That moment where you feel like a grade A asshole. Your ass is on the line. All hell's crashing down around your head. There's a gun pointed at your face, and the guy behind it's ready to pull the trigger. Yeah, I'm there. Literally. Mello's got his gun in hand, and the muzzle's synced in a straight shot with my skull. Pretty normal for us, 'cept that he already fired one bullet. It's lodged in the wall by my ear. Barely missed me too. And something tells me that shot was a warning. Mello's too good a shot to miss, especially at this close a range. Na, he meant to miss. A warning, like I said. Shut the fuck up, or the next one's going to blow your stupid head off.

Funny thing. It's my fault too. Then again, it usually is. I just gotta open my big fat mouth, say something snarky or blunt like I always seem to do, and he gets all bitchy and overdramatic…..y'know, like usual. Fuck, I can't help it though. It's just who I am. Just like Mello can't help being a drama queen. But nowadays, I've got to thinking. Maybe's he's not as much of a dick as I like to try and convince myself he is. Maybe I'm just an insensitive jerk who's too goddamn stuck in his imaginary world to wake up and see that his mouth is landing him in a world of trouble. Hurting the guy he loves too.

Yeah. That seems about right.

Mello's got his finger on the trigger. Shit. He really is going to shoot me. Or he's at least thinking about it. Not sure I can blame him either. I mean, I know some things should be taken with a grain of salt, but in all fairness I really was being kind of a dick. I never should've called him out like that. Hell, I know better. All those years at Wammy's taught me to tread carefully where General Blondie-Mello's involved. He's pretty sensitive. I think it's got something to do with his past. Dunno. Never asked. Breach of privacy, y'know? Fuck, doesn't matter anyway. I think all those years on my own made me forget what I learned. 'Cause the minute he stepped back into my life, I couldn't stop myself. It was constant barbs and hateful slurs, disguised under a mask of snarkiness and gold tinted frames.

Shit. I'm surprised he hasn't shot me yet. Thinking back on it all, I damn well would've. I mean, why not? The way I treat him, I deserve it. So what if he left me at Wammy's? So what if he abandoned me to go play anti-hero with the big bad mafia? It's not like I haven't been through worse. Lots of people survive their best friends leaving. I would've. Man, I was! I had a good thing going too! I ran away from Wammy's, perfected my hacking skills. Met some new people, claimed a few as family. We started a band together! We were good too. Well, good enough to be traveling the world, living it up like rock stars and jamming all night long. Fuck. I got to pour my heart and soul out on stage, something I'd never done before. I bet Wammy's turning over in his grave because of it.

Then Mello showed up one day. He looked like hell. His face was half covered in burns, some still bandaged, and there was this…..coldness in his eyes. I'd never seen anything like it. He asked me to help him catch Kira, something I really didn't give a shit about. Thinking back on it, that was probably one of our problems. I didn't care. Didn't matter though. Mello was there, asking for MY help. A guy he'd abandoned to loneliness at an orphanage he really couldn't stand. And what did I do? I fucking let him back into my life.

Tch. I should've known better. Stuff like being best friends forever, or something more….it's a pipe dream. It only happens in the movies and video games. I'd know. I've played enough of them. Mello and me-we were too damaged. Our relationship used to be pretty smooth, if you're not comparing it to the cliché normal standards. Key words, used to be. Mello hurt me when he left. He hurt me bad. And I carried that pain for a good couple years, only vocalizing it with my lyrics. When I was on stage, I could sing what I felt and not have to worry about getting reprimanded or ridiculed. Shit….that was the problem. I've never been good at expressing myself. It goes beyond being a Wammy too. Only when I could mark it off with a rock star label was I cool with pouring my heart out. I knew that, but none of that mattered when I saw Mello in the crowd at one of our venues, watching me. Judging me. He wanted my help. I gave it to him.

I had no fucking right.

