Archive of Our Own

Matt had worn a suit exactly three times in his entire life.

The first was when his mother died. He’d been very young then, too young to know anything past the fact that his clothes were uncomfortable and Mommy wasn’t there to fix them.

The second was when his father died a few years later. By then, he knew what a funeral was, and he knew that the tie he was wearing had been tied too tight but he would get scolded if he tried to fix it.

He’d had a brief stay in an orphanage after that, but it was only a few months before he was transferred to what would be his home for the next several years of his life: Wammy’s House. The third time he wore a suit happened there, at the yearly charity dinner and ball the orphanage held. The children were expected to attend—he assumed for the purpose of showing off the work of the school—but after that one uncomfortable night, sitting in a too-stiff shirt and being appraised by rich strangers who spoke at and over him like he was a novelty instead of a six-year-old boy, he quickly decided that he would not be attending another one if his life depended on it.

As it turned out, he needn’t have been so dramatic; getting out of the next one was surprisingly easy. Apparently, a house of exclusively gifted children meant there were endless opportunities to outsmart whoever needed to be outsmarted, and he managed to skip the rest of the dinners over his time there with ease.

It was safe to say that he hated suits, and whatever dreadful affair came with them. And that track record seemed to be holding up just fine, as the fourth time Matt wore a suit was because Watari was dead.

He stared at himself in the mirror, growing more and more frustrated as he yanked his tie loose for what felt like the millionth time. He let it hang undone around his neck for a few moments, taking a couple deep breaths until he didn’t feel like he wanted to jump out of his skin.

Matt wasn’t a hot-headed person by any means. However, the last forty-eight hours had been overwhelming, and the absolute last thing he needed right now was to be bested by a lousy strip of fabric.

He closed his eyes for a second, collecting his thoughts. Less than two days ago, he’d been in his flat in Manhattan with a glass of whiskey, and now here he was in goddamn England with nothing but jet-lag and a headache. He’d gotten the call at midnight, giving him mere hours to hastily call out of work, pack, and get on the plane. He was tired.

“I’m tired.”

The nurse raised her eyebrows.

“Is that it?”

“No,” Matt said hastily, “I have a headache too. And my stomach hurts. Like, really, really bad.”

The nurse gave him a long, scrutinising look. He tried not to squirm, focusing on keeping his eyelids droopy and his body limp.

Finally, she sighed and shook her head.

“While I refuse to overlook the very convenient timing,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “I don’t want to risk anything on such an important night. However, you’ll remain here overnight: no sneaking back to your room. And you’ll take a spoonful of medicine every hour.”

Matt nodded solemnly. The nurse sighed again and left his bedside, drawing the divider curtain and closing the door with a soft ‘click.’

He lay back against the uncomfortable, slightly crinkly pillow and closed his eyes. Despite himself, he started counting in his head almost against his will.

He’d just made it to fifty-three when there was a rattling noise from the window. He stopped counting, but ignored it, keeping his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest.

There was more rattling, then a creak and a loud THUNK!, followed by a hissed curse. Quiet footsteps padded towards him, pausing near the end of his bed. Realisation struck him a moment too late, and he barely had time to brace himself before a lanky body hit him like a truck, bouncing on the thin mattress.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelped, swinging his arms to try to smack away his assailant. His fingers hit something squishy, and there was a grunt and a crash as the weight left him suddenly.

“You just hit me in the fucking eye!”

Mello’s voice cracked in anger, and Matt winced at the pitch. He was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out under him, cupping his eye and scowling up at the bed.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped on me, idiot,” Matt shot back. Mello narrowed his eyes—well. His eye.

“You could’ve fucking blinded me!”

“Calm down.” Matt rolled his eyes, even as he scooted back on the bed and crossed his legs, patting the space in front of him.

Despite his glare, Mello climbed onto the bed and plopped himself in front of him. Matt grabbed his wrist and carefully moved his hand away from his eye. It was red and watering slightly, but other than that it looked fine.

“You’re dying,” he deadpanned. “Your eye’s gonna fall out and you’re gonna bleed out all over the floor.”

Mello shoved him, nearly sending him toppling off the bed.

“Fuck you. See if I try to do something nice for you again.”

‘Fuck’ was Mello’s newest favourite word. He made a very big deal out of the fact that since he was ten, he could say it all he wanted. Matt was pretty sure that half of the time he said it, he wasn’t using it correctly.

“You didn’t do something nice for me,” he pointed out. “You snuck into the infirmary and jumped on top of me. That’s like, the opposite.”

Mello huffed. He lifted the hem of his shirt, showing something stuffed in the waistband of his jeans.

“Ungrateful, much?”

He pulled it out and held it out to Matt, who was a little wary of touching something that had just been shoved down his friend’s pants, but he took it anyway. He recognized the bright red casing immediately, and his eyes lit up.

“Awesome!”

“You need to find a better hiding place for that,” Mello remarked, watching as he switched on the gameboy. “I found it in like, three seconds.”

“You did not,” Matt muttered.

“Did too.”

Mello shoved him over, scooting up to sit next to him at the head of the bed and watch over his shoulder.

“Faking sick again, huh?”

Matt shrugged, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“It works. Why, what did you do?”

He could practically feel Mello grin.

“I took my name off the attendance sheet and seating guide last night. They won’t even notice with all the other people.”

Matt glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That seems like a lot of work for no reason.”

Mello just shrugged.

“Well, yours is just boring.”

“You’re an idiot,” Matt muttered, turning his attention back to his game.

A blaring alarm sound pulled him abruptly from his thoughts, sending a pulse of pain through his head. He groaned and grabbed his phone, quickly silencing the alarm he’d set so he wouldn’t be late.

The tie was still untied, and he quickly did it up again, not looking at the result and deciding to just leave it as he slipped on his suit jacket, then his coat.

After double checking that he had his room key tucked in his wallet, he took a deep breath and headed out.

