WARNING: Shonen-ai (Light/Mello)

Not Like Chocolate

Brr, brr.

Brr, brr.

Beep.

"Yes?"

"Any movement your end?"

"Nope. Silent as the grave. Why, is something happening?"

"Someone's come out of the building. Heading your way."

"Describe him."

"Young Japanese man. Average height. Early twenties."

"…Can't you be more specific?"

"Geez, I only saw him briefly."

"Aren't you following him?"

"I lost him. Last time I saw him he was still heading down your road."

"Shit. Are these cameras recording or monitoring?"

"Recording onto the hard drive."

"I'll go after him then. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Well, he's got brown hair. White shirt. Dark trousers. Maybe a tie…"

"Right. Call if anything happens. And if anyone else comes out, try not to lose them next time."

Beep.

***

Mello slips his mobile phone into his pocket as he leaves the building, pulling his hood down over his face with his other hand. He scans the street hastily, darts across during a lull in the traffic, ignoring the hoots and yells of angry drivers, and leans in the corner of a doorway. His fingers itch to grab the chocolate bar from his pocket, but he holds himself back, knowing that this habit makes him extremely conspicuous. Instead he retrieves his sunglasses; the dark mirrored lenses, which hide not only his eyes but his cheekbones and part of his forehead too, goes some way to instil in him that sense of safety normally achieved by a cocoa fix.

He lingers there, looking for all the world like a lean, leather-clad tramp, for five minutes or so- at which point a particularly large crowd surges past, bearing in its midst a slim Japanese youth in a white shirt and brown trousers. He is evidently out of place in the group, which largely consists of tourists with cameras around their necks, and Mello's eye is drawn to him immediately. Not only does his clothing stand out, but his posture is ramrod straight and his gaze sharp and direct. He could hardly have made a worse job of losing himself in a crowd if he had tried. An amateur.

Mello ducks out from the doorway and joins the ambling tail end of the group. Casting an eye around, he decides to leave his sunglasses on- almost always a good move no matter what the situation, as they draw attention away from his burns somewhat- but removes his coat and slings it over one arm. As a final touch, he takes out his phone and casually points it around at the buildings as he walks, as if taking pictures.

Meanwhile, he accesses the information he has stored on the mobile's chip concerning the Japanese Task Force. Given the amount of memory available, he has minimal data with him- only their names, dates of birth and a small photograph of each person- but it is enough to identify the man he is following from the brief glimpse of his face he has been granted.

Light Yagami. The director's son.

Mello does not roll his eyes, but he cannot suppress the low groan that rises up within him. Not only is he, a recognisable person at the best of times, with about a thousand "distinctive features", tailing a person who has at the very least been in direct contact with Kira, but he also happens to be indirectly responsible for the death of the suspect's father, and directly responsible for kidnapping his sister.

Caught up in a swirl of resentful and violent thoughts, Mello allows his attention to lapse. It is only when he turns back and notices the conspicuous lack of tailored shirts and styled hair in the crowd ahead of him that he registers that Light has moved. He looks around in a panic, thankfully catching sight of the familiar figure just as it narrowly avoids being hit by a van in its attempt to cross the road without waiting for the signal. Mello grins. Clearly they share the same disregard for the Green Cross Code.

He stops in the small group of people waiting at the lights, most of whom are shaking their heads in disapproval, and watches Light attempt to negotiate the traffic. It would be too suspicious to follow him now, he thinks, putting his coat on and drawing the hood up again. He follows Light with his eyes, noting his confidence and apparent conviction that the cars ought to respect his impatience with pedestrian crossings and need to get where he is going, until he reaches the other side of the road at last, disappearing into a convenience store.

Mello follows swiftly as soon as the signal changes and is about to enter the store after him- when suddenly his mobile phone begins to ring in his pocket.

He curses, stops, ducks out of the way of the buffeting crowds and answers it.

"Hurry up."

"That's nice."

The voice is petulant. Mello can almost see the pout that undoubtedly accompanies it. "I'm supposed to be tailing someone here," he says, lowering his voice to a hiss and covering his mouth with one hand.

"You did say to call if anything happened."

"Has it?"

"That depends on whether you can recognise the guy from the file."

"I already have. It's Light Yagami," Mello says, trying desperately to keep the call as short as possible.

He hears computer keys tapping. "Right. Yeah, come to think of it, that does look like him."

"So, has anything happened?"

"It's the guy Misa Amane's always going on about," Matt says smugly.

A pause.

"That isn't a development."

"I know, but I just remembered. She talks about him all the time, right? She obviously thinks the world of him."

Mello glances at the phone as if it can see his cynical expression, fighting the urge to say So what? "You think that could be important?"

