Okay, so clearly I do not own Death Note.


Matt was bored. There was no other word in the English dictionary that could describe how he felt other than bored. But he was tired of the word "bored". He said it at least once everyday. He needed new ways to say that oh-so-common word. So, that's what he did as he waited in his car at the point Near had instructed. He stared down at his laptop screen, trying to memorize all the different ways he could say that one word.

apathy, detachment, disgust, distaste, doldrums, dullness, ennui, fatigue, flatness, incuriosity, indifference, irksomeness, jadedness, lack of interest, lassitude, lethargy, listlessness, monotony, pococurantism, sameness, taedium vitae, tediousness, tedium, tiresomeness, unconcern, world-weariness, yawn; Those were the words Google gave him. Eh . . . Not good enough. He began to alphabetically translate the word "bored" into Google Translate.

Verveeld, merzitur, aspertuta, avorrit, dosadno, nudit, keder sig, vervelen, enuas, igav, nainis, ennui, gelangweilt, unott, bosan, annoiato, terebravisse, znudzony-

BOOM!

He was on Polish when it happened. The blast, the screaming, the heat. His car was parked literally ten yards from a building that had just spontaneously combusted.

No, Matt thought to himself. Not spontaneously. Someone did this . . . And I have a feeling who. Ugh, what do I do? It's been years, he wouldn't blame me for staying out here . . . But, then again, we still talk on occasion . . . And he's my best mate! But . . . Near is L's successor. Near is my boss . . . Oh damn it! Fuck, Near! Mello's too big of a dumbass to do this on his own . . .

And with that thought, Matt kicked open his car door, threw is cigarette to the ground, and ran inside the flaming building that everyone else was trying to get out of.

"That Goddamn bastard," one man was saying as he and another ran for their lives. "He blew us up too!"

"I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved with the mafia!" the other man agreed.

Mafia? Is that what this is? Fuck, Mello! What the hell have you been up to these past few years? Matt thought as he ran.

"Hey, kid, you're running the wrong way!" Someone gripped Matt's shoulder, and he resisted the urge to throw them fifteen feet up in the air.

"I know what I'm doing," Matt replied, his voice as calm as ever. That was one thing he was good at, lying. On the inside he was freaking out, he was about to run into a fucking fire!

"I can't let you-" the police officer tried to continue, but Matt slipped out of his grip and kept running. Once he got inside, things got even more hectic. Almost everyone had left the building; obviously everyone but Mello. He heard a few people outside say that they couldn't find him, and it wasn't like they had had time to look.

"Mello!" Matt shouted. No reply. Well, it wasn't like he had been expecting one, but it never hurt to try. Matt continued to walk around the burning building, trying to keep himself composed. He had to get Mello out before the paramedics and fire department came, because if anyone other than himself found Mello . . . Well, Mello would be thrown in prison, and Matt probably would be too. "Mello! Come on, damn it I don't have time for this!"

He entered every room that wasn't totally engulfed in flames, and looked everywhere. Under fallen pillars, tables, doors even. Mello was no where to be found. Then, it occurred to Matt was had probably happened. If Mello had set off the bomb (and who are we kidding, of course it was him), then he wouldn't have been in a place where the blast could have killed him, or even hurt him enough to prevent him from escaping. That would have been what he planned on doing. But, if Mello had escaped, he would have been seen by at least one person, and no one knew where he was. That must mean that Mello ended up getting hurt on his way out of the building, and was now somewhere near his secret exit which would be . . . The fire escape that no one else had seen. Matt had noticed it when he first arrived at the old building, the rickety old metal latter on the back of the building. It wasn't in an obvious spot, and for the people who did know it was there, they probably wouldn't risk going out on it. But Mello had always been skinny, and if anyone could pull it off, it was him.

And then, Matt realized another thing. Mello would never answer to the name "Mello"; that would just be stupid of him. Matt would have to call his real name, and hope Mello was desperate enough to reply.

As he was running to the fire escape, he got an idea. It was possible that someone else had learned Mello's real name, if like Near said, Kira can tell a person's name by their face. So, if Matt said is own name . . . Mello would not only know who it was, but he would know he could be trusted.

