⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: I Don't Smoke
𑣲𝄞 After a chance opportunity lands London photographer Matt Jeevas a place in the rising band Cigarettes After Midnight, he trades ordinary life for backstage chaos and the teenage dream of becoming a rockstar. That dream is complicated by the arrival of Strawberries & Sex, whose magnetic frontman is none other than Matt's estranged ex-boyfriend, Mello. Neither is willing to acknowledge the years they spent together, even as their shared past quietly seeps into every encounter. And what of Mello's personal vendetta against CAM's drummer, Near? With music, young ambition, and lonely love tangled together, sold-out venues aren't the only things guaranteed.
A Band Rivalry AU!
Available on Ao3:
A Match Into Water - Chapter 2 - deathnotediv4 - Death Note (Anime & Manga) [Archive of Our Own]
𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Punk Rock, Rivalry, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Yaoi, Yuri, Sex Pistols (Band) References, Megadeth References, Inspired by Nana (Anime & Manga), Inspired by Fanart, Mello | Mihael Keehl-centric, Matt | Mail Jeevas-centric, Near | Nate River-centric, 2000s, Nearlymellodramattic, Song Lyrics, Mitski References, Drinking, Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Abandonment Issues, Codependency, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓘𝓷𝓬𝓵𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓭: Mello | Mihael Keehl, Matt | Mail Jeevas, Near | Nate River, Light Yagami, Misa Amane, Teru Mikami, Halle Lidner | Halle Bullock, L (Death Note), Beyond Birthday, Naomi Misora, Watari | Quillsh Wammy, Linda (Death Note), Touta Matsuda, Sayu Yagami
𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: As Matt weighs the offer from Near to join Cigarettes After Midnight, two very different and unexpected reunions with Mello turn simple days into emotional battlefields.
Sometimes, no matter how many times you try to keep chapters of your life buried, they tend to bubble back up to the surface.
────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ─
I couldn't believe it back then. Seeing that rosary, the same one he wore the first time I ever saw him, well... Shit, it felt like unreal.
Our moments together had always felt like fantasies. Dreams just out of reach, nearly in the palm of my hand... Nothing with him felt permanent. Some part of me always knew that Mihael wasn't meant to be a long chapter in my life. However, when I saw him for the first time in two years in my apartment, holding a wine glass exactly like he did the last I saw of him...
Wow. Just wow.
That name somewhat hung in the apartment, kinda like a snapped guitar string. For a good second, nobody moved.
Halle had caught the wine glass just before it slipped from the blond singer's fingers. She steadied it, then held it back out toward him.
"You nearly baptized Matsuda's carpet, be careful."
The man stared at the glass, then at his bandmate. "Right... Thanks."
She shrugged. "Try not to make it a habit."
He took the glass back without another word. Meanwhile, Matt hadn't taken his eyes off him, from across the room.
Matt knew the face he was glaring at. He knew that face way too well. He basically knew how it felt to brush his thumb against the slight scar hidden beneath the blond fringe, a scar born from too many fights. He definitely knew that black gloss. And from numerous drunken nights, he knew the smooth manner with which Mihael held a wine glass as though he'd been born with one in his hand. After all, Matt knew Mihael.
"Sorry," the blond said evenly, "you've got the wrong person."
Matt searched his face for some hint of a joke. ("He can't be serious right now") Yet, nothing.
"... Right..." he answered, nodding slowly, playing along. "You just... reminded me of somebody, I guess..."
"Must've been a good-looking guy."
Matsuda, blissfully unaware he'd just witnessed an emotional train wreck, clapped his hands together. "Well! Now that introductions are done-"
"Uh, they're not," Light interrupted.
"- I'd love to show everyone the tape!"
He hurried over to the entertainment unit and crouched in front of a tiny CRT television perched on a shelf. Halle stared, an eyebrow arched.
Matsuda glanced over sheepishly. "... yeah."
"It looks like it survived the Cold War."
"It was on sale!" he countered.
"You're trying to manage a rock band and that's what you watch demo tapes on?" Halle retorted.
Matsuda's ears reddened instantly (poor guy). "S- sorry!"
Halle sighed. "You don't have to apologize."
"Yeah, you really shouldn't, Touta," Matt drawled, glaring daggers at Halle.
"I know, but I promise that at the agency's building, the televisions will definitely be bigger," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
Light pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, man, you're just proving how much of a rookie you are at this; you apologized for the TV you own. That's not a show of confidence..."
Halle laughed. "Wow, you really can't help yourself?"
Matt sighed. "You can stop apologizing now."
"... Okay." And predictably, after a few beats, he once more apologized, "... Sorry."
Even Mikami smiled after that, which was quite the achievement considering the fact that he'd remained stone-faced thus far.
The cassette clicked into place, and static washed across the little screen before resolving into grainy footage of a cramped venue. People in the crowd yelled, then guitars crashed together. Matt instinctively leaned forward to get a better look.
Onscreen, four musicians exploded into motion. The blond singer commanded the stage with confidence, microphone wrapped in one hand as he stalked across the tiny platform. Beside him, Light stood with a bass slung low, deeply focused and taking it all so seriously (as he should!) while the music thundered around him. Mikami attacked the drums with passion, and, on her side, Halle played fiercely, though unable to stay still and remain in one spot, much like Mihael.
