Work Text:
They weren’t supposed to be awake. That was the first mistake. The second was that neither of them felt tired, even though it was past midnight and the apartment had gone quiet in that hollow, echoing way that made it feel too large for just two people. Mello lay sprawled on the couch with one arm thrown over his eyes, leg bouncing restlessly against the coffee table. Matt sat on the floor with his back against the couch, laptop open but forgotten, the screen dimmed to black like a dead eye.
“This is boring,” Mello said into the ceiling.
Matt didn’t look up. “We’re doing nothing.”
“Exactly.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and stagnant. The kind that wasn’t peaceful, just empty. Mello lowered his arm and glanced down at Matt, studying the way he’d gone still, like he was waiting for something to happen but didn’t want to admit it.
“Let’s do something stupid,” Mello said.
Matt tilted his head slightly. “Define stupid.”
“Spontaneous. Illegal. Probably a bad idea.”
Matt considered it, expression unreadable as always. He wasn’t impulsive like Mello, he was worse. Quietly reckless, the kind of person who didn’t jump without thinking, but thought very carefully and jumped anyway.
“…Okay,” Matt said.
Mello sat up immediately. “That was too easy.”
“I’m already bored,” Matt replied. “Might as well be bored somewhere else.”
Ten minutes later they were walking through the city, jackets half-zipped, streetlights painting everything in yellow and neon. The world felt distant, unreal, like they were passing through a simulation instead of a place. Mello passes the cocaine in his pocket, small, white, and illegal. Matt knew without asking. They didn’t talk about it. They never talked about the things they both already understood.
The park was almost empty. A few broken lamps, a rusted swing creaking in the wind, the skyline visible through the trees like a promise neither of them trusted. They sat on a cold metal bench, shoulders barely touching, sharing something they shouldn’t have, not really caring why.
After a while, Matt spoke. “Do you ever think about leaving?”
Mello blinked. “Leaving what?”
“…Everything.”
Mello stared ahead, jaw tightening. “All the time.”
Matt’s voice stayed soft, almost detached. “Like actually leaving. New country. New names. No cases. No orphanage. No expectations.”
Mello let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “That sounds fake. Like something people in movies get to do.”
“I think about it a lot,” Matt said.
That surprised him. Mello turned, really looked at him. “You never talk about stuff like that.”
Matt shrugged. “You never ask.”
The words hit harder than Mello expected. He swallowed.
“…What would you do?” he asked.
Matt looked down at his hands. “Something normal. Fix electronics. Maybe run a shop. Sleep in. Eat breakfast without thinking someone’s going to die if I don’t wake up.”
Something twisted painfully in Mello’s chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That sounds nice.”
They sat in silence again, but it was heavier now, weighted with all the things they had never allowed themselves to want. The city hummed around them, distant cars, distant lives. Matt (surprisingly) broke it first.
“I’d keep the car.”
Mello glanced at him. “The red one?”
“Obviously.”
“You’d drive it like an idiot.”
“And you’d complain the whole time but never tell me to stop.”
Mello’s mouth curved faintly. “I won't tell you to stop now.”
“Exactly.”
The moment lingered too long. Matt shifted, like he was deciding something.
“Mihael,” he said. “Do you ever think about us?”
Mello stiffened. “…What kind of question is that?”
“If we weren’t here. If we weren’t who we are. Would we still-”
“Yes.”
Matt turned fully toward him. “Yes?”
Mello exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Obviously. You think I’d choose this life if you weren’t in it?”
Matt stared at him, eyes unreadable. “…I didn’t think you thought about it like that.”
“I don’t think about anything else,” Mello said.
The world felt very quiet after that.
“I think I’m in love with you, Mihael” Matt said.
The words landed softly, but they hit like a collapse. Mello’s heart skipped, breath catching somewhere in his chest.
“…You’re terrible at timing,” Mello muttered.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“No, I just didn’t expect you to say it first.” He leaned closer, voice lowering. “I’ve been in love with you since Wammy’s. I just figured you were too emotionally dead to notice.”
They didn’t kiss. They just sat there, foreheads almost touching, sharing something fragile and real and absolutely doomed.
“Come on,” Mello said finally. “Let’s go drive. I want to pretend this life actually exists.”
The stolen red camaro cut through the city like fire. Windows down, engine roaring, neon lights sliding over the hood like liquid. Matt drove one-handed, reckless and alive, while Mello leaned back in the seat, watching the world blur.
“This feels illegal,” Matt said.
“Everything about us is illegal,” Mello replied.
They laughed and for a moment it felt real. Like this was the timeline where they escaped. Where the world didn’t own them. Where they were just two people driving too fast at night.
Then the road ahead lit up.
Red.
Blue.
Flashing.
Matt slowed the car, already knowing. Police vehicles blocked the main road. Doors opening. Men stepping out. Guns raised. Military-grade.
“…Since when were the Japanese allowed to carry such big guns?” Matt muttered.
They both understood. This was an interception.
Matt cut the engine.
They stepped out together, hands raised, streetlights washing everything in harsh white. Guns aimed directly at their chests.
No one responded.
Matt glanced sideways at Mello. “…Guess this is the part where we don’t get the normal life.”
Mello let out a shaky breath. “At least I got you Mail.”
Matt looked up and asked “In another life..?”
Shots rang out.
Later, the reports would say it was for organized crime involvement, stolen identities, international offenses, individuals deemed too dangerous to detain. Two prodigies erased by a system that had never intended to let them live quietly.
But none of that mattered.
They never got the shop. Or the slow mornings. Or the life without cases and ghosts and blood on their hands. They never escaped the orphanage, they just ran in a wider circle.
All they got was one night.
A park bench.
A confession.
A red camaro.
And the life they almost had.