Disclaimer: Death Note and all of its characters, story line, and properties belong to their respective owner and creator, Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. This fanfiction is purely written for fans' satisfaction without any intention of gaining any profit.

"Mail, Mail!" a feminine voice glided through the quite atmosphere, along with the noises of trampled grass and the occasional breeze which foretold of a chilly night air. "Mail, I don't think this is a good idea!"

And then, a low hush resonated. "It's okay, Linda!" Mail responded, his voice a hiss, husky, and low, and quite. "I'm curious anyway," he added later.

The picture in the screen was black, pitch black. And then, a few seconds later, it was projecting an orb of light which bore quite a distance. Nevertheless, the screen was nearing the source of light, amidst the lack of lightning the night was providing, and with the horrible balance the image was producing. The light, actually, was from a room. A dim lit room, with the orange and yellow hues of illumination which brought familiar comfort.

"Mail, this isn't an appropriate thing to do," Linda said, struggling with her best to reason with Mail.

"It is, Hun," Mail countered. Presumably, he was the one in charge of holding the camera. "Curiosity is never inappropriate."

"And what's with using Mihael's camera?" Linda's voice was skeptic, probably beyond it.

"The guy just left this laying on the table after we were done with the barbecue, so—"

"That still doesn't make it right for you to just steal something that's not yours," Linda retorted quickly. "And what are you planning to do with it anyway?

"Recording what they're doing, of course," Mail simply answered. "I bet they're doing it now." A playful chuckle then escaped him. And as the camera neared its destination, one could perfectly perceive that the light was pouring out from a window, which was, unfortunately, not closed.

"Okay, do whatever you want." Linda was not the focus of the screen at this very moment, however, one could perfectly make out the image of her beautiful eyes rotating in a sarcastic manner at Mail's ridiculous comment. "Just don't tell me that I didn't warn you before if Mihael catch you red-handed doing this."

Mail hushed again, a sign for his girlfriend to keep the voice down as the screen was now capturing a perfect image of Mihael—who was laying on a bed with a chocolate bar held in his hand, and Nate—who was sitting on the edge of the bed, one knee was up, embraced by an arm. The bed was just positioned next to the open window. And this act, of course, was done from a perfect angle and safe distance.

"I don't like it," Mihael's voice was the first to fill the scene. There was this absolute feeling of despise and disagreement which was hanging on the edge of his low voice.

"That's what I am," Nate countered, his voice clear, steady, and even. "And you've long known about this anyway," he said, his stares were cast down as his fingers were busy playing with a lock of his hair.

"That I-know-it-all-and-I' behavior of yours." The blond got up suddenly, sitting up, his eyes landing precisely on Nate. They were not the warm blue, they were icy, intended to pierce a hole through Nate's white head.

"But, still, you stay."

Mihael was wordless. The mild, subtle skin of his face turned firm and stoic. His glares hardened, and the diameter of his eyes increased. They were static, looking at Nate, and it seemed as if they were shaking, even just slightly. "And …," he began again, his voice returning slowly, "that's what sickens me the most."

"I can't believe it," Mail whispered to Linda, hissing with an absolute distaste. "They just fought yesterday and now they're fighting again? I thought this plan to get them spending some time in your villa was perfect!"

"Shut up!" Linda warned, her voice low, but loud enough. "You'll make us get caught!"

And, right on cue, Nate, who seemed to have realized the previous noises Linda and Mail had made got up from his seat on the bed. He paced slowly, calmly toward the open window, and, upon nearing his destination, Mail, cursed, "Shit, shit, shit!" And, he swiftly he took out the camera and put it at his side. The picture was now black.

A.I.

Chapter III: The Universe, and Us

There was a buzzy noise coming from two pairs of wheels.

"Move a little to the left. I need you to record it when I turn it on later."

And as the screen shifted to the left, there came Mihael's voice, as well as his hand. He was clutching a robot—which resembled a mini toy car—with two pairs of black wheels attached on it. And then, slowly, he deactivated it and put down the robot on a wooden table.