Now don't get me wrong. I love Mello. Always have, always will. He was-is…the first guy I fell in love with. The only guy I'll EVER love. But I'm a pretty big jerk. I hold grudges. It didn't matter that Mello had come for me, asking for my help. None of it mattered. I couldn't get over the fact that he'd left me behind, when we swore to always be there for each other. We swore. Ha. Guess none of that mattered, eh? I didn't let a little thing like love stop me from being an asshole. I stepped on Mello's toes whenever I could. I put myself in positions that I knew would piss him off. I smarted off, swore, stunk up his apartment with cigarettes and fucked up on all the errands. Sometimes I even gave him the wrong information on purpose, just to get a good laugh at his expense. And you know what? I did it all on purpose too. I wanted him angry. I wanted him to hurt, like I had. At the time it seemed pretty fair. Honestly…it still does. Why shouldn't Mello feel like shit? He left me! He actually abandoned me! He said we'd always be together, and that we'd leave Wammy's together! But then he ran off, and I-

Dammit. There I go again. I'm blaming him. I do that a lot. Have been for years. Pretty petty, huh? I'm acting like a spoiled little kid….I don't even know how to be spoiled! It's not like I ever got what I wanted in life. Watching your dad murder your mum, getting bullied and mocked half your life…fuck, how I got so spoiled is a mystery to me. All I know is that lately I've been having a wake up call. I don't get that gloating feeling whenever I see Mello's dejected face anymore. There's no pleasure in pissing him off, or pushing his buttons. It makes me sick. I get it. I'm angry at him for leaving. I hate him for breaking his promise. Shit though, he doesn't deserve to be treated like this! I had no right to extract revenge, no right at all. I should've just swallowed my pride and helped him out right, like he asked me to do. I mean, it took guts to come back and face me, yeah? Ah, what am I saying. It took some major balls. I never could've done it. But Mello did. He asked me for help….he…he needed me. And I blew it.

Remember how I called myself a grade A asshole? Fuck that. I'm way worse. I'm no better than scum. Just a jerk wearing goggles. I deserve to have that gun pointed at me. Every glare, every hateful slur-I deserve them all. If I believed in God, I'd say it'd by my way of repenting for my sins. But I don't, so maybe karma is just being a bitch. I dunno. Doesn't matter anyway. I got my stupid revenge. I made Mello's life a living hell. Guess it's only fair that he should get to do the same. At least I deserve it.

"…..go ahead." Straightening up, I can't help but look at Mello straight on. He never valued weakness, especially not from me. When we were kids, he used to mock me for wearing my goggles, claiming I was hiding myself from the world. I never argued. He was right. Like I said, I'm bad with emotions. I play games as a means of escape from reality, smoke and drink to take my mind off shit…and mock Mello to make myself feel better, when all I really want is to pull him in a big hug and beg for his forgiveness. Forgiveness I know I won't get, but hey, a guy can dream. "Shoot me. C'mon Mello. I know you want to. Fuck, I don't know why you haven't done it yet. Don't you have the guts anymore? Or did you lose those when you blew yourself up?"

Yeah. I'm antagonizing him again. Right about now, a bullet to the head is sounding pretty nice. Self pitying? Maybe. Look at all the fucks I give. I'm an asshole, remember? Give me credit that I'm letting him get his revenge.

Mello's looking at me. Damn, his eyes are so cold. When we were kids, I compared them to the ocean, or those pale blue stones you find in jewelry. Now they're no better than glacial ice. Pretty to look at, but dangerous. It suits him. His hands are trembling too. I must've really pissed him off. He never does that unless he's ready to lose control. ….fuck, I feel like such an asshole. I wish I could apologize. But this is the best I can do. At least my death will be by his hands, and not some stranger out in the streets, or a rabid fangirl. How creepy would that be? "Shoot me. Fucking shoot me already!" I take the time and laugh at him, driving the proverbial knife deeper. "End this façade! I know you hate me Mello! How could you not? After all the bullshit, all the lies-"

My voice stutters. I can't look at him anymore. It'll just make me cry, and no way am I ever letting that happen. Not with him around. Maybe on stage I can pour my heart out, show all the pain I keep bottled up inside, but here, with only him watching? No way. Does that make me a coward? Yeah. It does. I realize that. Hell, I embrace it! I'm a mother fucking coward, ok? But I can't cry in front of him. I just….no. I can't. I can't show any tears, just like I can't apologize. It's not the way I am. It's not how WE are. You can blame whoever the fuck you want. I blame us both, but mostly me. Either way, it doesn't change the facts. Mello's an asshole, but he's got his reasons. I'm a bastard, and I made his life even more miserable than it already is. On purpose. I fucking did it on purpose. And now he's got a gun trailed on me, his finger on the trigger.

I can't help but smile now, head bowed and a laugh threatening to tear open my lips. Good thing it doesn't come out; I'd probably sound like a loon. Hysteria's kicking in, and all that guilt is coursing through my veins like a poison. I want to embrace it. I deserve it! Shit though….

