Guns and Thorns (BeyondxMatt - Death Note)

Need a lighter?

It was yet another boring day for Matt. He was watching over the security cameras around his and Mello's new mafia hideout from his laptop. Ugh, why did they have to change hideouts every couple weeks? It was getting on his nerves to have to move all his equipment every single time.

"Friends", not foes, would come and go from the little rusty door on the right side of the room. Mafia members.

The walls had an ugly gray color. Was it from too much smoke? Or from the age of this very room? Nobody knew.

The redhead didn't like watching something that stayed static. He wanted to see some action. Heck, it was good that nobody was coming to find them and bust them out, but he was so desperate, he'd prefer it over boredom.

The gameboy was flipped open. His emerald green eyes got focused on the one screen and forgot about the other. Matt needed that dopamine hit really hard. He had previously reached out for his cigarette box but it was emptier than his very soul.

The room was very dark and for a while the only sounds echoing all over the place would be the ones from his Pokemon game. He had just managed to level up his charmander enough for the first gym. Matt had already finished that game, along with a bunch of others like Zelda and Super Mario, but he enjoyed replaying them. Especially at times like these, when boredom was predominant.

His eyelids were becoming heavier and heavier the more the time passed. He glanced over to the laptop- Nothing but more static. The town was all asleep. It should've been obvious.

Green eyes were now shut closed. His belly was rising slowly but steadily. His breath was relaxed.

Matt had fallen asleep on the couch.

The creepy sound of the metal door creaking open woke him up. He must've slept for a while. The time at his laptop read "3:39 am".

Matt turned his head at the door. He saw nothing; Nobody. Then he glanced over at the security feed from the outside of that door. Right there was a man who was crouching and hiding. He was trying to be as quiet as possible and didn't move.

The redhead was crept out. The man had puffy, straight dark hair and didn't look like any of the mafia members he'd seen before. Plus, it looked like he was wearing a prisoner's clothes.

'How did he get in?'

Matt kept wondering, as he took his gun out of his pocket and slowly approached the perpetrator.

"I know you're there. Show yourself! I have a gun", he said menacingly, pointing the gun at him.

The man stood up and opened the door even more, showing Matt his face. He didn't move his hands up at all, up until the last second. He had a look on his face that betrayed disappointment.

"I need your help", he said in a husky voice. He had just managed to escape prison and was soon going to be chased down again.

"Why would I help you? But most importantly: how the heck did you get in here?", the redhead asked him, the gun still pointed at the strange-looking man.

It took a few seconds for the man to reply: "From criminal to criminal: I'll grant you any favor...And I found a button that revealed this hideout"

Matt looked at the man in disbelief. What made him believe that he would be bought off so easily?

"Any favor?", he asked again, this time contemplating it a while longer. Maybe there was something he would like in return... Oh, some cigarettes would be great for a start.

"Have you got cigarettes on you by any chance?", the redhead asked the prisoner. He knew that in prison they were using cigarettes as currency, so it was highly likely that the strange man would have some on him.

In reality, Matt was thinking of asking him for a more valuable favor. It could be anything;

Anything...

...but his addiction had gotten the best out of him. He had already started getting those nasty withdrawal symptoms.

The tall man stared at the redhead's green eyes for a few moments, finding it strange that he'd ask him for something so cheap and simple. But he understood him too well; he, too, used to be addicted to nicotine.

"I do", he said, reaching out for his back pocket and revealing a squished, half-empty box.

Matt didn't lower his gun. He opened his other palm and waited.

Five seconds later, the box was on his hand. He really wanted to smoke right now, but couldn't light up a cigarette with only one hand. He had to lower the gun; but then again, he didn't trust this man enough.

As if he was reading his thoughts, Beyond— that was his name— asked: "Need a lighter?"