Chapter Text
London. Late February.
...
Matt hadn’t cleaned their flat in weeks.
Any of it. Hadn’t done laundry, dishes, scrubbed the toilet. He had wiped crumbs off the surface of the kitchen counter one or two times and kicked them under the stove to get them out of sight. But that was about the extent of what he had the energy to do. He’d started buying paper plates and plastic silverware and red plastic cups whenever he picked up groceries, which consisted primarily of frozen food and crisps, cigarettes, cereal, and the occasional banana. And chocolate. Large quantities of dark chocolate. Some things never changed.
In his defense, his nutritional options were limited to what he could grab at the convenience store at the end of their block. He didn’t want to leave Mello alone for longer than fifteen minutes. And he sure as hell did not want to drag him to the supermarket again.
Matt stepped inside now, a plastic grocery bag held loosely in one hand while he held open a text conversation with the other. He was welcomed by the familiar musty smell and drone of electric appliances. One quick glance in the living room reassured him Mello was fine, lying on the couch watching something on TV like he’d been when Matt stepped out a few minutes before. He smiled when he noticed Matt but said nothing. Matt waved at him, and tossed the bag on the floor, distracted.
Near had texted him.
Matt had gotten the notification while checking out at the Tesco Express. He had then thought about it the entire walk home. By the time he stepped through their doorway, he had already typed and deleted several expletive-filled replies. He was unsure where to start.
Near: Matt - I can see that you cancelled all of Mello’s rehabilitation services, in addition to neglecting to take him to his last two occupational therapy appointments. This is somewhat alarming. Please tell me what is going on.
So many things he could reply. Did Near really know what he was asking? Did he want the long answer – an accurate account of every mid-appointment meltdown, the exact number of chairs that had been thrown against the wall, maybe a description of how frightened the staff looked when they popped their heads into the lobby to say maybe we need to wrap up early so he can get some rest? Did he want to know how many hours Mello spent crying after each appointment and the exact number of times he’d said he wanted to die? Or maybe the short answer would suffice: Mello’s still Mello. He fucking hates to fail.
Matt: how do you even know this you stalker
Matt: whatever shut up. I know you pay for all this shit. do you spy on us in any other ways?
Near: I prefer to stay up-to-date with his medical developments. If that is an issue with you, perhaps we can discuss a system where you provide me with updates at a regular cadence, given you have insisted on acting as his primary caretaker.
Matt groaned. In the living room, the TV was blaring loudly, some stupid commercials. Mello was still watching it, looking totally zoned out. It was probably bad for his brain, that shit. It had been on for hours. But Matt stayed in the kitchen, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against the closed fridge door, the cleanest surface in the room.
Matt: you really want to know why he’s not going?
Near: Yes
Matt: he hates it
A minute passed. Matt lit a cigarette. Glared at the floor.
Near: I am surprised I have to say this, but whether Mello enjoys his appointments or not is completely irrelevant. These services are not optional. They are essential for his recovery.
Matt: it’s fine, I don’t expect you to get it.
Near: You should know this. To cancel the appointments is completely irresponsible and bordering on neglect.
Matt: ok.
Near: Not “ok.” He is reliant on you for his treatment and you are failing. Or are you not aware this is a critical period for recovery?
Near: If you care about him having any chance of recovering his baseline cognitive function, he must attend these appointments at the pre-determined schedule.
Matt was breathing heavily. He nearly bruised his thumbs typing in his reply. Mello was humming softly in the other room now. He was going to go batshit insane.
Matt: he’s not going to recover his baseline cognitive function ever.
Near: That is false. It remains unseen.
Matt: near,, respectfully you don’t know shit. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent
Near: I know what happened to Mello.
Matt: then you should know it would bea fucking miracle for him to ever live indepnedently again. do you even undrstnad wtf happened or are you actually an idiot Near???
