Work Text:
Takeshi Obata looked at the character he had just drawn. Somehow, as much as he enjoyed drawing that character, from the early days of the blond child to his now adult appearance, clad in leather and with his face marred by that horrible scar, something felt missing. Takeshi studied the sketch intently, but no, he couldn't quite pinpoint it. The scar was already prominent enough, the hair was just right, the black garments fully covered the lean body in keeping with the character, and the sunglasses made him look sufficiently cool. He tried to remove them, but drew them back on as soon as he had erased them. It wasn't that.
Tired of searching, he left his desk and walked to the window, stretching as he looked at the busy street outside. A little distraction could help; he would shake off that feeling once he returned to his desk later. He had just worked too hard and needed a break. Yes, that was it.
"Hey!" a voice called from behind.
Takeshi looked around, but saw nothing—and why should he see anything?—he was living here alone after all. He muttered to himself that it had probably come from the street, or maybe someone in the corridor outside his flat.
"Hey!"
Takeshi started. There was someone in the room; the voice was too distinct to come from elsewhere. Checking his surroundings, he saw a tuft of red hair emerge from an old page, a draft of the pages already published, depicting some young boys gathered in front of a screen in Wammy's common room, waiting to talk to L.
"Hey, Mister Obata!" the small creature called out, jumping out of the case and standing on the desk. Takeshi's eyes opened wide. This couldn't be real; he had probably fallen asleep while working, and he was overdoing it lately—damn schedule and deadlines.
But the tiny person looked at him with pleading blue eyes, despair and pain reflecting in them.
It may have been a dream, but it was impossible to ignore such a pained look. Takeshi approached, and the little creature raised itself on the tip of its toes, a glimmer of hope passing through its pupils.
Takeshi hardly remembered this character, as he was just a random boy drawn weeks ago to fill a scene that needed to be full of other boys his age. He was about twelve, maybe.
"What… who… how can it be possible?" Takeshi stammered, barely regaining his composure from the shock.
"You forgot me!" the small boy whined, eyes glistening with tears threatening to fall. "You took him, but you forgot me!"
Takeshi stared, his eyes still as wide as plates. What was he talking about? Who did he take?
He should run away, not listen. Could that creature be an evil demon in disguise? It must have been a disguise since the tiny redhead wasn't even close to being scary. Or was it some kind of hallucination?
But somehow, the tears now rolling down the little person's cheeks wrung his heart. There was so much sincerity in those cries, so much need, that it couldn't be ignored.
"What do you want?" Takeshi asked, as softly as he could.
He could have asked how the boy had arrived here, how he escaped from a drawing, or how he managed to talk, but he wasn't even sure he wanted to find out. The less he knew about this mystery, the less he risked incurring some divine fury. You never know, perhaps demons are good actors.
"Mello! You took him away from me! Why did you leave me behind?" The sobs were heartbreaking, and Takeshi suddenly felt a lump form in his throat.
"Mello? You mean, you know him?"
That was a silly question. Mello had been included in that same sketch weeks ago, so it was more than likely they knew each other.
Wait. What was he thinking? Takeshi rubbed his temples. He was starting to go crazy. Now he was beginning to assign human connections to inanimate characters. He really ought to tell Tsugumi that he needs a holiday and plans to take a break.
"Of course I know him! Where is he? You know it!" The plea became more and more insistent.
"He's— well, he's older now, and he was involved in the Mafia, and now…"
Takeshi couldn't possibly be saying that. No, it was simply surreal. Mello wasn't truly part of the Mafia; Tsugumi had just imagined that for the scenario, but Mello wasn't actually an ex-Mafia mob. Mello didn't even exist in reality! But how do you explain that to a hallucination? And why do you even attempt to explain anything to a hallucination?
"Mafia? Mafia?" The little freckled face contorted itself. "Why didn't you stop him? Is he alright?"
"He's fine, don't worry, but why would I have stopped him? It's the story, it was required."
Takeshi wasn't even sure if he or Tsugumi still had any control over the story. One of the characters was now speaking to him, so he probably didn't have any control over his sanity either.
"I want to be with him! Please! You don't understand what you've done!" The voice broke, and Takeshi swore he heard a crack coming from the tiny person's chest.
"What's your name?" the man asked. It was a silly question. He or Tsugumi had never given him a name. He wasn't meant to have one; he was just a random filling.
"I don't know. What did Mello say?"
The small creature's hopeful eyes were fixed on him, and he couldn't bring himself to reply. Mello never said anything! And he would never do it. It was impossible!
"Has he never told you about me? Did he miss me?" the small creature pressed on.
"Yes, he missed you," came the sudden reply. Takeshi's eyes had drifted to the sketch he had drawn a few minutes earlier, when rational thoughts clashed with the extreme weirdness of the situation, and the reply was evidence.
Carefully, he seized the redhead between his index finger and thumb and placed him on the freshly inked page.
"Matt!"
Fair hair flew as the character called Mello turned around, while another form slid into the case, colour fading to black and white as his body flattened from the desk to the page.
"Matt…" Leather-clad arms caught the boy as he fell in the corner of the page.
Wide-eyed again, Takeshi saw the freckled boy swiftly transform into an adult within the other's embrace.
"Matt, I missed you," said Mello before he tenderly kissed the newly named boy turned man.
Smiling, Takeshi picked up his keys from the desk and left the flat. He would resume his work later, but for now, he was one too many.
Takeshi felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he finally finished that new panel he had been working on for days. The manga was nearly finished; Tsugumi had provided the rest of the scenario, and Near would finally defeat Kira.
But for him, the story was simply over.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking a final glance at the two bodies lying in separate cases on his desk, one blood dripping onto the pavement, the other engulfed in flames, "I'm sorry, goodbye."