We cannot believe how many people turned out and participated for this small ship! It truly was a joy to see everyone hyping each other up in the tags and replies. This is one of the easiest fandom events I’ve ever run and that is because of all of you, for making this such a welcoming environment and sharing the love you have for Matt and Mello no matter what format they come in.
Thank you all for your hard work and passion, we cannot wait to see you again next year!!
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Mello spent the night before his wedding on the phone to Matt with one hand and steering his car with the other.
Matt had nodded off some time back, so there was nothing much for Mello to listen to, just the hiccups of his breathing stopping and starting, jerking Mello’s heart like a string tied around it.
There were 21 bridges leading off Manhattan; 21 possible exits. Don’t even get him fucking started about the tunnels.
But Matt would like a view, he thought; he had said something like this, years ago, when Mello pulled him stumbling out of the thin woods of the hill behind the orphanage. Matt had been fucking freezing to death but all he could talk about were the fall colors and the mosses on rocks. He had fallen asleep right in the bathtub where Mello put him, and Mello watched the ripples shiver and quiet.
Mello drove at 30mph in the slow lane, a rock diverting the stream of continuous honks.
There. A figure slouched over the rail. Mello clicked his hazards on and rolled the car to a stop. The honks got louder outside. Cars began shuttling resentfully into the left-hand lane, and Mello joined them, before coming around the bonnet and vaulting over the barrier to the pedestrian walkway.
“Don’t come closer. I’ll jump.”
Mello sighed; it wasn’t him.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
“Don’t call the police. I’m serious.”
“I’m not.”
“Really?”
“Do you fucking want me to?”
“…No.”
“Well, then,” said Mello. Someone revved and drove past them screaming, with their middle finger out. He started walking back to his car and then turned back around.
“Don’t do that. You’re going to—” He couldn’t explain it. “—fuck it all up.” When he started his car back up his hands were shaking; his eyes felt cold from the wind blown into their tears.
When he picked his phone back up, he found that Matt had cut the line.
It took Mello until dawn to drive around 21 bridges. After that, he ran out of time. There were too many hospitals for him to get to all of them, it just wasn’t feasible, and he was getting married tomorrow. The sun came up and told him: today.
His navigation showed that traffic over the Triborough was fucked; they had closed the outgoing lane, someone had phoned in a jumper.
Mello took the long way home. He thought about his childhood.
On the pavement, Matt woke with a start, as if someone had called his name. A corner of sun was peering around the top of the overpass. Under his ear, his phone was a hard pillow: dead, the screen cracked and facedown in the little stain of blood where he'd fallen and hit his head. The world hurt and for a while he just sat. Morning shifted tiredly into afternoon and he got up. Unsteadily, holding onto errant branches and alleyway entrances, he headed off on the odyssey back to his flat. He needed to get back. He wanted to charge his phone.
At first i was like, these two would never get married. But then it hit me that LA isn't all that far from Vegas.... If they're getting married, they're getting married by The King.
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Mello was so beautiful Matt often found him hard to look at; when he blinked, afterimages of him floated around his seared, blushing retinas / Matt's poxy, pitted skin was beautiful to Mello, too, as the craters on the moon were; the braces on his teeth flashed like satellites, and he saw him backlit by the stars of all the universe.
