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Matt never listened to anything Mello said. Ever.
Matt. You’re listening, right?
Mmmhm,
the said man hummed in response. Yet he didn’t look up from where he was hunched over his handheld console, sitting on the foot of the bed with his back turned to Mello. He looked stupid. He always looked stupid.
You don’t look like you are,
Mello sighed, and stretched out on the dingy bed of the motel they booked. For two days and two nights, now going on three, Matt played his stupid games while Mello actually did useful planning. Planning an infiltration of the Special Provision for Kira.
I am, I am… promise,
Matt mumbled. He didn’t sound like he even knew there were words coming out of his mouth. With how terrible the first attempt at stealing the elusive Death Note was, ending in a near-fatal injury for Mello, Matt should’ve at least tried to pay attention to make sure everything went smoothly. He didn’t even do that, though. Mello kicked his side. Matt didn’t respond, like a brain-dead corpse.
Matt, listen to me.
I am.
Fine. Matt, when we do this in literally a week, you’d better be prepared.
Mhm.
And you’d better not have no idea what you’re doing. It has to work this time, or we’ll basically have to give up.
Yeah.
And I really hate you. You’re the most annoying person in the world. You have a tiny shrimp dick.
(Mello was never good at two truths and a lie.) Matt didn’t even respond that time, and Mello groaned. Holy fuck, Matt, does everything go in one ear and out the other?!
Matt shrugged. Sometimes.
Clearly.
Mello crawled toward Matt. Frustration ran in his veins like blood and replaced all of the thoughts in his head with pure rage. He wasn’t thinking at all when he snatched the console from Matt’s hands and flung it against the wall. It hit the floor with no external damage. The idea flashed in Mello’s mind that he should’ve thrown it harder.
No! That was ranked!! I was so close!
Matt threw his torso back, head bouncing against the sheets with his rag-doll fall. Mello wasn’t thinking when he raised his fist and drove a punch straight onto Matt’s nose, either. His own actions surprised him, but he didn’t regret it. Mello grabbed his collar and pulled him face-to-face.
I don’t care what the hell is going on in that stupid game, I want you to pay attention to me every once in a while!
Matt’s breaths wheezed through his throat; he put one hand on Mello’s wrists and covered his nose with his other. Blood dripped down from his nose, it trickled down his lips until it dripped onto Mello’s forearms. Again, whatever. Whatever.
Mello wasn’t going to care for Matt’s leaking nose if Matt wasn’t going to care for Mello.
Holy shit, I think you broke my—
I’ll break whichever of your bones I want.
Not true. Mello didn't want to break any of his bones. Potentially breaking his nose was an accident. I don’t fucking care about your stupid face right now!
Again, not true. Mello did care about Matt's face. He couldn't stop himself from talking more, though. The words seemed to come out before he could even think of them. I’m more concerned about how you never pay attention to a single word I say!
That one was true. Especially when it was about the mission to steal the Death Note and avenge L that Matt committed to doing with Mello.
It was because Mello cared about him that he was getting upset, really. Matt would get killed from his stupidity some day without Mello there to make at least a halfway good plan. What would Matt do without him? Would he even be working on the Kira case? Many times, Matt and Mello had this conversation about what they were chasing together, and Mello felt the conversation wasn't too far down the road again. Matt never had a reason for joining Mello that satisfied him. Most of the time, the conversation ended with Matt silent, unable to produce an answer.
God, it was like Matt was just some dog that followed Mello around wherever he went, doing whatever Mello did, obeying each and every order without question. He would probably bark if Mello told him to.
Matt sniffled in an attempt to stop the flow of blood, but it only caused him to cough. His blood spattered across Mello's jaw and left pearls of dark liquid on his vest. Mello scoffed. Whatever. I don't even care.
Clearly not true, which Matt should've caught onto, but he was too busy pulling away from Mello's grip to fumble for a handful of tissues from the bedside nightstand. Mello crawled to the headboard, leaning against it with his arms crossed and his expression downturned into a heavy scowl. Matt didn't even look at him until his nose stopped bleeding and he'd wiped the majority of the drying blood from his face and hands. After a few more moments, Matt went to Mello's side like some damn dog, nudging open his legs to kneel between them, one hand to each side of Mello's hips. It's not broken, is it?
You aren't going to fix this through sex,
Mello grumbled as he grabbed his jaw. He tilted Matt's head one way, then the other. You're fine. It's just bruised.
Mello wasn't going to apologize for punching him in the face. He wasn't. He just simply would not. He refused to apologize for something Matt 100 percent deserved. Never in a million years.
