I owe a lot of things to Matt, things I'll never be able to give back to him; things I can never fix, because we simply don't have time to anymore; things I wish I had the guts to do, when I had the chance to do them; things I came to regret for years to come, but could never bring myself to apologize or make up for…Things I never will have the chance to make up for anymore.

The first thing I owe Matt is a relatively minor thing in comparison to the others, something I can easily repent for, if I could have one more chance to make things right. It was a material object I had taken away from Matt. An object he loved and treasured, but an object nonetheless.

We were eleven, and didn't have a care in the world other than trying to place first (me), pilfering chocolate from the kitchen (also me, though Matt was my accomplice), and getting away with playing games in class (Matt). The future seemed bright, and laughter rang often and genuine.

I had stormed back into our shared room, shouting swears and profanities like some foul mantra, after seeing the scores for last week's test because Near had placed ahead of me. Again.

Seeing Matt lying around, acting nonchalant about everything under the sun (and everything that was over, behind, in front, and beside of it as well), it only fueled my anger. Why didn't he care? Why did nothing matter to him? Why didn't he get off of his lazy ass and try?

"Hey Mells," he greeted me coolly, not looking up from his handheld game console. I had walked up to him in irritated strides and snatched the beloved device from his hands and thrown it against the wall, shattering it into useless pieces of plastic and metal.

Matt had bitten his lip in mourning, but had stayed silent.

"Don't fucken 'Hey Mells' me! Near beat me again! Why don't you care about that? Why don't you fucken care about anything? Life isn't some big game, Matt! And if it is, you're not 'leveling up' or whatever the fuck, because you don't even try!" I had screamed at him in an unreasonable rant. It wasn't his fault; I just always had a quick temper and foul mouth, even at age eleven. I also didn't have empathy for anyone but myself.

Matt had smiled up at me, though I knew that he was sad over the loss of his favourite console. "I care," he had said softly, pulling his goggles down to rest at his neck so his eyes could meet mine without obstruction.

At that moment, my anger subsided and guilt wrenched at my heart. But I had always had trouble with admitting my wrongs. So, to escape, I ran from the room, leaving Matt behind to pick up the pieces—of both his feelings and his game.

Because of this, I owe Matt a new gaming console, and an apology, though this is probably long-forgotten by him.

The second thing I owe Matt is something harder to give. Or perhaps I never would have been able to give this to him, knowing the pathetic coward I am.

It was Matt's birthday, and he had just turned fourteen. The winter was gentle for once, as if looking kindly on Matt. Soft snowflakes were slowly dancing their way to the ground, in no hurry to get anywhere—just like we were.

I remember the sky was a blue-gray, more blue than gray, with little puffs of white clouds dotting its canvas. We were outside, our warm breaths filtering more clouds into the air.

Matt and I were on our way to the store to buy a present for him (I never knew what he wanted, so I brought him to pick something out for himself), and I asked curiously, "What do you want anyways, Matt?"

He smiled slowly, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and what I later realized was also embarrassment. "Something I can't buy from a store,"

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him completely to bombard him with questions. "What? Then why are we going to the mall? What is it? Where can you get it then?"

His cheeks flushed a deeper red and he looked away, though he tried to keep a cool stance. "I want a kiss…from you,"

I had taken a sharp intake of breath. My mind whirled with thought after thought. Matt likes me? We're both guys…But…why do I want to kiss him too? This isn't right! Mom and dad said that homosexuals would be damned! …Am I homosexual? Would that mean that I'm going to Hell? …NO! I don't like Matt that way! I can't!

I panicked, my parents' homophobic views crushing my own desire, and I slapped Matt. "WHAT THE FUCK, MATT? YOU FILTHY LITTLE FAGGOT! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?" I had exploded, tears forming in my eyes as I screamed at Matt. In retrospect, my anger was for myself rather than Matt. I was angry at myself for becoming exactly what my parents hated; angry that they would have rejected all of the things I loved, had they still been alive. But because of my lack of self-control and my tendencies to lash out at people, I had cruelly taken it out on Matt.

Matt lifted a hand to his bruising cheek, and apologized in an even voice, though I was the one at fault. Seeing the pain in his eyes that he was trying his best to hold back, both physical and emotional, I felt like I had just been stabbed in the heart. I raised my hands to hold him, but he flinched, expecting me to hit him again. I put my hands down again, a lump forming in my throat.

"Shit! I'm so sorry, Matt! I…It's just…I'm Catholic, and my parents…They're so against homo—"

"I get it, Mello. It's okay," He let go of his cheek and forced a pained smile.

"Shit, I didn't mean anything hurtful I said! I'm so sorry…"

Matt nodded, still smiling, but I could see he was shaking, and not from the cold. I panicked again, not knowing how to handle the situation, and shoved some money into Matt's hands before running off, just like I had when I had broken his game console, with a curt "Buy yourself something nice," as a goodbye.

So I owe Matt a kiss, the respect he deserves, and the love he had wanted so much, yet I was too afraid to give him.

The third thing I owe Matt is something I can never give back to him. It was something only for that precise moment, and nothing I can do afterwards can mend the wrong I had done back then.

I was fifteen, and Matt almost. Matt's rejection, as well as my self-rejection was never brought up again, both of us pushing it into the very backs of our minds, hoping that it will never see the light of day again. There was something else bothering us though, as if we could never have an untroubled moment in our lives. It was the day after we had heard the news of L's death. All I felt was anger and confusion. I was lost, and though Matt wanted to help me find myself, I didn't allow him to.