Near took a very long time to reply after that. Maybe he was stalking Mello’s medical records again, looking at x-rays of dead brain matter and determining the verity of Matt’s statements. Matt took deep drags of his cigarette and tried not to bang his head against the fridge.
Finally, an abrupt change of subject:
Near: What does he do all day? What is he doing right now, for example?
Matt: playing with guns
Near: That is unnecessary.
Matt thought, fuck offf, dude. But he suddenly wanted the conversation to end. Immediately.
Matt: he’s just watching tv . idk what you want me to tell you. remind me again when’s the last time you came to visit ?
Near did not respond to that. Matt eventually gave up waiting, stood up, and tossed his phone on the counter, on top of a pile of unopened bills by their toaster. He knew he should clean. Put away the groceries he just bought. But he really, truly, even if he was promised $1000 for it, could not make himself do anything productive.
Instead he joined Mello on the couch. Mello was laying down horizontally, so Matt had to lift up his legs to slide on, draping Mello’s socked feet across his lap. Mello was watching a cooking show on television now, or at least, he was looking in the direction of the screen, sucking on the edge of his sleeve.
Matt winced.
This happened a lot now. The sucking. Whenever Mello was tired, or stressed, or zoning out like this. He didn’t seem aware he was even doing it.
“Mel. Sleeve,” Matt said.
“Oh… sorry,” Mello said, and he lowered his hand quickly to his lap. For about a second, he froze, like he was buffering or something, and then immediately started chewing at his lip instead. He had a serious goddamn oral fixation. Matt leaned forward and grabbed a half-eaten chocolate bar from the clutter on the ottoman and tossed it at him.
“Just eat this, babe,” he said. “Stop with that chewing.” Mello hummed happily in response and turned his attention to the chocolate.
Matt sighed. Texting Near had been a fucking nightmare.
“All right. This show looks boring as fuck. That’s not even Giada. Who is that bitch? Wanna watch me play Grand Theft Auto?"
Mello blinked at him, like he was confused why Matt was speaking to him. But then he shrugged. “...Sure.”
This, at least, was one small perk of Mello’s injury. In the past he never would have had the patience to chill with Matt while he gamed. He’d find some way to drag Matt away from the screen while threatening to throw his Playstation out the window if he didn’t get off. It was kind of nice, in a way, to just sit and play as Mello watched. Honestly, it was the only activity that brought Matt even an ounce of pleasure at this point in his life.
He fucking needed it.
Within minutes he lost himself and forgot about all the numerous problems in his shitty life. He had discovered a bug in the game that let him fly around Liberty City, and even Mello seemed to enjoy watching it glitch out. He even laughed, when Matt made Niko plummet to his death the same way three times in a row. It had been at least a week since he’d last heard Mello laugh. He was plotting out the next suicide skydive when their moment of bliss was rudely interrupted by a buzzing sound in the kitchen.
It took Matt several moments to realize it was his phone.
“Shit,” he said. He crashed into a pedestrian and paused the game.
Mello stiffened, his smile fading back into the neutral expression he always wore nowadays. The doctors had described it as a blunted affect. He could have looked serious, almost thoughtful, if not for the chocolate smeared on his chin. “What’s that?”
“Phone. Just wait here,” Matt said, already on his feet. He made it to the kitchen right before his phone vibrated its way off the counter, narrowly avoiding it bringing down the whole fleet of envelopes too. Matt grabbed the envelopes anyway and tossed them into the trash, because, fuck it. He was never gonna pay them.
He finally glanced at the caller ID, expecting it to be some blocked number associated with a job, only to see the worst possible name ever: Near.
Fuck. Off.
He declined the call.
It immediately rang again.
This time, after a long moment of contemplation, he answered reluctantly. It was so freakish for Near to call, and he kind of wanted to yell at him about their text conversation. He could feel Mello’s eyes on him from across the room, wide and worried like he couldn’t understand what was going on and was trying to figure it out. It killed Matt just about every time. To see Mello, Mello, look like that.
“Hullo?”