"I still get the speed wrong. Wait a minute." The blond's voice echoed once more, and his hand disappeared from the screen, leaving only the immobilize robot on the table.

"What do you use to program it?" Nate's voice breezed in, a tinge of curiosity tinted his calm, steady voice. His sound felt much closer to the camera, so perhaps, he was the one in charge of holding the device now.

"Matlab," Mihael answered simply, his being was still absent from the screen. "I think Mathematic students should be familiar with it."

"Yes. But, I only use it to do Numerical Method," Nate answered, confirming the blond's words. "I've read somewhere that there's some kind of software developed for robots controlling, so that people don't actually have to program it."

Mihael hummed briefly before he responded, "Yeah. But, unfortunately, the professor wants us to use Matlab, and, whether we like it or not, we need to do some programming."

"Whether we like it or not?" Nate was skeptical, perhaps, actually beyond that.

"Hm …?" Mihael droned out, inquiring back without actually uttering a single word. His attention was apparently locked on his own programming, as it could be heard, the noise of a keyboard's buttons being pressed in a mad speed. "Ah …," he murmured a moment later, and there was this understanding trailed on his voice. "I guess you don't know. But, there are many Computer Science students who don't actually like programming, like, at all." He laughed then at his own information.

"Then why did they choose Computer Science?" One was not capable of seeing Nate's facial expression, but the confusion in his query clearly spoke of the frown which was gracing his feature.

"Some don't know what major to take, some only follow what the others say." As he continued on typing the codes, he, once again, chuckled. "Anyway, it's the digital era. Most stuffs people did in the past are done by machines now, so it actually becomes one of many reasons why people choose Computer Science as their major. They want to get a job easily."

"What a waste of money," Nate remarked quickly. "One shouldn't choose a major just because one wants to get a job, and the two previous reasons you've mentioned earlier are just pathetic excuses. Honestly, colleges and schools exist to give education, not jobs or entertainment."

"Let's not make a quick judgment, Nate." Mihael scoffed, the noises of the keyboard's buttons were now mute, the indication that he had stopped whatever he had been putting into the codes. "People have their own situations, and so do I. I may haven't told you this when we just started this relationship, but I'll tell you now. I actually like music so much better than I like programming. I mean, it's not like I'm dumb at coding or something, but I would have majored Music and Arts if I hadn't taken Computer Science."

"Then why?" Nate was beyond curious now, and possibly his frowns had only got deeper.

"I don't know the logical cause, but it's … peculiar …."

"Hm?"

The screen was now showing a scene of a bedroom. The room had this familiar, dim lit environment, and this somehow same blurry orange and yellow light.

"This relationship, ours." As Nate's voice, once more, filled the space, the screen of the video camera swooshed quickly and finally landed on Mihael's form. Presumably, Nate was the one in charge of holding the recording electronic.

Mihael was on the bed, laying half naked on his stomach as he looked at the recording screen, his blue stares longing for an accurate answer.

"We at least fight once in a week. Sometimes it's hazardous, sometimes it's just a stupid argument." For a few minutes, the atmosphere was holding a grip on the steady silence. "We hurt each other with our different perspective, goal, and view. But, why, why do you stay?"

"Curiosity." Mihael's simple answer came as his hand filled the screen of the video camera. And then, swiftly, he pressed the orange button which resided on top of the robot body, and once again, it buzzed and came to life. "They say that music is the universal language, that everyone will understand the message behind it even when there's no lyrics. Well, I say they're wrong," As Mihael continued on talking, the robot was moving around, nevertheless, it had no destination. It was buzzing around, circling in an unintelligent manner. "Unfortunately, machines do not understand music, they only understand binary, and it's represented in numbers and equations. And what's more intriguing than …." His sentence found an abrupt interruption as the robot neared the edge of the table. Fortunately, the blond was swift enough to prevent its unintended fall. "… to understand how they really work, to make them understand what we humans want them to do." He then turned off the robot.

The screen shifted position, from the table to Mihael, who was standing in what seemed like to be a bedroom, in all black T-shirt and shorts. And Nate, the one in charge of holding the recording device did not say a word. He just kept his position still, and continued capturing his partner's now smiling face.