Finally, Matt stood facing the window that led out to the latter. "Mihael! It's Mail. Mail Jeevas paging Mihael Keehl! Boop! Boop! Boop!"

He cupped his hands around his mouth as be made the pager noises, unable to be completely serious even in a situation like this. It just wasn't his style.

"Come on, Mello!" Matt called again. "I can't sit here making 'boop' noises all day. Where the fuck are you?"

Faintly, Matt heard a small groan come out from under a large metal door that had fallen off it's hinges. Matt winced. "Oof . . . Sorry, buddy . . . Hold on . . ."

Matt wasn't exactly "strong" but the adrenalin helped a lot, and soon enough, the door was off his old friend. Matt saw that about half of Mello's face, down his neck, and even onto his arm, on the left side of his body was covered in burned, bubbling flesh. "You look like shit, man."

"Fuck you," Mello muttered quietly under his breath.

Matt shook his head. Same old Mello. He lifted Mello over his shoulder fireman's style -which was not nearly as hard as lifting the door had been- and ducked out the window and onto the fire escape. It buckled beneath their weight, so Matt wasted no time climbing down. When they were safe and sound on the ground, Matt hustled back to his car, laid Mello down along the back seat, and started to drive.

Canada, he thought. If I can get across the border, Mello would be safest in a Canadian hospital. Hmm . . . I can use my computer to make him a fake passport on the ride up, but his burns are pretty bad . . . Damn, what am I going to do?

"Matt . . . What the hell are you doing here?" Mello mumbled.

"Shut up and rest ass face," Matt told him. Although it might sound harsh, this was always how he and Mello spoke to each other. Even as kids. It was a guy thing. "You're freaking melting back there. Literally."

"Fuck off, I asked you a question," Mello said. His voice was quiet, and he sounded half asleep, his words all jumbled together.

"Near sent me," Matt admitted. "But I promise I'm not gonna rat you out. I'll find you some help, dude."

"You still wearing those ugly goggles?" Mello asked

Matt made a pfft noise. "Yeah, so?"

"Good . . ." Mello replied. "It's good to see you, man."

Matt was silent for a moment. "You too dude."

But it was too late, Mello had already fallen asleep. At least, Matt hoped he was only asleep . . .

- one painfully long car ride to Canada later -

"And . . . how did this happen?" the nurse asked Matt.

"Uh . . . well . . . We were . . . uhm . . . Smoking. Yeah. We were smoking, outside a bar, and his um . . . his jacket . . . caught . . . fire. And uhm, he got . . . burnt." Bless my wonderful social skills, Matt thought sarcastically.

"And where is this jacket now?" the nurse asked, making it clear she didn't believe a word he just said.

"He ripped it off and we left it out side. He said he was fine so we just went back to out flat, but then his burns looked a lot worse so I made him come here," Matt said, the lies coming faster and smoother now.

"I don't believe you," the nurse said forwardly.

Matt pushed his goggled up, revealing his dark blue eyes. "Come on, can't you just help us out a little? My friend is seriously hurt here."

The nurse sighed, unimpressed. "Nice try, Casanova, but not only am I married, but I'm thirty and still out of your little prepubescent league."

Matt drew back a few steps. "I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice!" He called after the woman as she walked off down the hall, back to Mello's room. They would treat him for free anyway. This was Canada.

A few hours later, Matt stood over a sleeping Mello, whose face was now almost completely covered in gauze. He shook his shoulders slightly. "Morning sunshine."

"Ugh," Mello groaned. "Go away, I just got burnt half to death could you let me sleep?"

Matt made a mocking face, hissed out "fine!" and stalked back over to the chair across from Mello's bed. He took out his PSP and began playing.

Mello opened his eyes, clearly annoyed. "Figures. I'm sitting here in the hospital, and you're over there playing fucking Pokemon."

"Hey!" Matt protested with a completely straight face. He displayed the game screen for Mello to see. "It's Zelda!"

Mello chuckled. "Same old Matt."

"Same old Mello," Matt retorted. He shoved the PSP back in his pocket and walked back over to the bed.

"I guess nothing's changed," Mello said.

"Nope," Matt agreed, then he bent down, and planted one right on Mello's unburnt cheek. Mello flushed bright red.

But he didn't protest.