Had the funeral been anywhere but England, Matt would have found the overcast weather bitterly coincidental; however, it was England, so he honestly would’ve been more surprised had it been anything else. It wasn’t raining—not yet, anyways—but it was chilly, and he popped the collar of his coat and pulled it tighter around the back of his neck, suppressing a shiver. He was thankful that he’d had the foresight to bring it, as well as the warm suede gloves he’d bought on a whim the year before; Manhattan winters were often too cold for anything less.

The venue was a fairly short walk away, and in only ten minutes he began to find himself among other black-clad people, all walking towards the chapel where the service was to be held. He kept his head down, not really expecting anyone to recognize him, but unwilling to deal with the awkward conversation that would follow if someone did. He highly doubted that any one of the rather wealthy-looking attendees had known Watari personally enough to be actually grieving his loss; it was far more likely their presence was to remind anyone who may have forgotten that they cared very much about the poor orphans of the Wammy’s House organisation, enough to publicly spend a couple thousand dollars to keep their images clean.

If there was one thing Matt hated more than fake mourners, it was fake mourners with something to prove.

His fingers twitched as he saw the mass of people near the doors of the chapel, and his hand gravitated towards his pocket. He usually had somewhat of a habit of being fashionably late—or just barely—and the thought of sitting in the sanctuary with nothing to do but mingle and wait made him grateful he had a vice that would save him from his unfortunate punctuality.

He found a little alcove far enough away from the doors that hopefully nobody would have a fit about it and leaned against the wall with a sigh. His lighter clicked once, twice, three times before catching, and he inhaled the first lungful of acrid smoke greedily, pinching the cigarette between his lips. Removed a bit from the crowd and partially hidden behind a dying willow tree, he felt a bit safer looking around at the people lingering near the door.

Almost as though they were being pulled by some unseen force, his eyes suddenly caught on shaggy blond hair curling up over the collar of a black fur-lined coat. Blue eyes met his, and his next exhale came in a cough, choking on the smoke until his eyes were watering and he had to hunch over to catch his breath.

No.

After a few moments, Matt forced himself to look up to see if anyone had witnessed his rather embarrassing display; luckily, the few people who remained outside seemed completely oblivious to his presence. Almost wildly, he glanced around, eyes scanning the small, sparse group of mourners.

Blond hair and blue eyes were nowhere to be seen.

The cigarette had burned out, smouldering uselessly in his hand. He ground it on the bottom of his shoe before tossing it near the base of the building. He barely had time to be disappointed about the waste, though, as the jarring clanging of church bells cut through the crisp air.

It was time.

His smoke break had burnt the time needed, and most of the mourners were seated when he entered. The only seats remaining were at the back, and he took a seat next to an elderly woman with a mumbled apology. She wrinkled her nose and glared, not-so-subtly waving a hand in front of her face at the smell of smoke clinging to his suit, despite having discarded his jacket in the coatroom. He paid her no mind, choosing instead to scan the room while the rest of the attendees took their seats.

He pretended he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. He was a liar.

“‘Scuse me.”

Matt went simultaneously hot and cold, skin prickling into goosebumps as he flushed under his shirt at the voice. He couldn’t tell quite what emotion he was feeling, head spinning as Mello settled himself next to him like he belonged there. He hardly had time to figure it out as the first notes of the organ played, and the service began.

Matt wanted to pay attention, he really did. Watari may not have been as big a part in his life as L or Mello’s, but he’d certainly cared for him, as he cared for all of the children across the various Wammy’s Houses. He remembered the few times he’d had the chance to be one-on-one with him, and how he had been the one to take Matt from the orphanage and deliver him to Wammy’s House in the first place.

However, between the preacher’s droning voice and his constant awareness of Mello’s presence beside him, Matt could do little to focus. His fingers tapped on his knee, and he had to put every ounce of concentration into not bouncing his leg lest he begin shaking the pew.

Had he considered he would run into someone he knew here? Of course. It was a given that other Wammy’s House graduates would have been informed of Watari’s death, and would be able and willing to make the trip to mourn. And he couldn’t say that he hadn’t once wondered if Mello would attend. However, as soon as that thought had entered his mind, he’d simply lit another cigarette and let it go in a cloud of smoke.

The last time he’d seen Mello was a few months after they’d graduated. They’d spent only a night together—Matt felt his face flush at the memory—and after they parted ways, Mello might as well have dropped off the face of the earth.

It was just like graduation.

“You gonna wear a suit?”

Matt scoffed, sending a silvery cloud of smoke up into the night sky. He watched it drift up and dissipate against the bright light of the full moon.

“Oh, yeah. Full tux, tailcoat, top hat—”

He chuckled, even as Mello slugged him in the shoulder a bit too hard.

“You’re such a dick.”

“Well, what were you expecting? Nah, I’m gonna dig up the button down from picture day and leave it at that.”

Mello hummed. He snapped his fingers at Matt without looking, and Matt rolled his eyes even as he handed the half-smoked cigarette over.

“You could just get your own, you know.”

“And why would I do that when I can just take yours?”

They fell back into silence, letting the distant sound of crickets fill the break in conversation. The roof had become a sort of a secret hideout for them over the years; though, judging by the untouched graffiti hidden in the unseen nooks and corners, they weren’t the first. The shingles were still warm from the summer sun the day before, even though it was nearing midnight.

“What’re you gonna do after?”

Matt rolled his head, looking over at Mello curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“You know. After graduation?”

Matt hummed, turning his eyes back to the sky. He licked his lips, dry from the smoke.

“Not sure. I still need to finish packing, so I’ll probably just hang out in the dorm.”

He held his hand out, and Mello silently handed the cigarette back.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what I…me too.”

There was something off in his voice, but the combination of the late hour and the calming effect of the nicotine was making his head fuzzy, and he easily let it go.

He realised the next night that Mello had meant something else entirely. It hadn’t taken him long to finish packing his belongings, and he spent the rest of the night lounging around the shared dorm. He considered going up to the roof, but he didn’t want to miss Mello when he came back.

