Chapter 1: Loyal Dog
Chapter one is written by Emmychan.
Death Note and all related characters and logos belong to NTV, D.N.Dreamparters, VAP, Shueisha, and Madhouse, Original story belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata
Ah yes, I thought as I leaned over the clock, finger pushing against the 'alarm off' button, Monday; or, as I like to call it in my Nintendo scattered brain, D-Day. The day when I, Matt, must wake up so very early as to shower and go shopping before my compulsive friend, Mello, wakes up, begging on his knees- with a gun- for a chocolate bar. Now this wouldn't be so bad if it was only this morning, but when I bought said chocolate, I would need to stock for the entire week as too keep the tempered man fazed long enough to escape the gun he kept at his side. And as I'm sure you're all snickering to yourself about right now, I am not whipped, simply... devoted; loyal, like a dog. If I was whipped, I'd be doing much worse things. Such as the following- read it while I shower, will you?
It was Sunday night, about 2 years ago, and Mello was heading off to bed quite early. I was confused about this gesture, but made no attempts to figure out its reasoning. As he passes by me in the kitchen, wearing only boxers and the black, fuzzy slippers I had bought him for his last birthday, I noticed he had in his hand a magazine. What kind of magazine? I can't say at this time, for it was rolled up and hidden quite well between his body and arm. Now I know a few of you are making guesses as to the type of magazine he had; most of you are correct. When I followed him into his room, he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, with a large smile and possessive eyes. When his head lifted, he had called me over. Now, now, I know the thoughts you're thinking. Please bear with me. After my name left his lips, he said to me:
"Come check out this awesome gun." I did as I was told and sat next to him. It was a hand-held. That was all I made note of before he began rambling on about its features. I'm sure you're now thinking, 'what kind of teenage boy reads gun magazines late at night?' Well, here's my answer. I don't really know. I tend to follow teenage-boy stereotypes quite well. Let's get back on track now, shall we? After he had finished, he turned to me with sparkling eyes and the 'gimme, gimme' pout. My hand threw itself against his face and shoved him down on the bed. I fell on top and have him a glare. At that, I said 'no,' and reminded him of the 13 guns I had bought him already over the past 5 months. Mello never was a giver, but boy could he take.
That probably distracted you long enough. I stepped out of the shower and pulled a towel from the wrack, wrapping it around my waist tightly. I shook my head, water from my hair flying against all the walls. Flipping the fan switch, I rubbed the steam off the mirror. I must say, I'm pretty attractive for 16. And don't act like you don't agree, even the tiniest bit.
I found myself a comb and ran it through my hair, keeping my eyes steadily open as I place each lock in the proper position. After this was done, I pulled the towel from my waist and stepped out of the room, whistling in all of my naked glory. It was a short walk from the bathroom to my room. Too short, if you ask me; who was it who decided man needed to wear clothes anyway? I mean, in the winter, sure, but it was summer time, baby. Steamy side walks, warm rain, blazing sun, busy beaches and best of all, tank tops; the accessory no man ever misses. I say accessory because the size of those things don't count for clothing, in my eyes. I kept a stern gaze on my hair as I pulled my shirt over my head, immediately fixing anything that may have been misplaced. I grabbed a belt from the drawer as I walked away, weaving it through my belt loops as I stepped back into the kitchen.
I opened the fridge and pulled out the milk, tipping my head back and pouring it into my mouth. Cups are for uncoordinated losers. Remember that kids, it'll help you fit in with the big brothers. So I say as I sputtered; the liquid spilling out of my mouth and down my neck. I used my sleeve to wipe it off. Grabbing my goggles, and left the carton out on the counter and headed to the front door, grabbing my vest on the way by the closet.
I stepped out of the apartment building timingly, keeping an eye on my number's window as to make sure Mello wasn't watching me, then lit a cigarette after finding he wasn't. I took a couple long drags before heading down the street to the corner store. It was still early, so few people got in my way. Just a few middle-aged women heading to work and a man here and there. Maybe I just didn't pay attention to the men. I don't really care. I put out my cigarette as I turned into the store, coughing lightly into my hand as the door closed behind me.
"You could always quit, Matt." I turned my head to see the shop keeper already grabbing a box of my favourite cigarette brand.
"I could, but then you'd be screwed," I joked as I pulled 27 chocolate bars from the shelf. Mello normally ate 25, but the extra two came in handy for bribery and sometimes even my own enjoyment. I also pulled a bottle of water from the fridge on my way by. He smiled as I set my things down.
"Have you ever thought of telling this guy to buy his own chocolate?" I smirked.
"Have you ever been face to face with a guy who likes his gun more than his penis?" The old man smirked back at me. He replied with a simple 'nope' before exchanging my bills for a few hundred-yen coins.
I whistled as I headed back up the slight hill. I noted I had 13 minutes to get back after I looked at my watch. My pace increased a few notches, but then I stopped cold when I saw who was waiting for me outside.
"Where the hell have you been?! I was calling for you for 5 minutes!" Now, this occurrence was not only rare, but extremely unsightly; usually because my blonde friend never put pants on before rushing outside. I stepped closer, awaiting a smack upside the head. But instead, he reached for the bag in my hand. "You should stop buying these things," he ordered, chucking the box of cigarettes back at me. I caught them after my third fumble and rushed behind him.
"Mello, you know I care about you, so I'm saying this as a concerned friend." I followed him into the stairwell and shouted, "Put some goddamn pants on!"
He retaliated with a smug, "As if you actually want me to," before turning a corner and heading out the next door. I stayed in that spot for a minute, taking a deep breath and continuing on.
"Actually I do want you to. I'm not willing to share your precious lil' tushie," I lied as I turned my key in the door. Mello made a few whiny, not-amused mocking noises and ripped open a chocolate bar, flinging himself over the back of the count. I opened my water bottle and smiled before it reached my lips.
