Short, probably not sweet. Written quickly in random sadness on my part.

Number 1

The list is daunting, it holds fate, cradles destiny. It breaks Mello's heart again every week, he tries to impress it, but it always rejects him. The list says Near is it's number 1, Near is the best, Mello is next. After that comes Matt.

Mello stands and stares, watches it as minutes pass, as though waiting for that list to change it's mind, hold him in higher esteem. He knows it's his fault, he's not good enough. He waits for it to change anyway, against the laws of life; printed paper can't mold itself into something better. Mello knows standing in the empty hallway is pointless, it only pushes the dagger deeper, only makes him feel so much worse. The blank wall around the list brings all attention those words, the one's that tell Mello how... useless he must be to L. Near will take over. Mello will never sit in that throne, address whole worlds from behind L's mask.

The hallway is empty, save for a petite redhead, a number 3. He watches Mello, sadness gripping him. The list is everything to Mello, and, even though it doesn't appreciate him, that list is the most important thing to him. Matt closes his eyes for a second, chooses the darkness behind his lids instead of the sight of his best friend looking so dejected, so defeated. Mello is number one, to him, Near can't compete. Still, the blonde boy grieves. L is so important, the true number 1 in his eyes.

Matt shakes his head, adjusts the strap of his goggles so they don't pull on his deep red hair. He thinks maybe Mello should be done grieving now, maybe it's time for him to get excited for the next round. Placing a pale hand on Mello's shoulder, Matt steps behind his friend, squeezes that shoulder. It's okay Mello, someone loves you. Can't you settle for me instead of the paper? Matt is number 2; the list is number 1, but that's okay because the list doesn't get to touch Mello's shoulder, the list is just a list. The only important thing about that piece of 11 by 8.5 paper is that the rankings are stamped across it in printer ink. It's a different page every time anyway, which may explain why Mello is thrown into short term depression over the same statistics every week. It may, but for Matt, it makes no sense at all.

Mello turns down the hallway and Matt follows him, up the stairs, through the door with the Zelda poster on the other side, onto Mello's bed, where both boys sit. Mello twists his mouth, rearranges his expression to block out the sadness and says, "Fucking Near. I'm going to murder him next test."

Matt only nods, agrees, because Mello is the best. Mello can do anything. To Matt, Mello is invincible.

Mello blinks at his friend, asks him the same question he always asks, "Why don't you care? You just sit at number 3 and never try to do better!" Mello knows why Matt does this, because Matt always answers the same way.

"Because, Mels. I only care how you're doing. I know you're the best, and all I want is for the rest of the world to know that too." Except, that's not the same answer.

Mello blinks at Matt, stares into the sincerety, knows, finally, Matt has told the truth. It's not that Matt doesn't care, it's that he cares too much and for the wrong person. "Take care of number 1, Matt, that's what everyone says." Mello is looking at the window.

Matt nods. "That's what I'm doing." The sincerety doesn't fade. Mello is number 1.

The blonde boy shakes his head, cups Matt's chin in one of his hands, the hands that are always writing, flipping pages. He presses his lips to the other boy's, the lips that are always calling answers, giving reports.

Matt is number 1.