A/N: The chapter you've been waiting for!

No, silly, not the lemon. Not yet, anyway. This is where they meet. Well, where they meet in their current lives. Fun, right? ...Well, maybe....

Sadly, I don't own Death Note or other things that could get me sued if not for this site.

Music: Welcome to the World, Let It Rock, N.Y.C., and In The City (all by Kevin Rudolf). Oh and the delicious Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship.

& & &

Mello was a partier. He loved clubs. There were almost no downsides to going to clubs. His fame and fortune gave him priority and allowed him to skip the line, and there were countless sexy people for him to flirt with and take home. He could drink to his heart's desire and forget the world, or he could just sit in a dark booth and enjoy the people. He really did love to have the life he had. Anything he wanted was his for the taking.

But as much as he loved the life of nightclubs, liquor, and stardom, he also enjoyed quiet mornings in cafés. His orders almost always consisted of hot chocolate and a chocolate croissant. Yeah, he had an addiction. So what? At least it wasn't, like, a heroin or cocaine addiction. Those were bad. They hurt your body lots. Mello's addiction was just... expensive. He sexed up enough complete strangers to burn off the calories, so there was no flab on his tummy. No, sir.

So anyway, Mello liked the NYC café scene. He enjoyed going to a local brunch place and just sitting there, watching the people and giving autographs. Hey, even if he was there partly to enhance his own ego, he helped the café's business exponentially. What did it matter if his self-esteem also got benefits from it? Plus, the food was good. So there. He wasn't there completely for himself and his ego.

But his ego was what brought him to his favorite café on this day. The café, called Milk & Sugar, was his favorite because of their extensive chocolate-oriented food selection. Who knew brunch and breakfast could have so much chocolate? Mello loved the café and went there to dine as much as he could manage. Today, he came for one reason (well, two reasons if you include their new hot chocolate variety that came in two days ago): his Vogue article had come out two days ago.

There were around eight million people in New York City. Out of that many, Mello could only guess how many people had read Vogue. By going somewhere public, it was almost a foolproof way to get attention. And oh, how Mello loved attention. He'd even put on brown eyeliner and light eyeshadow to make his blue eyes pop as much as possible. Just thinking about how many fans would approach him today made him sigh happily.

He sat there, sipping his hot chocolate, and waited. The masses would begin to gather soon. He was the only one in the café, anyway. All there was left to do was to wait, and besides, how long could it take for people to notice him? He was anything but subtle.

Meanwhile, Mail Jeevas was enjoying his day off from work. It was a lovely Wednesday, sunny but not too bright. It was almost nine AM, and for some reason, Matt was drawn outside instead of staying in to play video games. He'd just felt an insufferable urge to go outside, maybe have breakfast out, and enjoy the day. Now this was very, very out of character for Matt. He usually spent any and all of his free time playing video games or designing computer software. He had a video editing program to finish! But nonetheless, he went out into the chaos of New York City and breathed in the raw, exhaust-ridden air.

Today was a day to remember. He wasn't sure why, but it was. The reason for this probably hadn't even come about yet, but he expected it to happen soon. Matt was wracking his little ginger head to figure out why he was so eager to be out and about on this particular day.

He strolled into a café called Milk & Sugar, and stopped short upon seeing someone very familiar in a table near the back of the restaurant. Stylishly unkempt blonde locks cascaded down to leather-clad shoulders. Toned, sun-kissed arms extended onto the table, the right supporting the chin of an effeminate face with the elbow on the circular wooden shape while the left rested on the tabletop, absently tapping painted obsidian nails on the wood. A bored expression painted the delicate yet sharp-featured face, pink lips bunched to the side in thought. If Matt didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw makeup on the young man's eyelid.

The azure oceans snapped to meet his emerald orbs, and Matt saw himself be looked up and down once, twice, three times by the famous man before him. Forcing his legs to move, he fixated his gaze onto the crème tiles on the floor. Guiding his legs towards a table as far away as possible from the music artist, Matt sunk into a chair and patiently waited for a server to come to him. He was frantically trying to rationalize the incoherent voice screeching in his ear. Inexplicably, he felt as if he'd been reunited with... something. Why did he feel as though he'd been missing something, but it came back to him just moments before?

During Matt's angsting, Mello was feeling something similar. The minute the redhead walked in the door, Mello felt his world stop. He kept his face stoic as he examined the gamer, looking at the orange tinted goggles resting around the boy's neck. He looked at the ginger's striped shirt and almost-tight jeans, and felt a surge of relief. He had no clue why. A feeling of calmness washed over his mind, a sort of serenity he hadn't experienced in years. He wasn't worried about anything or anyone. It was as if nothing could touch him in his own world, as though he was not part of the stressful life that was stardom.

Did he know this guy? Maybe he'd slept with him at one point. That would explain the kid's shuffling away and sitting far from him, anyway. But Mello knew he didn't recognize the guy from sex. Mello could recall almost every one night stand he had, and there was no memory of this delightfully gorgeous boy in bed with him. God, his eyes were pretty. Perhaps he went to school with Mello? No, that couldn't be. Mello was European. This guy's bone structure screamed American.

So what was his deal? Who was this chap? Where did Mello know him from?

Matt ordered an iced tea and watched the model intently. Well, sort of. It was more of a hidden glance every few seconds, but his attempts at being unseen were always foiled because that damn blond's eyes were fixed on him every time. Every single time Matt dared a peek at the sexy mess across the café, those blue-as-the-sky orbs would meet his. Matt would blush and look down again, sometimes fidgeting and fumbling with his goggles. Why in Zelda's name did Matt wear those goggles today? They were so silly, they screamed "NERD," and the one time when he actually goes out on the town, he's mere yards away from the world's sexiest solo artist. And he's wearing nerd gear.

