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Matt’s fucked up.
He’ll stare at a blank wall for hours, thinking about nothing and everything at once.
Mellos cruel. Mello’s cold, and fierce; Mello’s everything Matt’s not.
Matt loves him. Mello doesn’t do ‘love’.
They’ll fuck. And maybe, if Matt’s lucky, Mello will stay the night, keeping a safe distance between them; the space a canyon Matt dared to cross.
They were basically dating.
Matt hates himself.
He leaves scars on the parts he hates.
Sometimes, actions are easier than words, and Matt didn’t want to admit he’s weak. Not in front of him.
Mello’s scary. Mello’s never scared Matt, but god only knows what he’d do if he ever found out.
Matt is sick. He gets off on the pain, the pleasure—the power. Mello doesn’t know. Would he even care?
Matt didn’t want to find out.
He likes to do it in the bathroom. His bedroom door doesn’t have a lock on it.
Even if he’s home alone, which he often was, shutting out the world around him gave him a sense of safety.
He’d sit, cross-legged, metal cutting through the layers of his skin, blood dripping down his arms.
He’d stare, watching the droplets as they left maroon red trails in their wake. He’d do it until his skin was liquid, until the pale of his arm was hidden by inflamed gashes.
When it was over, he’d clean them with a white towel, the pure fabric staining an ugly red.
An ugly red, like the colour of his hair.
He’d throw it into the washing pile, and then he’d wait an hour—basking in the feeling of the burn before he bandaged them up half hazardously, winding the gauze around his arm.
He’d pull his sleeves up, light a cigarette, and make himself a sandwich.
Matt liked striped shirts. Sometimes, the sleeves reflected the scars underneath, strips of red slashes and pale skin. Matt didn’t like that, so he started wearing plain black ones instead.
Mello’s analytical. Mello notices the change, silently, and raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t do much more.
Matt doesn’t take his shirt off during sex anymore. Mello thinks it’s weird, and Matt tells him he’s put some weight on, and he doesn’t want Mello to see him in that state, he jokes.
Mello doesn’t find it funny, because Mello doesn’t believe him.
Still, they fuck all the same, Matt feeling loved in moments like these—watching Mello’s eyes roll back, hearing the way he called his name like the most beautiful symphony.
It was almost as good as the cutting.
Almost.
One night, Mello shows up uninvited.
The last time Matt did that, he’d been kicked out by the blond, door slamming harshly in his face as the cold nipped away at his pale skin.
Something else nipped too, but this wasn’t cold; it was scorching, a burning hot rush that came with every languid drag of a blade, with every lie he told both himself and Mello.
He was disgusting, to enjoy such a thing as much as he did.
The adrenaline high, the rush of blood, the feeling of the cool metal; warming up against his skin.
”Wow. Fancy seeing you here.”
”Fuck off.”
“You’re in my house.”
Mello shrugged, Matt moving to the side as he strut in. The redhead closed the door behind him, following him deeper into the apartment.
Mello treated it like it was his own, making Matt feel like a guest in his own home. He was good at that.
”It’s a mess in here. Do you even own bleach?”
”Nope. It’s toxic. Bad for you.”
Mello glanced over at him before going over to the kitchen. He pulled out a glass, filled it with water and drank it in one sip.
”You hungry?” Matt offered.
”No.”
”Had anything to eat today?”
“Enough. Why do you care?”
”Some people do actually feel for others, believe it or not.”
Mello just rolled his eyes in response, setting the glass down.
Another thing Matt probably wouldn’t clean.
“So, what’s the occasion?” Matt sat on the arm of the couch, eyes following Mello as he came over. He stood infront of Matt, digging his hands in his hair and yanked his head back so he was staring up at him.
Matt went pliantly.
”Does there have to be one?”
”No. Just that you usually never show up without telling me.”
”I did tell you. I texted. Not my fault you didn’t check it.”
”Oh.” People didn’t text him much anyway, so he usually had it on silent.
How come?” Matt continued.
”Bored.” Mello responded plainly, fingers moving in Matt’s hair.
”Ah. So I’m like your emergency contact now?”
”Something like that.”
He scratched down Matt’s scalp, the touch weirdly comforting.
”Your hair needs re-dying.”
Oh right. His hair. Matt doesn’t like his hair anymore, because it’s red, and he resents the colour red now.
No reason, no reason in particular.
”I can do it for you, if you pay me.” Mello smirked.
