Title: Superficial Fascia

Rated: T for language and inappropriate content. X3 This may change over time.

Author's Note;;

Hey, all. This isn't quite my first fanfiction on this site, but it is my first under this name. This first chapter is rather slow, but it's only [as was addressed in the title an introduction.

Read and Review, lovelies.

THIS IS A GIFT FICTION FOR MY DARLING MAHRI, WHO WAS ALWAYS THERE TO FILL MY MELLO x MATT ADDICTION. HE'S ALSO MY FAVORITE ASIAN.

I. Introductions and Unwanted Addictions

It never snowed in Los Angeles.

The phenomena in that large city was almost as rare as rain in the Sahara, or perhaps Kira dancing naked in front of Near, or anyone for that matter. And yet, on the day that Mello decided to step out of his rundown shelter of another's apartment, this rarity decided to unleash its surreal torrent onto the sidewalks and streets of the downtown below.

The blonde let loose a small 'humph' from the back of his throat, which turned out to be more of a dissatisfied gurgle due to the presence of chocolate-flavoured bile that had risen there. It wasn't his fault; the newly fallen snow had provoked him to stop and stare, despite his better nature, annoyed and not a little awed. And so, his addiction was neglected and left to gather at his breathing passageways, until he finally choked and swallowed, uttering a few well-placed curses as he continued his stride.

Mello was quite out-of-place among all this white in his customary sleek black leather, which was currently covered by a heavy, hooded jacket. It served two purposes: keeping him warm and out of the frozen rain, and keeping his scarred face concealed from anyone who may be looking out for him.

Kira, namely. Though it was doubtful the murderer would be out and about of his own accord; it was more likely that he would have sent one of his presumably many minions, or someone from the Japanese Task Force, which was probably under his control now that L was dead.

He exhaled roughly, a natural response to any thoughts of the late detective that he so admired. It only gave Mello more incentive to bring Kira to justice, besides his natural goal to beat Near and rub the victory into the bastard's toy-loving face. Oh how it irked him.

But he was still straggling along behind, using what and whom he could. Perpetual second place was all he could seemingly attain, despite the fact that he constantly reminded himself of the imminent success.

That was doubtful, but he could always hope.

Mello discarded the empty candy wrapper in a bin on the street, which was quite graffitied and littered with protests and gang symbols, most of which made Mello chuckle darkly. For what purpose, he himself did not know, but it didn't particularly matter. No one was around to hear his ill-humoured expression of mirth. Not even the snow sought to listen, as it made a sound of its own: a soft murmuring that lustfully enticed the eardrums with its tinny laugh, a hissing that was parallel to the fallacy of a snake. Both beautiful and dangerous. How incredibly appropriate.

This sound went on to be the only thing the male listened to for awhile, while stalked along the ivory concrete as if he knew exactly where he was going, and why. In a sense, though, he did know where he was going. Back to the apartment was his first choice, since he had finished his business for today and had no desire to stand out in the snow any longer than he had to.

Somehow, though, he knew there was a problem with going back. He frowned, maimed features twisting into discomfort until another expression indicated that he remembered why going back would be so difficult.

Matt wasn't in today.

Mello cursed again, stopping to kick a drift in his path to release his misplaced anger. Of course he should have known that the redhead was going to be out today, this one day, and yet he forgot. He cursed again for good measure and wished that he kept a key on him. He hated the practice of keeping things like that on his person, even if he had no qualms with carrying a gun. An odd mentality, true, but in a way, it made sense to him.

That was all that mattered.

It dawned on him that the other could be out for hours at a time, and would leave him to sit out on the porch until night fell. He hissed, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath and trudging onward. Oh, well. The least he could do was walk there, and try to force his way in. Knowing Matt and his laziness, at least a window would be open for him to skulk through.

As he mulled the plan over in his mind, something cold, wet, and rather painful attacked the side of his face, thankfully the side that was unblemished. He still snarled toward the street, however, taking in for the first time in several minutes the city life that had gone unnoticed while he was thinking. A car had recently barreled through, skidding hard on a snow bank before sending the vast majority of it flying in Mello's face and speeding off.

"Watch it, you fucking moron!" he called, earning no more than a glance. It wasn't exceptional for such utterings to become the background music for the Los Angeles streets. Quite the contrary, actually.

As soon as the apartment came into view, Mello realized that he was right: no one was home. Call it intuition, but the blonde spared no further glance to the building, choosing instead to turn spitefully and nearly trip over an older-looking man and what appeared to be his son. They continued to frown at him even after they were at least three meters away and already turning a corner.

Pfffft.

That was their problem. If they wanted to live in a city, they'd damn well better be used to the crowding.

In fact, he almost considered yelling that at them, but that would require drawing attention to himself, and attention was not something he frankly needed at the moment. So he kept to himself, only fathoming all of the things he could have said. But that was it, wasn't it? All of the things he could have done and all the things he had done were two very different things entirely. The difference between regret and satisfaction, actually.

