These were the stairs he hadn't made it to, last night (really only a night ago? that seemed absurd), and, not far beyond them, the room he'd walked out of, just barely. Mello still held it as a point of pride that he'd done that much, even as a part of him found bitter amusement that so small an accomplishment could've come to mean so much. Bitter, too, to realize that one person he might once have confided in was following him along, just like he'd done so often before their whole world went to shit, and to know with dark certainty that it would be easier to tell a stranger what had happened than to admit his weakness to a friend.

"No. It was November 19, 2009, for me," he told Matt, making sure to look to the right when they reached the top of the stairs. Five years hadn't cured Matt of his skittishness around people, apparently. Mello fought the urge to tell him to turn the damn light off. Knowing him, he'd do it.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/890326.html)]