"Well," Mihael started. "I have a dream to make a machine that has human intelligent behavior. I will probably have to study until all my hair turns grey. But … you know what?" He faced the screen as he put aside the robot on the table beside him. And then, he paced slowly, nearing the video camera. "I think I've just found my starting point," he implied subtly, as he bent down, his face was perpendicular with the screen. And, it showed his young, flawless face, his lips drew a slight smile, and his ocean blue eyes beamed the light which reflected a mind as deep as the sea.

"What are you doing?" Nate asked. His sound was clear, nevertheless, it was also confused.

Mihael grabbed the camera with his hand and put it aside. The screen was now showing a pristine, clean wooden floor. "Looking at your eyes …," Mihael whispered, his voice low, and it seemed to be concentrating on something.

"I don't think you will find anything with looking at my eyes."

"Well …," Mihael said tentatively. "I guess you're wrong."

"Mail, I swear the next time I see you, you'll be dead."

Mihael's hiss was the first thing which found way to the camera which was now in a state of recording. He was standing just a few meters from the screen. The camera itself seemed to be put on the ground, for all one could see was both of Mihael's bare feet. Next to him was another pair of slim feet, they were bare also, paler than his, especially with the glow of the moon which was blanketing the skin. Behind those feet was a lake with a tranquil water which was radiating the moon's midnight glow.

"Mail!" Mihael shouted.

"It's no use," Nate's voice chimed in. The smaller feet—presumably belonged to Nate—shifted closer to ones which belonged to Mihael. "Mail and Linda … they must have planned this," he explained. His voice sounded a little less than steady, as if he was trying to hold a shiver which was running down his spine.

"Damn it!" Mihael cursed, stomping closer to the camera and stopped a few inches in front of the screen. He then took a seat on the grassy ground, the side of his body was facing the camera, and cursed even more. Nate followed the angry man and sat in front of him.

Now that they were both sitting down, the screen was capable of capturing their bodies and faces as well. Mihael was sitting cross legged, while Nate was pulling both of his legs up, placing his arms around them protectively. They were half naked, with only swimming trunks to cover their private parts. Both were soaked wet to the bone. Both looked equally freezing, probably from the cruel midnight air and the remaining water which had decided to stay on their skins. Equally, almost, except Nate seemed to be shaking and Mihael was still holding the cold fine.

"Is Mail usually like … this?" Nate asked quietly, merely above whispers.

"He's an ass, alright," Mihael answered. "But he'll probably return our clothes tomorrow morning. And by that time, he'll be dead."

"Okay … so, do you … do you have any clothe to cover our bodies?"

Mihael was silent for a moment before he turned to face the freezing man next to him. He sighed audibly. "No, unfortunately," he answered between his sigh. He stared at Nate again, silent again this time. He seemed to be freezing. And then he finally sighed loudly. It was louder than the previous one, as if this one was a sign that he was reluctant, annoyed, angry, and unwilling. "Come here," he commanded immediately.

Nate looked up at the blond. The gesture was meant that he expected something from the older man.

"Come here, I'm hot enough to make you heated." Forcefully, Mihael grabbed Nate's wrist and eliminated the small gap between their bodies. And then, they collided, and crashed, and entangled as one. "God … your skin feels like the iceberg Titanic hit."

At this, Nate chuckled, then he laughed, as he buried his damp head deeper into Mihael's bare chest.

"You know perfectly well that it was not meant to be a flirting." Mihael grunted, and then he huffed as he pulled at Nate's wet white strands lightly, jokingly.

Another laugh, and then, "Don't worry, I'm heated enough now."

"Maybe I should just leave you freezing to death."

"You know perfectly well that I was just joking," Nate said as he looked up at the man which was now embracing his lithe form. And, if one squinted, one could perfectly see the subtle smile which was gracing Nate's pale face.

"Right … and your joke is as creepy as shit."

"Leaving your assumption aside, I actually just want to say thank you." Nate's voice was a whisper, barely audible anymore.

