Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

A/N: Hi! Prepare for cheesiness!

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Matt POV

I made it as far as the stairs in front of his apartment, which were a grand total of about four steps away from his door, before turning around. Okay, fine, so he was mad at me. That didn't mean I couldn't tell him what I'd done and what I'd decided.

I walked back up to his door, automatically going for my keys. I still had a key to his place. But, of course, I didn't have my keys on me. Yet another reason to talk to him: I needed a place to stay for the night and I had no money. He'd probably let me crash there. Maybe. Possibly? Well, it could happen.

Mello tended to lock himself out, so in an effort to get him to stop shooting the doorknob, I had designated a spot for a spare key under a loose board in the floor, right next to the door.

It took me a minute, but I found it. I pulled it up, and the key was still there. And the door was intact. My idea had worked.

I took a deep breath and inserted the key into the door.

Mello POV

The kitchen was now cleaner than it had ever been before and would ever be again. Unfortunately the station I had the radio tuned to was on a 'three hours of uninterrupted music' marathon, which meant that I was going to be cleaning for the next three hours. I could probably do the whole apartment in that time.

I dug the neglected vacuum out of a closet and plugged it in. I was surprised that it still worked, but pleased. It smoked a little, but that would probably be okay. I mean, it wouldn't blow up or anything. Right?

It was the loudest vacuum in existence, and so I received absolutely no warning for what happened next.

I dropped the vacuum and it stuttered to death. The cord was ripped from the wall and apparently that freaked out the circuits or something, because the radio, which was also plugged into that socket, was immediately silenced. Or maybe the radio just shut up in reaction to the emotions that must have been rolling off my body, because Matt was standing right in front of me.

He was still in his dress shirt, although it was sweaty and badly crumpled, and his dress pants and shoes. His hair was stuck to his head, damp, and he smelled... 'very bad' was a decent description. His goggles were nowhere in sight, and his now unprotected blue eyes were locked with mine.

"Hey," I managed to croak out, trying to sound casual. I really hoped he couldn't tell that I had been crying less than an hour ago. The shower had probably helped with that, but he could be perceptive when he wasn't blocking it on purpose.

"Hi," he replied blankly.

He continued to stare at me. "Um... what's up?" I said after a moment. Why was he here when he was supposed to be on his honeymoon? I forced out a chuckle. "What, your wife kick you out already?"

"No, she gave me a choice," he said.

What?

"Care to elaborate?" I said sarcastically, righting the vacuum and wrapping the cord around it before unceremoniously shoving it back into its closet.

"Well, I told her that I'm still in love with you and she let me come here."

...

I almost vomited. How could he possibly still be in love with me? How could he marry someone else if he was still in love with me? How could he ignore the Unchained Melody tradition if he was still in love with me? How could he want me to hit on his wife's sister if he was still in love with me? How could he leave me if he was still in love with me?! How could he let me get to the point where I didn't care if I died if he was still in love with me?! Dammit, he wasn't in love with me!

"Don't fuck with me," I told him quietly, dangerously. Anyone else and they'd already have a bullet through their head and several of their vital organs. You don't mess with me like that.

His expression (hurt, startled, bewildered) confused me, but there was one thing I knew was true: he didn't love me. There was no way he could. It was simply too good to be true, and therefore it wasn't.

"Mello, I'm not-"

"Get out of my house."

"Mello, please, at least-"

"Out."

"Mihael, I-"

"Don't you dare use my real name and get the fuck out of my house!" I screamed at him.

He didn't move, he simply gaped at me. I remembered that I had never screamed at him quite that hard before. I mean, yeah, we fought a lot, but never like this. Plus, I'd developed my screaming abilities a bit over the years. Good. Maybe he'd take the hint then.

I dropped my voice to a low, deadly quiet. "Get out." I took a threatening panther-step towards him, but he still didn't move. Probably because he knew I'd never, ever hurt him. Ever. Even if the fate of everyone in the world except him but including me depended on it, I would never lay a finger on him. No matter what.

I took another step, then another, and then I was right in front of him, and I wrapped my arms around his waist and my head fell on his shoulder and I wept.

He was stone beneath me, but I could understand that. He probably hadn't expected me to react this way about a joke, and he'd only seen me cry maybe three times outside of my pitiable inability to handle thunderstorms.

I couldn't let go, I just hung on and wept.

"Matt," I forced out. "I know you're joking, but I'm... I'm so pathetic without you. The last few years have just been so... pathetic. And I cried all night last night, and I couldn't even move, and it's all just... pathetic. So pathetic. So I can't take the joke. Please don't say it again, okay?"

I felt his muscles relax and his arms came around me. He put his chin on my head like he always used to and I was immediately calm. Well, relatively.

"Mels," he said softly. "I swear to you. I'm not joking."

He kissed the top of my head slowly, and I could feel him breathing in, inhaling my scent the same way I was grasping at his.

Matt POV

I could see the exact moment that he finally believed me, and when he kissed me, the anger at how hard he was to live with was gone, the hurt of hurting him was gone, the perpetual, almost unnoticeable dull ache of being away from him was gone, it all disappeared the moment our lips touched, and for the first time in years I was high. They say that once you've been off a drug for a while, the relapse hit is like your first one, that it's that good all over again. I now knew that this was true, and when he deepened the kiss my mind burst into fireworks and electricity and color and light. How could I have given him up? His power and his grace, his energy, his emotions, his softness, his touch, his intensity, his mind, his body, his soul. His beautiful contradictions that made him utterly impossible to figure out; the angel in leather, the sensitive hard-ass. How could I have ever thought that I'd be able to find someone better, that I could love him but move on, that I could ever get over this, the feeling that I always got around him of being so very alive. Of being on fire, of playing with fire, no, of dancing around fire, so close that my skin was crisping and one step could set me alight. I hadn't even known I had reverted over the years to what I would always have been if I'd never met him: distant, cold, mono-emotional. I melted into him (the feeling was so familiar!) and he held me tight, and when the kiss ended, he pulled me into him and held me even tighter.

"I missed you," he told me.

"I missed you too." I realized exactly how true it was. "Take me back," I said suddenly.

"Obviously."

He kissed me again, hard, desperately, and I'd never tasted so much longing in a kiss before. I pressed into him as much as I could, trying to make us one person so we'd never be separated again, no matter what. I could feel him all over me, I could hear his pulse racing and his breath hitching. And my bleeding feet and my aching body and my screwed up life were all worth it, more than worth it, because nothing could compare to this. Nothing. There was no one else but Mello.

This, finally, was right.

A/N: The end! I hope you liked it?