Sunlight began to filter through the windows and into the room, causing a messy haired redhead to open his eyes with a groan. Idiots were always being inconsiderate and leaving the curtains open while he slept. Matt looked around the room, nearly empty except for the small bed that he found himself lying on. Empty and just, vaguely familiar.

He sat up, his expression one of mixed confusion and worry. Was this someplace new for he and Mello to hide out in?

And then it hit him. The blond's name had no more than simply entered his mind when Matt let out a strangled cry. Mello. Their plan. While he appeared to be alright, where was his friend in all of this? Mello had to be okay.

Matt scrambled to his feet, pausing momentarily to look for shoes and finding none, and ran out the door. It didn't occur to him until he was in the hallway outside the door that he knew exactly where he was. Though it would have been impossible to get here, from Japan. Trying to think back to what he last remembered, he froze. No, that part must have been a dream. A very lucid dream.

He lifted his shirt, staring down at his chest with wide eyes. There were marks and scars that he'd never seen before, but not the kind that suggested he'd been at gunpoint the night before. Though.. they were in the same places that he'd remembered being hit, at least before he passed out. That must have been it, he'd only passed out, and now he'd been comatose in his old home with Mello watching over him. Nobody else would bother to care for him that way. He hadn't found any evidence that this was the case, but Matt was a bit more of an optimist than a lot of the people he'd grown up around.

He didn't want to venture to far from the empty room, but once he noticed the room number, he knew he'd have no trouble finding it again. Same old door as always.

Venturing down the hall, Matt paused to listen for children. Just because he'd left, it didn't mean that life at Wammy's had ceased to carry on just as always. Just as he was becoming worried that it seemed empty, an unfamiliar young teen turned round the corner, heading Matt's direction.

"Hey! Do you know where Mello is? Short, blonde, leathery?" His questions went unanswered, though the boy continued walking toward him. "You can tell me, I used to go to school here too. Maybe you could take me to Roger. Is he still here?"

Still, every word out of Matt's mouth was treated like he weren't even present. The boy opened another door and walked into his own room, ignoring the redhead. Matt rolled his eyes, but a bit more worry was starting to set in.

He headed to Roger's office, a path he knew by heart even after a few years away. Once he was there, he opened the door, peeping in. The old man looked up, and Matt breathed a sigh of relief.

"There we go! Someone acknowledges my existence." He sat down in a chair across the desk, pulling his goggles down round his neck and staring at the other with a stern expression. "I-" Before he could go on, Roger had stood up and walked to the door, poking his head around and looking down the hall.

"I'd rather nobody play with me at the moment, I have- funeral business to sort," Roger called this down the hall, and Matt stared at him with yet more confusion.

Someone had died? A student here? Bummer.

Matt opened his mouth again to speak to the old caretaker, but he stopped when Roger sat down and continued to write, without looking at the boy once. The redhead got up and stood behind the other man, looking over his shoulder. He knew that was something that bothered him. The smirk playing on his lips died when he saw the names on the paper, though.

Mihael Keehl and Mail Jeevas?