Across the bottom of the screen, handwritten text appeared:
STRAWBERRIES & SEX: Opening for Dead Letter Scars
"You four are incredible!" Matsuda said proudly.
"No budget, no proper lighting, no decent sound engineer, and yet people remembered us. We were still able to get ourselves a record deal," Halle mused.
"Yeah, because we're talented and deserving," Light quipped.
Matt watched the performance in silence. He'd seen that stage presence before. Years ago, just under different lights, all the way overseas.
Matsuda glanced expectantly toward his roommate. "So?"
Matt didn't answer immediately. Finally, he said, "Well, you lot seem talented, that's for sure."
Matsuda beamed. "I knew you'd like-!"
"Some members are more professional and mature than others, however," Matt commented bitterly.
Mello took a sip of his wine. "I was thinking the same thing," he replied, completely ignoring the fact that the comment had been directed at him. Instead, he stared at the brunette.
Light's head turned. "... Excuse me?"
"You're seriously talking about maturity?"
"Interesting," he scoffed.
"No," Light shrugged as he leaned back against the sofa. "I just wasn't made aware arriving late to practice, drinking before noon, and starting arguments with venue owners counted as emotional maturity. But hey, I do suppose that times can change, so can standards as they lower."
Mello glared at the bass player. "And I wasn't aware wearing sunglasses indoors counted as a fucking personality."
Halle covered her mouth to hide a grin; Light removed the sunglasses with exaggerated slowness, revealing to Matt (who hadn't seen his full face) a pair of light brown eyse.
"At least mine come off," he quipped.
Mello scoffed. "Good one."
"You rehearse that in front of your mirror?"
"Didn't need to, I'm a natural. Unlike some others who need heavy autotune."
Mikami sighed. "Must we?"
"YES," both men retorted.
Mikami sighed a second time, closing his eyes briefly, praying to God for some patience. For his part, Matt had gotten sick of watching that petty exchange. Without another glance toward 'Mello,' he crossed the room instead, towards the drummer.
The older man looked up. "Yes, I am."
Matt nodded toward the drum footage still playing. "You've got good control."
"The fills during the bridge... You're holding back until the chorus."
"You know, most don't notice, they just dance along."
"I photograph musicians. Plus, I used to play a bit. In either case, you start paying attention to rhythm after a while."
Mikami inclined his head, faintly smiling (just a little, nothing too serious now). "Your observation is appreciated."
Matt crouched beside the television for a closer look. "That snare sounds tighter than it did in the opening."
"We replaced it two weeks prior."
Matt and Mikami's conversation drifted naturally into talk about music equipment, rehearsal spaces, microphone quality, as well as any possible local venues, here in LA.
Behind them, Mello watched over the rim of his wine glass. Matt never once looked back, not once. He didn't feel like giving Mello that satisfaction.
Eventually, Matt brightened. "Oh!" He pointed excitedly at the screen. "This is my favourite part!"
On the tape, the crowd had begun chanting S&S's name despite them only being the opening act. The venue practically shook following their performance, quite surprising. Mello's voice roared through the cheap television speakers as the audience sang every single word back, perfectly on beat.
"You guys are gonna outgrow clubs soon, at this rate!" Matsuda said proudly, as if he'd been their manager from the start (truth be told, he was here for two reasons only: for the pay check and for a chance to get with Light Yagami's hot sister, Sayu Yagami).
"I know it," Mello said, prideful.
"We will," Light replied, sure of both himself and his bandmates (or really just of himself, if we're being honest).
Matt nodded. "... I believe it."
It was the first thing he'd said about Mello's band, 'Strawberries & Sex' ("Typical of Mihael to have a band name revolved around promiscuity... fucking slut") that sounded entirely sincere, all for reasons he refused to examine too closely. Across the room, Mello lowered his glass, looking at Matt after the latter's comment. Just for a heartbeat, he appeared almost... disappointed that Matt wasn't commenting on specifically his singing. After all, Matt used to always praise his singing...
The room continued chatting around them, with Matsuda happily rambling about venues and potential recording contracts. Halle kept teasing him about his bargain-bin TV, with Light and Mikami occasionally chiming in. In the meantime, Matt stayed (barely so) in the discussion, but seemingly only where Mikami was concerned.
As far as Matt was willing to acknowledge, the blond singer across the room was just another musician named 'Mello.' Not the Mihael he'd met his freshman year of college. And as far as Mello insisted, the young man who was his manager's roommate was just some guy with fried hair who'd mistaken him for someone else. That lie sat between them, invisible to everyone else, waiting for the day it would finally be a little too heavy to carry around.
Halle and Mello moved slowly between the tall shelves of the bookstore, the soft rustle of pages seemingly loud in their ears. Deeper in the store, a staff member was stacking new releases, the faint thud of books punctuating their steps.
