GOD'S FAVOURITE. 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

GOD'S FAVOURITE.

Content Warning: Intense victim blaming, violence and gore, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of psychical abuse, mental abuse, mentions of self-harm and dissociation, nonconsensual tattooing and scarring, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of assault, torture through blackmail and humiliation. 

Authors note: I just want to thank you all for your patience with these longer chapters and I'm here to officially tell you all were in the finale of three to four chapters. Please enjoy.

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There were moments in Mello's life when he would doubt his career choice. Despite the perks of his occupation, his perilous existence forced him to roam the world constantly. He had never possessed a property of his own, never lingered in a building or city for longer than a few months, never even enjoyed his fortune in the bank or the compensation he got from Wammy's for the covert missions they entrusted him with. 

Most of his lairs were decrepit warehouses and grimy alley apartments. His extensive collection of elegant black coats with feathery hoods was the most lavish thing he had ever indulged in. Still, even that was spoiled now that the fabric had soaked up the fragrance of the woman he had loaned it to, her indulgent perfume spritzed into the stitches and when his nose traced circles of the interior, he could breathe in the scent and pretend for a moment it was still the same mixture he'd wake up too.

His resentment for his chosen lifestyle coursed deeply within his chest at times like these, when he was surrounded by the wealth and blitz he had gone without for so long.

For someone supposedly on the run, The Doctor lived in a surprisingly luxurious apartment. The studio was spacious and immaculate, with polished hardwood floors and a crystal chandelier that sparkled over their heads. The only personal touches were a desk, cluttered with files of his past patients, and a liquor cart, stocked with expensive bottles, in his living area. The fireplace cast a warm glow behind them as they reclined on the plush velvet couch, a thin sheet shielding them from the crimson stains of his blood. 

On the glass coffee table lay two glasses of rye whiskey and a medical box. Every so often, an elderly woman in a maid uniform would pop up by his side, eager to assist him with the stitches. While he had his doubts about Hatori's qualifications, he had to admit he was fairly competent at patching up his wounds. With half of his shirt unbuttoned and a bandage wrapped around his chest, he shifted his attention to his eye.

It felt perplexing, in a sense. He had cash flowing from his pockets, assuming he had been the one to rent the place. He showed off as far as his eyes could travel, yet he still didn't seem content in the home. The materialism felt more like his attempt to salvage a reputation long ruined than his own space. 

Mello had survived the blast but not unscathed. Starting from the top of his forehead and splitting to the left, the entirety of his flesh had been torn off, blistered and bubbled. It covered the entire side, spreading to his shoulder and down his back and permanently blinding him in that eye. 

The pain was so great he had considered ripping out his eyeball entirely when the initial blast occurred. Over the days and underneath his bandages, it had crusted and had left him in a state of constant discomfort as it dried. Every time he'd do something as twitch his nose or attempt to speak, a tightness was left in his expression. And if he moved his muscles too eagerly to mouth off, then the unclenching of his jaw muscle would reopen the bleeding.

It's not as if his appearance meant anything to him anymore since he had only kept it up for so long due to Matt's incessant nagging. He didn't feel repulsion when staring back at his charred reflection, he didn't mind having to deal with cinching or the low ache every time he wanted to say something. If anything, it served as his personal reminder.