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Wammy’s house. Just past eleven o’clock on a Friday night. Two boys, just shy of fifteen. Relaxed, in their own room, in their own little worlds—the redhead staring into the void of his PSP, and the other—the blonde—God only knew what he could’ve been doing, really. The void he stared into was different—and much, much more plain. The void of the ceiling. Snapping off pieces of chocolate with his teeth, one by one. He didn’t think anything of it—or anything at all; spacing out was natural.
At least the redhead kept himself occupied with the little console in his hands. He’d lie back on his bed, blanket wrapped around his arms, but oh—not on his hands, as cold as they were. They were needed to play the game. And that was the consequence he was willing to accept, in the cold December weather.
This was boring. At least, for the blonde it was. He just wanted more. He wanted more in life. This wasn’t how a night was supposed to be spent—not to mention that he was almost fifteen; God, he led a boring life. It had potential—but didn’t play out that way.
He sat up on his bed, just across the room from the redhead’s,
“Matt?”
“…”
This again. The redhead must’ve been equally as spaced out as Mello just a moment ago.
“Matt!”
He grabbed his pillow from his bed, tossing it in Matt’s direction.
“Hey- what? What’s up?”
“…I wanna play a video game.”
Did he? Mello almost never felt like playing video games. Half the time, he’d say Matt was wasting his own time by playing them. Or, perhaps, it was a scheme to temporarily catch his attention (before he’d start playing again.) Whatever it was—it was unordinary for him to ask that.
But Matt was more than delighted just to hear him ask that.
“Aw, really, Mel? What do ya wanna play?”
“How about uhh… Super Smash Bros?”
This excited Matt. It was rare he’d get to play games with Mello, rare that Mello even mildly felt like playing. Normally he’d just laugh and make joking remarks about Matt’s gaming addiction—as if it was a bad thing. It wasn’t so amusing, though, when Matt had the game’s volume up to what felt like a thousand when Mello was trying to sleep. Sometimes he’d end up falling asleep next to Matt, too, just by chance, only to be woken up shortly after by the game’s sound of a gunshot.
“Of course…”
Matt didn’t hesitate to shut off his PSP, and toss it under his pillow to hide it, just in case. Instead, he turned on his Nintendo 64, sitting down conveniently in front of the TV, controller in his hand, just when Mello walked over to claim the other seat.
Matt pulled out the game, blowing into the cartridge a little before inserting it into the system, as Mello grabbed his own controller.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
They both selected the characters they’d play as, Mello selecting Fox, Matt choosing Link, and waiting a few seconds for the match to start. Then they spawned in—and it wasn’t long before they were button mashing against each other’s characters.
With Matt being the video game nerd he was, it wasn’t long before Mello was only left with one of his three lives and cursing under his breath.
It was more as a disguise, really—he didn’t care that Matt would inevitably win. He just wanted to play with his best friend one more time.
He’d never tell him that, though. He’d never tell him that it was the last time. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how Matt would react to it, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
Sure, Mello had done a good job masking himself—almost as fearless, too—but Matt had him feeling in strange ways. He knew Matt wouldn’t take it well… so he couldn’t bring himself to tell him. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to fully acknowledge the fact that he knew it would be the last time he’d see Matt.
He didn’t have much time left, either. Only tonight. So he’d make the most of it.
Mello, of course, lost Super Smash Bros every time they’d play. This time was no different. So hearing Mello’s subtle complaints, Matt offered to play a different game,
“Wanna play Mario Kart?”
“Sure.”
Of course Mello agreed. He was better at that game—not that it really mattered, though, playing with Matt. Matt would win, inevitably, and every time.
Occasionally he’d let Mello win. But Mello didn’t fall for it. He knew what he was doing—but since it was Matt, he didn’t tell him he knew. That was just how things were between them.
Of course, Matt had a better understanding of each character’s controls—which is why he always played as either of the same two characters. But Mello didn’t know that. What he did notice was which characters Matt played as, of course. Usually Mello would play as Bowser, though. It made him feel cooler.
They selected, of course, 150cc. It was always more fun, that way. Faster, and all.
Strangely enough, this game felt less competitive than the last, so naturally, it had both boys more relaxed. Even Mello, if more relaxed, to him, could refer to calmness any way—God, did he hate to lose. It was just a part of his stubborn nature.