Mello ran a finger along the spines as they passed, not actually reading them. Halle walked beside him with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, glancing sideways at him every so often. Lately, she couldn't stop repeating every few seconds about how she couldn't believe the situation they were in. Despite how cold she'd seemed during their first 'meeting' (could it even be considered it a meeting? It had taken place in a crappy condo...) with their first-ever manager, Touta Matsuda, she was ecstatic.
"In a few short days, we're going to be in an actual recording studio," she said, smiling.
"Like... a real one. With producers. And soundproof walls. And people who love music just as much as we do!"
"Yeah, I'm aware of how studios work, Lidner."
She rolled her eyes. "It's just still all insane."
They turned a corner into the music section where there lied vinyl reissues, biographies, and glossy band books that were stacked unevenly. Halle slowed, trailing her fingers over a shelf of punk rock history.
"Y'know, I never thought I'd be in a pro rock band," she said. "Not even in a 'maybe someday' type of way. Just... never." She glanced at him. "And I definitely never thought you of all people would be in one."
Mello stopped walking. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
She laughed. "Oh my god, don't get offended now!"
"I'm not offended, I'm just asking if you think I'm not talented enough," he retorted flatly.
That only made her laugh even harder (which only made him even more insecure). "No, no- Mello, you're a good singer."
"Fine. You're very good." She nudged his shoulder lightly, smiling, "I just never took you for the rock 'n' roll type, is all."
He scoffed and resumed walking around the music section with her. "And what type did you take me for, then?"
"Uptight. Perfectionist," she added, unbothered about his offended expression. "The kind of guy who would rehearse a single note until he lost his voice."
"You'd all be devastated if I were to lose my amazing singing voice."
"Well, you certainly behaved in such a way back in-"
"I don't wanna remember boarding school," he interrupted.
Halle's grin widened. "Is it because you almost became valedictorian before you got expelled?"
Mello glared daggers at her. That, in itself, was an answer. Of course he didn't wish to remember the fact that he could have graduated at the top of his class, at the most prestigious boarding school in England, and then gone to study at Oxford. Of course he didn't wish to remember that, instead of that honourable life, he ended up in community college, working a shitty job as a bartender that may or may not have helped with the development of a drinking problem, and then ran to America with quite literally just his guitar, his leather jacket, and one duffel bag.
Halle hummed thoughtfully, clueless nonetheless. "You were always like that, though," she continued. "Even back then. Everything had to be first place for you. First in class, first in extracurriculars- especially when that guy a grade below, Nate, was involved."
At the name 'Nate,' Mello's jaw tightened. However, Halle didn't notice (or at least, she pretended not to (she always loved the drama surrounding Nate)).
"I remember you getting so mad when Nate won that songwriting contest over you," she added. "The one where the prize was that free outing to a HIM concert with a classmate of choice. And then," she smiled at the memory, "Nate chose you as his plus-one. And you just refused! Like, full refusal! Said you'd rather not go at all than go with him."
Mello groaned. "Ughhh, I don't want to hear this."
"I said I don't want to hear it!"
Halle laughed, raising both her hands in surrender, still grinning. "Okay, okay. No hate now."
"I never want to hear that name ever again, and you know why."
She dropped the grin, knowing that clearly the Nate River topic was still a sensitive one, even after six years. Instead of adding fuel to the fire that was Mello's rage, they turned into the magazine aisle. It was brighter here, with glossy covers catching the overhead lights. Celebrity faces stared out from every angle, with all the movies, brands, artists, scandals, interviews, rumours, and socialites. Typical LA stuff, you know.
Walking in this section of the bookstore should have been peaceful. Amusing, if anything! It was perfect material for a trash-talking session between two old friends. In other words, this corner of the shop was ideal to gossip and speculate about the scandalous lives of various celebrities. At least, that's what Mello somewhat hoped for. His hope was quickly shattered when he heard Halle's footsteps slow down, and her voice say, in an amused tone:
On the rack she was staring at was a magazine cover featuring a short curly white-haired man with soft, delicate features, sporting a white wife-beater, a white cheetah-print scarf, a black unzipped vest, a white studded belt, a fleur-de-lys necklace, baggy black jeans, and a silk white bow attached to the side of his jeans. He was framed between two striking women: one blonde of equal height wearing a cheetah-print fur hat with a matching fur belt, a fitted black mini dress that was backless, the material covering her back being only thin lace, and wearing leather Givenchy heeled boots (that made her seem a little taller than the man); a tall noirette woman wearing a steampunk black leather sailor cap, a black motorbike jacket, a pair of jean shorts, and knee-high boots, adorning a heavy stack of silver jewelry, a motorcycle helmet half-removed like she'd just stepped off her bike.
Halle snorted. "We were literally just talking about Nate, and now he's on a magazine cover with two hot girls. Poetic."
Mello didn't laugh. He couldn't even scoff at the irony of it all. He reached out and snatched the magazine off the rack instead, scanning it viciously. His eyes stopped and froze as he was reading the text on it. A headline near the center read:
"CIGARETTES AFTER MIDNIGHT IN CHAOS: BEYOND BIRTHDAY OUT, LINEUP SHAKE-UP SHOCKS INDUSTRY"
"SCANDAL ROCKS BAND AS EX-BASSIST IS BEING PURSUED FOR STALKING & HARRASSMENT OF FAMOUS MUSIC PRODUCER AND SOLOIST, L LAWLIET"
And then, by far the worst one, the most grip-tightening headline:
"NEW RUMOUR: MAIL 'MATT' JEEVAS TO REPLACE BASSIST IN SURPRISE MOVE!"
