Ten minutes, a wind-swept ride on Mello's bike and four traffic lights later they were at Matt's apartment. It was a rather spacey but cozy place with three bedrooms and a lofty kitchen, which Matt rarely used, unless Mello was coming over to spend the night and Matt wanted to try and impress him with some home-made cooking. (Although so far all his attempts had ended in failure and he'd resorted to just ordering pizza.) The two spare bedrooms he used mainly for storing his computers and various other technical equipment he'd acquired over the years. Most of the stuff was dated and thus mostly useless, but Matt had always had difficulty throwing things away. Mello was, in fact, always teasing him about becoming "one of those pack rats, who obsessively hoard stuff from newspapers to tooth picks in their apartments until they have barely enough room for their own skinny arses".

And indeed, Mello's first question as he stepped inside was, "When was the last time you cleaned in here?"

Matt took a moment to think about it as he hung up both his and Mello's coats. "Um… Last week? I'm pretty sure it was last week." After all, the vacuum cleaner was still in the middle of the living-room. Usually Matt let it stay there for at least two weeks after using it before finally bothering to put it away. So, since it was still standing there, he must have cleaned the place up within the past fortnight.

"Oh, Matt," Mello only sighed and promptly made his way into the kitchen, the only flawlessly clean room in the apartment. Well, if you didn't count the layers of dust covering every horizontal surface, of course.

Matt stayed behind for a moment to take a critical look at his living-room. In all honesty, it actually didn't look that bad to him. Sure, all his games were mostly scattered on the floor between the TV and the two yellow bean bag chairs that he had instead of a sofa. And, yes, there were some – 'some' as in a few dozen – dirty dishes lying around… But other than that, it really wasn't that filthy. Well, okay, maybe the floor was a bit filthy. He had, after all, never actually washed them since he'd moved in some five years ago. But, who cared? It wasn't like he ate on the floor.

Nodding to himself in determination, Matt followed Mello into the kitchen, where his friend was just finishing up swiping the counter tops.

"Thanks." Matt sat down in one of the armchairs that he preferred instead of "proper" kitchen stools and let his body relax into it. His friend just shook his head at him, washed the cleaning rug in the sink and squeezed it dry with efficiency that Matt could only marvel at. Why did everything look so easy when Mello did it?

"Right, I'm done. Do you have any tea?" Not waiting for an answer, Mello started opening the cupboards and taking out various things. He probably knew the contents of the kitchen much better than Matt did anyway. The only things Matt ever used were the freezer and the microwave.

"I'm pretty sure I bought some… last week," he said nevertheless, looking dubiously at the array of paper bags that he couldn't truthfully ever remember having seen in his life.

"No, I bought these," Mello corrected and gave Matt a rueful look. "I tried to convince you that drinking tea was far healthier than lapping up whatever is in those soda bottles littering your living-room, remember?"

Matt blinked. He didn't remember. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'," Mello snorted and started looking for clean cups. "I guess you didn't try that recipe I gave you the other day, either?"

Matt had to think for a moment before he managed to remember the small slip of paper Mello had scribbled on after an evening in the local pub, during which Matt admitted to not having eaten anything but frozen pizza for a fortnight. "Oh, right... That. I forgot. I was going to try it though," he quickly added, when Mello turned to him sporting his patented let's-lecture-Matty-about-the-importance-of-healthy-lifestyle look. "But I didn't know what all the ingredients were, and I forgot to check-"

"Wait, what do you mean you? They were the basic ingredients for a traditional pork and haricot bean casserole. Which ingredient could you possibly not have recognized?"

Matt swallowed reluctantly. He had a feeling he was about to be very embarrassed. "...Haricot beans."

Mello stared at him for a moment. Then he abruptly turned on his heels and began to fiddle with the tea supplies, clearly trying to suppress himself. Then, after a moment or two which Matt spent wondering why Mello didn't seem to be wearing any underwear under his tight jeans, "Matt, did your mom ever cook?"

Matt turned his thoughts to his mother, his artistic, lackadaisical mother, whose idea of bodily nourishment was sitting on the roof in the sun, naked as the day you were born. "Not really. She was into fasting," he shrugged.

Mello dropped the tea bags and turned to him, looking almost scandalized. "Fasting? Did she make you do it, too?"

Matt hurriedly backtracked. "No, it was just her. And we had a garden, you know," he added, somewhat illogically, "So we could always-"

"A garden that didn't have any haricot beans?" Mello interrupted, still looking scandalized and a little bit angry. Matt's childhood was a topic they dealt with almost a daily basis, as much as it wearied Matt himself. After all, Mello seemed to think Matt's mother had all but neglected his son, and his one mission in life was, apparently, to make Matt see exactly how much harm she had inflicted on him.

"I thought we were going to talk about my virginity," Matt pointed out, hoping, probably in vain, that Mello would back off, just this once. This was actually exactly the thing that had made him avoid Mello lately. He knew his friend meant well, but he couldn't help but feel like an utter failure, or worse, a freak, whenever Mello tried to "improve" his life and illustrate where Matt fell in his anthropological view of the world.

