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Matt liked to think he knew Mello better than anyone.
Back at Wammy’s he certainly had at least.
He knew what brand of chocolate Mello liked best, he knew on what days he washed his hair, and he knew all of his routines and habits by heart. He even knew about all of his little quirks, like the weird cracking sound his ankle made when he rolled it, or how he only ever painted his nails on one hand because painting nails with his non-dominant hand was too much of a hassle.
(He usually got Matt to do that for him, anyway).
These weren’t even things Matt actively thought about or memorised on purpose, he just knew them because he cared about Mello. And if not for that, then sharing a room with someone for more than six years was bound to make anyone get a little too familiar.
Sure, Mello had grown older and taller over the years, making some significant changes to his wardrobe in the process, but that didn’t have to mean he’d changed who he was as a person entirely. He was still the same chocolate-loving, thrill-chasing asshole Matt had known and loved in his youth.
Imagine Matt’s surprise when Mello came stomping out of the shower in nothing but a towel that morning with a face like thunder, complaining about the fact Matt hadn’t replaced the shampoo bottle he’d emptied the evening before.
‘I was planning to, though.’ Matt tried to defend himself, even going so far as to shut his DS to pause his game so he could look at Mello and show he meant it. ‘But it’s Thursday, so I thought I had some time. You always wash your hair on Fridays.’
At this, Mello raised an eyebrow at him, his anger vanishing into thin air as confusion replaced it instead.
‘I wash my hair every day.’
Matt blinked a few times as he allowed those words to sink in, and this time it was his turn to act confused.
‘…what?’ he brought out, and rather than pissed off, Mello now looked something akin to amused.
‘I’m not a teenager anymore, Matt.’ Mello explained in a suspiciously calm manner. ‘You think I’d manage to keep my hair looking like this if I didn’t wash it every day?’
Three realisations hit Matt all at once in that moment. One: they were going to have a serious conversation about how much Mello contributed to their water bills. Two: Mello’s hair was apparently as fragile as his sense of self-worth, if not more so, because most people did not, in fact, need to wash their hair every single day to keep it looking semi-healthy. And three: who the fuck had given Mello permission to change his routines without informing Matt about it?!
Of course he voiced none of these things out loud, because Mello would either get pissed at him, laugh at him for being an idiot, or a combination of the two (probably the latter) and Matt had a little more dignity than that.
‘Oh.’ he simply said. ‘Okay. I’ll try and remember to swap out the shampoo bottle right away next time.’
Emphasis on try.
‘Yeah, thanks.’ Mello said, looking at him a little strangely before walking over to their designated junk-that-doesn’t-fit-anywhere-else cupboard and grabbing himself a new bottle of shampoo.
Under normal circumstances, Matt would have indulged himself and taken the liberty of staring at Mello’s exposed skin, which was taunting him in ways Mello knew damn well how to use to his advantage. This time, however, Matt was a little too busy having an existential crisis to do much more than steal the occasional glance.
When Mello had retreated to the shower once more, Matt found himself sitting on the couch with a forlorn expression on his face.
Just what else about Mello’s routines and habits had changed over time?
Just how much had he missed?
While Matt sat there pondering these questions, he considered it a good thing Mello enjoyed taking long showers.
Matt wondered when he’d learn to keep his damn mouth shut.
Maybe if he hadn’t wondered about Mello’s routines and habits so much, he wouldn’t have found himself in this predicament, with Mello looking at him with something akin to pity in his eyes rather than the appreciation Matt had hoped to find there upon being presented with a new supply of his favourite chocolate.
Or what Matt had thought to be his favourite, at least.
‘Matt…’ Mello started, but he didn’t even need to continue for Matt to know where this was going. He felt it coming from miles away.
‘You have a different favourite now, don’t you?’ Matt asked him in a defeated tone.
‘Yeah.’ Mello replied guiltily. ‘I meant to tell you the before, but…’
In addition to a shit ton of medical supplies, Matt had gotten Mello an impressive amount of chocolate after he’d blown himself to smithereens. To help speed up his recovery or some shit, or maybe as a way to make up for all the complaints he’d thrown his way during that time. He hadn’t said anything about it then, so Matt had simply assumed he’d gotten it right and had gotten the same brand again this time around.
To now know he hadn’t even gotten him the right kind of chocolate when he’d been at his worst left a nasty taste in his mouth no amount of chocolate could possibly wash away.
He’d thought he knew Mello better than anyone.
He’d thought that, regardless of the fact Mello had tried playing the ruthless Mafioso, he was still the same person he’d known before, deep down.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
‘Hey, it’s fine. I’ll still eat it.’ Mello told him, and Matt hated that look of pity on his face, hated how he was offering to compromise even though Mello was just about the last person on the whole planet to do so usually. Matt was pretty damn certain the only reason he was willing to do so now was because he looked like some kind of kicked puppy and Mello felt bad for him.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Matt shrugged, walking towards the door and thinking of what to do with something most people would consider a month’s worth supply of chocolate. His mind was spiralling, and it wasn’t just because of the money he’d wasted in a failed attempt to do something nice.
‘Matt—’
‘It’s fine.’
Mello didn’t attempt to stop him as he walked out of the apartment, and Matt wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for it, or if he wished Mello had chased after him.