Mihael gave no response, and, after that, the moment just went still, with quietness trailed along, growing between the two men and soon engulfed the atmosphere surrounding them. The only noise which was within earshot was the sound of crickets and the soft, deluding ripples which was produced by the water occupying the lake, and ….

"The sound of your heartbeats are noisy." Nate's attention abruptly landed on Mihael's face at the blond's comment.

"I've never been this close to anybody before," Nate breathed and admitted quietly. As If the confession was not meant to be heard. "So, I suppose it's my body's natural reaction."

"Yeah, figured it out. You're such a creep, I doubt anybody would want to do the thing I'm doing now."

"Then, why are you doing this?" the white man asked just as soon as he heard Mihael's response.

"Or would you rather I let you freeze to death?"

Nate did not move, nor did he vented out any verbal response. A few seconds later, however, he was seen shaking his head as an answer to Mihael's retort.

"Good. Now be quite and shut up. You are a little more likeable when you're silent."

Nate silently complied, at the same moment burying his head deeper into Mihael's chest. His compliance, nevertheless, lasted only for less than ten minutes. "Why do you think Mail and Linda did this?" he suddenly asked, bringing into the scene another conversation.

"I told you, Mail's an ass," Mihael simply answered.

"I can see that Mail can be sort of a ridiculous jester sometimes, but Linda isn't that type of girl to pull this kind of prank, especially to her own brother." This explanation, Nate's explanation, left Mihael without any word.

At Mihael's lack of response, Nate initiated his, "I was thinking about this … but the more I think, this just becomes more ridiculous." He paused, briefly, to look at the blond who seemed to be lost in his own trail of thoughts. "Simply, we can just assume that Linda did this only to entertain Mail's jest. However, once again, she's not that kind of girl to pull such prank."

Mihael's eyelids rolled down, his eyes closed, and he sighed audibly. "Doesn't matter why," he said, breaking his chain of thoughts suddenly. "I'm still going to kill him."

"No, Mihael …," Nate interjected, his voice desperate for a chance of speech. "I think there's a specific reason why they have been doing this kind of thing. And, I feel like a fool for having to realize this just a few moments ago."

Mihael's embrace on Nate's person abruptly loosened as Nate's wild speculation dawned on him. He frowned, deep, and he stared at the man in his arms, demanding. "What are you talking about?"

Nate was hesitant for a moment, however, he felt his words were struggling and forcing their ways to exit those thin lips of his. And thus, he said, "Linda and Mail, they don't need our assistances anymore. Yes, they did find it awkward when they first dated each other, but they're not anymore. And this thing, perhaps, has been going for quite a while. When I know Mail isn't a very sensible man sometimes, Linda is, and she's sharp to the feelings of people who are close to her."

"Nate," Mihael injected, breaking the sequence of endless which was spinning out of Nate's lips. "Just get to the damn point. What do you mean?"

Nate was abruptly silenced, and the first thing which Mihael received was this unexplainable stare which was gliding through Nate's eyes. The man pale inhaled then. "Linda and Mail, they want us to date each other," and dead-panned later. His exhale and words came out quick, unstoppable.

"What?" Mihael, despite being an intelligent man in his early twenties, retorted such an unintelligent response at Nate's abrupt answer. His young, immaculate face was a disorientation of fine confusion and pure shock. "But, why the fuck would they want us to … what, date each other? Is Linda even sensible enough to see that I don't even like you?" His frown only got deeper, and his once loosened arms were cradling Nate's form no more, as they were now positioned under his bare chest. The gesture and frown alone were the solid representation of his bewilderment.

"But I like you, probably more than I should have."

Once again, it was silent. And again, it lasted only for a few brief seconds, as Nate's tense voice immediately arose. "I start to think that we're not actually in love. Perhaps, it's infatuation, you're infatuated and so am I."

Mihael's once serious stares now showed a tinge of amusement. He got up suddenly, now sitting straight in front of the screen as a thin line of cracked up smile tagged along on his chaste, impeccable face. "Alright, alright, we do fight a lot, and some of them are stupid arguments, yes I know about that. I don't know about you, but I think that I do love you."

