Author's Notes:

So I've been away from this site for a few months since I got busy with college and stuff. And now that I'm on my semester break, I'm back. So before I get to finishing the other [HUGE] MxM fic I started ages ago I decided to warm up by working on this one. [And that doesn't mean I put no effort into this...I personally really like this one.]

Moving on!

This is going to be a two chapter fic.
I hope someone ends up enjoying this.
I do not own Death Note.
This fic is also found on Our Own Archive [OOA/OWN] where I am registered under the username "OthilaOdal".

Chapter 1: Cupboard Love

The screen glared a cold dull blue on Near's face as he stared down at the open word document. The room was a yin yang of neat and mess, carefulness and carelessness, composure and wreckage, Mello and Matt. Near wasn't sure why he had come here himself but he had wanted to say his goodbyes properly out of respect for Matt and Mello's contributions to the Kira case. He had been quite surprised when Ridner had handed him a package that she said had been addressed to her apartment but clearly marked "For Near" in Mello's neat handwriting.

In the letter Mello had explained his plans for Takada, said that he hoped Kira had panicked and made a wrong move to aid Near's investigation. "Whether he has or hasn't, I've got terms and conditions for you." Mello's cursive handwriting said. "I will deliver Takada to you and make any and all risky moves for you on three, not very hard to follow, conditions:

Grant me protection from the government for a couple of months after the Kira case wraps up. You'll be L, so I'm sure you can manage this.

In these two months, clear my records permanently so I may move out of this dingy place and go back to England. Again, being L, this shouldn't be difficult.

Get Matt out of prison. This you must work on immediately after receiving this letter. Takada will not be delivered to you unless you've successfully managed this. At this point I'm not even sure if Matt will end up in jail but either way unless his freedom is ensured you will not get Takada. On the next few pages, I have attached plans for this and blueprints of several prison facilities all over Japan. Make whatever changes you want to the plans but make sure he gets out of there."

Usually, Near wouldn't bother filling up his brain with unnecessary information but he made an exception and read through the plans trying not to think about how pointless all of them were. Mello had thought it through and made impressive plans but Near wasn't surprised that Mello had overlooked a detail; they might not make it out alive.

And they hadn't.

Matt had died in the streets of Japan riddled with bullets. And Mello's charred body or whatever was left of it was retrieved once the fire in the abandoned church where he had died was put out. In the back of the Delivery Van Mello was driving was the charred body of the woman he had kidnapped. Everyone had cursed at Mello. Some of Kira's ruthless followers had gone so far as to beat at the remains of Mello's blackened body out of anger breaking his bones so that white jutted out at odd angles from his now mangled dark flesh. He was, according to them, the one who had killed Takada.

"Both of them must have been mentally ill." The news had said, in regards to Matt and Mello not even attempting to hide the biased nature of their opinions. "But it grieves me to say that it is true that these two suicidal maniacs have claimed the life of our beloved Miss Takada. The dental records confirm that the body found in the back of the van was Miss Takada's. After the crowd's eruption it is impossible to tell who the man driving the van was. The other man, who aided in Miss Takada's kidnapping, was shot to death but unfortunately nothing on him gave off his identity. He seems to have no dental or thumb print records. According to sources, even his driving license has been confirmed to be, and I quote, a top notch fake."

In the end, they had, in the heart of Tokyo, burned whatever remained of Mello's body and thrown Matt's limp naked body into the fire. The streets had come alive with the smell of burning flesh.

Near's expression was as plain as ever and he didn't display any fear or sadness at going through his dead companions' possessions.

"Companions? Is that the right word? Does it matter what the right word is?" He thought, staring at Matt's laptop screen.

Near and Mello had never had what you would call a positive relationship. But his relationship with Matt had been different. Matt was like Mello when it came to several things; his need for excitement, his emotional attachments, his dedication, etcetera. But they were opposites when it came to several things; Matt couldn't take many things seriously while Mello took everything seriously, Matt had a short attention span while Mello was the most attentive person you'd ever meet. Matt barely ever got angry while sometimes it was impossible to find Mello in a good mood. Matt could never keep a grudge while Mello could never forgive.

There were several other things but it were the differences between them that helped Near's relationship with Matt. Not that he was looking to have a positive relationship with the goggled redhead, mind you. It's just that Matt insisted on being nice to Near, which Near suspected was because of how mean Mello was to him. Near recalled clearly the day he had gotten into a fight with Mello over some scientific debate in class. Mello and Near's theories were in stark contrast of each other and there was no way to prove that either of them were right or wrong without spending millions of euros and several years on projects, which, insanely enough, Mello was willing to do. Mello had lost his cool when Near had refused to work on the projects and ran into Near, rammed his shoulder in the white haired boy's ribs, slammed the kid's back into the teacher's table. Near had kicked and bit and clawed at the blonde's beautiful bronzed skin only to receive a punch on his cheek. Matt had come to Near's rescue. He had yanked Mello off Near's fidgeting body and taken a punch on the nose and another in the eye from Mello without any resistance. Near had been surprised that Matt would care to save someone from Mello and yet not save himself from Mello's wrath. Mello had clearly thought the same, for he had immediately thrown in the towel after the punch he had landed on Matt's eye and left.

