A small hand found the elder's larger and clutched for dear life. Even if the dark-haired male didn't like direct touch, he wasn't about to let go; not for the world. The little blonde looked at the ground, with little tears stinging the corners of his eyes. The dark eyes of the elder faced the boy and those green eyes looked so desperate, strands of blonde hair falling into them. His hand clenched a bit harder, followed by the second hand, holding it tighter. Those long black sleeves fell over his wrists and one slid off his shoulder a bit.

"L," he whispered in a weak and cracking voice, "please don't go, please," he tugged a little bit, just a bit harder, as he gazed at him with those sad green eyes. "Y-you can't… " he gripped tighter and tilted his head down, the sounds of small little sobs passing his lips.

Those plain black eyes looked him over, before the male removed his hand slowly and knelt before him, touching his shoulder with his fingertips. The blonde raised a tear-stained visage to the other, before throwing his arms all the way around his neck and clutching for dear life.

"Mello," the elder whispered, reaching out to carefully tuck those blonde locks behind his ear and tilting his own head to the side, "don't worry. Chances are more than 90 that I'll be back shortly; it shouldn't be too complicated a case." A kiss was placed to a banged-temple and the little blonde closed his eyes tightly, watching him go with those green eyes. "I'll be home sooner than you can imagine."

Maybe that's why it hurt so much when he never came back.

Green eyes that should have never become hurt and pained and destroyed opened halfway and gazed at the ceiling fan in the old, beat-up apartment that he and his partner in crime had found. It was cheap, and he was sure that fan would fall and destroy both of them, and that the ceiling with it's mold and the walls with the paint flicks, the stains, the peeling of the wall paper would fall sometime soon and they'd be homeless again.

Sitting up as silently as he possibly could, as not to disturb the brunette stretched out under the thin blanket on the rotten mattress near him, he stood and pulled on his coat, taking a chocolate bar out of the pocket. His booted feet were silent 'til he was actually outside, looking around, cold puffs of air; clouds, as he remember L saying, jokingly; passing his lips as he took breath after breath. He pulled his hood up and his coat tighter around himself, the large scar covering the left side of his face stinging a bit in the cold.

His footsteps were even on the pavement—one, two, one, two, one—until he realized he'd just walked around in a circle and was in front of his apartment again. His solution was to simply sit on the front porch, hood hiding his gaze from the rest of the world, and his coat supporting just a bit of warmth.

His memory slid towards the tousled black hair and the tired but kind black eyes of his mentor and main caregiver. Of the way he would eat—it was so odd, he could remember he and Matt and Near all talking about it one time, even if later they had bullied Near to the point of crying—and of the way he rarely slept. Of the way he would talk to them until they were asleep—of the way he would sometimes fall asleep next to Mello's bed, if only for a short while. He'd never heard Near or Matt talk of that.

He could remember the way he smelled; like strawberries and cake and paper; and the way he spoke—such authority, and such brilliance—and just… him.

L.

His hand raised and covered his face, and he took a couple deep breaths to calm himself, the last one coming out in a shuddering breath. It still hurt. After all these years—just remembering the impact it had made on all three of them. L was dead. Simple as that. No remorse, no sorrow—not really.

He longed to hear the other's knowledge; his joys; hell, even his scolding, if it meant he was still there, still alive, still AROUND for them. He clenched his eyes shut and whispered the name, before doubt and anger crept into his mind.

As much as he loved L, why hadn't he decided on an heir? Why had he kept his mind straight? Had it been meant to go to Near? That he couldn't even comprehend; Near wasn't his favorite, was he? The way that the white-haired wretch had treated him—like property, like a little toy that he had to manipulate. His gaze slid up towards the stars and he looked at them, sighing a bit.

Then that trail of thought lead towards Matt, with that kind smile and those special, kind and loving touches meant only for HIM. The way he would calm him and comfort him—the way he would keep him from remembering things, if only for a little while. His lips parted a bit and he took a bite of the chocolate.

The way the other always brought him the drugs—the ANYTHING he asked for, without a second thought about it. What did Matt think their relationship was? Love? No, no, that couldn't be it—couldn't possibly… It was a horrible thought. Matt quite possibly loved him, but he knew where his heart belonged—if he even had one. Matt was close to him. Matt was amazing. Matt was his everything while they pursued a way to beat Near to the finish line; but when it came down to it, he was very much-so L's.

Even after all of the time that had passed.

All he wanted was L's recognition. And if that meant pushing Matt into the background; stepping over and on anyone in his way; then he would do it without a second thought. L and being L were the only important things. Matt was third; fourth; even fifth on his list. But he saved room.

The touches were different than L's; than Near's; than anyone's. Matt wasn't tender, but he wasn't brutal. He wasn't cruel. His hands massaged and soothed, and his teeth claimed, and his nails raked and it made him ache and cry out for more more MORE—but it was not a problem, no way. He could leave Matt, unlike the way he could leave L. He'd done it before.

A flinch went through him and he looked towards the horizon, and the steadily rising sun. It couldn't be morning already, could it? He hasn't slept a wink. His brows laced and he tilted his head to the side slightly. Such impossibility… He closed his eyes tightly and raised himself to his feet, stepping inside, and up the crumbling and crooked and creaking stairs, opening the door to the apartment and gazing at a fully-dressed and smoking Matt.

Those brown eyes raised and met Mello's, and the gaze locked for a minute, before it separated as Matt stood. Shortly after, they were simply hands and tongues and bare clothes and lust and it was perfect for the time.

When it was over Mello couldn't bring himself to look at Matt, let alone touch him again. While the other slept on his stomach in the bedroom, Mello was stretched out on the couch and not asleep, his mind wandering, wandering again, towards L. Those tired black eyes and the uncomfortable slouch in his shoulders…

Sleep finally crept on him and an unnoticed tear slid from the corner of his left eye.