A/N: I just read "Heir Apparent" by Vivian Vande Velde, and I'm inspired for a fantasy thing for DN. Oooh. I'll finish BP first, though. Anyway, this chapter is an introduction for a couple characters. In the next few chapters I'll bring in my other vamps. The rule-breaking ones. Oh yus. There are good guys like Beyond, don't worry! Not all vampires are cockblockers like Light! XDD
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
By the way, I wrote this chapter last week but I didn't have enough motivation to get off my ass and post it. So sorry about that. REVIEW. Anyway, have fun. :3
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To any passerby, the two young men standing beside a vermillion Camaro would seem out of their minds. Fighting loudly and without inhibition, a blond and a redhead were shouting about who was driving. The redhead, the actual owner of the car, was caressing the wide mirror. The Camaro itself, circa 1975, seemed to sigh exasperatedly at the bickering men.
"She's mine!" The redhead roughly grinded the sole of his boot into the asphalt, groaning wordlessly as he strained to protect his greatest pride and joy from the terror of another man.
"You get to top tonight," hissed Mello under his breath. "And I let you ride my motorcycle!"
"Well, my baby isn't some common whore! We've built up years of trust between the two of us! Maybe you lend out your bike like a temporary boyfriend, but this is my treasure!" Matt gaped, appalled, at his lover as the blond extended a leather-gloved hand to touch the hood of the car. A mischievous smirk was painted on his lips—those same lips that snapped insults like a striking cobra. Swiftly slapping the hand away, he growled menacingly at the blond.
Seeing that an argumentative view wasn't going to win this, Mello changed methods. Walking over to Matt and sliding his arms around the ginger's waist, he breathed, "Matty, don't you trust me?"
"O-of course I trust you.... I just don't want anybody driving her...." Matt tried to push Mello away, finding it hard to concentrate of protecting the beauty of his car with his enticing boyfriend (that boyfriend using the knowledge that he was enticing) being so sexy. Mello's close proximity to him wasn't helping either.
"Matt, please?" Mello took Matt's protesting hands into his own, looking into the eyes opposite his.
Emerald met sapphire; Matt had to close his eyes to push Mello away. Fire in the redhead's gaze, he pointed at Mello's bike. "You. Drive your bike. I don't want you in my car."
Mello frowned. "Bullshit, Matt. Just let me drive!"
"No! You can't be sexy like that! It's not fair!" Matt stamped his foot angrily, grabbing Mello's arms and trying to keep him at bay, but the blond wriggled out of the grip by twisting his arms upwards.
"Life isn't fair, Matty." A wicked smile, a flash of leather. Mello had slipped into the passenger's seat, hoisting himself over the cupholder because he'd entered through the driver's side. Matt pressed his lips together in frustration, but his expression softened as Mello's smile met his eyes when he bent down to look at the blond. "Well, are we going?" Mello's sweet chirp heaved a sigh from the formerly peeved redhead.
"Yeah." Matt sat down in the old leather seat, gently caressing the steering wheel ceremoniously before closing the car door and pushing the key into the ignition. Coaxing the refurbished automobile into life was no chore; he'd revived his acclaimed "wife" with the skills of a veteran mechanic. Soon enough, the two men were on the road and headed to the police station, Mello fiddling with the small photo of Lawliet as his boyfriend drove seamlessly.
Reaching the police department's visitor parking lot, Matt exited his wife and shut the door carefully. Knowing Mello had a tendency to slam doors, he called, "Careful with the door, okay?"
"God, you're so fucking straight for this car. I can't believe you act this way about a hunk of metal, and not me," the blond whined.
Flinching at the insult thrown at his car, Matt huffed. "Mel, you know I love you. But it's my car. It's.... I'm not in love with it like I am with you. You're more important to me than any car will ever be. I promise."
Mello couldn't help but melt under the warmth and sweetness of those words, smiling softly at the ginger. "Thanks," he whispered. Walking around the car to hold Matt's hand, he murmured, "Let's go."
