A/N I have a stong love for italicizing words. So this was inpited and named after the song -The Big Fight- by Stars. Good song...also longest story I've written on this site :) I am fond of this one...just rambling about their breakups and makeups. Fun stuff. The ending came when I was editing it, so adorable. Hope you enjoy! Also, researched a bit...Mello is older and taller than Matt. I felt the need to include this tidbit.

I grabbed a fist of Mello's hair and pulled his face towards mine, Mello's facial burns exposed. "What do you mean; there is nothing to talk about! There is everything to talk about? What the hell were you doing with the mafia? How were you so stupid to blow up with same building you were in? Why the fuck are you wearing leather? Why haven't you called? Written? E-mailed? Tried to stay my best friend for the whole fucking time you were gone? Why did you pick me to come save you? Fuck it Mello, just...fuck everything. Just tell me why."

Mello's eyes were dark as they have ever been, and they scared me when they now were cold and had more malevolence than anyone should ever have. "Matt." The voice echoed the steel like eyes. "I don't have to give you a fucking answer. At least when I don't want to."

The slow pain followed by numbness crept throughout my body as each word pierced his heart. I didn't notice my hand fall limply out of Mello's hair, until it was back to my side. I hung my head in hopes that the blonde would not notice the burning, irritating feeling in my eyes, and tried to hide the emotion from him. I hated showing some emotions to anyone, but to Mello most of all. Weakness was one, too much affection another. Doubt, Self loathing, my love for Mello –shit. "Get out." God, I hope he didn't notice my voice tremble.

My check suddenly stung, and I was facing the door. "Fucking bitch! Don't order me around!" Mello screamed at me furiously as he stormed out the door that I now couldn't take my eyes off of.

I couldn't hold back the tears as they silently fell when he left. My hand reached up to feel my check, to prove that this sensation was real, and that Mello really was back.

But he was not my Mello, the one who I knew. This one was harsher than mine, colder, more adult. I couldn't take it in.

I pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

Memories with Mello wafted through the air along with the smoke that clung to me. He would be the only person to know that I died, when I died. No one else could mark my existence. No drawings of me to be given to the police like what will happen with Mello and Near.

No one else to remember the unsocial me.

Only Mello.

I let out a sigh and the smoke drifted up into the sky until I couldn't see it anymore.

I felt something warm tenderly touch my bruised cheek. I opened one eye to see the leather-wearing-gun-holding-blonde fret over the damage he had done to me.

"Does it hurt?"

I sighed and closed my eyes again. "Not really." I liked the contact between the back of his hand and my cheek. It proved he cared; I was not someone he could just throw away.

Even if he already had done that.

Mello got in beside me on the bed, and we stared at each other well he stroked my cheek. "You've been well?" He asked sadly, carefully.

I grunted in response. It wasn't an 'I am super fucked when you are not around' or a 'fucking awesome' response. But I had not been either, so I guess it worked out. His face had changed a lot, from age and being caught in the explosion. I knew that after all this time he wouldn't be the same person I knew.

But I still wish he was.

"I would ask you the same question," I heard myself said before I even thought about it. How emotional...how Mello. "But from the state of you it looks like you haven't been." My gaze lingered on the scar that was mainly covered by the pillow.

"I've been alright. I got by, and just had a...mishap." We didn't say anything after that, just watched each other, listened to the other breathe.

It almost felt like he was my Mello again, the one from so many years ago.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I woke to the sound of breaking glass. When I arrived in the kitchen I saw Mello bending down to pick up the pieces of a cup and plate that had fallen off the counter. It would have happened eventually, the way they were inadequately stacked, teetering even as I stood in the doorway.

"That was my favourite cup." I stated, suddenly sad, as I went to help Mello pick up the pieces. The mug had reminded me of Mello, plain black, the words 'whatever it takes' written in a plain white font.

He had paused and looked up at me. "Maybe if you washed them, it wouldn't have been broken." He hissed. "But knowing you, gaming holds the top priority rather than anything else. As long as you have a game, everything else, including your fucking surroundings don't matter." Mello threw the shard of porcelain at my foot, and stood up. "If you did, maybe your stupid mug wouldn't have been broken!"

I sighed. "You think I'm blaming you for the mug." I don't need it now that you are back.

His dark eyes narrowed at me. "What else would you be doing, Matt."

"Stating that it was a cup that brought back some good memories. Don't worry about it." My eyes lingered on his hand, a pale finger streaked with bright red. I sighed again, reached out and pulled him to the sink. "At least notice when you are bleeding. Take care of yourself, even if you don't think there are, people do care about you." I kept my hand on his as the cool water ran over the cut, staining the liquid stream red.

His voice was soft, and I barely heard him. "Are you one of them?" He leaned against my chest.