"You okay, dude?" Matt's voice had been nasal as he nursed a bleeding nose.

Near had nodded.

"Don't mind Mello." The redhead's bottle green eyes were fixed on the door from where Mello had noisily exited not long ago. "I mean…I know he was wrong….he knows as well…he's just very…physical….and all he sees is red." That was Matt, always making excuses and apologizing for Mello, trying for the whole world to see a light in Mello that only he could see.

To think that Matt was now dead…..

….would have sent shivers down anyone's spine. But Near sat there staring at the word document, that Matt had left open, as if nothing was wrong. He started reading….

26th January, 2010

Matt's Journal Entry #198

Where do I begin? I don't think this even counts as a journal entry. It's more like a confession. He keeps telling me they won't shoot at me. "They're going to need you to get to me. They'll arrest you or something and I'll get you out once I'm finished with this."

When he says it, it makes sense….but I don't really believe it. "You're dead, dude." My brain keeps saying. "Game over, bro."

I have a choice, I know. I can turn him down, tell him I won't do it. And then his plan would fail and he'll never get ahead of Near. He'll never forgive me. He'll never look at me again. He'll leave like he did all those years back. Without a word, he would disappear from my life. And that will be the end of our age-old friendship.

Friendship…..yeah right. It's anything but that. That's how it started though. But I had to go and ruin it by falling for him. I knew he never returned my feelings. I always knew he didn't love me the way I loved him but for some reason I hoped he would….someday. And it had been the blinding glare of that flame of hope that had, at the age of fourteen, led me into telling my best friend that I couldn't stop thinking about him, that my heart fluttered at the mention of his name [or alias…whatever you prefer], that my skin came alive at the slightest brushes against his.

Well….that's not what I had told him….but that's what I had been implying. What I had told him was rather blunt.

"I…" I had tried in vain to swallow the lump in my throat and forced myself to meet the icy cold of his impatient blue eyes. "I love you, Mello."

One of his brows had shot up, his eyes had been indifferent. He had turned his gaze towards the console controller on the floor.

"Really?" He had managed to say sounding bored, as he had picked the controller. "Just yesterday you said the only thing you love is video games." He had rammed the controller into my hand and said, "I preferred that couple."

And he had turned and left me feeling stupid with a controller in my hand. I should've been mad at him for being such a dick…but I hadn't been. I had been scared.

I had thought he would stop speaking to me….but he hadn't. He treated me exactly like he used to, spoke to me exactly the way he would, stood up for me just like always.

But that hadn't lasted long. Only a couple of weeks later he had disappeared. Roger had told me he had decided to quit the orphanage and give up any dreams of being the next L.

I don't want to talk about what I did once he left….It's too bloody embarrassing. But I had managed to silence the part of me that needed his presence.

That didn't last forever either. [Fuck you, life…..or should I say thank you?]

Four years later I had found him sitting on the steps of my apartment building, red leather white fur lined hoodie soaking and dripping. I had thought it was a homeless person until I had noticed the crucifix his gloved hands were fidgeting with.

"Mello?" His face shot up at the sound of my voice and I saw the damage the four years had done to him. Slightly more than a quarter of his face had burn marks and my expression must have been horrified because he immediately said, "I know. It's horrid, isn't it?"

"No….it's fine." Now that I think about it, that wasn't even what we should have been talking about after four years of separation.

Nevertheless, he moved in and I finally found out why he had been absent for so long. And that's when I realized why he was here, finally, in my presence. He had nowhere else to go. He was alone in the big bad world. Now the idea of Wammy's House is to make it easy for us to transition from a dependent to independent state, but Mell, the fucktard that he is, had literally thrown himself at the world, joined the mafia, done some drugs, faked doing others [he said he doesn't like them…he won't even smoke cigarettes], kidnapped a good number of people, killed a few apparently [he doesn't seem to like that either…doesn't like me touching the subject]. If I had my way, I'd slap him and tell him to stop being such an annoying cunt. He thinks he can take on anything and come out unscathed. He always thought that way. At one point, it became so difficult not to say "You can't take on the whole world y'know."

So I said it.

And his eyes met mine, for the first time in ages. All he said was, "I know." His eyes didn't flinch but I knew he meant so much more than just "I know." He really knew now. He had come inches from dying, gotten half of his face and his shoulder burnt, been thrown into situations where his own choice didn't even matter, been used and discarded like a condom. He knew.

So I found myself feeling guilty. Out of sheer panic I held him, told him he didn't have to go through it alone. To my surprise, he didn't push me away. Instead I felt his hands slowly creeping around my waist. I wanted to steal all his fears, all his anxiety, all the pain so he could forget it all.

In time, everything came rushing back. How I felt in his presence, how he made everything come alive, how much I loved him, everything seemed to come back like it had never been gone.

