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The bed was cold.
That was the first thing Mello noticed.
Not empty. Just cold on the other side, the way it got when Matt had been gone long enough for the sheets to lose his warmth. Mello lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly as his brain tried to catch up with his body.
Matt never got up before him.
Ever.
Mello turned his head. The other side of the bed was untouched. No messy red hair. No goggles tossed on the nightstand. No faint smell of smoke and soap and metal that always clung to Matt no matter what.
“…Matt?” Mello said quietly.
Nothing.
He sat up, heart already tightening in his chest in that familiar, unpleasant way. The apartment was too quiet. No keyboard clicking. No low electronic hum from one of Matt’s machines. No footsteps, no coffee brewing, no soft rustling.
Mello swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The floor was cold.
That made it worse.
“Matty?” he called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Mello stood, pulled on his pants, and walked into the living room. The couch was empty. No blankets. No laptop. The balcony door was shut. The ashtray was empty.
His stomach dropped.
The kitchen was empty too. No dishes. No coffee. No half-finished energy drink sitting forgotten on the counter like always.
Mello’s heartbeat started to speed up.
He moved faster now. Bathroom, empty. No steam, no shower running. Matt’s toothbrush was dry. His hoodie still hung on the back of the door.
“Okay,” Mello muttered. “Okay, okay, okay…”
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
No texts.
No missed calls.
No notes.
Matt never left notes. But he also never left without saying anything.
Mello paced the apartment, running a hand through his hair hard enough to make it hurt.
“He wouldn’t” Mello said under his breath. “He wouldn’t just disappear.”
But the thought was already there.
Matt was quiet. Secretive. He didn’t talk about things unless forced. And he had a habit of doing dangerous, stupid things without telling anyone.
Including Mello.
Mello checked the door. Still locked. No signs of a break-in. No struggle.
Which meant Matt had left on his own.
That was worse.
Mello sank onto the couch, elbows on his knees, phone clenched in his hand like he might crush it.
“Pick up,” he whispered as he called Matt again.
Straight to voicemail.
He hated how fast his mind went to worst-case scenarios. Arrested. Shot. Captured. Dead in some alley somewhere because he’d decided to run a job alone.
Mello stood up abruptly.
“You think you can just vanish and I’m not gonna-”
His voice broke.
He didn’t finish the sentence.
The hours dragged.
Mello couldn’t sit still. He paced. Checked the street from the balcony. Called again. Texted. Tried every frequency Matt used. Nothing.
By noon, Mello was furious.
By three, he was scared.
By six, he was both.
The apartment felt wrong without Matt. Too big. Too quiet. Like something essential had been removed from it and left a vacuum behind.
Mello was halfway through a cigarette he didn’t even want when he heard the lock click.
He froze.
The door opened.
Matt stepped inside.
Mello turned so fast he almost knocked over the chair.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mello snapped.
Matt flinched.
He looked… different. Hair windblown. Goggles around his neck instead of on his head. A faint bruise blooming along his jaw. And in his hands, a small black case, clutched carefully like it mattered more than anything else.
“I-” Matt started.
Mello crossed the room in three strides and grabbed him by the collar.
“You disappear for twelve hours without a word and you think you can just walk back in here like nothing happened?” Mello’s voice was sharp, furious, shaking. “Do you have any idea what I thought? What I-”
Matt didn’t resist. Didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
That made Mello pause.
Matt didn’t apologize often.
Not out loud.
Matt continued. “I didn’t think it would take that long.”
Mello’s grip loosened, just slightly.
“Take that long doing what?” he demanded.
Matt hesitated.
Then he held up the case.
“I got something.”
Mello stared at it.
“…That better not be cigarettes,” he said flatly.
Matt shook his head.
“No. I promised.”
Mello released him slowly, eyes narrowing.
“Then what is it?”
Matt opened the case.
Inside was a gold crucifix.
Not cheap. Not decorative. Real gold. Old. The kind that looked like it had history behind it. The chain was delicate but strong, the metal warm in the light.
Mello froze.
His breath caught.
“…Where did you get that?” he asked quietly.
Matt swallowed.
“From a private collection. Guy who collects religious artifacts. He… doesn’t know it’s missing yet.”
Mello stared.
“You stole it?”
Matt nodded once.
“For you.”
The room went silent.
Mello’s anger collapsed in on itself, twisting into something else entirely. Shock. Disbelief. Something dangerously close to emotion he didn’t want to name.
“…You disappeared all day,” Mello said slowly, “broke into some collector’s vault, risked getting caught, just to steal me a cross?”
Matt shifted, suddenly unsure.
“You always pray,” he said. “But yours is cheap. The chain’s rusting. I thought… you deserved a better one.”
Mello didn’t speak.
His throat felt tight.
“You got hurt,” Mello said quietly, eyes flicking to the bruise.
“It’s nothing.”
“You scared me,” Mello said, voice lower now.
Matt looked up at him.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
They stood there, the distance between them heavy with everything that hadn’t been said.
Mello reached out slowly and took the crucifix from Matt’s hands.
It was warm.
Warm like it had been meant to be held.
“…You’re an idiot,” Mello muttered.
Matt’s lips twitched faintly.
“But you came back,” Mello added.
Matt nodded.
“Of course I did.”
Mello looked at him for a long moment.
Then he pulled him into a rough hug.
Matt stiffened for half a second in surprise before relaxing into it, arms coming up slowly around Mello’s back.
“I thought you were gone,” Mello murmured into his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I won’t,” Matt said. “I swear.”
They stayed like that for a while. Not moving. Just breathing.
Eventually, Mello pulled back slightly and held up the crucifix.
“…It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.
Matt shrugged.
“You deserve beautiful things.”
Mello scoffed softly. “You’re terrible at emotional communication.”
Matt looked away.
“You still like it.”
Mello smiled, small and real.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I really do.”
That night, Mello knelt beside the bed like always.
But this time, the new gold cross rested in his hands, catching the dim light from the lamp. Matt lay behind him, watching quietly, not speaking, just listening to the low murmur of Mello’s prayer.
When Mello finished, he didn’t get up right away.
He turned and looked at Matt.
“You scared me,” he said again.
Matt nodded. “I know.”
“But you came back,” Mello repeated.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t bring cigarettes.”
Matt paused. Then: “I almost did. But I didn’t.”
Mello smirked faintly.
“Good. I’d have killed you.”
Matt’s lips curved into a small, tired smile.
They lay down together, Mello pressing close, one arm slung possessively over Matt’s waist.
“You know,” Mello murmured, “most people bring flowers.”
Matt thought about it.
“Flowers die,” he said.
Mello snorted softly.
“Fair point.”
Silence settled between them, comfortable now.
Safe.
The bed was warm again.
And this time, Mello didn’t wake up alone.