Mello seemed to be debating with himself. "Well... The two things are related," he decided.

Matt let his head fall to rest on his palm. "My mother is guilty for me being a virgin, too?"

"Well, I dare say she didn't exactly encourage you to form social contacts in your youth, now did she?"

Mello sat opposite Matt on the fuchsia-colored arm chair, sinking into its depths with a surprised 'oomph' followed by a roll of eyes. "God, Matty, you are probably the only person in the whole bloody England who has armchairs in his kitchen. Uh, where was I? Right. Let's talk about your virginity."

Matt sighed deeply, for the umpteenth time that evening, and lifted his jean-clad legs to rest on the edge of his chair so he could lean his chin on his knees. He supposed there was no avoiding this. But, he would only give Mello ten minutes and then he'd go and put on the TV. "Fine. Go on, then. Tell me how the science of anthropology will save my life. Please dissect my being and persona with your inhumanly sharp wit and cutting-edge analyses. Do show me how the error of my ways and place me in the intricate history of human cult-"

"Okay, okay, Matt, I got it." Mello raised his hands in surrender and his whole being seemed to deflate and soften with the gesture. There seemed to an unusual streak of bipolarity in him lately, now that Matt thought about it. One moment he was barging ahead like a steam engine and the next he was apologetic and repentant. "Sorry. Again. I know you're not a helpless idiot. I'd actually love it if you read a bit more so we could have real debates instead of these infuriatingly lopsided arguments. And I know that... I come off a bit strong sometimes, but I'm..." Mello paused to fiddle with some loose strands of string sticking out of the arm rest. "I'm actually worried about you."

Matt was glad his massively overgrown fringe was long enough to cover the slight heat rising to his cheeks. Mello was by nature almost embarrassingly forthright, but there were certain subjects he avoided like the plague - in addition to the ones he ignored out of respect for Matt. Mello's father was certainly one subject that was mentioned only in hushed whispers or drunken stupor. His more gentle, caring feelings for Matt were another. Matt coughed awkwardly. "Worried? Why?"

Mello looked at him with a feeble smile on his lips. "Well. How many friends do you have, besides me? And no, colleagues or online contacts don't count."

Matt didn't have to think about this one. "There's Naomi."

Mello was unimpressed, though. "Naomi as in Naomi your neighbour who gets drunk every Friday and staggers her way here to whine about her meaningless life and husband who's never home?"

"Yes, that Naomi and she does visit me sober as well."

"You mean when she needs money after she's wasted all the allowance her husband gives her on booze."

Matt couldn't argue with that. "Well, but- There's Mikami."

"The guy at Gamestop with whom you play with your Warhammer dolls?" Mello countered, his smile turning slightly pained.

"They're not dolls!" Matt corrected. "And that counts as being friends."

"Oh, yeah? Tell me one detail about his personal life."

Matt pictured Mikami, standing at the opposite end of the table they had their battles on, eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure when he won and burning with rage when he lost. Maybe Matt didn't really even want to know about his personal life. "Well. He likes… the new Batman films," he finally offered, with a sheepish smile.

"Matt, everyone likes the new Batman films. Anything else?" Mello sounded positively victorious now.

"Well, no, but so what? Guys don't talk about their personal lives to each other. Apart from you, that is. You're an exception to the rule. And since I have you, I don't even need any other friend like that. Oh, unless… Are you going somewhere? Is that what this is all about? Or, wait, is this your way of telling me you're getting married? Or, um, registered, since, uh, I guess Catholic gay people still can't get married..." Matt's trailed off uncomfortably. Why was it that on this particular evening they seemed to be hitting subjects that were downright cringe-worthy? He knew very well that Mello had an issue with the Catholic church not allowing, or as much as recognizing the possibility of, same-sex marriages or even love.

But Mello apparently decided to let it go. "No, I'm not getting married, Matt. Do you honestly think I wouldn't have mentioned a bit earlier if I'd found someone els- that is, someone that I would have, uh, deemed the man of my life?"

Matt crinkled his toes uncertainly. What was with all the stuttering? Mello never stuttered. "I guess you would have. But... What's going on, then?"

Mello stared somewhere just south of Matt's head. "Nothing in particular. I've just come to think that this present situation can't go on forever."

Now Matt was seriously worried. "Why, what's going to happen? Are you... sick?" He uttered the last word with some difficulty. He'd seen a TV documentary on AIDS the other day, and since Mello had had an awful lot of sexual contacts... And his friend did look kind of pale, now that he thought about it. Regret and guilt filled him like a tidal wave. He'd been so distracted by Mello's inquiries into his own life that it hadn't even occurred to him that something might be wrong with Mello.

But Mello dismissed the idea with an impatient hand gesture. "No, no, nothing like that." He slumped against his seat so hard that his carefully coiffed hair puffed up from the impact. "I just feel like we're stuck. Stuck in this situation, and it's because of you, really. I mean I really like you, Matt, in fact, I consider you my best friend, but this," he waved his hand between the two of them, "isn't working."