”Goodluck. I’m gonna wash it out.” Matt looked up at him.
”Red doesn’t wash out. You have to grow it out. Or, I could just dye it for you.”
”What colour?”
”You’d suit blue.”
”Don’t like blue.”
“How about natural?”
”It’s boring.”
”Okay, so we’re going blue.” Mello pulled Matt up suddenly by his wrist, causing him to wince before he quickly tried to cover it up. Mello didn’t question it, but Matt could tell he noticed.
They walked to the bedroom, Matt subtly slipping his hand into Mello’s instead, because now his wrist was burning, and Mello couldn’t find out yet.
It would take away the fun of not getting caught, and he’d probably hate him forever.
Hate him for lying, hate him for hating himself—because Mello only ever cares when he can capitalize off of something, and this was news that could take over a whole state.
They went to the bedroom, and Matt suddenly felt dizzy. He couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on, and the pain was making him nervous.
”Oh my god, Matt.” Mello snapped, and Matt thought that was it. That somehow, Mello had gained x-ray vision, and saw the dirty little secret hiding underneath his sleeves.
But no, he simply walked over to the bed, throwing off the heaps of dirty clothes into a pile on the floor. He pulled the corner of the bed, tucking it under the pillows, as if his plan wasn’t to mess it up within the next ten minutes.
”Awh, he’s a good little housewife, isn’t he?” Matt teased, Mello’s actions feeling suddenly domestic.
”I don’t wanna get fucked on dirty sheets.” Mello stated simply, pulling Matt in by his belt.
”’M sure you’ve done a lot worse.”
”What are you insinuating?”
”That you’re a dirty slut?”
Mello scoffs, “Well, atleast I get some. What do you do besides sitting inside and gaming all day?”
“…bitch.”
“Exactly. Maybe, if you actually went out, you’d feel a lot better in yourself.”
“Mello, I’m not taking life advice from someone who spends most of their time on their back, no offense.”
Mello ignored that, “Come with me one day. I’ll show you an actually fun time, at a bar, with real people who aren’t just interactive NPCs on an 8-bit screen.”
“Didn’t you say you refuse to go out in public with me because I dress like a court jester?”
“We don’t have to interact. You have to face this big scary world on your own sometimes Matty, I won’t always be there for you.” Mello tutted.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather die.”
“Typical.”
”Whore.” Matt had to insult him one last time, an assertion of dominance.
Or, maybe, he knew where this was going, and wanted to stall for longer, so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Mello’s face when he finally took Matt’s stupid shirt off.
God, he wished he had the strength to tell him to fuck off and leave.
”Good boys aren’t supposed to talk like that. I want you on your best behaviour.” Mello teased, pushing Matt onto the bed, trailing a hand up his shirt as the other fumbled with his belt.
This used to be Matt’s favourite part. Now, it just scared him.
His sleeves were getting itchy, and he really wanted to scratch them.
He needed a distraction.
”You sound like that Roger guy.”
”’Roger guy’? You mean from Wammy’s?”
”Yeah. They were so strict there. Remember when we used to play fight, like, everyday, and then we’d get sent to his office, and he’d say that he expects better of us, and—“
”Matt. Shut up.” Mello unbuckled Matt’s belt, sliding it through the loops as he discarded it on the floor. He went for Matt’s shirt, and now he was getting too close—
“Wait—wait.“
”I don’t like waiting.” He slid his hand into Matt’s jeans—
”Stop.”
“…Hm?”
”I-I said.. stop. I don’t think I’m feeling it. Can we just.. talk?”
“Talk? Talk. We don’t talk. You know this.”
“I know.”
“So what the fuck?”
Mello was getting angry. Matt always argued back, because that’s what they did. This time however, he backed down, shying away from the blond.
“Look, if I can’t be what you need, then we should stop seeing eachother.”
He loved it. He hated it.
He’s never been a good liar.
“Excuse me?”
”I just mean—“
”What the fuck are you talking about? You’ve been weird with me all week, what is it?”
”Nothing—“
”You cheating?”
”We aren’t together.”
”Oh. Could’ve fooled me.” Mello snarled, pulling away.
He had a way, a way of making everyone in the room feel the need to get on their hands and knees and apologise profusely.
Matt really wanted him to leave.
”Mello—“
”You said it yourself. Why should I stay?”
”I didn’t ask you to leave.”
