Hey, I wrote a new prologue to this story, to kind of let you know what we're dealing with here.

So, basically, I only write stories that are super long and go throug EVERYTHING. So we start with the end, and then we go to the beginning. And we see how it all happened.

And, you should know that I can only write about love and suffering, heartbreak, death and sex, so that's what this fic will be about. A shitload of angst, and maybe some humor. Hope you enjoy it, and please, all feedback is appreciated. I live for your reviews.

Mello's heart is ripped out of his chest.

It is carved out, beating, raw, bloody, and all that is left in him, is a black hole, filled with emptiness, with nothingness, that is heavy as lead and tastes like acid.

Matt is dead.

He's lying on the street, shot.

The cigarette has fallen from his lips.

His fur-coated west is on bullet holes and blood - Christ, Matt's blood, though Mello feels like it is his own, and it is staining everything. It stains Matt's pale face, his shirt, his jeans, Mello's soul. It's pooling on the pavement, taking everything, everything with it.

Matt is dead, and he had to die alone.

That thought kills Mello.

Matt died alone. Fucking alone, thinking Mello didn't care, that Mello sent him to a suicide mission, to die - to fucking die - for no matter how an important cause. Yet the truth is, nothing is as important as Matt, nothing, not even beating Near and winning this game.

He should've known that.

He should've protected the one thing - the only thing - he has ever loved.

And right there, watching the end of the world in a small, portable TV, the truck he had been driving now stopped on a dark, abandoned side street somewhere outside of Tokyo, Mello remembers.

He remembers everything.

It's like he's drawn through his life, drawn back to the years, the days, the seconds that were gone ages ago. Like this past decade just disappears, and he is a kid again. It all goes back to the beginning. His knuckles go white as he grabs the steering wheel, tears taste like acid and blood, and he feels like choking, but he remembers.

"I fucking hate you." Matt breaths, but his hands say the opposite. They are in his hair now, and Matt rolls even closer, so that he is half on top of Mello now, his weight on Mello's chest and it is the sweetest feeling, it melts something in Mello, in his heart, in his gut, in his brain.

I fucking hate you

I fucking love you.

Without you, I am nothing.