"Well, she is supposed to be a suspect…"

"Yeah, but she's a-"

"Ok, ok." Over the phone line, Matt's sigh sounds like a hundred packets of crisps being opened simultaneously. "But I think it's worth checking out anyway."

Mello considers. "It's worth a shot, I guess. I'll try and find out about it."

"How the hell are you going to do that?"

"I'll think of something," he replies, and hangs up. He has lost enough time already.

He hurries through the sliding doors of the shop, still fumbling to put his mobile away- then abruptly collides with something solid and bounces off it, landing on his backside on the floor.

He looks up, dazed, and then freezes guiltily.

Mello is almost certain that nobody has ever written a handbook entitled "How to Follow Someone Sneakily Without Being Noticed", but he is willing to bet that if they ever did, running straight into your stalkee would not be on the list of recommended things to do.

Light Yagami, knocked off balance himself, looks at Mello as if he has just appeared out of nowhere- which, to everyone in the shop, he has.

Mello tries to find something to say that could possibly improve this ghastly situation, but nothing comes to mind. All he can think of is the fact that he has now officially made a bigger mess of this than Matt did, and probably owes his colleague a drink as a result.

Light, apparently spurred by the mutterings of the shoppers around them, suddenly leaps into action and holds out his hand.

Mello pulls himself together. The situation is not beyond salvaging. Light does not appear suspicious of him- merely confused and a little taken aback. First things first.

"I'm sorry about that," Mello says, attempting to smile sheepishly- something he hasn't done in years, but which his face manages to pull off all the same. He takes Light's hand and gets to his feet. "I was a bit distracted," he adds in what he hopes is a friendly and engaging tone of voice.

"It's all right," Light says, looking a little nervous and trying subtly to retrieve his hand.

Mello instantly clamps his left hand onto the Japanese youth's wrist. He cannot afford to lose this opportunity to gain the information he needs.

He disguises the movement by shaking Light's hand in both his own. He picks a name out of the air… "I'm Peter," he says. "Nice to meet you."

"Light Yagami," says Light Yagami, returning the handshake. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Mello replies vaguely. So he isn't using a fake name… He takes a mental note. "It was my fault anyway."

"You seemed to be in a hurry."

"Not really. I usually walk like that. Recklessly fast, I mean." He laughs. "I guess I was asking for something to happen."

All this forced amiability is beginning to make his head hurt. All the same, it seems to have had an effect: Light is regarding him with a little less bewilderment, and maybe even…

Is that a smile?

Whatever it is, it changes his face completely. Whereas before his eyes had appeared cold and piercing, they now seem alert and curious, and his stare frank, not merely analytical.

Then Light turns away and begins to examine the shelves in the shop, and Mello's contemplation is lost to a sudden panic. He hastily moves over to the older man's side.

"You don't live here, do you? Because I'm a bit lost. Do you know the way to-"

But Light is already shaking his head. "Sorry. I've only been here a few weeks myself. I probably don't know my way around any better than you."

"What, when you've been here that long? I only arrived a few days ago; I don't know my way around at all," Mello lies smoothly.

"I'm here… for work," Light says, proving that he does have a sense of humour after all. Work. Honestly. "I've been in meetings most of the time."

"How boring," Mello says with feeling.

"Well, I didn't come here to have fun."

There is a slight pause, during which Mello wonders just what he got himself into when he initiated this conversation.

"No, you're right," Light says at last, with a sigh so elaborate that it could even be genuine. "It's so stuffy being inside all the time. That's why I'm here, actually. I needed to take a break. And my work is over for the day. I thought I'd take the opportunity to buy some things I need."

Mello tries to nod sympathetically.

"What about you?" Light asks, taking a few things from the shelf. "Are you here on holiday? With family?"

"Don't have any."

This is said so casually that Light winces all the more. "I'm sorry."

Mello realises at that moment that perhaps it would be appropriate for him to display a little sadness here. "It's alright," he says after making a show of a strained smile and averted eyes. "It was a long time ago. No," he continues as if making an effort to sound cheerful, "I'm here on my own. Just sightseeing, and annoying everyone who lives here." And he turns to grin at Light.

To his surprise, he finds that the other man is already regarding him with that strange expression he wore earlier: almost like amusement, but with a strange restraint and calm that makes it appear serious. It is as if he has just realised something extremely important, but he is wary of voicing it.

All he says is, "You're not annoying," which seems to Mello to be a bit of an anti-climax. This feeling is swiftly dispersed, however, by his addition of, "You don't seem to be dressed for sightseeing, though."

Think fast!