You don't have to apolo—
Wasn't planning on it.
Oh...
Mello could practically see his nonexistent tail droop behind him. What a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend. Mello was glad they didn't have it in their cards to get married. He'd have to die if anyone as disappointing as Matt ever held the title of his spouse.
Mello, if you want—
I don't want to talk right now. Go away.
Matt pushed closer, nudging his nose against Mello's jaw and pleading, Just listen for a minute, please?
I just told you that we aren't going to solve this through sex. It doesn't work half the time. In fact, it never works. I'm never having argument sex with you again. I'm never having sex with you again,
Mello rambled. He didn't mean half of it. Argument sex did work the majority of the time, just not when it was about their mission. Also, for the record, in his own mind? Mello would absolutely have sex with Matt again.
What mattered was that it wasn't happening now.
That’s not what I was gonna suggest, Mello,
Matt murmured. With firm hands, Matt led Mello’s hand to rest on his cheek, then asked, Do you remember that conversation that we had a year or two ago? About the ‘ground rules’ or whatever?
Yes, he did. Of course Mello remembered, he made three out of the four ground rules of their relationship. He, and hopefully Matt, could name them off the top of his head. First, they couldn’t break up without a long conversation about the motivations (Mello was glad the first rule had yet to come into play); second, one couldn’t make large financial decisions without the others' consent (or knowledge, at the very least. This was the rule Matt made); third, arguments should be avoided and conflicts should be worked out through conversation (even if they both struggled to fulfill this rule, it stood); and fourth, and arguably most important in their relationship, no secrets.
Mello nodded. He didn’t see a point in verbally responding to such a stupid question.
You’re mad at me, aren’t you?
What the hell do you think?
Mello spoke before his head could catch up. Maybe he did see a point in responding to stupid questions. I mean, yes, I— I am. I don't want to talk right now.
Hit me.
Gladly, Mello would hit him again. It wasn’t often that Mello’s second biggest dream was wrapped up with gift paper and a bow right in his grasp. This was the first time he had ever, ever been presented with an opportunity to strike Matt with his permission. Instead of accepting, though, Mello asked, …Why should I do that?
Mello had no real need to hurt Matt. Besides, when he looked at Matt, there was no doubt in his mind that he was the one for him. Despite that, Mello had always been a temperamental, short-fused boy. Every single one of Matt’s little habits that annoyed Mello garnered a giant hole of anger in his chest that only grew larger and larger over the years.
Mello had really hit Matt three times. Now make that four. Once when they were kids, over some conflict that neither could quite remember, but both remembered the consequences for. Another time when Matt said something insensitive after L’s death. A third when Mello mistakenly thought Matt was cheating on him with some random chick. And, just recently, a fourth, when Matt couldn’t get off his game for just five minutes to listen to Mello.
Mello wouldn’t call himself abusive, but rather emotional and trigger happy. He didn’t hit Matt because he had some intense craving for it or because he thought Matt deserved to be hurt over nothing. He hit Matt because his fist and mouth always moved before his mind.
Maybe he was abusive. It wasn’t any little thing to punch someone in the nose so hard it bleeds.
Any which way, whether or not Mello was in the moral wrong for the four times he’d punched Matt over the years, Matt was literally asking him to now.
What Mello couldn’t understand was why? Matt never seemed to enjoy getting punched in the face; every strike Mello ever landed on Matt was always returned with yelling or a day's grudge.
Matt explained it for him.
You hit me when you get mad. If you hit me, you won’t be as mad, right?
No. Not at all. That’s not how it worked in Mello’s head, no amount of hitting Matt would make him feel any better… Right? Besides, it totally broke the third rule. Mello and Matt agreed that arguments should be solved through conversation, not through physical assault.
No. Not happening.
Mello turned his head to separate Matt's face from where it had wandered to press against his neck.
I'm asking you to hit me, Mello, come on,
Matt sighed. He leaned back until his weight fell onto the mattress. It was an invitation for Mello to crawl over him and punch him.
I’m not going to hit you just because I’m mad, Matt.
Didn’t stop you before,
Matt mumbled, then leaned forward to grab Mello’s collar. When he laid back again, Mello had no choice but to tower over Matt. Hit me, Mello. It’ll make you feel better. We can talk later, if you want.
No way. No way. Mello wasn’t going to make a conscious choice to hit Matt. Mello wasn’t that terrible. But if he were to strike him with permission, would that be so terrible? It was no worse than biting his neck or pulling his hair.