His expression changed instantly, and Halle noticed.
He turned the magazine toward her. "This."
"I don't- what am I looking at exactly?"
"That," he said sharply, pointing to the name 'Mail Jeevas,' "is Matt."
She blinked. "Matt who? Listen, Mello, I meet a lot of people all the time, I don't have time to remember a name as plain and boring as Matt."
"The Matt from yesterday, Lidner!"
Her eyes widened slightly. "Touta Matsuda's roommate?"
"How do we know it's the same Matt?"
"That's not an answer, Mello."
"Near is doing this on purpose," he cut her off.
"Mello," she sighed. "Not everything is a personal attack on you, y'know."
It didn't matter if she'd tried to reassure him or not; he wasn't listening anymore. His eyes had locked onto the feature article once more, reading faster now, jaw tightening with every line. After all, it wasn't just the band... it was the implications.
Near's band, already successful, already signed, already winning, was now expanding again. When Mello had first found out about Beyond's removal from CAM, he'd been ecstatic, as it meant that paradise in Nate River's perfect little black-and-white world was finally being disturbed. However, that little disruption clearly was not even an inconvenience to Near, since he'd been able to bounce back so quickly.
And Matt- Matt, of all people in the world, was being pulled into it now.
Mello could feel the situation like a punch behind his ribs. For the longest time, Near had always been there, always just ahead, always untouchable in the way that mattered most, and now... well, now he had a record deal under the same agency that had managed Crimenest before. Near had a successful and non-stop rising band with a perfect lineup, a perfect guitarist, and a perfect lead vocalist that Mello couldn't help but sometimes envy as well.
Then, there was Matt. Matt, who Mello had once known too well, in and out. Matt, who had looked at him like he was the most beautiful person who'd ever walked this earth. Matt, who he had wanted so, so bad, yet left with just as much ease. Matt, who was now apparently stepping into Near's world, blissfully unaware of the history between both the boarding school students that were Nate and Mihael.
Mello's breath sharpened. He felt like he was about to suffocate, even more with Halle watching him carefully. He knew that she was probably getting worried about him right about now. She'd been a witness to the Nate-Mihael rivalry and she definitely knew how anxious Mello could get.
"Mello? Are you okay? Do you need some air-"
He didn't answer. He couldn't hear her anymore. There was only a loud ringing in his ears. Where hearing and speech failed him, movement didn't. Action always absolved him. So instead of letting his friend know he wasn't having a panic attack (at least not a major one), he tore the magazine cleanly in half, the sound louder than the ringing in the quiet aisle.
A nearby employee snapped their head up. "Hey! You rip it, you buy it!"
Halle glared at the employee before sighing. "Of course."
Mello didn't even look up at the employee. As he stared at the ripped-up magazine on the floor, he merely tried to focus on steadying his breathing.
Halle reached into her pocket, pulled out some dollar bills, and handed it over without argument. "Sorry." Once silence returned and the employee walked away with the money, still glaring yet satisfied, the blonde turned back to Mello. "Are you okay?"
He folded the torn magazine once, then twice. "I need to see Matt."
"I hope you mean Matsuda."
Mello didn't respond. He was already walking out of the aisle, out of the section, then straight toward the store's exit. Halle exhaled sharply and followed him, shaking her head.
"Mello, you're being dramatic!" she called after him.
He didn't slow down. Outside, the bookstore door chimed as he pushed through, and cold air hit the both of them. Halle had caught up beside him.
"You can't just decide everything is a conspiracy against you, y'know."
Still, no answer. She looked at him properly now. She sighed upon seeing him hop on his motorcycle.
"Fine, let's go see Matt," she caved, rolling her eyes as she sat at the back of his bike and put on her own helmet. She wrapped her arms around his waist as he quickly started the vehicle, already speeding through the quiet streets.
'Being with you makes the
Matt lay sprawled across his bed, one arm dangling off the edge, the other holding a joint that was rapidly burning down. A Crimenest track played low from his speakers. It was a song off their early albums, rough around the edges, all distorted guitar rifts and angry vocals that sounded like they were being ripped straight out of one's chest.
Matt exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. He didn't pay much attention to the tightening of his chest. As a matter of fact, he kinda liked it. Helped him feel a tiny bit more human in those moments where absurdism seeped its way into his thoughts, gnawing at his sanity. The past several weeks, nearly every event in his life has been a test of patience, and most of all, a test to see what the limits to his mental stability were. If being high every now and then was the only escape possible, fuck, he'll take it!
As he focused his thinking onto the music playing, he remembered how he'd first discovered the band when he was fifteen. Back then, his life had been a carefully curated playlist of piano recitals, orchestral performances, and whatever pop songs his classmates liked. Private school in Manchester had a way of sanding everything down until it all sounded the same, all merely hollow and superficially polished.
