It Matters

Matt was in the shower, scrubbing himself bloody. He still wore his goggles, misted up by steam outside and rebel tears inside. He was shaking and couldn't help himself. He had just killed someone. Mello had just killed maybe a dozen people just to save him. Matt was trying very hard to resist the sensation that he was in over his head; that something fundamental was collapsing and swallowing him whole. This was too big. Way too big.



This wasn't him. He didn't lose the plot like this. Not even in private. Troubles slipped from him like his psyche was made of teflon. Why wasn't it doing that now? They were safe. They had been in danger, but it was over. Mello had been endangered. Mello had just massacred a whole gang. Mello was out there and what was he going to do next? There would be repercussions. This wasn't the end of the matter.



It seemed like the white enamel of the shower base was coming up to meet him. Matt fell heavily, sobbing like his heart was breaking. He couldn't help himself. It was all going wrong, too wrong. He couldn't cope. He was having a hard time even articulating in his own mind what was wrong now. What the fuck...?



Sounds emerged from a million miles away, echoing as if they were under an ocean of water. It was the sound of a door crashing open and the shape in the mist was black, leather-clad. There it came, the snap of chocolate being bitten off. Matt started screaming. Loud, primal, soul-deep and terrified. His arms covered his head, as he rocked and rocked, then were pulled forcibly away. There was no cover. He was being yanked out of the shower, then held. His hysteria bounced of the saturated accoustics, animalistic, horrorstruck.



Then pain. Sharp and sudden across his cheeks. Shock ricocheted through Matt's mind and senses, his hand flying up to where Mello had slapped him. But coherency followed in its wake. He was trembling, but held in an iron grip. The panic pushed aside, but still close. He could fall again. He shuddered, then the goggles were pulled from his eyes and he could see more clearly. His vision was filled entirely with those calm blue eyes inches away, blond locks partially veiling them, but not enough to hide their brilliance. Calm? Why was Mello being calm? Mello was never calm. That was his job. Realization hit bringing with it more tears. Mello was calm because Matt was not.



Something was being forced between his lips. Small, foamy. It was a lit cigarette. Matt sucked on it like his life depended upon it; as if the solidity of smoke, in the back of this throat, was the very air that he needed. It was. He could feel himself calming, quietening inside. All that intensity of feeling was receding like some freak tsunami, barely recognisable as something that had really happened. He just felt foolish now. Foolish and shaky.



Mello reached behind him and switched off the shower, then guided his lover, still naked and dripping, leaning heavily against him, out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. Matt was gasping at the cigarette, deep drags that burned up whole half inches with each inhalation. He was placed on the bed, where the tears sprang up again. Mello took the burning cigarette butt from him, replacing it with a second whole one. A towel came up to wipe his face, then his goggles were replaced. Demisted now. The world turned orange, like permanent sunshine overlaying the gloom.



Matt stared out into space, noting with delayed reaction, delayed anxiety that Mello had left his side. But he was soon back, a handheld playing the opening music from Mario Tetris 3. It was shoved into Matt's hands and the bed sank as Mello slid into place behind him, leathered legs wide, cradling him against his torso. One arm snaked around Matt's naked stomach, the other cupped his head, stroking his wet hair.



It was soothing, calming, the best thing that anyone could do for him right now. Matt registered it all with an increasing clarity of mind, but couldn't speak. He tried. He wanted to just say 'thank you', but no words came when he opened his mouth. Even when Mello took the towel and started drying his hair for him, as no-one had ever done for him before. Not that he could remember. Had his mother once...?



"Matt, it's ok now, you know? You did brilliantly." Mello growled in his ear. Testing the waters for a reaction. "Matty?" No response. "It Matters?" Mello had tried the rarely used moniker assigned all those years ago by Roger Ruvie, in case ingrained responsibility sparked now when it never had at Wammy's. Matt understood all of this, but he couldn't respond. His tongue felt alien. He couldn't force his vocal chords into sound. A deep sigh, the sign of Mello returning to form, but still tender. For this moment, he was still gentle. "Mail, you're going to be ok."



Matt exhaled, long and loudly, feeling the last of the inner freeze thawing. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the side, put Tetris on the bed beside, then turned to face his saviour.

"Thank you."



Mello just nodded once and carried on drying his hair. He only stopped as Matt reached for a long, heartfelt kiss that, he just hoped, said all that was needed to be said.