mello’s breath slowed and Matt finally scooted closer, pressing his mouth against his jaw before moving to murmur in his ear. “You’re not on your own. You’re not alone.” He smiled as Mello hummed wearily in response. “As long as I’m here, as long as I’m alive, you’re not.” He pulled back to lay back on his pillow, and Mello lolled his head to the side to peer at him through half-lidded lashes. “And you better not fucking forget it, Mells.”
A smile. A genuine, wide, flash of tooth smile. World-weary and broken, but real, and Matt knew it was all for him. “Ok, Matty.”
Matt grinned, reaching out to ruffle Mello’s absolutely wrecked blond hair. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
Mello was out in a matter of minutes, leaving Matt toeing the precipice of unconsciousness. Before he dove off, he sent up a thankful prayer that sleep never came easy.