YAOI! Don't like it, don't read my story! And certainly don't flame me because of it, especially when you have this nifty little warming right here!

Author's Notes: Ah, so this is my first (completed) Death Note story. I've started countless others, but they never reached completion by any means. Well anyway, you can interpret this story to be a part of the actual plot or AU. For me, it has no real place, it just is. And I tried making this into a drably-type-thing, something under a 1000 words, but failed! I tried cutting a little out to achieve my goal, but the story didn't really flow after that.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. And because of this, I'll go cry in my corner.

Summary: There was just Matt's arms around him, Matt's heart thumping against his chest. There was no endless struggle. For the moment. Rated M. Matt/Mello.

o.O.o

Vacillation

o.O.o

Matt could feel the previous ironclad-grip sleep had on him quickly recede, leaving the cold and harsh morning in its place. He stretched, reaching across the queen sized bed for another warm body. He wanted to bury his face in the soft blond hair of Mello, to sleepily run his fingers through it as he resisted waking. He wanted to draw the other man to himself and know that he would be there, that they would face the day together.

But his hands only met cooling sheets, leaving him with the realization that Mello hadn't occupied their bed for a time. Withdrawing his arm from the cold mattress, he squeezed his eyes shut, listening for sounds. The tell-tale sound of the shower; of someone fiddling around in the kitchen, making up a breakfast; of the subtle thumps of the washer from the laundry room right next door.

Anything.

He was met with only the slightest whisper of wind gushing past the window and the droning of the television that had been left on last night in their haste to get into bed.

Sighing deeply, he flung the blankets off of himself, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit. Elbows on knees, he buried his face in his hands for a moment, trying hopelessly to drive off the impulse to climb back into bed.

After raising the gumption, he stood, slowly padding his way over to where yesterday's boxers had been hastily flung on the floor, drawing them up his legs. He crossed the small room, stepping into the bathroom. He recoiled for a moment as the bottoms of his feet met the frigid linoleum floor.

He relieved himself, washing his hands without waiting for the hot water to stream out, and walked back through the bedroom and into the kitchen.

He saw that Mello had already made him a fresh pot of coffee, the liquid dark in the pot and calling to him. Grabbing a plain white mug from the cupboard, he poured himself a cup, taking his usual seat at the tiny four-seater of a kitchen table. His book was still waiting for him from when he'd sat here yesterday, his PSP next too it. Normally he loved to play games, games of all forms, but he could never concentrate on them, not when Mello was gone and Matt knew exactly where he had gone.

The book was a much better distraction, colder and absent, the pages crisp in his fingers as he turned them. He thought perhaps he choose the book over his games in times like this because books were predictable, a constant onslaught of page after page of words, clichéd plots, and unreal or overused characters. He could depend on books to act the same always.

Mello was a lot like his books, a creature of strict habit for those who knew him. He was unpredictable, but Matt had come to believe that you could count on Mello's unpredictableness once you got past his almost ritualistic other habits.

And so Matt would wait, drinking cup after cup of coffee, reading his humdrum book that vaguely kept his mind off of things, occasionally taking a small bathroom break. He would wait until Mello came through the front door, always wearing the same atoning expression, and Matt would stand and wait for Mello to make the first move.

Usually he would stand there, unsure of himself, before crossing the tiny kitchen to wrap shaking arms around his lover. Sometimes he would begin to cry, staring at Matt until it subsided, taking a seat next to him at the table where, after a moment, he would grasp Matt's hand in his own icy fingers. And sometimes Mello would lock himself in their bedroom, not emerging for hours.

But it didn't matter really. Matt would always wait for him.

o.O.o

An hour and a half earlier…

Wakefulness hit Mello like a freight train tearing through a small car that had the bad fortune of breaking down in the middle of the tracks. And he always felt like that small car too, his body aching at every infinitesimal movement. He could feel the hollow throbbing in his bones, the twinge in his skin, the stinging in his heart.

He didn't need to look over at Matt, sleeping so peacefully next to him, didn't need to feel his heart swell at a mere thought of the redhead to know that God was punishing him for loving another man.

He thought of his mother then, of how she dragged him to church every day of the week as a small child, of how she was convinced it was her sole duty to drive the devil out of her son. She made him wear his rosary at all times, made him say his prayers for hours at a time. He remembered distinctly despite the fact that he was only four at the time of how she'd said she'd gotten a vision from God of the ultimate way to drive the devil from her son.

Mello remembered the way her foot fell heavy on the gas of their small car, of the way it accelerated until it was flying down the country roads at uncontrollable speeds. He remembered the way the car sounded as it crashed into the telephone pole. He remembered the way his mother's blood smelled in the air. But most of all, he remembered how he survived the crash without even the slightest scratch, the way his mother's head turned to him and, in her dying breath, she condemned him to a lifetime of sin.

He wasn't really sure why, but, to this day, he still wore his rosary.

The sudden need to get out of there, get out of the apartment and away, filled Mello then. He jumped out of bed, grabbing clean clothes from his drawers, brushing hair and teeth and grabbing keys. Before leaving, he couldn't resist the urge to begin Matt's morning pot of coffee. He was from the apartment in under five minutes.

Straddling his motorcycle, he arrived at the church a few minutes later, turning his bike off and heading toward the large doors of the ancient church. He paused before entering, just as he always did. Heading to the confessional, the sat down, fingering his rosary as he said in a voice scarcely above a whisper, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It had been fourteen hours since my last confession…"

o.O.o

Matt couldn't help the way his heart sped up as he heard Mello's heavy boots smack the wooden floor outside their apartment as the blond approached the door. He grabbed his bookmark from where it sat, planting it in between pages 328 and 329 and closing with a soft sigh.

He stood up as the door opened, watching as Mello walked into the room, pausing for a second before moving once again.

"I'm sorry," Mello said breathlessly, his arms wrapping securely around Matt. He laid his head in the crook between Matt's shoulder and neck, resisting the urge to curse the way his heart flared up as Matt's arms came around him.

"I know," Matt replied, his fingers finding the soft blond hair that they'd been looking for earlier. "I know, but it doesn't matter. You have nothing to be sorry about."

"I'm sorry," Mello said again, no longer knowing what he was sorry for.

For the moment, his indecision was gone. There was no constant battle between his beliefs and his love for Matt. There was just Matt's arms around him, Matt's heart thumping against his chest.

There was no endless struggle. For the moment.

End.

o.O.o

More A/N: Reviews are really nice ways of getting imput on what you thought of my story!! :-)

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