Mello shook his head derisively, as though ridding himself of any unwanted thoughts. They remained.

"Mello?"

He looked up wildly, cursing himself inwardly for reacting. If this person only called out his name to gauge a response, he would be pinpointed immediately.

No such luck. Matt approached him hesitantly, face clearing of any doubt when he got near enough to discern his friend.

"Shut the hell up, Matt!" he hissed. "Don't call my name out in public."

Even though this wasn't his true name, he was still being pursued under the name "Mello", and so wanted to keep as low profile as possible.

Unfortunately, he forgot the little detail that Matt was an idiot.

At least the gamer had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself. He didn't reply for a moment, casting a glance down at his snow-covered feet before staring back up at Mello.

"Are you done?" he asked.

By 'done', he was obviously referring to whether or not he was finished with the important business he had been raving about for so long.

"Yes," the elder responded tersely, digging the heel of his boot into the sidewalk. His eyes narrowed dangerously as a flame sprung to life in Matt's gloved fingers, indicating that the other had lighted another of his putrid cigarettes. The only thing that kept Mello from snatching the cylindrical killer from between his lips and stomping it into the sheet of white beneath his feet was the fact that while they weren't in the apartment, the other could really do whatever the hell he wanted. It was when he was risking Mello's health as well as his own that things would go past the point of tolerance.

Meanwhile, he would stick to scowling and looking extremely unhappy with the bad habit. Then again, he did have a little addiction of his own; that one, however, was less lethal.

Matt raised an eyebrow at his displeased expression, reading it thoroughly before letting a thin smile spread across his lips. He knew that the blonde wouldn't chastise his habit out here.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he puffed a few gusts in the other's direction, before exhaling the rest into the wind so that it could mingle with the frosty white. Mello's facade of repugnance was deepened.

"Then does that mean you want me to let you into the room?" he asked indifferently.

"Sometime soon would be nice," he said, clearly exasperated. "Damn bastard. Where have you been?"

"Excuse me if I have a life that revolves around something other than you," the redhead replied smoothly, not batting an eye. Not that you could tell behind his thick goggles.

"Not on my time, you don't," Mello pointed out, tapping one toe rather impatiently.

"That's the thing: it wasn't your time. You were out."

"And what the fuck was I supposed to do when I got back and you were gone?"

"Wait, Mello. It won't kill you."

"It could, for all you know."

Matt sighed dramatically. "I hardly think Kira's waiting outside our door for you."

"And if he was?"

"Then you would be fucked."

"Exactly."

There was a pause, in which there was only the sound of a few longing puffs on the lighted cigarette and the pervasive hum of the falling snow. Matt sighed once again, letting a deadly amount of smoke twist from his throat. Repulsive.

He pushed past Mello unconcernedly, not surprised when the other began to follow, emitting a kind of aura of irritation and budding rage. That was nothing new.

Still, there was nothing more to say, and the silence seemed fitting, at least for a while. At least until they came upon the clearly used door on the second floor, third to the end on the right side. Both of them had memorized this perfectly, even Mello, who had not lived there for but a month at most, and never ventured outside but on important business.

The key slid nimbly through the slot, turning and clicking to allow both males access. The elder hurried in first, going straight to the refrigerator to claim another bar of chocolate, which were cold and firm from days of sitting inside. Not to mention that the heating and cooling systems for their side of the building had broken, condemning the room to a irreversible frost.

Mello couldn't stand it.

And so, he spent most of his free hours complaining about it to the only one who would listen:

Matt.

Loyal, tolerant Matt could listen to the other's rants for hours on end, and would absorb it all faithfully even as he played one of his countless games. He was a wonderful multitasker, which came in handy, because oftentimes Mello would demand that he repeat every aspect of his tirade in perfect order, just to be sure that he wasn't being ignored.

Mello tossed himself on the couch, languidly stretching against the cushions, though they provided little comfort from years of being sat on. Not to mention the stains on it that Matt preferred to leave unnamed. The leather-clad male cracked an eye at the one at the threshold, who appeared to be sweeping around to leave.

"You're leaving?" he asked. If he hadn't sounded so apathetic, the blonde could have been accused of wanting Matt to stay. This was probably the truth, though. It was a safety thing, he was assured, because two heads were better than one; it had nothing to do with Matt in particular.

Of course not.

But the redhead didn't take the hint. He cocked his head and stopped reaching for the doorknob momentarily to determine the other's intentions.

"What do you want?"

Mello thought about it, and then closed his eyes completely.

"Nothing. Get out of here, and bring me back some chocolate. I'm running out."

Obviously it was about the chocolate.

"Sure, Mello. I'll be back in ten."

And then he was gone.

Mello didn't move for a minute, merely listening. It was rather interesting, too, because he could almost still hear Matt's footsteps fusing with the luscious falling of the snow.

It was comforting.

What a lovely change of pace.