A sigh escaped Nate. "Don't you understand, Mihael, don't you see it? The only thing which connects us is physical contacts. Just like this, we fought a few minutes ago, and then we made up by having sex."

Mihael was silent for a brief moment. The amusement now long gone from his eyes, replaced by this stone hard gaze which was possibly intended to penetrate through Nate's soul. Finally, he sighed. "Nate, listen," he prompted, his stares softened, as he reached out to the camera, grabbing it then putting it down on the bed. From the picture which was layering the screen of the video camera, one could see that the camera was put diagonally, just a few inches apart from both of the men. "Honestly, I don't know." The screen was now exhibiting Mihael and Nate, both sitting cross legged on the bed, both facing each other. "And to be frank, the thought of ending this relationship have been occurring to me. But, you see, I can't and that often frustrates me." Slowly, Mihael eliminated the distance which bridged his being and Nate's. He took a hold of Nate's hand and pulled the younger man closer to him. He squeezed the hand staying in his palm and said, "I don't know about any of this confusing things, but I do know one thing, and I'm sure that … I can't and don't want to let you go."

"Do you believe in another dimension, Nate?"

The same, familiar screen of a video camera was shifting, shaking slightly as it filmed the sky. The sky was a dark field, illuminated by only a few stars. Then, just as abruptly, the screen shifted position to Nate, who was sitting on a ground of evergreen grass with one knee propped up. His body was a static being, his silent gazes were locked solemnly on that very same field of stars. He seemed to ponder, about something, about the stars—about the universe, perhaps. And then, his attention on the stars faltered as he turned a few degrees, facing the camera. Nevertheless, his stares kept on holding that same level of solemnity.

"Can you imagine a universe where it's formed by dimensions other than the three dimensions?" Mihael inquired once more as he struggled to hold a proper balance of the shaking screen of the video camera.

"Well, can you?" Nate asked back. His dim eyes foretold something which could be noticed as curiosity.

"God, I can't stand you!" Mihael growled, his anger at its maximum peak. "What now, the window is more interesting than me!"

Nate ignored Mihael's sign of attention needs as Mail's nervous chuckle resonated within the environment. And a moment later, Mihael's loud footsteps echoed, and then, he gasped in pure bewilderment. "Mail, Linda," the blond acknowledged the culprits with disbelief. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Again, Mail's best response was his nervous chuckle. And, in the background, Linda's tired sigh could be heard.

"It looks like they've been eavesdropping our conversation for some time," when the ones in question were not answering, Nate took the opportunity to voice out his deduction. "And, not just eavesdropping, it seems like this whole thing was recorded as well." And, apparently, he had just spotted Mihael's stolen camera.

"Mail—"

"Look," Mihael was about to release his anger when Linda abruptly cut it out. "Nate, Mihael, I'm sorry, we're sorry for bothering you guys. Mail—I mean, we didn't mean to do that, we-we just want to give your camera back."

Mihael grunted, and that noise was a clear sign that he did not want to deal with anymore shit. "Look, Mail, I know all of this is your idea." Every word which had just been dripping from his lips was tainted with a distaste.

"Mihael …," Nate said softly, attempting to steal away his boyfriend's attention from his rising temper.

Mail's lips were fully zipped at this very moment, his body and mind went static. It was as if he was at a lost, wondering about the right word to ease his best friend's anger which was about to burst out of its limit. Unfortunately, it seemed that he lost it, he did not know anything or understand what it was which was capable of lifting the intoxicating atmosphere from them, and thus, he merely whispered, "I didn't mean to …."

"Yeah, well, you didn't mean to, but it was still inappropriate!" Mihael griped as he failed to lock his animosity in place.

"Mihael," Nate tried once more, his voice now firmer.

"What?!" Mihael snapped at Nate. And, at that time, Nate knew that, whatever rational thought had been in his partner had evaporated from his head and joined with the grudging atmosphere between the four of them.