Matt had never really 'fit in' with his rich classmates. His parents were actually quite wealthy when he was in middle school and prior to that, all thanks to the Jeevas hotel business. However, by the time he was fourteen, his parents had given him his first lecture about saving money and being financially responsible (essentially soft-launching that they were losing money). In spite of lowering funds, Mr and Mrs Jeevas still insisted on sending their son to prep school as a way to ensure a proper education for him. You know, so that he could make wiser decisions when he inevitably takes over the hotel.
One day, someone had slipped him a burned CD. The disk had no label, and the person gave him no explanation as to what the CD even contained. For all Matt knew, it was a secret encoded message, ready for him to unravel and point him to the location of some secret society (yeah, he had a wild imagination, born from too much boredom). Only later did he notice the poorly scribbled name 'Crimenest' on it.
He remembered the first time he played it. The opening track had hit like a punch to the ribs. It was loud, emotional, and alive, more so than most of the people that were part of his school (even his everyday life, to be more general and brutally honest). It was nothing like the clean, controlled music he was used to.
He'd sat there in his bedroom, headphones on, completely frozen as the sound tore through him. To him in that moment, it wasn't just music; hearing Wedy and L's joined loud singing, the drums, and Aiber's shredding, it felt like someone had finally said everything he wasn't allowed to let out. All the anger he'd built up from his parents' reckless spending habits, from his pretentious peers, from his shitty short-term relationships, and, most of all, from the ever-looming pit of loneliness in his stomach... all that anger had taken voice, and that voice belonged to Crimenest's music.
And Matt hoped to be able to replicate that voice himself, someday.
After that day, there was no going back to classical or pop. He'd gone down the rabbit hole fast. Sex Pistols came first, with the chaotic and nearly amusing demeanor with how unapologetically loud they were. Afterwards, Megadeth, Metallica, KoRn, System of a Down, they all followed suit. Each band felt like a door opening into a different kind of genre of music, all highlighting anger, confusion, and meaning... Matt loved it. He probably loved it more than he'd loved his first girlfriend, Linda.
Matt started sneaking out of study hall to listen to music in empty classrooms, volume turned low so the hall monitors wouldn't catch him. Eventually, he'd saved up enough to buy a cheap bass guitar secondhand from a pawn shop downtown. Choosing bass was logical to him, since it wasn't too flashy or demanding. He'd contemplated learning how to play the electric guitar to be as cool as Aiber, but then again, he was a little too lazy. He needed something that was just enough for him to use in the background and still matter, still be needed. Because in either case, he didn't want to be useless or invisible! No, that would be his biggest nightmare incarnate...
He'd taken lessons for a while, too, until his mother claimed he was being unfocused and unproductive, stating that the bass guitar wasn't something serious people pursued. She then forced journalism and photography onto him as a hobby instead. So the bass had ended up under his bed, gathering dust while he learned how to make pictures instead of making noise.
Matt took another drag, letting that memory settle as Crimenest's chorus hit again, louder this time (maybe because of the pot). He smiled a bit.
Funny how things loop back.
I remember he used to be obsessed with Crimenest, as well.
Music had been the first thing that made Matt feel like himself. And somehow, it had also been the thing that led him to Mihael. Shit, his smile faded at the mere thought of Mihael... or no, of Mello.
He let out a slow breath through his nose, staring at the ceiling. He still found it ridiculous, even now, the whole Mello deal. He found it absurd that Mello seriously thought changing a name could erase who he was.
Matt shifted slightly on the bed, the mattress creaking under him.
He'd seen Mello yesterday for the first time in two years. The not-reunion had hit him harder than he expected, mostly because it was a complete surprise. The emotions he felt in that moment, yesterday, shocked him even more. See, in his eyes, Mihael had always been beautiful, but now? Now, it was practically unfair how attractive he was. No wonder he was not only the lead singer but also the center of Strawberries & Sex; he made the perfect face of the group. Now, after two years in America, he seemed sharper, a little thinner (should Matt be worried?), more controlled, like someone had taken the version Matt remembered and refined him into the perfect rockstar.
Matt's jaw tightened because the worst part was that he was angry, not just nostalgic. Mello had looked at him like he was a stranger, like they hadn't been best friends for four years and fucking for two, like Matt hadn't memorized the exact way he laughed when he was tired, like Matt hadn't-
He exhaled sharply, sitting up a bit. "Fuck," he muttered.
The joint burned between his fingers. He took another drag, though he took his time now. He was preoccupied with the thought that, even high on psychedelics, he'd probably still be able to perfectly recognize Mihael, and that alone was a problem. The idea that even if he was completely out of it (shrooms, weed, whatever) and that Mihael would still stand out in a room full of people, that was an idea one can't ignore, let alone forget.
So what did that make Matt? Pathetic? Maybe. Probably, yeah. That thought lingered just long enough before his phone buzzed, and he glanced at it lazily.
Matt hesitated, then answered, pressing the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Matt," Near's voice came through, stoic as ever. "Have you made a decision regarding joining the band?"
Right! That. Another thing he had to deal with.