Matt knew this. Knew it well. Ever since they’d known each other, for, at this point, half their lives. Mello was stubborn—but everyone knew that, as he’d always make it so blatantly obvious…
“Ah, shit, Mel! You won…”
He let Mello win. But he was getting better at masking that fact. Mello almost believed him, along with the fact that Mello seemed to improve at video games quickly too, but Matt knew he hated to lose.
“Huh. Guess I did.”
He’d let it slide this time. This once. And as he knew Matt’s will was good. It always was.
Mello leaned back on his own bean bag, stretching, resting his head back on his own crossed arms. Controller in his lap, as Matt looked down at it.
“You still wanna play?”
“Mm.. we can do something else.”
He was quick to decide, as ever. Sure enough one of them had something to do. Matt practically helped Mello to cheat, himself, at a video game. And it was fine. But lately, life just hadn’t been as interesting anymore. So maybe there really was nothing more to do. At least, it would surprise Mello if there was.
“Oh— I’ve got something.”
Matt stood up from the bean bag, setting down his N64 controller, heading over to his bed and rummaging through his pillow case.
Mello raised an eyebrow at the act—what could he have possibly been hiding in there, small enough to even partially entertain?
He let out somewhat of an ‘Aha!’ pulling out a box.
“Cigarettes?”
“Yeah, I found a pack one time, sneaking out," Matt said, holding up the little box, strangely proud for stealing them, “wanna smoke ‘em?”
“Sure, why not?” Mello said with a shrug.
“I think we have some matches right… here.”
He grabbed the box of matches, handing them to Mello before sliding out a cigarette from the box. He pressed the cigarette to his lips, signaling his hand for Mello to light the match.
Mello drew a flame on the match, before somewhat reluctantly lighting Matt’s cigarette—and blowing the match out, immediately.
Matt took a drag of the cigarette—only to cough like a maniac seconds later. Oh. Smoking was different than he’d imagined. So you don’t inhale that hard…
Mello giggled, watching his friend smoke a cigarette for the first time. Sure, he was coughing, but he was okay and it was amusing. And his friend sure did look cool smoking… Now it had Mello curious.
“Let me try.”
Matt didn’t hesitate pulling the cigarette from his lips and placing it between Mello’s fingers. And he made sure not to inhale that deeply.
“‘Ts fun, isn’t it?”
Now they’d probably spread the smell of tobacco throughout Wammy’s house, or anywhere they walked, really. Then Roger would be pissed. Again. He always was, with those two—but at least they were in it together. The two had seemed to realize this at the same time, giving one another that look.
“Huh. Roger will be pissed, won’t he?”
Asking more rhetorically, Matt, calm as ever, didn’t care anyway. If Roger wasn’t pissed, he’d just find something else to be pissed about.
“We can put out the cigarette in Near’s room—y’know, so it smells," Matt suggested.
To Mello, it wasn’t a bad suggestion. Just to fuck with Near, and Roger.
But of course, they wouldn’t be putting it out soon. Wouldn’t wanna waste a good cigarette.
“Kid’s a fucking bitch. Fuckin’ cotton ball.”
Mello thought about that kid way more than he’d had liked to; he couldn’t even get a break from him in his own mind. He sure as hell wouldn’t miss this orphanage once he freed himself. Except Matt…
He didn’t want to think about it; life would be different without Matt. And chances were, they’d probably never see each other again after Mello left.
If he were willing to be a vulnerable, weak person, he’d cry over it—absolutely—and he’d cry a lot.
But that wasn’t who he wanted to be. He didn’t want to look pathetic.
Here he was, spending what was likely his last hour or so with Matt, smoking a cigarette, joking, and talking about life. Reminiscing.
The one person he felt comfortable doing any of that with.
Now it was Matt’s turn, with the cigarette—and not that Mello disliked the taste, but Matt loved the taste. A million times more than Mello did.
God, was Matt cool.
Matt took another drag of the cigarette,
“…Remember when we stole Near’s clothes while he was in the shower?”
“Yeah," Mello said, chuckling as he remembered, “Roger! My clothes have been stolen! Please come with a towel or robe! Immediately!”
Mello recited, mockingly, laughing as he did.
“He looked like a grandma in that robe. Probably belonged to Roger.”
Mello chuckled at the remark. It wasn’t even that great—but it was always funnier on the rare occasion Matt would make a comment like that.
Usually he didn’t care enough to. That’s just how he was. Calm, and unbothered.
