Damn. He shouldn't have been surprised; Matt had the advantage of having seen Mello a lot more recently than Mello had seen him, and he'd always had an uncanny knack for noticing a hell of a lot more than he seemed to.

Wouldn't getting it out in the open be healthier than sublimating until he had to punch someone again? No. Fuck healthiness, and fuck telling Matt and knowing he'd never see him the same way afterwards. He may have accepted that nod in the direction of apology--and Mello had read that sigh of relief as easily as Matt had read the intent behind tossing the water bottle--but he still didn't trust Mello. Something came clear that he hadn't realized before. "That's why you wouldn't stop pushing, in Japan."

There was one thing he couldn't resist the temptation to bring up, that had been weighing on his mind all night. "What's different?" He watched his friend steadily, resigned to having at least this much of the conversation, and felt his fingers twitch with that restless urge to touch the back of his neck. Telling would take him right back there, lost and hurting and pathetic. He wasn't going unless he had to. You never have been on good terms with the aspects of reality you don't like, he thought unwillingly, and for a fraction of a second, which felt too, too much like standing at those marble doors, eying surrender from afar, he knew it was true. He wrenched the lid of the candy tin open and popped a couple more mints, and felt steadier.