Matt swallowed at his friend's almost petulant words. "So… you're breaking up with me," he said, with an admirable attempt to make light of the situation. He couldn't believe this was happening. Mello had finally tired of him. Of course Matt had always known that he wasn't exactly the type of person Mello usually hung out with, but he had nevertheless lulled himself into believing that maybe Mello had decided to accept him the way he was. But, of course not. He should have known Mello would eventually move on when he realized Matt wasn't about to change.

To his horror, Matt could feel a slight tightening in his throat. He was just about to get up and excuse himself into the safety of the bathroom, when Mello suddenly leaned forward and captured both of Matt's hands in his. It was such a girly gesture that Matt almost flinched. Mello didn't seem to notice. "No. No. Shit, I seem to be saying all the wrong things tonight. It's actually almost the opposite, in a way. That is, I wish I could break up with you. "

Matt nodded slowly, the tightness in his throat dissipating, and tried to pull his hands back, but Mello was holding on to them too tightly. The contact made him nervous. Surely male friends never held hands? "So, I'm like an addiction that you only wish you could get rid of?"

Now Mello did let go of his hands, withdrawing them as quickly as he'd extended them. To Matt's confusion he looked like Matt had said something very embarrassing. In fact, Mello's tanned face had taken on a vaguely red complexion - Matt didn't dare call it a blush even in his head - and his left hand had risen to awkwardly fiddle with his hair.

"That's... Yeah. Kind of. Um." Mello was fidgeting. Yet another thing he never did."You know what, I have to go." He rose from the fluffy depths of the armchair, with ease Matt could only admire, but didn't make a move to actually leave. He just stood there looking at Matt, with a peculiar expression on his face, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"But you just got here," Matt said hesitantly and tightened his grip around his legs. He had an odd feeling Mello was about to do something rash.

Mello ignored his words. "Matt. I want to set you up with someone. A particular someone, in fact. Her name is-"

But this Matt wasn't going to go tolerate. His worried about Mello's health subsided in an instant as he felt a rush of adrenaline flow into his veins. Was this what this was all about? "Oh, no. Absolutely not." He got up to face his friend, albeit much less gracefully than Mello had, and crossed his arms on his chest. "That's not going to happen." Mello had tried to set him up with someone once earlier too, years ago, but Matt's reaction had been so horrified that Mello had never brought it up again since. And indeed, Matt had thought his friend had learned his lesson.

Mello frowned and tensed his shoulders, raising his hands to rest on his hips. Oddly, the gesture didn't look the least bit feminine on him. "Matt, her name is Halle, and I know you'll like her. She's, well, she's kind of like me, actually. And you like me, don't you?" He took a step forward as he spoke his last words, which made them seem like a threat.

But Matt wasn't about to back down on this. He was actually starting to feel more than a bit upset about Mello making him worry, when he was really just trying to introduce a new way of ruining Matt's perfectly organized life. "I don't see what that has to do with this. I don't want a girlfriend. I like my life the way it is. I like my bean bags, my arm chairs and my frozen pizzas, and, yeah, I even like you, even though I'm starting to question myself about that."

He paused to take a breath and see Mello's reaction. His friend was obviously not taking his words very well. He was taking deep breaths now, and Matt was afraid he was about to be closely acquainted with Mello's fist. How absurd, really. It wasn't like they were arguing about anything important. Mello just wanted to set him up with someone.

But no. No. It was more than that. Maybe Matt really was sick of Mello trying to fix his life. Maybe they should have done this much earlier. Maybe Matt really wanted Mello to shut up every once in a while and let Matt be the way he was. Even if getting Mello to understand this meant flying fists and Matt landing in the hospital when Mello lost control and forgot that, unlike him, Matt did not practice martial arts.

Matt's fears seemed to come true, when Mello abruptly moved his hands from his hips towards Matt. Although they didn't grab Matt's neck or even his shoulders. Instead, they landed on Matt's waist. Which seemed like a really weird place to put your hands on when you were about to kill someone, but then again, Matt was no expert on the matter. He looked up from his waist and the hands grabbing him to view Mello's face and was surprised to see that, rather than angry, his friend now just looked agitated. He was still breathing hard, and his face almost seemed to be… leaning towards Matt's.

"Mel-," Matt opened his mouth but wasn't given the chance to finish. Mello abruptly let go of his waist as if it burned him, turned on his heels and, quite simply, left. He did stop momentarily at the entrance to the kitchen to say, without turning to look at Matt, "I'm going to introduce you to Halle tomorrow", and then he was gone. Just like that.

Leaving Matt was standing in the middle of his kitchen, confused about Mello's overall bizarre behaviour, relieved that he was still intact and upset that Mello most evidently had no intention to respect his wishes as far as this 'Halle' was concerned.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews. They made me incredibly happy and determined to continue this. I only wish my schedule wasn't so tight this month. *sigh*

I guess it's pretty clear what's going on with Mello, eh? Poor chap. Although, he is pretty annoying here, I think. I'm actually thinking of making the next chapter from his point of view. Until then~

- Greenball