GAME OVER.

Mello  slumps  into  the  couch  besides  him ,  the  decrepit  fabric  spewing  dust  ridden complaints  as  he  did  so ;  one  leg ,  boring  expensive  leather  slides  over  the  other.   “ you always  eat  the  same  shit. ”  he  mutters  but  that  doesn’t  stop  him  from  reaching  for  one of  a  plethora  of  burner  phones ;  at  this  point  in  their  relationship  they  had  accumulated  a  rather  impressive  collection  of  them.

nails ,  coated  in  black  varnish  type  out  the  number  he  had  long  since  memorized.  for  a transient  moment  there’s  a  hint  of  normalcy  birthed  within  these  simple  actions ;  within their  banter  but  it’s  abolished  as  a  intake  of  breath  has  his  bruised  ribs  tender ; habitually  he  grits  his  teeth.

it  was  unlike  mello  to  share  his  pain  with  others ,  to  share  many  parts  of  him  with others.  the  things  matt  knew  about  him  were  far  more  extensive  than  any  other  but  even  then  there  were  things  he  did  not  know ,  things  he  would  rather  keep  from  him.

“ Pepperoni ?  please  don’t  tell  me  you  want  extra  pineapple  again  or  i  might  actually  end  your  fucking  life. ”   long  since  had  he  became  accustom  to  matt’s  extraodinary  orders  and  by  now  the  delivery  kid  looked  less  shocked  and  more  frustrated  upon  arrival.

“ I’ll  pick  it  up.  stay  here. ”  it  wasn’t  as  if  they  could  disclose  their  position  so  carelessly  and  the  people  who  delivered  hardly  cared  as  long  as  they  got  their  hefty tip ;  the  venal pieces  of  shit.  

“A little monotony never killed anyone.” Is his simple response as he cuddles up a little closer to Mello. He’s feeling needy, that’s for certain, and he dreads the fact that Mello will have to leave to get the food. Matt really hates being alone and the thought of losing Mello even for a moment makes his heart twist in his chest. 

Matt listens to Mello order with his eyes shut tight. For a moment it feels like the whole room is spinning and that he’s losing all control. It’s a scary feeling and he’s not sure if he wants to continue, but Mello is already ordering and it’s too late to say he’s not hungry. “Pepperoni’s fine.” He doesn’t feel like trolling the cooks today. In fact, he doesn’t feel like doing much of anything.

UNSTEADY,  he  rolls  his  eyes  as  slides  his  arm  beneath  matt’s ;  bolstering  him  as  he  forced  the  door  open  with  the  cap  of  his  boot.  the  place  was  rancid ,  stale  and  covered  in  far  more  dust  than  had  been  here  when  they’d  got  the  shit-hole.

“  hard  to  believe  this  place  is  still  fucking  here. ”  should  it  burn  to  the  ground ,  this  entire  complex ;  not  a  single  soul  would  mourn  their  departure.  this  was  a  place  where  those  the  world  discarded  would  flourish ,  generally ,  within  depravity.  they  were  not  unlike  those  people ,  forgotten ,  those  who  never  made  it  to  their  full  potential;  those  who  were  better  noted  as  granular  images  from  years  ago.

a  bar  of  chocolate  is  procured ,  the  silver  wrapper  charred  from  mello’s  most  recent  encounter  with  death’s  minacious  blade ;  a  narrow  escape,  as  always.

“ wanna  order  somethin’  ?  ”  interrogative  brow  rises.  it  had  been  a  long  ride  back  to  this  place ,  perhaps  purposefully  so ,  perhaps  here ;  there  were  far  too  little  risks  for  mello  to  be  truly  satisfied,  one  who  desires  for  only  the  most  perilous.

matt  was  bad  at  looking  after  himself.  if  mello  didn’t  kick  his  ass  he  wasn’t  dubious  that the  other  would  dedicate  himself  obsessively  to  his  games  and  forget  to  feed  himself.  he took  it  upon  himself ,  he  had  been  like  that  since  their  first  days  together  and  it  was something  that  had  clung  to  him  in  adulthood.

Rancidity at its finest—! Matt chooses to live in squalor every time; Matt chooses to stay by Mello’s side every time. Much as he would like to live in his condo with Mello, he has a feeling that Mello’s pride would never allow it. Not unless Mello is putting forth an equal or greater amount of cash that is required of digs that fancy. Mello will never be on Matt’s level of tech savvy, but Matt would also never rub that in his face.

“I’m afraid this shitbox is going to go up in smoke every time I take a drag.” He’s feeling too fried to play video games. Hell, he’s feeling too fried to even have another smoke. Matt crashes onto the couch immediately and draws his knees up to his chest. He’s in need of some form of comfort, but knows that he’ll have to self-soothe. It’s never good to ask Mello for the touchy-feely stuff. Never has gone over well and never will.

Matt opts for picking at his fingernails. A worthy distraction in his time of need. The redhead knows Mello won’t find satisfaction in the quietude for long. Sooner or later he’ll need to do something dangerous—something performative. Matt has never really understood why Mello has to prove his self-worth time and time again, but he stands by him all the same. Supports him all the same. That’s what good friends do, isn’t it? 

“ Dumbass. ”  he  is  the  reasons  for  these  tears.   should  he  have  been  conquered  by  KIRA ,  what  remnants  of  the  man  weeping  before  him  would  be  left… ?  

so  he  permits  it ,  just  once ;  for  the  torn  leather ,  adorned  with  his  blood ,  meant  less  to  him  than  matt  did.  he  would  never  admit  such.  it  was  not  of  importance  was  it ?  if they  were  alive ,  if  they  were  together ;  then  it  didn’t.

“ we  should  go  inside. ”  forsake  him  he  would  not,  firmly  gripping  the  other’s  wrist , hoisting  him  to  his  feet.  " come  on.“  

“Y-yeah? But I’m your dumbass.” He laughs a shaky laugh, though there is no joy in it. If Mello were to leave this plane of existence, Matt doubts he’d ever be the same. For a while there he thought Mello was gone and everything just...fell apart.

white  fluffy  clouds  drift  leisurely  through  a  pristine  blue ,  mello’s  eyes  fixated  upon  them ; their  reflections  in  his  glasses.  

they  had  always  been  by  one  another ;  for  as  long  as  he  could  remember.  Be  it granular  recounts  of  wammy’s  house  as  children,  or  working  arduously  along-side  the mafia  to  subdue  Kira.  there  was  no  one ,  he  would  rather  be  by  his  side ;  even  if  at times,  he  had  a  less  than  appreciative  way  of  showing  it.

“ i  won’t  have  to. ”  his  words  are  but  a  murmur,  meant  for  no  ears  other  than  Matt’s  , a pallid  arm  with  lacerations  in  abundance   slips  around  his  quivering  shoulders ;  pressing him  firmly  into  his  side.    

Matt can’t stop the tears—as much as he forces down the sobs the tears just keep coming. Eventually his ‘waterproof’ eyeliner does streak. For as long as he can remember he’s had Mello by his side—the very thought of losing him fills him with a dread that he is unable to describe in any way other than all consuming.