Matt had only noticed now that he’d almost smoked the whole cigarette, looking up at Mello, and back to the stick.
“Let’s do it.”
Matt got up, creaking the door open, Mello following behind. They crept through the halls, a cigarette in hand, until slowly opening the door to Near’s room.
Matt, slowly of course, inhaled as much smoke as he could, carelessly breathing it into the air of Near’s bedroom.
“Here," Matt whispered, handing the cigarette to Mello, who did the same a couple of times.
They put out the cigarette on the metal railing—which may not have been a good idea, but at least it worked—slowly making their way back to their own room.
Hearts pounding, solely from excitement, and what felt like genuine happiness. For the first time in who knew how long, too.
They sat down, on Matt’s bed, leaning back, almost against one another. Safe and warm. Mello didn’t care how it made him seem—and Matt (though less surprisingly) didn’t either. It was crazy what Matt could turn Mello’s boring, melancholic night into. Of course, it wouldn’t be like this forever. It wouldn’t be this good again. It couldn’t. Not after tonight.
And normally Mello hated doing this—or anything that screamed he genuinely cared. Matt knew he did. Knew Mello’s ways of showing it—being as close as the two were. But he wrapped his arms around Matt, and buried his face in the crook of his neck.
This once, he wouldn’t regret it. Just once. Matt wouldn’t even think anything of it, would he. Matt would be glad to be with Mello at all. So much that he wouldn’t give it a second thought—even if it was unusual.
Matt returned the hug—which, at this point, was closer to cuddling. But it was nice, and warm, and Matt enjoyed it. Matt was a sucker for anything physical—maybe because he was starved of physical contact half the time. But a hug—or, cuddling—with his best friend was just what he wanted.
He could’ve fallen asleep like this. Cuddled up on his bed like a pair of kittens.
For Mello, it was an intense moment—intense to think that, it was probably the last moment they’d ever share together.
“Oh, Mail…”
Mello whispered, too quietly, noticing Matt had fallen asleep like that. Brushing a piece of his hair behind his ear delicately, gazing down at him while he peacefully slept. Which meant, it was time.
It was a hard choice—but Mello knew he had to leave. Had to go through with it.
He didn’t have much to pack up, to bring along—or much of anything, at all. Not many clothes. Not many belongings. Several rosaries. He put them in his pocket—no, he took one out.
It was a shiny, blue beaded silver necklace. It sure looked nice on Mello—Matt took a particular liking to that one. Mello didn’t wear it much, though.
Reluctantly, he placed the rosary on Matt’s nightstand. It would be something to remember him by.
That was all he could do.
“See you sometime. Hopefully soon,” he whispered—knowing it would probably be never again—but goodbye was sure as hell something he didn’t want to say. He couldn’t bring himself to.
Alone, he walked through the gates of that orphanage one last time, leaving into the night. As prepared as he’d get, to start a new life. Wherever he might go.
He’d already told Roger his plan to leave—maybe Roger didn’t believe him. Hell, even Near knew. But he’d never told Matt. Couldn’t even say a proper goodbye…
Pathetic, wasn’t it?
It was only earlier that day he’d even made the decision. Maybe Roger took it as any regular Stressed-Mello-Remark , which he, of course, never followed through with.
——
The next day may have been the worst day of Matt’s life. In fact, that was a major understatement. It was from then on he was completely alone. Mello and Matt were one another’s only support back at Wammy’s House, and it was difficult living without the other. On both their parts.
The necklace. That necklace was all Matt had left from Mello. That and the same box of cigarettes, with the memory of them sharing what was both their first cigarette. Matt had smoked the whole pack, but still kept the box, just for the memories. It was only the start of his addiction—and it wasn’t the most effective distraction from the emptiness he’d felt with Mello gone, but it was something new to do. (And he enjoyed it.)
Naturally, Roger had caught him with those cigarettes countless times—but Matt always came out with more, stealing them when he’d sneak out at night. His coping mechanisms weren’t the most healthy—but they did the job as well as they could.
Sometimes Matt would hold the beads of Mello’s rosary, while thinking about him. Another coping mechanism. It really wasn’t that pathetic, in contrast to others he’d developed, but Mello had seen it all—he’d seen Matt at his best and his worst, and still cared in the end. He’d give anything just to see him again. But he wondered if he’d still care.
