DISCLAMIER: I do not own anything. Death Note belongs to their own creators, as does Mello and Matt. I don't even own the names of the four kittens. Sad, eh?

Matt breathed in an out. In and out, a billow of smoke following his every release and intake of air. His lungs, unbekownst to him, screamed for the sweet aphrodisiac of fresh air. But Matt couldn't give up his smoking. Not even for a breath of fresh air. This Camel brand cigarette pack was almost done. Time to go to the store again. And besides, Mello probably needed some more chocolate. The addicted bastard he was. But not yet. Matt didn't want to get out of bed yet. It was much too early. With a sigh, and a roomful of wispy smoke, he turned his neck to the left, cringing as the stiff muscles were being used. 1:43 P.M. Oops, perhaps Matt might actually want to crawl from the confines of his bed. But it was oh warm, so very warm. And after all, the afternoon had just begun. And besides, he doubted Mello would actually be home anytime soon, and the damn blond probably didn't have any use for the red head, and it wasn't like Matt was actually going to do anything today. But he lied to himself a lot. Oh how he lied. But lying was easy. Everyone did it. Plus, yesterday was hard enough. Heh, that almost sounded dirty. With a grunt, he rolled out of bed, slipped on goggles and wrangled with his boots. A striped shirt was thrown over his flesh, the pattern of his clothing choice making him seem even more thin and lanky. Matt did not need that. He was already anorexic looking enough. But man, did that boy eat. He blamed his frail-ness on his metabolism. Mello was even thinner, he consoled to himself, quickly checking in the mirror before running a hand through his matted locks. A brush was on the far side of the room and much to troublesome to get.

Getting dressed had never been harder than today. He was tired, stiff, and hungry. Yesterday, he had sat and watched a computer screen for twelve hours straight, thanks to a request by dear old Mello. Then again, Matt would probably do any fucking thing that Mello told him to do. Because Mello was Mello and Matt was Matt. And you didn't mess with Mello when he was without chocolate and demanding your assistance. Plus, having the cold barrel of a gun shoved against your stomach, or up against your temple, or placed delicately between your eyes was enough to convince anyone. And Matt did feel crazy loyal to him, after Mello was the only one in Whammy's who stood by him. Even after his own parents left him, for God's sake. Not a person in the world could tear Matt away from Mello…unless it was Mello himself. Matt chocked on the Red Bull he was currently downing. No, Mello wouldn't do that. He'd have to have a good reason. The red-headed man-boy was gullible enough to believe almost anything that Mello told him. Almost being the key word. Like for instance, Mello said to never get pets. Matt…Matt had different plans.

The apartment was so dull. Something needed to be done around here. It was so silent too. Matt gulped, feeling the wave of paranoia crash over him, strangling the breath out of him, stealing the sanity, and leaving a scared Matt in its after-wake. A shiver coursed through his spine. Matt had to get out of this apartment. Now. Mello was nowhere to be found, and Matt couldn't stand the creepy crawlies he knew lurked in every corner. The sunlight was harsh on his pale skin, and thank the gods he had a pair of goggles on, or else he would have been writhing on the floor crying out for darkness. Well, maybe not that, but close to it. Matt sure as hell hated anything to do with light, preferring to keep any room he was in with the barest hint of light, because his eyes were extra sensitive and he swore the sun made him itchy.

A kitten. That would be nice, Mello loved cats. Or did he hate them? Matt wasn't sure. He didn't think about it much longer either. The pet shop was only a few blocks away. And the gas station was even nearer. He could pick up some Camel's and some choco bars for Mello. Perfect plan. The car revved up, and Matt jerked the hunk of metal and rubber from its parked position in the apartments parking lot. He vaguely remembered the newspaper saying something about having a small litter of kittens on sale. Hm. Dumb bastards must have left the pregnant cat on the road to fend for herself. Well, Matt could easily handle that.

A good three hours, Matt was leisurely walking down the side-walk, bag in hand, and a small box in the other. In this small box, gray, white, black splotches of color mewed, pathetic and small, begging for attention. Or was it for their mother? Matt couldn't tell. He didn't care to find out either. He threw the bag into the passengers side, laying the kittens box on his lap as the red headed male slid into the door, the loud engine roaring and sputtering a heavy amount of gasoline in the toxic air. He could almost see the lung cancer. "Mello better love me after this." He mumbled, driving home, a cigarette parked between his teeth, the tip light and burning. Matt stepped out, all of his groceries and the precious cargo in his arms, spitting the butt of his cig out in a potted plant right outside the two males apartment. He walked in, turning on all the lights, fearing the worst in every room. Thankfully, nothing of his fear leaped out from behind objects, greedy for his tainted blood. Just some dust bunnies, nothing he couldn't handle.