Because he was going to come back. He’d said he would.

It wasn’t until after midnight, when the other boys in his dorm returned from their celebratory graduation pub-crawl, that he realized the truth. Matt had been half-asleep, fully clothed on top of his covers, but he shot up when the door clattered open, followed by obnoxious shouting and laughing.

“Eyyy, Matty!” one of them slurred when they noticed him. “What’re you doin’ up here?”

“Packing,” Matt said, trying not to wince at the volume. “Where’s Mello?”

The guys looked around at each other. The confused looks on their faces made Matt’s stomach sink.

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“He took off already,” the first guy said. “Like, right after the cer- cere- ssssserum-”

“Ceremony,” Matt mumbled. His mind was racing. He looked over to where Mello’s bed was, right next to his own, and thought for a moment about peeking under his bed to see if his black duffle bag was still stuffed underneath.

He didn’t, though. And he wasn’t sure whether it was because he already knew he wouldn’t find it, or he didn’t want to know for a fact.

That was the last time Matt saw Mello. Until a fateful winter night, six months later.

“Hey.”

A sharp elbow dug into his ribs. Matt gasped, blushing at the volume, and looked over.

Mello was giving him a pointed look.

“You’re shaking,” he muttered, gesturing to his leg. Matt looked down to see that yes, his leg was bouncing rather aggressively. He quickly stopped, shoving his folded hands down hard into his knee to keep it still.

He could hear the old lady next to him huff, and Mello snickered close to his ear.

Amazingly, he managed to keep mostly still for the remainder of the service. When it came time for the burial, he froze, something in him turning to dread.

The old couple next to him had already left the pew, leaving only him and Mello seated. He wasn’t surprised when Mello’s elbow jabbed him in the side again.

“You not going?”

Matt had been to exactly two funerals in his life. It was two too many.

He shook his head with a little half-shrug. Mello nodded.

“I don’t blame you.”

A few people remained in the sanctuary, quietly talking amongst themselves. Mello swung one leg over the other and leaned back, spreading his arms out across the back of the pew. His wrist brushed against the back of Matt’s neck, and he clenched his teeth to suppress a shiver.

“Did you see Near?”

Matt glanced over, the question sparking curiosity.

“No. Did you?”

Mello shook his head.

“I would’ve thought for sure he’d show up. Guess he’s too busy doing…whatever the fuck he’s doing these days.”

He ruffled a hand through his hair, looking around the mostly empty room.

“Didn’t see L either.”

Despite himself, Matt snorted. Mello looked at him, a small frown on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Matt promised, though he couldn’t quite keep the smirk from his lips. Mello turned fully towards him, frown deepening and eyes narrowing.

“No, what’s so funny? Spit it out.”

Matt shook his head, exhaling a soft laugh.

“No, it’s just…of course you’d bring him up.”

Mello’s brow furrowed. Matt rolled his eyes.

“Dude. You had, like, such a big crush on him when we were kids.”

The sight of a bright red flush crawling up Mello’s neck and staining his cheeks was almost worth the sharp kick to his shin with a pointed boot.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

Matt burst into laughter, ignoring the looks the sound attracted from the other people in the room. Mello kicked him again, hard enough to surely leave a mark.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” Matt demanded. “You were like a lost puppy. It was so painfully obvious, dude. I swear to god, even he must’ve noticed.”

“Oh my god.” Mello slumped back against the pew, covering his eyes with his hand. “I can’t believe this.”

“He’s like, what,” Matt scrunched his eyebrows together, playfully pretending to think, “eight years older than you? Nine?”

“Ten,” Mello muttered, glare intensifying when Matt cracked up again.

“Hey, if anyone should be allowed to make fun of you for it, it’s me. I’m the one that had to listen to you simper about him for literal years.”

“I don’t have to take this,” Mello announced. He stood up, the fur hem of his coat smacking against Matt’s shoulder. He watched him go, panic rising in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. Mello was about to leave him again, he was going to disappear because Matt took it too far—

Mello turned at the end of the pew, cocking his hip and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Well? You coming?”

“You coming?”

“Dude, slow down!”

Mello huffed in annoyance, but he stopped and let Matt catch up to him. He was panting, and he glared at Mello when he finally stopped beside him.

“What’re you in such a hurry for?” he demanded. “It’s criminal sociology. It’s literally, like, your least favourite class.”

“It is not,” Mello argued. “It’s super interesting and informative and we need to be there right now.”

Matt shook his head, but he’d long since given up trying to make sense of Mello.

“Whatever. Just…don’t go so fast. Some of us don’t have freakishly long legs.”

“You’re freakishly annoying,” Mello shot back, very intelligently and hurtfully. Matt just rolled his eyes.

As Matt expected, they were the first ones to get to the classroom. Or at least, he thought so, until Mello stiffened beside him and he glanced over to see him staring at the back of the room.

He followed his gaze, and felt his mouth drop open. He elbowed Mello in the side, eyes wide, and started to whisper, “Is that—”

“Shh!” Mello hushed him.

Their whispering was enough to attract the attention of the person standing by the window, staring blankly out into the school grounds. He looked between them, blinked slowly, and tilted his head.

“Ah,” L said, voice monotone as ever, “you two are early. Your class doesn’t start for another ten minutes, you know.”

Matt opened his mouth to answer, but Mello beat him to it.

“Always best to be early,” he said quickly, voice a little too loud and a little too high. Matt raised an eyebrow at the odd behaviour, glancing over. Curiously, Mello’s ears were tinged red, and he was standing almost ramrod straight.

L hummed, scratching the back of his head.

“That’s true in some cases,” he agreed, “but sometimes being too early can be inconvenient. Say, for instance, you missed a train because you fell asleep at the station, after arriving two hours early.”

Mello’s face got somehow redder.

“Yeah, of course,” he rushed out.