Nate apparently took in a deep breath, as one could hear the loud sigh which escaped him then. "Mihael," he started steadily. "It's okay, we all know that Mail bears no ill-will, and the recording can be deleted any time soon. Right now …." As he paused, Nate breathed out heavily. "Let's not make a big fuss about this." A brief pause, and then, "And, Linda, Mail, please leave us alone for now. It's midnight, so I assume the two of you might want to rest, so do I and Mihael."

It was more than a clue, it was a notification that whatever would happen, Linda and Mail could not deal with it, and their presences were not a necessary. And it was subtle, at the same time it was clear enough that Nate did not want any third or fourth party to meddle with the mess which was storming inside his boyfriend's complicated mind. Thus, Mail and Linda left immediately, handing the camera to either Nate or Mihael, as the screen shook, as they took in Nate's words as a note, and as Linda whispered an apologetic: "Really, Nate, I'm sorry that it has to come to this.", to which Nate did not respond verbally. But, perhaps, he nodded.

And then, once again, it was quite, noises and sounds were mute. But as always, it lasted no more than a minute. And the shaking image finally found its stop, it was now filming a linoleum floor.

"This is fucking dumb." And it was Mihael who tore apart the remaining silence. After that, he stepped away, his footsteps were loud, echoing angrily through the camera. As he paced around, there surfaced a noise of a drawer opening, and then, some shuffling as well.

One more shuffling, and then, "Where are you going?" Nate's voice chimed in. And the picture of the camera shook, and after a brief second, it stopped, once again filming the same ground.

"Outside," Mihael simply answered, his footsteps sounded further. "I wanna chill, so don't wait for me."

"I won't lock the door." Was all Nate mustered.

"Whatever," Mihael grumbled as the sound of the door opening echoed.

The 'click' sound became the signal of the door fully closed, as well as the unwell conversation which had been raging between the two men.

At this very moment, and by Nate's sudden and abrupt confession, Mihael was officially stupefied. Even Nate himself was honestly shocked to his core by his own mindless, crazy words which had just spurted out from his usually sealed lips. And for the next few seconds, which seemed to feel like an eternity, both men were only staring at each other, lost in each other's eyes.

However, Nate broke the eye contact first, and he said, lowly, quietly, as he cast down his stares, avoiding the incredulous look which was dancing on Mihael's blue eyes, "You shouldn't have been very surprised. I often told you that your hate was one-sided anyway."

"You should look at your face in the mirror before you start talking." Mihael was struggling to find something, just anything, to avert his stares at. And successfully, he found the lake to be sufficient enough for a temporary shift of attention. He brought his right hand then, to be positioned on his lips, the elbow resting on his thigh, to close them, seal them, as if he was afraid that the words he wanted to utter would be a mistake at this very moment.

A realization of this awkward situation and the unsettled atmosphere was eating both of the men's consciousness. While for the obvious this was not a situation one could call pleasant, the grudging silence which was engulfing the air gave Nate the sufficient time to think, to readjust the mess which was his very own thoughts, and … to dispel the shock which was caused, to the white haired man's surprise, by his own abrupt confession. For it, he was ungratefully grateful.

And, after what felt like a minute of struggling to puzzle every pieces of his thought and dignity which were left scattered, Nate finally found it in him to speak, "I …," he began, then, he cleared his throat, which possibly had been clear before, and he did so just to grab a hold of Mihael's attention. "I apologize for blurting out without thinking. That was highly uncharacteristic of me." Unfortunately, his attempt did not success. "I know the atmosphere here has become highly uncomfortable for us, and I'm not willing to force any answer from you, so …." His sentences halted, and he stood up from his seat. "Let's just forget that this ever happened in the first place." And he walked away, his paces nearing the bags which were located next to him.

Nate's previous effort was a failed one, but the noise of the bag's zipper successfully ripped Mihael's pretended immersion on the lake. "What are you doing?" he asked right away, and turned at the pale man.

"Searching for something to be made into a pillow. As you can see, the ground isn't that comfortable for my head," Nate answered without feeling the need to turn to the blond. His unsteady voice had found his firm, solid tone, and his composure now intact.

Mihael kept silent, he just kept on staring at those thin, slim, and slightly curved back which belonged to Nate, even when the white-haired man had settled his pillow.