Mello, I-I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. You can't hear this, since it's all in my head, but I gotta say it anyway. I'm so sorry Mells! You didn't deserve it. You never deserved it. Even though you left me alone, I had no right to treat you like I did. I should've…should've….talked to you? Explained things? For once, broken that God forsaken silence Roger and Wammy pushed on us and just opened up to you. Maybe then this wouldn't be happening. We wouldn't be yelling at each other all the time. I wouldn't insult you, stick my fingers in your wounds and jar them open. Maybe if I'd just…..done something….

Clenching my teeth, I stuff hands in my pockets, unwilling to show that I'm trembling and on the brink of tears. What am I saying? I should've done this, or that, but it's too fucking late now. The past is the past, right? You can't undo it. This isn't Doctor Who. I can't time travel, and I can't magically make things better like some fucking fairy godmother. Shit man, I'm coming undone at the seams, and it's all my fault. Mello could shoulder some of the blame, but I'm tired of blaming him. No more. I repeat that as a stubborn mantra inside my head, maybe even under my breath. Can't be sure. I stopped paying attention to anything outside the gun, and Mello's finger wrapped around the trigger. He's clenching it. Fuck, it's applying pressure. He's gonna shoot me.

He's gonna shoot me.

"Mello…."

"Matt." His voice is cold, unrelenting. He's taking a step closer, and the gun is perfectly level with my eyes. It seems kinda familiar, this setup, and I almost make a snarky comment about mafia bosses holding up the innocent, flea bitten "dogs", but I hold my tongue. He doesn't need any more of a reason to shoot me. He's got plenty already. "Remember when we were kids?" Mello's eyes do that slit thingy, showing just how pissed off he really is. It makes me want to smile. "This isn't a game. There's no repeat button. You don't get to do shit over." The gun wavers, then presses flush with my temple.

The sensation of cold metal on my naked skin is fucking unnerving, but I don't say a word. I can tell it pisses him off too. What does he want, a verbal apology? Not happening. Already said I can't. "….you deserve this," he mutters. "Don't argue. You had it coming, you insensitive ass. I'll be glad to be rid of you."

Can't say I blame him. I'd be glad to be rid of me too. That's why I don't complain when the muzzle digs hard enough into my flesh to bruise, and the sound of leather gloves rubbing up against the trigger grates in my ears. I take it all like a boss, as stupid as it sounds. I've got this coming. I deserve to get shot up like Swiss cheese. Mello's gonna shoot me, and it's all my fucking fault. I'm the cause of this madness. Me. Not him. I've been a prick, and now I've gotta pay the press. Like Mells said; you don't get to do shit over. …wow. I called him Mells. I haven't done that in years. Not since he left. I thought he didn't deserve it. The nickname was precious, a memory from happier times. Dammit, I sound so stupid. I'd give everything for the willpower to man up, apologize to him. Do something to save our relationship-friendship. But I don't deserve it. I had my chances, and I blew them. All I can do is give Mello the smallest sense of victory, revenge completed. I can let him shoot me.

I'm going to.

The gun is freezing cold, just like his eyes. I shut mine, uncaring if he thinks me a coward. I am one, after all. There's a mantra of "I'm sorry" going on in my head, each one pounding against my skull like a drum, but I welcome the pain. Let me have it. Make it worse. Put a bullet in my head Mello. I have it coming. You don't get away with mistreating your fellow players in video games, and the same goes for real life. Except here, now, that idea has a whole lot more power than it used to. I treated you like dirt, and now the time's come to pay up. I'm gonna repent, and if it means falling apart at the seams while you do it, then whatever. So be it.

Mello's watching me. His gaze is cold, and his words drill into my ears. "Time's up."

Everything freezes. He sees me, I see him. My heart pounds in my chest. The gun quivers, and I slowly answer with a yes, though the sound is lost to me; I can't hear anything anymore. Cold silence. Just like his eyes. I meet them, too tired to flinch. Even if it's the tiniest show of bravery, I hope it means something to him. I just wish…..I could say more…. "Yeah, I know." My jaw quivers, and I can feel tears behind my lashes. I'm such a loser. He'll be glad to be rid of me. He said so himself. "….guess this is it then." I'm coming undone. Mello, I love you, I need you. Please, forgive me. I never meant to treat you…no, ok, I did. It was stupid of me. I was petty and angry. I just wanted you to feel some of the pain you put me through. Now I know it wasn't fair. You had your own suffering to deal with. Who was I to push my problems on you, when you came to me for help? You asked me to…oh fuck Mello, Mells. I'm so sorry. I'm so-

"Game over."

BANG.