Oh, my fucking god, Matt thought, panic close at hand as the leather-clad man rose from his chair. He hadn't asked for a check, so he wasn't leaving. Why was he getting up? Please be going to the bathroom, please just go to the bathroom and don't come over here. Do NOT come this way, don't—ah, shit. Mello was coming his way. His hips swayed as he walked, and Matt vaguely wondered if the blond's intention was to kill him through his undeniable sexiness.

Curling his hands around the back of a chair, Mello wrenched it back, sitting down across from the currently freaking out gamer. He glared at Matt, narrowing his eyes. His stare wasn't hostile. It was an examination. He inspected the ginger up close, finalizing his notion that he had not had sex with him. He was almost absolutely certain that he'd never met this boy in his life. So why in the world did he undergo this nagging concept that he knew this kid? He was hardly a kid, though. He looked around Mello's age.

Matt squirmed visibly under the scrutiny of the model. He could almost feel the little voice shrieking at him, screaming things he couldn't hear or understand. He was being broken apart and his pieces individually examined, then put back together after close studying.

Finally, the blond spoke. "Where do I know you from?"

Matt gulped. "I could ask the same," he managed, amazed by his own forward attitude. This was the most beautiful man on the planet, and he was talking back to him. He was talking back to Mello, the Mello. Mihael. Wait, what? Who was Mihael? Why did that name come to him? Is Mihael Mello?Is it that crazy voice? God, I'm going insane, Matt thought to himself sadly.

"Well, I am pretty famous," Mello sniped pompously. "I was just in—"

"Vogue, I know," Matt finished.

"Well there you go," the blond said exasperatedly. "Now answer my question. Where do I know you from?"

"I have no clue. Maybe you don't?" Matt was, if anything, shocked to hear that Mello also recognized him. Why did the blond know him? More importantly, why did he know Mello? What was going on?

"Are you calling me crazy?" Mello frowned at the ginger before him.

Shaking his head frantically, Matt stammered nervously, "N-No! If anything, I'm the crazy one. You're not crazy. You're too perfect to be—wait, I mean...." Matt's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. God, he was really, really stupid. Way to go, Matty, he thought to himself. Smart. Real clever.

Mello's grin widened, and morphed into a smirk. "You think I'm perfect? Aw. How cute." He extended his hand to brush against Matt's jawline, but the gamer flinched away. Mello's sneer turned to a frown, his brows furrowing. Outwardly, Mello didn't care, but inside, his ego suffered. Nobody rejected him. But deeper within himself, he felt a tragic howl of despair. No ideas as to why he was so depressed came to mind, but Mello felt a sorrow that was bigger than just a sore ego. It was bigger than him, and bigger than Matt.

Was this...? No.

Matt cringed, bringing his head in like a turtle into a shell. Inside, he longed to be touched, to feel the warmth of that hand, but he knew it was basically suicide. He knew how this guy operated. He fucked, no strings attached. Matt didn't want that. Deep within the far reaches of his soul, he knew what he wanted. He wanted what Mello was afraid of. He wanted a relationship, he wanted to have more than one night; he wanted gentle touches and light kisses and hand-holdings and.... wait. STOP. Hold on.

Matt wanted all this, I mean, who didn't—but all the images his mind was producing were images of himself and Mello. I don't know Mello! Why am I thinking of all these things?! I don't understand, he whined internally.

"Are you scared?"

"No," came the ginger's (rather failure) reply.

"Then why did you flinch when I tried to touch you?" Mello's eyebrow raised, no cocky humour in his eyes. He genuinely wanted to know why the gamer had silently turned him down.

"I... I don't want what you do," Matt managed to stammer, closing his eyes and biting his lip. "I don't want t-to be a toy, a one time fuck. You and I live in separate worlds, you know. I'd rather keep it that way." Matt didn't want to believe what he'd just said. He knew from his crazy voice that he and Mello had some sort of... something.... but he did not, repeat, did NOT want to be used and thrown away. If he had to describe what he felt about the male model, it would be.... fate. He had no idea why destiny came to mind, but it was like a big neon sign flashing the words "FATE, FATE, FATE" appeared in his brain.

"You shouldn't lie. It's really obvious when you do," Mello said. "And no matter what I said in my interview if you read it, just because I sleep around doesn't mean I treat people badly. Especially if I know them, but I have no idea where from. I wouldn't leave a mystery like that unsolved." Mello smiled at Matt kindly, shrugging.

Matt blinked, and supposed now was as good a time as ever. "Does the name Mihael mean anything to you?"

Mello's eyes widened substantially, and Matt cursed inwardly. He'd made a big mistake. "That's my real name," croaked Mello. Matt clenched a fist under the table. God, he really was stupid. He thought about apologizing and leaving, and almost did, but then.... "M-Mail."

Matt's eyebrows raised. "That's me."

"Who are you?!" Mello cried, fisting a hand in his own hair. "How do you know me?! Nobody in this country knows my real name!"

"I... I'm sorry... I know you, I just don't know where from," Matt said shakily.

Mello took a deep breath. "What do you say to coffee this Saturday? I'm pretty sure we both want to get to the bottom of this. Chronic amnesia is just so cliché." He shot an irresistible grin at the redhead.

Matt was unable to do anything but nod. "S-sure," he mumbled. With that, Mello strode out of the café, slapping some cash down on his original table.

Matt sighed to himself, looking at Mello's retreating back.