"Good night, Mihael," Nate said, before finally landing with his back on the ground, trying with the best of his might to steal some sleep.

"Are you still cold?" Mihael asked, concern dripping as his voice had found its way to return to his throat. But his being was still a constant form, looking at the man in front of him even as those long, curved eyelashes slowly closed on a pair of black irises.

Nate only shook his head a little. That simple gesture suddenly became an abrupt end of their conversation. For the both of them, it seemed like the inevitable.

After that, for the next few hours, Mihael found Sleep to have run away from him. Even when he was laying on his back next to Nate, Sleep still refused to breeze in.

And, perhaps just perhaps, as he finally put his palm on his chest, he found that his heartbeats were even noisier and louder than Nate's.

A sound of a turned door knob, a 'click', shuffling, a few footsteps, more shuffling, bed rattling, and then … a soft hum.

"Why do you always do this?" Mihael's voice echoed in the background of a screen picturing a bed lamp. The light, orange and tinted with the hue of yellow, was attracting a small moth. It was dancing around, flying mindlessly around the comforting illumination.

"Always? I just can't sleep," came Nate's soft answer.

"Liar," the blond retorted immediately. "I told you not to wait for me."

There was a brief pause of their conversation, and the image was still.

"Are you chilled enough now?" Nate asked, but it sounded like an attempt to divert the previous topic.

Mihael, however, did not entertain that question. "Nate …." He breathed out, and it was loud and the noise was a demand of attention. "Put down the camera," he ordered, and his words came out slowly.

"Why would I?" Nate, nevertheless, was never one to comply one's demand without first knowing the point of that said command.

"I'm here, so you can stop doing whatever stuff you've been doing to entertain yourself in my short absence. I know you're bored out of your mind, especially without all of your puzzles and toys." And, honestly, Mihael was never one to give up either.

"I was fine, Mihael," Nate insisted stubbornly. "You're making assumption."

"Are you still mad?"

"I said I was fine, and I am—"

"—I'm sorry."

And, that was when the image dropped and turned pitch black. Whatever happened, it seemed that the camera had been put away. A few seconds passed, and after that, the bed creaked once more, a sign that one of them had shifted position.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. You know, I … I got carried away." The last of Mihael's word escaped his lips with a soft sigh.

Nate was silent as he heard his boyfriend's apology. The atmosphere was static, and so was the image of the video camera, until finally ….

"Why are you smiling like that?" Mihael's curious voice broke apart whatever static which had been hanging on them.

"I've just realized," Nate inserted a brief pause, and then, "that it's funny."

"What's funny?"

"The way we fight and have argument," Nate answered, a tinge of amusement was dangling on the edge of his voice as a sign of his short confirmation.

Hearing his partner's response immediately lifted the heavy air which had been blanketing both of the men's surrounding and environment, as an earnest chuckle abruptly left Mihael's lips in delight of the change of atmosphere. "I thought you were going to delete it right away."

"I was planning to do exactly that, actually. But, as usual, my curiosity got the best of me. You know, Mihael … I think you should forgive Mail, thank him even, for this video."

A laugh slipped from Mihael's lips, and he inquired, "Did we really look that silly?"

"Hm …," was all which Nate mustered back.

"You should let me see it later," Mihael reminded. His laugh was beginning to subside, but the playfulness remained still. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about Mail—I'm no longer mad at him. Besides, I bet he will apologize properly in the morning. So, no big deal."

"That's a relief," Nate remarked. "After all, I'm a hundred percent certain that Mail was the one who planned this whole vacation. I just suppose it will probably upset him that, after all of his good intention to bring in a good environment for us, we still fight over small, stupid thing."

"Yeah …," Mihael absent-mindedly agreed to his boyfriend. "He thought that we were having sex, so he went all the way and intended to record it." And then, once more, his abrupt laugh filled the air. "That bastard."

A chuckle then erupted from Mihael's lips. "No, of course, but I'd like to know." His answer was honest and direct. "You know, one day, a professor in one of my classes told me that supernatural beings can move across to our dimension, our very space vector of living. So, I'm just wondering, you know, that perhaps … we humans can cross another dimensions as well, maybe by using some kind of method."

