Poisoned Rationality

The library was quietly peaceful. The smell of it hitting nostalgically, comforting, like a little piece of home that had survived after all. The main lights were dimmed, though lamps were lit in various alcoves. There were not as many people working in there as Mello had expected. Just one older teenager bent over her notes, not even glancing up as he passed her, and another younger child working at a computer. This one stared with big eyes and Mello forced himself to smile back, though his pace increased. He did not want to be drawn into conversation with an innocent mind.



Beyond the first row of towering bookshelves, there was a wing covering the literature and other media surrounding all manner of communication. As Mello rounded the corner to see into it, he saw a scene that was truly historical. Matt was bent over a Wammy\'s House computer, feeding discs into the tower and clicking the mouse. The redhead stepped away and crouched down to withdraw a large book from the bottom shelf. Mello couldn\'t read the title from here, but Matt leaned up against the books just watching. His fingers became a fork and he drew a hand down each page, rapidly turning them. It wasn\'t so much speed-reading as cramming information into his subconscious. It apparently worked, though Mello had never trusted it. He prefered to revise consciously, retaining the information for longer than the three days that Matt\'s method promised, even if it took him exhausting hours to do so. Matt just trying to get through the next day\'s exams; Mello wanting a mind like an encyclopaedia. That was the difference between them.



Mello could feel the grief rising in himself again. Tears pricking behind his eyes; waves of pathos devastating his mind. He couldn\'t even pinpoint what was upsetting him, whether it was Matt\'s history, Roger\'s deficiencies or the fact that this place felt lost to him. It was probably a combination of the lot. Or it could have been the fact that he could no longer see a clear path forward. Or maybe the feeling that he the more he learned about Matt, the more he realised that he had never known him. Matt was Spanish; he was short-sighted; he had middle names and no known birthday; he had a chemical imbalance that rendered it impossible for him to bond and love and trust and...



"Zdravo." Matt said softly. Mello\'s attention snapped back, watching the redhead as he stood looking back from a pool of light illuminating the computer. "Ostani josh malo?" This was Mello\'s mother tongue, but the shock of it coming out of Matt\'s mouth stifled comprehension. Matt laughed aloud and switched to English. "If you are going to start coming out with Spanish when you want to make a point, then I\'m learning Serbo-Croat. Simple as that." There was a whirling noise and the disc drive popped out. Matt inserted another disc and closed it again. Another couple of clicks, then he stood with his hands in his pockets watching Mello. "Mogu li te poljubiti?" The blond smiled, feeling the sadness fading. His brain kicked back into understanding and he nodded. Matt had just asked him if he might kiss him. Standing there, looking goofy and so beautiful. "Mello, mogu li te poljubiti? How\'s my pronunciation?"



With a glance around to ensure no junior geniuses were watching, Mello crossed the distance to lock lips with the most precious genius of all. It wasn\'t a short peck, but a deep, searching kiss. Matt responded, pressing and holding close, communicating with sheer want and love that everything was alright. Mello frowned. If the redhead wasn\'t feeling this, then he was doing an unbelievable job of pretending. Mello dropped the jackets and brought his hand up to cover Matt\'s heart. It was pounding. They staggered, nearly losing their balance and Mello finally released him. Matt blinked, breathless, staring back at him. "Your pronunciation is just fine."



"Hvala." Matt gasped, saying \'thank you\'.



"Nema na èemu." Mello responded, uttering his \'you\'re welcome\' with a huge grin. Behind them another disc finished burning and Matt leapt to exchange it for the next. "Are you nearly done here?"



"Hrvatski, molim." \'Croatian, please\', Matt replied.



"No way. I\'m not encouraging you in this." Mello laughed. "I know when you\'ll use it!" Matt shrugged and crouched again over the thick book on the floor. Closer now, Mello could see that it was a Croat-English dictionary that his lover was speedily memorising, so he moved until his shadow fell over the page. Matt scrowled up at him. "Don\'t learn my language. You\'ll understand what I\'m muttering about you under my breath."



"I haven\'t found \'drkadžija\' yet, but I\'m assuming it\'s \'fuck off you lazy git\'." Matt moved the book out of Mello\'s shade.



"Nope." Mello smirked.



"In that case, that\'s \'jebi ga\'."



"Stop learning Croatian." There was a creak of leather, as Mello crouched beside him. "I\'m serious. I rarely speak it and I\'m fluent in English. There\'s no need."



"So I was right with the last one?" Matt continued to speed-read the dictionary. He was already at \'P\'.



Mello switched gears. "Cierra la boca, puta de mierda. Estoy caliente, así que ven y chúpame la polla."



Matt was giggling over his book. "I left Spain at way too young an age to learn words like those. " He peered up into Mello\'s eyes, blushing. "So the first thing you did when you learned Spanish was to look up how to say \'suck my cock\'?" The blond nodded, smirking. "Now, you see, the first Serbo-Croat word that I looked up was \'èokoladni\'."



"Chocolate?" Mello burst out laughing, falling back to sit properly on the carpet. "Fóllame, Matty."



