Author's Note: I'm posting this on the same day I posted something else. I feel bad O.o but never mind. Song fic, based on "The Game" by Trapt, and of course Death Note's very own Matt and Mello. Matt's PoV, written quickly so probably not as good as other stuff. Italics are lyrics.

Warnings: Kiss mentions, sex mentions, few swears, death mentions. That's all folks.

Disclaimer: -insert witty disclaimer here- Does not own.

Dedications: None whatsoever, so therefore they're going to my new phone in the hope that it will let Rasp receive my messages. Please.

You just lost the Game :D

How have you been?

It feels weird to be having this conversation with you, of all people. It's unnatural - we were so very close, and now you're standing in my door way, talking to me like we're distant relatives at a funeral. How've you been? Been anywhere recently? Yeah, Mell, like I could go somewhere and enjoy myself properly without you. Bastard.

Nice to see you again.

It's good to see you though. Hell, I've been dying to see you, but I don't think I was ready for the reality. You're harsher… Well, you're no less angry. I can tell that, maybe you're even more so, but it seems like it's more contained. You haven't yelled yet, and we've been talking like this, crappy bullshit, for at least fifteen minutes. It's under the surface, under your skin and in your blood, and I'm not sure that that's better for you than the normal permanent unleashed fury.

How quickly these conversations seem to end.

This shit's awkward, and I don't like it. We're playing around the main subject, the reason of your presence, and neither of us wants to bring it up.

You need a friend,

Every now and then.

"I need your help." You suddenly blurt out, interrupting my drivel about the rent of my crappy flat. You look absolutely horrified with yourself for admitting it, but I'm so relieved you did. I know I wouldn't have had the bravery to ask you outright why you're here, back in England, looking uncomfortable with the rain and grey sky already.

How quickly these relations turn into trends.

Days later and it's suddenly normal to be sitting beside you on a flight back to the States, having dropped everything back in the only country I've ever lived in for the only person I've ever trusted absolutely. It's funny - the more ruthless you've become, the more I need to talk to you, hold you, touch you. See you. But sometimes…

Put all your walls up and open your windows,

And close all your doors.

You're so damn hard to open up Mello. Sometimes you're relaxed, cheerful. Other times… You can be ice cold, fiery temper blasting holes in our lives, holes that start to heal as soon as I can make you smile again.

You catch yourself standing in front of the mirror,

I've seen you standing in front of your mirror - one of many, obviously. But when you do this, it's different to how you watch yourself as you get dressed, body curving and pouring into tight leather, and it's different to how you finger imaginary knots out of your hair whenever you pass a window.

You just… Stare, frozen into place and time, almost blank expression betraying the slightest look of simple fear, sadness and martyrdom. It's petrifying.

And now you need more.

You're always trying so hard, Mell. You struggled through Wammy's, flying through tests but always coming second, letting unsuppressed rage control many of your actions. You've told me how you struggled through the years we had apart, quickly building yourself up from nothing with pretty looks and scarily ingenious tactics.

So what do you wish for?

To catch you as you're falling?

What do you want me for Mello? Your sidekick? If so, you always had that. Or do you want someone to drag down with you as you push yourself over the edge and into the sea?

So easy to ignore,

But now you hear it calling again.

I managed to do my own thing for years - admittedly, that wasn't much, but it was without you. Totally on my own. So I was slightly pissed off when, as soon as I saw you, I felt that urge, that voice in my mind that says to stick by you, no matter what.

I wouldn't want to be you.

Your life is hard, no question. It's harsh, and almost certain to be short, and it's brutal and fast and pitiless, and you've changed to match. You're a falling angel, always have been, only now you're falling just that little bit faster and I just stuck my hand out to grab you as you tumbled past and got pulled out too, time whistling past like the wind, defying life every time we kiss.

This lonely game that you play.

You're so very young. You're two months older than me, so I guess we're both so very young, but I tend to concentrate on you more than myself. You're so perversely innocent, so cruel and yet so soft, so lonely… You're making me insane.

Between your walls you confuse,

Every heart that you break.

Anyone who meets you, just glimpses you, hasn't got a chance. You're the ultimate heart-breaker, the cause of many a wet dream or sexy fantasy, and probably quite a few tears as well. The world's most X-Rated sex symbol, I'm sure I'm the only one who thinks about you like this.

So afraid that you'll lose.

Paranoid about failure, aren't you Mell? Not surprising really - I mean, you've been playing mind games with both Near and the world's worst criminal for years, since you were just a child. You-we both still are.

Always a void to replace.

I give you what you want in life, as far as I can. You probably don't notice this, but it's because you just can't quite get what you really want, and you deserve it Mello. You really do.

I wouldn't want to play you.

I'd hate to be the one who got in your way. You're so fast, malicious ideas quickly become painful reality when someone comes between you and your goal. I've seen it - the narrowed eyes, slight smirk, bloody mess.

You try and pretend, the truth is hard to bend.

Don't try to pretend, Blondie. I'm going to die for you, and you just don't want to admit it. It's odd how I'm more willing to face up to that… But I guess your own death is easier to come to terms with than that of your best friend. Right?

How easy these translations can be read.

I knew I was going to die for your cause as soon as I saw the flash of blonde, blue and black through the spy-hole in my old flat. Way before you explained to me that you needed me to help with Kira, the Mafia.

What if you were led to play a different game instead?

I can't help but wonder what it would've been like if you hadn't become so obsessed with Near. I mean, it's obvious that you're in this to beat him more than to defeat Kira, but I can't help but think about what a normal life with you would be like. But then again, if you hadn't been so aggressive as my roommate, so angry and psychotic, I probably wouldn't have fallen so in love with you, and wouldn't be with you at all.

How hard these frustrations are to mend.

I get angry sometimes. Angry at the world, angry at Kira, angry at Near, Roger, L, America. Even angry at you. It's just hard to accept that we have to be the ones who die for this, even if we don't know how yet.

Does it matter to you?

You love me. I know that, but in an odd way I also know that my life is another card in your hand.

So let's play.

I don't do that song justice,

but this has been floating around for a while.

I really recommend you listen to it,

it's a brilliant song.

TwistedPearls

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