Dirty Little Secret Bar

[onlydisappear]

[Matt's in one of the bars scattered around the mansion, as he often is on the weekend. As usual, he has a pint of beer in front of him, a cigarette in one hand, and a paperback in the other (Unseen Academicals, today

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[redeemed_m]

[Having been here for a while, it would be impossible for Mello to confine himself to only his room, Matt's room, or the halls, and so he is taking more liberties, these days: showing less fear when it comes to exploration. (Though he always, always opens a door just a crack and peeks in with his hand firmly on the knob before entering.)

Oh. Bar.

Alright, then.

Of course, not being in the habit of looking down at himself very often (at least not in public), he fails to notice the large, black writing just below his navel, stating for the world to see: WONDERS WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO GIVE UP, AT LEAST ONCE A DAY.]

Hey.

[Maybe he'll drink something new this time.]

[redeemed_m]

Only I don't. [Mello smiles faintly before taking another swig; this one: deeper.] We can play at this all night. I say mine's bullshit, you say yours is, and odds are, they're both true. Or both lies. Or one is true, making the one who has the true statement automatically assuming that the other is true. Same goes for the false one.

[A slight tilt of his head as he shakes the liquor around in the bottle.]

So which is it?

[onlydisappear]

[Matt crushes out his cigarette and rubs at the back of his neck.]

Last time, they were all true.

[He looks up at Mello, meeting those cool blue eyes he knows both so well and not at all. His heart's racketing around in his chest, and if he wants to prove the mansion wrong, prove those memories of ten lonely, cold years wrong, he knows what he has to do.]

So maybe mine is. I didn't know it 'til now. I wish it weren't.

[redeemed_m]

Like I said. Understandable. [It's times like these when he hates those fucking goggles. Hates them on this Matt as much as he hated them on his Matt back home. They're a defense mechanism, as far as he's concerned, and Mello hates barriers.]

I would, however-[Sip.]-advise against falling for me. Whatever we do, whatever this is: it is what it is, y'know? [Two more swigs and he wouldn't have been able to say that without a slur.]

[onlydisappear]

I know. [Maybe he can't keep the bitterness from his voice, the feeling that's been building since the last time they were together, that Mello always, always expects more than he's willing to give. And Matt hates himself for thinking that, even as he feels sure, deep down, that it's true.]

It's your turn, y'know.

[redeemed_m]

I wasn't under the impression that this was a turn-based conversation.

[Yeah. He's being a smartass to cover up the fact that the tone of Matt's voice stung him more than it should have; pulled at something in his stomach that provoked the impulse to reach forward, slip those stupid goggles over the other's head and demand that he look--really look--at Mello when he speaks.

But, fuck. What does it even matter? When he goes, he's gone. And yeah, maybe every now and then, when he's having his own Matt up a wall, he'll think of this one, but this is neither here or there. This. This is a fucking vacation, as messed up as it is.]

But I thought about it once. [That's all he's willing to admit. His eyes might just be betraying him, though. He never could control his expression fully with liquor in him.] When I was seventeen. Kinda wanted to go home, but. [A shrug.] With L gone, what the fuck was home, anyway? Jus' a place. Nothing to work for that couldn't be done elsewhere.

[onlydisappear]

[No, Matt doesn't buy it. Either these things are completely true, or not true at all. But he nods anyway.]

I know. You always- [He stops himself. Realizes Mello's not going to let him get away with it.] Always pushed shit like that aside to do what you had to do. [Another long drag off his cigarette; he'll need another in about half a second.] Only then? Never... here?

[He's willing to pretend, to a certain point, for the sake of Mello's pride, but he knows the blond recognizes that he knows the truth, and this particular truth is important to Matt. He really doesn't want to be numb, has been fighting it ever since he got a head full of fake memories of being alone in the mansion. He can't deny it's easier, though. Especially when it takes so fucking much to get Mello to drop those walls for even a little while.]

[redeemed_m]

Here? And what- [He's staring at the bottle now, his brows furrowed, foot beginning to tap against the leg of the stool.] Hang around fucking all the time and forget that I've got real shit goin' on out there? [A motion toward the door as if "out there" lies just beyond it. His voice lowers a little and Mello gives an idle shrug, blowing it off as best he can.] You know I can't do that.

[Now, he does look up, because he knows it's a fucked up situation, fucked up thing to say, fucked up way to dismiss it, but shit. What can he do? Tell Matt that on more than one occasion, he actually has considered it?] You've said it anyway. Wouldn't want me to.

[onlydisappear]

You're right. I wouldn't. [Matt wants it to be true, means for it to be true, but there's a part of him that's selfish, and possessive, and that part wants to climb over the bar, drag Mello back to his room, and do anything he can to make him admit that what they have means something to him.

He swaps his dying cigarette for a fresh one, crushing the old butt out viciously in the bar ashtray.]

Makes this- [He gestures to the writing on his shirt, and he can't keep the bitterness from his voice.] -seem like a pretty decent idea, yeah?

[redeemed_m]

I didn't fuck you to hurt you, Matty.