"…Yeah," he says, internally cursing his distinctive style of dressing, "well, I wasn't really planning on doing the tourist thing, to be honest. I was going to meet up with some friends who live in the state. But they're not going to be able to make it for a week or so. So I've been hanging around trying to entertain myself."

Smooth as sandpaper. But it seems to have done the trick. Light is nodding, at least. He must be denser than Mello thought, to accept a lie like that. But then he has told some pretty impressive lies himself.

They appear to have reached an understanding, in fact. They answer questions with a mixture of truth, half-truth and total fabrication, neither asking the reason for the deceit nor trying to identify it. There is a strange sort of solidarity in it: an acceptance that is never acknowledged. It is as if, in deceit, they express some form of truth that can only be perceived by another liar.

"I suppose I ought to get going," Light says as they stand by the doors of the shop some time later, a plastic bag of purchases in his hand.

"I guess so," says Mello, trying to hide his disappointment at going through this whole process with nothing to show for it in the end. "I mean, if you don't know your way around…"

"Where do you need to go?" Light says suddenly. "I might be able to help. Maybe. I have been here a while, after all."

Mello tries to stop himself from raising an eyebrow. "I just need to get back to my hotel, actually. I've been walking around all day and I've got completely disorientated. And I don't have a map."

"Which hotel is it?"

"It's south of here. Near the business center."

"I do know it," Light says, and he takes Mello by the arm and steers him out of the shop. Once outside, he gestures with the hand not carrying his shopping. "You go down that way, take the second left… No, the third… It's quite far away…"

"I know," says Mello, and he does. He in fact knows the streets here like the back of his hand- better, in fact, as he normally wears gloves.

"I could draw you a map. Do you have a pen?"

"No." He sighs. "Look, never mind. I'm sure I'll find my way somehow."

"No, it's all right," Light says. "I've got some time spare. I'll take you there."

"What?" Mello says. He thinks he feels bewildered, but by now he is completely unsure how genuine any of his emotions are. "You don't have to do that. I've already walked straight into you- I don't want to bother you any more."

"It's all right," Light insists, and again Mello is surprised. "I could do with a walk anyway."

Mello hesitates- as if this does not provide him with the perfect opportunity to question Light further- and then nods.

They have walked a fair distance down the street before Light speaks. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Mello blinks at him. "No."

Light is beginning to look as though he is already regretting opening his mouth, but he continues regardless. "Well, it's about your burns."

Mello's hand moves automatically to his face. It is easy for him to forget about his injures now that they have healed slightly, with only the tightness and occasional shock of pain down his cheek and one side of his torso to remind him of their existence.

Light is shifting uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"It's better than staring and not mentioning it," Mello says grimly. "No, I don't mind you asking. I know it's noticeable. I'd rather people were open about it."

Light looks over at him again, still looking uncertain. "Right. I suppose."

"I had an accident," Mello says, hoping that Light will not remember that his sister's kidnapper could easily have been left with scars on his body after being caught in an explosion. "A year or so ago. With boiling water."

"Really? It looks more recent than that."

Mello hesitates, and glares at the older man. What do you know about it? "It hasn't healed very well."

"I'm sorry," Light says somewhat unexpectedly. "It must have been very painful."

"…Mm."

For God's sake, Mello thinks viciously, why am I getting embarrassed again? He never feels embarrassed, not any more. It is something he gave up along with security in himself and respect for human life when he left Wammy's House. Yet he has been averting his gaze and coughing uncomfortably more times in this last hour than he would have thought possible. This irritating self-consciousness has been sneaking up on him ever since he bumped so literally into this man, and has now, finally, seized him by the throat like an especially aggressive mugger.

"Can I ask you something now?" he says, hoping to disguise the moment.

"You were doing nothing else back then in the shop," Light replies. "If it bothered me I'd have said so by now."

"Right," Mello says. Get a grip! he thinks.

He clears his throat. "Well, I was wondering what you needed hairspray for."

Light looks at him blankly.

Mello leans across, takes a can of hairspray out of the bag and waves it at him.

"Oh!" Light says, and this time it is he who looks uncomfortable. "I promised I'd get some for a girl I know."

"Your girlfriend?" Mello asks, trying not to sound too excited at the thought that he has possibly found a way to get information out of this at last.

"Yes," Light says- but he seems uncertain and hesitant.

Mello raises an eyebrow at him. "On-off sort of thing?"

"No," Light says hastily, "it isn't. We've been together for years now."

Mello does not bother to hide his scepticism. "Oh, really?"

"Hmm."

"It's just that you seemed a bit unsure just then."