He shifted the joint behind his knee instinctively (like that would hide much). "Uh," he sighed. "Not right now. Bad timing."
"Nah, nah... Just... thinking."
There was a pause. Near didn't sound too convinced. However, before Matt could find a proper excuse for why he sounded so unlike himself, a loud knock echoed through the apartment.
"Hold on," he said into the phone. "Someone's at the door."
He swung his legs off the bed, still holding the phone to his ear, and walked barefoot across the apartment. The knocking came once more, more insistent. He opened the door, and Halle (that was her name, right?) stood there. He blinked, puzzled.
He was still on the call, a fact made even more obvious when Near's voice came through the speaker: "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's Halle."
Halle, on her side, raised an eyebrow. "You're on the phone?"
She rolled her eyes and leaned slightly to look past him. "Is Matsuda here?"
Matt shook his head. "No, he went out on a date. Should be back later."
He frowned. "Why is that perfect?"
Before she could answer, a second presence stepped into view behind her. Matt's hazed brain didn't process it at first, then it did, and everything stopped.
Standing just behind Halle like he'd been there the entire time (well, he had been, Matt was just too faded to notice). Watching the redhead.
Matt's grip tightened on the phone as he said quietly, "... Oh." He paused, then let out another: "Oh..."
"Wonderful. That's actually perfect news, Halle," Mello said flatly.
Matt blinked sluggishly. "What?"
Mello stepped forward. "I wouldn't want my manager seeing me yell at you."
Her poor attempt at mediation was feeble, at best. Mello moved quickly, one hand grabbing Matt by the front of his shirt and shoving him backward into the apartment and onto a wall. Matt stumbled, phone still pressed to his ear.
"- Matt?" Near's voice crackled through. "What was that sound?"
Matt didn't register Near. He couldn't.
He hit the wall inside the entryway, breath knocked slightly out of him. Mello followed him in, and Halle stepped in after them, already looking like she was regretting coming alongside the blond. In the meantime, the redhead simply stared at the latter, still processing, still trying desperately to catch up.
"... What the hell are you doing?" he asked, slightly breathless.
Mello's grip didn't loosen.
Funny how your brain works. You'd think, years later, I'd remember the shouting first. Perhaps what I'd take from that moment, when Mello's grip on my shirt didn't loosen in the slightest, would be how angry he looked at me. Or perhaps it'd be the confusion I felt, Mello looking like he was about to hit me the day after I thought we'd made a silent promise to never let anyone know about our past together.
Instead, today as I think back to that moment, my mind wanders back to when we were eighteen. Back when things were simpler by our standards.
It'd been late afternoon in the little park behind campus. Mello and I were still just friends, then. We'd only known each other for three months.
The main way we knew one another was through my 'friend' Linda (were we even friends? She and I merely went to the same high school, and I only hung out with her freshman year because I was afraid of being lonely, especially after my parents' divorce). Linda and Mello's families apparently knew each other, and though they'd never been in the same schools, the two seemed to know each other and even be somewhat close.
That late afternoon, Mello had somehow convinced me that learning to box was 'a basic life skill,' which was a dumb as shit sentence, but I'd followed him anyway. I dunno man, it just... It felt like basic instinct, I guess. I was young, lonely, and insecure, jumping to any opportunity to hang out with someone, especially someone as cool as him. Back in those days, Mello seemed so stone-faced and intimidating, I wanted to be his bud so badly. So I threw myself at any affection he gave me, even if it meant having to endure some shitty fake boxing lesson in a trashy park.
I think I'd thrown what was probably the saddest excuse for a punch ever recorded. Man, looking back, I was a wimp! Mello laughed so hard he had to lean against a tree to prevent himself from stumbling backwards.
"You know what's unfair?" he let out once his laughter died out.
I looked down at my arms. "... Do I?"
"Yeah. And yet, you're still weak."
"Cheers," I muttered awkwardly, throwing my fist in the air.
"You barely even work out and you eat like shit."
I shrugged. "I guess. But to be honest, I would've rather earned them. Maybe then I'd be more proud."
That earned me a crooked smile. That was when I first learned one golden thing when it came to Mihael Keehl:
He hated people who got what he also desired without working hard for it; he preferred people who earned their wishes.
"Fine," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Then I'll teach you how to be stronger."
I remember just... looking at him.
God, why did he always have to sound so sure of himself? Pompous douchebag. It was always like the world could be bent into shape if he wanted it badly enough.
Yet, back then, I thought that was cool as hell. Frankly, I still kinda think that.
"So," I asked, rubbing the back of my neck, "did your parents put you in boxing lessons or something as a kid?"
"I didn't grow up with my parents."
I blinked. "Oh. Sorry..."
"Nah, they're not dead," he chuckled. "I was just in boarding school my whole life. Only saw them during the holidays." He said it so casually it almost didn't register, then. "I was ridiculously competitive growing up. Grades, clubs, even sports. If there was a ranking, I wanted to be first more than anything."
"It was," he huffed a laugh, "so much so I got tired of only being the fastest. I wanted to be the strongest, as well."
I nodded slowly. "So that's why you took up boxing, huh?"