“Hello, Matt,” Near said, robotically.
“What do you want now?”
“Did you see my last text message?”
“Um, guess not?” Matt said.
On the couch, Mello had brought his sleeve back to his mouth.
Keeping his phone to his ear, Matt returned to the couch and pulled Mello sideways into a hug, rubbing his back slowly in soothing circles. Mello’s breathing slowed down and he melted against Matt’s chest, his body warm and pliant. It felt good.
Near was being far too quiet on the other end of the line.
In the silence, Matt mouthed to Mello, “It’s Near.”
Mello frowned.
“Are you still there? Okay, well we’ve established I didn’t see your message,” Matt sighed. “And I’m not gonna check to see what it was since you’re literally on the phone with me right now. And also, Near, if you are still listening, if this is about the OT appointments, I am going to hang up.”
Near finally spoke. “It’s not that. In my last message, I expressed a desire… to come visit.”
Matt nearly choked. “You want to come here?”
Mello heard this. He shook his head frantically. Matt understood. Visitors seeing Mello in his current condition? No bueno.
“Sorry… but no. Mello says no too. He’s shaking his head.”
He was, still.
“But… I really would like to,” Near continued. He sounded almost hurt. “You were correct earlier. It has been too long since I’ve seen Mello. It was only two months after his injury when I last visited. Perhaps things are….”
Matt wanted badly to hang up on him at that, but he didn’t.
It was just – he couldn’t exactly say what he needed to say, not with Mello sitting there listening to every word.
“Things are… they’re… not that different.”
“...I understand that may be the case. I still want to see him.”
“That’s very sweet, Nate. He doesn’t want to see you.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Matt took the phone off his ear for a second, and held it up to Mello. “Say hi to your best friend Near.”
Mello shook his head vehemently and thrust the phone back at Matt, then put his hands over his ears and shut his eyes.
Matt’s movement had been too sudden. Shit. He clumsily patted Mello’s back with his free hand to try to make up for it.
“He doesn’t even wanna say hi to you.”
“...Why not?”
“I don’t know, maybe he blames you,” Matt said, unkindly. He instantly regretted it. It was a total lie. Not that Near necessarily had to know that. “Or, whatever. I don’t know. He just doesn’t like people anymore – it’s okay, babe, put your hands down. You’re okay. Have some more chocolate. – Look, Near, whatever. Fly on over if you really fucking want to. Just don’t expect us to, like…”
“I expect nothing of you. I just want to see Mello.”
“You sound like a dad fighting for custody of his kids or something,” Matt joked. It was weak, and Near didn’t deign to respond. “Fine. Whatever. Look, I’m not the one who stopped you from coming around the last few months, so just do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
“Okay then. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“...Tomorrow!?”
Mello, who had just taken his hands off his ears, covered them again.
Near spoke quickly, almost eagerly. “Yes. Please. Tomorrow. I’ve already made travel arrangements. I want to see him as soon as possible.”
“But aren’t you in America? …Sure, yeah, okay, that’s totally normal. What time…? And where would you be staying…?”
Matt was beginning to see the apartment with fresh eyes. The multiple bags of trash lined up by the door. The mountain of dishes in the sink. The laundry piles literally everywhere, Mello’s medication bottles mixed in with piles of empty soda cans and instant ramen cups, the moldy gross spot on the wall – you couldn’t even see the floor in some places. If Near had thought Matt was neglecting things before….
“My flight will land around noon,” Near said. “And after some consideration, I would like to stay with you, if convenient. But I can have Gevanni arrange for a hotel if you’d prefer.”
Matt had stopped listening at “noon.” He looked at the clock. It was 11:32 PM.
“Okay, well. We’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve gotta go,” he said. He didn’t give Near a chance to say goodbye; he hung up and tossed his phone to the floor. Mello was still in shutdown mode. He had started to hum, loudly. They were in for a long fucking night. “All right, Mel…. Bedtime.”