Sportsmanship

A/N: The whole color thing with Matt, Mello, and Near is kind of old. But for the sake of humor, I have used it again. Do forgive me. And please do forgive me as well if you supported Netherlands in the World Cup last year (do FFN people follow sports much? I don't; the two worlds seem slightly incongruous).

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

Characters: Mello, Rod

Rating: K+

It was a slow day at the Mafia base. Most of the men lounged about cleaning their guns, smoothing out the creases in their pants, or otherwise looking ceremonial. The heavy air hung in the room, eventually causing everyone to succumb to heat-induced somnolence. Everyone except a certain chocolate-wielding Mello, whose gaze was avidly fixed on the TV screen.

The final game of the World Cup was airing, and Mello snapped off a corner of chocolate in synch with Germany scoring a goal against the Netherlands. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Mello was about to join them until the door behind him screeched open to admit Rod Ross.

The mountainous man moved to stand behind the couch and squinted at the TV. How he could see anything on the screen was a wonder, with his piggish eyes so narrowed. Mello dearly hoped his boss wasn't a fan of those piddling Dutchmen.

Just then, Rod spoke. "You should know, Mello…" he rumbled.

"…that Germany will win by a landslide?" Mello said. "I know, Rod, I know. What's more, if I'd gone professional, they could've stopped that Dutch swine from scoring a single goal."

"…actually, Mello, I hate soccer."

A chocolate bar hit the floor. Mello tilted his head backwards for a better view of the Mafia boss's unflatteringly flared nostrils.

"You…"

"Yes, Mello, I hate soccer. You would too if you'd gotten a concussion, a broken jaw, and two sprained ankles in one week thanks to that damned sport."

Childhood trauma, whaddaya expect? Mello snorted, mentally rolling his eyes. Aloud, he hoisted the most falsely sympathetic quaver he could manage into his voice. "You must have been playing with a rough crowd. I never got injured when I was young."

"Well, more power to you," Rod growled sourly. "I'll never understand what fun you can derive from a game with a black-and-white checkered ball. Are they trying to win the Tackiest Outfit award?"

Germany scored again, and Mello smiled fondly. "I like the color scheme. Reminds me of a friend. He always wore black and white stripes." Mello wasn't thinking quite clearly.

"You realize they're kicking that ball around?" Rod nodded at the German offense. "I knew you had a violent streak, Mello, but what kind of a friend are you talking about? Sounds more like a punching bag."

Another chocolate bar joined its companion on the floor. Mello stared slack-jawed at the TV as his mind supplied him with horrific images of the German players kicking the ball around, no, not a ball, a curled up black-and-white stripes figure, huddled into a quivering ball.

The channel changed. Mello looked up to see the remote in Rod's beefy hands.

"Figured you might not want to watch anymore."

Mello snatched the remote and started flicking through channels. When did volleyball season start?

A/N: Yep. Well, if you haven't read How to Read: 13, you wouldn't know that Rod dislikes soccer (so random), and then Mello was playing soccer in volume 7, so I thought it would be funny if their interests were to ever clash. And the part at the end… well, think: what, besides a volleyball, is white, spherical, and something that Mello would like to strike?