All of the sudden, Matt realised what was going on—why Mello was so eager to get to a class he usually complained about being too boring or simple. He’d heard of the upper classes having L sit in on lessons out of the blue, and the rumours alleged it was to observe the students and pick out which ones he believed had the highest prospects. It was said that students hand picked by L went on to have great success in their lives after graduation, easily obtaining positions of power in their chosen fields through their natural genius and L’s guidance.

And now that they were fifteen, their class was the next to begin with these spontaneous visits.

Of course, it made sense that Mello would want to get close to L as soon as possible. Not only was he extremely competitive by nature, but he’d always admired L; Matt had spent hours at that point listening to him rant about his accomplishments, insisting that he was going to follow in his footsteps. So, he chalked it up to hero worship and left it at that, despite how irritating Mello quickly became.

He wasn’t sure when he realised that there was something else to it. All he knew was that he was sprawled on Mello’s bed, trying to study while Mello was on another rant about L, and suddenly everything clicked.

“Oh my god.”

Mello stopped, frowning at being interrupted.

“What?”

Matt felt a grin slowly growing on his face.

“Mello…do you have a crush on L?”

The room was completely silent for a solid ten seconds, and Matt watched as his face flushed redder than he’d ever seen. Finally, he choked out, “What the fuck?!”

“Oh my god!” Matt burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching his stomach. “You totally do!”

“Shut up,” Mello barked, “shut up, shut up, shut up—”

“This is brilliant,” Matt cackled, slamming his hand on the mattress a few times, “holy shit, this is fantastic. You have a crush on L!”

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up—”

Panicked, Mello shoved him hard, sending him toppling off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor. Matt hit the ground with an, “oof,” still laughing his ass off.

“Dude,” he giggled, “Mells, he’s like. Old.”

“He’s not old!” Mello shouted, sending Matt back into a fit of laughter. “And I don’t have a crush! I just think he’s cool!”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, bub.”

Their back and forth continued through the afternoon, and in the days that followed, every time L was brought up in conversation amongst their classmates, Matt was ready to shoot Mello with a smug, knowing look to meet the immediate death glare he’d be getting in return. He was thrilled to have new teasing material over his friend, something else to get a reaction out of him.

But as time went on, he began to lose interest in the joke. Something about it started to get under his skin, itching at him until the sight of Mello’s flushed face whenever he mentioned L was less funny and more…something else. He didn’t have a word for what he was feeling, but he eventually stopped with the teasing. And as the school year wore on, work from all of their classes starting to blend together in his mind, he slowly forgot about it altogether.

He didn’t figure out the word he was looking for for a long time, and by that time it was too late.

Jealousy.

Mello navigated the streets with all the grace of someone who knew the city like the back of their hand. In an attempt to make small talk, Matt asked how long he’d lived here.

Mello just gave him a strange look.

“I live in LA,” he stated.

He didn’t elaborate. Matt didn’t ask.

The bar they ended up at was pretty nondescript, and pretty empty being a weekday afternoon. It took almost no time at all before they had drinks in front of them, the tension melting in the warmth of the pub and the alcohol.

Matt dragged his finger idly through the condensation on his glass as Mello regaled him with stories and memories from Wammy’s House, what felt like centuries ago.

“And the roof, remember? Which one of us found it, again?”

“You did,” Matt said, even though he knew Mello hadn’t actually forgotten.

“God, those were the days,” Mello murmured. Matt raised his eyebrows.

“Really? Damn, what’re you doing now that makes you miss an orphanage?”

“It’s not like that,” Mello snapped, the ice in his glass clinking as he swirled it in front of his lips. Matt waited for him to continue, but he simply took a sip and let his gaze travel to the window.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

Mello rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing these days?”

Matt shrugged a little, tracing the rim of his glass with his finger.

“Well,” he started, “I’m at a tech company in Manhattan at the moment. I’m mainly doing whitehat hacking stuff; it pays well enough, and it’s not as boring as it could be.”

When he glanced up again, Mello was giving him an incredulous look.

“What?”

“Are you serious?” He sounded almost offended. “Do they know you’re a literal genius?”

“Well, I don’t really go around yelling it in people’s faces.”

“Matt,” he said, setting down his drink and leaning forward in the booth. “You can do so much better. You’re so fucking smart, I bet you could have any job in all of fuckin’ Manhattan! In anywhere beyond Manhattan!”

In their years apart, Matt had never met someone who spoke to him quite like Mello. He would flare with passion about things that seemed inane to Matt. And he had a way of making anything he said sound aggressive, even these rare compliments.

He’d only ever heard them directed at him.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he argued, because it really wasn’t. “It pays the bills and then some. I’ve got a nice place for one person, I can afford pretty much anything I actually want, and I’m doing something I’m good at. Do you know how many people have that as their end game?”

“So you’re settling.”

“I’m not settling, Mells,” he said, starting to feel that familiar annoyance smouldering in his chest. “I just…I recognise what I have, and what I want. Some people don’t need constant excitement to feel fulfilled.”

“Well some people want more from their lives than just sitting around waiting to die!”

“Some people don’t want to throw anything good in their lives away just for some cheap thrills!”

Their voices were beginning to raise, and Matt saw the barista glance their way out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t care, though, everything he’d been thinking from the moment he realised Mello had left him—and then left him again—bubbling to the surface.

“God, you haven’t changed,” Mello spat, slamming a hand down on the table. “You’re so willing to settle for the first thing that comes to you. You’re throwing away all your potential so you can sit nice and secure in your little bubble, when you could be doing so much more.”

“Oh come on,” Matt snapped, “don’t act all high and mighty on me. You’re not some sort of world-wise go-getter; you’re a fucking coward who runs away from anything that could make you happy.”

Anyone that makes you happy.

Mello’s face was flushed, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

“You can’t expect everyone to be like you, you know. You can’t drag people to your level just because you’re scared they'll leave if you don't.”

They glared at each other, the air itself seeming to crackle with electricity between them. Matt exhaled roughly, sliding out of the booth, a hand already reaching into his pocket.