I shook him off for the entire day, despite his persistence to help me and hear me out. Matt tried to console me, telling me that it was okay; that we could avenge L; that we would beat Kira. However, they all fell on closed ears, and it just made me angry that he was trying to fool me with childish comforts.

"Shut up, Matt," I had whispered in a low, cold tone. Matt had stopped, turned on his heels and left me. I don't know whether it was because he had finally had enough of me, or he just assumed that I wanted to be alone at the time. I hoped that it had been the former, because I don't deserve the careful consideration he always had for me.

I waited until I thought Matt was asleep, and packed my bags. Then, as quietly as possible, with the silence of night cloaking around me in shawls of longing memories and lost childhood, I slipped out into the cold world, with no more than a change of clothes, a little cash, and a small stash of chocolate.

Upon reaching the Wammy gates, I heard Matt call to me in a small voice. "Thanks for saying goodbye, asshole,"

I hesitated, momentarily unable to continue on. I didn't dare turn back to look at him, because I knew that if I saw him again, I'd never be able to leave. Or worse, I'd convince myself to bring him along, into the disastrous mess I'd be getting myself into.

So I continued walking out the gate; out of Wammy's; out of his life, and hopefully, out of his mind. Without so much of a whisper or glance, I left Matt. I guess I'm not good at anything but running away…

And with that, it adds a "goodbye" and Matt's dignity onto the list of things I'll never be able to return to him.

The fourth debt I have to Matt is one of the ones I resent the most. It brought along only more regrets for me and built on the hurt I had caused Matt. It, like the others, is the result of my utter selfishness and lack of thoughtfulness towards others.

We were both eighteen, and it had been over three years since I had left him. I had just blown up the mafia base, and I was a mess of contorted, singed muscle and leather and a tangled chaos of taut emotions.

I had tried so hard in the past three years to forget him, but it simply couldn't be done. The last thing I wanted to do was to drag Matt into all the shit I was going through for my own egotistic desires. But seeing as I had broken all of my promises to him and myself already, why not break one more?

I called Matt, and he had picked up after just one ring, as if he'd been waiting for my call.

"Matt…" I breathed against the cell phone, my voice hushed from the smoke damage and blood loss.

"Fuck no," Matt's voice was brimming with anger, threatening to spill. "Just who the fuck do you think you are, Mello? I'm not a dog you can tell to come and go at your whim! Fuck you, Mello, just…Fuck you!"

I was losing consciousness at this point, and my voice was barely audible; I feared that he wouldn't be able to hear me. "Please, Matt…Please…"

Matt hung up on me, and I was scared that he wouldn't come to save me. I had royally screwed up, so there was no reason as to why he would come help me. But Matt was as forgiving as ever, no matter what came out of his mouth. He came for me, and saved me from burning straight down into Hell, like an angel.

And that brings me to the fourth thing I came to owe him: the normal life he could have lived, his safety, and the chance to forget me, the person who was tearing his life apart.

The fifth thing I owe Matt is the one that pains me the most, though I don't suppose I'll have long to regret it, since I'll be dying soon anyways.

I'm twenty-one, and Matt is almost, though he'll never come to see his upcoming birthday.

Today, Matt died. I had proposed another stupid plan of mine, suicidal, if you will, and Matt had graciously accepted, like always.

I had told him the plan, told him the possible consequences, the percentages, the variables…As much information I could to try to help him in getting out of this alive. But I guess that never really made a difference in the end.

The snow was falling gently, like it did on Matt's fourteenth birthday. I've come to decide that snow is a bad omen for me. It fooled the rest of the world into thinking that it's a gentle wonder, like little kisses from the sky, but I knew better; they're speckles of lost hopes and broken futures.

I regretted going through with the plan the moment his car swerved in with the smoke gun, because that was when I realized he really wouldn't make it, with all false hopes cast aside. But it was too late then, there wasn't anything else I could do to stop the plan.

As I watched the news report covering Matt's death, his identity unknown as he died with the sullied name of an anonymous criminal, I imagined the bullets biting into his skin and flesh. I imagined pain shooting up his nerves, and then nothing, because the pain had become so full that his senses went numb, and death loomed overhead of him like an ominous shadow. I bit back tears, regret burrowing into my heart.

Thus leaves me with another debt to him that I'll never be able to repay: his life, his trust and the possibility of redeeming himself and turning his life around. All because of my incompetence.

Lastly, I owe Matt something I never had the heart to give him. This is the worst of all my debts, since he had believed all along that he had gotten it from me.

It was the night before the kidnapping, and Matt and I were saying our silent goodbyes, because we both had a sinking feeling that something would go wrong. Our last night was spent in an austere apartment, despair hanging heavy over our heads like a guillotine blade, ready to fall.

"Hey, Mello," Matt had said softly from the across the room. "Is there really a Heaven?"

I clutched the rosary around my neck out of habit. Any answer I gave was going to be empty, because I didn't even know anymore. Believing had never stopped the tragedies from happening, so why should it now? Would God even save me, such a sinful existence, if he were real?

I closed my eyes and echoed Matt's softness. "Yes, Matt,"

I didn't have to look to know there was a smile stretching across his gentle features. "Well, Mihael, if anything goes wrong, I'll wait for you there, okay? I'll see you again, no matter what,"

Hearing my real name voiced by Matt made me feel even more hollow. "Yeah, Mail, I'll see you there,"

The last thing I owe Matt is truthfulness. I had made a blasphemous lie to him that night, when the one thing he needed the most was the truth. Or maybe lying was the best way after all, because I could never bear to tell him the truth:

I'm going straight to Hell.