He wondered if Mello had as much difficulty understanding the person he’d grown into as he did with him.
As time went on, Matt learned that quite a lot of things had changed over the years.
Mello washed his hair every day instead of every other day.
Mello didn’t eat the same brand of chocolate as he had in his youth anymore, instead preferring a more luxurious, expensive brand with a higher cocoa percentage.
Mello’s ankle didn’t make a weird cracking sound anymore, because apparently, there’d been some guy in the mafia who’d known how to fix it.
Mello painted the nails on both of his hands instead of just the one, because he’d taught himself to be ambidextrous in case a skill like that would save his life someday.
The list went on really, and Matt didn’t know how to feel about any of it.
He wouldn’t say he was sulking exactly, but he’d been staring at the ‘game over’ screen on his DS for a solid fifteen minutes now, his thoughts otherwise occupied, so it was fair to say he wasn’t exactly doing great either.
When Mello found him sitting on the couch like that, he’d half-expected the other to scold him, or mock him, or laugh at him, or yell at him, or…well, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Clearly he didn’t know Mello as well as he once had, so it could be a little hard to tell what was going on in that beautiful head of his.
The last thing he’d expected was for Mello to gently pry the DS from his hands, put it on the table, then join him on the couch in something that wasn’t quite pity but seemed more akin to…sympathy, almost. Compassion, maybe. What the fuck.
‘Matt.’
‘I’m fine.’ Matt replied before Mello had even so much as asked him anything.
‘Well, you don’t look fine.’
Mello rubbed his temple in frustration when Matt didn’t reply, and the movement drew Matt’s eyes to something that caught his attention quicker than any flashy video game ever would, even if he’d been embarrassingly late to notice in that moment. He’d been a little too busy not-sulking, okay?
‘You’re wearing my shirt.’ he pointed out, staring at Mello’s form in the loose shirt that contrasted his own usually tight clothes. Not only that, but he was pretty certain he was wearing his shirt and little else.
‘An astute observation.’ Mello deadpanned.
Matt blinked.
‘Why?’
‘Because I needed something comfortable.’
Which was a fair point, because Matt was pretty sure if one were to look up the antonym for the word ‘comfortable’, a photograph of Mello’s usual wardrobe would pop up. His clothes looked hot in both senses; attractive as fuck but just about ready to give the wearer a heatstroke at any given moment.
Then again, Mello had borrowed his shirts many times before, even when his own wardrobe had been a dozen times more practical. It had always caused a flush to rise to Matt’s cheeks whenever Mello chose to walk around in his clothes, although he’d been too scared to say anything back then for fear of making Mello change his mind about the whole thing.
Clearly, some things never changed.
And oh, wasn’t that a wonderful thought.
Some things never changed.
Like the way Mello would steal his clothes, apparently.
‘You know, I feel better already.’ Matt said, his eyes never leaving Mello even if he wasn’t sure what part of Mello he wanted to look at most.
Mello raised an eyebrow at him in a way that indicated he thought Matt was a befuddling idiot he would not even begin to try and understand, though he also looked somewhat amused, so perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.
‘I haven’t even done anything.’ Mello pointed out, almost looking a little offended at the fact he’d been willing to play the role of supportive boyfriend, only to realise that took way less effort than he’d expected it to.
‘You didn’t need to.’ Matt replied, a small grin making its way onto his face. He wondered if Mello knew how much he’d just reassured him even without words.
Of course then Mello had to go and say something that made Matt do a double-take, his mind short-circuiting almost instantly.
‘So you don’t want the cheer-up blowjob?’
At those words, Matt’s head perked up, his eyes going wide as he let them sink in.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Too late, you seem to be doing just fine, so…’
‘But Mello!’ Matt gasped dramatically, which caused a smug little grin to appear on Mello’s face. That too had not seemed to change over the years, his triumphant expression a sight for sore eyes as far as Matt was concerned.
Of course Mello did end up giving him the cheer-up blowjob eventually, because something else that hadn’t changed was Mello’s inability to resist his well-trained puppy-dog eyes.
(Or perhaps what hadn’t changed was Matt’s willingness to beg for things Mello was going to give him regardless…)
Anyway, Matt wasn’t complaining considering he was the one reaping the benefits in the end.
Mello didn’t eat the same brand of chocolate anymore, but he did still lick each piece before putting it into his mouth just as he’d done back in the day, much to the chagrin of the Wammy’s House caretakers.
Mello didn’t only wash his hair on specific days anymore, but he did still spend a frustratingly long time in the shower just as he’d always done. And that was on days Matt didn’t join him in the shower, because they took even longer then.
Mello’s fashion sense had changed over the years, but he still borrowed Matt’s shirts without asking whenever he felt like wearing something comfortable, both for innocent and not-so-innocent reasons.
Mello’s temper had worsened over the years, but he still knew how and when to be gentle with Matt to make him feel better.
And no matter how much time passed, no matter how much Mello changed, or how much things changed between them, Mello still loved Matt more than anyone in the world.
Matt may not have known Mello as well as he once had, but he was more than happy to get to know him again and learn his new routines and habits along the way.
Because Matt loved Mello, and Mello loved Matt, and at least that was something Matt was confident would never change.