“You’re fucked up, Mello,” he said, voice dripping with malice. “Get the fuck out of my life, and this time, stay gone.”

He stormed out, ignoring the blatant stares of the few patrons they’d attracted the attention of with their yelling. His hand was clutched so tightly around his cigarettes, he felt the box bend and crinkle in his grip.

He should have stormed off. He should have walked back to his hotel room, seething in silence. But his chest was burning, and his fingers were twitching, and he needed a fucking smoke before he imploded in on himself.

His hands shook as he lit the cigarette, and he had to consciously keep from crushing it between his fingers as he let the smoke scorch his lungs.

The wall he stood against had a little outcropping that shielded him, but he could see as the first few raindrops started to fall. It took him twelve drops before he realised he was counting.

Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…

It was stupid. He was stupid; for coming here, for sitting in that pew, for following Mello out of that chapel like a goddamn dog.

Twenty-three…twenty-four…twenty-five…

He always followed Mello, always had. Even when he didn’t have to, even when he wasn’t asked, even when it was probably the worst thing he could do. He followed. And Mello ran.

Fifty-two…fifty-three…fifty-four…

The smoke was burning him up inside. It burned his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to keep from completely losing his dignity.

Shoes crunched on gravel, rounding the corner towards him. He closed his eyes, took a drag, held it longer than he probably should have.

Mello’s shoulder brushed against his, just fitting under the outcropping. The rain was falling harder, and Matt opened his eyes to watch droplets splash onto uncomfortable dress shoes and pointed leather boots.

“In case you didn’t think so,” Mello started. His voice was rough, and it sounded almost like he was forcing the words out. He cleared his throat.

“In case you didn’t think so,” he tried again, “it was hard to leave you.”

Matt stared at the ground. Mello tolerated the silence for all of about ten seconds.

“I don’t run from everything,” he said. Matt rolled his eyes, and he said, “really, I don’t. I don’t. I just—”

“You just run from me,” Matt deadpanned. “Yeah, got it.”

He finally looked up. Mello’s face was almost pained, and it made his breath catch on his next inhale of smoke.

“I can’t be what you want,” he muttered. “You know that, Matty.”

Matt chuckled bitterly.

“You idiot.”

Mello swallowed hard. Matt sighed, shaking his head.

“You were always what I wanted. You just never opened your fucking eyes.”

If not for the outcropping, he could have blamed the wetness on his cheeks on the rain. As it was, he could do little more than purse his lips around his cigarette and turn his face away.

A leather-gloved hand hesitantly cupped his cheek. He shut his eyes tightly, grimacing when it squeezed more tears out to drip down his face.

Slowly, Mello turned his head to face him again. Against all his better judgement, he looked.

Mello looked broken.

“My eyes are open now,” he said. And they were, bright blue and piercing into Matt’s fucking heart.

He felt something break. The cigarette, burnt to the filter, fell to the wet pavement.

“Fuck you, Mello,” he whispered.

Mello’s lips tasted the same as they had years ago, now glazed with alcohol and the last wisps of smoke from Matt’s cigarette. The bare inch of height between them that Mello had used against him at any chance he’d got when they were kids made it so he just had to tilt his face up to get the right angle, and blonde hair tickled Matt’s face where his bangs fell into his eyes. Matt pushed, and Mello pushed, and they were right back to where they’d always been. As always, Mello pushed harder, and Matt stumbled back as he lost his balance.

A hand pressed to his lower back, keeping him upright. He wrapped his arms around Mello’s neck, pulling him flush to his chest even as the rain, now a downpour, soaked his hair in moments. Mello didn’t seem to mind either, with the way he seemed to try pulling him impossibly closer, to the point of bending him into a slight dip. His hands, firm on his back and his face, matched the near frantic energy of his lips as he nipped and licked and pushed, and Matt parted his lips without hesitation.

When the kiss finally broke, they stayed close enough that their lips still brushed.

As soon as Matt was able to think in sentences again, he panted into the scant space between them.

“I’m about five minutes away.”

“I’m three,” Mello said roughly, and without any more words he grabbed Matt’s wrist and pulled him behind him as he began stalking down the sidewalk. Matt stumbled but quickly recovered, hot on his heels.

Always following, always willing. He twisted his wrist so Mello’s hand was gripped in his own, and instead of pulling away, long fingers intertwined with his.

Mello’s fingers were cold and bony where they were clamped around his forearm. He yanked Matt into the room and spun him around to use him to slam the door shut, probably waking a few of the people in the next room of the motel. He was on him in an instant, fingers moving up to his arm and squeezing until Matt was sure there were nail marks under his shirt.

“Take this off,” he hissed, the only words they’d spoken since leaving the club. “I’m gonna get the lube, if you’re not on the bed by the time I find it I’m fucking you against the damn door.”

It was harsh, it was sharp. It was Mello.

Matt tentatively squeezed Mello’s hand. There was barely a pause before Mello squeezed back, grip tight and comforting.

It was shoulders brushing against warm roof tiles. It was backs pressed together on either side of a bed while they studied.

It was Mello.

The hotel was lavish, as to be expected from Mello. Matt hardly took in the details, though; anything past Mello’s hand in his own and the pounding of his own heart was lost on him.

And then Mello was pulling him into his room, nudging the door shut with his foot. Matt was half expecting him to shove him against it, a mirror of the last time things went this way; instead, Mello looped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. Gloved hands pressed into his lower back, and Matt had to drape his arms over Mello’s shoulders to keep his balance as he pulled them flush together.

It was wholly different than the last time, though neither of them acknowledged the change. Their lips met again, slick and desperate, and by the time they broke for air Matt’s head was swimming.

“C’mere,” Mello panted, and then he was grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the room.

Matt barely had time to shed his dripping coat before he was being pushed back onto the plush bed, bouncing slightly. He left his legs hanging over the edge and watched as Mello let his own jacket fall to the floor, then knelt to unlace his boots with practised ease.

He glanced up, his expression unreadable.

