Forty Seconds (MattxMello -- Death Note)

18// eighteen

[a/n: second last chapter guys btw today (Dec 13th) is Mello's birthday so yeah sobbing]

A box of ammunition and an engine filled with a need for vengeance was enough to get two orphaned boys across the earth. Matt had stared into mello's icy blues and more than ever before he knew - he was certain - that this wasn't going to end without casualties. And he was ready to accept that. Because, damn it, dying in a back-to-back shoot-out with your best friend was better than smoking his way to lung-cancer outside wammy's.

And now, he'd dragged the blonde boy from cobble and dust and he thought it was the end; it didn't happen like it was supposed to. But when he woke up with only a scar to tell a tale, he thought that maybe that was it.

Yeah, fat chance. He'd gone from stubbornly-just-friends to horny teenagers fooling around to whatever the hell they were then - dare he say long-term-lovers? - and the Kira case wasn't going to let them go that easily. There was no happily-ever-after for L's successors. They were going down even if it was merely for the sake of the wide-eyed children at Wammy's that roger would pick next.

Usually, matt would say up yours in a situation like this. Blow some smoke in the other's face and flip them off with a bent finger. But this was not the vibe mello was exerting.

"we're fucked, matt," it was five-forty-nine AM, and they were watching CNN on mute with the blinds open so that morning's virgin light could touch their sinned skin, pale and waxy from false computer-screen glow. mello didn't smoke cigarettes, but he enjoyed the occasional joint plucked from behind some thirteen-year-old's ear every couple evenings. The room smelt dully of spicy sauce as they had just finished picking away at an XXL meat-lovers pizza from some place a dozen miles that way. They hadn't had a real meal since mello was five foot. Secretly, matt dreamed of sitting across from the blonde boy at some fancy-ass restaurant for the dumbest of the posh, clinking together narrow Champaign bottles over heavy conversation. Mello in a suit, matt with that blue patterned tie somewhere in his red suitcase somewhere in this place.

"tell me something I don't know, number two."

He shoot matt a lazy grin and exhaled blue smoke through his nostrils like a bull. It took practice.

"okay, how's this to chew on - when I was in the mafia, I became associated with a woman from the SPK. To keep a check on things over at Near's end, y'know?"

And he did know; he'd tapped the phones.

Mello looked rather tired just then. He slid off the ataman's arm and slid clumsily across the slippery wooden-floor panels in socked feet. Loosing balance, he stumbled and slipped until matt raced in his boots to provide stability.

He looked up at matt with those eyes. It was one of the few physical aspects that hadn't changed about Mello; they were still icy blue and alive with the need for vengeance. Just a little wiser, no longer an ignorant fool to the topic of the outside world.

And with mello in his arms, he leaned down and engulfed the boy in an intimate kiss until the frostbite melted away and he felt that electricity again. This time, his breath tasted less like gunpowder and more like bubblegum and apple juice again. Matt wondered where he'd gotten those things.

"I love you, Mail Jeevas."

The words sent real thunder-waves down matt's spine.

"I love you, too, Michael Keehl."

"will you follow me one last time?"

"always and forever."