Wammy's House, Matt and Mello both 14.

Well, I had a poll on my page, asking 'Should I write a multi-chapter Wammy's house?' No-one voted no, and I'm sure you will live to regret it. But here is the promised fanfic. Oh, and it's a slight AU – Mello doesn't leave Wammy's until he's 18. Enjoy, please review, and I'm taking requests.

A small auburn-haired boy lay on the sofa with a pink Game Boy color. He'd just arrived; and his parents had only died two days ago. He didn't appear to be affected by it, but Roger was used to this – it didn't sink in for about a week. Then you got the stereotypical 'I want my mummy!' tantrums, then the silent grief. So used to this, in fact, that he turned on his heel and left the orphaned boy alone in the common room.

Matt watched Mario jump hyperactively into a tube, and wished he too could do the same. He didn't notice the old man exiting the room, but he sure as hell noticed the troupe of about five boys entering. He glanced up at them. They were about twelve or thirteen, but they were tall and looked strong. They noticed him looking at them and he quickly looked back down, but it was too late. The one who was apparently the head strided over to him, with the rest of his gang following. He tore the console out of Matt's hands and threw it to the ground. Matt emitted a near-silent groan, but it was loud enough to allow the boys to imitate it and laugh. "So, faggy-boy," said the boss, a brunette who could have been beautiful but was too twisted for it to come through, "When did you get here?" Matt stayed resolutely silent, certain that anything he said would be ridiculed. "I said, when did you get here?" Still no answer. "Answer me, you bastard!"

"T-t-today," Matt stuttered.

"T-t-today!" the brown-haired boy mimicked. This was met with a round of hysterical laughter. Matt didn't know why, it wasn't that funny. "T-t-to-f*cking-day? Well, you haven't made a very good start, faggy-boy, have you? And I think you should be punished for that. Don't you agree with me?" It did appear that, yes, his gang did agree.

"Well, good luck with that." replied Matt calmly, picking up his game from the floor and trying to prevent himself from shivering. He touched the console but the screen was completely mangled.

"Ah, what do you think you're doing with that, faggy-boy? We haven't finished with you yet…" With that, two boys grabbed Matt by the feet and arms and pushed him into a cupboard. They locked the door, and began tipping it around. Inside, Matt's eyes were squeezed shut and a single tear began to drip down his button nose. He'd never been a fan of small dark places, but ever since he narrowly avoided being locked in a bloody safe and being thrown into the ocean by a mental murderer he disliked them even more. But all of a sudden – it stopped. And one, honey-swept voice began to talk.

"Now, now, little boys, what do you think you're doing?"

"N-n-nothing, Mello, w-we were just…playing… that's all… I p-p-promise…"

"And are you going to p-p-pick up a f*cking p-p-penguin too? Speak properly, retard."

"I'm s-s-sorry, M-" Before the kid, who sounded like the brunette had finished his sentence, he was cut of in a series of chokes and gasps. From what Matt could deduce, he was being held up against a wall, presumably by his throat.

"Haven't I told you before, little boy, never do this again. Right?" The boy had apparently nodded. "F*cking NEVER!" A gross crunching noise was made, and it sounded like a limb was broken. "NEVER!" It appeared that the boy had been dropped to the floor, and the gang scattered. Matt heard delicate light footsteps pick their way to the cupboard and unlock it. He fell out in a way which Jabba the Hutt would've been ashamed of, right onto this Mello's feet. Matt looked up, and gaped. Of all the things to do, to bloody gape. He was certain, for a moment, that this was all a hallucination and that he had fallen unconscious whilst in that hellish cupboard. But not even his wildest dreams could have thought up this. For standing there, a halo of blond hair around a perfectly formed oval face, was surely an angel? He had azure eyes, eyes like a storm in the middle of a summer day. His eyelashes were thick and dark. His lips had a perfect cupid's bow. His hair… yellow-blond and cut in a pageboy bob. It was shiny, soft, and beautiful. But if you looked further, onto his skin tight black long-sleeve shirt, you could see dark red blood splatters. A fallen angel, then.

And this angel, this boy, this Mello, held out a hand to him, and said: "Hey, beautiful. Want to come to dinner some time?"

And that is how, today, I came to be here. Frantically wondering what the difference between smart-casual and casual-smart was. Attempting to zip up my fly with trembling hands. And confirming to myself that I was actually bi. Because, y'know, it'd be kind of embarrassing to… go out on a date with a guy, then he kisses me, and it feels all wrong etcetera, etcetera. I'd never get a girlfriend that way. But it seems that the story of Mello's heroics has spread round the school already, and I'm now looked upon as the adorable puppy who thinks the light shines out of Mello's every orifice. Heh-heh. But no. And so there I'm never going to get a girlfriend/boyfriend.

I mean, I do already have a fan-club with about twenty odd followers (out of the twenty-two people at Wammy's, it was pretty impressive), but it'd be a little odd to have a date who screamed 'MOE! KAWAII MATTIE-CHAN!' like the creepy anime obsessed stalkers that they are. And I do have standards. IE the smexiliciously hot blond who I'm meeting in an hour.

(Okay, I'm definitely bi.)

An hour later…

I'm in the restaurant. God, I hope he's paying. It looks like the kind of snazzy European place where when you order, practising your French, the waiter corrects your pronunciation with a twiddle of a gay-ish moustache.

I ask if there's a reservation for a Mello. Nope. A Matt? No can-do. Is there any justice in the world?

Ten minutes later…

Ten. F*cking. Minutes. That, my friends, is how late my new date Mello was. No, doesn't seem that much to all you boys and girls at home. But when you're sitting on your own at a table for two, and the candle keeps flickering and the waitresses keep giving you knowing glances and winking, it seems like quite a long f*cking time. I was all ready to leave, but when he walked in, I was so bloody glad I didn't. He looked absolutely amazing; black skinnies, a white shirt and faux-crocodile skin black boots. Yum. But he was looking straight at me. Like, straight, straight at me.

I looked over my shoulder back to the waitresses. One appeared to be crying, whilst the rest were new recruits to the Matt fan club. You could practically see the hearts in their eyes. I felt underdressed and exposed, even though I'd swapped my jeans for some new ones and my shirt for a black one with a red tie.

Oh shit, that's what he's looking at, he's looking at my goggles and thinking, 'oh God, I've asked out some steam-punk cyber geek with some gay streak who gets beaten up a lot and I'd better run away before he tries to exterminate me.' I had absolutely convinced myself that that was what he was thinking, when he came over to my (our) table and sat down with the smile of the super-cool.

He squeezed my hand (squeezed my hand! On the first bloody date!! stfu, inner Matt) and said, no lie:

"You look sexy tonight, Matt."

…

SQUEE!

My first attempt at a vaguely humorous story ¬¬ please review and tell me what you think! I'll try and update this regularly as I genuinely enjoy writing as a gay slightly fangirling Matt ^^