“You dumbass,” he murmured. Matt frowned, but before he could protest, Mello was crawling forward to where his feet dangled off the mattress.

“You’re gonna get mud over everything,” he scolded softly, and Matt raised his eyebrows as he pulled at the laces of his dress shoes and eased them off. It was strange, this drastic change in Mello’s behaviour, and Matt suddenly felt as though they were back in the orphanage, when their power dynamic did not exist.

Because for as much as Matt had always followed, Mello never let him get too far behind.

His shoes fell heavily to the floor, and then Mello was on him, pushing until Matt was laying fully on the bed. His arms lay on either side of Matt’s head, caging him in until Mello was all he knew. He was wearing too much cologne, and his hair tickled Matt’s face, and it was all Matt could do to keep from tangling his fingers in it and pulling.

Mello leaned in, nosing into the crook of his neck and trailing his lips over the sensitive skin. Matt’s next exhale came out in a soft whine, and he felt Mello smirk against him.

Fuck it, he thought as he practically ripped his gloves off, tossing them who knew where and reaching up to run his fingers through Mello’s hair, gently scratching along his head as he did so.

The effect was instant, Mello tilting his head back to lean into his touch, practically purring at the feeling. Matt’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smirk, which became more difficult as his fingers caught on a small knot and tugged. Mello’s eyebrows furrowed, lips parting with a quiet whimper.

“You’re so sensitive here,” Matt murmured. Mello narrowed his eyes and yanked his head away, the flush already in his cheeks rising to colour the tips of his ears.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbled. Either in retaliation or simply to keep him quiet, he captured his lips again, nipping at them with purpose and running his tongue along the seam. Matt opened up willingly, letting Mello probe his mouth with his tongue and make his thoughts fuzzy. He vaguely felt cool hands against his skin as Mello unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall open and running his hands up his chest.

He pulled away, and Matt watched in a daze as he pulled his own shirt free from his pants and fumbled with the buttons. He slowed when he caught Matt looking, a grin tugging at his lips, and purposefully slid the shirt down over his shoulders.

“Like what you see, Matty?” he asked, cocking his head. He trailed his fingers up his own abdomen, moving in a way that showed off the way his lean muscles rippled under smooth skin.

“Yeah,” Matt mumbled, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth as he watched the display. Mello knew he was hot, and he knew Matt knew he was hot, and he was very, very good at using that to his advantage.

He laughed, low and knowing. This was the Mello other people saw: cocky, confident, sexy. It was the Mello that had dragged him to that damned motel; who knew he had Matt wrapped around his little finger.

He slid off of his lap, giving Matt a moment to breathe. He watched as he undid his pants and slid them down his hips, pausing to give Matt a pointed look. It took him a second to realise that he was supposed to be doing something, and he scrambled to unbutton his own pants, kicking them down his legs and onto the floor.

He was sure he must look a sight, sprawled out on the hotel bed, shirt unbuttoned and splayed out under him, flushed down to his chest.

However he looked, it seemed like Mello approved, as the moment he was free from his pants he was back on top of Matt, pressing wet, suckling kisses over the planes of his chest. His lips smacked with each one, and when Matt looked down he could see patches of saliva glistening in the low light, glossing over light red marks.

It should have been gross, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but pure want.

“Mells,” he murmured, a hand instinctively going back up to his hair. Mello hummed in acknowledgement, the sound sending vibrations through Matt’s chest where his lips were suctioned to the skin.

“I want,” he started, before realising he had no idea where he was going with it. He wanted everything, anything Mello would give him and then more. He wanted to consume, and be consumed in turn; wanted to push and press against him until they melted into each other like hot wax.

He wanted Mello to devour him.

Perhaps it was a testament to how well they knew each other, or maybe Mello was just as desperate as him. Either way, he felt Mello’s teeth scrape over his skin as he took hold of Matt’s wrists, guiding his hands down until his fingertips caught on the waistband of Mello’s boxers.

“C’mon,” he urged, rolling his hips forward. “No more waiting.”

Matt wasn’t about to disagree.

His breath caught in his throat as he dragged Mello’s underwear down, finally exposing him fully. He was almost fully hard, and Matt watched his stomach shudder as he gripped him firmly.

“God,” he exhaled, head dropping down between his shoulders. He twitched in Matt’s hand, and he felt him harden further.

“You’re wet,” Matt said, gently teasing. And he was, a bead of precome dripping down his length to slick his fingers.

“Shut up,” Mello growled, though he shivered and jerked when Matt pressed his thumb against the slit.

He did, if only because he had no room to talk. He could feel himself leaking in his boxers, and he was sure that if he looked down, he’d see a damp spot in the grey fabric stretched over his hardening length.

Mello glanced down, a smirk spreading over his lips. He shimmied down until he was sitting on Matt’s knees and, with a look as innocent as the situation allowed, traced his index finger over where Matt was indeed leaking through his boxers.

“Needy?” He asked, eyes glinting with mischief. Matt just swallowed and tried not to let his hips twitch up into the slight touch.

He failed, and Mello chuckled and patted his hip. He slid off the bed and sauntered over to the corner of the room where his suitcase lay open on the floor, swaying his hips ever so slightly. The light was soft on his skin, and when he turned to give Matt a smug grin, it caught the colour of his eyes.

“You’re lucky I’m a slut.”

Matt sat up on his elbows to see what Mello had retrieved, and scoffed at the sight of the small plastic bottle.

“Did you seriously bring lube to a funeral?”

“Hey,” Mello said defensively, though his tone was light and joking as he tossed something onto the bed next to him, “England happens to have a lot of pretty faces. I figured I’d stay a couple extra days, blow off some steam.”

He climbed back onto the bed, straddling Matt’s hips again with a sharp grin.

“Sue me.”

“I think I can do better than that,” Matt teased. Mello rolled his eyes, but he could tell he was holding back a laugh.

“You’re such a dork.”