I didn't want to confess to him again just to be met with another fancy stylized well thought out rejection so I kept my mouth shut, did what he told me to, laughed with him, ate with him, spoke to him. But we had our moments of just silence, where contentment seemed to grip my chest. And when I looked up at him, his glassy blue eyes would meet mine and the corners of his lips would move to smile tiredly at me.

In one such moment, I wanted to steal his weakness and I found his face in my hands, his eyes locked on mine, looking at me in ways I had till then only dreamt of. Our lips had met innocently, quivered against each other's, puckered and sucked lightly on each other's, made a wet pop sound and left a feeling that still turns my brain to sap.

Yeah, yeah, I know. "OH MY GOD! CONGRATS MAN! THAT'S SO COOL! YOU'RE SO GETTING LAID, MAN!"

But, y'see, this isn't a happy story. Unfortunately, for some reason, Mello avoids any and all conversations about our relationship….if we're in a relationship that is….This is all very confusing. He just doesn't talk about it. It scares me. And it just unnecessarily adds to my list of embarrassing moments. I kick myself every time I accidentally call him babe or honey or angel. Why you ask? Because his eyebrow shoots up with the same indifferent look he gave me back when he first rejected me.

It's different when we make love [or have sex or sleep together…whatever you prefer….why do I even care about Microsoft Word's preference?]. When we're going at it, he's always in such a trance. His skin shines where the little beads of sweat on the catch the light. His lips go blood red and swollen from all the kissing and biting. His nails dig into my back. His hair sticks to his neck and his face, wet with sweat. And his eyes, lidded or not, are always in such a high, like he wants the moment to last forever.

He calls me his love when the high takes over him. He whispers "take me, my love", or other variations of the same, into my ear then kisses my neck. And when he says that, I can call him anything and he'd just smile amused at my words.

Is all this supposed to get rid of my fears? Well it doesn't. It makes it worse. It confuses me. Does he care or not? Does he love me or not?

He doesn't seem to want me to initiate any moves, either. Whenever I make a move on him, he says, "We've got work, Matt. Concentrate. Focus." Now I know that makes sense but hear me out. This once, I tried talking to him about our relationship. We were standing in the balcony. I was smoking. He was enjoying the view.

"How do you think of us?" I asked out of the blue. "What am I to you?"

He stared at the city for quite some time not even surprised by my sudden question.

"Who cares? What does it matter?" he said finally. He turned to look at me. "Aren't you glad we're here? Aren't you happy just to be in this moment with me?"

"I am." I replied trying not to think about how good the city lights looked when they danced in his eyes.

"Then one thing at a time, Matty. We'll get to that later."

And that was the end of it. He makes me so impatient, so scared. I'm scared it's just a case of cupboard love. I'm scared he's with me so that I'd help him out. If that is, in fact, the case then, Mello, you should know that if you'd ask, I'd do anything, without you having to give me anything in return and I know that makes me an idiot but it's still true….so I suppose I'm an idiot.

But I'm still happy with him, cupboard love or not. I'm happy that he's here with me. And hence, dying right now is not okay with me. But if I refuse to do what he says we'll be over anyways. He'll leave me. WHAT DO I DO NOW? Decisions decisions.

Whatever, I'm going for it. I want to be there for him, through everything he needs. And he hasn't been doing very well ever since Ridner told him about Near's plan. He's been anxious and angry. Yesterday we did it so many times that 25th of January should hereby be proclaimed international sex day. Now before you think "what's the connection between sex and his anxiety", let me tell you. He cried before we made love. He buried his head in my bare chest and bawled like a lost naked child. He clawed at his own back and chest until I yanked his hands away. He kissed me, grabbed and groped me like nothing else could cure him of his anxiety.

"Don't stop." He said every time I was about to finish or seemed to get tired. "Keep going." And his nails pinned me to my place over him, inside him.

He even spent more time than usual in bed with me after the sex. Usually he would turn around and go to sleep or stay for a few minutes and then make his way to the bathroom. Last night he stayed with me for two whole hours after the sex. His temple rested against my cheek, the back of his shoulder against my chest, the fingers of one hand entwined with mine, that of the other tracing swirls around my belly button while I smoked.

I hope I don't get killed. I hope I don't get caught. I hope I get away from the heat. I hope I make it to him again. I hope I get to laze about in his arms again. I hope to make him happy.

That hope is worth living for, worth struggling for. I know what you're thinking "Is making him happy worth dying for?"

Yes, his smile is to die for. And my decision is made.

If I am to die I hope he comes across this. I don't know why. But if you are reading this, Mello, and if I'm dead, know that I love you, know that you have been the light of my life and that I regret nothing, not one thing. So make sure you don't let my death be in vain. Wipe those tears and smile for me.

Cheh…now that I think about it, it'll be fine. He's right. They'll arrest me. Then he'll get me out of jail and I'll laugh about how retarded my fears were and everything I wrote and how anxious I had made myself. I suppose it was just a fear and I just needed to let it out. It'll be alright, I'm sure.

But I'll leave this on for Mello to find….just in case.

Author's Notes:

I'd love to hear what you think about it so far. Chapter Two will be up soon. Thanks for reading.