Some days were worse than others. A lot worse. Matt had been the only one Mello interacted with at Wammy’s, so naturally, he’d blame it on himself. Blame it on himself that Mello was gone, that he wouldn’t see him again, that he was doing god knew what, and probably out on the streets for a living.
And sometimes, the darkest thought would come to mind.
That Mello didn’t even survive.
Logically, Matt knew the chances were low. Mello was tough, and had a hard shell. He was smart, ambitious, and hell, even being attractive could benefit him… he could probably amount to anything. At least, Matt hoped.
It didn’t matter—didn’t matter if Mello still even cared about Matt. His well-being was the most important. And all Matt could do was wish him well.
And he did that, he thought about Mello every damn day. Wore his necklace every day, too. He’d hide it under his vest, just to keep it safe—he couldn’t lose that. A piece of his memory of Mello. He’d cry at night, wondering what he could’ve done—if anything—to keep Mello by his side at Wammy’s House. He’d constantly blame it on himself—burdened by his own thoughts, but jaded enough to realize whatever he didn’t do to make Mello stay, he probably wasn’t good enough to do either.
At first, it was misery. Then, anger. He was angry he wasn’t good enough even for his best friend.
Then, he accepted it.
And the misery came back.
It was a spiral in an endless loop—one he’d get caught in the thorns of, scratched up, leave with the bruises, and, of course, return.
Matt wasn’t much older than Mello was when he finally left Wammy’s. It was easier for him—he had nothing to lose anymore. No connections, he slept in an empty room. Limited human interaction. All he did anymore was smoke and game—barely saved himself time to eat. His weight had severely deteriorated—due to a lack of appetite, or desire to eat any food at all.
It wasn’t a conscious eating disorder—he just didn’t feel like it. Hell, he barely even left his house… (As if it wasn’t expected from every gamer, though.)
Sometimes he wondered if Mello went back to his home country. Russia. Mello had to have still spoken Russian—or at least, a good portion in it, living in the country up until the age of six. Maybe he’d returned.
There was still a chance he’d stayed in England—and Matt just hoped it was true.
Sometimes, he’d foolishly wait around to be contacted by Mello—just in case. But it was useless. Mello wouldn’t contact him. If he had plans to, he would’ve already.
And, there was yet another loop.
So every night—every sleepless night—Matt would lie in bed, delicately playing with the beads of that rosary. When he got lucky, it’d make it better. And other times, it’d make it worse.
And this would last forever.
Until that one day.
——-
He remembered everything about it. Los Angeles. That’s where he was staying these days. He knew that was where Mello was, too. He knew the building. He knew it had some relevance to the Kira case, in some way or another—but most importantly, he knew Mello was there, and he knew he’d reunite with him.
And he still wore that necklace—after all those years. Always. Even those times he was mad at Mello.
He was waiting—waiting outside of the building. Sure enough, Mello would come out of it eventually. And he’d be surprised. But it was all Matt could do.
Waiting outside, for Mello. Then.
It burst into flames right before his eyes. He knew Mello was inside—hell, he didn’t even imagine he’d survived that. If he did, he’d be severely injured…
But he risked it—risked burning up inside of it, and ran in. It would all be worth it, just to save Mello. And Mello would never know it—if anything really happened to Matt. But at least he’d be safe.
Matt was more than willing to take that risk.
And he found him. Mello. After all those years, in a burning building in LA. Freshly burnt. Driven by adrenaline. He’d never been all that physically strong, but Mello was lanky and didn’t weigh much.
So Matt pulled him into his arms and ran.
——
Matt had Mello wrapped in gauze, bandages, you name it—the wounds wouldn’t be easy to treat. Hell, he was lucky enough to have even survived —but now that he had, he couldn’t get the help he needed. All the doctors would have him arrested right after treating him—then he’d have to spend what was probably a good portion of his life in prison. And all of the underground doctors, well—Mello wasn’t liked amongst them.
So Matt had to take matters into his own hands.
But no matter what, Mello wouldn’t even wake up.
He’d lie unconsciously on Matt’s couch, for days, covered in bandages and anything to help him heal. Plenty of ice to cool the burns.
Matt didn’t want to begin imagining how painful it must’ve been. He didn’t want to imagine Mello in pain.
Sometimes he’d even talk to him—even if he knew it wouldn’t reach Mello, unconscious. He’d kill just to talk to him again, even once. Even if, at first—and many times, he’d felt betrayed. Then he’d tell himself not to take it so personally.