Light by now looks more than a bit unsure, as well as distinctly ill at ease. "Well… It's a funny thing. I don't know why I'm talking to you about this, but…" He pauses, looks at Mello, swallows, pauses again, then speaks. "Do you ever get the feeling that someone thinks you like them a lot more than you actually do?"

Almost never, Mello thinks, but it appears that an answer is not required of him.

"She's just so keen- Misa- this girl- that I don't know how to deal with her sometimes. She's got enough enthusiasm for about six people, so she sort of ends up making everyone else's decisions, even though she probably doesn't realise she's doing it. She thinks people agree with her, but quite often she's just decided that they must do, because she feels so strongly about things." He stops, shaking his head, then turns to Mello as if seeking confirmation of something he doesn't quite understand.

All this would have been very telling for Mello had he been listening diligently throughout, but he is only able to pay attention for long enough to pick up on the name Misa. He is once again overwhelmed with his bizarre new reticence, along with the feeling that he is failing to grasp something obvious, entirely unrelated to talk of enthusiastic girls, and entirely concerning the person beside him and the way his head tilts as he speaks.

It is a while before Mello realises he ought to reply. "Yeah. I see. But still, there must be something between you if you've been together so long."

Light shrugs, a small gesture with one of his hands. "That's the thing. It's actually all on her part. When I stop to think about it."

"Good."

"What?"

Mello blinks. I didn't just say that out loud, did I? "I mean I understand. I've been there. It makes sense."

If he could, he would have sarcastically applauded himself.

The taller man is looking at him as if trying to go through the 17 times table in his head. His brow is furrowed, his eyes thoughtful, and his mouth taut at the corners. He meets Mello's stare for a second, then appears to come out of a trance and shakes his head briskly. "Sorry," he says, smiling apologetically. "I was just thinking how you remind me of…" He breaks off, frowning again.

"Someone you know?" Mello asks tentatively, suddenly nervous.

But Light is shaking his head. "No, not that. Not someone I know- more like someone I thought I knew, or someone I should know, but never met..." He narrows his eyes, and then snaps his mouth shut suddenly, looking confused.

A strange tightening feeling starts life in the pit of Mello's stomach and spreads slowly into his chest and his arms. He imagines that he can almost see a half-recognition flicker in the corner of Light's face. He swallows, trying to breathe steadily, trying to walk in a straight line.

Light's voice breaks into his thoughts. "I think that's your hotel just there," it says quietly.

Mello looks up, and of course it is. It was worth the walk, he thinks. At least he has managed to get some information out of this- if only he could remember it.

He turns to face Light, and attempts a cheery, casual tone. "Well, thank you. I didn't expect to drag a stranger this far out of his way just because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"I didn't expect it either," Light replies. "I've only known you an hour or so, but I've already walked you home."

Mello looks sharply up at him at this. There is a very definite half-smile pulling at the side of Light's mouth, but his gaze is as clear and direct as ever. There are flecks of gold in his eyes, he thinks.

Mello takes two steps forwards, pulls himself up onto his toes, leans over into the solid warmth of Light's body and kisses him on the mouth.

It lasts ten seconds, if that, but it is long enough for Mello to ascertain two things. First, that the chemistry between Light and Misa is probably insubstantial after all, and second, that Light, although he may not use hairspray, almost certainly does use conditioner.

Then Mello pulls away, turns, and walks to the hotel without another word.

Once there, he feels obliged to go inside, as Light is still standing there in the street where he was left, watching Mello's back with no sign of any intention to leave. Mello ignores the surprised look of the girl behind the reception desk, slumps into a chair and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

There is a heavy feeling of dread settling low in the pit of his stomach. Stunned by his own stupidity, he leans his head backwards against the wall and closes his eyes. His whole body is buzzing, like there is white noise in his mind; his head feels heavy on his shoulders; every nerve he possesses seems to stretch. Matt would just love this, he thinks bitterly. He tries not to think about it, tries to focus his thoughts on the clues he has gained- but the memory and details of the kiss are fresh and bright in his mind, from the way his sunglasses were pressed into the bridge of his nose to the feel of Light's shoulder, tense beneath his hand.

He groans.

Light tasted sweet, he thinks in a sort of ecstatic disbelief. Not like chocolate, but more like a red wine: something with darker undertones. Not that he knows much about that area.

His mobile phone starts ringing in his pocket, but he makes no move to answer it. Instead he raises a hand to his face, removes his sunglasses and pushes his hair away from his forehead.

Not, he thinks, like chocolate at all.

Author's note: My personal favourite non-canon OTP. I love them like burning. I'm planning on writing more of them too, so if this piqued your interest I'd advise you to check out my profile. Oh, and reviews would make me happier than L with cake. 8)