[Week 20, Day 3]
[If there's one constant in this place, it's the fact that nothing is consistent. It's frustrating, something that Mello can't do anything about, and that's something that never really does sit well with him. But what is he supposed to do? Rage at nothing? Tear shit up until he feels better?
No. That's what his younger self would have done. That's what would have solved every problem in the world, back then. Because back then, his problems were so fucking minimal.
And now.
L is gone. Again. How many times has this been, now?
It's a sickening feeling, one that he's known far too many times before. It never gets easier, it never becomes anything less than devastating.
Maybe it's showing a little on his face, because right now, it's taking all of the effort he possesses to be anything more than catatonic. He's only dimly aware of the Hitomi set on the table, and really, Mello couldn't give less of a shit as to what people see, right now.
Because in the end, L is gone, and there is nothing that will tell him what L has gone back to, or if his existence has simply-
Ceased.]
The fuck.
[It's barely a mutter. Fingers are rubbing at his forehead, and sitting up against the wall like this, legs curled to his chest... he must have been this way for hours. But what does it matter? Time is nothing here. Nothing is anything here, really.]
No. That's what his younger self would have done. That's what would have solved every problem in the world, back then. Because back then, his problems were so fucking minimal.
And now.
L is gone. Again. How many times has this been, now?
It's a sickening feeling, one that he's known far too many times before. It never gets easier, it never becomes anything less than devastating.
Maybe it's showing a little on his face, because right now, it's taking all of the effort he possesses to be anything more than catatonic. He's only dimly aware of the Hitomi set on the table, and really, Mello couldn't give less of a shit as to what people see, right now.
Because in the end, L is gone, and there is nothing that will tell him what L has gone back to, or if his existence has simply-
Ceased.]
The fuck.
[It's barely a mutter. Fingers are rubbing at his forehead, and sitting up against the wall like this, legs curled to his chest... he must have been this way for hours. But what does it matter? Time is nothing here. Nothing is anything here, really.]