I stare at the golden band around my finger. Such a simple thing, a plain circle of a simple emotion, unconditional love.

Love. A simple emotion. An oxymoron if there ever was one.

But it is. Unconditional love is knowing you'd do absolutely anything for them. You'd give them everything you had. You'd give your life for them. You'd go to the end of the earth and back for them. So in a way, it's simple.

That's why this ring doesn't confuse me. I have no conflicting emotions over this ring. I just treasure it above all my other possessions for what it represents – Mello's unconditional love for me, and my unconditional love for him. I'd kill you if you took away my consoles, my games, my cigarettes, but I'd kill your little sister in front of you if you took this ring from me.

I haven't taken it off since Mello gave it to me two years ago. I don't think I ever will. I certainly never intend to. Even when he's out, doing his Mafia shit, his genius shit, I twist it around my finger and think of him. It's a piece of him, a piece of that melodramatic, bitchy, homicidal, unbelievably sweet, loving, fucking gorgeous man that is mine.

It was some day during the Kira Case when Mello first brought it up. I don't even know when it was. All the days had started to blur together, all following the same pattern. Get up. Smoke. Eat breakfast. Smoke. Game. Tell Mello he's going to die of diabetes. Smoke. Hack shit for him. Smoke. Game. Lunch. Verbally abuse Near's memory. Smoke. Hack some more shit. Watch Mells' cameras. Game. Smoke. Order a takeaway. Eat. Game. Smoke. Shower. Fuck. Sleep.

Well. We didn't fuck every night.

Just most.

One day, Mello was standing at the window, eyeing the grey LA skies. I was smoking, hacking a firewall. Generally not paying much attention to Mells. Until he said, "Hey, Matt?"

"Yeah?" I didn't look up.

There was a pause. "If I wanted to marry you, would you?" He didn't look at me, just kept staring out of the window, trying to be cool about it.

He wasn't managing it. A muscle in his thigh always tightens when he gets tense, or nervous. And with his figure-hugging leather, I could always tell when he was nervous. He was nervous now.

I put the laptop down. "Of course I would, Mells. You know that, right?"

"Mmmm." He didn't sound convinced and yelped when I slid my arms around his waist from behind.

"I love you." I kissed his neck. "I have done since we were, what, fourteen? I love you, Mello." Kissed his hair. "Of course I'd marry you!" Kissed his ear. "Why, do you want to get married?"

He shook his head, blonde hair sweeping across my face, tickling my collarbones. "Just wondering."

"Dammit. I'll have to wait to see your gorgeous arse in a wedding dress, then."

He wriggled away from me and punched me. "I am not wearing a fucking wedding dress! I'm not that gay, Matt!"

But months later, I knew he hadn't stopped thinking about it.

Neither had I.

I couldn't find the right moment. Every time I wanted to do it, it just seemed wrong somehow. The box containing the plain gold band of his engagement ring sat in the corner of the bedroom underneath my cigarettes. I had spent all of ten minutes in the ring shop. Mello wasn't one for diamonds, for stones or soppy engravings. He wouldn't say anything, but I knew he'd hate it if I got him a diamond ring. So an unadorned gold ring had seemed the right thing. But now I couldn't find the right moment, the right way to say, hey, Mells, wanna marry me?

He'd noticed I was preoccupied. Every few days, he asked me if I was okay, albeit in various manners. A good day meant a hug and a soft, "Are you alright, Matty?" A kiss if he was really going for it.

A bad day meant an exasperated, "God, what the fuck is wrong with you? You can't have more sex, my arse won't take it!"

I just needed to bite the bullet at some point.

It was September sometime. The seventeenth, to be precise. Mello needed more chocolate. I needed more walked, hand in hand, across the park towards the chocolate shop. Mello has to get his chocolate before I get my fags. Rule. If I broke that law, he probably wouldn't marry me.

We bought his chocolate. We bought my cigarettes. Fingers linked again, we walked back across the sunlit park towards our apartment. My heart was in my mouth and my legs felt drained of blood. I was pretty sure Mello was going to hear my pulse soon.

I stopped in the middle of the park. I have to do this. I have to ask him. Come on, Matt, just fucking do it!

Mello kept walking, tugging at my hand. "Matt. We're going home. Come on. Matt. Come on!" He finally turned around. "What the fuck are you doing? Don't just fucking stand there!"

I swallowed. Oh my fucking God, I'm so nervous. My hands were sweating, my fingers shaky on his. "Mells…I – I –"

I pulled out the ring from my pocket. Fuck the whole kneeling thing, I'll fucking stand.

GOD MATT JUST DO IT!

I held the ring out to him. My throat was dry. My stomach was full of bats on acid, fluttering at unbelievable speeds.

"Mihael…will you marry me?"

I heard his intake of breath. The thud of the bag on the floor. I looked at him. The line of his nose. The sharp profile of his jaw. The sweep of his blonde hair across his face. His lips, those lips I knew so well, parted slightly in shock. His widened eyes and all their shades of blue.

I looked at the man I loved more than anything in the world. The man I wanted to marry me.

I couldn't breathe. The silence was too much. The ring felt like it was burning my palm as Mello stared at it for an eternity.

And then suddenly he was snatching it from my hand and crushing me in his arms and his voice was husky as he said, "Yes. Yes. Yes, Matt, yes!" into my ear. He squeezed me once more and then held my face between his hands. His beautiful blue eyes were dusky with tears. Mello. Crying. Crying.

He kissed me, slowly, sweetly, softly. The tension drained from me as I kissed him back. He'd said yes. He'd said yes, goddammit!

He pulled back a millimetre, his lips still brushing against mine as he murmured, "I love you." Soft kiss. "I will marry you with all my heart, Mail Jeevas." My throat tightened. I was going to cry, dammit!

Mello kissed me again and jumped up and wrapped his legs around my waist. I caught him, his arms tightening around my neck. I looked up at his grinning face and laughed. His smile was so honest, so heartfelt that it damn near broke my resolve not to cry. He looked like an angel. So, so beautiful with the evening sunlight shining through his blonde hair and his huge smile that he couldn't be anything but an angel. He couldn't be made of flesh and blood and bone. Nothing that beautiful could be earthly.

I felt him fiddling with his hands behind my head. He brought them in front so I could see – the ring was snugly seated on his right ring finger. He was still grinning like a madman, like the bloody Cheshire Cat. He waved his hand in front of my face.

"We're getting married, Mail!"

My laugh quickly turned into an oof! as Mello gave a particularly enthusiastic wriggle and overbalanced, taking me with him to the ground. I landed on top of him on the grass in a heap, his smile turning to indignation.

"Ma-att! You didn't have to fucking squish me!" he protested.

"You were the one that overbalanced, you twat!" I spluttered. "And how is this any different to sex?"

"We've still got all our clothes on," Mello grumbled as I rolled off him and offered him a hand up. He accepted it and shook his hair straight. Picked up his chocolate. "Come on, then, fiancé."

Fiancé. I was liking the sound of that word.