Matt took a few moments to lock his car, spitefully ignoring the protests from Mello that nobody is stupid enough to steal a car in front of the police station, and that no sane human would want to steal his car of all cars.
The police station itself was nothing special. It was a three-story building, made of red bricks. As per usual with courthouses, police buildings and political buildings, there were Ionic columns before the front entrance. Police officers were bustling about; some were stapling papers to the billboard outside the building, some were leaning against a patrol car and chatting, and the two boys even saw a few men who must have been detectives hastily making towards a blue sedan, folder in the hand of the leader.
Entering the brick building and turning towards a desk, Matt smiled. "Hi, there. My boyfriend and I called earlier about a missing person's report, and we have a photo."
"Um, wait a moment, let me check the call list," a stout female officer said kindly, scrolling through phone records on her computer. "Are you Mihael Keehl?"
Mello nodded. "Yeah, that's me."
"You want to look for Ide. He should be in General Affairs, the wing down this corridor and to the left." The woman smiled and pointed in the direction she'd instructed Mello and Matt to go.
"Thanks, miss," Mello smiled good-naturedly, making his way down the hall. Matt trailed after him, stopping to look at photos and awards on the wall occasionally. Mello dutifully tugged him along, trying to look more serious than his redheaded counterpart was acting. "Behave," he said quietly in the ginger's pale ear. "This isn't a place to fool around in."
Matt nodded, and although he took control of his giggles and resisted the urges to look closely at everything, he simply couldn't wipe the amused smirk from his face. He dared not give Mello a verbal reply, knowing it might erupt into a fit of laughter.
Looking through a doorless arch in the wall, Mello glanced at the plaque over the top of the rounded opening. Sure enough, it read "GENERAL AFFAIRS." He looked at Matt and walked inside, knowing Matt would follow him. Matt was reliable in the sense that not only was he (usually) predictable, but he was the perfect match for Mello. The two of them really knew each other inside and out. Having known one another since the first grade, Mello and Matt have had a decent fifteen years to get to know one another. First as friends, then more recently as lovers. They had such a stunning foundation of love, understanding and deep-seated trust that could only stem from a friendship such as theirs had been—and still continues to be, because what is love without friendship?—that the power of such a bond was something they believed was theirs alone. No one else in this world truly understood love. Not like Mello and Matt did.
The two of them knew exactly how to treat each other. For sex, and for any other situation, they knew what to do. They knew when to press on and when to surrender; they knew when to act and when to react. Every single detail was memorized, and they still managed to completely spice up their intimate life without a hitch. For example, Matt was almost completely and utterly under Mello's thumb. He would do whatever the blond said. Unlike the fiery blond, he was rather compliant and didn't need everything to go his way. Mello, on the other hand, was very controlling. It was his way or the highway. Although Matt was always eager to please Mello, he also continued to be lazy. A consistency in the duo's home life was the scenario of Mello telling Matt to do something while he goes to do errands, and he comes home to find the task half-done and Matt playing some video game.
Matt usually paid off his "debt" in bed.
Unless Matt was extremely angry, he'd follow Mello everywhere. Once, Mello accidentally threw out Matt's Zelda: Ocarina of Time game for the N64, and the redhead has been so positively furious that Mello knew true fear. He had actually been scared for his life. The look in Matt's eyes had brought the prideful blond to his knees, begging for forgiveness in a manner unheard of to anyone who knew Mello. To this very moment—and most likely until he dies—he denies ever pleading like he did that day. In the end, Matt had forced the blond to look through the dumpster for his game after holding the chocolate stash hostage.
Mello maneuvered through the maze of desks before stopping at a desk with a name plate on it that had "Ide" on a slip of paper. The small piece of parchment was slid between a panel of glass and the metal stand. The blond student supposed that they usually didn't have permanent name plates for lower-ranked officers. That kind of thing was probably for the chiefs and department heads.