But all he knew was that, when Mello woke up, there would be better things to talk about than his so-called betrayal five years ago at Wammy’s.
God knew when it was, how long it had been since the explosion…
——
Mello had felt the bandages sticking to his skin. About half of his face. His shoulder, too. His left eye covered in bandages—though he wasn’t bound or tied up. The only thing tying him up were the bandages—which, of course, didn’t restrict him in any way. He still lied on god knows whose sofa. Where the hell was he? Had he been confined?
…In an apartment?
A dark one. It didn’t help that the sun was setting, but it didn’t appear to be very clean either.
It reeked of tobacco, liquor and pot. Given that, it felt like he’d been kidnapped by a college student. It was unlikely—other than the college student part.
He sat up, feeling an ache shooting up at his shoulder. Fuck! He was burnt. (Lucky enough to survive the explosion, at all…)
He got up, immediately bumping his leg into the little coffee table as he walked, a glass bottle falling off—and by his luck—shattering, too.
“Fuck!” he muttered. Now he had a mess of broken glass in an unfamiliar apartment.
“Mihael Keehl.”
A voice called from across the room—his eyes immediately widening to the sound of his own real name. He looked up, from his focus on the glass he’d shattered on the floor.
No…
“…Matt…!”
Cigarette between his lips, stripes, and plenty of them—as always. Same habits. Red hair and soft, sparkly green eyes.
It couldn’t be… it was really him. After all those years—and a reunion he assumed would never take place. And, for all he knew, Matt was mad at him. And he’d deserve it, too. But he couldn’t believe it. Matt cared… at least enough to bring him here… and not to mention treat him.
“You left,” he said bitterly, looking down—difficult as it was to look up at Mello right now. A confrontation, huh… He wasn’t angry—but he wasn’t happy either. And Matt had always been a calm guy. Couldn’t care less about—anything. But he cared about Mello.
And he thought Mello cared about him… so why’d he leave?
And Matt wasn’t the only one looking away, almost feeling how Mello looked down, unable to make eye contact.
Mentioning something so blatantly obvious. And every other time, Mello would curse out anyone to do so. Every other time. Those times didn’t rub salt in the wound. It was a double-edged sword. The choice to leave. To leave everything. To leave him. Feeling it was the right choice, that it wasn’t, and all in between. Versatile.
“I know I did, what’s your fucking point?! It’s been four years. Four long, pathetic years! You have every right to be mad at me—it’d be unlike you to not. Do you think it was a game, just like everything important in your world?! My departure can be distorted in as many ways as you fucking want—but I know, myself, that it wasn’t a choice! I wanted to stay with you—you were the only one I cared about, the only one that I trusted. Take your memory, mold it until it looks how you want it to, what you want to believe.”
Tears pricking at his eyes, throat sore, his vocal cords strained from yelling, and leaving him out of breath. It was uncharacteristic of Mello—to be so raw. All of his energy, to come up with a few words. Different from Matt’s perception.
Eyes widening, it took half Matt’s energy to begin to process what Mello had just said. Then it clicked.
Old, unhealthy habits, dragged along, through the dirt, dragging that along as well.
Glassy, ice-cold eyes. Staring up as Mello faced the ground.
“I’m sorry… Mail.”
The use of his own name—it startled Matt. The raw, pathetic, hopeless and strained tone. He glanced at Matt in front of him, before leaning into his chest, feeling arms wrap around him.
Matt wiped Mello’s tears from the eye, without the bandages underneath. He’d wipe tears from the other—but the skin underneath wasn’t healed yet. They stung Mello’s skin as they were.
He should’ve appreciated it. That Matt was willing to jump into the burning building, risking his life with only a chance of possibly saving Mello. How selfish Mello had been.
“I forgive you, Mel.”
That day was the best day since Mello’s been at Wammy’s.
In fact, it was almost too similar to those days. Comfortably too similar.
It was the same. They’d lie down on the couch, almost too close, sharing a cigarette like all those years ago, and just forgetting the world outside of where they were right then and what they were doing. Just enjoying being together right then, and that was all that mattered.
It wasn’t long after that Mello was able to take off those bandages. The wounds had healed. He was alright. Matt had saved him.
But there were scars left behind, and imprinted onto his skin. He couldn’t bear to look at them. Or rather, accept that he had them. They sure were… ugly. At least, he believed. He was burnt. His face would never look the same again. And he hated that. Why did something so hideous have to be so permanent?…
On the other hand—Matt thought Mello’s scars looked awesome. Made him look so tough. And dare he say it, attractive. Sure, Mello had always been an attractive man—and so, his scars were too.
