Summary: Mello comes face to face with the infamous Kira himself, only to end up having an intimate discussion with him about their past lovers. MattxMello, LxLight. AU. Drabble. Rated for strong language.

Disclaimer: I don't, nor have I ever, owned Death Note.

Matt. Matt.

I can do nothing but stare. I stare at the black and white of Matt's shirt, stained with red. I stare at Matt's eyes through those stupid fucking goggles, which are, for once, not obsessively looking at a videogame screen. I look over Matt's corpse until my eyes can bear it no longer.

I begin to turn around—ready to leave, to go back to my apartment, anywhere but here—but I stop when I hear a voice from behind me.

"Did you love him?"

The voice is emotionless, perfectly controlled. I don't trust it.

"Yes," I respond, after a short pause.

I hear slow footsteps from behind, coming closer to me, and I suppress a shudder.

"At least you didn't kill him. At least you can say that his death was out of your hands."

"No," I reply shamefully, "that's not true."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's all my fault. I'm the one that asked him to distract Takada's bodyguards. If it wasn't for me…he wouldn't have been shot. He would be here…alive…with me."

I don't know why I'm spilling my guts to this stranger, but hell if I care. Matt's dead—dead—so it's not as if I have my own life to worry about anymore. Near will take care of Kira, anyway, so what does it matter if I'm alive to see him beat me at something else?

The voice sighs. "I'm truly sorry."

It's a lie, of course. Even without looking at his face, I can tell.

"What about you?" I ask, mainly so I can stall my departure. I don't want to go back to the home I once shared with Matt.

"I…had him killed because he got in the way. I couldn't work around him any longer. It was a plan that I had had for a long time, so I didn't know what else to do. It was what I told myself I had to do." The voice sounds disgusted.

"Who was he?" I turn around.

There's a pause as I inspect the auburn-haired man, who is staring back at me and contemplating my simple question.

"…I don't know who he was," the man finally replies, "I never even knew his name."

And, with that, he turns sharply on his heel and leaves. He leaves my life as quickly as he had entered. I don't call him back, and why would I? It's not as if I have anything to say to him.

Fucking murderer.