Matt x Mello

BY : Genevieve
Category: Death Note > General
Dragon prints: 8281
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Inside, the room is completely dark.

Dark and oddly silent, both particularly pronounced after the heavy slide of the doors back into position.

And then, after several moments, there comes into being the dim outline of something square and silver, and, taken with a low tremor, Mello’s fingers close around the slick cylinder of the infrared flashlight in the pocket of his coat.

Not yet; the cameras are still running.

Off on the far wall, there gradually appears a dimly glowing screen, and, in a moment of revelation, Matt realizes that this is the transceiver pad.

Which means that very close by is—

Don’t say anything. The cameras are still running.

Eyes big in the darkness, Mello paces blindly forth, the outline of the cell sharp in his mind but nevertheless somehow entirely useless now that they’re really there, and he stops when, a foot or two before him, he can make out the soft outline of a horizontal rail at about waist level.

It’s funny how afraid he feels without his gun.

Don’t faint. Don’t freak out. Don’t scream. They told him ahead of time that, as standard procedure, when he approaches the bed—

But both he and Matt reach instinctively for the guns that aren’t there when, almost mechanically, the silence is broken by the slide of cloth and heavy clinking of metal, and then, in the darkness, there comes into being the very real form of a slender human arm, reaching forth with complete obedience and quietly awaiting manipulation.

The pad.

Next to the lethal injection, this is probably the most nerve-wrecking part.

They exchange glances in the darkness; Mello is to take Kira’s hand; Matt is to touch the pad.

Not daring to look away, Mello brings his hand gradually closer to the one before him, which, he notes, is bound by the circular lock of a single metal cuff, and when at last he touches it, he finds that it’s strangely warm and soft and—

Almost unexpectedly human.

He swallows hard, trying not to think about the fact that right now, he is touching Kira.

Even more unexpected is the fact that Kira is entirely compliant, readily giving up autonomy as Mello unlocks the cuff and brings his finger to the pad.

Of course, Mello remembers, this is standard procedure for him. Against the dim glow of the transceiver pad, Mello can see Matt’s finger with the print mounted beneath the gloved surface, and, together, they both press down.

Then, within several fractions of a second, Matt presses down again—this is L’s print.

The first sound that comes then is the single flicker of the cameras as they shut down; the second is that of the audio device, and, last, a sequence of heavy slides as, one by one, the entryway doors lock down.

And then, again, silence.

Silence, Mello thinks, but for the rhythm of their breath and the tremor of his pulse beneath his skin.

“How is he?”

Entirely taken off guard, both Mello and Matt flip their heads in the direction of the sound.

It comes very fluid and soft, spoken with polite reserve and in flawless English. Mello draws his hand away all at once, and then, with a quiet rustling of the chain, he can hear Kira’s arm moving quietly away.

Neither of them need to ask who.

But after several moments, Mello asks very quietly, “how did you know?”

“I should ask the same thing,”

comes the reply, and Mello finds himself astonished by how beautiful and gentle he sounds, and not at all like anything he expected.

Very slowly, Mello climbs onto the bed, just barely able to make out the boy’s outline, and he slides his knees on both sides of the slender waist, slowly kneeling closer.

“We’re not supposed to touch,” Matt thinks of saying, but, somehow, the words are oddly lodged in his throat.

Kira neither moves nor speaks when Mello’s gloved fingers come curiously against the side of his face, and he waits patiently as they slide along the curve of the mandible and then up to the maxilla and the shell of his ear, where they hook around the cloth of the blindfold, and then medially to his forehead beneath feathery locks of hair and down along the cloth at the slope of his nose to his lips and finally his chin, until Mello has satisfied himself that Kira really is human.

Matt watches on curiously, waiting also with a great deal of patience, until at last he takes out the infrared light.

“Okay, go on,”

Is what Mello means to say when Matt is about to flip it on, but only the first one or two syllables actually come out.

Now, L really hasn’t told them a whole lot about Kira, but he did mention a few things here and there, and among those things he mentioned that Kira was beautiful.

Beautiful, however, is really rather a vague term that can range in meaning and implication, and while Mello and Matt understood to some legitimate extent (and, really, this served largely to pique their curiosity), they really weren’t prepared that, even with the blindfold still in place, by beautiful, they could tell that L really meant something more like perfect.

He is a mere three years older than Mello, gazing ahead blindly from behind the cloth beneath silken strands of brown hair. He’s built slender and elegant with long, bony articulations and soft, pale skin showing through the wine ripples of the velvet sheet sliding loosely from his naked form and down onto the floor.

And, sure enough, he’s completely restrained—with an intricate series of latches and binds that remind Mello almost vividly of the way L tied him up.

“It must hurt,” Mello says softly, still now feeling the dull remains of the bruises and cuts once sharp in his ribs and his back.

His fingers reach out slowly around the boy’s head, where they begin to unravel the cloth binds of the blindfold, until at last the thing slides down from his face and to his bare chest beneath, and immediately Light turns his head away from the dim glow of the infrared lamp, eyes unused to anything but darkness for so long.

Curiously, Mello touches his finger to the boy’s chin, and he tilts his head very slowly, gazing in fascination at the long eyelashes and finally the timid glow of brown eyes which, despite it all, gaze back with what can only be described as innocence.

And then Mello’s gaze continues down to the boy’s other arm, where, sure enough, there is attached an intravenous drip, streaming slowly from a large plastic bag hanging upside-down and controlled by a switch.

Really, the drip is very slow and the dose is almost suspiciously mild.

When Mello turns his head back, he notices that Light has been examining him, too, and he wonders suddenly how long it has been for Light since last he laid his eyes on another human face.

“Your accent is like his,” the boy says, “but you look very different.”

His voice is as velvety as the cover sliding down from his pale, naked form, and suddenly Mello wonders why it is that Misora warned them against letting him out—after all, if all Kira needed to kill was a face and a name, why couldn’t he do it right there in the cell?

Wasn’t the Death Note destroyed, anyway?

For several moments, the two cannot take their eyes off one another.

Is this really the mass murderer, Kira?

Is this really the boy whose capacity to reason is so great that they keep him alive just to hear his thoughts?

...and is he really the boy who never loved anyone?

To be continued…

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