“Didn’t ask me to stay, either.”
God, he can be so difficult.
And that was that. Now, they weren’t speaking, because Mello believed Matt was saying he wasn’t interested anymore, and he didn’t want to waste time with someone who was ‘too nice to say how they actually felt’. Because that made Matt a pussy, and Mello isn’t into pussy’s.
Matt loved it and hated it.
He hated it.
Or, he hated being alone. But Mello’s distance gave him less anxiety, and less anxiety meant less stress and—
Nothing. Because now Matt was stressed Mello didn’t like him anymore, and he’d rather be stressed over a hypothetical rather than a real life situation—
That him and Mello were over. Forever.
Matts in his favourite place, bleeding out on the bathroom floor, the only sound being the drip, drip, drip leaking from the skin, and the pipes turning.
His arms were full. He retraced scars, then he made new ones, exploring his body while marking every inch.
Now, however, the adrenaline was gone, because he had nobody to hide it from. Only himself.
He was simply doing it to fill a void. But he wasn’t really filling a void; because voids can’t be filled, only holes can.
He’s thinking too much. He’s not thinking at all;
He wants to call Mello.
Blood is draining from his thighs now, falling down his legs like raindrops. His pale skin must have been ghostly, making the bags under his eyes pop.
He really, really needs to call Mello.
Matt feels lightheaded. His phones in his hand, fingers curled weakly around the glass. He can barely register the numbers on the screen, the names in his contact, but one always stood out to him—despite the haze in his vision.
”I thought I told you not to talk to me anymore.”
”You picked up, didn’t you?” Matt sneered. His voice is raspy. His voice is always raspy, but this sounds like distortion.
”What do you want?”
”To talk. Are you okay?”
“God. What is it with you and talking? I don’t want to talk, I want to know why you’re calling me at 11 at night, begging to fucking talk.”
”I missed you, I guess.” Matt coughed, a force that rattled his frame as his body shuddered violently.
Mello went silent. It’s like he knew, like when Matt was badly, he had a sensor, alarm bells that rung in Mello’s ears.
”…I’m coming over.”
”No—no, you don’t have to. I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry.”
But Mello had already hung up.
Matt just dug his own grave. And now, he’s lying in it.
He grabbed onto the porcelain frame of the sink, pulling himself up weakly. He struggled, scuttling up as he clasped onto the empty towel rack.
”Fuck. Fuck, fuck…” He cursed, looking around. His movements were jerky, ever turn of his head making the room spin. He felt too weak to stand, so he didn’t.
”Mail!” Mello yelled from outside the door. It was locked.
He rattled the handle, hard, before kicking the it. It didn’t break, but the frame rattled, a vibration that waved through the cramped apartment.
”Matt, open the door, I’m serious.” He sounded frantic, panicked—and for once, Matt felt like he cared. Maybe.
”Give me chance..” Matt muttered, crawling across the floor.
Blood stained the marble tiles, a trail that followed him up to the doorknob as he cocked it to the side, a satisfying click eliciting as it unlocked.
”What the fuck is—what?” Mello’s boots were heavy, thudding the floor beneath Matt. Matt looked up, grinning hopefully.
How could he explain this?
’Oh, hey Mells, ignore the blood all over the floor. I’m working on a project.’
“Matt?” His voice was laced with confusion, his anger pushed aside as he leaned down to the helpless boy infront of him.
”I… fell.”
”How long.” It wasn’t a question.
”Like, 3 hours ago.”
”Matt, don’t fuck with me. How long.”
”I-I don’t know dude. It’s nothing.”
”Nothing. You’re bleeding out, and you think thats nothing?”
”I—“
“Do you know how degrading that is for me?”
”I—what?”
”Do you seriously think, I would come all this way, for just nothing?” Mello was getting angry again.
”I’m..— I’m sorry.”
”You’re not. You’re sorry because you’re caught. Get up.”
“I am—“
”Up.”
Matt took Mello’s extended hand, and again, as he had before, he struggled—but this time, his support wasn’t a sink, wasn’t an object, it was Mello. Mello, who was pulling him up, holding onto him as though they were at the edge of a cliff, about to fall, and he’d caught him last minute.
Matt’s sleeves were pulled up, because he atleast had the strength to do that.
Mello still connected the dots, though. Mello is analytical.
Mello’s smart.
Smarter than Matt.