He scoffed. "Not really." That surprised me. "I can hold my own around the average guy, I'm just not exceptional," he admitted. "Kinda frustrating, but oh well."
He grinned again, bumping my shoulder with his. "Come on, Matty." He raised his fists playfully. "One more round."
I sighed. "... I'm gonna get my ass kicked again, aren't I?"
He laughed. And because he asked me to, I swung anyway.
’If your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room
You can lean on my arm as you
Just don’t leave me alone
I am stronger than you give me credit for’
Mello’s hand stayed fisted in Matt’s shirt, pinning him against the wall as though he weighed nothing at all.
Matt should’ve pushed back or really done anything other than stand there trying to catch up with the fact that Mello was here and clearly not pretending not to know him this time, if his glaring was telling enough. In spite of it all, his brain lagged.
Two years couldn’t erase muscle memory. So he reached up, grabbed Mello’s wrist, and in one sudden motion twisted (not hard enough of course to hurt, just enough to break the hold). Mello’s eyes widened a fraction.
Matt didn’t let him finish. Instead, he pulled him forward and hugged him hard, being far from gentle with the blond, nor careful. Mello froze completely. With the impact, the phone slipped from Matt’s hand and clattered onto the floor, Near’s voice still coming through the speaker.
Neither heard Near properly. Having the redhead’s arms wrapped tightly around him, Mello’s hands hovered in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them (he really didn’t).
"Are you fucking insane?!" he snapped, voice muffled against Matt’s shoulder. "Let me go!"
Matt didn’t. He couldn’t let go now. His grip tightened instead, like if he loosened even slightly, Mello would disappear all over again.
Still nothing. Matt’s thoughts were too loud, still hazed and heavy from the joint earlier.
You’re here.
You’re actually here.
You’re not pretending you don’t know me, unlike yesterday… you’re not acting like some… some stranger.
Fuck, I missed you…
I missed you really badly, M…
He really did miss him so much it made his chest hurt in a way that reminded him he was real, alive. Only good things made one feel alive, no? So this ache within him, this anxious feeling low in his body, it was good, no?
Eventually, Mello shoved him again, harder this time, and Matt finally loosened his hold, though not fully, just enough to let him breathe. They ended up on their knees without either of them really noticing when it happened.
Matt’s hands slid up, slower now, and for a moment he just held Mello’s face, caressing his cheek as if to make sure he wouldn’t pull another ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ on him again. On his side, Mello went still, suspiciously guarded, but… well, he definitely wasn’t pulling away. Even less when Matt’s thumb brushed against his cheek, where a fading scar was.
"Quit acting like some stranger… That was a shit move from you, M," Matt let out.
Mello didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to and couldn’t even if that was what he wanted. Matt almost laughed at that fact, quickly processing that (for once, he was able to process things on time (this would be a one-time thing, naturally)).
Then, Near’s voice came through the phone again.
"Matt? I believe there’s some commotion. Are you alright?"
Mello’s head snapped toward the sound. He leaned down and picked up the phone.
"H- hey!" Matt exclaimed.
However, Mello was already walking away, crossing the condo’s main room with the phone like it had been a personal attack, upon hearing who was on the other line. Matt stared at him, still kneeling, processing too slowly.
Matt pushed himself up, but Halle, finally taking action, stepped in front of him instantly.
Matt tried to move around her, wide-eyed and worried for whatever disaster Mello was about to throw his way with that cursed work call, but Halle didn't budge. He tried again, still nothing! Then she grabbed his wrists and twisted them behind his back in one smooth motion, a sharp pain sent through the man's forearms.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" he swore.
"Relax. You're not getting the phone back while he's like this," she informed him calmly.
That made no sense. "Whatever, I don't care- I'm literally on a call!"
Matt struggled a few times, trying to break free from her grasp without hitting her (come on, he's a man of chivalry; wouldn't it be despicable of him to hit a woman? (at least, that was his logic)). Eventually, he stopped because unlike Mello, Halle didn't move. Like, at all. She was stronger than Mello and wasn't malnourished like he was.
"For fuck's sakes," Matt muttered. "You're both insane..."
Halle didn't respond, though from behind him, he could hear a little giggle of pride from her.
Near's voice came through again, and he seemed... amused now?
"Matt? I hear multiple voices. Is everything under control? If this is a bad time..."
Before Matt could yell something from across the room, Mello spoke into the phone, tone clipped.
... Nobody spoke. Even Halle had held her breath. Matt was confused on why a mysterious 'it's Mello' was the blond's choice of words. After all, Near was a successful rockstar, how in the world would he know who Mello was? Unless...
Near laughed. The sound broke the silence.
He wasn't laughing mockingly, per say, nor was it a surprised laugh. It was one of... genuine happiness?
"Oh," he let out softly. "I'm terribly happy to hear from you."
Mello's expression soured instantly. "Of course you are."
"How have you been?" Near asked, voice brightening in a way Matt had never heard before.
Mello scoffed. "Better than you, of course."
"I've missed your company," Near changed the topic, not missing a beat.
"True... You've always been a shit liar."
"Unfortunately, the same goes for you."