"Um, hello," greeted the blond, procuring a glance from the police man. The man returned his attention to the paperwork he'd been filing before, grunting an acknowledgement to the two men in front of him. Mello frowned, carefully placing his hands on the edge of the wooden desk, gripping tightly. "I said hello."
Ide looked up again. "Can you wait one second? I need to finish this."
Mello shouted angrily, "MY FRIE—" He bit his lip, taking a deep breath. Letting go of the desk, he closed his eyes. "Sure," he said softly. Matt looked at his other half in concern, but the older boy shook his head, motioning for the gamer to stay quiet.
Ide raised an eyebrow at Mello's sudden outburst, but returned to his file. Placing three more files in the accordion folder, he placed the large black object—now brimming with files and paper—in the bottom drawer in his desk. He scratched out a note on a post it that had been attached onto the side of his computer monitor, crumpling the bright green piece of sticky paper and dropping it into the waste bin under his desk. Resting his forearms on the table's surface, he laced his fingers together and asked, "Yes?"
"I called about a missing person report about half an hour ago," Mello declared. "I have a photo for it."
"Lawliet Layne?" Ide groaned as he opened the drawer he had just closed, pulling out a file and slapping it down on the desk. "Just stick the photo in there. We'll call you if anything turns up."
Matt blinked. "Is that it? He's just going into the file until you feel like it?"
"Sorry, but that's how this works," Ide replied. "We don't give missing person reports priority over criminals."
Matt bit his lip, pondering what would happen if he attacked this asshole. Most likely a month or two in the pen. Was it worth it? Getting raped.... attacking the dickhead.... getting raped.... attacking the dickhead.... hmm. Finally, Matt shrugged. "Fine. Mel, let's go." And he dragged his blond boyfriend out of the police station, surprised that he was the one on the verge of killing the officer and not Mello. Maybe Mello was just in a good mood. If that was the case, he might even be able to top the leather-wearing man without a fight.
But probably not.
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When one thinks "detective," they usually image a trenchcoat-wearing, hard-jawed middle aged man, usually attractive or mysterious. Most of the time, the general public would not imagine a frail, thin boy with milky skin and matching hair. Skinny, tiny and fragile, Nate Rivers was anything but ordinary. He was a prodigy, a young boy of only seventeen, although he appeared to be twelve at the oldest. With wide, speculating eyes of a deep, dark grey hue and thin, delicate fingers that nestled habitually in a twirl of white hair, "creepy" would be a close description to Nate. His voice, void of inflection of any kind, only added to the abnormal whole that he was.
Known as "N" to the world (and "Near" to his investigation team), Nate was the world's most talented and respected detective. He had never failed to solve a case, and right now, the teenager was all but calm. Of course, on the outside he was as stoic as ever, but inside he was positively shrieking in anger. On the RRJJ case, there was no forensic evidence. There were no leads. There was not a single clue. Nate couldn't even find one witness! This case was almost nonexistent! He'd been looking for hours at photos, reading theories on both the internet and from his investigation team, and there was nothing.
Turning towards his assistant, a man in his mid twenties of Italian descent, he said quietly, "Gevanni, would you be so kind as to go and buy me a puzzle of five thousand or more pieces?"
The dark-haired man nodded, turning on his heel to heed the albino boy's words. Because with Near, nothing was ever a request. It was a command, no matter how soft-spoken or trivial it was.
And Gevanni was there to help. Always.
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OMG! It's Near! I love him so much :3 ANYWAY. DO you like how I made him like L in canon? Like, L had the alias "Ryuzaki," and my Near has "Near." AWESOME, RIGHT?!!?
Okay, so I'm leaning towards GevannixNear for this because I'm obsessed with shota, but if you want something different for our little baby Near REVIEW WITH YOUR IDEA. OR ELSE I WILL NEVER KNOW WHAT AWESOME COUPLE COULD HAVE BEEN!!!
So yeah, loves. Review. :3
(This is the longest chapter since chapter two I think 8D)