He popped the cap on the bottle and squeezed some onto his fingers and spread it between them, and Matt spread his legs to give him easier access. However, to his surprise, Mello sat up on his knees and reached behind himself, arching a little to get the angle right.

Matt lay on his stomach on the scratchy sheets, cigarette in hand. He winced slightly when he shifted, tilting his head up to blow a stream of smoke towards the dismantled smoke alarm on the ceiling.

The mattress dipped behind him, and Mello’s nails trailed lightly up his back, tracing the scratch marks he’d left there less than an hour before.

“Think I made you bleed a little,” he murmured. Matt rested his head in the crook of his elbow, turning his face to look at him.

“‘S fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Mello hummed, but didn’t respond. Matt pushed himself to sit up, managing not to grimace at the slight burn in his lower half, and turned to face Mello.

“I’m a big boy,” he teased, and Mello rolled his eyes.

“You’re a freak.”

Matt chuckled lowly, running his hands up Mello’s sides just to see him shiver.

“I can be even more of a freak, if you’d like.”

Mello huffed out a laugh.

“Already? Shit, Matty, didn’t know you had it in you.”

Their lips met in a messy kiss, and Matt pushed until Mello was sprawled under him. He nudged a knee between Mello’s thighs to spread them, but in an instant he was being shoved hard enough that he almost fell off the bed.

“What—”

Mello was glaring at him, all trace of the previous softness gone.

“I don’t fucking bottom,” he growled. Matt couldn’t say he wasn’t a little disappointed, but the thought disappeared from his mind as Mello grabbed him by the hair and pulled, tossing him onto his back and pinning him easily.

Matt caught his hand, making him look down in confusion.

“What’re you doing?”

He swallowed, tracing his thumb along the prominent blue vein in Mello’s wrist.

“Are you sure?”

Mello looked at him like he was rather slow, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t, idiot.”

He shuffled on his knees and reached behind himself again. There was a brief pause, and then his eyelids fluttered and his lips parted with a soft breath.

Not quite sure what to do with his hands, Matt smoothed his palms up Mello’s thighs, feeling his muscles flex as he expertly stretched himself.

Maybe it was because the room was quiet otherwise, but every one of Mello’s noises seemed near deafening in his ears. The soft huffs of breath when he did something he seemed to like; the quiet whine when he added another finger; even the slick sounds that should have been unappealing only made it all feel more intense. He ran his hands up Mello’s sides, trying to calm himself so not to seem like he was rushing.

Finally, Mello let out a shaky exhale, and suddenly his hands were all over Matt—nails scratching lightly over his chest, leaving invisible trails of fire in their wake.

“C’mon,” he murmured, leaning down to catch Matt’s lips in a quick kiss before shuffling down, pressing his lips to his skin as he moved. He grasped Matt firmly, making him gasp and his hips buck, and he realised what it was that Mello had thrown onto the bed before.

He rolled the condom over Matt’s dick like it was second nature and sat up on his knees. Matt barely had time to take a deep breath before Mello lined himself up, gave him a bright grin, and sank down in one fluid motion.

Matt threw his head back against the pillows, fingers clutching the sheets so hard he thought they might have torn. Mello made a quiet, high-pitched noise as he bottomed out, hands curling into fists on Matt’s chest and eyes rolling up.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, knees twitching and drawing together. He gave a short, experimental roll of his hips, and Matt groaned at the way he spasmed around him.

Another whining noise escaped from Mello’s throat as he tilted his head back, and Matt gaped up at him as he panted through his mouth. Mello had always been responsive in general—Matt had learned a long time ago that it was incredibly easy to get a reaction out of him, whether it was a burst of rage or a boisterous laugh. Usually rage. But this was different; every small movement, every light touch, was enough to pull a new sound or twitch. It was intoxicating. Mello was a drug, and Matt was addicted.

“So good,” he murmured, only half-thinking. He only realised he’d said it out loud when Mello moaned, louder than he had all night, and ground his hips down.

“Harder,” he panted, nails digging little crescent-shaped marks into Matt’s chest. He lifted his eyes, and Matt was shocked to see tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

“Fuck me like you mean it.”

It was as if the last string holding him back had broke. Mello’s back hit the mattress, hair splaying out over the pillows like a golden halo as Matt crawled over him. He hovered over Mello for a moment, taking in the image of him like this, before pushing back in in a deep thrust.

The noise that pulled out of Mello was unlike any of the ones he’d heard so far. He arched his back so hard it cracked, the strangled moan ringing in Matt’s ears. He needed to hear more, and with Mello’s lanky legs wrapping around his waist, he started pounding into him with abandon.

Mello cried out, heels digging into Matt’s lower back as he tried to meet his thrusts. Between his reactions and the tight heat around him, Matt felt the heat start to spread between his hipbones.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hanging his head down between his shoulders. His lips were a hairs’ width away from Mello’s, and it took a moment, but he realised that he was whispering something between his punched out breaths.

“Mail,” he chanted breathlessly, “Mail, Mail, Mail—”

The arousal in Matt’s gut spiked suddenly, pulsing through him in dizzying waves. He threw his head back and groaned, loud and long, hips stuttering as he fucked into Mello through his orgasm, pleasure turning his body to static.

He dropped his head after the intensity fizzled out, though his hips still twitched as he felt a few more pulses of come shoot into the condom. He buried his face in Mello’s neck, breathing in the scent and mouthing at the skin, feeling sweat coat his lips.

“Fuck—”

Mello’s voice vibrated against his lips, high and hoarse. Matt lifted his head only to be pulled into a messy kiss, Mello doing little more than shoving their tongues together as he shook against him.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, “‘m so fuckin’ close—fuck, Mail—”

Matt groaned, doing his best to keep the pace despite overstimulation beginning to creep up. He wrapped a hand around Mello, jerking quickly as Mello practically cried into his mouth.

He broke the kiss after a few seconds, pressing his lips to Mello’s cheek.

“C’mon,” he whispered brokenly into his ear. “Come for me, Mihael.”