Maybe hitting Matt would make him feel better.
Mello raised his fist, eyes searching Matt’s face. Before Matt could give him any more stupid words of encouragement, Mello put his knuckles on the corner of his mouth.
Mello didn’t mind it. He didn’t feel any regret or deep guilt. Matt didn’t make any pain-induced sound other than a slight groan under his breath. Mello liked it. Mello liked the way the hole of anger in his chest closed up a little bit. Whether it was from the action of hitting or hitting the source of his anger, Mello didn’t know.
The crazy part was Matt liked it too.
Matt grinned, blood seeping between his teeth, and said with ecstasy in his tone, Yeah, like that.
Did you like that? You sick freak,
Mello whispered, head spinning from the adrenaline spike of having such power over a person. How long have you been into that?
Matt shrugged. Since the first time you punched me in the face.
When we were kids?
Mello leaned back, sat up, stood off the bed, and turned his back. He needed to think about things. Hitting Matt and liking it was one thing; hitting Matt and Matt liking it was another thing.
Mello didn’t mind that Matt liked weird things, Mello had any number of weird things he was into himself, but for Matt to keep that from him for the greater part of a decade? The two of them never quite set concrete boundaries as to what the fourth ground rule of their relationship extended to, it was mostly a means to make sure no betrayals would be made, but Mello would count something like that.
Did Matt purposely keep it from him? Was it all a matter of self-discovery that led to the moment they shared moments ago? Mello didn’t want any more secrets.
Matt. Come,
Mello ordered. Matt stood, and came. Like a dog.
No more secrets meant no more secrets.
Sometimes I think you act like you’re my dog. I don’t know if it’s weird to think that, but I think that.
Mello should’ve thought through his words before he spoke them, but he didn’t. Matt cocked his head in response, then hummed in thought after a few moments.
Okay. I mean, is there a reason you… wanted to bring that up now?
Woah, okay, Matt misunderstood that. I’m not into you acting like a dog. I just think that sometimes. And— And it’s not... a secret, but it’s— Matt, it’s just, do you remember the fourth rule?
Mello stuttered and stumbled through getting out half-formed thoughts in his mind. Eventually, it came out, and Matt responded with a nod accordingly.
Mello took a deep breath, then began, I think you broke it with the whole being into me hitting you thing. And it’s... okay, because I break the rules too, but you did for so long, so it’s different... somehow.
Mello sounded stupid. He still didn’t face Matt, he was talking to the wall, and he sounded stupid. Just, whatever, never mind. It doesn’t matter.
It matters,
Matt said simply, his hands sneaking to hold Mello’s hips. We broke a couple rules, so what? I gave my 'secret,' you gave yours. Are we okay now?
Mello turned to face Matt. The other was eager to lean in for a kiss, lips parted and eyelids drooping, but Mello put his fingers on his bloody lips.
No more secrets. At all.
Okay. No more secrets.
Matt kissed Mello, with no time spent on light pecks. His blood mixed with Mello’s spit; Mello nearly understood Matt's craving for being hit when the metallic tang of blood hit his tongue. Matt pushed forward until Mello stepped back into the wall, with Matt’s weight pressing into him, lips wet, tongues tangling, hands wandering, and—
Something must be understood. When Mello said ‘no more secrets,’ he, inside the privacy of his own mind, made one exception.
Mello was bald.
Mostly bald, anyway.
After the catastrophe that ended with an explosion, Light Yagami’s father dying, and a portion of burned skin across Mello’s face, scalp, and shoulder, Matt was too busy at the Wammy House talking to old friends to help Mello. By the time Matt knew that Mello had been seriously injured, Mello had already cried through buzzing the remainder of his hair down to a quarter inch off his scalp.
The cheap doctor he’d visited the day after the incident assured him he wouldn’t die, his skin would never recover, and his scalp would never recover. If he were to ever grow hair on the place his scalp was burned to a crisp, it likely wouldn’t come back the same. And Mello simply couldn’t have that. So, he burned the rest of his pocket money on two high-quality wigs that perfectly resembled what he preferred to keep his hair as, invested in a few high-quality products, and blamed the money spent on treatment for his burns.
Matt doused him in so much love and affection when he returned that Mello was sure he wouldn’t even be mad if he admitted to the shame of losing his hair and spending half his money on a couple of wigs. But Mello never admitted to it. And Matt’s doting on Mello eventually faded after enough evenings of Mello assuring him he was okay, and the topic never appeared in conversation.