[No. He did it on impulse, the first time. Second time, on a whim and to prove to himself that he could do it, enjoy himself with no strings. After that, well-]

There was just this fuckin' thing. Like you were him, but not. And I wanted to see. [He takes another swig--this one, almost two in size--and clanks the bottle back down onto the bar. He should stop now; push the bottle aside and get the fuck out of this room. Whatever needs to be said can be said elsewhere, without this annoying fucking writing on his stomach and that bullshit on Matt's shirt making the conversation way more tense than it should be.] And then, I dunno. Shit just happened.

[onlydisappear]

I'm. Shit that happened?

[Suddenly, the words across his chest seem like a cruel mockery, because Matt can feel this just fine.]

A fucking experiment or something? You know what, fuck you, Mello. [He stabs out this cigarette, too, even though it's only half-smoked, and he puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender.] I'm done, I don't-- I can't do this anymore.

[redeemed_m]

[The sting doesn't even register. It can't. Because Mello definitely didn't mean for what he said to have come out like that. He bolts up from the stool, the legs scraping across the floor rather loudly. Fuck it. He doesn't care who hears because in the end, who the fuck are these people to him? Replicas of replicas with their own shit to deal with. And Mello never has minded making a scene.]

What the fuck do you want me to say? That I saw you and something clicked? Of course shit clicked, you're a fucking replica of someone that I've known almost my entire life. Someone who's sitting at home, probably flipping out while I'm fucking you. You don't think that I consider that shit? [And the stool is shoved aside by his foot, his eyes narrowing as he takes in a frustrated breath. Fucking bullshit.You fuck my head up. Distract me from shit that I need to be focusing on 'cause I'm too busy indulging in you. This goddamn place is filled with you; fuckers who look, sound, and could probably be you if I let it happen. If you think that doesn

[onlydisappear]

[Matt put his cigarette out prematurely, apparently. He gets another, lights it with hands that shake with anger.]

One day, I couldn't have been any other version, and now I could be just, what the fuck, Random Matt Number Eight?

[He snaps his mouth shut on something he knows he shouldn't say, not unless he wants to pull out the big guns. Not even guns, this one's an atomic bomb.

But here goes his mouth, running ahead of his brain again, with something just as ill-advised, a bluff he knows fucking well Mello will have to call. Matt feels like he's watching this from outside, like it's some fucking cut scene in his own life that he can't do anything about except watch it unfold, and wait to get dumped back into the game.]

So stop. If I'm such a fucking distraction, just-- stop. Go pretend you can waltz right out of here. Because you're so fucking special, yeah? You're Mello, and the rules don't apply to you. You can pick and choose when to go, never mind that nobody else can and some of us don't get to at all!

[redeemed_m]

[It's like Matt didn't hear a fucking word that Mello just said. Too wrapped up in his self-pity shit to hear anything besides what he wants.

And Mello's got too much shit to worry about: getting the fuck out of here, worrying about what's changed, if anything, when he gets home. How he's gonna be able to look his Matt straight in the eye after everything that's gone down here.]

That's not what I meant. [And he's white-knuckled, jaw tense-- he knows the primary fucking difference. If this were anyone else, he would have knocked them on their ass already. He wonders if Matt notices how much he's holding back, despite his ranting.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing fucking matters here.]

I should've walked away the first time you fucking spoke to me. Would've been easier for us both.

[With that, he swipes the cognac, turning to go. He should. He should go because the longer he draws this shit out, the harder it's gonna be when he gets out of here and fuck, he's thought about that way more than he should have. How he's gonna go on, and

[onlydisappear]

[Matt's about half a second from caving and going after Mello, to apologize and make some speech about how this shit written on them doesn't matter, shouldn't matter. About how he's tugged back and forth between trying to convince himself this doesn't mean anything, like Mello has said so many times, and saying fuck it and believing in it anyway, like it seems neither of them can help but do even when they fight it tooth and nail.

But Matt's always the one who caves, isn't he? Always the one admitting things, saying he's sorry, reaching out to someone who acts like meeting him halfway is the end of the fucking world. He stays put.]

Yeah. Guess you should have.

[His voice has gone weird and tight, for all that he tries to keep it cold.]

[redeemed_m]

T'ch.

[It's all Matt's getting, because this is fucking bullshit. Mello has, in his opinion, put himself out there way more than he ever has, with anyone. And yeah, maybe it's because he knows this is all gonna end eventually, that he'll go back and whatever happens here won't be known to anyone but him.

And he fought against himself so fucking much. Almost every fucking time he touched Matt, looked at him, until he just threw shit away and said fuck it and this-

This is what he gets.

At least it's a lesson learned somewhere that will hold no bearing on how shit goes down when he gets home. A good thing, he guesses.

His lips are tight as he stalks away from the bar--and he doesn't look back, no--pointedly ignoring the people that have seemed to fill the place while he was focused on Matt (a fine fucking example), and paces across the floor; the heels of his boots landing heavily until he reaches the door and of fucking course, it lets him out. Fucking convenient