Mello gasped, eyes flying open as his nails dug into Matt’s skin. He winced as pain blossomed out from his grip and Mello clenched around him in a vice grip, and finally felt him spilling over his fingers.

He slowed his hand when Mello went limp, but he didn’t stop completely until he whimpered and shuddered violently. Another small dribble of come leaked down his length, and only then did Matt finally pull his hand away.

It was then that he realised he was trembling, arms barely keeping him up. He shakily pulled out and stripped off the condom, tying it off and tossing it to the foot of the bed before flopping down on his stomach, half laying on Mello.

The light from outside had changed from grey to dusty gold, just bright enough for Matt to make out Mello’s face. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly, and he shivered as he caught his breath.

For a moment, Matt thought he might have been asleep. Then his eyes opened slightly, and Matt’s breath caught in his throat. Mello’s pupils were blown, and his lips spread into a lazy grin.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against Matt’s, one hand coming up to rest on his jaw. It was tender, gentle, and Matt felt like his heart could break.

Mello did fall asleep soon after, still close enough that Matt could feel his breath brushing against his lips. His whole body was heavy with exertion, and his eyelids were heavy, but he couldn’t bring himself to join him.

He laid his hand over Mello’s, still resting on his face, and laced their fingers together. Dread sat like a cold lump in his chest, waiting to break open and break his heart again. Still, he decided he could let himself indulge in the warm haze of afterglow for a few moments, so he turned his head and pressed a kiss to Mello’s palm.

With Mello’s heat and weight beside him, he found himself drifting in and out of sleep. Finally, when the golden light had faded to orange and then a twilight purple, he forced himself to wake up and slowly, slowly drag himself out of bed.

His clothes hadn’t had a chance to dry, having been crumpled in different places all over the room, and he cringed when he slid on his damp dress shirt that still clung to his skin. He decided to forego the tie and just shove it into his pocket, when—

“Matt?”

Matt spun around, still holding his tie. Mello was propped up on an elbow, blinking at him through the hair hanging messily over his eyes.

He pushed himself up a little more, wincing in a way that made Matt grimace in sympathy. He pushed his hair out of his face, rubbing his eyes, still obviously not fully awake.

“Where’re you going?”

Matt glanced towards the door, then down at the tie still crumpled in his hand, then back up at Mello. He was looking at him with a sort of hesitance that made him look almost fragile.

Fuck it, he thought viciously to the nagging voice of fear in the back of his mind. Heartbreak be damned.

“Nowhere,” he said, dropping the tie.

He crawled back into bed, wrapping his arms around Mello. He shivered, but pressed his lips to Matt’s neck nonetheless.

“You’re cold,” he murmured. Matt laughed quietly.

“That’s what happens when you walk three minutes in a downpour,” he teased. “We’ll get a shower in a minute.”

“Mkay,” Mello mumbled against his skin, eyes already drooping closed again.

It didn’t feel like last time, when Matt was dressed and out of the motel at a single glare from Mello. It didn’t feel like graduation, when he realised years later that he had known in the back of his mind that he would not be seeing Mello again.

It felt like Mello slumped against him, heavy and already snoring against his chest. And Matt knew that finally, they were staying right where they were.

“Finally.”

Matt hoisted himself onto the roof with a huff, shuffling up the tiles until he could lay beside Mello, already lounging like he was entirely at home.

“Calm down, I’m hardly five minutes late. Had to talk to the professor about something.”

“Whatever. You’re lucky I waited.”

Matt rolled his eyes, deciding not to grace him with a response.

The moon was full, bright enough that he could see every detail of Mello’s face when he turned his head. He looked almost serene, eyes closed and lips barely parted; it was a look Matt only ever saw on the roof. Even when he slept, he often had a furrowed brow and a frown as he mumbled to whatever nightmare he was having.

Mello opened his eyes, catching his gaze before he could look away.

“What?”

Matt hesitated, then shrugged.

“Nothing.”

Mello raised an eyebrow.

“Really? C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Despite himself, Matt chuckled.

“I don’t know,” he said after a few moments. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

Mello rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. His eyes sparkled with moonlight and curiosity.

“Like what?”

Matt sighed, closing his eyes.

“Thinking about the future, I guess.”

Mello snorted.

“When do you ever do that?”

“You know what, screw you, I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“No, wait,” Mello said, scooting closer. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, eyes stubbornly closed. “C’mon, Matty, tell me.”

He hadn’t yet tried to put what had been plaguing his mind lately into words, but he supposed he might as well now.

“Just…what are we gonna do after we graduate? Where will we end up?”

Mello was quiet for a few seconds before he laughed.

“Dude, that’s like…ages away. We have years to decide.”

“You’re starting to sound like me,” Matt tried to joke, but it fell flat. He wasn’t used to worrying about the future, but something had shifted lately that he couldn’t quite explain; an insistent anxiety about losing the security of what he’d grown to call home.

What he would never admit—to Mello, nor anyone else—was that Wammy’s House was never his home. Home for him wasn’t a place; over the years, he’d grown to realise that home was a person.

Perhaps Mello sensed the seriousness of the situation, because he didn’t shoot back with a joke or a tease. Instead, he said nothing, wordless for a long enough time that Matt eventually opened his eyes and looked over.

He had a look about him that seemed out of place, and it made something in Matt’s chest squeeze oddly. Odd, but not unfamiliar when it came to Mello.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he said softly. “Like I said, it’s ages away. Besides…”

He lay down on his back again, shuffling closer until his shoulder was brushing Matt’s. He gave him a small smile, though it looked a bit hesitant.

“You’ve got me, right? Doesn’t matter where we are—whether it’s Wammy’s or the middle of nowhere, or the biggest city on earth. We’ve got each others’ backs.”

Matt swallowed hard. Maybe it was childish, but he held up a hand with his pinkie out.

“Promise?”

Mello huffed and rolled his eyes, but Matt could tell he was trying not to smile. He linked their fingers, shaking their hands once.

“Promise, you weirdo.”