It was inevitable, really, and the consequence he got for lying made him wish he’d just confessed in the first place. He was stupid to think he could outsmart Mello, because Mello sees through everything.
”I’m calling the hospital.”
”No—Mello, please—“
”Don’t. Sit down.”
They were out the bathroom now, on Matt’s couch. Matt was sat, and Mello was stood over him, much like the position they’d been in a few weeks ago.
But this was different. This wasn’t seduction, and it wasn’t sexual.
Mello looked scared; for once in his life, he looked horrified.
Matt fucking loved it. He was selfish, and he was sick.
He loved it.
“I don’t need a hospital. I just need you.” He wrapped his arms around Mello’s leg, the closest thing he could reach, and the blond shoved him away.
”Show me.”
”Show you what.”
”Matt.” Mello wasn’t playing. He was seething.
Matt was scared, too.
Slowly, he offered his arm, handing it to the boy above him. Mello took it, grabbing his hand as he tugged Matt’s sleeve back.
He gagged.
Mello had killed people. He had men with their heads blown off, brains scattered across the floor.
He had seen bloodbaths, seen massacres; guts slung across the floor, torn apart stomachs, skinned corpses—
Yet nothing could have prepared him for this.
”You think I’m disgusting.” Matt poured.
”Shut up. I have one too.”
As if that was comforting. Mello’s scar was cool. It was a symbol of his sacrifice.
Matt’s meant that he was weak. He was a little bitch who couldn’t handle his emotions, so he took it out where no one else would see.
Mello is brave.
Matt simply isn’t.
”I’m sorry—“
”Stop saying that. Stop talking. I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Why? Can’t handle it on your own?” Matt’s getting mean.
He’s scared, just like Mello.
At the end of the day, they were the same scared kids as they’d been in Wammy’s, clinging onto eachother for support they never got from anyone else.
Not from doctors, not from teachers, not from councillors—
Only each other.
”Matt, stop it.” Mello’s voice wavered. Mello’s voice never wavered.
Matt looked up, and swore he saw tears brimming in Mello’s eyes, tears that were quickly blinked away before he could really process what he had seen.
He had his phone, dialing the number desperately. He was shaking.
”I’m not dying.”
”Not yet.”
”Why’re you doing this. You’re capable.”
”I’m not your fucking babysitter, Matt. You’re better off with professionals, not me.”
”I want you—“
”I’m here.”
The sirens wailed, and soon enough, Matt was in a hospital bed.
He didn’t want to wear a gown, but they bribed him with a lollipop—as though he were a child—and he reluctantly made the deal.
The hospital was white. He asked them to turn off the lights. They did.
“Thank you,” He’d said weakly, and they told him to save his energy.
”Where’s Mello?”
”He left. He brought you your phone and your gameboy. I’ve left them on the table next to your bed, though I advise you to get as much rest as possible. You’re weak at the moment, and you’ve lost quite a lot of blood.”
”Will I die?”
”No, you won’t die.” The doctor reassured.
Matt felt like a big kid. He felt stupid. But atleast he had his gameboy.
Mello knows him so well.
He said he was here. For Matt. So why did he leave?
Matt thought his suspicions were right. Mello thought he was dirty, disgusting—an impurity Mello had to get removed.
Though, Mello saw it differently. Mello believed he had failed Matt. He thought he was a failure, had failed him, because he didn’t notice sooner.
The signs were there, he just refused to read them.
He was embarassed. He couldn’t face Matt for a while. Maybe forever, who knows.
He had left, selfishly; walking away to let Matt navigate alone, all because his pride refused to let him admit he was fragile.
Matt was fragile too, but he was shattered glass. Mello was only cracked, and he wouldn’t allow himself break further.
Mello had issues too, like Matt.
Maybe they were made for eachother.
He didn’t eat. Not often. Matt would make sure he did, everytime Mello came over Matt would be ready with a slightly-burnt plate of something—pizza, lasagna, even a salad, ‘for your diet’, as he’d say.
Matt didn’t leave. Matt never left. Even when Mello pushed him away, when Mello exiled him, Matt was stubborn; driven.
Mello left him. Matt was suffering too, and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t make it about himself, like Mello had a habit of doing.
”How are you feeling?”
”Oh, so now you show up.”
”I’m sorry.” Mello was, sincerely.
It was a phrase that very seldom left his mouth, yet here he was, apologising to the only person he really cared about.
”You should be.”
”Have you gotten your appetite back, yet?”
