AN: Ah, Hello there! Welcome to my newest project, one that may take a while to kick off, but still nontheless, welcome. Here I will show you a world full of guns, grave robberies, detectives, goggles, chocolate, and the best of all; Mello and Matt. Do enjoy ^^

Disclaimer: I do not own Deathnote, all rights go to Tsuguma Ohba and Takashi Obata. This disclaimer applies to the entire story, and all chapters.

My eyes drifted across the room, passed the colorful lights, passed the crowds of people making out, drinking and laughing. Passed the barstools, tables, everything, it was only registering faintly in the back of my mind. Really, the only thing that could have made me focus right now was..red hair.

God.

I was killing myself being here, at least I was mentally.

There were so many good times here, so many times we got drunk and laughed, and kissed..this stupid bar brought back so many memories.

I let out a sigh, taking another drink from my glass as I stared at the counter, deep in depressing thoughts once more.

My best friend and lover was dead, he had been for two years. It should hurt less by now, but it doesn't. I supposed I shouldn't have come back to LA, it reminded me too much of him. But then I needed to come here too, I needed to remember. Though now I was regretting it, as my thoughts progressively became foggier from the alcohol that I had allowed myself.

"Matt.."

"Hey" I looked up at the bartender as he spoke, caught in surprise for a moment as I glanced into blue eyes. He was..his hair was red, his clothing alternative, along with the goggles slapped over his eyes, and freckles dusting his cheeks. He was young, maybe eighteen, and oddly attractive; I couldn't help but think as I noticed his lips, formed into a friendly, yet hypnotizing smirk.

"Hey"

"Can I get you anything?"

I should be over it, it has been so long, but its like I couldn't help myself, I needed to think about him. I needed to notice red hair, stripes, and goggles. Even if someone had a stupid tattoo like the one Matt had, I felt like I needed to see those things once and a while. But I still should have been over him by now, at least a little, but I just couldn't.

I was always hoping that I would one day miraculously see him.

My best friend, boyfriend, lover, accomplice, I met him at this very bar, talked, and I came back to the next day, and the next. One day I simply decided to ask him out, and I decided I really liked him.

It wasn't a date, but it might as well have been when he kissed me.

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, not liking the tight feeling that was developing in my throat. Matt meant so much to me, and I would never see him again. I needed to get that fact through my head, but I couldn't seem to do that. It was too hard.

I heard the bar door swing open, and resisted the urge to turn and look hopefully at the entrance, no one that I knew would be there, especially not Matt. And god, I wish I could get over this. I knew my emotional state was way off by this time, and if I was asked to think logically I wouldn't be able to. The only thing I could do was drown. Again, I shouldn't have come here.

"Hey mate, how ya doing?" The voice registered faintly to my left, and I did turn my head to look at the man this time. I wanted a distraction, and eavesdropping was as good of one as any.

Decidedly, the one who spoke looked odd. A businessman, from the suit and tie. But unkempt, from the messy black hair, that looked like the man had tried to flatten it with no obvious success. Pale, yet fare skin, as if he hadn't been out in the sun often. Dark eyes that the color of couldn't be quite distinguished from where I was sitting, the faintest of freckles, and faint as well, bags under his eyes.

And his posture was nothing spectacular, barely noticeable, but he had a slouch. British features as well, causing me to raise an eyebrow.

Either he was a traveling businessman who had a heck of a week, like the appearances would suggest, or something else. And other options were indeed running through my mind as I analyzed him, paying no attention to the chatter that he was indulging in with his supposed friend.

It was a distraction, and it was getting my mind off of Matt.

"So hows work?" The other man, who I would guess was relatively acquainted with the black haired one -but not best friends with or anything- spoke as I finally clued into their conversation.

The black haired one let out a sigh, his demeanor changing slightly and he slouched in his seat. Tired.

"You know how it is, late nights, cheap deals, good help though, that's a bonus at least."

I couldn't help but think that that was rather vague, but it made sense, with his appearance. Late night jobs, business filing. Maybe even something illegal, Which I was no stranger to. Matt and I dealt with the mafia, he hacked, and I planned operations for them...

That wasn't a good thought.

"Fucking hell!"

The second I stepped though the door, Matt's voice echoed through the hallway, causing a jolt to go through my stomach and a frown to form on my face. I didn't bother kicking off my shoes as I shuffled into the living room, where Matt was standing, to my surprise, hair fisted in his hands as he seemed to be withholding from an angry tantrum.

Which was odd for Matt. He was always calm, and seeing this scene, however vaguely, I knew something was seriously wrong.

"Matt?" my voice startled him out of his reverie, and his head snapped in my direction. His eyes filled with frustration. To put it bluntly he looked helpless. Before he took a deep breath and his body relaxed, if only slightly. He was still tense.

Tears pricked at my eyes as I once again went back into my own self pity, and eventually, mindlessly, I stood up from the bar stool. I slapped a few bills on the counter, which I was sure was way more than I had to pay, and I left the bar.

Two years ago, July 1st, Matt died, and I blamed myself. Matt was the love of my life, the only person that I would have ever considered a friend, let alone a lover, and I couldn't even keep him alive.

Sure, it was his over confidence that caused him to do the job on his own, and in the process ruin everything. But I was the one who couldn't knock some sense into his fearful mind and let me help him before he knocked me out. It was my fault that I couldn't fix it quick enough.

Six months after Matt..had happened, when I realized our branch was going under, I erased my existence from LA and attempted to go back to England perfectly timed for when a group called the G13 brought them down completely. But had I made a mistake, miss-estimating the G13 and I got caught in the explosion that was supposed to serve as my distraction. I knew how to survive after Matt died, even though I spent many nights pondering the gun in my dresser, and I took the correct route. But I felt no better.

LA wasn't bringing me closure at this point either, it just hurt more, and it was dangerous.

The mafia probably still wants me dead, you're not allowed to leave them, unless its through the gate to hell, per say. And your surely going to hell after working for them.

"Near."

"Hello Mello, how is your trip?" The twit spoke like he had some sort of business in my life, and he didn't. It did indeed take a lot of self restraint not to snap at him through the cellphone receiver.

"How do you expect?" I simply settled for, my tone bitter through the device.

"Mello is very upset, I presume. But thats not important at the moment, I just want to make sure my dearest brother is safe and sound."

I cringed, not liking the term of familiarity he used with me, when we only grew up together and knowing the fact that he was purposely bothering me.

"I'm fine, are you done now, or is there more?"

"I'm assisting in a grave robbery case right now actually, that just happens to be in your area, how would you feel about taking it on? Seeing as you have direct contact to the city as of now."

My answer of course, didn't take much thought. "You can send it through email, but are you sure L is okay with giving me one of his cases?" And by that I meant; 'are you sure L doesn't mind a previous mafia worker on one of his cases?'. Even though when I joined the mafia it was to assist L, I did continue afterwards. L didn't appreciate that at all, but I didn't much care at that time. I was enjoying the righteousness I had gained by being at the top of a ladder, where I couldn't while being a detective. After Matt died I had realized how little control I actually had there though.

"It is fine, your not involved anymore, and even I know that Mello wouldn't want to rob graves, that's just vulgar. I'll send you the files, have a good day." And with that, the twit hung up, leaving me to stare out of Matt's and my old apartment window at the traffic bellow. The cogs in my mind already working on my new distraction, in the hopes that I would still get some closure from being here.

I could only hope.

AN: I'll start bugging you for reviews later.