Matt whisked around to the computer and clicked open a browser. After half a minute of typing, he responded, "Ah! So that\'s what \'drkadžija\' means, I\'d misspelled it the last time I searched. Right." He scrolled down the screen. "Odi u kurac, kuèka!" He grinned across, as Mello roared out his mirth. "Don\'t tell me that you learnt these as a four year old either. You\'ve looked them up on the internet as well! Guzica!"



There was a loud sigh and the sixteen year old girl, last seen studying at the table, stamped around the bookshelves. She surveyed them both with her hands on her hips. "Are you like twelve years old or something? Honestly, have you heard yourselves?" She shook her head, her expression a strange mixture of sternness and despair. "All we hear in here is that we could be the new Mello, the new Matt, the new Near, and I have an exam tomorrow morning and a dissertation to write and..." Tears pricked her eyes. "You two are just impossible!"



Matt sank down behind the monitor and Mello dared not look at him. He had to gulp down the urge to smirk again as it was, then his eyes met the girl\'s and he remembered too clearly what it had been like. Pressing a hand into the carpet, Mello propelled himself upwards. For a moment, he had forgotten where they were and what had happened. He blinked. It was unlike him to forget things like location and context. He flashed a small smile at the teenager, then reached for his jacket on the floor. Mello pulled an unopened bar of chocolate out and held it out to her. "The caffeine and sugar help you stay awake." She stared at it, but didn\'t take it. "Please, have it. To make up for us being immature disappointments."



"You\'re not that." She appeared flustered, but took the chocolate. "Thank you."



"What are you studying?"



Now there was a flash of a smile. "Linguistics. Tomorrow is my German finals, while my dissertation is about the possible influence of Sanskrit on the Indo-European languages." She sighed as a snort came from behind the computer screen.



"Please ignore my friend. Matt has a long history of interupting people\'s studies in this place, but I did learn ways of shutting him up eventually." Mello glared at the back of the monitor. He continued in German, smiling charmingly. "Maybe I can come and help you revise for your exam, while he finishes playing with the computer? I\'m sorry, I didn\'t catch your name."



Nearly an hour had passed, before Mello looked up to find Roger standing in the doorway watching them. He carefully slid a pad of notes over the exam paper, that Matt had hacked from the Associated Examining Board archives forty minutes before, and pointedly continued his German language conversation with Lauren. The elderly man, seeing that he had been spotted, approached the table. He made as if to speak, then raised a hand and carried on around the corner. They heard him say, "Matt, I would appreciate a reinstating of the camera feed from this library please. Thank you." Roger didn\'t await a response, but returned to the table where he pressed a closed envelope against Mello\'s chest. "How is it going, Lauren?"



"Very well. Mello is such a good teacher. He speaks German like a native." She appeared much more relaxed than she had been earlier in the evening. "Plus I have some study tips and chocolate." Lauren beamed at her new friend. "Thank you very much for everything tonight, Mello."



"You\'re welcome." Mello opened his envelope and looked inside at the three pieces of paper there. Two were prescriptions, the third was a letter. This he pulled out, holding one corner delicately as if he might one day need to fingerprint it, and held it up to read.



Dear Mello,



The laughter I saw on my screen, between you and Matt, is the best cure for what ails you. You never saw the worth in the gentler side of life - playing, laughing, holidays, breaks. This is precisely the route you need to explore now, if you ever hope for semblance of normality. Both of you should mourn your dead and your losses.



If you will excuse the, perhaps, inappropriate pun, it was the fire of your willpower that sustained you during your time here, but no-one knows better than you that fire burns. I would suggest that your twin maladies are clinical burn-out (emotional and nervous exhaustion) and the, presumably, unconfronted trauma of your physical burn. A PTSD cannot be ruled out and especially when I know you take great pride in your appearance. There is no weakness in acknowledging these feelings within yourself.



\'But he said to me, \'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.\' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.\' 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.



Medication is not the answer in this case, unless tests indicate otherwise. My door is always open to you or I can recommend learned colleagues in this field. However, I have enclosed two prescriptions, one for a mild anti-depressant and the other to stabilize the neuropathic pain you must be feeling. Your burns appear to be second degree and the usual course of action is an allograft prior to a full skin graft. I can arrange this if you wish.



Kind regards,

Roger.



Mello nodded, folded the paper back into the envelope and pushed it into his jacket pocket. "Thank you." Roger patted his shoulder and left them to their studying. As soon as he was out of the door, Matt sauntered across and held out his hand. "What?"



"May I read it please?" There was a stand-off between them. Neither said another word, but they barely blinked in their mutually locked stares. Long seconds passed, then Matt shrugged and raised his hands. "My bad." He had turned to walk away, when Mello extracted the envelope and handed it to him. "Hvala." Matt skimmed it, shrugged again and handed it back. "I\'m going out for a cigarette. Still be in here when I get back?"



Mello shook his head. "If you\'ve finished, let\'s go home." Matt nodded and went to collect his things. "Lauren, here\'s my e-mail address. Keep in touch, eh?" He scribbled it down, smiling faintly at the shocked look on her face. "Nothing like that."



"No, I know. You have Matt." Lauren found a smile. "I just never imagined that you would be so," She struggled for the word, "accessible."



Mello smirked, standing as Matt reappeared with his arms full of discs. "I\'m not." The two of them fell into step and, walking out into the corridors, left The Wammy House together.