I smiled, and stood on my toes to see over his shoulder. "You even have to ask?" The cut looked clean, and I pulled it out from the water, turning the tap off.

Mello laughed. I had forgotten how wonderful it sounded, like a siren singing.

I chose to not think about what that meant, to me then. If Mello was a siren, I would be the sailors who will be enchanted and have destruction brought upon me.

But I would take the cards Mello would deal, even with the joker of fate upon them, smiling wickedly at my demise.

"Hey," His voice sounded among the beeps and sounds of my video game. "Let's go out." I gave him a 'are you high?' face mixed with a 'I'm obvi playing video games, so please do not disturb' face. "Matt, don't give me that face. Besides, we need to go out. Be among the masses. Live a little." He waved his hands, probably to do with what he was talking about.

I took my 'please do not disturb' face very seriously. As in I stop listening to anyone (including Mello) after I had put it in use. "Mello, not now. I'm playing a video game." I waved the object before him, before focusing my attention back on the game.

"Matt." His voice was tired, raw, and annoyed. "We are going out even if you like it or not. Put the fucking game down, put some shoes on, and get your scrawny ass out the front door." He pivoted on the spot, and left me sitting there dumbfounded after him. A moment after I heard the front door click shut; I paused my game, grabbed some sandals and a sweater, and followed him out the door.

When he spoke again, I heard the smile in his voice. I didn't know if he was smiling or not, because he was still a few steps ahead of me, but I like to think he was smiling. "You know," I watched as his fingers traced the bricks as he walked. "If you had not followed, I was considering what I would do. One of them was leaving again." He paused, waiting for an answer.

"You would have left without your leather collection?" I immediately responded. I knew that he could leave me, he had done it once, was the second time any different? He would eventually come back, it might take a few years, but he would. We would both be different, but still be the same somehow. I would accept it, it was what life was, right?

He paused, frowned back at me, and continued on. "I might have come back to get that. And my chocolate."

"Of course."

What Mello had suggested was not as horrible as I thought it would be. It wasn't horrible at all.

No clubbing, no bombs going off, nothing dramatic, nothing important.

It was just me, Mello and the city.

"Matt, go take a bath. You smell like a dead man left in a rotting dumpster filled with compost."

I grunted, not processing what he said.

He sighed, "Matt."

"Matt."I could practically hear him start to have a fit across the room.

"MATT!" He boomed across the room as he snapped.

My head snapped around suddenly scared for my life. Baths and Mello were equal to a death of me.

"Go take a god damned fucking bath before I bring out the metal SOS brush to clean you. And rip off your skin."

A bath minus Mello and an SOS brush sounded fantastic right about now. So I did it well I still had the chance.

I also used some of Mello's shampoo to spite him. It smelt really good. I might have to use it if Mello ever left again. And not just to remind me of him since the mug was broken.

"You have a really scrawny ass Mels." I shouted to him as I attempted to fit into his pants.

He didn't respond to me, probably couldn't hear me over the sound of running water of the shower and through the closed bathroom door. I shrugged and painfully pulled up the pants. I don't know what gave me the idea to try on clothes from his wardrobe, but the thought had possessed me, and I felt it would until I stood in front of the full length mirror in full on leather.

"We are practically the same weight too...just because he is one pound less...both weigh 52 kilos...damn it!" I shouted at the pants that seemed to have a strong hatred for me. Finally they slid up past my hips and I stared blankly down at where the zipper should be. I was third best at Wammy's, so some odd pant fastening should not be a problem. Thankfully, it was only a problem for about two minutes. At which point Mello decided to grace me with his presence, with only a towel hanging from his hips.

"What the hell are you doing to my pants?" He asked dryly, grabbed a pair of pants that was thrown on the back of a chair, and put them on.

"Do not even ask." I looked in the mirror, surprised that they went so well with my shirt. Probably better than one of Mello's shirts. I frowned at the length on the bottom, slightly too long for me.

"Mello." I stated, and he glanced over.

"Yes Matt?"

"I hate you for being an inch taller than me."

He laughed. "I am one year older; maybe my height comes with age?"

I narrowed my eyes at him in the mirror, and came to a conclusion. "I also hate you for being one year older than me.

He came up and wrapped his arms around me. "Do you also hate me for being one spot better than you?"

"No, but I do think you should buy your pants one size bigger." I smirked, "Maybe it's because I'm bigger than you somewhere else?"

Mello patted my abdomen. "Yup, you are bigger than me here. How did you know?" He smiled contently in the mirror.

"So that's where I weigh one pound more than you!"

He rested a chin on my shoulder. "You are also bigger than me here." He pointed to my heart. Then he laughed that dazzling sound, and I smiled.

Mello always had that effect on me.