Nate turned his head upwards, the sky once more had gained his very attention. Now, he seemed to be even more deep drowned in the ocean of thoughts, as his stares seemed so far, far away, perhaps they were trying to cross another dimension Mihael had told him about. "I can't, too—imagine what another dimension look like—however, that'd be … a thrilling discovery."

"Hm …," Mihael hummed, his tone completely giving away his agreement. "And if what he said were true, I … I would cross another dimension, the one where we can be together forever, like this."

"How can you be so sure about that?" Nate's question was a fine mixture of amusement and confusion.

There was a noise of a shuffling before Mihael spoke informatively, "He gave me a lubricant, said that you would enjoy it wet and slick. See here?"

Nate chuckled briefly at the mention of his intercourse preference. "That has been with you all this night?"

"Yeah, I forgot to put it away." And then, MIhael followed suit, with his low, deep laugh. His chortle lasted for a few more minutes, and then, he was mute briefly before he spoke again, low and deep again, but tentatively this time. "Say …," he began. "Do you want to put this thing to a good use?"

"Just tell me that you've been horny all this night," Nate countered. The camera may not be looking at him at this very moment, but his voice clearly gave the sign that, while saying that, he was rolling his eyes in a sarcastic manner.

Nevertheless, Mihael did not give up. A snigger then escaped his throat. "You just can't handle me being all sexy and tempting, can you?"

"Mihael." That one word finally shut the blond. "Just put it on me now, and let's get started.

If a voice had the ability to make out a smug grin, that would have been Mihael's voice. "You know what, Nate? I really, really like it when you're being a demanding bitch like this."

And then, a moment later, there were noises, deafening ones, as the bed was madly squeaking, the sheets were furiously rasping, and panting … as Nate was involuntary panting, breathing in and out, and moaning—and that was driving Mihael Keehl to the brink of his sanity. Whatever they were currently doing, the sounds produced by it was definitely impossible to ignore.

The noises, nevertheless, continued to dance along between the atmosphere for a few minutes until the picture shook, shifted, and finally found a proper stopping spot and balance. It had landed on Nate's face. There was that pale face again, filling the screen of the same video camera. Its porcelain skin tinted pink. Those thin lips parted ever so slightly, breathing in and out the ecstasy. And those bleak, black eyes were half closed, their vision clouded with pleasure.

"Do you seriously have to record this as well?" Nate managed to ask, even in the midst of the storm of pleasure which was raging a war on his body and mind.

"Of course I have to. You're having an orgasm and that's a perfect moment to be recorded." One of Mihael's hand came into the screen, grabbing the pale face. His thumb found its stop at the pale cheek, pressing the apparently soft skin as if it were a lump of dough. The thumb began to move in a circle, caressing the cheek with what one could comprehend as an affection. "C'mon, Nate, come for me."

Nate's head—which was currently resting on a pillow—moved up and down in a constant motion. His parted lips let out a soft moan. "Stop it, Mihael." He meant to be clear, firm, and resolute. But, damn the pleasure, damn Mihael Keehl—he could not have possibly held back that moan. Thus, he brought a hand to cover the screen.

And the picture went black in an instant ….

To be Continued

Author's note: No, I'm not dead, and this story isn't, too (in case you're wondering). If anyone is still interested in this story (and perhaps waiting for this third chapter), I apologize for the long hiatus. Before January 2016, I was still busy with college. But, actually, I've worked on this third chapter on the first day of January, but it went on many editing (due to my low satisfactory level of it). It was honestly hard for me to pull together all the scenes. But, there, it's finally finished.

Anyway, this chapter has many references from what I've learned in college, especially the scene where Mello asked Near about another dimension (yes, a Mathematic professor who taught me several times told me that), and the robot part. No, I don't major AI, but I have a friend who does, and Mello's assignment was actually my friend's assignment. And for the ones (who are maybe wondering), no, this chapter has its own purpose, it's not a mere filler.

Tell me what you think via review!