Random note: I was googling stuff, and I guess the average speed for highways in Japan is like, 80-100 kilometers or something, which translated to like, fifty or sixty mph. I think. So if Mello is going twice that, he's going like, a hundred and twenty…ish. Math really isn't my thing :/

I do NOT own Death Note.

Perfect. That's how everything felt right now. I knew that perfection was something far from attainable, but I could pretend, at least for a little bit, couldn't I?

Because if there was such a thing as perfection, this was it.

It was late at night—the time of day I function the best—and I was cruising down the highway. With one hand I was eating a chocolate bar, and with the other I was navigating the twists and turns of the road. It probably wasn't the best idea to only have one hand, especially considering I was going about twice the speed limit, but I didn't care. I'd never gotten in an accident before.

The only thing that could make my night better would be my motorcycle, but I'd gone out to pick up some chocolate (and some smokes for Matt) and I doubted I'd be able to carry that much chocolate on my bike. Besides that, it would only slow me down.

Deciding it was necessary to feel the wind through my hair—something I always enjoyed on my bike—I rolled down the window. It was cold, I realized after a few minutes. I tried to roll the window back up, but it was stuck. Laying the silvery paper that had covered the now-eaten chocolate on the seat beside me, I fumbled with the window controls. In doing so, I had apparently started to veer into the oncoming lane.

I started to panic—

Then realized that there were no other cars on the road; I was in no imminent danger. Window now forgotten, I slowly merged back into my own lane and managed to make it home smoothly—though it was cold.

As usual, I left the car about a block or two from our house. Matt had questioned me about this a few times earlier, but I thought it would be safer to leave it somewhere else in case the police found us or something. It was kind of a stupid reason, and it probably wouldn't work anyway, but better safe than sorry, right?

I felt anything but safe as soon as I saw the home I shared with Matt. The grass and sky, along with a corner of our house, was engulfed in angry, red flames.

Matt. Matt was inside. Had he already gotten out? I absently clutched my rosary as I prayed for his safety, kicking the front door down and dashing to our bedroom.

There was a body lying on the bed, unconscious. He had red hair. No longer caring about my own health, I grabbed my friend's body and carried him over my shoulder out of the house. Though we weighed about the same, his body felt very light, but that was probably only due to the fact that I didn't care about any physical pain I was I at the moment.

As soon as we reached the car, I opened the back door and gently laid Matt's body across the seats, apathetic to how dirty the seats could become.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911 as I rushed back into the house. I grabbed as many of Matt's games as I could and stuffed some in my pockets. Sure, it was stupid to go back into a burning house for something so meaningless, but if Matt was going to be in the hospital for a while—and he was, as long as something bad (he's going to die, my mind whispered) didn't happen first—he would want them.

The ambulances, I decided, would be too slow, and I hung up on the operator before telling her my location. I warned her that I'd be coming, however, and to make sure she had a bed and a doctor ready. I wasn't taking no for an answer.

I drove to the hospital even faster than I'd drove home. The only thing that kept me from going 240 (A/N: this is in kilometers again, it's about 150 MPH) was the fact that Matt was in the back and I wasn't sure the crappy job I'd done trying to buckle him in would offer the best protection.

The bright lights surrounding the hospital were blinding, but I was glad they had been there—I'd almost missed the turn into the parking lot. The tires squealed as I started to slam on the breaks, but then remembered Matt in the backseat and eased on the brake.

It was chaos when we stepped inside. A tan woman, her dark hair in a bun, asked me to please be seated. Be seated? Bullshit. My friend could be dying, for all I knew. I wasn't going to be seated and wait for that to happen.

I was, however, too tired to argue, and instead simply begged her to bring a doctor soon. I could feel something stinging my eyes—tears? No, I didn't cry. I wouldn't.

In the better light, I was able to get a good look at Matt—though I didn't really want to look at him, for fear of what I would see. The only thing I really took notice of was the outline of a small rectangle, a little bigger than my fist, in the pocket of Matt's now-blackened jeans. I pulled it out and observed.

Cigarettes. Matt had been smoking—not that I should have been surprised. Was that what had started the fire? That idiot…

Now, the tears came.

"Sir?" I recognized the tan woman's voice as she placed a hand on my shoulder. "Sir, the doctor will see your friend now."

I sniffled, then nodded, offering him to her—putting his life in her hands. "Save him." I'd wanted to sound pleading and innocent as I asked the nurse, but my voice came out sounding rough and edgy.

Still, she gave me a look of sympathy. "We'll do our best."

Okay, I'm NOT going to make this a one-shot, there WILL be a part two, don't worry!

I'm considering actually giving this one a happy ending—which is something I rarely do. I'm terrible at happy endings, but I thought it might be a nice belated-Christmas present for you all :)

Please let me know what you think, and I'll see what I can do about the ending ^_^