Matt slowly processed what he was hearing. Only slowly. Something about the exchange didn't make sense to him. Was it the tone? No... Was it the familiarity? Not exactly... it was the ease of their sudden dialogue.
He looked between Mello and the phone, picturing Near. Then it hit him.
("They know each other," he thought)
Not just vaguely or in that 'we went to the same school' kinda manner, rather something that was a little more intense. You know, like those kind of dynamics you have with a person years ago and that you just can't seem to let go, no matter how many more people you meet after them.
Matt exhaled slowly as he pieced everything together finally. It made somewhat a little sense that Near and Mello knew each other... They were all from the UK, the three men. Mihael had told him how he'd attended a boarding k-12 school in the countryside, how he only had one friend and how his life was pure hell because of some annoying 'sheep' (Mello's choice of words) who kept 'stealing' all the awards. Perhaps that sheep was Near, and that friend was Halle.
"I didn't expect you to contact me after all these years," Near let out.
"I'm not. I just found out you knew someone I knew, don't make yourself seem special."
"You still made the effort to steal someone's phone mid-call, knowing I was on the other line."
"Oh, quit it, your head is already big enough, you don't need an inflated ego as well."
"I'm glad you're still so sharp with your speech," Near seemed to say while smiling, sounding almost delighted.
"Well, I'm glad you're still an insufferable little shit."
Matt couldn't take listening to this banter anymore. He reacted instantly and drove his elbow backward into Halle's stomach. By consequence, a sudden yelp cut through the room.
"OW, WHAT THE FUCK!?" she cursed sharply. She let go of him with a sharp exhale, her hands flinging from Matt's arms to her stomach as she held it tight. "Seriously?!"
Matt didn't answer, nor did he apologize. He was already moving.
Mello turned at the sound of his bandmate's yelp, just in time for Matt to snatch the phone out of his hand.
Matt backed up immediately, holding it up like a prize despite the fact that it should've been in his hands in the first place. "You stole my phone," he said, breath uneven. "And while I was on an important call!"
Mello glared at him, then glanced at Halle, then back at him. "You hit her!"
"She was wrongfully restraining me in my apartment!"
"She was just helping me!"
"She was assaulting me. Be glad I don't call the fucking cops!"
Halle rolled her eyes, walking towards the couch to rest. "You're both idiots."
"He's the idiot," Mello pointed at the redhead.
"You're the idiot who just hijacked my entire life conversation with a potential work partner!" he pointed back.
"Oh, please. It was nothing important."
"It was literally a job offer!"
"Exactly. A job offer from Near means little, trust me."
At that point, Matt's frustration had snapped. He couldn't believe how difficult Mello was being, especially considering how indifferent he'd been just the previous day (for God's sakes, Mello had pretended Matt was an utter stranger, yet now he was acting like the guy owed him any explanation!).
"Oh my god, you are un-fucking-believable!" he retorted, voice rising. "You show up after two years, shove me into wall, steal my phone, start a fight in my home, and then act like I'm the problem? Take a look in the mirror!" Mello opened his mouth, but Matt didn't let him speak. "No- no, actually, I'm not done," he continued, gesturing accusingly with the phone. "You don't get to just walk in here and act like nothing happened. You don't get to-"
He stopped, breathing hard; Mello was just staring at him; Halle appeared mildly impressed despite herself.
"... Are you finished?" Mello asked.
Matt laughed. "No." Then he put the phone on speaker, smirking. "Near. I've made up my mind," he said loudly.
Mello's eyes widened. He knew what was coming. He'd hoped his little outburst would've made Matt never even think of...
"... I'm joining Cigarettes After Midnight."
"I love to hear it," Near replied, delighted.
Matt smirked further. Mello looked like he might combust from rage.
Near added, amused, "This has been quite an entertaining call. I look forward to more incidents such as this one."
Matt blinked. "... Incidents?"
"And I was pleasantly surprised to learn you know my," a pause, "silly Mello from my adolescence."
Mello's eye twitched at the nickname.
"Have a good day, Matt. Watari will email you details shortly. Have a good one."
Click, and the line went dead. Matt merely stood there afterward, phone still in hand, while Mello was furious and Halle seemed bored now.
"... 'Silly Mello?'" Matt repeated slowly, puzzled.
Mello was about one second away from jumping at Matt before the apartment door opened.
Matsuda stumbled in first, laughing and visibly drunk, arm slung around a very pretty but very uncomfortable brunette.
"Jeevas- Matty-Matt, you won't believe," he hiccuped, "what I just-"
Behind him, Light of all people stepped in, already looking annoyed. When he heard Matsuda speechless, he pushed past him (though made sure not to push the brown-haired woman) and stepped in. He took one look at the scene and paused. His eyebrows shot up, and his lips parted in disbelief.
"... What the fuck is going on?"
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𑣲𝄞 Click on the link below for access to the playlist for "A Match Into Water!" Feedback and comments are very much appreciated.
𑣲𝄞 Author's Note: Kudos to my bsf, @dianadotmp3, I took inspo from her for the layout! Check out her fanfics, she is MARVELOUS!! <3
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