”Have you?” That was low. Venomous, and low.
Matt’s mean lately. Especially to Mello. He’s hurt, after all.
He’s out of the hospital now, and he didn’t want to talk about it.
He didn’t know what to talk about. He wasn’t depressed.
He just… liked it. Enjoyed it. He was disgusting. Truly, truly disgusting.
Mello didn’t think so.
”I’m trying to talk.”
”Abit late.”
“Matt, please, I’m trying. I really, really am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”
“I know.” He pushed his bottom lip out, resting his head in his hand. He was sat at his kitchen table, Mello pleading with him.
He didn’t look angry, just bored. He didn’t want to have this conversation.
”…Can i see?”
”What?”
”Your arms. Or legs. I don’t know, I just… can I?”
”You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”
”Probably not.”
Matt hummed, offering his arm. He was back in his usual striped shirts, something that made Mello smile.
He peeled the sleeve back slowly, assessing the damage.
His arms were covered in bandages, faint spots of blood staining the gauze.
Mello ran his thumb over the back of Matt’s hand soothingly.
”Was I not enough for you?”
”Huh?”
”I mean… why did you do it? You had people around you—“
”I had one, Mells. I had you. But you weren’t there.”
”I could’ve been. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
”I was scared you’d leave. You’d think it’s disgusting, and you’d leave. And I was right.”
”Matt, I really don’t think it’s disgusting.” Mello tried to reassure.
”Then why’d you go?”
”Because I—I thought you’d—“
”Don’t lie to me. We’re communicating. Let your guard down for a second. You know you can trust me, so just tell me.”
”I suppose it feels like I failed you. That you felt you couldn’t confide in me, so you suffered in silence. And I didn’t notice. Or I did, but I assumed it was just you being you, so I didn’t think anything of it. I should have.”
”So you blame yourself?”
Mello looked away. Matt took that as a yes.
”So, it’s my fault you have an eating disorder.”
”Hm?” Mello’s eyes snapped back up.
”Following that logic, I know you have one, but I don’t do a lot to help instead of forcing you to eat whenever you come over. If you blame yourself for this, I blame myself for that.”
”…I didn’t know you could be so intellectual.”
“Me neither.”
They stared at each other. Took in each other’s features, Matt’s eyes raking over Mello’s face. It was sharp, pointed and mean.
He looked like an angel.
”I don’t wanna fight anymore.” Mello said softly, voice like honey.
”I don’t either.” Matt agreed.
”We’ll get through it.”
”We always do.”
They had sex that night.
Mello kissed over Matt’s bandages, marking them with his tongue.
He was fixated on them. He wanted to show Matt that he didn’t care, that a wound on his skin wouldn’t make him love him any less.
It would heal with time, anyways.
And when they did, leaving nothing behind but phantom lines of past traumas, Mello would strum through each one like guitar strings, kissing his way down Matt’s arms, down his thighs, worshipping each one.
“Mello, I think—“
”Me too. Look at me.”
”I’m looking.”
Matt was panting, face flushed a petal-pink as his forehead gleamed with sweat.
Mello was in his lap, fingers laced with his as he rocked his his hips against him hungrily, enveloping Matt whole.
His head was thrown back, hands digging into Matt’s chest as he bounced on him.
The redhead was holding him, guiding his movements. Mello moved in circular motions, Matt stirring his insides pleasurably.
His hips bucked underneath Mello, slipping deeper inside of him as the blond yelped in bliss.
It was so fucking good, Matt himself emitting groans that scrambled Mello’s brain, encouraging him to move faster, harder, to bring Matt closer to his release.
He deserved it, after all.
”Mells, Mells I—“ Matt moaned, fully, plump lips parting as his head lolled back, eyes falling closed. His shoulders tensed, grip on Mello’s thighs rough as he pulled him down, forcing himself to the hilt as he came hard inside him.
Mello watched, dizzily, as he leaned down gracefully to kiss Matt. His hair fell over his shoulders, cascading like graceful curtains at the end of a show. His thighs ached deliciously.
”I love you, Matt. I really do.”
”Love you too, Mells.” He wrapped his arms around him, a big safe enclosure Mello melted into as he moulded against Matt’s chest.
Matt played with his hair, twirling the golden strands through his fingers,
His arms still burned with every movement. The evidence was still there, as though it would never fade.
Matt didn’t mind. Mello had a scar too, and Mello’s still cool.