"Come on, kittens. Come out." Matt cooed, figuring he should hurry up and name the damn things already. Well, Kitten was a good name. So was Cat. And he'd have to name the brown-ish black one Chocolate or something cliché like that to appease Mello. Maybe even make the blond Adonis a good meal for when he came home. But alas, He couldn't decide, the red head was never good with names after all. He would let Mello decide. Another cigarette was lit, and Matt was on his knees, facing the small animals,(four in total) goggles covering his sensitive eyes, and a DS lying not to far away from him. Mello should be home soon. Hopefully by that time, either Mello would be too tired to even care about the bundles of fluff and claws rolling on the floor or love the kittens as Matt predicted.

And hopefully Matt wouldn't get a bullet in his head, and blood spattered against the walls because what a horrible way for number 3 to die.

Matt hoped. He hoped a lot. This time, he really needed that emotion to go far, or else his funeral would be made on that rainy day Sunday that Matt always wished for.
But Matt doubted Mello would even remember that Matt wanted to die on a rainy day. And Matt doubted that Mello would even hold a funeral service. More like, let the auburn haired teen be autopsied for the sake of "science".

A load of bull shit.

Money was tight, you know? And no one would come to his funeral too, him being an orphan, L too busy, Roger taking care of hoards of children like him. Near…Near hated Matt, and vice-versa. And the blond God would be too busy with Kira. Matt didn't blame him though. A mass murderer was important in the field of detective cases he worked in.

But whatever. As long as Matt died the side kick, in the throes of being alongside Mello, then whatever happened, happened.
And Matt wasn't going to stop it, because apparently, Mello needed his death for some reason.

Yeah, that's a good excuse. He would go with that.

Matt sighed. It was nearing supper time and Mello still hadn't come back. Hopefully, that damn blond had gotten a job. Finally. Then perhaps, Matt could stop buying easy Mac and get some actual food in this joint. And maybe, Matt could start buying name-brand cereal like Fruit Loops… or Cheerios. Because good cereal made the man, after all. And maybe, they could have eggs and bacon for breakfast, and the milk wouldn't go bad.

The brown kitten, who Matt had dubbed 'Chocolate Puff'(or Puff for short) soon crawled up to him, big round eyes fixated on Matt like he was their mother. Oh God, Matt was terrible with children. He had forgotten this tiny problem. And of course, Matt thought cats were the same as children. And the red-headed boy didn't know what to do but stare down at it with huge eyes himself and pet the male kitten. Hm. This animal…it purred? Maybe….Maybe Matt wasn't such a bad "mother'? These kittens would have to get used to a lazy ass and second hand smoke then. Because not even Mello had the power t sway Matt from such an addictive drug. It was his morphine. It was his other life. The cigarettes that constantly tainted his air-sacks and lung tissue was his other Mello. If that made any sense at all. He presumed it didn't.

Anyway, back to the kittens. Now, the adorable dark gray one had pounced on Matt's jean leg, sending the red-head reeling backwards and yelping like a wounded animal, arms flailing trying to grab onto some sort of life-saving piece of furniture. The couch, luckily, was on his side. Matt's fingers dug into the ratty fabric, making him bang his back against the backside of the couch, his head slamming against the floor as he dropped.

Ouch.

Perhaps kittens had not been such a good idea after all? No, he wouldn't go back on his love just yet. And the dark gray kitten he had named "Dust Bunny" (Because the dust bunnies hidden under the couch scared him to no ends) was currently pawing at his leg and trying to scramble its fat self onto the boys lap. How cute. Matt broke into a lop-sided grin, scooping the kitten up and pressing his nose into the downy soft fur, almost purring himself at the sensation. "Dusty" was soon becoming his favorite.

Oh? And Matt heard another noise, amidst him being trampled and crawled over by a pack of mewling kittens. It sounded…it sounded like a door opening. Perhaps Mello was coming back? Damn. That meant Matt couldn't hide the kittens, nor could he start on their normal Easy Mac with beer for dinner. The door creaked and a slowly opened, which meant the blond was furious.

Shit.

Calm was not in Mello's agenda, Matt noticed throughout the years. And anytime he was calm, something terrible must have happened.

Perhaps kittens had not been the best idea after all.