Somehow, Mello kept it a secret for over half a year. And somehow, it just so happened that Mello had been running out of lace glue as of late. And somehow, it just so happened that Matt wanted to tug on his hair that evening.
Mello froze completely when the wig came loose into Matt’s hand. Matt froze as well, pulling back just far enough to see Mello’s… baldness. Mello couldn’t even get a thoughtless reaction out before Matt said, ever so quietly, I thought you said no more secrets.
Mello reached out for him, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but Matt had already pulled far away. Mello could only watch as Matt threw the wig onto the ground, then cried, You said no more secrets!!
Matt, please, I just never knew how to…
Matt turned away and put his hand up to silence Mello. Please, Mello, I just… I just need a minute to think about this…
Matt took five long strides toward the door, grabbing his stupid furred vest on the way out and shutting it gently.
Mello crumpled onto the bed, burying his face into a pillow. For minutes, Mello could only listen to the silence of the room around him and the numbness of his own thoughts. No way, no way in all of hell that the secret he'd been doing so good at hiding came loose simply because Mello was a little sparse with lace glue that morning? Mello's ears rang from the deprivation of any noise, only his own breathing. None of Matt's stupid games, none of Matt's sighs, none of the tapping of buttons, just Mello.
Maybe if he'd refused to hit Matt again, it never would've happened. Maybe if he hadn't hit Matt in the first place, then it never would've happened. Maybe if they just talked it out like they agreed to attempt to do, instead of turning to pointless grudges and kisses in place of conversations. Would any of that have even changed how his secret came out? Maybe it always would've happened, no matter what Mello did. Stupid wig, stupid fire, stupid Light Yagami, stupid Matt, stupid Death Note, stupid Kira. None of this would've happened if Kira had never existed.
Mello felt a certain tightening in his chest and a certain stinging in his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm any tears before they could gather.
What the hell?! Mello wasn't going to cry, certainly not over something as stupid as Matt!! Mello sat up, wiped his face with the back of his wrist, and scoffed. The giant hole of anger in his chest grew ten times bigger, engulfing his mind until he wanted to curl his hands into his hair and tug until he wasn't so angry, but he realized a few moments too late that he was too bald to do that. Instead, he threw a pillow at the wall. The anger in his chest turned to a craving to hurt something, which turned to another pillow chucked at the wall, then another, until Mello had to get up and pace around the room to calm his emotions.
Pacing around the room didn't help. Repetition of the same pattern of motion, over and over, only ran his thoughts faster, until frustration welled up inside of him again. Mello tossed the three stained pillows back on the bed, just so he could relive the satisfaction of tearing them off the bed and throwing them into the wall full force. The stupid game console was just under where the pillows landed, and Mello found himself gripping it with two hands, ready to slam it into the nearest sharp object, when three strong knocks sounded on the door.
Mello gasped and dropped the game console. Matt was outside. Hey... I'm back. Can I come in?
Mello dove for his wig, slipping it on before Matt could round the corner. By the time he did, Mello had the wig secured, but he still crouched on the ground, looking up at Matt. Who had... a plastic grocery bag in hand?
Look, I'm sorry, Mello,
Matt began, lowering himself to crouch in front of Mello. I was really... surprised.
Mello turned his face away, a scowl forming on his features. You don't say, asshole.
Matt reached in the bag to pull out six bars of chocolate. and one cheap bottled chocolate-flavoured coffee, to offer to Mello.
Doesn't make it any better, asshole.
Matt moved closer, putting his hand on Mello's thigh. I really am sorry. Can you stop calling me an asshole now? I wouldn't even care if you called me your dog again.
Mello snatched the chocolate and coffee, but refused to look up at Matt's bruised face. Asshole.
Matt moved in again, sliding his hands to wrap around Mello's waist and pressing his cheek into Mello's collarbone. Whatever,
Matt mumbled, pressing a kiss to the marred skin of the burn near his neck. I still love you.
Mello didn't return the embrace. His arms wrapped around Matt for the sole purpose of unwrapping a chocolate bar. You're still an asshole. I would hit you again, but you'd like it.
I'm sorry. I really love you, and I really don't care that you're ba—
Don't talk about it,
Mello snapped. Matt shut up, like a good dog. Mello had to fight his quick mouth to resist calling Matt such. Quietly, Matt huffed about something that Mello could truly care less about. Actually, Mello did care a little. I... love you, too.
With a piece of chocolate resting between his teeth, Mello lifted Matt's head so they could share a kiss, this time doused in chocolate rather than blood.