But it wasn’t solely that making him look tough, or attractive, any of those qualities whatsoever. It also took some attitude—and sexy black leather. Mello had plenty of all that.
He didn’t dress like that back at Wammy’s house—and quite obviously, couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to (he did.) it was new to Matt, seeing him like this. And he happened to see it every day. Hell, they’d accidentally been living together for weeks now. But neither of them cared. Hell, they liked it that way.
——
Then, there was that night. That one night.
It felt normal. Matt’s bedroom, not long after dinner, Matt smoking pot and Mello eating chocolate, ordinary, and playing video games. It was fun.
They didn’t remember how it happened, but they found themselves lying on Matt’s couch, completely oblivious to anything that might be in the world other than them right then.
“It’s just like when we were kids.”
Matt spoke calmly, cutting the peaceful silence. But Mello always listened to what he had to say anyway. He always would.
“I like it that way.”
Mello softly grinned, noticing Matt pull up his goggles, and resting them up on his head. Staring into Matt’s eyes—like bright and shiny emeralds. Soft red marks beneath his eyes, imprinted onto his skin from long use of his goggles. He gently rubbed them, finishing to look up at Mello beside him once he opened his eyes.
Mello couldn’t help but smile—as sappy as it sounded, he got a rare chance to look at Matt’s features. Pretty, pretty, pretty.
A stare.
Matt noticed immediately, and as nice as it was (in theory) it’d drive him crazy if it continued. He glanced across the room, just for a second, before holding out his hand, passing the nearly-forgotten blunt over to Mello.
Ah, why not.
Mello took a hit, naturally handing Matt his…chocolate bar?
What?
Matt raised an eyebrow to Mello, who was preoccupied in his cloud of smoke. Instead, Mello very nonchalantly pressed the half-eaten bar of chocolate to his lips.
Naturally, Matt took a bite of it, before his eyes slightly widened. Dark, bitter, and most certainly addictive. He looked down at the chocolate bar, looking back at Mello, mouth opening and about to speak,
“95% cacao. Bitter stuff.”
Mello answered, before Matt even managed to ask about it.
As impressive as it was, it really wasn’t; to two best friends since childhood. They’d get predictable after enough time. And just like that, Mello took another bite.
His lips on that bar of chocolate. So delicately pressed, bittersweet by the taste—eating chocolate wasn’t supposed to be this hot, was it?
Whatever it was, Matt probably wouldn’t be able to enjoy it for much longer, anyway. It was getting late (at least, what they considered late) and they’d usually go to sleep around this time anyway.
He caught a glimpse of Mello’s hand, pulling him out of his spaced-out-state (which he’d probably pulled him into, as well.)
The bar almost empty, leaving maybe two bites left, Matt didn’t hesitate to take a bite as it was offered up to his lips.
A half-smile curled upon them as he chewed, watching Mello, of course, take the last bite. And just like that, it was gone.
Habits, habits.
That was the first time Mello shared his chocolate with him—or anyone. Ever since they were kids… nobody dared to try and snap a piece off of it for a quick bite.
Mello stared at Matt with icy, piercing blue eyes, finishing up his chocolate. So pretty. Oh, Mello…
So Matt did it. He gathered the courage, he went through with it, and so calmly—but sweetly—kissed him. Not a kiss on the cheek at the age of six, not a kiss on the forehead while the other fell asleep, a real kiss, on the lips, and for the first time, too. Bittersweet and cold like the chocolate, but with such excitement, even if Matt hid it.
And very nonchalantly, he backed away.
“It’s getting late, y’know? I better go to bed.”
Even Mello was impressed—impressed by the fact that Matt had managed to keep himself so calm, and was still—somehow—succeeding to.
“‘Night, Matt.”
And so Mello returned the favor. He didn’t bother questioning it—it worked, with right then, and it was alright. Matt had returned to his own room—and Mello lied on the couch as he’d been doing, grinning to himself, at the memory of just a few minutes ago.
It was just like when they were kids.
Except, it was only now that Matt had realized what he’d felt those years ago.
That night felt like the beginning of another chapter for both of them—maybe just where their metaphorical story would start building up to a climax.
And if time was all they had, then oh—they’d take it.